Perhaps I am a bit more obsessive than I'd care to admit. When I find myself enthralled in a pursuit or idea, I need to know everything about it. I leave no inch unexamined. I throw myself wholeheartedly in my pursuit. Obviously yoga falls into this over-examined life. Some will argue about yoga's lineage, but no matter what hatha yoga has a history much longer than my own. It is nearly impossible for me to go to the source and get every query answered, every curiosity sated. I have to accept this. I can still enjoy the gem of yoga in my life, even as I wonder whether the shape I see is its true shape. How many hands have passed over each facet, softening and eroding its edges, leaving their distinct fingerprints? I want to accept what is, but I cannot quiet the part of my mind that wants answers.
Clearly yoga changed as it hit American shores. I mean, clearly. Duh. A practice moves from a more collective society (as far as I know, at least) to a far more individually-minded collection of people. Some folks care to celebrate the collective, while others choose to tweak the practice in order to attract the type A's and rugged individualists. I have no way to know which is closer to the "truth" (if such a thing exists).
When I teach I want my students to surrender ego and ambition and accept what is. I know I shouldn't "want" anything, really... but I have to admit to that. In the course of my own practice I've learned to let go of my own mind and accept my body in its current, present state. I cannot expect anything. I cannot make demands. I breathe, I listen, I move. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course not everyone chooses a physical practice as part of a more spiritual practice, but a girl like me can dream, right?
It gives me a chuckle to watch my kindly American students, here in Land-O'-Healin', Oregon, struggle so desperately against a hatha yoga practice. As an instructor I give my students direction, in order to shift the body and mind in a direction of healing and to avoid discomfort and injury in the process. Instead of accepting the instruction, more often than not students ignore it, choosing to move their bodies how they see fit.
All well and good... if you're in an interpretive dance class. But this is yoga.
Folks seem to think: Oh, it's just yoga! I'm just gonna do what feels right! If that's the case, then why bother paying a certified instructor to lead your practice? Why bother coming at all? Stay home and save your money... and get nowhere. No, really: do it.
Could you imagine the uproar at a stadium if a baseball player chose to run the bases in reverse? But this is what feels right! he tells us. Sweet, dude... but the game's got rules. Play by the rules, or go home. America won't stand for interpretive baseball.
One can make the case that hatha yoga is a physical practice, and as such should be divorced from any spiritual or mental practice. Make the case, but don't expect me to speak on your behalf. That's aerobics, or calisthenics. Not yoga. Have fun at the gym. If you're in my yoga class, follow the dialogue or go home. If the suit chafes, decide whether you really want to wear it, or if I've bruised your poor ego. If I have, then I've done my job. After a while you realize you can leave the ego at the door. One day you will forget it altogether, and it ends up in my lost-and-found basket. When that day comes, you can say you practice yoga.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
half-assed update
I am, in fact, very much alive and well. Perhaps too alive to keep up with a blog. To sit and write creates this weird conflict in my little brain. I don't want to recap my life, or even my thought processes. I want to do stuff. Y'know, live. Yes, I did just write that. How very high school of me.
The vertigo is long gone. I think I just pissed it off enough to make it leave. I told it it was no longer welcome, and it split. Fancy that. Except it's never really that easy. I've been sick more often this past winter than I have in my entire adult life. I've lost my voice not once but twice. (And the hippies often explain losing one's voice as a conflict over speaking one's truth.) Now I have a bum knee, again.
Someone once told me that if something isn't quite right in your life, it can manifest itself in your body.
I chafe a bit, wondering if I've made the right decisions for myself in recent days, weeks, months. I love teaching yoga. Really, I do. Somehow I've managed to keep myself honest and sane as I teach, and as I transitioned into studio ownership. But still... something's missing. Or something's taking up too much space, since I can't seem to keep my life under control.
I don't know. I didn't write this to clear shit up. I just wanted to post something new, finally. I intended to suss things out a bit more, but instead I spent my post-teaching morning comforting a friend who just put down her dog. Sad.
The vertigo is long gone. I think I just pissed it off enough to make it leave. I told it it was no longer welcome, and it split. Fancy that. Except it's never really that easy. I've been sick more often this past winter than I have in my entire adult life. I've lost my voice not once but twice. (And the hippies often explain losing one's voice as a conflict over speaking one's truth.) Now I have a bum knee, again.
Someone once told me that if something isn't quite right in your life, it can manifest itself in your body.
I chafe a bit, wondering if I've made the right decisions for myself in recent days, weeks, months. I love teaching yoga. Really, I do. Somehow I've managed to keep myself honest and sane as I teach, and as I transitioned into studio ownership. But still... something's missing. Or something's taking up too much space, since I can't seem to keep my life under control.
I don't know. I didn't write this to clear shit up. I just wanted to post something new, finally. I intended to suss things out a bit more, but instead I spent my post-teaching morning comforting a friend who just put down her dog. Sad.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
no yoga. doctor's orders.
Apparently practicing while experiencing spells of vertigo isn't such a good idea. Imagine that.
As loathe as I am to admit it, I am pretty type A when it comes to my physical fitness. (I was gonna say I'm a typical American, then I realized most of us 'merikans think fitness is part of the following phrase: "How'm I gonna fit'n this?") I tend to muscle through aches and pains, minor illnesses and headaches, and bouts of depression and anxiety.
Last week I gave myself the Friday after Thanksgiving off (my first day off in I don't know how long, after teaching a full 30-student class on Thanksgiving morning), so I opted to enjoy some free time with my better half instead of practicing. I felt obligated to practice Saturday morning to make up for that day off, even though I felt a little under the weather. Usually a practice makes me feel better.
Not this time.
Every time I transitioned from the floor to standing I thought I was going to fall over. Once we made our way to the floor series every sit-up made things worse. I went home after class wanting nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the day. I didn't, though. The fellow and I went to a train show, then had an amazing Mexican lunch. Then I rested.
I wake up each morning still feeling these dizzy spells. I went to my doc's office yesterday and she ruled out an ear infection, but she couldn't pinpoint anything else that could cause the vertigo. She's treating me for a cold, in hopes the vertigo is tied into the under-the-weather feeling. Now it's wait and see. And no yoga until the dizzy spells pass.
I keep telling people yoga is so great for your immune system and overall physical function. Now look at me. Doc says yoga is great as a preventative measure, but sometimes you have to listen to your body and take a break.
What?
I reckon this is one of those teaching moments. Can I learn to let go and accept that I need to rest, that my body needs to rest? Can I find other ways to calm my mind? As I walked my dog this morning I realized I could use this as a perfect opportunity to deepen my meditation. It also doesn't hurt that walking the dog feels good, and today the weather is spectacular.
As loathe as I am to admit it, I am pretty type A when it comes to my physical fitness. (I was gonna say I'm a typical American, then I realized most of us 'merikans think fitness is part of the following phrase: "How'm I gonna fit'n this?") I tend to muscle through aches and pains, minor illnesses and headaches, and bouts of depression and anxiety.
Last week I gave myself the Friday after Thanksgiving off (my first day off in I don't know how long, after teaching a full 30-student class on Thanksgiving morning), so I opted to enjoy some free time with my better half instead of practicing. I felt obligated to practice Saturday morning to make up for that day off, even though I felt a little under the weather. Usually a practice makes me feel better.
Not this time.
Every time I transitioned from the floor to standing I thought I was going to fall over. Once we made our way to the floor series every sit-up made things worse. I went home after class wanting nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the day. I didn't, though. The fellow and I went to a train show, then had an amazing Mexican lunch. Then I rested.
I wake up each morning still feeling these dizzy spells. I went to my doc's office yesterday and she ruled out an ear infection, but she couldn't pinpoint anything else that could cause the vertigo. She's treating me for a cold, in hopes the vertigo is tied into the under-the-weather feeling. Now it's wait and see. And no yoga until the dizzy spells pass.
I keep telling people yoga is so great for your immune system and overall physical function. Now look at me. Doc says yoga is great as a preventative measure, but sometimes you have to listen to your body and take a break.
What?
I reckon this is one of those teaching moments. Can I learn to let go and accept that I need to rest, that my body needs to rest? Can I find other ways to calm my mind? As I walked my dog this morning I realized I could use this as a perfect opportunity to deepen my meditation. It also doesn't hurt that walking the dog feels good, and today the weather is spectacular.
Friday, November 14, 2008
another friday night with bill
Moyers, that is. Though I have almost an hour until he arrives in my living room via Southern Oregon Public TV.
As the mercury drops, the attendance at our studio skyrockets. I could probably start charging money to hold spots open for regular students at this point. Next week we add two more classes to the schedule to accommodate the crush of cold-weather Bikram fans. (These would be the antithesis to fair-weather friends, I reckon.)
I am trying to stay positive, given how much more time I now have to spend at the studio. As the schedule expands, I have more demands, so to speak, from my staff. I am the only person with a "flexible" schedule, so I get to teach all the shit classes no one else wants. Hurray for me! How's that for working for yourself?! Woo!
I experienced a complete lack of pain in my once-injured, now-hampered shoulder. This was my first pain-free day since we returned home from our vacation in August. Tremendous. I acknowledged the lack of pain as I practiced yesterday, trying to keep from hyperventilating in class from the joy of unencumbered movement. I then proceeded to teach a class at warp speed. Amazingly it was a small class; only five students. Usually small classes require so much more energy on my part to keep things moving. On this night I had four regulars (one fellow in the cold-weather crew, whom I hadn't seen in months) and one visitor from out of town. Everyone was so strong I felt like I didn't even need to be there. I didn't have to supply the energy; they had more than enough to share. I imagine my joy at my healing shoulder also helped propel the class.
This morning, however... well, the pain wasn't back in full. My shoulder did pipe up a time or three, reminding me to practice some more patience. Instead I woke feeling tremendously dizzy, as I would after a night of drinking. Except last night I didn't drink. It took everything I had to keep myself upright as class began. I literally made contact with every inch of both feet, commanding them to stay connected to the floor. I let go of performance anxiety, focusing more on keeping my breath calm and staying on my feet. Eventually the dizziness passed, and I finished strong. That put me in a good mood. And I need to be in a good mood, considering I'm teaching the next four classes straight. Yikes.
First of four this afternoon. Ten students, including one newbie who wasn't new to yoga so she already had lots to say about the practice before it even started. Fortunately she kept an open mind and gave an honest effort.
I find myself dancing on this thin line between being a taskmistress and flaunting my anarchic self. Problem is: freedom of expression can look a lot like hippie dancing, if you choose to look through those lenses. I know I've written before about finding some freedom within discipline. I think what needs to be redefined is "discipline" itself. We can insist on the first entry in Merriam-Webster's dictionary, which defines discipline as "punishment." Or, we can drop in and choose one of these three:
4: training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a: control gained by enforcing obedience or order b: orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c: self-control
6: a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
The first definition on that list can also define yoga itself. Not just hatha yoga (the physical practice) but all eight limbs. We practice our yoga to reacquaint ourselves with our true bodies and minds, to "correct" the shitty training we've received in self-loathing and doubt.
Speaking of the eight limbs, the second definition on that list can almost fit for Pratyahara, the fifth of the eight limbs. It is open referred to as "withdrawal of the senses." It is here that one can meditate without distractions, achieving the ultimate in self-control. With practice, one can effectively focus on one singular sense (hearing, for example) at the expense of the other senses in an effort to quiet the mind altogether.
As for the final definition... suddenly I'm feeling like this entry is too long. I should tackle this some more later.
As the mercury drops, the attendance at our studio skyrockets. I could probably start charging money to hold spots open for regular students at this point. Next week we add two more classes to the schedule to accommodate the crush of cold-weather Bikram fans. (These would be the antithesis to fair-weather friends, I reckon.)
I am trying to stay positive, given how much more time I now have to spend at the studio. As the schedule expands, I have more demands, so to speak, from my staff. I am the only person with a "flexible" schedule, so I get to teach all the shit classes no one else wants. Hurray for me! How's that for working for yourself?! Woo!
I experienced a complete lack of pain in my once-injured, now-hampered shoulder. This was my first pain-free day since we returned home from our vacation in August. Tremendous. I acknowledged the lack of pain as I practiced yesterday, trying to keep from hyperventilating in class from the joy of unencumbered movement. I then proceeded to teach a class at warp speed. Amazingly it was a small class; only five students. Usually small classes require so much more energy on my part to keep things moving. On this night I had four regulars (one fellow in the cold-weather crew, whom I hadn't seen in months) and one visitor from out of town. Everyone was so strong I felt like I didn't even need to be there. I didn't have to supply the energy; they had more than enough to share. I imagine my joy at my healing shoulder also helped propel the class.
This morning, however... well, the pain wasn't back in full. My shoulder did pipe up a time or three, reminding me to practice some more patience. Instead I woke feeling tremendously dizzy, as I would after a night of drinking. Except last night I didn't drink. It took everything I had to keep myself upright as class began. I literally made contact with every inch of both feet, commanding them to stay connected to the floor. I let go of performance anxiety, focusing more on keeping my breath calm and staying on my feet. Eventually the dizziness passed, and I finished strong. That put me in a good mood. And I need to be in a good mood, considering I'm teaching the next four classes straight. Yikes.
First of four this afternoon. Ten students, including one newbie who wasn't new to yoga so she already had lots to say about the practice before it even started. Fortunately she kept an open mind and gave an honest effort.
I find myself dancing on this thin line between being a taskmistress and flaunting my anarchic self. Problem is: freedom of expression can look a lot like hippie dancing, if you choose to look through those lenses. I know I've written before about finding some freedom within discipline. I think what needs to be redefined is "discipline" itself. We can insist on the first entry in Merriam-Webster's dictionary, which defines discipline as "punishment." Or, we can drop in and choose one of these three:
4: training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a: control gained by enforcing obedience or order b: orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c: self-control
6: a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
The first definition on that list can also define yoga itself. Not just hatha yoga (the physical practice) but all eight limbs. We practice our yoga to reacquaint ourselves with our true bodies and minds, to "correct" the shitty training we've received in self-loathing and doubt.
Speaking of the eight limbs, the second definition on that list can almost fit for Pratyahara, the fifth of the eight limbs. It is open referred to as "withdrawal of the senses." It is here that one can meditate without distractions, achieving the ultimate in self-control. With practice, one can effectively focus on one singular sense (hearing, for example) at the expense of the other senses in an effort to quiet the mind altogether.
As for the final definition... suddenly I'm feeling like this entry is too long. I should tackle this some more later.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
do i contradict myself?
29 students this morning. WTF?! Makes sense, I reckon, as today was really our first legit autumn day. Woke up this morning to grey skies and drizzle.
But 29 students? Damn. Days like these unnerve me a bit, considering we have a small studio. 29 students back east in the big cities feels like a small class. 29 students here means no extra room for anyone, including the teacher. A few students expressed concern about the crowded room. I always worry that a large class will lead to disappointed students.
And I am always wrong.
Yes, the room got hot. Yes, people had to adjust some, especially for full locust. But everyone left the room smiling. Several students complimented me as they left for the day.
Even with my worries, I fucking love teaching big classes. Sure, it's swell now that I own the place to see all those paying customers. Before that, though, I loved teaching a full room. With all those bodies in the room, it is damned near impossible to have a dull, slow class. It's the larger classes that give some credence to all the hippie bullshit about people's energy. As people move and breathe that movement and breath will affect those around them. (Hopefully in positive ways.) I get more from the students in larger classes, I think, than they do from me.
We also had a visiting teacher come to practice. He had heard good things about the studio from other travelers, and definitely felt the advanced praise was true. He also invited me to teach at the studio where he teaches when I travel.
All that said... I still can't shake this nagging feeling that buying the studio was not a good idea. And right now I don't care to elaborate further.
But 29 students? Damn. Days like these unnerve me a bit, considering we have a small studio. 29 students back east in the big cities feels like a small class. 29 students here means no extra room for anyone, including the teacher. A few students expressed concern about the crowded room. I always worry that a large class will lead to disappointed students.
And I am always wrong.
Yes, the room got hot. Yes, people had to adjust some, especially for full locust. But everyone left the room smiling. Several students complimented me as they left for the day.
Even with my worries, I fucking love teaching big classes. Sure, it's swell now that I own the place to see all those paying customers. Before that, though, I loved teaching a full room. With all those bodies in the room, it is damned near impossible to have a dull, slow class. It's the larger classes that give some credence to all the hippie bullshit about people's energy. As people move and breathe that movement and breath will affect those around them. (Hopefully in positive ways.) I get more from the students in larger classes, I think, than they do from me.
We also had a visiting teacher come to practice. He had heard good things about the studio from other travelers, and definitely felt the advanced praise was true. He also invited me to teach at the studio where he teaches when I travel.
All that said... I still can't shake this nagging feeling that buying the studio was not a good idea. And right now I don't care to elaborate further.
Friday, October 31, 2008
halloween
I can't believe I've made it to almost 7:30 on Halloween night and I haven't listened to the Dead Kennedys at all.
I decided to take a bit of a risk today. I had announced that this morning's class would be a costume party class. I thought it would be fun, somewhat light-hearted and markedly different than what many students have come to expect from our studio. I canceled the afternoon class to allow folks to attend the town's Halloween parade if they so desired, and to get their kids ready for trick or treating. (That was a concern for some of my parents, so I took it seriously.)
People responded rather well to the idea of a Halloween costume class. Some chuckled at the idea of practicing Bikram yoga in a costume, but we always suggested simple ideas and played up the fun aspect of the class. Folks definitely got to talking, though, so I felt good about the idea.
I found some cat ears and a matching tail, wore all black and essentially looked like a lost member of Josie and the Pussycats. Another student also wore cat attire, though she took the leopard-print leap. We had a very charming devil, a ballerina, a hula girl, and a princess. One of our stronger students wore brown and pinned fallen leaves to her clothes and into her hair. Totally awesome. Another wore a totally mismatched outfit, messed up her hair and called herself "Pippi Longstockings with Alzheimer's." (Yes, I am not the only politically incorrect yogi in my town.) The winning costume, in my humble opinion? Me. As in: a student who came as me. Drew the tattoos on and all. Fucking awesome.
A fair number of students came sans costume, but certainly appreciated the festive atmosphere. We also had not one but two newbies. Oops. What a day for your first class!
My co-worker (employee?!) wore a toga-like outfit and presented himself as the untrained mind. He created a Bikram-style throne at the front of the room, and had fruit and juice on ice surrounding the throne during class. He basically tried to create as many distractions for us as we practiced. At first I felt it was a little too goofy, but I eased up a bit. Fun, laughter and humor should also be part of our practice. Besides, it seemed my regulars were enjoying themselves.
Everyone left the room elated, joyous. My risk definitely came up a winner.
I decided to take a bit of a risk today. I had announced that this morning's class would be a costume party class. I thought it would be fun, somewhat light-hearted and markedly different than what many students have come to expect from our studio. I canceled the afternoon class to allow folks to attend the town's Halloween parade if they so desired, and to get their kids ready for trick or treating. (That was a concern for some of my parents, so I took it seriously.)
People responded rather well to the idea of a Halloween costume class. Some chuckled at the idea of practicing Bikram yoga in a costume, but we always suggested simple ideas and played up the fun aspect of the class. Folks definitely got to talking, though, so I felt good about the idea.
I found some cat ears and a matching tail, wore all black and essentially looked like a lost member of Josie and the Pussycats. Another student also wore cat attire, though she took the leopard-print leap. We had a very charming devil, a ballerina, a hula girl, and a princess. One of our stronger students wore brown and pinned fallen leaves to her clothes and into her hair. Totally awesome. Another wore a totally mismatched outfit, messed up her hair and called herself "Pippi Longstockings with Alzheimer's." (Yes, I am not the only politically incorrect yogi in my town.) The winning costume, in my humble opinion? Me. As in: a student who came as me. Drew the tattoos on and all. Fucking awesome.
A fair number of students came sans costume, but certainly appreciated the festive atmosphere. We also had not one but two newbies. Oops. What a day for your first class!
My co-worker (employee?!) wore a toga-like outfit and presented himself as the untrained mind. He created a Bikram-style throne at the front of the room, and had fruit and juice on ice surrounding the throne during class. He basically tried to create as many distractions for us as we practiced. At first I felt it was a little too goofy, but I eased up a bit. Fun, laughter and humor should also be part of our practice. Besides, it seemed my regulars were enjoying themselves.
Everyone left the room elated, joyous. My risk definitely came up a winner.
Monday, October 27, 2008
living among the crazy honkies
So maybe this blog won't focus so much on the day-to-day minutiae of teaching yoga classes. Some classes inspire an urge to write and share and record, good or bad. And some classes are just there. What doesn't change is the discomfort (for lack of a better word) I often feel as I transition into the yoga community at large, and perhaps the greater community known as my new hometown.
It's fuckin' easy to be a scumbag and work in the bicycle industry. You can wear the same hat all year, go days wearing the same pair of pants, have all sorts of ridiculous tattoos, avoid worrying about how much you drink (booze, coffee or both), swear at your leisure... and very few people will pay you any mind. Sure, some bike shops insist on a more "professional" demeanor, but more often than not they'll ask that of their sales staff and let the mechanics get away with a bit more. Hence my lack of resume in the sales arena.
It is also easier to foam at the mouth about politics in general in the bike world. Not always easy, but certainly easier than doing the same in the yoga world. It is quite possible to find kinship with other cyclists about issues of justice and environmental concerns. For some it's part of the equation: caring about the planet equals riding your bike.
Try to do some of this at a yoga studio, however, and you may be met with blank stares or outright hostility.
My better half made a valid point as we discussed recent events. He suggested that some folks consider their yoga class as an escape from the troubles in their world. So perhaps they'd prefer a space devoid of politicking. Fair enough, I say. What I don't think is fair is the assumption that we all agree about the world, and that we all agree that if everyone would just meditate and get all spiritual we'd be okay.
I may practice yoga and meditate, but I am a ridiculously pragmatic person. If something is broken, I want it fixed. I worry about the repair before I worry about why it's broken or who might have broken it. If the bed needs to be made, I make it. If dishes are dirty, I wash 'em. Get the picture? So if I know people are hungry, I ain't gonna wonder what forces made 'em hungry. I'm gonna feed 'em. If I see someone being mistreated, I'm not gonna try to "dialogue" with their superior. I'm gonna want that person to back the fuck off.
And if people aren't working and things just aren't going as we hope, I ain't gonna chalk it up to Kali Yuga and call it a day.* How the fuck does that help anyone? Yet I work with and teach and, in some cases, totally adore people who feel completely comfortable doing such a thing.
Many people have mentioned that the town where I now live is "a place of healing." It is for this reason that many people do not feel compelled to get involved on a civic level, because they are not here to connect with people and create a vibrant working community. They are here to heal themselves. With bodywork and acupuncture and crystals and mineral baths and some good things and some more quackery. People want to write love poems to "Mother Earth" as opposed to collecting trash from the side of the road. They want to create prayer circles instead of engaging civic leaders and politicians about injustice. To them, it totally makes sense that we're living in a time of vice and the world moves through cyclical patterns which means we just have to sit this vice time out. Without doing anything to alleviate anyone else's suffering. 'Cause y'know, man, that's like working against the gods. Man.
I can be okay with people stepping back for a spell to take care of themselves, especially if they're in ill health. We're no good to anyone else if we can't take care of ourselves and work from a place of good health. I only hope once these folks "heal" they'll feel compelled to bring that healing to others. But I don't see signs of that, at all.
What is it about yoga that attracts these selfish people? That's what they are to me: selfish. They want peace of mind and contentment for themselves, but they refuse to work to bring that to others. I know not every person practicing yoga acts from this selfish place. It's just that this is all I see right now. I find it reprehensible, and I don't know what to do to counteract it.
* Folks, this seriously came up in conversation. I am not making it up.
It's fuckin' easy to be a scumbag and work in the bicycle industry. You can wear the same hat all year, go days wearing the same pair of pants, have all sorts of ridiculous tattoos, avoid worrying about how much you drink (booze, coffee or both), swear at your leisure... and very few people will pay you any mind. Sure, some bike shops insist on a more "professional" demeanor, but more often than not they'll ask that of their sales staff and let the mechanics get away with a bit more. Hence my lack of resume in the sales arena.
It is also easier to foam at the mouth about politics in general in the bike world. Not always easy, but certainly easier than doing the same in the yoga world. It is quite possible to find kinship with other cyclists about issues of justice and environmental concerns. For some it's part of the equation: caring about the planet equals riding your bike.
Try to do some of this at a yoga studio, however, and you may be met with blank stares or outright hostility.
My better half made a valid point as we discussed recent events. He suggested that some folks consider their yoga class as an escape from the troubles in their world. So perhaps they'd prefer a space devoid of politicking. Fair enough, I say. What I don't think is fair is the assumption that we all agree about the world, and that we all agree that if everyone would just meditate and get all spiritual we'd be okay.
I may practice yoga and meditate, but I am a ridiculously pragmatic person. If something is broken, I want it fixed. I worry about the repair before I worry about why it's broken or who might have broken it. If the bed needs to be made, I make it. If dishes are dirty, I wash 'em. Get the picture? So if I know people are hungry, I ain't gonna wonder what forces made 'em hungry. I'm gonna feed 'em. If I see someone being mistreated, I'm not gonna try to "dialogue" with their superior. I'm gonna want that person to back the fuck off.
And if people aren't working and things just aren't going as we hope, I ain't gonna chalk it up to Kali Yuga and call it a day.* How the fuck does that help anyone? Yet I work with and teach and, in some cases, totally adore people who feel completely comfortable doing such a thing.
Many people have mentioned that the town where I now live is "a place of healing." It is for this reason that many people do not feel compelled to get involved on a civic level, because they are not here to connect with people and create a vibrant working community. They are here to heal themselves. With bodywork and acupuncture and crystals and mineral baths and some good things and some more quackery. People want to write love poems to "Mother Earth" as opposed to collecting trash from the side of the road. They want to create prayer circles instead of engaging civic leaders and politicians about injustice. To them, it totally makes sense that we're living in a time of vice and the world moves through cyclical patterns which means we just have to sit this vice time out. Without doing anything to alleviate anyone else's suffering. 'Cause y'know, man, that's like working against the gods. Man.
I can be okay with people stepping back for a spell to take care of themselves, especially if they're in ill health. We're no good to anyone else if we can't take care of ourselves and work from a place of good health. I only hope once these folks "heal" they'll feel compelled to bring that healing to others. But I don't see signs of that, at all.
What is it about yoga that attracts these selfish people? That's what they are to me: selfish. They want peace of mind and contentment for themselves, but they refuse to work to bring that to others. I know not every person practicing yoga acts from this selfish place. It's just that this is all I see right now. I find it reprehensible, and I don't know what to do to counteract it.
* Folks, this seriously came up in conversation. I am not making it up.
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