I Just Found a Great Spot for Your Brutal Bitter Bitchin’ Yoga Studio -Rob Lindsay
My husband took a class with me about 20 years ago that he claims shamed his manhood and destroyed his ego and he enjoys invoking that where he can. Although he knows I have forever deflected every invitation to own a studio, he likes shopping for perfect spaces and making up absurd names, imagining wild décor. He’s got a real handle on the absurd. He runs into the house excited to tell me he just found a great spot for my “brutal bitter bitchin’ yoga studio.” He can barely get the words out cause he’s so thrilled with this thing he describes as a Quonset hut. My yoga life has been food for the grist and a goofy muse but it is a weak contender for his love of shocking politics.
He muttered his first words on this morning of 2012 about this being the last Sunday of morning news shows before the Iowa caucuses, then threw off the covers exclaiming: All they (Republican Party) can talk about is less government. That’s right! (Shouting from the bathroom), let the bastards dump mercury into our water!
What! What bastards? What water!
(This is the peaceful yoga hippy couple Sunday morning experience I enjoy while picturing friends in meditation before a granola daisy day and others hopeful in hard pews.)
He was talking about the by-product mercury that comes from burning coal in power plants. Mercury escapes into the air and gets into the water system while no one is paying attention. Apparently we enjoy breathing it too. The bastards he was referring to want government to get its nose out of their business and let them trash the earth as God intended.
His rant got me to wondering about recent blow ups over random yoga crap in the blogosphere which pretty much translates into the question of how can yoga practitioners think this way or that way. I couldn’t help rehashing my old party line that yoga hopefuls need restraints to become human contenders and we aren’t any different from any other human being. But who wants to be regulated? We don’t need that. We are good people who will do the right thing, right? I think I remember the religious right showing up big time about ten years ago saying that very thing. I have an opinion about how that worked out.
So here are your gun toting yogis and your right to life yogis and your Occupy yogis and your one percent yogis, your porn loving yogis, your Ron Paul yogis, your Obama yogis, your military yogis and your vegan yogis, your fancy pants wearing yogis and your Goodwill yogis. We have Puritanical value yogis and let it be yogis and bhakti yogis and it’s all about me yogis. We’ve got your laid back yogis and your type A yogis and your homeopathic yogis and your anti-depressant yogis, your lost soul yogis and your intellectual yogis.
It’s improbable that all these yoga class heroes have the same concept of peace, of fairness, of kindness. There is no single mind, there is no single path. There is competition for which path is best. There is negative campaigning and dirty fighting. It is not all love and light just because we do yoga.
You may have a decent yoga teacher who guides you toward self analysis but what if you see what Narcissus saw? What if you become comfortable with yourself but don’t notice or care if others are comfortable with you? Can you love yourself too much? Remember E.S.T.? Maybe you’re too young. Look it up.
But whether a yoga student has an education in theory, history and scripture or a teacher imparts those lessons in body, breath and focus, the yoga student gets it. There are rules. You won’t be fined if you break them but you’re there because you want those rules, aren’t you? It’s your playing field for “Do unto others ” which is in your DNA because you had parents and school teachers and maybe religion and you’re comfortable there.
Yoga has soaked the feet and coattails of disparate pilgrims with a common awareness. Humans need restraints and so do corporations, not because they are people but because they are run by people.
On this sunny blue sky New Year’s Day, the somewhat arbitrary mark of a new year, mandated by the Romans; a day of turning over the check register and closing out last year’s chicken scratches for the I.R.S., I make my own mark replacing my desk calendar, organizing my thoughts and plans toward world peace (kidding) and resolving nothing. And when it comes time to cast a vote for the country, my husband will be happy to know that even though I don’t like anyone telling me what to do, I will be voting for a monitor on the playground.