My Adventures in Iyengar Yoga

There is No HATE like YOGA HATE

We are all in this alone.

— Lily Tomlin

Okay, I am desperate. I can’t believe I have found my way to a blogging site but that’s where I am on this Friday evening. I have been frustrated by narratives being controlled on social media. I am sick of the righteousness, viciousness, and greed of yoga communities. I want to get my voice out there so maybe, just maybe, someone will look for another side to the story. I have no idea of the life span of a blog, but maybe in a decade when things settle down, some researcher will find my blog and unearth some truth and another side to the story.

My yoga adventure started unceremoniously in the year 2000. There was a yoga studio down the street from my house. I was in great emotional pain because I was in an unhealthy relationship and needed to find my way out of it. I ran four miles a day but that wasn’t even making a dent in my overcast outlook. So I wandered into the yoga studio. I think if the studio hadn’t been down the street from my house I would have likely never have started the practice.

Anyway, I found the courage to go to a class. I think the hardest yoga class is the first because it takes a lot of courage to step through that door of judgement (perceived or real) The studio looked like a crazy torture chamber with ropes and tresslers and all kinds of weird shaped wooden accutrements. The teacher was a beautiful, petite and buxom flexible “doll”. I mean she bent like some sort of gumby doll. I will never forget how she had us sitting in dandasana (staff pose) and told us to spread our toes. My toes were aliens to me. I willed them to spread, but I had no intelligence in my toes. The teacher quickly pointed out I did not have intelligence in a lot of places. I felt somewhat embarrassed about my lack of flexibility and “intelligence”, but I kept going to class because I liked the challenge and the way I felt after class. It seemed for a nano second my mind would be at peace. I came to find out eventually, the yoga I was being taught was called Iyengar Yoga. When I told one of my male friends about my budding interest in yoga he said, “There is not hate like yoga hate.” I laughed at the time but I never forgot his words. It’s a paradox.

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