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Twist
This Mess Around
From
sissified gym-class dropout
to yoga monster
by
Alan Davidson
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“Downward
Facing Dog,” calls out Kay Wescott, my beloved
yoga teacher. Like a dog doing its lazy wake-up stretch,
she stands on all fours and stretches her front out
long, her body a sinuous upside-down V.
I
do my best to follow suit, spreading my fingers wide
and pressing my butt into the air (now you be respectful,
this is an ancient spiritual tradition). My spine is
elongated and I press my heels down toward the floor
to stretch out my hamstrings. I am breathing harder
now and the sweat begins to drip from my face and pool
between my hands. Breathe, I think. As part of my mind
calms with the meditative focus on the exertions of
my body, another, not-so-quiet voice at the back of
my mind whines “How long can this go on?”
“Crescent
Moon,” calls Kay. My mind is momentarily relieved
to let go of that Down Dog pose. I bring my right foot
between my hands into a “runner’s lunge,”
relax my left leg to the floor, pressing my hips forward,
then calmly bring my hands to my heart in prayer position
and breathe. All composed and perfect? As I'm ready,
I clasp my hands together and reach them toward the
ceiling, pressing my chest forward to gently arch my
back into the beautiful curve of a crescent moon. I
notice in the mirror that my beautiful moon is tilting
just a little. “Okay yoga-monsters, back into Down
Dog,” cheers Kay. And so it goes through the hour:
stretching, pressing, breathing, thrusting, holding,
focusing. Calm mind. Whining mind. Vain mind. Humble
mind.
We’ve
seen yoga. Sun Salutations on Good Morning America and
Rosie O’Donnell. According to the statistics, as
many as 12 million Americans do yoga. Forty per cent
of health and fitness centers offer hatha yoga. A recent
search on Amazon.com pulls up more than 1,350 yoga book
titles. And now Madonna. America is abuzz about yoga.
Celebrity
interest in yoga has definitely fueled the media hype.
During the ’70s Jeff Bridges, Ruth Buzzi, and Tom
Smothers posed for Bikram Choudhury’s yoga text.
In the ’80s Sting and David Duchovny became devotees
and Ali MacGraw released her own yoga video. During
the ’90s Julia Roberts said to In Style magazine
about her yoga regime, “I don’t want it to
change my life. Just my butt.”
And,
of course, in the ‘90s the one-time material girl
herself, Madonna, got serious about her daily yoga practice.
Her last recording, Ray of Light, was deeply inspired
by yoga teachings. She studied Sanskrit and chanting
for one of the songs. In The Next Best Thing, co-starring
openly gay dreamboat Rupert Everett, Madonna plays an
ashtanga yoga teacher (ashtanga is an advanced style
of yoga requiring more strength and endurance than the
better known hatha yoga). A chance to get paired with
Rupert—lord gracious, that’s more than enough
spiritual inspiration to take up a serious yoga practice.
But
aside from the hype and the heavy breathing, Westerners
find yoga one of the most accessible and profound of
the Eastern disciplines. Yoga translated from the Sanskrit
means “union” or to “yoke” together,
yoga’s goal being to “yoke” together
the body and the mind; the more spiritual, esoteric,
forms of yoga emphasize clearing the mind, calming the
spirit, and enhancing the body-mind connection. In India,
there are various limbs of the path that attract different
personalities and spiritual temperaments. These are
controlling the intellect (raja), mastering the body
(hatha), spiritual action (kriya), selfless action (karma),
heartfelt devotion (bhakti), knowledge or wisdom (jnana),
sexual ritual (tantra), sacred sounds (mantra), and
subtle energy or chakra (kundalini). Each limb, or school,
has centuries of sacred texts and teachers to draw from.
One’s relationship to one’s mind and one’s
body becomes a spiritual path.
1994
was the turning point in my relationship to my body.
The previous year had been a doozy. I watched as my
friend Michael Mosley’s body and life were ravaged
with the last stages of AIDS. The Enchanted Garden,
a business I co-owned, closed leaving me substantially
in debt and physically and emotionally exhausted. Being
one of those sissified and brainy kids in school, I
had hated gym class. In 35 years I had rarely exercised
my body. 1993 saw my muscles weaken, my breath shorten,
and my weight mushroom to 316 pounds. I decided that
drastic measures were needed.
I
enrolled at The Lomi School in northern California.
As a massage therapist, for years I had heard of Lomi
Work, a synthesis of rolfing, gestalt psychotherapy,
polarity energy work, meditation, aikido, and yoga.
Ann Lasater, one of my massage mentors, is a Lomi associate.
Her work and life demonstrated the profound effects
Lomi could have when applied with constant focus and
attention. When she told me that Robert Hall, one of
the school’s founders, was an openly gay man, I
knew I wanted this work. I know of so few gay men who
have committed their lives to spiritual transformation.
To attend, I traveled to San Francisco one weekend a
month for 11 months, plus went to a five-day residential
retreat over the summer.
The
first day of class began what would be our daily training
routine. One hour of sitting meditation followed by
an hour of yoga. As the 24 students were led through
a series of yoga postures that first morning, I was
the only one in the room who couldn’t do the poses.
I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, or in Texas
for that matter. Robert Hall, just turned 60 years old,
was radiant and amazingly flexible. I knew he had something
I desperately needed. That sissy-fied kid from grade
school decided to stick it out. Thus began my fascination
with a 5,000-year-old discipline.
Flash
forward, back to Kay’s yoga class. Kay is leading
us in The Crow, an advanced pose that challenges even
her. Me, I groan audibly in frustration. I just can’t
seem to get it. The idea is to crouch forward, balancing
your knees on your arms, and holding up your whole body
with your hands. Yes, I agree, it does not sound possible,
but I’m trying, shifting my weight forward and
teetering precariously on my hands and big toes. In
the perfect world I’d lift my feet into the air
and balance gracefully, gazing serenely into the mirrors
ahead. In reality I’m huffing and puffing and my
face is contorted with struggling. Kay encourages me
to be patient and to respect the gifts and limits of
my body this morning. She also reminds me that I’m
a big crow. I relax my frustration and vow that this
year I will master The Crow. The Chinese say it’s
the year of the Dragon. I say it’s the year of
the Crow!
It’s
the year 2000. My weight is down 35 pounds. Yoga has
become part of my three-part exercise program: aerobic,
strength, and flexibility. I walk, bike, and climb steps
for aerobics; I weight-train for strength; and practice
yoga for strength and flexibility. In these six years,
I have seen how yoga complements the body work I give
to clients and that I receive myself. The effects on
the muscles and connective tissues are dramatic. I know
my own posture is improved and I feel more graceful
as I move through space. Thanks to the yoga asanas,
or poses, I know I’m more flexible.
Flexibility
sounds relatively superficial—”Eh, so I can’t
touch my toes, what does it really matter?” But
it really reaches much deeper than that. The recent
Yoga Journal said about flexibility:
“Even
if you’re active, your body will dehydrate and
stiffen with age. By the time you become an adult, your
tissues have lost about 15 percent of their moisture
content, becoming less supple and more prone to injury.
This normal aging of tissue is distressingly similar
to the process that turns animal hides into leather.
Unless we stretch, we dry up and tan.”
Our
bodies are a living matrix of tissue, which connect
bones, muscles, tendons. Yoga helps keep these connective
tissues supple and vital. And since we know the mind
and the body are basically intertwined—remember
the “yoke”?—this yogic flexibility in
our deep-down tissues plays out in our monkey minds.
Robert Hall, my Lomi hero, teaches that the microscopic
level of connective tissue is where our thoughts and
our physical bodies come together. If thought patterns
are fearful and contracting, the connective tissues
will contract, which distorts the carriage of the skeleton.
If the thought patterns are open and expansive, the
connective tissue is fluid and flexible. The body remains
balanced and poised. Caroline Myss puts it this way,
“Your biography becomes your biology.”
“Are
you ready for that Corpse Pose?” Kay teases. “Lie
down on your back and do some long body stretches.”
I roll my head from side to side a few times to allow
it to find its natural resting place. I let my feet
splay out. I consciously scan and relax my body. This
is the reward after an intense hour of breathing and
stretching. As my body cools I’m aware of the peace
I feel. My mind is, finally, focused and calm. My emotions
are crisply on the surface of my awareness. My spirit
is grateful and soaring. Sure, I’m aware of other
tightnesses in my body. And yet I am pleased with the
progress I’ve made. Of who I am in this brief moment
of relaxation. Satisfied is the feeling that floats
across the still surface of my mind. And this is the
real reason I continue to practice yoga.
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