Who Took My Yoga?

"The most important thing is always the least apparent.”

James Hillman

I didn't know when I walked into my first yoga class in 1968 at the age of 16 that yoga would become one of the guiding forces of my life. I only knew that when I came out of those classes I felt more alive than I'd ever felt, and that I wanted more. In a small loft studio in Boston, which held 10 people maximum, Carol

Yoga Journal 1977

Nelson (she still teaches today) guided us through classical Iyengar yoga. We held the poses a LONG time. There was no such thing as flow, or warm-up or cool down. We would practice a few poses, get some props, do some poses, put the props away and get a chair. And repeat.  The idea of putting music on would have been laughable. We wore baggy cotton yoga pants or tights and leotards. Men wore "yoga diapers," shorts with elastic around the legs. The shapes we made with our bodies were linear and strict and strongly defined. There was an order to things and the order seemed to have mystical importance. For me, it was a joy to rest into the structure of the teaching and the asanas, and feel my body as a body for the first time. In the burning and intense moments I spent in poses, something softened and unlocked inside me and it was extraordinary.

The world was in turmoil. It was the summer of love, but there was an ominous

undercurrent to things: Vietnam, the Manson/Tate murders, talk of revolution, the National Guard hosing and tear gassing demonstrators, Kent State, assassinations, riots. We were the generation who spoke of ending war and poverty, racism and inequality, and of fostering peace and love. It seems incredibly naive to me now, but I truly thought war was going to end before I hit my 30's.

My yoga practice was a place where I could rest into focus and joy: a quiet, holy feeling of connection and peace that I found nowhere else. Outside, the world might be burning, and I would be marching in demonstrations, full of passion and righteousness. But in the yoga room, my heart was always safe and could expand. Yoga practice accompanied me through career transitions, moves, and heartbreak.

One thing led to another, like a river over the rocks. War didn't end. I became a yoga teacher. My classes were small at first, 6 or 8 souls, and we were deeply mindful and serious in our practice. And then, I don't know, something

happened, I looked away for a second, and it seemed like overnight, suddenly,

yoga was everywhere, but it wasn't a yoga I recognized. It was on the cover of magazines, it was hot, it was fast, it was "core," it was "power," it was about losing weight, it was sexualized, it was all the things the over-culture had tried to foist on me when I was a young woman. It was being used to sell cars, and clothes, and energy bars. My yoga had been co-opted. It was true grief for me to see what I thought of as "my yoga" (but truly I never owned it, nor does anyone) distorted into an unrecognizable form.

This is where I got bitter for a while and judgmental about what yoga really is, as if I knew. I was also often just plain worried about my friends who went into ridiculously heated rooms and did the same movements over and over. (Repetitive stress syndrome, anyone?)

Then my little boat of reason righted itself once again and I came to remember that there are seasons of life (probably hot yoga is a better outlet for youthful aggression than getting drunk and driving fast), and that we hopefully each learn to know our tendencies and how to balance them.

So now, as yoga becomes a worldwide phenomenon, what I'm most devoted to is the hand to hand, heart to heart, soul to soul teaching and learning that can never be commodified, dumbed down, branded, glamorized, or taken away. I recommit to seeking and teaching yoga that is not about extremes, that is slower, body wise, intelligent, community honoring, and respectful, that is not aggressive, and is strong-hearted. Although I respect whatever yoga path anyone may choose, mine is sourced out of these values.

Peace.