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Buddha Says

Last night I suited up in comfy pants, a tank top, and a sweatshirt and headed off to yoga. I had been looking forward to my little yoga class all week and I couldn't really understand why. Sure, it was a workout and a break from the norm, but it's not as though it was of the highest level serious Kundalini yoga classes that divide and conquer the spiritual realm-after all, the instructor kicked off last week's session talking about the chocolate cake and chili con carne she'd eaten over the weekend. Not exactly spiritual stuff.

I go to the class and roll out my mat, taking my shoes off and sinking comfortably onto its bumpy plastic surface. The instructor comes in and smiles at me. "You were here last week, yes?" she asks.

"Yes." I reply simply.

Buddha says: In yoga, one must practice simplicity.

"Ohmigosh, I am so terribly sorry! I have completely forgotten your name! It's what happens when one grows older. I swear I would forget my head if it wasn't tied onto my neck." Simplicity not needed in instructor-types, apparently.

"Helen." I say, trying to guide her back down the path of supreme spirituality in efficiency of words.

"That's right. Of course. I have a 14 year-old niece named Helen. Durr. This weekend I gave her a chocolate Easter egg and she ate the whole thing in one sitting! I'm trying to convince her to come to yoga but I think she thinks it's uncool." Hmm. Her spiritual sensors must be off, as I was so broadcasting the "simplicity of words" thing.

Buddha says: Some donkeys cannot be led to water. In which case, better to either give up or drug and drown them in nearest stream.

We kick it off and a late arrival comes in, a man with the same name as my dear boy. He had his mat next to me last time and told me a few times how to move my hips, which I usually ask a man buys me a drink before doing. He smiles at me from across the room as if to say: Hello, oh wandering yoga dilettante.

The instructor smiles and tells us she will show us the position we will work towards today. She looks at me. "This isn't something I'd usually recommend for a second-timer, Helen, but I think you're able to give it a go."

Buddha says: Sensei is omnipotent when it comes to identifying Gumby-type people. And she should lay off the cabbage.

She stands up and shows us what position we are working towards, and, stunningly, I recognize it from a movie. Being a complete and utter movie dork, one of my favorite holiday movies is Scrooged ("Oh look! A TOASTER!"). In two scenes, Bill Murray demonstrates a position where he looks like sweet peas going haywire up a trellis, and this is the exact position we are headed for today.

Cooooool.

So we do lots of warming-up bendy type things, always supposedly concentrating on our breathing, to the point where I wonder if I am hyper-ventilating. I feel almost like I can split barn roofs with my hands, which leads me to believe I am suffering from weird hallucinations brought on by too much oxygen. I don't normally breathe that much. And if I do, I certainly don't pay attention to it.

Buddha says: Air much better than alcohol. Easier to carry it in a six-pack, too.

Then we are asked to get in a weird crab-like shape and move our pelvises backwards and forwards on the mat. This strikes me as weird. I don't normally rub my pelvis up and down a mat unless it somehow is related to foreplay, but, ok. If we can do Group Farts, we can do Group Foreplay. The pelvis gets moved and I wonder why everyone looks so serene when I have images of Angus handcuffed to the bed and covered with whipped cream.

Better slow down on the pelvic rubbing.

Buddha says: Abstinence sucks. Trust me.

Then we move into a crow-like position but when we swing forward, the instructor says, we have to roar. Caught halfway between trying to figure out if my legs really are hip-width apart or if I am being really uncharitable to myself, I look up. What? Roar? What?

The instructor smiles. "That's right. We're going to roar as we come up, heads up, shoulders relaxed, on the exhale. It releases the tension in the body and nurtures our inner soul."

She really does say that, and the room, full of conservative English-folk that have probably never roared in their life, look apprehensive. I don't blame them. I have never roared either. I mean, I do a killer screaming chimpanzee shtick, but only when I'm trying to turn on Angus. The instructor demonstrates the move again, lifting her head and-I swear to God-roaring like a demented tiger as she comes up. The rest of the class, looking reserved, gets ready, as do I. But when we come up they roar and I don't.

I am absolutely not roaring.

No fucking way.

Buddha says: The one with pride is-

Fuck off, Buddha. I'm not roaring.

Buddha grumbles and goes to rearrange incense.

When we finally come to the windy sweet pea bit, I am well-loosened, so much so that I wonder if my arms are coming out of their sockets. We start by winding one leg all the way around the other and hooking the foot behind the calf. Angus 2 has a terrible time with it. The instructor tells him that women generally find that position easier than the men.

"Ah yes." Angus 2 says. "It must help with child-bearing hips."

Bite me, zen-boy.

Then we wind up twisting our arms around each other and, while still standing on one leg with the other wrapped around it, arch the elbows up to the ceiling and then lean down. The instructor tells Angus 2 that this is also a position easier for women, and while I wait for a petty comeback, it's nothing doing from his end as he's seriously assed off he can't do the position. I just manage to do the position if I turn around and don't look at anyone else in the room, but it's a ridiculously difficult position and there's all kinds of wobbling. I hear Angus 2 whining and falling all over his mat. He just can't do it.

Buddha says: Child-bearing hips, mate. How about them apples?

By the end of the class I feel great. We have to wind down while sitting cross-legged with our thumb and first finger making that stereotypical "O". She makes us imagine a tree and I start to get restless behind my eyes after 10 minutes of it. I got it. My tree and I are one with the Mother Nature and we're all holding hands and skipping to a garage-funk version of Om Shanti. Now end this or else I am seconds from falling asleep.

I go home and demonstrate my new positions to Angus, who again flatly states that yoga is not for him.

And in the meantime....

Buddha says: Happy Birthday, Helen. And better up the eye wrinkle cream usage, babe.

Have a good weekend.

-H.

PS-Red explains the origins of April Fool's Day. I tried to comment on it but got rejected as a spammer, and I didn't even use "viagra" or "online poker" in the comments! But it's ok. I've been called worse.

PPS- Jim, one of the greatest men in the world of blogging and bovine perversion, bought me a fantastic present. I absolutely adore it. He bought me www.everydaystranger.net. I have my own .net and I just love it. :)

Posted by Everydaystranger at April 1, 2005 08:13 AM .

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