I had peered inside the side window when it was still surrounded by rusty scaffolding and rubbery orange construction cones. The floor was blanketed in a layer of thick dust and debris, but you could see its potential. One day those wooden floors would shine under bare feet and reflect the shadows of the bendy bodies that gracefully contorted themselves behind 15ft high panes of glass. I stood there imagining what it would look like, the room flooded with so much natural light and all that peaceful energy radiating from every warm body that filled it. Backs sitting up nice and straight. Legs crossed. Arms relaxed. Minds cleared. Hearts open. I could see them there now. I just couldn’t see myself among them.
Ever since my sister introduced me to yoga a few years ago, I’ve wanted to give it another try. Friends had been encouraging me to take an official class, but I was afraid of being the token straight guy in the class, the guy that’s viewed as a creeper. I know me. And I know I’m highly distracted by cute 20-something girls in form fitting yoga pants bending over infront of me. I didn’t want my eyes bouncing from mat to mat and my head filling with impure thoughts. I didn’t want my head filling with ANY thoughts! I didn’t want to feel anything. I was so sick of all my fucking feelings! Repressing my feelings. Exhausting my feelings. Too many emotions can turn a sane man crazy! I wanted to just be. To allow nothing else to exist in my head space for 60 solid minutes.
I decided that Ashtanga (Power Yoga) would be a good choice. It’s light on meditation, but heavy on developing strength and stamina - absolutely perfect for someone like me who would find long meditation periods both frustrating and boring. And surely Ashtanga would be beneficial in conjunction with my MMA training. So I signed up and waited for construction to finish and the doors to open.
I wander in nonchalantly like a stray off the streets and grab a spot towards the back of the class, hoping to fly under the radar unnoticed. I’m a lost soul that’s woefully out of place, but is looking to blend (should have worn camo). We are instructed to clear our head. Only 30 seconds into class and I’m already failing! I’m unable to still my mind. And like an untrained puppy, it starts wondering off. Of course I fully expected that to happen. While I may be physically strong, I’m mentally weak. My inquisitiveness is what brought me here. But that same inquisitiveness has caused a noisy conversation to sprout between my lobes.
I can’t keep focus. I start to question this Yogi standing before the class. A woman whose body is fueled by tofu and mineral water. She is a shapely figure modestly concealed under layers of earth toned colored hemp with only naked toes exposed. Cleaned faced and locks of strawberry blonde hair falling at freewill across high porcelain cheekbones. Although beautiful in her own right, she is not the kind of woman that I’m normally attracted to. Her happy, peaceful energy has drawn me in though. Not in a sexual way, she's more like a kindred spirit. I feel calm and comforted just in her presence. An aura surrounds her, if I can be so Zen-like in saying.
Then I notice she’s staring at me, or rather through me! She’s making a lot of eye-contact, almost as if she’s reading all the thoughts currently in my head and mentally scolding me for not clearing my mind as I was instructed to do earlier. That calm and comforting feeling I had quickly vanishes leaving me insecure and somewhat defensive. It’s the same uneasy feeling I had the day of my sister’s wedding when the priest directed nearly his entire sermon at me! Staring at me the whole time like I was some type of heathen child in need of spiritual guidance. This is exactly why I no longer go to church and this is exactly why I felt like packing up my yoga mat and leaving. Apparently I was transparent. And how dare they judge me!
I’m not one to quit and run from anything that makes me uncomfortable or feels too difficult to endure. I pride myself on being able to push through – mentally, physically, emotionally. Because I know that muscling through such adversity will only make me stronger and I will be a better person for it. So even if it hurts, it’s a good hurt. While the rest of the class was chanting some Sanskrit mantra, Radiohead’s song "Creep" was blasting on continuous repeat in my head, attempting to drown out the noise of all the other thoughts that were consuming me. But instead the lyrics only reinforced the internal dialog I was desperately fighting to silence...
"I don't care if it hurts. I wanna have control. I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul... But I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here."
Still, I stuck the 60 minutes out. I didn’t find the poses as challenging as the mental aspect of it was. Although for someone who normally has great balancing skills, I webbled and wobbled more than an egg! While standing on one leg, I nearly tumbled into the girl beside me! She caught me, but was unable to catch her giggle from escaping. "Head up and fix your eyes on one spot," she whispered tips to me and helped me re-root myself as a strong Maple as opposed to the Weeping Willow I had become. She seemed more sympathetic rather than judging. She seemed to understand. She put my mind back at ease. And my body shortly followed.
While I may never experience that brilliant blue light that supposedly shoots through your body during periods of deep meditation, I experience something nearly as odd. When I’m told to close my eyes, I see a kaleidoscope of images, similar to when you think you’re about to die. But instead of scenes from my life flashing before my eyes, I am presented with a highlight reel of emotions I’ve experienced over the years. They present themselves to me as tiny snapshots. Joy, sadness, rage, etc. Strong and sometimes graphic still images from periods in my life I either willingly forgot or never want to forget. Perhaps this is what the Yoga teacher saw when she stared into my eyes. Perhaps this is what that Priest saw as well.
And that’s what transparency is. It’s exposing every beautiful, ugly and misunderstood part of yourself. It’s nailing your soul to a wall without the wooden frame that boxes you in. A canvas painting for all to see. And judge. There’s always judging. But I’m learning to be ok with that.
Perhaps today, on my birthday, this is the best gift I can give myself.
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