Posturing for Inner Peace

I sprint three blocks, knock panting at 8 A.M. sharp, and Lindsey opens the door. I've wasted my breath, this is clearly a guy for whom tardiness is not a problem. He's got white hair past his ears, John Lennon glasses, a kind of intellectual, hip look—Andy Warhol without the gender confusion. Thankfully, there's no trace of crystal on his person, no incense, no books on goddess worship. Hold it, is this guy really into yoga?

The plan is that I will be striking poses, or asanas as they are called in Sanskrit, from 8 A.M. to 10 A.M. for the next 10 days. There are about 100 of these poses or postures, some done while standing, others while sitting, and the rest, upside down. Lindsey thumbs through a book showing pictures of the people doing the postures, while telling me a little yoga history. But I'm distracted by the pages of people contorting their bodies like circus performers. This I know: My body will not bend in these ways. I cannot even touch my toes, for Chrissakes.

He tells me yoga originated in India as part of the Hindu religion and was written up by a guy named Patanjali in the bible of yoga, the Yoga Sutras, some 2,000 years ago. (I guess that predates the New Age Movement, right?) But yoga had been practiced long before Patanjali wrote it down. The actual word means yoke; it's a metaphor for yoking the body to the mind, a kind of unification of body and soul. Lindsey says the principles of yoga—meditation, ethical conduct, physical exercise and breathing—are all directed at perceiving and integrating the different aspects of one's consciousness into a whole. So yoga synthesizes the material self, our bodies, with the emotional self, our feelings, and the intellectual self, our thoughts. And then it takes our integrated selves and links us to the collective consciousness, the cosmos. Connection with the cosmos? Someone please tell me the connection between wrapping your leg around your neck and the cosmos.

He lays the book down and does a shoulder stand. He is upside down, literally standing on his shoulders, with his neck at a 90 degree angle to his body. Is this what I'm working up to, I ask? No, I was supposed to do it right then. I lie on my back, swing my legs into the air, brace my back with my arms and elbows and bang, I'm up. Lindsey keeps yanking my legs even higher into the air. This is hard work—my arms are straining against the weight of my body. But Lindsey is clearly psyched. Apparently I have potential.

I look at my watch: Two hours down. Nine days left to connect with the cosmos.

Claire arrived at my apartment already dressed in shorts and kind of running on the spot. She was thoroughly gripped with the sort of tension that sets into creative people under pressure. I immediately liked her for it and felt relieved. She just might be willing to experience yoga teaching for 10 days at an intensity that would give her more than a superficial understanding of the subject—something more than health and beauty. I told her she must have been Florence Nightingale in a past life to have earned the good fortune to land a job where she actually got paid to have me, a fellow sufferer, teach her yoga. She laughed easily.

She wanted to talk yoga, but I kept the discussion short, avoiding esoterica. Yoga is a practical subject. It gives ethical guidance, improves physical and psychological health, and is a tool for spiritual development. That spiritual development starts with a desire for happiness and harmony. Essential to achieving this is being good to yourself, friendly to others, and strengthening the ability to direct your attention where you want it. Feeling good is an important indication that you're headed in the right direction.

I want Claire to do yoga and feel it rather than think about it. There was a lot to cover.

Today we begin in earnest. I am geared up and confident that I can beat this thing called yoga. After all, I can run seven miles—in a row.

First we just stand there, perfectly balanced, with arms at our sides. This is called the mountain posture. Then he brings his hands to his chest and jumps gracefully into the triangle posture. His feet are four and a half feet apart and turned sideways, his knees are locked stiffly, his right hand is on his right ankle and his left hand is straight in the air. I follow self-consciously. I can't reach my ankle for the life of me, so I settle for my knee. Why is this so painful? I'm just standing, aren't I? And it's so effortless for him. Looking like a lunging Boy Wonder, minus the tights and mask, he tells me my knees aren't locked hard enough, my back is hunched over, and my arms are too bent.