Claire asked me to put yoga into a personal context; not so easy. Bobby and I have been together since 1964, brought up two sons, staked out careers and still managed to explore yoga thoroughly for the last 20 years. And in that time we've been to India a dozen times to train with our teacher, Iyengar, a yoga master.
So we've given yoga a road test and I made an enormous difference in the of our lives, practically and spiritually. Bobby is an artist/animator, a profession knee-deep in concentration that yoga has helped her hone. Making music videos, commercials, and documentaries also demands focus, but tolerance and calm as well—especially when working with the likes of Muhammad Ali, Mother Teresa, and Mikhail Gorbachev. Sometimes I flew first class on these ventures, sometimes I rode the bus, but all the time, I did yoga to smooth the journey.
I don't think life is a roller coaster designed by God to give everyone a hard time. It just looks that way when you are convulsed by terror. It is easy to forget yourself and what you can do. Yoga gives me that perspective. But it's a subjective art. Practice it for a while and explore nature, intelligence, consciousness, liberation, and yourself. And start with the standing poses.
Ticket To Ride
I left Lindsey's apartment for the last time this morning, with a sigh of relief and a sense of envy. Yoga, my ticket to inner peace, unencumbered by anxiety, has ratcheted up the stress factors in my life a few notches. You see I've rolled into work around 11 A.M. for two weeks now, so my work load has spun out of control. In fact, a stack of journals to read, stories to write, and copy to edit now teeter precariously on my desk. But before I can get to it each morning, I have to write about my yoga instruction, asking myself what I have achieved today, picking it apart analytically and self consciously. This is no way to treat yoga, I think to myself as I picture Lindsey doing a handstand at dawn, calm to the very marrow of his being on the 14th floor of a Manhattan apartment building.
Suddenly I become conscious of my office mates peering at me and my towering stack through the corners of their eyes, just waiting for me to crumble beneath my work load. But I haven't lost it yet. The stress is there, don't get me wrong. But instead of refilling my cup of black coffee and hyperventilating, I take slow, deep breaths and focus on my computer screen, which was terrifyingly blank just moments ago.
Tags:
action hero,
andy warhol,
bus ride,
californian,
circus performers,
coffee filters,
concentration,
fantasy life,
first bus,
gender confusion,
goddess worship,
hey kid,
inner peace,
john lennon glasses,
knuckles,
paper towel,
poses,
postures,
stress,
tardiness,
tension,
white hair,
Yoga,
yoga history,
yoga session
