In the fall of 2000, I found myself living in a new neighborhood, with a tight budget, a smaller room to live in, and a body that was needing something gentle to help deal with stress. Having been taught from an early age that you only have one body and you only have your health to help you move forward through adversity, I plunked down a large chunk of change on a fitness membership at Sound Mind and Body Gym in Fremont, and because that was all I could afford, I took all the included classes that I could at that location, including a yoga class.
Curious about yoga for sometime but clearly uninitiated, I signed up for an early Saturday morning class. Images of relaxation, watching the boats float through the channel, and connecting with new people baited me into this weekend class instead of sleeping in or grabbing a croissant at a local bakery. I made it a point to wear my best fitness clothes, shower, and arrive a little early so I could figure out what all those props were for: straps, blocks, mat, rollers, bolsters, etc. I didn't want to look badly next to some mid-life ladies that I thought were sure to be in this class.
I had forgotten that yoga wasn't just for the ladies. Sure enough, about a quarter of that morning's class were men! No problem, I thought. We're not going to sweat much, everyone has their own mat, this is going to be easy cheesy peasy.
Wrong again. Half way through the class, the female instructor asks us to pair up with someone we don't know, and assist each other in a supported Downward Facing Dog (Ardha Mukhta Svanasana). A rather friendly middle aged man points at me, indicating that we should partner up. My smile is saying, "Sure!" but my brain is saying, "Wait! Isn't that the pose where your butt is in the air? And the teacher wants me to put my hands where?" Down my partner goes, down down down into Downward Facing Dog, and up up up goes his bottom, up into the air where I realize that there is a particular smell emitting from this friendly man. It is not so much the smell of underarm odor, but more like the smell of someone who has been freshly loved. Being that I was going through a time of not being freshly loved by anyone, I was assaulted not only with this scent, but also the reminder of my aloneness. And of course, I had to put my hands on his hips and pull backwards, to assist him to sit his weight further into his heels, which forced me to place the front of my body nearer to that rear end in the air.
After what seemed like an eternity, the instructor asked us to switch roles. I tried using the "I'm a beginner, I don't know what to do" excuse, but he wouldn't have it, and the next thing I know, I'm pressing my own bottom up up up into the air, and a pair of warm hands are pulling back on my hips to help me sit back into my heels. Suddenly I realized that the soreness in my upper body, particularly between my shoulder blades, stopped throbbing. I let go of the stiffness of being touched by a stranger, and surrendered into his counterbalance because he had demonstrated that he could be trusted (even though his scent of being freshly loved was still lingering). I let go of my self-consciousness, especially that part about appearances (it was trying to tell me that the tag from my underwear was probably slipping out the top of my exercise pants, but I told that voice to please shut up for a moment). And I looked around the world in my first inversion, and watched the largest cruise ship slip by the window, so close to the edges that I thought that parts of the ship would shatter it.
In that moment, I experienced the asana of yoga as that of being freshly loved.
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