Yoga Jerk

"Who's the more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?"
Obi Wan Kenobi


I love many things.
I love big band swing.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=--ybdh8RFUE
I love banjos, mandolins, smooth dobro, John Duffy's tenor, and three part harmony.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wigjZ7ng_tc 
I love muscular women, dancing strong and fast on pointe.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXQSCa8gwx
I love my dog.

But I do not love him.

There are six billion people in the world, we need to get along.
If we can't love each other, we at least need to tolerate one another.
We need to be patient and understanding.
We need to honor social contracts, to be aware of, and adhere to, basic societal norms.
We need to follow the Golden Rule.

Still, he drives me crazy.

He came in late, as he often does.
He dropped his mat next to my head.
He rolled it out too close.
He ran it right up to that of the lovely young woman in front of him.
He dropped heavily to his knees and groaned loudly, announcing his arrival.

He is large, hairy, middle-aged, and though reasonably fit, he should not be wearing tiny shorts and nothing else.

Our teacher, MH, is a beautiful man.
His practice is strong and elegant.
His voice is smooth and calming; he uses it sparingly.
He encourages humility, to practice within one's ability and without ego.
He reminds us that child's pose is restorative and an invitation is not required.
We come to his class to learn, to practice, and with at least the hope, if not the expectation, of improvement.

MH is wasted on my scantily clad neighbor.

My neighbor lunges forward, slamming his foot between his hands, ignoring MH's gentle directives.
He refuses to take the less difficult variation, he is constantly off balance, sweating profusely and falling out repeatedly.
He ogles, he caves, he curls his spine when he should be offering his heart (what a wonderful phrase).
Yet he refuses all aid, no blocks, straps or blankets for him and MH has given up.

Standing bent over with hands on knees sucking wind is not a pose.

He brings out the worst in me, I am descending to his level.
I cannot help but get competitive, I want to grind him into his mat.
My half moon has never been better, strong through the heel and all four directions, he falls out, nearly lands on his ass.
MH takes us to Vasisthasana on the right side, MH invites us to go to tree, and to lift the left leg.  I do and hold it.  He tries, and falls loudly.  Oops, says MH, no shame in falling out.  We have become co-conspirators.

I love MH.

Time for pidgeon and I fear what is coming.
MH is going to keep us here for awhile, and that is good.
But my neighbor starts moaning, loudly.
He is hunched over, shoulders around his ears, sharing his reverie with the class.  There is this invisible bubble around him and I am in it.

He is a nuclear blast to my inner calm, this class is shot for me.

His incantations continue in shoulder stand.
We go to plow, and come back down, MH coaching, slowly, one vertebrae at a time.
He slams down and heaves loudly.
Time for Savasana, I do not stand a chance, I am tense, waiting for his loud sighs of contentment.
Salvation; he is stomping around me, rolling up his mat, running out, too busy for completion.
The whole room lightens in anticipation.  A final loud thwock by my right ear; his wet towel.  Fine, I got it buddy, just go.

We go through closing.  We bow, hands in prayer, and give thanks to whoever or whatever it is that we hold higher than ourselves.  Namaste.

I open my eyes and look at MH, he looks at me, winks and grins knowingly.
The lovely woman in front gives me a rueful smile while rolling up her mat.
I pick up his towel, and leave.  The group has extended a helping hand, forgiven my competitve impulse.
I will continue to work on tolerance, understanding, and forgiveness, and just plain letting go.

But if he gets near me again he is dust.