On Yoga
Struggling with chronic back pain, almost a year ago, I signed up for a yoga class in the canal.
For the past year, I’ve lived (more like survived) all different kinds of physical afflictions. all the way from my feet to my neck, I was in constant pain. In June last year, I went to 4 different specialists (several times) to figure out what was wrong with me (plot twist: the problem was not what seem to be the problem. It never is). So, after months of taking pills, seeing different doctors, and going weekly to the chiropractor, I finally decided to, as the receptionist put it, “try this yoga thing”. You know I’ve never been much of a joiner, or a group player (joined only once a gym under strict recommendation from my parents when I was young) so “exercising” with a lot of people in a closed room was already set up to be one of a kind experience for me. I was a runner (and you will always be a runner, even after you stop running; if you are not sure, ask your knees).
So I joined a class on a random day in the summer of last year. I spare you the physical inconveniences, alien language, chanting, and confusion between left and right. I will tell you though, that it was not unlike running… except for everything.
First of all, there was something so soothing about the place. The dim lights, and the soft music playing in the background. For me though, it was the walking barefoot that did it. The clear instructions (I guess like that scene from Fleabag and the Father, I just wanted someone to tell me what to do), the promise that everything will be all right if you just breathe. One breath at a time. It was the definition of longing in a place. There was also the fact that despite the clumsiness of your movements there was so much dignity to be felt on top of that (sweaty) mat.
Even in that first class, I knew that what was happening in that room was definitely something I have only experienced in solitude.
And you know, ever from that first practice, I’ve tried to tell people what I’ve felt: the connection, with myself and all these random strangers breathing loudly and sweating profoundly, the joy, the frustration, the peace. But, almost like poetry, the whole experience seemed to have a divine quality. There was something that rendered it almost sublime. Impossible to talk about.
I’m a romantic we both know that. But I’m also a social science bitch.
Cause, listen, the clothes these girls were wearing (I obviously also got my Lulus on sale because have you felt the fabric on them leggings??? They also fit like a glove, so don’t judge me… even though I am judging them), the price of the classes, the teachers, the whiteness and the maleness in yoga, was something I could definitely talk about.
So what did I do? I went and did a little research on the topic (instead of researching for my thesis naturally). And what I found was as beautiful and raw as well as synthetic and disappointing. And that’s fucking normal I guess.
The thing is that
As much as I was practicing (six times a week until this morning. Excuse me for being better than you). I was reading on the subject. I was (am) drunk on the experience. The sense of belonging, of community, the strength I felt (and feel) I was gaining. It felt life-changing, and it is. But it felt… how could I put it… problematic?
And it is. It turns out yoga is kind of a cult. I mean, a lot like a cult. cultish even. which is why you need to read “Cultish” by the genius Amanda Montell (more on that later).
So reading “The Politics of Yoga” by Farah Godrej, as you do, I worried I was becoming a Neoliberal yogi. The article, which I found a bit rad for my taste was as subtle as a gun (like Margaret):
“Contemporary postural yoga offers the modern consumer a dizzying variety of choice in terms of the possibilities for practice, while allowing her to construct her own identity in keeping with market logic and consumer culture (…) Like diet and exercise, postural practice becomes one more way in which neoliberal subjects can become governors of their own selves (…) More insidiously, yoga can function as a complete preoccupation, a choice which perpetuates the fallacy that one is doing something meaningful. In pursuing yoga, many may see themselves as making a lifestyle “choice” which seems to supply a seemingly benevolent ethical content. Practicioners of yoga may imagine that they have discovered a broadly palatable ethics that feels exotic and countercultural. But in actuality, this choice may function to displace politics, by pacifying the subject in a measure proportional to the extent of her preoccupation with deviating from the apparent default lifestyle choice. The larger the lifestyle “choice” looks, the more it may preclude her from having the energy to explore more radically democratic solutions. Yoga can become a visible outlet to soak up resources in a way that will not truly destabilize the dominant system, an elaborate preoccupation that absorbs the time and money which could be directed toward challenging political structures. It may provide the illusion that one is taking a drastic step away from the dominant system, while simultaneously consuming the resources and effort required to explore truly radical alternatives“
Ehm.
Harsh.
But, I mean, she does have a point.
And this bitch doesn’t even rant about cultural appropriation, colonization, and capitalism.
Yoga (or the one I used to practice) felt like an escape. An escape from myself, from the outside world, almost like books (and it is, don’t get me wrong) but it could be so easy to get lost in someone else’s world. And very hard to find a way out. As long as cult goes, it is not a shitty one. Still. it’s cultish.
And it is not yoga. At least not the one I want to practice.
As Susanna Barkataki, eloquently wrote in her book “Embrace Yoga’s Roots” what yoga offers us “is a pathway to know within ourselves the root cause of so many of these harms: separation. (…) when we mistake yoga for a workout routine, reduce it to physical fitness or even practice some of the deeper practices without an eye to the whole system of liberation it offers, we rob ourselves and each other of the potential of this practice….”
“In yoga there is no separation only connectedness”
And I believe that shit.
I recommend that you do not do like me, go read the Yoga Sutras and the Bhagavad Gita before buying 120 euros leggings (they’re expensive even on sale). There is more value in the books. And they’re cheaper and longer lasting.
These days I’m practicing Ashtanga. In Ashtanga, I found everything I’ve always identified with: order, discipline, repetition, effort, control and pain. And you know, as a virgo, its the only thing that gets me going. I told you I was better than you. Jk.
Ps. I found this totally random but very interesting article on “Plato and Yoga” by John Bussanich if you were thinking like me: in what do the Platonic dialogues resemble South Asian texts. You can find that in the book : “Universe and Inner Self in Early Indian and Early Greek Thought” or the article directly in Jstor.
Xoxo
Lena.
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Cada asana del sistema de Ashtanga Yoga contiene un punto de observación en el cual concentrarse.
Existen nueve dristis y cada uno tiene la finalidad de conducir la mirada hacia el interior, provocando a su vez la interiorización de los sentidos o Pratyahara. Los dristis son los siguientes:
Nasagrai (la punta de la nariz)
Angusta ma dyai (los pulgares)
Broomadhya (el tercer ojo o entrecejo)
Nabi chakra (el ombligo)
Urdhva (hacia el cielo)
Hastagrai (la mano)
Padhayoragrai (los dedos de los pies)
Parsva (lejos, hacia la izquierda)
Parsva (lejos, hacia la derecha)
Al utilizar la disciplina impuesta por los dristis, la mente se centra y los alumnos aprenden a mirar "hacia dentro". Así se inicia el desarrollo de la concentración (Dharana) y la meditación (Dhyana), las ramas sexta y séptima de Ashtanga.
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