Filtered Movement

That intimidating chair, those blank white walls, the rumbling air conditioner, the sacred box of tissues that has stared into many sad eyes before, the clock ticking (only 59 minutes left) and you find yourself in the therapy chair. You see it in movies with the “lunatic”, forced into an air of resistance, in the chair twiddling their thumbs and counting down the seconds until they can continue being “free”. Free to be, without a stranger staring into the depths of your shadows upon your first meet and greet. Why is it called therapy when I feel petrified like a little boy in the principal’s office for the first time? Let’s take a deep breath and re-envision what can first please the human senses, which are an integral aspect to opening our heartspace, and then manifest a space which can actually hold the energy and power to heal wounds, traumas and human conditioning. What if your therapist did not have to abide by some abbreviated law which enforces that they cannot share a glimpse into their own personal human experience to help further your growth? What if this relationship was more organic and less rooted in the victim and the fixer roles? We laugh immaturely at our ancestors “weird” sacrificial parties and ceremonies they created to celebrate Earth’s cycles which may seem pointless to the hustle and bustle western hubbed mindset. Yet, we are completely undermining their wisdom and divine love which ran through their blue veins and spread out onto the soil which their feet planted. They healed through storytelling, dance, nature, song, movement, writing and art which all cohesively permit people the divine right to own a volatile canvas to creatively express themself. In the undertones of this ever changing canvas is the freedom for people to improve psychologically and emotionally or let their negative counterparts flow out into the world. At least in the “weird” ancestral days those people knew that Mother Earth served as a sacred recycling bin that can handle all negative emotions so that human beings can return to their pure light of love. Similar to how the bounds of how the human mind cannot ever possibly be confined, defining art can never be rigidly outlined; so how can we evolve as a species to reintegrate art into our minds, bodies and spirits? How can we move our bodies artistically to portray our current state of our psyche in faith that we will have a cathartic release? Yoga! But wait, what has western culture done to this sacred practice?

Rushing home to the “Harmony” studio upon her last eyebrow wax, stripping away hair that society demands must not grow in those places on these types of women, she is headed to relieve stress at yoga. And workout of course, she’s been feeling a bit chunky lately. Johnny has been demanding her to cook that meat lasagne that he and the boys love but she is on the whole30 diet as of two days ago and cannot dare to restart, the neighborhood girls would think she is an utter coward if she couldn’t even rack up two days of willpower. Upon scurrying into the studio her tensions in her neck are building as she must make sure the babysitter is at the house tonight precisely at seven so that she can get into the city with Johnny on time. She’s been preparing for this party tonight for awhile but she ridiculously forgot to stop at Nelly’s to pick up the newest foundation, Susie said it really hides the forehead creases well. She needs to impress Johnny’s boss at the event. If Johnny can get a raise this year, they might actually be able to go to Ibiza for Christmas, not just classic old Italy. It’s about time, maybe then Johnny will finally check out that body she’s been spending hundreds on!

Finally, stepping into “Harmony”, her zen place! She sees Susie in the corner and gazes to see her newest pair of $200 yoga pants before meeting her barred eyes. Loud music and lots of women to compare herself to! She can even browse the sale section of the Nama’stay in bed tank tops before going into class! She approaches the big doors of the class painted with “let it all go”, and the Post Malone music in the classroom is getting louder. Her heart is palpitating back and forth heavily, her first bead of sweat forms on her forehead but it’s not detoxifying (rather her inner shadow parts are boiling inside). She must find a spot in the class, the worst moment if you are late to class. Oh no, holy heavens! Only the most prestigious front row is open, she cannot camp out amongst the basement dwellers who are still in weight watchers, still learning sun salutations, and not covered in Lululemon yet (the back row). It’s the Oxford to Appalachia. She hasn’t shaved her armpits in two days and she knows this teacher can sometimes go off the corporate structure of the class and get “creative” so now she is even more likely to mess up and feel mortified during her zen time.

She finally enters the sacred space of her yoga mat which has the depiction of the ancient goddess Durga, who removes misery and eliminates suffering, yet she has no idea, it was simply the best colors on the yoga website. The price tag of this yoga mat could feed a family for a year, but for now she has never locked eyes with those families. As long as the list for Whole Foods keeps adding up and the dinner parties don’t slow down, how could she ever catch a massage let alone a break to see the rest of the world? Especially now that she has to meal prep for whole30 in the mornings, she doesn’t have time to even breathe.

For now, zen time. Inhale atoms of fear, of materialism, of suburbia (the graveyard of American dreams). Exhale dollars spent on body image, the last posts of Facebook, and hope. Where is the peace of mind? She is going through the movements, but who is manipulating her body into these contortions? Is she really aligning herself with her highest self, is this movement really an expression of the truest nature of her being? Is she really saving a seat at the dinner table for all parts of herself (not just the pretty and expensive parts) including shame, guilt, anger, fear, peace, joy and compassion? When she is in wheel pose is she really setting the intention to open her heart unguarded to herself and the world around her with the utmost compassion and love or is she proving how flexible she is because she is in the front row? What is the energy of this room? Does anyone know...does Durga, the ancient goddess, even understand the complexities of mind, or lack thereof, in this white walled room now blasting John Mayer songs?

The piles of sweat are visible but where is the tears? Consumerism, commodification, appropriation, victimization...this yoga room is in desperate need of tears. Yoga in Sanskrit is defined as union, yet this is divorcing and lighting on fire the real spiritual significance of yoga. The women in this room continue on to get the last sculpting of their abs in before the final asanas. Savasana, also known as corpse pose, which is one of the most vital parts of the practice, has arrived. People are dead. They are not truly alive, the teacher looks across the room mourning the loss of their souls into the sheep herd, she wonders at the while walls if their souls will be reborn after this savasana, giving her last closing words to guide these zombies toward the sun, or is that a UV lamp?

She leaves class in a scurry to get the makeup at Nelly’s, a little less bloated at least. She stops quickly, leaving her Land Rover running in the Handicapped spot (cuz this town doesn’t have a lot of disabled apparently), at the “Best Juicery” (most overpriced single use plastics) to get that green wheatgrass after class. She is so present now! She can multitask now, drink her green juice, text Johnny to start getting ready and get the makeup!

That same puddle that laid on “Harmony” studio’s floor hours before is now surrounding her on the floor of the Four Seasons finest ballroom gala bathroom. This time she hears “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” through the pristine speakers. Somewhere past the red lipsticks, the orange Jaguars she dreams of, the yellow shawls, the green dollar bills and the blue diamonds is a real rainbow. A rainbow which she can dive into a pot that permits her to bask in authenticity, belonging, awareness and self-love. Between these sparkling four bathroom stall walls, she is staring the depths of her soul in the eyes, those eyes are sobbing, reaching out their fragile and shaking hands to be held. These are the most sacred tears she has had since she left her family to get married in suburbia ten years ago. Here in the Four Seasons bathroom floor, her movement is finally not an impression or a carbon copy of the zombies around her, rather her butterfly diaphragm slamming the tile floor is freely expressing its anguish and murmurs after years of suppression. This is divine. Durga is doing what she does best, grabbing this soul’s hand and dancing through the fires of the human condition along her side. This movement has no bounds and is pure art.

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I wrote this satire or calling out piece of fiction after leaving a yoga class abroad where I felt so lost in the sauce you could say. I wrote this piece feeling a sense of hopelessness and shame that I was in these spaces all the time. I love to go to vinyasas at studios, I love my drink my greens smoothies and I am an active participant. I do not condemn the wellness world. It is evolving in ways that ancient gurus never would have imagined, for better or for worse. However, as convenient as all of our one stop studios and wellness shops have become, we need to come back to the very reason we are there so that these spaces allow us to still have an individualized self love journey. My journey to an open heart is never going to look the same as my best friends because it is simply impossible, we have had different experiences and conditioning and the wellness world occasionally permits a one method cures all to market itself best. With this being said, enter the spaces of our hot yogas and juice bars and everything in between openly acknowledging your neighbor for showing up because we all know the journey feels more encouraging when we have people next to us doing the same hard work. These spaces are for gratitude toward all the gurus and teachers before us for lighting the way, for community, and for openness. We can never be reduced to our pair of leggings or the headstand we did not get that day, our inner light is the only essential. It is totally okay if you come out of vinyasa and want to cry or want to yell, it brings mud up when we go inwards, and this is the part that is left out most often I think. So my peeps, acknowledge and accept each other’s presences in these spaces and stay conscious so that we can continue to the truest essence of wellness: love.

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Onwards.