Swampwater Debutante

Way back in 2007, I set foot in a proper yoga studio for the first time. It felt a lot like it was exactly the right thing for me to do, a feeling that has never abated no matter how sporadic my practice.

I worked at that yoga studio for a while, trading work for classes in order to lessen my bill. I loved it, but I was going through a bad, bad time – as you all know – and I couldn’t keep up with it. I had to stop. Which I both minded and didn’t mind – I missed yoga, and the studio, and Bill and Beth, but I hadn’t gotten everything I wanted out of yoga. More often than not I was distracted in class, bored with it, and just couldn’t get comfortable. I liked yoga itself, but this class wasn’t sitting well with me for whatever reason.

I went back to yoga later, with Kate, at our local gym. I never liked the classes, but couldn’t figure out why until I watched Kate one day: she was almost doing all of the asanas ahead of the instructor. That lady, a very nice lady, had not really changed up her class in a very long time. When I realized that, I quit going.

I tried yoga online, but those classes reminded me of the gym classes that had so annoyed me.

So no yoga, for a long time. It bugged me.

I meant to get a DVD, but didn’t want to spend money to find out it wasn’t what felt right for me. I knew I preferred something akin to Iyengar, that I didn’t like Ashtanga or Bikram. I didn’t care for the hippie woo-woo New Age music of some or the tribal flavors of others. I wasn’t going to make yoga a lifestyle. I wasn’t looking to it precisely for exercise.

I just wanted a personally fulfilling, semi-spiritual but mostly meditative yoga practice, a way to unwind at the end of the day. I believe in the healing and balancing properties of yoga at a physical level – I do believe that some asanas correct and aid digestion, that others correct your personal balance, that still others are there to instill discipline within you.

Idiotically, the concept of self guided practice eluded me for a long time. I think I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing, that there was no way I could teach myself.

So, that’s bull.

I took yoga classes for over a year, most of them with a well certified and trained teacher. Beth and Bill Webb both really know their stuff with yoga, and they’re pretty hands on. I learned a very great deal with them. When I thought of yoga, I thought of them, and I could recall nearly entire classes in my head. I did too know what I was doing, and I was well capable of guiding my own practice. I could do it myself, and pop into Beth’s classes for a refresher every once in a while.

Except that Beth has closed the studio, which breaks my heart. It hurts me that I never managed to go back and find the time to say hello, and help out a bit. I still have an old key to the studio on my ring, which serves to remind me of the happy times I did have there. And when I would look at it, when I do look at it, I remember that I miss yoga.

I do not know when I will find a studio to help me occasionally clean up my technique. But I do know that last night I got sick of my excuses and really needed to do some meditative stretching after work.

For some reason this week I’ve been listening to a lot of Sigur Rós. I found myself captivated and in a meditative state whenever I would listen to it – my mind became a blank slate, unconcerned with the doings of the day, simply resting. It occurred to me at some point that that was an ideal state for yoga. I liked the music – it was calming and there are no discernible lyrics as Sigur Rós sing in either Icelandic or a nonsense language that they made up. And the music itself has a certain precision that would, I thought, lend itself well to balancing my breathing.

Suddenly, I was eager to try applying my not inconsiderable yoga knowledge and the music of this Icelandic band to a new self guided practice. I bounced in my seat all night at work, impatient to get home. When I did, I instantly set up my working space, hooking my old iPod Bisley to a pair of speakers and putting on “Ágætis byrjun.” I stripped to a sports bra, yoga pants and wool socks, threw down a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter (I was having a sugar crash), waited for the shaking (sugar crash) to stop, and then I began.

It was completely fantastic.

I went through a 25 minute practice without once being bored or distracted. I had loathed sun salutations, but found my practice incomplete without them, so I threw a simplified one in and enjoyed it. Beth and Bill had adored a back and forth rolling maneuver for its ability to loosen up the back – I had hated it, but now I did it and it was great. I felt the benefit of it and gleefully rolled on the floor several times.

From the moment I had begun I found myself in the blank state of meditation, guiding myself through warm up to practice to cool down and savasana as if I had been in practice for many years. It was bliss. I never got distracted or annoyed. I simply flowed from one asana to the next, happily, smoothly.

I felt a joy in yoga that had not been present in a very long time. I found myself looking forward to my next practice. And of course, I slept deeply and dreamlessly, waking better rested than I had been in weeks.

It seems odd to combine Icelandic music with Eastern practices, but I think in the end the best yoga practice is a well-informed independent one, which means finding your peace and balance in whatever way works for you. For me, my best meditation comes not from traditional yoga oriented music, but apparently from Scandinavian trance pop. If that’s what it takes, then that is what I need to do.

Excuse me, I need to go turn up the heater and start preparing for my next session.