Namaste, bitch

I like organic foods and natural fibers but I would never go so far as to classify myself as crunchy or hippie. Yes, I'm a hopeless tree hugger and would like to save all the sea mammals from nets and clubs, but it's the hippie look and smell I can't quite grasp. Plus, I have the kind of ankles that look so much better with a heel, flats just don't work for me. That said, I love yoga. Love, love, love it.

For a number of years I was singlemindedly a Bikram follower. For a number of reasons the simplicity and repetition of the classes soothed my soul. Plus, that co-dependent part of me always seeking the forever elusive perfection element struck a chord with me. Bikram's is slightly abusive in condescending way, sort of like a favorite family priest, I can fully identify with that.

Right now I don't have it in me to do Bikram's yoga. For one thing a 90 minute class requires a total of about 2 1/2 hours in terms of cleaning up from the sweat, etc and that sort of time isn't a luxury I have right now. So I've defected to a different yoga studio where the rooms are not heated to 105 degrees and the teachers are so sweet I sometimes think about giving them a lick just to see if they even taste like sugar, or in their case agave nectar. At this studio we get all sorts of accessories for every class: wooden blocks, straps, blankets, even lavender scented eye pillows. If we can't keep our balance we can use the walls for support. At the end of most classes the teacher goes around and gives us a little back rub. It's pretty much a 90 minute scoop of affirmation, not bad for those of us who incessantly seek approval.

So it's a lovely studio, beautiful environment, teachers with fabulously peaceful yoga names. But. Last night when I went to class there was a serene barefoot man on one side of the class playing some sort of funky guitar. I put my yoga mat down, got out the provided toys and sat down to get a grip when he started playing his music, it sounded something like this:  Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttaaayyyy.... Looking around I realized I was the only one who understood this guy was saying we needed to party. What the fuck? Really? Because I was there to find some inner peace, not throw back a shot and whoop it up. But no, music fellow was over there, eyes closed, and crooning crazy yoga words. Then he would mix his voice into his electronic thing and several of his voices would sing out: Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttttaaaayyyy....

I stifled a few giggles but got on with class until about an hour into it. Then groovy dude started getting a bit louder and on top of his other party bit he starting randomly tossing out in a breathless Dave Mathews voice: BREATHE. Or LET GO. Or my favorite: FLOW LOKE A RIVERRRRRR. ECHO LIKE THE MISSSSSSST. Some seriously funky shit. During the final cevasana and lavender eye pillow stint I couldn't help but let a few quiet giggles escape. After class we all bowed, said our namastes and then everybody else went over to thank groovy guitar dude. In complete seriousness they were all so touched by his bizarre musical contribution and he was equally giddy over our yoga poses.

I don't get it. Maybe I'm not evolved enough. I like to think my sense of humor is such that a grown man making up yoga words to electronic music merits a chuckle or two. Hopefully the rest of the students and teacher aren't on to me.