Lately I’ve begun practicing yoga. And I think practicing is a good word for it because no one would want to watch that.
But I do like it in a bending-my-body-in-weird-directions-like-a-little-kid kind of way. It makes the rest of my day sitting on my butt go a little easier, mainly because I don’t feel like a giant lump of skin and fat during those eight hours. It also cures the calf cramps I get when I wear office heels too long.
So in the mornings, I turn on the TV and bend and stretch in tune with three perfectly toned women I think think of as The Yoga Posse. These are women who smile inanely as they move through a series of yoga movements.
Here I should speficy that I don’t necessarily do the movements “in tune with” them. I more try to imitate and occasionally fall over trying to balance on one foot. Recently the Yoga Posse popped up into a pose where they balance on their heads and hands while resting their knees against their arms. I tried to bound effortlessly into the pose but instead wound up bouncing up and down trying to get into the head stand. As I continued gyrating back and forth like a malfunctioning electric rocking chair, I realized how un-zen I probably looked.
And then the Yoga Voice told me to find my balance in the universe and to “allow it to feel new.” And I remembered that sometimes zen is really just bull.
But then again, that’s comforting to a lot of people too.