I went to a hatha yoga retreat last weekend with my mother. Since then, I've been asked about it by a number of people. I've tried dodging that question, because I'd like to do it justice, but also because a week later I'm still trying to figure it out. Here are my preliminary thoughts & impressions:
My mother invited me because she had always wanted to go, but wanted company. This particular retreat was so important to her because it would include a banquet celebrating the yoga teacher's 50th anniversary of teaching yoga. Think about that for a minute - it's a big deal. Though she won't give an exact number for how long she's been his student, I can triangulate that if my mother started taking his classes shortly after her wedding, and well before I was born, she's been going to this particular yoga class for 35-38 years. Thinking about that for a minute, that's a pretty impressive number, too.
Why did I go? Because I'm insatiably curious.
The questions I was asked most over the course of the weekend:
Q: How long have you been his student?
A: I'm not.
Q: Have you practiced yoga elsewhere?
A: [stammer]
Why the stammer?
Because there are a few things I absolutely knew going into this. I knew, for instance, that the teacher is a 'purist,' and disapproves of the novelty yoga that gets mass marketed these days (Mom: "You shouldn't do hot yoga. My yoga teacher says it's bad for the heart"). I knew that, for instance, where I go into a hot yoga class in fluorescent gear and as close to naked as decency allows, that just wouldn't fly here. I knew that vegetarianism and sobriety would be important to the spirit of the weekend (Mom: "My yoga teacher doesn't eat any meat at all"). I also knew that Mom wanted me to be discreet about some of my daily vices (Mom: "I hope you won't get too offended by anything he says about smokers"). I also knew that the teacher leans toward actual teaching - I have a few books on my shelf that Mom's given me over the years because "my yoga teacher recommended them." They are about love, communication, mindfulness, and diet, and yes, I've read them and made use of them. They are mostly Buddhist, and I expected to hear more of the same.
So, back to the stammer - Have I practiced yoga elsewhere? I have. It is not the pure and disciplined hatha yoga these people are talking about. It's hot yoga and power yoga, the kind of self-centered yoga that comes without any significant spiritual aspect but makes me flexible enough to survive flying over the handlebars of my mountain bike without killing myself (so far) at best, and lets me spend time in an over-heated room, which I love, at worst. I'm not oblivious to the more traditional spiritual aspect - I just don't look for it from a yoga instructor who got a teaching certificate in a handful of weekends after a year or two of practice.
The answers I gave most over the course of the weekend:
A: It's interesting.
A: I was curious.
(as it turns out, people don't like these answers)
Into the classroom.
I expected that the pace of the classes would be slower than what I was used to. It was, and I was okay with that, since it had been awhile since I've done anything active at all. It was reassuring to not be run through poses like a game of high octane Twister. What I did not expect was that a more conservative pace would be just as effective as a workout. Further, I was right about the gear: Not too bright, not too tight, not too white.
I expected there to be a certain degree of teaching. I did not know what the nature of the teaching would be.
To illustrate the contrast, in the course of a run-of-the-mill yoga class I can generally expect the following (in a pixie-esque cadence & timbre): "Thank yourself for making this time for yourself today;" "Thank yourself for all the energy you've created in the last hour;" "Feel all the weight of your day and all of your daily responsibilities drift off as you focus on your breath;" "Carry this light and energy with you out into the world"... and more of the same.
Not here (Thankfully!).
The teaching in these classes went along more "real-world" lines. Awareness is important (mindfulness). If you want to live a long, healthy life, you need to be serious about making choices that lead to a long, healthy life. Don't smoke. Don't eat irresponsibly. Take care of your body. Get exercise. If you don't do these things, you aren't going to enjoy a long, healthy life. Proper Relaxation. Proper exercise. Proper Breathing. Proper Diet. Positive thinking and meditation.
The practice was simple, straight out of the Sivananda prescription, no surprises, no shortness of breath, anyone could do this, and comfortably. The teacher intertwined his lecture with the poses seamlessly, and it definitely put a very cool vibe to the experience. I had never known yoga to be this holistic, but here in this room it made sense.
And then the class took a turn I hadn't expected: The teacher opened the floor to questions from the class. That was completely new to me. Who asks questions in the middle of a yoga class? As it turns out, everybody. Not about the practice, either, but real, personal questions: difficulties recovering from injuries, difficulties communicating with relatives, difficulties adjusting to life changes, difficulties with holding onto personal beliefs in the face of obstacles and adversity, difficulty with taking care of oneself when too much energy gets spent taking care of others, trouble adapting the precepts of the teaching. And there were practical, if brief, answers to each, like a balm. This wasn't just a yoga class - this was a community, looking for direction from the teacher, who gives full credit to his guru.
So I understand why so many people at the retreat, like my mother, are completely dedicated to their weekly yoga class and so devoted to their teacher. To get a quick overview, there were 100 participants at this retreat, mostly middle aged women (but most if not all of the advanced students there were men). The oldest was in her mid-80's, and has been this teacher's student for 44 years. There were 4 women there who had been 40+ year students. Very few in the room had been students for less than a decade. At the vegetarian banquet dinner, an anniversary "tribute" video was screened, wherein a whole slew of students told about what a huge difference this teacher has made in their lives. The most popular statement, apparently, was that he "taught them patience," and helped them through some of the scarier or more difficult times in their lives. The love these students have for their teacher is absolutely real. All I could really think about in hearing all these accounts was: this teacher knew my mother when my parents had no money. He knew my mother when she was having kids, when she was butting heads with her daughter, when her parents died, when she was fighting breast cancer, when she was retiring. In a sense, I was meeting someone my mother called a yoga teacher, but was more practically an older, wiser friend who came just short of therapist, in a room of a hundred people with a similar story. It was extremely touching.
BUT. There's this nagging asterisk poking the back of my mind. False Buddha? (Someone I used to know wrote a great song about this kind of thing.)
I don't think so. It would be easy to look at someone who has a lot of charisma, who appears wise (or at least, wise enough), who people flock to and throw money at for direction and advice, and begrudge the guy for 'preying on the impressionable' or something to that tune. Here's the thing: I think this teacher honestly believes every word he speaks. I believe he is exactly what he claims to be. His fees notwithstanding, he's delivering a message of peace and strength to people who desperately want to hear it. He's helping people who want the help. I have trouble begrudging that. I would've liked some of the discussion to be more philosophical rather than dogmatic, more 'here's what suffering is and why it's a problem', and less 'the keys to life are a, b, and c, but I can understand why it wasn't (I think the answer involves the term Vinaya).
I got plenty of opportunities to talk to some of his students over the course of the weekend, too. Has Nat finally drank the kool-aid? I woke up in the morning on the second day of the retreat and walked the resort in my sweatpants and insanely comfortable shoes on a ravenous hunt for coffee (I can hear Mom in my head, saying "My yoga teacher doesn't drink any coffee at all"). Finding it took awhile. At breakfast mom and I sat with a group of women who spoke at length about the difficulties of vegetarianism and how their families are keeping them from going vegan. They spoke at length about their careful, conscientious food choices, complete with the spiritual slogans that come with them, until someone (not me) mentioned that she just can't give up her half-glass of wine with dinner. And then everyone else at the table agreed. An incredible guilt crossed the brave faces at the table, like watching keeping-up-with-the-Joneses-on-Facebook play itself out in real life, and it kind of made me sad. I looked at all of them and declared, "this is my third cup of coffee this morning, and I'm not sorry. This coffee is delicious." They would have been within their rights, in my opinion, to throw bread at me at that, but what I got instead was the sincerest gratitude. And then came the flood of honesty - everyday fears, everyday difficulties and day to day stuff, and some element of comfort, some element of sorority and common ground in knowing that the problems that plague you in your solitude are the same as those that plague others. Real connection, real compassion. Ordinary people, trying to get from today to tomorrow, and all of them blushing as they tell each other they hear their teacher's voice in their heads whenever they're grocery shopping, cooking, or are presented with 'problematic' ideas.
The weekend wasn't all feel-good-ness, though. The teacher stressed, "this isn't a yoga party. It's a yoga retreat." Some things didn't sit entirely well with me. I don't care for dogma, and I found some of the teachings bordering on the passive aggressive. My guard goes up when I'm told what to do or how to think, rather than being shown the argument and told to work it out. The official answer to that, I believe, would be that my ego is designed to dissuade me from seeing uncomfortable truths, or that I'm simply not ready to take the path seriously, and there's probably a strong argument to be made for both. There was some talk of past lives, but I'm neither Hindu nor Buddhist, and taking this idea literally rather than conceptually isn't worked into any metaphysical cosmology I'd bet on right now. And in general, I found this was not a very warm place for objectivity. I should have expected that - I've come across the 'just start practicing, the details will come later' approach to Eastern principles before. That said, I can agree to disagree, and I did find it curious that I genuinely looked forward to the next lecture, the next class, genuinely wanted to hear the man speak.
Sunday evening came along, the retreat came to an end, and when Mom asked what I thought of it, I didn't want to tell her I found it bittersweet, so I said as little as I could. Give it a few days, I thought, get back into work and routine and dirty laundry, get some perspective, but closer to the mark would be that I lost my objectivity. It was insidious. Over the course of the week, I found myself craving ayurvedic cooking and doing backward bends and stretches in the elevators, breathing exercises in the car. I caught a hot yoga class several days later, and found myself annoyed that so much was missing. Creepiest of all, I found myself hearing the yoga teacher's voice in my head and feeling guilty when, tired, I ordered a pizza for dinner, or every time I lit a cigarette or (believe it!) poured my third cup of coffee in the morning or walked through a store. Do I find myself believing in everything presented to me? Certainly not enough to pray, but maybe enough to throw some money at it. That I was affected, despite myself, is something worth considering.
Is this style of hatha yoga for you? Maybe, but I can't stress enough how different it is from mainstream fitness-oriented yoga. It really depends on what you want from it, and each offers things the other doesn't deliver. You won't work up a crazy sweat or be told to "find your own flow," but you'll come out of it with much more than your usual yoga-buzz. In a society where religion is quickly becoming a dirty word, the masses scramble for the ideology with which to hypocritically replace it and social identity groups and sub-classes clamber over each other pressing us to stand up and be counted, you could do worse than with a more natural practice based in the relative simplicity of human experience and human nature.
...And those are my thoughts for now.
more details? the parts I left out? email:
enoughtopray@gmail.com
