A shocking chakra that was never found

There’s something about being very ill – the kind of illness that knocks you flat on your face, where you find yourself deep in the thick of it, just lying and moaning loudly and pathetically – that, upon finally seeing the light of day, provides a new-found and authentic appreciation of the little things. Having just come off of an illness like this myself (something known as the cruise ship virus), I found the luxuries of standing, eating and thinking to be silly indulgences. Which, as it turned out, were a real challenge to actually do, given the wasted state of my tiny body. So, when my neighbor suggested an easy yoga class Sunday morning, it really seemed like the perfect way to get back in the game.

That was the thought, at least. 

My skepticism was triggered at the second mention to our ‘third eye’ in the first five minutes of class. But this is good for your body and mind… keep going and try and stay open. We were told to set intentions at the onset of the class, and being an individual who is quick to judge and disregard, I set an intention for openness. Which, ideally, would carry through to other areas of my life.

We transitioned into another stretch, and the chanting began. I stiffed up. I’ll just breathe through this one. I don’t have to chant if I don’t want to. I’m not going to be this woman’s African puppet. Breathe. In. Out. In Out. No! You’re closing your mind. Damn it. I have to chant. Fine. 

“Fawwwwwwm. Oww Ummmm. Fa Oww Umm. FA. Oww Um.” I snuck one eye open, and stole a glance across the room, which was lined with mirrors. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but in a fuzzy kind of way, everything appeared to be in order. Everybody – including my equally skeptical roommate - was chanting. The teacher’s chants slowly became aggressive, and despite all the openness I tried to cram into my open heart, I began to become frightened. Eyes closed. I’ll just breathe again. My arms were positioned straight over my head, and they were losing blood flow quickly. They were still frail from my bout of cruel illness this week. I let them collapse to my sides, balancing them on my knees as I feigned the meditation pose we've all seen in Buddha dolls. Breathe in. Out. In. Ouuuuut.

Innnnn. Ouuuuut – past the visualizing of "the light in our souls creating a ring of fire, there to shine on everybody we encounter." Innnnn and Ouuuuut -  through the meditation on our backs which called for some kind of breath similar to snoring. In. Out. Into a self-slapping exercise meant to relieve anger that nests in the nooks and crannies of our bodies. We were instructed to visualize the anger, and release it from our bodies by slapping it out. Seriously. I started to picture the yoga teacher. She’s probably a nice enough person, but at the moment, she was the only source of anger I could envision. My legs felt too frail to be taking this kind of abuse. But I kept on. The crisp smacking noise echoed from wall to wall. I slapped my head. I slapped my butt. And I started having some fun. Finally.

The charade wrapped up with another breathing exercise, this one done by sticking your tongue out and taking sudden gasps in, then exhaling - tongue still out – through your nose.  We repeated this breath for two to three minutes until I decided I had reached my openness threshold. I closed my mouth and resumed my normal breathing, pleased to no longer be forced to pant like a dog while choking on my own spit. My mouth thanked me. My soul thanked me. My pride, and inner sense of pretentiousness thanked me.

Which led me to the little luxuries I found myself appreciating. Certainly, I learned to re-appreciate a few basic functions this week. But in that moment, the only glowing and firey emotion I found in my chakra, was a fresh gratitude for my own style of breathing.