YOGA FOR KNUCKLEHEADS #28 "HUGGING & LOVING"
The other morning, just before Reggie started his class, a shapely, pixie-cute little lady around 35 or 40 who struck me as a former gymnastic performer, was approached by a taller lady who enfolded her in a long, very intimate hug, which was returned with the identical clenching emotion. This hug seemed to last forever, and appeared to be spurred by an extended absence of seeing each other as they chatted excitedly afterwards. At first, this hug was so filled with irrepressible love and joy that I felt they might be lovers, but then quickly realized that yoga participants, and especially the ladies, are ardent huggers, and in fact make it a point in most cases to hug every time they meet before yoga class, and indeed are so cuddly that a couple of the few men who attend also hug certain ladies, although these men never hug each other, no, that would not be appropriate at all, men hugging, though whenever several of my old basketball comrades drive up here from my old stomping grounds down south for a reunion involving a lot of boozing and serious blow-harding, we do hug upon greeting, very quickly, though, as it is an act most of us undoubtedly would have avoided at all costs when we grew up in the late '50s and '60s and hugs among men, and especially hardcore athletes, certainly meant you were weird and probably a homosexual, though nowadays if you do watch professional athletes they all hug like long-lost buddies—even opponents hug after games—and it is not uncommon these days to see many younger men embrace on the street upon greeting, though of course not with the force and affection displayed among women, no, no, no.
Samantha likes to talk about love equating very profoundly with yoga, and Reggie touches upon it from time to time, but not nearly as often as Samantha, which makes perfect sense, because again, women are more inclined to admit and show their love than men. I recall years back when I was a hard-ass that I mocked and derided and harassed all these fellow men my age from the so-called LOVE GENERATION, always gushing like zombies about brotherly/sisterly/worldly love, dude, a craze or fad I felt was a gimmick to attract or lure the ladies, who felt more confident and safe going to bed with a tender fellow than a scowling asshole who refused to hug anybody, and especially somebody he actually liked.
Little sayings in the restrooms and on bulletin boards at yoga studios stress the beauty and nourishment of love, possibly in its purest form, and I'm sure some aspects--if not all--of yoga inspire some sort of love, perhaps for oneself, but so far in over a year and a half, I still cannot find love in yoga, and feel it has not made me any more loving or lovable, though if one came off the street and had no idea of what yoga involved and entered our studio they would surely feel that both Reggie and Samantha are in love with life itself, and that at least half of the participants in yoga feel the same way, and that the participation of yoga inspired love of life and hugs for everybody, even new members unaware of the thriving love taking place in yoga studios all over the world...
...Though, when I visited my sister down south, and she took me to her yoga studio in a massive gym complex, there was no love whatsoever, just a bunch of strangers who didn't know each other throwing down mats and following the instructions of a fetching, supple female instructor who went by the book, with no warmth and not one word of love, no, not a single word, and I was shocked, and disappointed, as if this yoga session had merely been no more than physical exercises of a sort.
I guess that perhaps our small yoga studio in such a small town is definitely more intimate, and I confess I would never return to that huge cold yoga studio my sister took me to, and should possibly be thankful for the womb-like warmth of the studio where I go, where love washes gently over everything and everybody like the pleasing scent of a flower, and hugs are galore, though so far I have yet to hug anybody and do not intend to do so anyway, because I feel this hugging business can be overdone and spoiled, so that hugs lose their feeling and meaning, and should be saved only for those you sincerely love, like your dog, or a reverent nephew (I have no nieces) and my lady, Miranda when she needs it, and my mother if she were still alive (dad and I shook hands), and my sister, and my nephews' wives and girl friends, of course (but briefly), and at least six ex girl friends/lovers, certainly, but that's about all, I'm not about spreading all this love stuff and hugging everybody and undermining the true poignancy of love, and hugs, cheapening hugs and love, despite the fact that I go to yoga three mornings a week religiously and it seems to me at least at my studio that love and hugging are the underpinnings of its philosophy and soul of yoga.
Anyway, after the class ended where the two ladies hugged, I made sure to hang around to see if these ladies would hug again, and they did, just as affectionately as before, just as lingeringly. And I can say with all sincerity that the observance of such an interaction did make one feel a little more optimistic about life and the world in the loveless era of Trump.
I would have to abide by that trite modern saying: “It's all good."
Samantha likes to talk about love equating very profoundly with yoga, and Reggie touches upon it from time to time, but not nearly as often as Samantha, which makes perfect sense, because again, women are more inclined to admit and show their love than men. I recall years back when I was a hard-ass that I mocked and derided and harassed all these fellow men my age from the so-called LOVE GENERATION, always gushing like zombies about brotherly/sisterly/worldly love, dude, a craze or fad I felt was a gimmick to attract or lure the ladies, who felt more confident and safe going to bed with a tender fellow than a scowling asshole who refused to hug anybody, and especially somebody he actually liked.
Little sayings in the restrooms and on bulletin boards at yoga studios stress the beauty and nourishment of love, possibly in its purest form, and I'm sure some aspects--if not all--of yoga inspire some sort of love, perhaps for oneself, but so far in over a year and a half, I still cannot find love in yoga, and feel it has not made me any more loving or lovable, though if one came off the street and had no idea of what yoga involved and entered our studio they would surely feel that both Reggie and Samantha are in love with life itself, and that at least half of the participants in yoga feel the same way, and that the participation of yoga inspired love of life and hugs for everybody, even new members unaware of the thriving love taking place in yoga studios all over the world...
...Though, when I visited my sister down south, and she took me to her yoga studio in a massive gym complex, there was no love whatsoever, just a bunch of strangers who didn't know each other throwing down mats and following the instructions of a fetching, supple female instructor who went by the book, with no warmth and not one word of love, no, not a single word, and I was shocked, and disappointed, as if this yoga session had merely been no more than physical exercises of a sort.
I guess that perhaps our small yoga studio in such a small town is definitely more intimate, and I confess I would never return to that huge cold yoga studio my sister took me to, and should possibly be thankful for the womb-like warmth of the studio where I go, where love washes gently over everything and everybody like the pleasing scent of a flower, and hugs are galore, though so far I have yet to hug anybody and do not intend to do so anyway, because I feel this hugging business can be overdone and spoiled, so that hugs lose their feeling and meaning, and should be saved only for those you sincerely love, like your dog, or a reverent nephew (I have no nieces) and my lady, Miranda when she needs it, and my mother if she were still alive (dad and I shook hands), and my sister, and my nephews' wives and girl friends, of course (but briefly), and at least six ex girl friends/lovers, certainly, but that's about all, I'm not about spreading all this love stuff and hugging everybody and undermining the true poignancy of love, and hugs, cheapening hugs and love, despite the fact that I go to yoga three mornings a week religiously and it seems to me at least at my studio that love and hugging are the underpinnings of its philosophy and soul of yoga.
Anyway, after the class ended where the two ladies hugged, I made sure to hang around to see if these ladies would hug again, and they did, just as affectionately as before, just as lingeringly. And I can say with all sincerity that the observance of such an interaction did make one feel a little more optimistic about life and the world in the loveless era of Trump.
I would have to abide by that trite modern saying: “It's all good."
