What I loved most about the old yoga studio was the class length, 90 minutes. But I also loved that it was in a basement where I could creep in and out like a mole. Earthy, warm and not a serpent to be found.
I prepare now to attend a new studio. Second floor walk-up, bright east sun, high ceiling. The class is called Kundalini yoga, its duration an hour.
The teacher greets me. She is wearing a beautiful flowing white top and black leggings. Her hair is like that of an angel and her skin is perfection. She is beautifully tan and I decide I want to look like her in my next life.
“Welcome, have you practiced Kundalini yoga before?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “I am a yoga teacher and I play the Kundalini mantra, Long Time Sun, at the end of every yoga class.”
I guide myself into the studio space, mat in hand, gathering my usual props along the way. As I carefully seat myself on a block covered precisely by a blanket, I observe my skin. The large mirrored wall I face is not my friend. But I rally. I am strong. I am flexible. I am a yoga teacher.
“We will be moving prana through our bodies to awaken every cell,” the instructor says. “The serpent, the kundalini, coiled at the base of your spine, will move upward to release stored and blocked energy.”
Over the next 60 minutes, I confront doubt, fear, anxiety and the big one, ego.
Breath of fire that never ends. Rapid cat/cow movements on knees, seated and standing. Hands on shoulders, twisting at warp speed. Left, right, left, right. In supine position I am guided into bicycle leg movements. One, two, three, four. Again, again, again. Sphinx pose now and a thousand more rounds of breath of fire. Shavansana. My salvation. But no, we rise again. More twisting. More cat/cow. More breath of fire.
The teacher indicates that now we meditate. I breathe a sigh of relief. But no, we are guided to touch the floor with our fire fingers and to chant as we raise arms to the sky, another line of the chant as we lower arms to the floor. Repeat, repeat, repeat. My arms are screaming. I am struggling to breathe and I am hot. As I close my eyes, ego drives me to continue.
I am shaky. My throat is dry. I may even be nauseous. As I descend to the parking lot I wonder why the stairs are so irregular. I am not sure I can drive home.
A shift of some kind occurs. The hot, fiery, breath-driven yoga class reminds me to move out of my comfort zone. To crawl out of the cellar and into the fire to explore, expand and yes, perhaps to awaken the sleeping serpent within.