My Yoga Teacher is a Cannibal

It’s the only explanation for the words she chose to use during yoga class.

Everything was going great at first, the yoga studio was dark and lit with flickering candles. There was so much zen and namaste up in my third eye I had to use eye drops to get some of it out so that I could see. (?) I’m fairly sure there was Buddhist monk chanting which made me feel holy and special inside. But then, the teacher ruined it.

“Okay, now make sure that you’re opening your right hip; feel how juicy it gets, just get it juicy.”

I definitely misheard that… did she just say that my hip should feel juicy? 

“Now we are going into Crouching Eagle Pose.”

*awkwardly bend into a human knot and fall over, pretend I did it on purpose and reach for water bottle*

“Everybody is doing great… Let’s take a few breaths. Breeeeeeeeeeathe in Peace… Breeeeeeeeeeeeathe out Joy… Inhaaaaaaaale Truth… Exhaaaaaaaaale Identity… Truuuuuuuth is your Identity… Let Identity be your Truuuuuuth.”

What is happening? I feel weird. There are too many weird feelings. I don’t want to be here. This is weird. 

“Now raise your hands to the sky… if it feels right. Honor yooooour Body… Honor yooooour Truth… Honor yooooour Identity.”

I’m fairly crunchy, hippie granola-y but this is crazy. I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. Lady, I don’t want to join in on your pagan rituals, just show me how to do this pose. I’m good with just focusing on breathing in oxygen. 

“Sit deeper in this position, your thighs should be feeling really juicy right now.”

I swear, the next thing she says is going to be, “Now, take out your bottle of A1 Steak Sauce and slowly shower yourself in it. Then stand over one of those candles and roast yourself. Make sure that you feel juicy.” 

Maybe I am immature. (Okay, I am.) But this yoga class was just too much for me.

I kinda feel like a steak though…

- Daughter

 

 

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