yoga

“F*#k this f*#king yoga stance. It’s f*#king bulls*#t and a complete f*#king waste of time. Yoga can suck my f*#king balls.”

This thought goes through my head whenever I take a yoga class. Always. All. The. Time.

And that is not good because what should be going on in my brain when I practice yoga is…well…nothing, really. My mind should be as clear as possible and if it isn’t then I really should just be focusing on my breathing. Instead, I am focusing on how much yoga pisses me off.

Which is the complete antithesis of what practicing yoga really should be. Yoga is about a search for self-awareness, self-discovery, and self-realization. Well, I have that but in the wrong way: I am aware that my self hates yoga, I have discovered that my self hates yoga, and I have absolutely realized that my self 100% hates yoga.

I realize that this is the absolutely wrong approach to yoga. There is definitely a better, more positive, and more spiritual approach to yoga I should be taking. But for some reason I don’t and that makes me mad. It makes me to think I am doing yoga wrong, even though if you asked a yoga teacher he or she would say, “There is no wrong way to do yoga.” To which I would reply, “Shut up. You don’t know jack s*#t.”

Now, there are parts of yoga that I actually do enjoy. I enjoy any physical activity, so there’s that. I like that as an exercise it works every part of your body. And I appreciate the fact that yoga improves my flexibility and balance. But all the while I am appreciating the benefits of this centuries-old practice, my mind is racing with everything about it that enrages me and makes me hate it:

* “Namaste my ass. Just say, ‘hello.’”

* “Why are we holding this pose for so long? I get it – half moon. I am supposed to look like a half moon. Fantastic. Can we wrap this up and move on now, please?”

* “We better not be doing standing splits next or I will lose my s*#t. Crap! We’re doing standing splits next!”

* “Goddamnit! Every time we do Vinyasa I mess up the way I am supposed to be breathing. Vinyasa sucks. So does breathing.”

* “How the hell can that guy do this pose and I can’t? He probably thinks he’s better than me. F*#k that guy.”

* “Ugh. This teacher wants us to om. I hate oming. It’s a worthless activity… kind of like yoga.”

But the worst part of  any and all yoga classes is Savasana, or “corpse pose.” That’s the time when at the end of class you are supposed to lie down on your back (like a corpse), clear your mind, and just breathe (not like a corpse). I like to think of this pose as “the time in class when I make a mental list of everything that is wrong with me.” Amongst the multitude of thoughts that pass through my dome in the last sixty seconds of class are these usual gems:

* “Jesus. How much longer before I can get up and leave?”

* “Your failure at yoga represents your failure at life.”

* “ You seriously blow at ‘Warrior Three.’”

* “ If you tried harder maybe you wouldn’t suck.”

* “You better do a better job in next week’s class… assbag.”

* “Jesus. How much longer before I can get up and leave?”

I want to be that guy who absolutely loses himself in his yoga practice. I want to have my mind go to another spiritual level. I want to be able to concentrate on absolutely nothing. But I can’t. I fail. And when I fail, instead of embracing that failure I just rage against the machine. And then I blame yoga. It’s yoga’s fault – not mine.

So why do I take yoga when it makes me this mad? Cause it’s f*#king supposed to be calm me the f*#k down, that’s f*#king why!