So there I was, sitting one old cushion my grandma gave me, moving my arms around like a crazy lady. Kundalini yoga, they call it. Barney’s time, my dad renamed it, in honor of the magnificent purple dinosaur I befriended and religiously watched as a kid.
Between the two Tv shows, I don’t know which one is the most out there. I’d put a twenty on the former. People all in white wearing turbans singing songs they don’t even understand is pretty tough to beat.
They say it’s a technology. Except from the iPhones and computers they use to put on the music, I can’t explain how. Plus, yoga that doesn’t involve any downward dog: can you still call it yoga?
Except it works. It’s the best thing I’ve tried in a long time. If you give it a try, it will blow your mind. With arm gestures and breath of fire, chants and long meditations, I’m slowly healing old wounds and past trauma. Without a single word. Without having to talk about my shit. I just do the thing and the rest unfolds.
They say there is no time. By healing the present you are also healing the past and the future. Because there is no past nor future. They say you can heal generations before and after you. It’s crazy, but I’m buying it. Because they are not selling it (or at least it’s very affordable, a whole month membership for less than the cost of a class – a real deal).
With the practice I’m learning to sit still. And listen. And laugh. I don’t know if the turbans really work to keep that energy from escaping through the top of your head, but damn those people are not only super smart, they are also very funny.