Archive for December, 2008

“My mother never breast-fed me. She told me she liked me as a friend.” Rodney Dangerfield

I had finished teaching a yoga class at a studio in a somewhat remote area on the East Coast. One student named Anasoli sat with me afterwards chatting about exotic chocolate, medicinal marijuana, the Grateful Dead, and various topics commonly discussed among hippies.

As we wound down the conversation, Anasoli said, “Well my husband and child just pulled up outside.”

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her little boy ran into the studio screaming, “Mamma, mamma! I’m thirsty.”

Anasoli said to me, “Larbird needs to drink before we hit the road.”

The boy lifted up her shirt and began to suck on his mommy’s teet. Ordinarily, I would think nothing of it. But this boy wore a Boston Celtics jersey with “Garnett” on the back, and had oddly defined calf muscles. Point being, he was quite old to be breastfeeding.

I stood there motionless, speechless, unsure what to do.

“Larbird, that’s his name?” I mumbled.

“Yeah, after Larry Bird. We’re huge Celtics fans,” she replied.

“And ah, how old is Larbird?” I inquired.

“Oh he’s 8 years old,” she said patting him on the butt. “You almost done honey?”

I sought further clarity, “So he just really likes the taste? Is that what it is?”

“Well the taste and we have a very special connection,” she added. “Y’know, I never want him to grow up.”

I felt like I was playing with fire. Clearly this lady was a little off center so I wasn’t sure if one question too many would send her reeling.

“And when will you, ah, consider him, ah, grown up enough to drink from a bottle? Or should I say keg? I mean can.”

She quickly chimed in, “Well we’ve been told it’s making people uncomfortable especially at Red Sox games. Which I don’t understand cause soft drinks are so expensive at the ballpark. Why should my son not be allowed to drink for free? But anyway, I figure we better keep it private. When he starts puberty it might really freak people out.”

Just then Larbird finished, removed his head from under his mommy’s shirt, turned to me, burped loudly in the way only an 8 year can burp loudly, rubbed the excess milk form his lips and cheek, put his hand up for a high five (to which I obliged), and walked off to daddy waiting in the car.

It was a strange moment. I looked at the Shiva statue to my right.  I noticed a copy of the Bhagavad Gita on the table to my left. I smelled the faint scent of Nag Champa incense. As I looked at my hand which Larbird had just high-fived, I saw a bit of milk dripping down my arm.

In this remote corner of the northeastern United States, I’d reached a fork in the road. Either I was a conservative, watered down, yuppie yogi freaked out by some good ol’ fashioned mothering. Or Anasoli had held a headstand just a tad too long.

****

I recently found out that a family whom I’ve known for most of my life was one of many victims in the Madoff ponzi scheme. The father of this family was super wealthy, “wise,” and even-keeled, an icon in my community. Now he’s bankrupt with barely a dime to his name.

Who and what can be trusted nowadays? It seems all the systems and infrastructure in our society are falling apart. Without that underlying comfort and support, we are left searching for what the yogis call The Mother’s Energy.  If you can’t get comfort from the bank and you can’t get it from the money maven and you can’t get it from community leaders, there’s only one place to go.

The proverbial “teets“…otherwise known as those ancient and sacred sources of warmth and nourishment…whether they be prayer, a trip to church or temple, or a sacred text. Over the past several years, these are things for which most of us have had less and less time. And in our furious drive toward progress and possessions, we’ve lost our way.

I’d like to suggest 2009 as the year where it will be right and true to say “to hell with progress.” I’d like to suggest 2009 as the year where putting a knee in the dirt and a hand to the heart will trump any action, invention, or transaction.

Because while an 8 year old breastfeeding in public is a bit awkward, we are never too old, and never too advanced, and never too mature to seek, sulk, even cry for the Mother’s Energy.

“A right is not what someone gives you; it’s what no one can take from you.” Ramsey Clark

Last week, a friend asked me to sub her class at a local country club. I hesitantly agreed. But when it came time to actually teach her 1:30pm yoga class at the country club 45 minutes away, I was very irritated. Yes yoga teachers have bad days too and after having slammed my Prius into a pole while backing up and after having received a parking ticket in front of my own home,  I did not want to be teaching yoga.

With a big frown, I entered the freezing, air-conditioned room at the El Cab Country Club.

“Hello everyone, Sharon isn’t here today and I’m your lowly sub,” I skeptically joked.

Upon surveying the class and seeing the wide range of personalities and varying levels of yoga experience, I realized a yoga teacher’s worst nightmare.  There was a woman caked in makeup, mid 60’s, thick east coast accent on the far right side of the room.  Her name was Martia. On the complete opposite side of the room was a hard-core athletic man with a finely sculpted body who introduced himself as Ron. And in the back, middle of the room was an exhausted, bleary-eyed mom with her gothic, tweaked-out teenage son.

Instantly, the bleary-eyed mother scrambled to the front of the room dragging her son in tow.

“Hi I’m Marney and this is my son Hobart. This is our first yoga class.”

“Nice to meet you Marney and Hogart,” I responded, not really caring to meet them.

“It’s Hobart,” he said to me grimly. “You yoga fruitcake!” he then uttered under his breath.

“Hobart mind your manners,” the mom said sternly.

The mom turned back to me, “Hobart is addicted to meth so if he’s a little irritated don’t worry about it. I’ve got him on leave from rehab for the afternoon.”

“Meth huh? Go Hobart go,” I said sarcastically.

I began class, “Alrighty everyone, let’s start lying on our backs. Just take a few deep breaths. Today I’d like to address the issue of fear. Sometimes we let fear dominate our lives…”

“Ahem,” Martia interrupted me.

I continued, “Fear can be so problematic, so this afternoon, I’d like to suggest…”

But Martia interrupted me again, “Who do you think you are? Wayne freakin Dyer? Can we do some yoga already?”

If I was a car, I’d be approaching the red line.

The 3 students bobbled and phutzed their way into down dog, but the muscular guy Ron did 10 push ups before springing into the pose.

“Excuse me David? I’m hot. Turn down the heat,” Martia said not asking but rather commanding me as if I was a servant.

“Keep the heat on David!”  Ron shouted at me while doing more pushups.

“To hell with you, you meshugina!” Martia barked across the room at Ron.

Hobart wasn’t moving and I approached him saying, “Hobart can I share a few tips on how to do the down dog pose?”

Hobart motioned for me to come closer as if he wanted to whisper something so I leaned in.

Hobart seethed, “You can suck me if you’d like!”

In this very second, I had a come to Jesus moment. There was the 60 year old woman screaming across the room at the 40 year old muscular triathalete. There was the bleary-eyed mom yelling at her tweaked son who lay on the ground phutzing with his wanker while staring into the sky.  And there was me, hoping to grow in my profession, trying to make a living, wanting to soon get married and have kids and take care of my future family. Yet I was being harassed by a methhead and J.A.P. (yes I’m Jewish) in the middle of  Tarzana on a chilly Tuesday afternoon.

So at this very moment, I made a conscious decision, turned off my Ipod, gathered my things, left the country club, and shifted my bearings once and for all.

*****

The great guru Osho said that when you are seeking freedom from life, you are always on the run, being chased by your finances, fears, and worries. I may seem to you like a fulfilled human being but truthfully, for most of my life, I’ve been on the run. Running from my neuroses, running from my insecurities, running from my guilt. I’ve always felt a need to assuage the Rons and Martias and endure the Hobarts and Marneys of the world.  After all, anything in the rear view mirror is confusing (if not daunting) when that’s your point of reference.

Osho said that when you are seeking freedom for life, you are diving headlong into the journey.  Chasing your dreams. Pursuing your passions. Setting your sites. In 2009, my book will come out. There will be people who don’t like it. And there’s a part of me that will want to turn around and ask why, how, really? But when looking backward, everything becomes a potentially destructive obstacle in the forward march through time. So let 2009 be the year when you turn around and run for life, not from it.