“Sorry”, my yoga instructor explained. “We are having trouble with the sound system. No music tonight for our class.” There are times in life when the absence of something becomes the greatest affirmation of the object’s true worth. As class began in silence, my guide encouraged me to close my eyes and focus on breathing. Directed attention was quickly diverted. The hands of the wall clock began to tapping their thumbs. Cooling ducts ratted to life with rushing air. Due to the utter unpredictability, the most disruptive sound was the dreaded cough. This night last July provided a valuable lesson on the calming influence a yoga soundtrack can have on me.
I started my yoga practice three years ago in our nation’s largest network of studios. Home to many enthusiastic yogis. Not a place known for grooming thoroughbreds. Public television. When my girlfriend left for a two week business trip to the Ukraine, I was faced with tumult and opportunity. My job in her absence was to temporarily move into her condo to provide parental oversight of her son. The first morning I awoke with a strong sense of foreboding and emptiness. Even though we had been together for 13 years, this new arrangement put me into unfamiliar territory. Coordinating soccer practice after work. Preparing a lunch that was nutritious yet fun. Her absence that first morning was acute. I turned on the television from bed. Flipped to a public TV station from New York and I found Wei Lana. Perched on the edge of a cliff in Hawaii. This Asian yogi provided an immediate and gratifying offer to center my mind on the most important path. I rolled out of bed. Followed her instructions as best I could. Stand, twist and bend in new ways that were distracting and restorative. Toward the close of the segment, the music turned more upbeat and the camera took a wide angle perspectives on this island paradise. Wei Lana encouraged all at home practitioners to dance. Dance like puppets without strings. I started bounding around the bedroom with abandon. Head flopping. Arming flailing. In the interest of public safely, thankfully my new found joy for yoga was contained to a small room with piles of pillows and no sharp objects. Over this surreal fortnight, I looked forward each day to those five minute segments in each episode. Time when I got to shed my thoughts of responsibility and to bound around freely. Deeply attuned to the lyrical transitions of the electronic ocean sounds and Wei Lana’s voice singing me a morning lullaby. When my tour of duty ended upon my girlfriend’s return, I was grateful to have her back in my life. She fills a void inside of me everyday. Her absence was abrupt and pronounced. Yet, I missed my new daily ritual of dancing with abandon to this other worldly music. These sessions were liberating and the soundtrack played a key role in my emotional recovery. Upon returning to my apartment, I found a different yogi instructor during the 6AM timeslot on PBS. Wei Lana was not an option at my place. My second instructor had a friendly way to chide me out of bed and into various poses. They made me feel like I was making some progress toward getting my body in form. Her segments were only 15 minutes. They lacked the free-spirited dancing and Hawaiian music. Within my first month of practice, my back got tweaked by some pose. I failed to greet my body with the proper warm-up or was lacking the fine adjustments to alignment that can make the difference between a deep smoothing stretch verses a wrenching two weeks of pain. I stopped my self therapy with this injury. Missed the jolly frolicking that got me into the yoga spirit. I can’t prove that Wei Lana’s singing made me impervious to pain. She does have superhuman powers to heal.
After an 18 month break that could have lasted a lifetime, I restarted my practice under the guidance of an instructor. This time in person where direct feedback was provided. Showing me the best way to insure my carpel tunnel wrists could take the strain of downward dog. After one year during my current tour, I have suffered only one injury and it didn’t stop me. Not severe enough to prevent me from continuing onward.
Colin Furth plays King George VI in The King’s Speech (2010) with a royal reserve and eyes that betray his attempts to shelter his fears. During the Nazi invasions of London at the start of World War II, the audience can start to read the panic stricken stuttering orator’s mind. Moments before speaking into a radio microphone. The atmosphere is guided by the film score. Filling the silence with an orchestration that blends the childhood horror of Peter & The Wolf with the hopefulness of Chariots of Fire. This music sets an emotional tone that brings the viewer closer to the state of mind of someone facing an obsticale that appears beyond one’s grasp.
Recognizing the importance that music can have during group practice of yoga and witnessing the power of a score tuned to the mood of a film, I have started to extend my yoga practice by selecting which music that I play in my car on the way to the studio and after a refreshing workout. My play list before tends to be acoustic singer writers like Florence + Machine. Returning home, I have replaced the silence with slower beats without understandable lyrics. Japanese koto drums and Native American spirituals both work for me. It amplifies my feelings of empowerment that were unleashed during the session. My L-Pose may still be shaky and my ivadoasina strained, but the euphoria of getting this close while attempting each pose fills me with exuberance.
Images used with permission under Creative Commons license from lululemon athletica photostream
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