Of Inner Peace and Contortionists...


Its time I made the effort to become a better person.

 I’ve decided to join a gym.

Before you ask, its not because I am seeking to remedy some physical imperfection, imagined or otherwise.  I am simply seeking physical and mental wellbeing.  In my constant quest to achieve Nirvana, I have tried countless therapies which guaranteed a more relaxed life, but none of them quite seemed to hit the spot.  A couple of unforgettable experiences come to mind…
The first was yoga.  I must admit that I’ve never been the most flexible of people, but I figured that there would be a beginner’s class and I’d be able to take things slowly.

How wrong I was.

I paid the membership fee and went to my first yoga class.  Looking around the room, I started to panic.  Everyone else looked so lithe and limber that I began to ask myself what I was doing there.  Swallowing my fear, I forced myself to think positive when the yoga instructor walked in.

Looking back, I know I should have walked out as soon as he introduced himself as Heavenly Rosebud.  At the time, I thought- what the hell?  Poetic licence and all that.  Maybe, once I’ve attained inner peace and a body like Elle MacPherson, I’ll change my name to Sunflower.  Or maybe Water Hyacinth?  (Maybe not).

We were forced to perform all sorts of positions which were nothing short of unnatural.  I made a beeline for the door when we had to bring our feet up and over our backs, while LYING ON OUR STOMACHS.  If I’d wanted to pay money to join the circus, I would have done so. 

I called my girl Colette that night and told her about my ordeal.  She recommended a meditation class.

“It REALLY helped me,” she gushed.  “I’m SO calm these days, and have really learned to BREATHE, you know?”

Come to think of it, the speed at which Colette spoke/walked/lived had slowed down.  Determined not to let my yoga trauma stand in the way of my quest for inner peace, I got the details from Colette and arranged a session the very next day.

The boss was on the rampage that day, barking at anyone who so much as blinked in a way she didn’t like.  Meditation was just what I needed.
I reached the venue and paid for the hour-long session.  After changing into some comfortable clothes and removing my shoes, I was instructed to enter the room, find a spot and sit down.

The room was dimly lit and quite stuffy due to all the incense that was burning.  My eyes began to itch so I decided to sit as close to the door as possible.

Finally, the instructor arrived.  She introduced herself as Medina, and told the fifteen-or-so men and women in the room that she was our guide on the road to inner peace.  This is alright, I thought naively.  So far, so good.

After about twenty minutes of deep breathing and thinking happy thoughts, everything went south.   We’d all had our eyes closed- it helped with the concentration AND the incense.  Suddenly, a little bell rang.  I took this to mean that the session was over, but then I sneaked a peek at my watch and saw we still had forty minutes to go.  The bell rang once more, and everyone else stood up and started taking their clothes off.

I was out of there in a flash.

Another disaster.  I called the trauma team- Colette, Miriam and Doreen all came round to my house, each with a bottle of wine in tow.

By the time the girls left a few hours later, I was feeling much better. Clearing up the empty bottles, glasses and chocolate wrappers, I realized that I had been searching for inner peace in all the wrong places.  I didn’t need to bend my body into unnatural positions or strip in front of strangers to reach a higher level of consciousness.  Simply hanging out with my girls was therapy enough.

I’m still going to join a gym though.  I have to do SOMETHING to work off all that chocolate.

But at the first sight of a weirdo, I’m out of there. 

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