Yoga, then and now
This afternoon I treated myself to a sauna and massage. I left my apartment, walked around the corner, and crossed the street to the mini spa with its infrared kiosks.
When I first moved to the neighborhood, it was a yoga studio, a perfect location 200 feet from my front door. I liked the studio’s feng shui, the diverse offerings of Hatha, restorative, and vinyasa yoga, and the varied teacher selection with a healing hippie vibe. There was no pretense of flowing hard. Only to breathe and be present.
Where it all began
My friend Jennifer and I were tweens when we attended our first yoga class in the late 1980s. Her aunt had returned from an ashram in India and wanted to share what she had learned. So, one Saturday morning, we gathered in a vacant storefront in Gravesend, Brooklyn.
It was cottage core decor, with white sheets hanging in the windows, dusty pink wallpaper, and cream-colored wood trim. The hardwood floor was worn in patches. None of us had yoga mats, so we used towels instead.
I remember there were a lot of stretching and moments of silence, and the corpse position (Shavasana) was always a favorite pose.
Funny how some things always stay the same.
