"Morning! How was your weekend?"
"Great," I reply. "I had yoga teacher training on Saturday and we had breakfast at Brighton beach on Sunday."
"Sounds lovely. You know, I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, what exactly is yoga?"
I take a breath: "Well, Patanjali defined yoga in his sutras about 2500 years ago as citta vrtti nirodah. This roughly translates as stilling the distractions of the mind. Yoga is an ancient art, science and philosophy dedicated to stilling these distractions through physical postures and rhythmic breathing. The result is a moving meditation with various physical, mental and spiritual health benefits. It's basically an all-encompassing pursuit towards enlightenment."
My colleague's smile appears thinner, her eyebrows slightly higher than before she asked her question, "Okay then. Great. Thanks for that. Have a good day."
I watch her walk away and realise I forgot to mention the Eight Limbs, mudras, bandhas and shatkarma.

How many times has somebody asked you about yoga, what it is and why you do it? And how many times have you watered down your response or felt unable to give them the compact, user-friendly definition you know they're after? I am often torn between providing a succinct response that I know will cater to people's hunger for new-age/self-help/quick-fix remedies and a more in-depth definition that I know does yoga more justice. Whenever I offer the surface-layer definition I feel like an unfaithful lover, lying about the seriousness of my relationship status. Am I right in assuming that enquiring non-yogis only want to hear about the superficial benefits of yoga; the toned arms and thighs, the calmer mind? Does a heartier explanation of the science of yoga scare them off before they've even purchased a $10 foam mat from Go-Lo?

I discovered yoga in 2001 when I was pregnant with my daughter. I printed some pre-natal sequences off the net because I wanted 'open hips' and breathing techniques that would give me the daisy-chain birthing experience most 21st century mothers seek. I had no idea that yoga would help me connect with the little life flourishing inside me through my breath each day. For the first time in my 21 years, I was getting a taste of contentment and peace. After the birth, I bought a yoga-DVD-with-accompanying-illustrated-hard-cover-book, which was soon buried under titles like Elmo: Lost in Grouchland and Care Bears: Journey to Joke-a-lot.

It wasn't until 2005 that I came across a flyer advertising beginner yoga courses in my area. I was 25 and in the aftermath of major relationship breakdown. Yoga seemed a beacon, a selfish indulgence, a mystery I had to solve, a journey I was meant to be on a long, long time ago. My first teacher was thorough bordering on pedantic, serious bordering on humourless, passionate bordering on obsessive and absolutely everything I needed. In his introduction he stated that he could not begin to possibly define or describe yoga only that it would deliver clarity and freedom from illusion. That was the only hook I needed. Fast forward to 2008 and I am halfway through teacher training simply because I believe we are all dying for the clarity and freedom.

For me, yoga is about magnificent communion and dynamic relationship: communion of my mind, breath, body and spirit; relationship with my heart, lungs and limbs. During and after practice is when I feel most whole, alive, strong, honest and beautiful. My yoga-high makes me want to run, fly, laugh, cry. I come home and I want to talk, listen, paint, cook, make love, sing. It gives me vision and hope.

How can I package that experience for someone when they ask me what yoga is, without them thinking I must also burn incense and chant aum all day? Should I just say what I think they want to hear (yoga tones your body and relaxes you) and hope that they find a good teacher and stick it out long enough to realise that an island holiday is relaxing but yoga is much, much more.

Maybe I should simply smile and say, "Find yoga; find yourself."

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posted by amanda.ananda  # 1:16 AM