In 1994, I met a man whom I quickly admired. At 27, David marked ten years as a recovered alcoholic. He confided he had lost a brother years earlier because of a rare heart defect.  And then he share how three months after this tragedy, his sister committed suicide. And most recently, his wife had left him for a woman.

"How is he sane?" I wondered. He practiced yoga, though I didn't attribute much to that at the time; he also biked long hours in the coutryside. 

When I visited his family, they took me to a yoga class. As a former dancer I enjoyed flexibility that enabled me not to embarrass myself. The yoga studio resembled a torture chamber with bizarre wood contraptions lined up along the side and forbidding ropes hanging from the walls and the ceiling. But I enjoyed the class, and I was amazed how this family practiced yoga together. 

His family revealed that yoga helped them deal with their grief. After he and I parted ways, I found I still yearned for him.  I missed his fortitude. And by that time I did associate his strength with his yoga practice.

So, in the spring of 1995 I walked into my second yoga class and thus began another love affair.

nilambu : a personal yoga studio
PO Box 40811, Washington DC 20016-0811 // email us // p: 202-333-8854