I love the blog post Open Letter to the Fat Girl in Hot Yoga by Joshilyn Jackson. The world of yoga is definitely becoming more diverse, but I really identified with the sense of ‘otherness’ that was poignantly captured in Jackson’s essay.
There’s a small smile and nod I get and give when I see a Black woman in a yoga class.
I want to tell her that I’m so glad to see her in class because African-American women get more unhealthy each year. I smile at her because even though there are still so many people who think we all know each other, in this moment I do know her.
I know that’s it’s nice to see walls broken down. Not the walls of a yoga studio but the walls of our own community. Our community that tries to tell us that certain things are ‘Blacker’ than others.
Yoga will help change that.
Yoga is/was not Black (Though I am convinced it is the new Black). And though some people will say, will ask, why does something have to be Black or White? I will say that it doesn’t but (because of reasons that are too long to explain here) they are, for now anyway.
Yoga will help change that.
I will say that I recognize that snicker or look from ‘the’ community when you do something this is out of the ‘norm’ or realm of Blackness.
Makes me think of Lisa Bonet on the Cosby show, Lenny Kravitz, Living Color and Bad Brains…
I get frustrated as I try to explain that we are not one single experience. We are not one neighborhood, TV show, music channel or type of food.
I turn to my mat to think. Black history shouldn’t be celebrated for one month, but every day along with women’s history, Latino history, Asian history, Native American history and every other group who has come here in search of a better life.
I wish that more of America looked like the 6:30pm Yoga to the People class on 27th St in NYC. It is a sea of color drenched in sweat in the 105° heat. Sweating with common purpose and smiling because everyone completed class together.
Yoga will help change that.
I don’t want to admit it, but it’s nice to see a face like mine and feel like I’m back in the club, if only for a moment before my music, book or music choices get my privileges suspended again.
Yoga will help change that.
I’m part of something. Something bigger than me.
Before, sacrifices were made to be called ‘Black’ enough. But seeing her in the studio, a space that is my church, I am happy. I am smiling, I am peace.
Peaceful as I flow through class.
Sometimes the class is Bikram. Sometimes it’s vinyasa.
We chat after, for a moment. Chat about hair or how long we have been practicing. It’s never a long conversation, but it’s nice. It’s even nicer now when I tell her that I’m a teacher and she wants to know where I teach, because her friends want to practice and she thinks it will be helpful or inspiring for them to see a Black teacher. We agree that yoga is amazing and it has invariably changed us forever.
Our differences make all of us stronger, not weaker.
And as I take my yoga off the mat I keep my hands in a metaphorical prayer and say:
Lokah samasta sukhino bhavantu
“May all beings everywhere be peaceful and free”
This is yoga. And with any luck it will change the world.
Namaste y’all.
