INTRODUCTION

“I love you and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.” ~Pietro Aretino

I hate yoga. I really do. I don’t state this for effect. Being grateful for something that has given me healing, prosperity, purpose, and meaningful relationships would be the evolved disclosure here. But it isn’t. Because I hate it. I’m too alarmingly focused on what contemporary Western society has done to yoga to find solace or understanding in the word anymore. Like many things in the Western world, yoga has been bastardized beyond recognition, to the point where saying it’s an authentic form of healing would be a great disservice to the sacred origin of the word. But after all, going to McDonald’s for a salad is like going to a hooker for a hug. North America is the hooker. Yoga is the hug. Just clarifying. So few people in North America, especially teachers of yoga and supposed “gurus,” actually know what yoga really is. I certainly don’t, and I’ve been teaching it for nine years, but I know this: I hate it. I have to. It’s the only way to love it again. The multiplying spawn of self-righteous yoga “knowers” must be obliterated. A yoga war must ensue, and I will begin by turning the gun on myself. Being a card-carrying member, I know what it will take to destroy such a breed. An exorcism must be performed—one that holds me and all “yoga experts” out there accountable for what we’re doing. If it seems like I’m tossing blame by starting the healing with yoga-hate, let me explain my theory for therapy. Sometimes it’s necessary to hate something in order to revive its credibility and actually benefit from it. It’s not unlike the feelings many of us have experienced at the end of a nasty relationship. We hate that person—for a while, anyway. Then, after a varying amount of time passes, that feeling dissipates, the vitriol subsides, the whole experience just becomes information, and we can look at it all with some insight and clarity. Then, if the stars align, as they should, we learn. Only then can we proceed responsibly and progressively with regards to the subject, person, or situation that has been a tainted aspect of our history. It’s important to understand something: The first half of this book isn’t about waxing poetic over the merits of yoga; pretentiousness cannot be part of the blueprint here. It’s about dismantling the pseudo-merits so that that we can uncover what’s truly useful and start fresh. Don’t worry. We’ll get the hate out of the way quickly enough, but it’s an integral part of the path. In the teachings of Buddhism, one is told, “If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha.” In other words, we are always on a journey with no destination. If we ever feel like we’ve arrived, we didn’t really get the point. To name it is to not really know it. Let’s kill yoga and all of the bullshit that has manifested around it. It’s time to let it die in our blood-soaked hands on our bullet-ridden yoga mats. We’re going to do this together because here’s another admission: This book isn’t about me. It’s about you—and what you can get from this increasingly tarnished word, “yoga,” by simply stripping it of all its labels and ludicrous expectations. And then, by practicing it. I think I can help. As a matter of fact, I know I can. Once we have cathartically performed our ugly yoga striptease and thrown down each garment of bogus credibility and confusion, we will then focus on watching the Yoga-Phoenix rise from the ashes. We’ll remove the bewildering fear factor surrounding yoga and explore the truth behind the practice, revealing it to be a great healer. While on this journey, we will discover that yoga is wonderfully accessible to all of us. This will take place only after the affectations surrounding yoga have been laid bare and exposed as nothing more than a societal red herring, distracting us from the beauty of a profoundly beneficial art form. I want you to be the beneficiary. Hang on, though. This first part could get a little ugly.