One final inhale, exhale

I just learned, courtesy of the most recent Economist, that Pattabhi Jois, the "founder" of Ashtanga yoga, the type of yoga I am certified to teach, has died. Just because it happened three weeks ago doesn't mean I can't pretend it is still "news" and report on it in here in my own newsy forum.

Many of the teachers I studied with for my teacher training last June had studied with Pattabhi Jois in India and each had their own funny and inspiring stories about him.

Katie's imitation of him always started with "Lady, you must..." and involved a delightful accent and facial expression. It also almost always involved doing something that clearly contradicted the capacity of the human body, or so it seemed.

Another teacher had a story about how he and some other students once rented a beautiful property in Hawaii for a week-long seminar with Pattabhi Jois where they had planned to do all of the yoga on this large outdoor patio overlooking jungle and ocean. What they had failed to glean from prior trainings was that Asthtanga must always be done within four walls and with a roof to keep the energy contained. It turned out that the house they had rented didn't have any suitable space so they had to resort to doing all of their yoga in the dark, dank garage.

The Economist's insinuation that PJ was known for giving men and women "different adjustments" is also entirely consistent with the apparent philosophy of the studio where I did my training, though I hadn't realized that it was actually part of the fabric of Ashtanga rather than just the opportunism of a middle-aged man surrounded by fit young women in tight clothes.

Of course, the question everyone wants to know is how fit, limber and clear-headed PJ was when he died at 93 after a lifetime of focusing on his physical and mental wellness? The article concludes with the disappointing news that he had apparently stopped practicing years ago.

Boo.