A Slacker Yogi is Reborn

It was 1970 in Berkeley, California, when I entered a dark room that held illuminated candles and a beautiful woman standing on her head.

Fresh from the east coast and looking for an exercise program, I had wandered into a local recreation center where the patchouli-scented class was being led by its inverted instructor. That evening I would learn that the woman’s name was Wendy, and the class was called yoga.

The practice of yoga hadn’t quite made it to the city from which I had recently moved. Most of my neighbors in that location got their exercise by boxing, roller skating, dancing and running from the police. Anything more exotic was looked upon with great skepticism, which warranted extensive criticism.

Back then, I was materialistic and self-absorbed and wanted a new physique resplendent with curves and toned muscles. Inner peace and the outer manifestation of connectedness with the universe was not part of the immediate plan. Yet, something lured me to this class and its teacher. Read Article

By Patricia Alfano