… continued from Man, Woman, Yoga.
Another week, another yoga class.
‘Come to the front of your mats,’ says the Goddess, ‘Place your hands in prayer position. Now turn sideways, pointing your right foot forward. Lean to the side, clasping your right big toe with your right hand and reach up to the sky with your left hand, keeping your chest open.’
A typical yoga posture – easy to describe, hard to understand, and completely impossible to do.
Each of the things the Goddess describes is simple enough in itself. It’s combining them all that’s impossible. Grasping your big toe whilst reaching to the sky with your other hand – these are mutually exclusive actions. I can do A OR B. I can NOT do A AND B. In Triangle pose, you are expected to do A AND B AND C, all of which are mutually exclusive. It’s like being a modern Dad really – feed the baby AND clean the car – mow the grass AND cook the dinner. Do NOT reach for a beer OR relax in front of the TV.
The Goddess comes over to me and steps on my foot. ‘Reach higher!’ she commands in a voice like thunderclouds colliding. ‘Open your chest!’
But I cannot possibly open my chest any more, nor can I reach any higher. I cannot clean the car and I cannot mow the lawn. I am a failure as a Dad and a failure at yoga.
‘Remember to keep your face serene with the suggestion of a smile,’ says the Goddess as she walks away in search of more victims.