Katherine Germano-DelOrfano

Mon, 25 Oct 2010 21:50:03 -0400

The Noisy Mat
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When I get up in the morning, I sound like Rice Crispies being drowned by milk. I make enough noise that my cat wakes up. I measure about a 2.4 on the Richter scale.
Perhaps it is because I studied ballet for 14 years. Perhaps it is because I danced my 20s away in New York City gothic clubs until 5am. Maybe I am just getting old. In any event, my morning cacophony is private. None of my friends know that I creak like a 100 year old house. If the feline learns to speak I am in trouble.
Then I go to a yoga class. So much happens in a class. We twist out toxins. Breathe out negative energy. Release stuff. Share energy, love and a positive atmosphere.
Some of that stuff is not what I want to release around others. I have a friend who won’t exercise with others because of his fears what he will twist out.
Being self conscience while practicing yoga is something we try not to do. However, I am often unable to shake that. I shower, put on the extra powerful antiperspirant and sometimes even don mascara before class. When I am at yoga, it is the only time I don’t wear a mask of makeup. I am about as naked as I can get in public. I haven’t been seen in a bathing suit for 6 years. I do not wear my tough chick attitude to yoga nor my big black boots. I come to class as the thing I am most scared of, myself.
On top of that, I worry about all of those noises that I make. I worry that I may offend someone with my sweat. What if my feet stink? They are right next to the person behind me. That is not the kind of love I want to share at class.
How many times have we been in a flow, all of the sudden POP! My hip decides to wreck the mood. Other people store emotional pain in their hips. I store a teenage garage band in mine and they are never going to get a record deal. There is always a bit of snap crackle pop but why must I shake the building? Is it because I have a loud personality? My bones are trying to compete with my persona?
This is not the worst part. I twist and turn. I breathe. Sometimes I don’t breathe. Sometimes I gurgle. Something comes up from my throat that sounds like a sick rooster. Perhaps on his last breath. Can anyone hear that? Of course they can. People in Iowa heard that. Why does this happen? Why am I the only one that is releasing a Gorgon from my throat? What do you say at that point? Oh, class was excellent today, excuse me while I catch the dragon that was released from my belly during that last chaturanga. I hope it didn’t disrupt the class. No wait, please come back, why are you running away?
We move through our vinyasa, our flow is full of energy. Except when it is full of the last meal we just ate. It doesn’t matter how much we pull our hips square by using our thigh muscles. Sometimes we disrupt the air flow in other ways. This is part of human existence and we wish that we could stop it. Said friend avoids exercising with others for this sole reason.
My worst fear, the one I truly have no control over is the vart (you look it up).I have done research on this and all possible solutions seem implausible or outright dangerous.
It is as if yoga was meant to release all of my worst aspects in public. I cannot hide here. I am real here. The façade I use throughout my life does not work with yoga. They are in opposition.
So this is one of the most difficult parts of yoga. Acceptance. Accepting myself. With all of my imperfections, noises and faults. Learning to love myself even if I am not who I think that I want to be. I am who I am. Faults and all. It has been established that I am not a well oiled machine. Just ask the person who was next to me in class right after their ears stop ringing.

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Katherine Germano-DelOrfano