The Yoga of Hard Rock

Dear Yoga Student,

Sometimes when I do yoga, I listen to loud music. Shoot me.

And one morning, I was up in the studio racticing as usual, listening to this old Modest Mouse album full blast, sweating my head off, and of course, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs.

I lost track of time.

I’d been up there for hours, and suddenly two students came walking in (early for class).

And one of them said: “That’s not yoga music!”

It was a pretty funny scene. Me in my underwear, them in their Lulu Lemon yoga gear, and Isaac Brock screaming something about “working on
living” over and over.


Seems like everyday someone is trying to tell me what yoga IS or what yoga ISN’T. Yoga cloths and yoga beads, yoga gear and yoga nicknames -
and frankly, I don’t care!

I mean, put away the history books for a moment, and ask yourself: what is yoga really?

Stretching? Indian exercises? A spiritual practice? A cool place to meet other new age-y people?

I don’t know about you, but I have a pretty hard time defining most things in my life, and I’m not about to let anyone define my yoga practice for me.

Sorry, it’s mine.

And you know what? Enya doesn’t make yoga practice any easier than Angus Young, so if you hear “Back in Black” on full blast around 6 a.m., just do me a favor and wait outside… I’ll be done soon enough, and then we can play the harmonium and pretend that deep down we don’t all just want to scream and dance and rock out.

Stay bendy,


p.s. Just for the record. I do like Enya:)

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