A medicine not for me

It was a guest instructor today at yoga. A tall skinny, Asian guy dressed in a jet-black martial artist’s uniform and black, diesel-looking shoes. His hair was spiky with lots of gel, no—just too much gel—I could smell his gel with each one of his abrupt movements. There really was just too much, I think a book could have sat over his hair and not mushed its shape. The class started with the usual Dahn yoga stretching to open up the body meridians with some soothing music…the usual stuff. But then the lights were turned off and so was the soft music. “Ok, now we’re going to release our stress and remove stagnant energy built up in our bodies.” The skinny Asian guy fusses with the stereo for a bit and suddenly wall-pounding techno blasts through the speakers. The beast was unleashed. By this I mean our instructor-turned-clubber had totally let loose. It looked like he was break dancing at the front of the yoga classroom. All I could picture was how wild he’d be if he had been set free in a real club with strobe lights. But this current “club” was where all the girls were dressed in yoga clothing and some even in white yoga uniforms. But he was surely enjoying himself as I bit down hard on my lip to keep from laughing myself out the door and home. I know I shouldn’t have been laughing or amusing myself by watching this spectacle because all the others seemed to be enjoying themselves, even the grandmas and men. They were dancing, more than just swaying to the music, shifting from side to side as if it was completely normal to be rockin’ out as “internal medicine” to bad electronic music. For a split second, it made me wonder, maybe we all just need to free ourselves physically to let loose mentally? Not care about what others think or see? Yeah scratch that…I don’t want to look like him, even when in the safety of solitude. Anyhow, this techno-rave dancing lasted a good 15-20 minutes. I couldn’t help but ask myself if it was one big joke. Some camera must be taping us look like fools, trying to dance away our ache and pains. Was it necessary to have much booming music, pumping the walls? As the pounding music slowed to a stop, he turned on “rain” music with a background of thunder. It seems that after club dancing we transferred ourselves high in the mountains to soak in the rain and thunder. How utterly ridiculous.

But here’s the "best" part: at the end he kept saying that there wasn’t enough to explain DahnMuDo (internal martial arts) in full so he was going to perform for us. This time I cracked a laugh. I hope noone noticed. All the students lined the walls to give him some much-needed space. He asked: “you guys like swords?” Some people nodded. I could only stifle another laugh at this silly guy. He stood at the front of the room with his sword on the floor and slowly the theme song of “Titanic” begins. This is where I had to bite down on my lip much harder than before to keep from laughing hysterically. I tasted blood. I felt my chest shudder as I fought rolls of laughter. Was he really going to perform martial arts movements to “My Heart Will Go On?” Talk about lack of choreography and taste. I’m sure the ancestors who created the martial arts style rolled in their graves knowing that an art passed down for centuries was being shown with the accompaniment of what brings to mind images of Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet and an enormous ship about to be sucked down to the bottom of the ocean. He proceeded to sway his arms and move his body, occasionally adding some kicks and what resembled martial arts fighting but really was nothing if you’ve seen real martial artists who fight with grace but can be equally deadly. His “dance” reminded me of some damsel in distress trying to fly to the moon with silks in hand. And most awkwardly, he took the sword and started swiping away here and there (he told us later the act represented cutting off bad emotions…ha!). It was the damsel in revenge now. Is that mean to say? Yes. Because maybe DahnMuDo is really a healing medicine and with some practice I could be converted to a devout practitioner. Even so, this time I wasn’t convinced. In fact, I was turned away and thoroughly embarrassed—and not for myself for once. And finally…it ended.

Now, I normally do my 30 push-ups after class, but this time I bolted out the door and for good reason. I didn’t want anyone to ask me what I thought of the class because my mouth was over-flowing with nothing but “un-nice” words. Thank goodness for self-control sometimes…I’m telling you I sure used some of it today.

Lesson of the day: Cults aren’t for everyone, especially DahnMuDo. For a good time and a place to let go, find a club with good music and bring some friends along instead.