youthful yoga

Today in class I gave the instruction “… and keep the flesh of the inner leg pressing against the bone.” I’m sure any experienced Iyengar yogi has heard similar instructions from their teacher. I’ve heard it argued that one of the reasons that the physical practice of hatha yoga came into being was in order to keep the body youthful for longer so that those aiming for the greater goal of enlightenment would have more time to achieve that ultimate state of liberation.

Some of the signs of ageing are the falling away of the flesh from the bones, the loss of muscle tone and the degeneration of bone density. This  simple instruction is aimed at reversing that process by lengthening the muscle in alignment with the bone. This not only nourishes the bone but allows the student to safely practice weight-bearing standing poses that have been shown to reverse the loss of bone density, improve posture and develop muscle strength.

As fortune would have it I came home and found this video of the very cutest yoga teacher. Youthfulness is not just flexibility of the body, but in true yogic fashion, of the mind  as well. So let us all keep that flame of youth burning with wonder and delight from within.

youth

This year, I tipped the scale that places me on the other side of youth… A friend reminded me that I would no longer be able to join the ANC Youth League and be given a pedestal to spew all sorts of no-thoughts, under the guise of revolutionary radical propaganda-speak.

Aaah well, I’ve seen it coming. My neighbours are young girls studying at the local university across the dam. They were my first sign of crossing over to the other side. In my household, I’m the noisy one singing first thing in the morning, barking orders and spinning yarns about my intrepid exploits.

Little did I know when the girls next door came that I would realise that my decibel range had been but a stream before the sea. They laugh, shrilly… they shriek, even louder. I know not what excites them so much most of the time but there is a constant pitch of squeals that precedes all signs of their visible presence. On days when it seems they have worn their voices raw, it’s the turn of any DJ on YFm or Metro. The music’s good, but do well have to listen to it… all day… so loud?

I’d actually gotten used to this onslaught and most of the time they were quiet… bless their hearts. Even when I was in the foulest mood, if I stumbled across them they would coo in their ever so sweet voices and my young side would forgive them instantaneously. This changed when the inevitable happened. Boys!! My introduction to base on another level, juxtaposed by squeals of ever higher pitches. It’s just that cacophony I had to step outside and insist come to an end. It’s almost midnight and I know its Phuza Thursday, but really.

The melange of machismo and coquettish-ness is amusing to watch, if only it was on TV and I could switch it off when it started to repeat itself. Aaah, youth.