In Response to The Next Variant, America Should Do Yoga
Lessons from Aussie’s Lady Liberty, Kirra Michel
I would like to introduce you to my yoga instructor, Kirra Michel. A few months ago, I tried one of her classes, “Aussie Vibes Yoga Flow” (Peloton Yoga, October 27, 2021). The first time I tried the class, I was unable to finish, because I couldn’t breathe. Not due to sickness or inability, but from tears.
Image found at https://www.onepeloton.com/instructors/Peloton_L.
It’s hard to do Yoga when you’re crying
I woke up early the other morning feeling compelled to revisit this class. The following is my recollection of the second attempt: It is hard to do yoga when you are crying.
The class starts out like any other, except for Kirra’s outfit. She proudly adorns the (horrific) colors of her nation’s flag, green and yellow. She is proud of her country. I can relate.
As always, Kirra’s voice (she has a thick and friendly Australian accent) is warm and assuring; she emits an aura of encouragement as she guides me through a warmup. Her commentary is clear, and I understand what feelings to expect within my body as I transition between poses.
I settle in. I feel loose and relaxed.
Homesick the past two years
Just a few minutes into the flow, however, while resting in downward dog, Kirra gets personal. Referencing an Instagram post that she saw earlier in the day depicting her hometown, Kirra begins to explain her present feeling… “homesick.”
As a result of abjectly unjustifiable mandates, Kirra has been barred from physically returning to Australia since the start of the pandemic. I cannot imagine her pain.
My heartrate and breathing hasten as my eyes well with tears. Although the mandates I face are not nearly as draconian, I can relate. I have been homesick for the past two years.
The photo, taken by a friend, apparently depicts an empty beach in Kirra’s hometown of Lennox Head (near Byron Bay), Australia.
We transition to the top of the yoga mat. My head hangs low in forward fold. My hamstrings are tight.
Hanging in Forward Fold, Kirra artfully describes her hometown: settled along a picturesque beach on the tropical coast of Australia. She equates the experience to growing up in a “literal heaven.”
I grew up in the desert of Arizona. Not as pretty, but I can relate to her nostalgic feelings. I’m also reminded of the many coastal towns and inland cities along the beaches of southern California, like Irvine, where children are still forced to mask.
My breathing hastens. My heart rate rises. I am angry by the thoughts of child abuse, and my yoga is disturbed.
Kirra continues, “I would go to the beach every single morning, regardless of the weather, regardless of [the nature of] the waves.” As kids, “we would go surfing every morning. It didn’t matter how good the waves were... We were just out there.”
I’m instructed to stand; my Mountain Pose is shaky. We begin Sun Salutations.
This class is hard enough without clogging my airways. I remove my shirt and empty the snot into it. I eventually get ahold of my breathing, which is the key to a successful yoga practice.
After a few more transitions, Kirra resumes her story. “We were ocean babies… There is a thing in Australia called ‘Nippers,’ and Nippers are junior surf life savers. If you ever go to the beach on Sunday, I swear [there are] literally hundreds of kids practicing surf lifesaving. [As a child,] I loved it.”
Discomfort is to be expected
I attempt to ignore my feelings. Again, I’m reminded to breathe. I follow Kirra’s instructions and eventually compose myself enough to start sweating. Kira reminds me that discomfort is to be expected and that the feeling leads to progress. I relax into the pain. It distracts me from my work. I breathe.
Following Kirra, I settle into Goddess Pose. My legs splay out wide into a deep squat. My arms take the shape of a cactus. My legs begin to shake. Despite having lost thirty pounds recently (thanks, Kirra!), I’m getting tired.
The story continues... as a Nipper “we would have to paddle” often in “relentless” conditions. “I remember being young, about eight or nine years old and just swimming in this insane ocean one day. I didn’t think I would make it,” she explained, “but the older surf life-savers were around, cheering us on, and I got through it.”
My legs tremble and emotions whirl.
I’m reminded of our present circumstances
“One more breath,” she explains, “we have got this. We can get through it. If I can get through that day without dying in the ocean, we can get through this.”
I’m reminded of our present circumstances. I collapse. I am exhausted.
Typically, yoga is my escape from work. The pain felt deep into a stretch is all that distracts me from obsessing over COVID-19 issues. Today, thoughts of COVID-19 and the abuses carried out in its name are inescapable.
I am no longer capable of following along. I am balling. Where are the adults encouraging us through the tough times? Where have they been for the past two years?
I attempt to compose myself; the tissues are piling up next to my yoga mat (see photo).
Kirra transitions the class into Pidgeon; I eventually rejoin and settle into the stretch.
That is, until her commentary picks back up. “Being a Nipper is one of the best things you can offer to a child because the ocean is relentless. It teaches you so much. You learn so much about yourself through the ocean.” Being in it, you “just get thrashed; it’s a giant washing machine.”
“Two more breaths,” she coos. I’m enraged, and breathing is difficult.
“In the ocean, if you’re in a rough state... if you get caught in a riptide or it’s just chaos [around you and you think you’re going to die], if you freak out and allow your body to be sent into this parasympathetic of fight or flight, you lose your breath so fast. And it gets very dangerous, even more dangerous than it already is or can be at times.”
As a Nipper, “you learn from a young age that your breath is so essential; it is so important.” Just like in the practice of yoga, Kirra notes, “you learn how to smooth your breath out and slow it down.”
She then dropped a Truth Bomb
She then dropped a truth bomb, abruptly ending my already failed session: “if you can just keep a soft, smooth breath [and remember] that the ocean comes in waves and sets, if you can just hold out long enough, there will be a calm between the sets. I feel like life does that, too. If you can just stay calm long enough, it will eventually start to settle, and you’ll be able to swim back to shore.”
I’m instructed to lie on my back. I wrap myself up in a hug, dumbfounded.
The commentary continues:
“it’s so easy and it’s actually kind of natural to go into that state of fight or flight. We do it so often. It is not just in the water. We live there for so much of our lives, right now…” Kirra concludes, in the face of chaos, “come to your breath, and let everything soften, knowing that the sets of life will have a lull between them.”
Remember the Next Time
The next time the COVID-19 regime tries to scare you with another variant, remember the lesson from Lady Liberty, Kira Michel, and breathe. The chaos will settle, and we can swim back to shore.
We are all homesick and stuck in a chaotic state. If we are to get back home, we need to remember to breath and relax into the discomfort so that we do not drown.
In response to the next variant, Americans should do yoga.
