The Blissful Sweater--a short story

This short story is the product of amazingly awesome yoga teachers, my own thoughts on happiness/bliss (and sweaters, apparently), and two hours at Webster's with nothing to do:

The first lesson, I didn't see your face. A chime, a chorus of "om"s guided me through the practice. I distinctly remember your light whisper reminding a lost soul that she didn't have to be an actor pretending to do yoga--she had to practice yoga. 

I came to you for nice legs that would make him squirm. I got the legs, but I didn't get him. I picture him shrugging his shoulders, saying "irony is a bitch" in between lattes and business meetings.
It was always latte runs. Never tea.

I came to you out of frustration and anger. My sweat beads filled the incense-soaked room. Lavender cascaded through my nose. I sprinted through down dog. I found Savasana--corpse pose--a waste of time.
     "You don't learn anything by just laying there," I whined, thinking of the ever expanding flab on my legs.
     "Ah, you mean to say you don't accomplish anything by just laying there," you said, tugging at your drawstring pants. "But you can learn the entire world."
I said I wanted my fifteen dollars back.

I went through the motions of life, pushing your words to the back of my mind, alongside thoughts of reality TV and the pressing realization that I was unhappy. I'd never been the type to sob through a pint and an outraged phone call to my best friend; outwardly, I was successful. I went on hikes with Stephen, my golden retriever. I sold houses to other people who were selling happiness through shiny-white teeth and boob jobs. I'm just like you, I wanted to tell them, we both sell lies. I made enough money to buy HBO and TV dinners. I never gave myself a moment to sit down. But it was night time, when I finally found Savasana, that I remembered, each night more painful than the last. 

So I came back, fifteen minutes early, per usual. I heard the chorus of breath, your song of "om namah shivaya." I wanted to hate you for pulling me towards a battle with my neurotic self. But I didn't. Your advanced class poured out of the studio, opened chakras and all. I trembled as I put my donation into the jar. Ganesha's elephant belly still protruded over the window. Shiva still smiled from the studio walls. I almost expected you to confront me, to tell me yoga doesn't accept the flighty. But you didn't. 

A car horn beeped from outside. The yells of kids coming home from school wafted through the windows. We rolled out our mats. The chanting music vibrated on the floor. You told us to go into Child's Pose--"Wisdom" pose, as you prefer to call it. We stayed there for eight long breaths.
     "Inhale, feel your lungs expand. Exhale, watch your breath travel through your body." I began to feel anxious. We weren't moving yet. My thoughts clouded over my forehead. What if I was breathing wrong? What if, later on, we had to put our legs behind our heads?

You sat up; I leaped into lotus, trying, already, to show off. You smiled with your whole body.
     "Today we are going to meditate." I froze. Was this some cruel trick?
     "There is no expectation in meditation. Only focus. Here, we focus on the breath. We acknowledge our thoughts--we wave to them like an acquaintance who demands much of our attention, but we do not engage in them. We are observers, not negotiators of our physical existence." 

I watched you speak in your blissful tone. I tried to settle into empty space, but all I could think was that my physical self negotiated one outstanding sale price the other day. So I tried again. I shifted into sitting position. His face passed through my mind. My body tensed up. I opened one eye--your awareness shifted to another world.
     "We need not demand from ourselves. You have all the tools you need; meditation requires nothing new. We spend our lives thinking if we get that yoga mat or that iPad, we will finally be happy. But we fail to see the infinite joy that is already there. Bliss isn't earned, it is revealed by stripping away all the expectation we load ourselves with."

The contour lines of his face grew sharper; I breathed through it. I had always expected his replacement to come Waltzing through--as though a Jonathan 2.0 would make me happy. I thought through the idea of erasing all Jonathans. It brought a certain stillness. My body relaxed onto the floor. Then I considered dying alone. The tension jetted through my arms. Damnit. 
     "We are born with this clean slate. Think of bliss as a sweater where all good things happen. Our mothers sing to us in this sweater. We see a beautiful bird. We laugh. We sing. But then we get bored with the sensations of this sweater; it is too plain. So we go buy more trendy clothes, those belly shirts all the young people wear. We get bored with those clothes too. We keep piling things onto the sweater until we forget it was ever there. But we are never satisfied. We keep shopping for the perfect item, when really, we could clean out our clothes closet and find bliss at the bottom. Meditation is finding that sweater."

Was Jonathan that sweater? Were you? If I stopped moving, would I be worth that bliss? Without movement, would I be too scared to find that sweater?

We lay back into Savasana. 

Namaste.