The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring by David Michie Read Free Book Online

of the studio was mirrored, and I realized he had seen me coming through the beaded curtain.
    Out on the balcony, Serena turned and saw me. “Oh, Rinpoche, you followed me!” Walking toward me, she told the man in Warrior Pose, “This little one spends a lot of time at the café. I don’t suppose you let cats inside the studio, do you?”
    There was a pause before he answered. “Not as a rule. But I have a sense that your friend is rather special.”
    I had no idea exactly why he sensed this, but I was happy to take it as permission to stay. Without further ado, I hopped onto a low wooden stool near a rack of blankets at the back of the room. It was the perfect place from which to observe without being observed.
    Looking around, I noticed a small, framed black-and-white photograph of a dog hanging on the wall. It was a Lhasa Apso, the same breed as Kyi Kyi. Popular among Tibetans, Lhasa Apsos traditionally served as monastery sentinels, alerting monks to the presence of intruders. Was this particular Lhasa Apso the dog after which the Downward Dog School of Yoga was named?
    Other people began arriving for class. Mostly expatriates, with a sprinkling of Indians, the mix of men and women seemed to range in age from the 30s on up. They carried themselves with a certain awareness, an indefinable poise. Spreading out yoga mats, bolsters, and blankets, they lay on their backs with their eyes shut and their legs strapped together as though impersonating the rows of trussed chickens I used to see in the market.
    After a while, the instructor, whom people were calling Ludo, stood at the front and addressed the 20 or so students, his voice gentle but clear. “Yoga is vidya ,” he said, “which is Sanskrit for being with life as it is, not life as I would like it to be. Not life if only this was different, or if only I could do that.
    “So, how do we begin yoga? By getting out of our heads and into the present moment. The only moment that actually exists is the here and now.”
    Through the open studio doors came the shrill cries of swifts, soaring and swooping in the late afternoon. Stray chords of Hindi music and the clatter of cooking pots rose from the houses down the hill, along with the aromas of evening meals being prepared.
    “Abiding in the here and now,” Ludo continued, “we recognize that in each unfolding moment, everything is complete. Everything is interconnected. But we cannot experience this directly until we let go of thought and simply relax, until we acknowledge that we have come to this moment, here and now, only because everything else is the way it is.
    “Relax in open awareness,” Ludo told the students. “The unification of life. This is yoga.”

    Ludo then led the class through a sequence of asanas, or postures, some standing, some seated, some dynamic, some resting.
    Yoga, I realized, was not just about developing flexibility of the body. It went beyond that.
    Along with his instructions on how to bend and stretch, Ludo gave out gems of wisdom that pointed to a much broader purpose. “We cannot work on the body unless we also work on the mind. When we come across constrictions—obstacles in our physical practice—we discover that physiology is a mirror of psychology. Mind and body can get stuck in grooves that cause discomfort, stress, and tightness.”
    When one of the men mentioned that he couldn’t bend over and place his palms on the floor because his hamstrings were too tight, Ludo remarked, “Hamstrings, yes. For some that is the challenge. For others it is being able to turn. Or simply to sit cross-legged comfortably. The dissatisfactions of life manifest in many different forms. Exactly how they are expressed is unique to each one of us. But yoga provides us with the space to become free.” As he walked along the rows of students, making subtle adjustments to their postures, he continued. “Instead of going round and round, deepening the same subconscious habits of body and mind,