The Farting Yoga Class
One of the most memorable yoga classes I have ever taught was about 10 years ago. Even now as I tune in to the memory I begin to laugh aloud. This class was completely unique – it was full of farting.
For years, I taught yoga classes at the Veterans Hospital (VA Hospital), in two inpatient units. I taught in the Substance Abuse Residential & Rehabilitation program as well as in the psychiatric unit. I helped start the yoga program in the latter, and perhaps I’ll tell you stories from my time there in another writing piece. This sharing, however, is about teaching in the substance use treatment program, where I taught twice per week for years.
On the day of this very memorable class, the cafeteria had served Mexican food for lunch, which was right before the class I taught. I found out about the special lunchtime treat abruptly, after the first twist in the chair (we did a lot of chair yoga), when a loud fart cut through the calm I was trying to nudge us towards with my voice.
On that day, calm and “yoga voice” were not the way to Yoga – to union. To force calm would have been fake – it would not have been Yoga. I would have been fighting against the wind… the winds of a room full of all male veterans who had served in every war – farting.
The first fart elicited some embarrassment – apologies and explanations. I wanted to normalize it, so I shared how twisting and forward folds compress the organs of digestion and can help keep things moving. This permission seamlessly turned in to all the vets letting ‘em rip. Instead of being met with an often-held image of yoga or spiritual teachers being strict, other-worldly, and above things like farts, I was present. Presence meant laughing. Laughing and joy are expansive and connecting in their nature.
We all laughed so hard. So many farts, so much laughter. By the time we got to savasana, we all thought we were in the clear. That all gas had been passed. Then one of the guys had one last release, and the room continued to giggle. This giggle, like an ocean wave, settled itself, without pushing or rushing, into a very sweet and deeply peaceful savasana.
After that class, we all were more relaxed with each other. The guys shared more of their histories and authentic selves with me. We could more truly connect; we weren’t locked in to the stilted mirage of “wellness.”
Should this unique class be so singular? I wish it weren’t. Yoga means union, to yoke together the apparent disparate threads back to their true nature of wholeness. In my experience, performance and trying to “be good” and “do it right” hold people away from honesty, presence, surrender, and thus Yoga. Acting in a performative way, or manufacturing, tends to be disconnected from the body.
To unite – with the authentic self and, thus, with each other – I find we need to connect with and in our bodies. Not only are our bodies always in the present moment, but also we incarnated in to bodies for a reason. So I say: Let’s embrace the in-body experience! Farts and all! It’s not all shit though – through the discomfort, the socially labeled “faux pas,” and the burning desires we fear embracing, there is laughter, truth, and connection. There also can be discovery of deep truths, unraveling of social conditioning and traumas, and understanding why you’re here right now on this earth.
It's not all toots and shit, though. No mud, no lotus. Root to rise. No fart… no freedom? Eh, I gave it a shot.