Yoga has touched my life in so many ways I strain to adequately express with language what, for me, has been the most profound, fulfilling, mysterious, mystical, transcendent, magical and ongoing love of this precious life. This may be filled with a small amount of hyperbole, but really, truly, I mean it. This thing called yoga, unlike say, planetariums, NY Times' best-sellers, Disneyland, marching bands, the late oeuvre of David Cronenberg, spandex, house building, raw food or a myriad of other humanly endeavors and sights, never disappoints or fails to shock my soul into awe. From my first class, to the many early mornings and heated afternoons studying Ashtanga with my mentors and primary guides into the glorious world of yoga, Chuck Miller and Maty Ezraty (blessings to a sweat-filled room of yogis and the vanishing of 120 pounds of weight from my formerly burly frame), my ongoing journey has been a challenging, yet compassionate, playful and probing poetic exploration into a deeper understanding of what the Buddha so eloquently spoke of as the 3 things that matter in life: “how much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
Born in Philadelphia, one of five brothers and sisters (middle child + Pisces = isssues), I was raised on the mean streets of upper-middle class suburbia in Glen Ridge (NJ). To say my upbringing and life until my mid-20’s was light years away from the yogic world I now bathe in daily would be an understatement - ice hockey, football, cycling, nerdish devouring of comics, films, art, screenplays, film editing, a fierce sensitivity to sunlight, swimming with a t-shirt plastered to my skin, social awkwardness, oh, wait, that one’s still there. This has brought me tremendous compassion and enthusiasm for yogis of all backgrounds, shapes and levels of proficiency. For me, teaching is an improvisational art where one communes, like a great Jazz musician (Mingus, Monk or Rollins), with the language of the body and soul in a flowing dance of movement and stasis mixed with an internal walk into one’s own ego where we strip away all the facades and veils that keep us from seeing and embracing our inner truth and divine light, however and in whatever form we may feel those ideals are manifested (apologies for the poor Faulkner imitation).
Like many bourgeois folk looking for a new challenge to light the fire of unheeded ambition during their 30′s, I attended the prestigious Kitchen Academy to fulfill a lifelong dream of learning how to properly crack and fry an egg (which I still do rather shoddily). Actually, my dear father had passed away suddenly, and I vowed to learn a new skill every year to embrace new challenges and attempt to turn darkness into light (or as the great Milton called it, darkness visible). Since that fateful day I have attempted with various levels of success gardening, woodworking, harmonium, stand-up comedy, fencing and falling hopelessly in love. Upon graduation, I was blessed to work at Citrus for James Beard award-winning Chef Michel Richard. Following an ugly incident involving a croissant and some fondant, I created and launched YogaChef, a catering company focused on farm-to-table fare and yoga retreat cooking.
Yoga is beauty. Yoga is glory. Yoga is genius. Yoga is truth. Yoga is love. Now, letting such wisdom permeate the soil and truly take hold in the roots of my soul is the path I try to walk everyday. I hope my classes bring the same amount of joy and happiness to whoever chooses to share their time with me that teaching them brings to my life. I’d offer a money back guarantee, but I’m told by certain humans within legal departments that such claims are reckless.
Remember to smile and always laughom.
Find out more at davidlynchyoga.com