By Alana Downey
I was living in a 2-bedroom rent control for $1900/month in West Hollywood. I quit a job after a tireless effort of me trying to wave a huge red flag in front of the owners of a well-known residential rehab. “Pay attention, these are peoples lives we are dealing with- your staff needs to know CPR YO”. A month later a client OD’d on my day off- the same day the love of my life decided to move out. That was a bad day.
My friend Janice knew what I had just gone through. She was beaming with the Golden White Light from her new found passion- Power Yoga. She nudged me to come, dangling a week’s free pass. Without thinking I was in a C2 Power yoga class on Hollywood Blvd finding my lost Downward Dog. I had been an on/off again Yogi for years. I knew the basic poses so I could keep up with Power Jones’s next to me. This time, yoga pulled me like never before.
Here I am an ex punker, tattooed since the 80s “finding myself “jumping into Chataranga with just as much rage as I did jumping into the pit of a Dead Kennedy’s show, only this time my Doc’s were in the locker and by now, my inner child had been educated on the streets with enough experience strength and hope to knew how to separate the two.
By the end of my week’s pass I was hooked and ready to sign up for a monthly pass. The enlightened being behind the counter, that was just teaching the class, who minutes ago, was swaying me to let my heart burst open by bending my back and opening my arms wide, instantly brought me back to the pit with “would you like the black tag special of $150/month”? Are you f**ing kidding me, Black Flag what??….. I was a single mother on food stamps and by the look on his face; my punker must have shown, as with his next Ujahee breath, he offered me YFT- (that’s Yoga For Trade, not a new punk band). I could clean the studio’s 3 hours a week for unlimited yoga. My inner punker heart burst open… SOLD. Continue Reading…