Warrior Three

-by Beau Burriola


There sure aren't a lot of people in class today.
Good. I enjoy yoga more when there are less people. I don't much like the idea of my Downward Facing Dog starting where someone else's is ending.


There's Miriam. Enough stretching. She's gonna play the chanting monks again this week, I just know it.

"Oooooooooo eeeeeee ooooooooo, thump thump," the monks sing from the speakers, and we all instinctively move into Upward Facing Dog, a wave of bodies turning in steady unison to face the sun.


Wow.


Years ago, I wouldn't have been caught dead in a yoga class. Fresh from Texas and not much enjoying the company of a room full of only older women, I've never been inclined to expose myself to something so, so, “girly?”

It's strange how all that changes with HIV. In that instant when the reality of the mortal moment becomes heavier than a person's eternal future, a lot of his ideas can change. That's not all bad. Look at me. I'm in yoga class.

"Neeeeee dooooooo diiiiiiiiiii, thump thump," and we move into the Half Moon Pose with half-grace, teetering on one arm and one foot.

Do I do yoga because I'm scared? Am I scared of becoming sick? Is that why I go to the gym and choke down supplements? Is it all out of fear, hoping somehow I'll get a precious little bit of more time back? Does it really work?

"Warrior Two," Miriam says as all lean into Warrior Two from our Extended Triangles, the question burning in my mind and the stretch burning my legs.

Sure, I'm a little scared, but I'm not sure that's why I'm making all these changes. I think my reason is simpler than that: by doing these things I feel strong, I feel well and I feel like I'm not giving up. Where wellness might not matter to any other normal guy at my age, it has taken on invaluable meaning to me. Everything I do reflects that goal.

"Warrior Three," Miriam says from somewhere I can't see, to the sound of the monks’ “’yaaaaaaaaaaaa maaaaaaa dooooooooooooo.” I reach with all my might into Warrior Three, shaking from the strain.

Sometimes in Warrior Three, with my arms fully extended and my eyes staring up through the palms of my hands, I imagine that if I just reach high enough, go just a hair further, or put just another ounce of energy into it, I might be able to grasp the secret cure that has escaped people since AIDS began. Warrior Three.

There are days I still feel like a freak, when I look around I don't see a lot of people like me. Most of the younger guys I know seem too scared about being openly HIV-positive. I can't blame them, but I can’t admire them, either. I still hold out hope that one day we’ll all wake up and stop being afraid. Staring up through my palms, I feel hopeful.

"Taaaaaayyyy tooooo marrrt-teeeeee," the monks slow to a close, holding the last note out for exactly fourteen seconds, just like they did the week before, before fading into a peaceful, "ooooooooooom."

"Namaste," we all say out loud to end the hour-long class that didn't feel like an hour at all.

"Namaste," I say to myself, rolling up my mat and walking out of the studio, lighter, new.