Yoga Studio 58
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2025 by Mat Twassel
Penny always wanted to try yoga, so when her Uncle Ed mentioned he’d started a series of private lessons at a local studio, Penny was eager to accompany him.
“I guess I could bring a guest,” Ed mused, “but,” he warned, “you might find it a little quirky.”
“Quirky might be my middle name,” Penny assured him.
“I didn’t know that,” Ed said. “But it might be a little more than quirky. More like unconventional. For instance, the sessions are clothing-free.”
“You mean like naked?” Penny’s eyes brightened.
Ed nodded.
“Well, I won’t be embarrassed if you won’t,” Penny replied. “But what about the instructor? The guru or swami whatever he’s called? Is he naked too?”
“The Yogacharya,” Ed informed his niece. “I’m not sure he’s really a he.”
“Gender neutral,” Penny said. “That’s cool. I know some theys at school. But if he, I mean they, is naked, wouldn’t you be able to tell?”
“It’s complicated,” Ed said. “I guess you’ll see for yourself.”
As it turned out, Penny couldn’t tell. Even Yogacharya’s voice was neutral, its tone soft but defined, not obviously masculine or feminine and not at all robotic. The studio walls and floor were of a wool-like fabric which absorbed sound to a degree that made the setting all but silent, nearly other-worldly. And the Yogacharya’s commands, if that’s what they were, might not have been exactly English, or any language, but simply ideas that appeared within Penny’s head or even more than that, within her body. She simply found herself doing the positions, immersed in them, and fleetingly it occurred to her that these were not conventional positions, Chakravakasana or Vrksasana or Adho Mukha Svanasana, but, whatever they were, they were grand, and she felt suffused with a dreamy peacefulness.
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