The bhakti of breakti

“Bhakti” is a Sanskrit word that in yoga means “devotion.” So, for example, the act of loving fully is sometimes described as bhakti yoga. Yesterday I took a yoga class born from the teacher’s love and devotion for break dancing. She calls her style “breakti.” I call it a blast!

Keep it real, come correct, and open the space. Those were Anya Porter’s requests of me and the fifteen or so students who joined me in taking one of her specialized classes that blends break dancing (along with other street styles) with traditional asana. I was really excited to be in the room, because I have a secret love for street dancing: Once when I had a gym membership I got really into taking classes, including a hip-hop aerobics class in which I may or may not have learned a full Cali-style routine set to Justin Timberlake’s “I’m Bringing Sexy Back.”

However, much as I enjoy hip hop and attempting to move to the beats, skilled I am not. I believe I have potential–I sort of did a headstand just last week. But then again, I am not yet able to balance on my arms in crow pose. Still, even though I was only moderately confident in my abilities, Anya had me feeling right at home, reminding me that I can find my own rhythm if I can find my breath.

Nonetheless, dance doesn’t come as easily to me as it does for others, and it can take me a while to pick up new moves. Which is why I gathered up the courage to put my mat in the front row: I decided it was more important for me to see the teacher’s demonstration than it was for me to avoid embarrassment. Embarrassment was not avoided.

First I felt awkward having my picture taken while I was sweating heavily. (I understand the studio wanted to document their awesome event, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with a camera in my face during practice.) Then more unwanted attention came my way about the time we started learning the six-step.

Using the first few steps of the move, it’s possible to sort of bear-walk your way across a room. At least, it was possible for everyone else in my class. Anya had us try out our new skillz in sets of three, and I ended up in the last group to go. I was doing my best, kicking a leg forward at the same time as I lifted a hand off the ground and then somehow twisting and then reversing my position. But I wasn’t progressing across the room.

“Why am I not moving?” I wondered aloud. “That’s a really good question,” said Anya, to a soundtrack of good-natured laughter, and I looked up to realize I was alone on the floor. Everyone else was already gathered at the end of the room, waiting. But no pressure.

I did my best to follow Anya’s patient instructions and before long I was moving forward, however clumsily. When I reached the cluster of my patiently observing classmates, I stood up with relief–and to applause. I then understood that lingering wisps of self-consciousness could safely dissolve. Embarrassment was pointless.

And so I had fun. We learned a short routine that was a pleasure to perform, and as we moved and grooved to songs like “Push It”, “I’ve Got the Power”, and “No Diggity”, I felt my guards fall and my smile spread.  Some people around me were doing awesome renditions of a six-step; I was kicking one foot with the other and laughing as I fell. And we were all sharing the love–bringing the bhakti, breakti style.