Wholistic Fitness

A YOGIS CHRISTMAS TALE

by Steve Ilg

(with apologies and thanks to Ananda and…of course, Clement Clarke Moore)

‘Twas Brahmamurhti, the pre dawn hours, after Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature seemed to be stirring, not even a mouse;

The presents and resources were flung by the wayside without care,

In hopes that next lifetime, this karma would not bear;

The children remained all snug in their beds,

While by products of sugar messed up their young heads;

And mamma and dadda in comas from too many nightcaps,

Remained settled down for yet another lifetime’s nap,

When out in a cold corner a yogi sat with a spine like a ladder

I sprang from my slumber to see what was his matter.

Breath by breath I saw like a flash,

How he tore open his stiff shoulders and inner places of stash.

His sweat, glistened in the window, a reflection of the new-fallen snow

Gave lustre to my own Worldly attachments and its ignorant show,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a mini morsel of self motivation, and from the yogi, eight ways to deal with my Fear,

As i watched the little old yogi, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Padmasambhava, pretending to be St. Nick!

More rapid than eagles he spoke of the Kleshas as they came,

And he Breathed, and Twisted, and called them by name;

“Now, Fear! now, Doubt! now, Laziness and Sloth!

On, Ignorance! on Weakness! on Imbalance and Anger!

From the bottom of the spine! to the top of the skull!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

and then His Breath like a controlled hurricane sky,

met with His Stillness of Mind … humble as pie.

So up to the skull-top the Kleshas they flew,

With seven chakras chock full of Samskaras, and outdated garments of ‘old’ St. Nicholas too!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from his Breath a loud Ujjayi-like ‘whooof’

The sound came from the prancing and pawing of each muscular…….ooof.

As I drew in my breath with my thoughts spinning around,

Down into Padmasana dropped St. Nick…now freed from his bounds.

He was dressed not – save with his skin – from his head to his foot,

And his skin was all shimmering from sweating inner soot;

A bundle of bundle of emotional baggage he had flung from his back,

And he looked like a saint, opening a new pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his muscles how merry!

His cheeks were like Lances, his legs a mountain could carry!

His well disciplined mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the purity of his skin was as clean as the snow;

The Divine Sound sang sweetly from his teeth,

And the Presence it created wrapped his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a powerful lean belly,

That never shook when he laughed like so many other bowlfuls of jelly.

His sleek muscles were supple and fit, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to Dharma Work,

And spoke softly of Ancient Teachings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up his Sushumna he rose;

His Purusha sprang to unite with Praktriti, then from his body emitted a last whistle,

And away it flew…like the down of a thistle.

Yet I heard him exclaim, ere as He rose out of sight,

“Happy Yogi Jesus’s Day After His Birthday to all,
and to all
a…..

SPIRITUAL WAKE UP!!!!!”