Firstly, let me say that I was unaware of an explicit connection between “Namaste” and yoga itself until fairly recently, about 7 years ago when I returned to Denver. Secondly, I have been practicing yoga since 1975. Sure, I was 4 when I started but hear me out.
In 1975, my parents and I were living in Steven’s Point, WI, where my father was teaching at the University and my mother was getting a Master’s degree. I was 4 years old and very happy about life there. I’d had some major toddler eczema that a Native American doctor had treated, and so my mother was open to all kinds of things new to her. She used to tell me, “Find the people who know, Jessie.”
My mother’s belly-baby, whom I called Flower, was causing her back pain. Her Lamaze instructor recommended yoga and so we went. The downward-facing dog and the floor stretches really helped and even after my sister Rosie was born, we did yoga in the living room. Yoga became a regular part of my life, and I started practicing in earnest in my late 20s. I have fallen in and out of the discipline, like every pattern of mine, and now have the awareness to seek authentic teachers and systems in a manner like to my pugilist spouse’s search for fight schools with legitimate lineages.
My relationship with Namaste is separate. In my late 20s, I studied Al-Ghazali and Rumi, respectively Sunni and Sufi Muslim mystics and poets with whom I found great resonance. Both men use Namaste conceptually and I fell in love with this idea, that those we meet hold within them a spark of the Divine to which we bow. My deep love, gratitude, and respect for the wisdom that their writings brought me made this Namaste something I loved to share. I cringe now at the thought that I actively evangelized for the distribution and dispersal of Namaste. I taught it to many.
Then we returned to Denver in 2012. I immediately began work as a hospital chaplain resident, and returning to swimming and yoga became necessary to process the grief, formation, and sheer exhaustion of that work. Swimming doesn’t really change, and the near-silent rhythms of water helped me meditate and pray. I returned to yoga as a way to focus my breath and responses in moments of crisis. One of the first things I noticed was the Namaste.
“Namaste” the teacher would say at the close of class, no matter the form of yoga (Hatha, Vinyasa, Yin, etc) being practiced. And invariably, the class as a whole responded, “Namaste.” At first I was pleased about this. “Oh!” I thought to myself, “This idea of Namaste has really become normative. That’s exciting.”
I began to speak about the idea more often, and sure folks knew the word. But the concept? That this meant an inherent divinity within each of us, that we had the choice whether or not to acknowledge and honor it, and that to do so required a deep mutuality? Not so much… It began to bother me, to stick in my throat.
Then I began to read writings of people from the Indian subcontinent and their own take on Namaste. I learned about varying interpretations within India or Pakistan or between differing religious schools. I heard a clear insistence upon ownership and groundedness in Namaste. I heard a lament that its use had become appropriated so thoroughly that ironic t-shirts and yoga teddy-bears alike evoked Namaste in some way.
I stopped responding with the group. I ceased with the Namaste. At first, this was fine. I think the teachers just assumed I didn’t know any better. After a while, the subtle hints started. I was told that Namaste meant hello or hey fellow special being and this sometimes turned into not so subtle shaming. My silence is always noticed by the teacher, and rarely by my fellow classmates. Occasionally, a teacher will ask me about it, perhaps by engaging me after class to be sure I know what Namaste means. If I respond that I do, and they follow up, I will explain.
I’m a word nerd. I love language. And it would be a lessening of Namaste itself for me to toss it about. It is a sacred and true thing, and not for every moment. The truth is that at the end of a yoga class, I’m not there. I know for some, yoga is church. They probably really are in that place of deep connection. But I’m not. And I won’t cheapen the word to fulfill a social expectation.
As a result, I’ve cancelled my CorePower membership for good. I seek better yoga. And no. I will not say Namaste at the end of class without cause.