There are purists who believe yoga should be our sole form
of exercise. I am not one of them. Running strengthens my heart, lungs and
limbs, dance frees my emotions and surfing just revolutionised my whole world.
Yet instead of diverting my attention, these things keep bringing me back to
yoga. I return to my mat with fresh perspective, stiffness to ease, visions to
contemplate, but mostly I return to the quiet simplicity of breath, stillness
and gravity like a field mouse huddling into its cosy burrow.
I discovered Capoeira, the Brazilian martial arts dance back in my UK days. Funky Brightonian lads with highly developed serratus anterior muscles doing cartwheels and backbends in dizzying circles. Or that troupe of teenage boys, polished ebony dressed in white, who mesmerised the Latin American festival crowd with their flying kicks and acrobatics. Always set to the backdrop of that organic, hypnotic music. Here on the Garden Route, years later, it was different: women entered the circle to twist and twirl and kick too.
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Slowly I surrendered to curiosity about this fighting art disguised as a dance, a well-guarded secret transported from Africa to Brazil with unfortunate slaves shipped across the ocean. I had already been seduced by the berimbau, the bow-like instrument made from a stick, a wire and a calabash in an unlikely trio that could express such exuberant rhythms with only three notes. I had been consumed by the incredible, electric atmosphere when Mestre Janja, one of Brazil’s few female capoeira masters visited. Her voice had the hues and texture of raw honey, her songs called of saints and mermaids, of suffering and honour, the rounded edges of Portuguese forming every word into poetry. The folkloric rituals enmeshed in this game captured my attention, its symbolic gestures filled with mystery. Inside the roda, the circle created by capoeristas as a protective arena holding the two players in its midst, they would attack and defend, lurch and evade without touching… for every call a perfectly timed response echoing the songs propelling them.
I discovered Capoeira, the Brazilian martial arts dance back in my UK days. Funky Brightonian lads with highly developed serratus anterior muscles doing cartwheels and backbends in dizzying circles. Or that troupe of teenage boys, polished ebony dressed in white, who mesmerised the Latin American festival crowd with their flying kicks and acrobatics. Always set to the backdrop of that organic, hypnotic music. Here on the Garden Route, years later, it was different: women entered the circle to twist and twirl and kick too.
I had always been a spectator, driven away by a couple of
overly militaristic classes that had offended my yogic sensibilities. After
years of de-programming the “no pain no gain” brainwashing of childhood
gymnastics, I wasn’t ready to go down that road again. But the man in my life
persuaded me otherwise. His gentle, playful teaching style drew me in, leaving
my doubts at the door.
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Slowly I surrendered to curiosity about this fighting art disguised as a dance, a well-guarded secret transported from Africa to Brazil with unfortunate slaves shipped across the ocean. I had already been seduced by the berimbau, the bow-like instrument made from a stick, a wire and a calabash in an unlikely trio that could express such exuberant rhythms with only three notes. I had been consumed by the incredible, electric atmosphere when Mestre Janja, one of Brazil’s few female capoeira masters visited. Her voice had the hues and texture of raw honey, her songs called of saints and mermaids, of suffering and honour, the rounded edges of Portuguese forming every word into poetry. The folkloric rituals enmeshed in this game captured my attention, its symbolic gestures filled with mystery. Inside the roda, the circle created by capoeristas as a protective arena holding the two players in its midst, they would attack and defend, lurch and evade without touching… for every call a perfectly timed response echoing the songs propelling them.
So I began the journey of capoeira, clumsily slipping in and
out of ginga, the swaying basic step
that is the bread and butter on capoeira’s movement menu. Suddenly the still yoga
poses were put into motion. My attention diverted from deep focus on my inner
being to a rapt attention to each nuance and each weight shift of my partner. Responding
to each question with an answer – in gesture. Sometimes the questions are like
a bombardment of hailstones forcing me to duck in all directions, but mostly
it’s just a mischievous game: one that makes us laugh, see the world from
upside-down, leap like a frog, strike like the sting ray’s tail, mimic like a
monkey. Each movement we learn is like a new word that I construct into stilted
sentences. Each lesson my vocabulary grows slowly. I long for the day when the
words will come without deliberation and I can string together a fluid sentence
of kicks, turns and rolls. When I can make jokes and play on words. Then I will start to become fluent in capoeira.
Capoeira brought me out of contemplation into celebration.
It is teaching me to move forward into another person’s space, but also to
escape. I am learning to sing and play and watch in the most mind-twisting feat
of multi-tasking my brain has ever experienced. And I have found so many links
to yoga: in the lunges that echo sun salutation, kicks that imitate half- moon
pose and handstands given a Brazilian twist. As yoga is steeped in ancient Hindu
mythology, capoeira is a continuously evolving relic of African culture, preserved
by proud slaves willing to risk the wrath of their oppressors.
Through this training I am becoming vigilant, developing
quicker reflexes to anticipate the leg coming towards me or to cartwheel away
before I’m swept off my feet. Yet through it all, my inner yogi is present,
reminding me not to push myself, not to strive or to take it too seriously,
because after all, it’s just a game. A fight with no contact. A mischievous dance
of attack and defence. As the capoeristas
play.
To watch capoeira in action see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7MuyLFJ920
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