OMG

As a teenager growing up in East Oakland and listening exclusively to gangster rap there are few life outcomes that would have been more surprising to me than becoming a certified yoga instructor. 

At this point, I had been practicing yoga for 5 years and enjoying a plethora of benefits.  I had deeply enhanced my body awareness and connection to my intuition.  I had nearly eliminated my consumption of alcohol because I was now so attuned to its repercussions. I was feeling more confident, resilient, and able to navigate life in a human body.  I never set out to become an instructor, I just felt a natural pull to deepen into the practice, and yoga teacher training was the avenue that presented itself.  Unbeknownst to me, the outcome would be marriage and fatherhood.

~

March 2012

Bars are horrible places to meet a lover, unless your lover-to-be is already dating your friend.

I first met Maya on a dark night in downtown Oakland, where I was reuniting with my friend David at Somar, a bar barely larger than a living room.  As usual, Somar was packed from wall to wall with colorful, sweaty bodies, gyrating in a stew of human hormones.  Neon graffiti assaulted by pupils and bass reverberated through my internal organs. In walks David, holding hands with Maya, who stops me dead in my tracks.  We briefly locked eyes, and her defined eyebrows, bright red lipstick and gold necklace cradling her chest transported me into another dimension. The cacophony of bass lines, drunk shouting and clinking of glass bottles all disappeared as I became engulfed in the beauty of the being before me.  It was like appreciating a painting in an art gallery.  I had no intention of taking the painting home, just admiration of the craft and respect for the wonderful taste of the gallery. 

“Nice to meet you.” I spoke casually with a gentle shake of the hand. 

Pulsating vibrations from massive subwoofers made any further conversation all but impossible. This was the full extent of our connection for the next several years.  

~

Sept 2014

Much to the dismay of my teenage self, I have enrolled in the Niroga yoga teacher training program, which requires that I attend 2 classes every week for 8 months.  Based on my demanding schedule running a non-profit organization, there are only 2 times I can possibly attend class.  Monday morning at 10:30am comes and goes without fanfare. On the contrary, on Wednesday at 7:30pm I arrive at Yogalayam, which often has an assortment of colorful rose petals sprinkled on the sidewalk in front of the entrance. I enter the studio and tip toe into a room composed of over 90% female presenting bodies, a ratio that’s familiar not only in yoga class but in every pursuit of healing and transformation.  My baggy T-shirt and basketball shorts give me the appearance of someone who has mistakenly entered the wrong room. I eye one vacant space on the floor, right next to Maya who is seated majestically on her mat with perfect posture, in colorful yoga pants, a Lululemon ad in the making.  

In my mental rolodex, I identify her as Maya, who is now David’s ex-girlfriend.  We exchange a cordial hug and turn our attention to yoga class.  For months, we come in and out of connection every Wednesday night from 7:30-8:30pm, exchanging nothing more than a few syllables of speech.  One night after exiting class, we find ourselves alone under the awning of Yogalayam’s entrance, with rose petals framing our feet.  

“Hey, do you want to get some tea sometime?” Maya calmly asks.

“Sure.” I reply. I pull out my calendar on my phone to schedule a time.  

Weeks later we are sitting in the grass under the Children’s FairyLand sign, a landmark for anyone meeting an acquaintance on the North side of Lake Merritt.  Under a cloudless, cyan sky, we sip homemade ginger tea from my thermos, as ducks glide across the surface of the lake, creating ripples in the stoic reflections of skyscrapers.  

In this chapter of life, I am laser focused on my life purpose, which is the non-profit youth organization I am co-directing and feverishly attempting to raise money for. I am meeting between about 10 people every week to drink tea and discuss potential collaboration and funding opportunities.  My mind has not distinguished between this tea encounter and any of the others.  I am having tea with David's ex-girlfriend (meaning even though she is attractive, she is off limits for anything beyond business).  I wonder how she wants to work together. Will she offer free yoga classes to the youth? The conversation meanders gracefully around food, family, and travel, with no proposals for a work collaboration.  The hour ends, and we go our separate ways.  

A few days later Maya asks me if I want to have tea again.  

“Sure.” I reply calmly once more, and we arrange another time to meet up by the lake.  

This time I find her underneath the shade of a massive eucalyptus tree, conveniently located 2 blocks from my apartment building on the southwest side of the lake. She is sprawled out on a red, white, and black Mexican blanket just large enough for 2 bodies, adorned with a large container of succulent strawberries.  The conversation flows even more effortlessly, filled with laughter, and deep eye contact. I experience a previously unknown sense of familiarity with another human being. She consumes the strawberries as if she is leading a ritual of sensuality that she is urging me to join. By the end of the hour my thick skull softens enough to realize - this is not a meeting about work collaboration.  

As I walk her to her car, I feel a magnetic pull to remain in her presence.  As an introvert, this is an unusual feeling. Despite having a history of being absolutely terrified to take any initiative with a potential love interest, I ask her if she wants to go for a hike together. She enthusiastically agrees, and we set a date.  

As soon as I return home my mind begins nervously preparing to call David to ask for his blessing.  Will he be angry?  Will he reveal that she is a psychopath? 

A few days later, I call David, and after a brief round of small talk, I tell him, “Yo, I think something is up between me and Maya.  How would you feel about me… dating her?” 

A brief pause on the other end.  

“Yo, you guys are perfect for each other! Yes, I can totally see it.”  He says.

I exhale deeply. 

“And is there anything I should know about her? Like, is she crazy?” I ask.

“No man, she is totally cool. Good people.”  He reports.

With that, I had David’s blessing and my first official date with Maya on the calendar.  

The inception of what will later be referred to as MG is scheduled for the day after I return from an Ayahuasca ceremony.  When she picks me up in front of my building I glide into the passenger seat, eyes fully open and alert, still basking in the afterglow of what has been a life altering journey.  She knows where I’ve traveled, and we don’t waste any time diving into the details.  

I tell her, “I'm not sure why I feel so comfortable with you already, but I feel compelled to tell you about the revelation I had.  I was a tree in my last life.” 

I pause to gauge her response.  

She turns to look at me, with childlike glee spread across her face and shares, “I am a butterfly!”  

She goes on to recount her own spiritual awakening to her connection with butterflies, and we dive into a vortex of kindred soul connection.  The butterfly and the redwood tree seem to be a wonderfully compatible pair.  

We meander for hours through Redwood Park in the Oakland Hills. The ferns listen to our conversation and nod their approval as a breeze traverses the canyon. We have known each other intimately in a previous life. This is the only possible explanation for the depth of comfort I feel in her presence.  Our strides deliver us to a large meadow, which I have frequented throughout my life.  Emerging from the narrow trails which required walking single file, we now sit side by side in the grass to rest our tired legs and gaze into one another’s eyes. 

As children frolic around a nearby play structure, I recount a childhood story which occurred at a picnic site that’s visible in the distance. I was at a summer birthday BBQ and innocently lifted an open can of soda to my lips. Just before my mouth made contact with the cool aluminum, a frightened bee escaped from within and stung me on the lip. I dropped the can to the grass, splattering the contents on my shoes as I shrieked in agony.  Adults swarmed to my rescue, assessing if my throat was swelling shut in response to the venom.  Luckily, my injury did not require medical attention, but never again did I lift a soda to my mouth without inspecting the interior. 

Maya consoled the wounded child within me in a way that I did not previously know I needed.  I proceeded to withdraw a plastic yogurt container from my backpack which contained a neatly sliced orange. In preparation for my Ayahuasca ceremony I had been following a rigid, cleansing diet which included a ban on citrus. I eagerly anticipated partaking in the orange, and I sensed that Maya was amused by the ceremonious nature of my snack. We brought the orange slices to our lips simultaneously, separating the flesh from the skin in a synchronized motion. Shortly after, our lips came together as all the surrounding trees waved their encouragement, a light breeze drifting through their branches.  

The MG inception progressed to Maya’s studio apartment in Berkeley, where we spent the night embraced in a PG-13 cuddle on her black tatami bed, which she had painstakingly built from scratch. I lay awake the entire night pondering our future.  I calculated when we could conceive a child based on her graduate school plans, and concluded that fatherhood would need to wait until 2020. 

~

There are a handful of moments in which the fabric of the cosmos peeled away and my destiny was revealed with such striking beauty that I had no choice but to surrender and release any notion that my ego is controlling anything. This was one. 

Maya picks me up to go to Non-Stop Bhangra from Delhi to Dublin, a party being hosted in San Francisco.  Our conversation is once again flowing as seamlessly as if I were talking to an old friend I've known my whole life.  Maya is bedazzled in jewels on her ears, neck, and wrist, a mythical queen with a gray Toyota Prius as her chariot.  As we make our way through stop-and-go traffic on the Bay Bridge the conversation turns towards the snow, as I’ve recently returned from a snowboarding trip.  Maya casually mentions that she tried skiing once but broke her leg and never tried it again.  So far, there is no reason to be freaked out.  Many people break their leg skiing.  

“How old were you?” I ask.

“I was in 5th grade, so I guess I was 11.” She replies.

 I quickly do some basic math in my head. 

“Whoa, I also broke my leg skiing when I was 11.  Which leg did you break?” I inquire as my freak-out-o-meter activates.

“My left leg, the tibia.” She replies.

 “Me too! Oh shit. What kind of fracture?” I ask, now with a sense of belligerent urgency.

“Spiral fracture.”  She says.

“Me too!!” I shout with more animation than I’ve ever previously conjured on my face.

“Holy fucking shit!” We both exclaim simultaneously. 

She halts the car, and we stare at each other in disbelief.  A sea of brake lights paint both our faces in a luminous red glow. Immediately, I know I am going to marry this woman, and we are going to make babies together.  We never say this out loud, although it is implicit in the way we stare at one another for the rest of the night, as we dance, celebrate the magic of being alive, and surrender to fate.

~

For a musical history of my relationship with Maya, listen to ‘OMG’ by clicking the image below .

“You flapped your wings, landed on my branches

These are actual, dream-like circumstances

I was thinking that I would have to search the planet

Then you walked into my world, What are the chances?”