Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the shala
No creatures were stirring, not even Dalai Lama.
The gongs were all hung by the Buddha with care,
In hopes that Patanjali soon would be there.
The yogis were nestled all snug on their mats,
While visions of bliss were dancing like brats.
And teacher in lulus, and I in my speedo (all natural, eco friendly, shade grown and totally organic),
Had just settled our breath for a long winter’s savasana.
When out of our consciousness there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my mat to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I floated like a guru,
Tore open the shutters and exclaimed WHAHOO!
For the moon on the breast looked like new-fallen karma
And gave the lustre of mid-day to an odd looking Krishna.
When, with my wondering ears, I heard wicked sitars
Played on a magic yoga mat by eight tiny yoga stars.
With a little old yogi, all smothered in ghee,
I knew in a moment it must be Pantajali.
More rapid than prana his students they came,
As he chanted, and called them each by name!
"Now John! now, Ramdev! now, Saul and Bikram!
On, Rainbeau! On, Baron! on, Tara and Kathryn!
To the top of the shala! to the top of the hall!
Now levitate! Levitate! Levitate all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
What sounded like yogis aligning each little foot.
As I drew my head in, and was turning around,
When out from the Buddha he came with a bound.
He was all naked from his foot to his head,
And his body all tarnished with the ash of the dead.
A bundle of props he had flung on his back,
And he looked so complete, just opening his pack.
His eyes-focused on dristi! his gaze inwardly found
His forehead had a image, his face was dark brown!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his head so white as it grow.
The stump of some bhang he held tight in his teeth,
The smoke encircled his head like a mala beneath.
With face painted neat, he held a trident of gold
Munched on some Gogi berries and laughed ho, ho ho!
He was slim, calm and sexy, a righteous old sadhu,
As I laughed when I thought, I’m not even Hindu!
A wink from his third eye and help from his dearies,
He soon gave me lessons how to accomplish the Ashtanga 5th series.
He spoke not a word, but went straight through vinyassa,
And rang all the gongs, as he soon left mi casa.
And laying his finger aside of his third eye,
Into the Buddha he went as he said bye bye!
He sprang up on his mat, and to his stars he said Om,
And away they all flew heading for another yoga home.
But I heard him exclaim, as they flew out in asana,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-savasana!"