My 8-year-old identity was splintered more than once after our family's illegal escape from New York city into a 13-year exile in communist Czechoslovakia and China. My parents, captivated and dominated by the teachings of Marx and Lenin fled the United States in the 1950's to fulfill the vision of a communist future.
Uprooted, we fled from one country to the next to escape the FBI who were searching for us. We ultimately settled in Czechoslovakia. This country became the anchor for my personal roots, my friends, my culture, my security.
As abruptly as we left the United States, after thirteen years without warning we returned. I had no say in whether I go back with my family or Io remain in Czechoslovakia.
After my return to the States I struggled with confusion and internal chaos. Where do I belong? What is my identity? Grieving the loss of my Czech self I was resistant to Americanizing. Dependent on political forces that controlled our lives during my growing up I did not have the skills to define my own path in a country that was alien to me. I was adrift in my lack of identity, searching for my place and a way of integrating the discordant parts of myself.
At age 57 I attended my first yoga class. Unsettled, unsure, awkwardly participating in an unknown world of postures and poses. Uncertain about returning for the next class I indecisively placed my hand on the doorknob to open it to go into the room; I hesitated, should I go in? Should I leave? Should I stay? And so started the most powerful and transformative relationship between my mind and my body.
My relationship with yoga postures, my breath, and the study of yoga philosophy, gave me a structure for reconnecting with emotions I subconsciously suppressed as a way of surviving conflicting realities.
In my final letter to my deceased parents, I write about our differing paths: mine a more private, internal one initiated by yoga; theirs an outward directed one to change the world, and how I reconciled our differences.
This is my story about my fractured early experiences, and how through yoga I developed a stronger sense of self, a process that helped heal past wounds, and become one.
Uprooted, we fled from one country to the next to escape the FBI who were searching for us. We ultimately settled in Czechoslovakia. This country became the anchor for my personal roots, my friends, my culture, my security.
As abruptly as we left the United States, after thirteen years without warning we returned. I had no say in whether I go back with my family or Io remain in Czechoslovakia.
After my return to the States I struggled with confusion and internal chaos. Where do I belong? What is my identity? Grieving the loss of my Czech self I was resistant to Americanizing. Dependent on political forces that controlled our lives during my growing up I did not have the skills to define my own path in a country that was alien to me. I was adrift in my lack of identity, searching for my place and a way of integrating the discordant parts of myself.
At age 57 I attended my first yoga class. Unsettled, unsure, awkwardly participating in an unknown world of postures and poses. Uncertain about returning for the next class I indecisively placed my hand on the doorknob to open it to go into the room; I hesitated, should I go in? Should I leave? Should I stay? And so started the most powerful and transformative relationship between my mind and my body.
My relationship with yoga postures, my breath, and the study of yoga philosophy, gave me a structure for reconnecting with emotions I subconsciously suppressed as a way of surviving conflicting realities.
In my final letter to my deceased parents, I write about our differing paths: mine a more private, internal one initiated by yoga; theirs an outward directed one to change the world, and how I reconciled our differences.
This is my story about my fractured early experiences, and how through yoga I developed a stronger sense of self, a process that helped heal past wounds, and become one.
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