In life, and in yoga, we’re often afraid to take chances. Speaking our truth at all costs is hard, just as it’s very hard taking those first few leaps up towards handstand, even knowing that we have our solid foundation. Recently, I was reminded how hard it was to be honest about what was going on in my life, even though I am secure and grounded, with friends, students, and loved ones surrounding me and supporting my choices. The sad truth is, I spent the summer working in an environment that made me extremely uncomfortable, and until now, I’ve been afraid to speak out about it.

I’ll get it over with, and say it. I worked as a director at the Twin Tiers Theater Festival in Olean, NY. The festival had a lot of trouble paying its actors. The only reason I got paid for (most) of my work, is because I fought and clawed for my money, and made threats to stop working unless I was paid. I did this while other people, who had less authority in the situation, did not get paid. Did I lose sleep over watching my actors work their asses off for no money? Yes. Do I feel a little guilty that I have two thirds of the money that is owed me, while others have none? Definitely.

Did I allow myself to be silent about the situation because of threats that I and the rest of the company would not receive compensation if anyone complained too loudly? Absolutely.

We’re often told not to burn bridges. Well, the truth is, sometimes, bridges are useless, and they lead to bad places. Today I decided that keeping quiet was doing a disservice to the people around me, the people that may come after me, and the people I worked with. I can’t stand the thought that other people may go to Olean, and work for this festival, even though it supposedly is under new management. I know all too well that everything about the way Twin Tiers Theater Festival is operating currently, even under the new management, is as far from legitimate as anything I’ve ever been involved with. If it was legitimate, the new management would have reached out to the old employees to let us know they are working to rectify our situation. If it was legitimate, emails would be answered. If it was legitimate, people wouldn’t be threatened by the former Producing Artistic Director.

Most importantly, though, I know I am on the right side by making my experience known.

It’s like those first leaps to the wall in handstand.

It’s possible to flail yourself to the wall by kicking really hard. Once you’re there, though, if you don’t have a foundation in place, and you aren’t connected to your center, you won’t stay up for long, and you’ll certainly never stay up without using the wall for support. By living in fear of never seeing another dime of money if I spoke up, and by worrying that I wouldn’t be hired again to direct for a company I truthfully have no desire to work for, I bypassed my own core strength. I refused to jump up, hoping that by staying on the ground (in this case, keeping quiet and being “political”) would produce the result I wanted (in this case, getting the rest of my salary and everyone else getting theirs.) Being quiet bore little fruit because it didn’t allow me to take advantage of my foundation (knowing that I’m doing the right thing) and my core need to fight for what we’re all owed rather than silently wait for it and therefore passively give my endorsement to further bad behavior from the company.

In handstand, you start with a good foundation. You spread your fingers wide, and press the tips of your fingers down. You align your shoulders over your wrists, and you hug your arm muscles to the bone. You pull your belly in to engage your core, and you leap from a place of strength.

What I didn’t realize, was that I had a foundation. People are owed thousands of dollars, and are afraid to ask for it. I have nothing to lose by stating this to people who can help. I have a strong connection to my core. I am ready to express, and to leap into the void with a solid base and center.

I can make those jumps up from a place of grounding and strength. I can kick with integrity, and I can find my way up into a new place, where I can support myself, with no fear, and no guilt. I am connected.

It sucked to be a kid who didn’t fit in. A queer kid in Alabama has to adapt or get the shit kicked out of him, at least they did when I was growing up. I remember wanting to be liked, not wanting to be the kid that got called “faggot.” I was dreading P.E. at the beginning of my 6th grade year, because Coach N.K. Jenkins was going to be my P.E. teacher. He had been my father’s football coach, and had a reputation as being really tough, and I was scared. I wasn’t an athlete. My dad Murray and his twin brother Jerry had been star football players, and had been universally feared and respected as two of the best and meanest guys on the team. I was terrified Coach Jenkins was going to mock me for being unable to throw or catch a ball, or for that matter, dribble a basketball.

It turned out that Coach Jenkins was a really good guy. He seemed to get it. He knew that some kids weren’t natural athletes, therefore likely to get picked on, and he always worked to provide a safe haven for us. The weight room at our little gym became my P.E. refuge. Several of us would be there every period, lifting weights, or occasionally reading a book, and not worrying about keeping our eye on the damn ball. It was awesome. That weight room had a mix of athletic kids, and nerds, and “sissies” who all just didn’t feel like playing volleyball, basketball, or dodgeball. We got along, too. We became friends, and Jim H, one of the biggest jocks in the school, got to be friends with me, one of the worst basketball players to ever darken the doors of the HMS gym, someone he would normally have never been friends with, because of that open weight room policy that Coach Jenkins instituted.

Coach Jenkins figured I might be a good soccer player, so he made me play that first spring. I remember him grinning when I scored a goal once.

Coach Jenkins never allowed bullies to do their thing for long. He would bellow across the gym any time he saw one of the bigger kids picking on a skinny kid with a lisp. He scared the shit out of everyone, and at the same time, made us all laugh. We were accused of “acting like a bunch of goddam pissants” when we got out of line. He would rail out about people “causing confusion” or “acting the fool.” If a kid was really bad at sports, and it was clear their interests or talents lay elsewhere, he would make them do the calisthenics at the beginning of class, and then send them to the weight room to workout. He would check up on us, but trusted that nobody would “cause confusion” or “raise a ruckus” because we all respected him. It was my first taste of a teacher treating me like someone who was capable of making my own decisions about where my focus should lie.

I remember my first Christmas at Honeysuckle Middle School. Coach Jenkins was on my mind. I wanted to get him a Christmas gift, but wasn’t sure if that would be too dorky. I decided to get him something anyway. I think it was a Christmas ornament. Anyway, I got to gym class that day, and worried about whether he would laugh at my gift the whole period. At the end of class, I hung back, and pretending I was looking for something, waited until the whole class was empty. I walked over to him, and handed him the neatly wrapped gift with a muttered “Merry Christmas.” I hurried off, but he caught me.

“Williams!” I turned around and walked back over.

“Yes Sir?”

He shook my hand and, looking me in the eye, thanked me. I swear he was caught off guard, and I think his eyes were a little misty. I was glad I gave him the gift.

I think he was one of the best teachers I ever had. He respected our individuality, and didn’t try to beat it out of us. He knew some of us were gifted athletes, and worked to help them develop their potential. He knew some of us weren’t, and made a point of complimenting us when he would see our band or choral concerts. He knew a bunch of nervous 7th grade boys loved inappropriate humor, and used it to put us at ease, including one memorable joke in sex education class about how “damn pissants figure out how to jack off around your age, and spend so much time jacking off they cause injuries.” He protected us from each other. I remember him telling us never to fight unless someone else hit us, and then to make sure we won the fight. I remember him telling us to respect women, especially our mamas. He knew we needed a place to blow off steam, and provided a safe environment for us to do so. (A funny sidenote: many of our mamas had crushes on Coach Jenkins when they were in school, and would gross us out talking about his “fine legs.” He apparently had been quite the hunk in his day.)

He was old-school in the best way, a real gentleman who taught us values that reflect values I find in yogic philosophy. He stood up for the little guys, and refused to allow bullying. He never made anyone feel demeaned, even if they were awful athletes. If he heard someone talking badly about a classmate, that would get nipped in the bud with a comment about “some damned trash-talking foolishness.”

I wish like hell there was a Coach Jenkins at every high school and middle school. I wish other teachers would be as tough on the bullies as he was. I wish that all these gay kids had some straight, idolized teacher like Coach Jenkins who would stick up for them instead of turning a blind eye when these little “idiot pissant bullies start acting the fool.” I wish more teachers and coaches would have the courage to say what they believe, and the integrity to act on it.

I love my students. They make me feel wonderful—so many of them are so kind, and have been so supportive of my teaching through the years. I really feel blessed to know such amazing people, and to have the privilege of teaching them. The cliche is actually true: I learn a lot from them, and consider them my teachers. So what I’m going to say has nothing to do with any of my students.

I am growing really tired of some of the yoga “community” in New York City.

I find a lot of pretension out there, and have begun to notice a catty attitude. A yogi I recognized from around town came into a studio I used to work at and asked why we didn’t offer “advanced” level classes. We offered two beginning classes, and the rest were considered “open,” meaning anyone could attend the class. The yogi, once we explained our class levels, suggested that we should really offer “advanced” classes, and left the studio, never to return. I have also watched yoga students leave studios in a huff upon discovering that a favorite teacher was ill, many times when the substitute teacher was standing at the desk ready to greet incoming students. I understand that many times, we want to study with a specific teacher, but there is a way to deal with this situation. Yelling at the poor person doing the check in, or insulting the sub are not good examples of the yogic way.

I’ve also noticed a growing anti-Christian sentiment from many teachers. A recent statement on someone’s Facebook page about Southern Baptists really offended me personally. I’ve known a great many Southern Baptists, and a lot of yogis as well. I can’t say that I’ve seen that big of an intellectual gap between the two. I don’t see either group as being smarter, nicer, or more sincere in their beliefs, but I also don’t see too many Baptists ranting about yogis.

I think this particular insulting comment came because of one fringe-dwelling fundamentalist who suggested that Christians can’t practice yoga. Anyway, I really think that these negative comments about other people’s religion seem to be coming more from the yogi side of things. There seems to be an attitude among many that people who are Christian are stupid, or backward in some way. As someone who believes in following the principles Christ taught, I am offended when people slam his teachings, or his followers (even though I agree that many people who claim to be Christian are not actually following Christ’s teachings.)

Yoga teaches us many things-to be in the moment, to breathe, to go within before we react, and to practice restraint, or bramacharya. We are also taught to be kind, and to avoid causing harm to others, (ahimsa.) I believe that ahimsa does not only apply to other yogis. I think it is our responsibility to respect everyone, and try to appreciate the beliefs of others, even if we do not agree with them. I think it is fine to be Hindu, or Christian, or Jewish, Vodou, or atheist. Be anything you want, as long as you don’t hurt other people. I respect each individuals right to believe whatever she chooses. But I don’t believe that we have the right to insult each other’s beliefs. It’s hurtful behavior, and bad manners, which to me, a southern boy, is just inexcusable.

You may be wondering what any of this has to do with the yogi walking out of the studio because we didn’t offer an “advanced” class. My opinion is that any yogi worth his or her salt can take the most basic class, and find a challenge there. Advanced is often taken to mean “this class has a lot of arm balances and inversions.” While I love practicing these poses, I sometimes find that the classes that challenge me the most are the simplest ones. The presumption of the particular yogi looking for an advanced asana practice was that (s)he had nothing to learn in a class that didn’t label itself as advanced. I think in making that judgment call without taking the class or listening to our explanation about our class levels, the yogi made a choice based on ego, much like the people who are quick to insult people they know nothing about-we put others down in order to make ourselves look smarter. Same thing with the people who leave when there’s a sub. These people seem to think they couldn’t possibly learn from anyone other than their regular teacher.

We yogis who are so quick to bitch and call people who aren’t just like us close-minded, are actually oftentimes a pretty insular and often judgmental group ourselves. We need to remember that the things and people that piss us off the most are almost always a reflection of something inside of us.

We need to remember that the ultimate teaching of yoga is that we are all one. Each of us is a part of a greater whole, and a part of each other. Insulting someone else is actually equivalent to insulting yourself. Each of us has a responsibility to remember ahimsa, or, as they might say in my neck of the woods, to practice the Golden Rule.