Beach yoga

Added to the lists of the world's greatest earthly pleasures (food, sex, drugs, alcohol, etc.) is Beach Yoga. Come as you are, forget about not getting sandy, and who cares if you have body odor. P.S. it's free. Your teacher will direct your limbs into various shapes and figures, but she will not explain everything, and sometimes say things like "move into an infinite skyward third eye drishti" and you will have no idea what she is talking about, but the person next you doesn't either, so you just go for it. People walk by with dogs and kids and stare. Just when you're burning and shaking and wondering what you've gotten yourself into and how long it will be before it's over, she tells you to lie on your back and close your eyes. You're not sure what happens next but at some point she comes over and pushes your shoulders down into the sand, presses her fingers into your forehead and temple, and pulls down your earlobes. Then it starts to rain. When it's time to get up you've decided that you've fallen in love with everyone in the class with you, even the desperate housewife, even the young bearded man who's engaged to someone's niece, even the thin woman who always seems to get everything right. And especially your teacher, who is usually just a waitress with you on the weekends, but now suddenly seems to be the most beautiful and talented person in the world. You wonder, would it be rude to cry? Transitioning back to the real world is near impossible; you sit in your car with your feet hanging out, trying to wash the sand off with a bottle of water before going in to work.