A summer story: "Yoga Noir, 1959"

"He wasn't going to be a day like any other. It was one of those dense summer days in which up to the shadows looking for shade. One of them looked for it at the door of my office. I could see it after my hangover and translucent glass where had written my name upside down. A shadow full of curves". It is a story of Roberto Rodríguez Nogueira/Yoga pirate.

Yoga noir

-Toc, toc - hit the shadow on the door.

I waited in silence. The door opened slowly. The shadow advanced from the hallway, condensing it step by step. And steps. By elementary education I looked not at endless legs that directed them to the light. Very short-heeled shoes. Red. Lycra stockings newly invented by a French hero. Professionally, I ignored the perfection of those hips that would have tight, as frigate candles, all the habits of a congregation of Trappist brothers.

-Hello - she said the shade, now reduced to the space between coral lips and the brim of a black hat.

I kept looking at her, skipping the rest then.

-Hello, I replied making me the interesting, one of the few interesting things I can let me do with my income.

-The Lord... - looked at the door-Wolram.

-Marlow - I corrected.

I looked from the inside. The woman ended up to. Upwind in black. She turned with elegance and contemplated the written name. I contemplated it. I discovered where ended his endless legs and how my old habits could also tighten me.

-He has written his name to read it yourself?

-Believe me, some mornings I is very useful.

The woman turned to me. I indicated him the rickety Chair that looks at me for hours. She made her throne with the only gesture of sitting. I had many jealous of the Chair.

-My name is Helen d' Spinosa.

Voice clear, deep, well tempered. His accent was from the South. I determined somewhere between Badajoz and Patagonia. Tended me the hand.

-Please call me Helen. I shook the hand soft, warm and strong.


She smiled and took the hand.

-Does Marlow Marlow? -He asked smiling.

-It's really Wolram Marlow.

Her laughter encouraged his face and made dark eyes shine.

-Someone has told me very well about you - told me. I denied with the head.

-Then I do not know.

-Believe me, I know you.

- And spoke you well of me? -insisted. Then I don't know that person. I would like to present it to me? A friend comes to my well this month.

He returned to laugh. A more close, less intense, deep and soft laughter.


I only know a Toni.

-Do Toni Hands of silver, the percussionist of the Samarkand?

-Exactly. You told me that you was the ideal person to solve my problem. He actually told me that you would be the only one who could do it.

It had a strange logic. Toni owed me money and send me a solvent client. It wasn't the first time.

- And what problem is that Toni advised that I resolved?

-The same as he has.

Toni has a wife and three children. He is in love with Henry Li, Acrobat of the Chinese Opera he would love to play in public as to his bongos, but cannot by the obvious chromatic difference, scarce sexual difference and the certainty that his wife would kill him.

-I don't think so - I settled for say.

-Create it - Helen lowered gaze. He and I are looking for exactly the same thing.

It was hard to think that you referring to Acrobat. Had no idea on what kind of search could match those two. Damn heat. My brain was thick.

-Look for ourselves--eventually confess and sighed.

Enough for a Friday. I leaned back and opened the drawer fridge where, surrounded by ice, rest Mr. Daniels, my assistant. I thought about it better and looked at Helen. I stroked a white wheel called Cuckoo singing frog. What the heck! I played it to me. In the end I did not know if Toni was looking for Helen, if Helen was looking for Toni, or if both, together or separately, they sought to Henry... Or if this was looking for them...

I put the wine and a nearly clean glass on the table. Helen was shocked. Point for me. I served the Golden elixir that enhancing your black dress.

Helen took the vessel and did things well. The bourbon is tastes by loud clicking language and throwing the chill with a prolonged, rasposo sigh. Good wine is slowly tastes, let it slip and tell their story, and after swallowing it, is deeply inspired. Whisky is relaxation, exhalation. The worn spirit comes out with force. The wine is listening. Inspiration invites spiritual renewal... I've been an attentive and faithful Trappist altar.

-I'm looking for myself - inspired Helen confessed.

It started me to fear. I kept the CU-cu and I took two fingers of Jack in a less clean glass.

- And Toni said that I was the type indicated for that?

-He insisted much.

I missed you two fingers to the two fingers. I looked at Helen d' Spinosa directly into eyes forgetting that still not had referred to taste their cleavage, which is much to forget, and empty the beaker.

I chasqueé the language, swung the sigh, exhalé and said between tears of forty degrees:

-No, I dedicate myself to that.

-Toni said it was before.

I didn't want to hear it. I thought after adding toes. The stomach would soon burn.

-I have mentioned I do not already to that.

-He said you were the best.

-Do you think that flattering me it will achieve its purpose? Toni said it is? -Two fingers.

-He said he reserved the best for when your next drink is drink.

I hated Toni. She smiled inquiringly. I challenged. Bad... for me. She and Jack they were a perfect couple. Thieves of spirits. Two more fingers. I drank. The service provided by Jack I avoided me the session of click, chills, etc. I remained unharmed.

-Try now - I planted with a firm voice, or that I want to believe.

-I'm looking for myself and I need you for that.

-No - I swung with determination, or that I want to believe.

-I detect a tremor in his voice, Mr. Marlow.

To the Club.

-Detects you Mr. Jack Daniels. My determination is encolumnada. My mast continues unabated. Unabated. To the Club.

I went to take my other two fingers of four. She covered the glass.

-We have come to this? -I asked, or I think. Hate Toni... do that I told me or you?

-You - said it said Helen - but I think that I didn't want to say it.

She still did not uncover the vessel. I took the bottle.

-It is true, it is a private hatred, the world does not need to know it.

-How can I find myself? -He insisted without compassion.

It is useless to resist. Cornered, beaten, rank. Here I tell another story, but before I miss him two fingers four to the glass of Helen, who has not covered.

-Relax d´Spinosa - him approach the vessel. She takes it and drinks it without pause. Bravo. Flicking, growls, stands back, exhale and stirred as a lioness. She undresses. Not that do not. My imagination is rampage, but my determination is no longer intact. I've passed that phase makes several fingers.

The story is as follows. I've not always been private detective or dedicated Trappist altar. Once... a very long time, more than twenty years, I went to yoga teacher.

I had to quit when things got ugly. Or beautiful. Yes, pretty. Everyone wanted nice things. Everyone could have it all or that had been told them. And many wanted to know, be, accept and love is prettily because it was fashionable. The latest product in the market. Before the yoga was fashionable it was thing of beatniks and other rare. Suddenly the stars begin to do yoga and its satellites, their legion of fans, decide to discover their inner selves. Then discover that such I interior does not resemble a hair the mug of his admired star, as they had hoped, but that is rather like the abundant and sudden outbreak of a purulent Scrofula. When they discover that their inner child is a nosferatu... so they want to kill the Messenger, which is none other than the yoga teacher.

I left by legs of the yoga shala, changed the name to me and took me a license of detective whose photo I go still with turban.

Helen's eyes glow like mine. I know that mine do not because I see it all surrounded by a glowing aura. Helen's is blue, Golden and pink with purple hints here and there and some other trauma unresolved that I don't want to look at. I can not see, although I try, a deep, tender, childhood longing. And carries, as he suspected, a lioness inside.

-I've practiced the method Pilates - it says with the voice of baby-. Eight years of ballet. University. Kung Fu. Zen meditation. I have read Kerouak and Ginsberg. I've had a couple of boyfriends. Perfect parents. I hate them. Hate me. I have my own business, earn a paste and my parents I go another time - complains.

-Because I do not know if it is ready for something better, Helen.

-Me no matter that it is worse.

Correct answer to my regret.

-What you want to learn about herself?

-The source of my pain.

-The origin of something ugly is not beautiful.

-I don't.

-Is suffer so much being a woman of success which is like cheese? -I thought or said, I remember.

His eyes nailed in mine. It was not a look of pity; It was a hard, sharp, look for those that make you swallow crystals. Best rage complain, I thought your unabated, undaunted, drunk lost favor.

-Would only find pain?

-I want to stop suffering

-What for? Put a name, a goal to their longing, which reached port.

-Innocence. Retrieve the innocence - responded without thinking.

His eyes shone. He was smiling. It was there without knowing it. The time passed and she could not see it.

-Can yoga help me?


It was icy. The second your eyes out sparks.

-Hey, Helen, you came because you wanted to. I called her not.

Leaning forward on the table and supports your forearms on it. It creeps toward me. Her neckline is at the height of her magnificent butt... Lol It is considerably more up and on the other side, but I am already very idly.

Helen doubts arise, crashing vessels and bottle on my unflinching jeta e go or sit there hating it.

-Can I help you?

Is is hating it. I look at it straight in the eyes and I miss the other four fingers of whiskey to the glass because two fall out by not looking at it.


Helen took the glass and looked at the drink. His eyes seemed to become dark amber as Jack, that look was holding it without change. I wanted to tell him: "have it, Helen. The answer is in your hand and you enter through the eyes", but to the Trappist acolytes us trains in the strictest silence.

-Will you be drinking? -I asked as track number one.

He did not respond.

-Does it look? -enervating track number two.

He did not respond.

-See what there so interesting? - and here I can read.

This time it responded. He rose from the Chair and crashed the glass against the wall behind my back. I do not pestañeé. Don't get me wrong. I am a coward well trained, if not undaunted would have jumped as a Thompson Gazelle.

Helen felt emotionally. I took another glass. Four fingers. Two outside and two inside, and that was holding it so do not move. I spent it.

-Look at you with too much emotion. Do it with sweetness.

Helen pulled me the glass of the hands, but stopped to look at it instead of crashing against the wall of my stoicism.

-Can see now?

He looked at the surface. It fell silent. A distant smile came from very far away. He arrived and flourished in his face. You already know what I saw.

-Yoga can't help it - I did-. Me neither. Only you can. Do what they want. Yoga, you drivers, run your business, but do so with that look of amber, Leone. See doing what he does with the passion of that look of forty degrees. See the best of you. Find it in everything he does. Stop find in yoga, in me, in Toni. Stop blaming themselves, their parents, the bride and groom. Do what you want and find its spirit rather than exhausted by relentlessly seek it where it can not be, where you are not.

Helen turned to look at her reflection in the glass. It lifted him.

-To my health - I drank a drink.

Exhalation. Chill. His eyes shone like diamonds in the hands of a miser. I took out the Cuckoo singing frog and a third vessel. I put it is ahead. She took it between her fingers long and strong and looked for in el dorado. Expanded his aura and his eyes also. He looked at me.

-To your health - drank. It paladeó. It inspired. He smiled.

-Yoga is not going to help you find anything you're looking for - I said-. Me neither.

Looked at me with interest and tranquility. He sat down and took about fifteen minutes to cross their endless legs, or that seemed.

-Continue breathing as well. In the present. Exhale stress, inspire life. Accompanied always of his spirit. That is breathing. Yoga is found, stop looking. It is to stand in its spirit and not to run after his craving.

-Practice yoga - continue - be with you, it will be better than getting drunk every day to find their own acceptance, his own forgiveness, his verdict of innocence. It will become it perfectly... undaunted. Burps.

- And now?

-Of course that does not. You must keep getting drunk daily. Choose the most sensible option: drugs or yoga. Every day it will turn away from you and it must be again, capture its spirit. Yoga is medicine for memory.

-Marlow - torn voiced stroked myself melting in their lips, why is detective?

-Gives me well find things.

-The work of a detective is not looking for them?


Who is

Roberto_Nogueira QuadRoberto Rodríguez Nogueira teaches yoga, blogger and writer.



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By • 27 Aug, 2015 • section: Pirate Yoga