Last week I was snubbed by my yoga teacher when she was whisked away in the middle of our brief conversation by Russell Brand. Yes, that Russell Brand. She turned away from me and toward him and walked away, one arm on his tattooed forearm. I wrestled with feeling humiliated and then wondered if there was a message there for my ego. I wrestled with feelings of repulsion -- both for Russell's harem pants, leg warmers, Buddha beads and top-knot and for my yoga teacher's seeming worship of his celebrity -- and then wondered if there was a message there for my ego. Today, at the end of class and after a series of brutal breathing postures, we were instructed to stand up and do a warrior (or was it archer) pose. When I planted my right foot back and twisted my hips, planting my left foot forward, I pulled my right arm back and held my bow taut. I looked up and over the platform where the teacher sat, her white turbaned head looking straight forward (I was to her right) and realized that Russell Brand, his eyes closed, was directly in my sights. If I'd wanted to, I could have let that arrow fly and it would have landed right between his eyes.
