Have More Fun

Playing with dance, acrobatics, and more, innovative yogis build trust and create connections.

By Diane Anderson

You wanna fly? AcroYoga cocreator Jason Nemer asks me. What a question—who doesn't dream of flying? But, truth be told, I'm a scaredy-cat.

I'm watching Nemer and his partner, Jenny Sauer-Klein, perform their acrobatic yoga feats. A small crowd of spectators oohs and ahhs over their breathtaking moves. This "flying" looks like fun, but I'm considerably larger than Sauer-Klein. I'm certain I'll hurt Nemer or fall flat on my face. I hesitate. But Nemer smiles. "You'll be fine, I promise," he says. So I consent.

Nemer becomes my base: He's on his back, feet up in the air, and I lean over and lay my torso on his feet, ready to play airplane like a kid. For a moment before liftoff, I question how I got here, why I would choose to trust a stranger this way. But I sense that Nemer, who studies with master yogi Dharma Mittra, is strong and stable, so I relax. Before I know it, I'm in the shape of Baddha Konasana (Bound Angle Pose), but upside down: Nemer's feet are pressed into the top of my thighs, holding me up, while my head dangles. His hands move along my spine, treating me to a mini-Thai massage. Then he calls out another pose.

The transition is thrilling. I'm not sure how I flip over, but now his feet are on my low back, my head near his chest, my feet on the level of his knees. I'm grabbing my ankles in Dhanurasana (Bow Pose), but since I'm upside down, this backbend feels more like Urdhva Dhanurasana (Upward Bow Pose)—but with more ease, more freedom. It's a pose I've done a gazillion times, yet this circle is totally new, relaxing, liberating. Each time we move into a different pose, I experience a split second of worry and I fear I'll plummet, but somehow I don't. At one point, Nemer laughs, Sauer-Klein laughs, and I laugh, too.

I've just gotten a taste of one form of fun being had by yogis who are letting loose—combining their love of asana with a passion for off-the-mat physical activities like circus arts, theater, dance, and outdoor adventure. These new yogic art forms—AcroYoga, Yoga Trance Dance, and yoga slacking among them—cultivate risk taking, trust, connection, and playfulness. Dabbling in them, I find myself laughing, feeling exhilarated. They bring back the excitement I felt back when I first started practicing—when I fell in love with the way asana made me feel playful and free. Somewhere along the way, my practice has become more introspective and solemn, and I've lost some of the sheer joy I once felt. So here I am, checking out these new forms. And I have to say, they're inspiring.

Circus Circus

AcroYoga founders Nemer and Sauer-Klein were both serious yoga practitioners who had been through teacher trainings when they met in 2003. But they were much more than that: He was a competitive acrobat; she was a musical theater major who taught circus arts to children. After meeting through a friend, they came together at San Francisco's Circus Center, where a kind of alchemy took place as they found themselves combining yoga with acrobatics. It doubled their fun and opened them to new ways of expanding their practices. Over time, they also incorporated Thai massage into the AcroYoga practice, and the couple now sees their unique art form as an attempt to combine the spiritual wisdom of yoga, the loving kindness of Thai massage, and the dynamic strength of acrobatics into one powerful practice.

"There are purists and there are blenders. We're blenders," says Sauer-Klein. She learned to dance, then discovered Ashtanga and completed her first teacher training with leading Ashtanga teacher David Swenson. Later, she developed an affinity for vinyasa flow; putting together poses in a different order from the standard Ashtanga sequence was "totally freeing" for her. Now, she says, she's fallen in love with Anusara Yoga.

Sauer-Klein isn't just a dabbler. She's a believer in the idea that a yoga practice should change and evolve, that a solid foundation is important but that it shouldn't keep anyone from exploring new things.

Nemer agrees. After all, the great master of modern yoga, Sri T. Krishnamacharya—teacher to such luminaries as T.K.V. Desikachar, B.K.S. Iyengar, and K. Pattabhi Jois—drew on many disciplines, including gymnastics and wrestling, as he developed asana practices that continue to influence most of the yoga taught today.

Nemer and Sauer-Klein aren't the only ones whose love of yoga is matched by a love of high-flying circus acts. Some acrobatically inclined yogis have taken the practice to the sky. Michelle Dortignac, a certified OM Yoga instructor in New York, teaches Unnata Aerial Yoga using tissu, the silky fabric used in circus arts, which can be twisted to form a soft harness. She finds that it helps the body make better use of gravity, so that it can get into poses more deeply than it would on the ground. Dortignac opens class with Sun Salutations done in a circle, so everyone can make eye contact. "People lighten up, smile, and relate to one another," she says.

Sauer-Klein and Nemer, too, emphasize communication and a community connection in their classes, which begin with a chance for everyone to introduce themselves and share how they're feeling. And then the real fun begins.

In the first activity, everyone might stand in a circle, looking at the back of the person in front of them and sitting Utkatasana-style on the "chair" made by the lap of the person behind. It's a small exercise in trust and being there for one another that leads naturally into the awareness of yourself and others that is necessary for practicing AcroYoga. Sauer-Klein and Nemer say that their goal is to cultivate connection, playfulness, and trust—and even a single class offers a chance to experience all three.

Sauer-Klein adds that the internal experience is key to AcroYoga. "You need to know your center, figure out what you need, express it," she says. "You have to be true to yourself." Overcoming fear is crucial, too. Working on these things in AcroYoga can teach people to develop the same abilities in other areas of their lives. "We are all so mind-centered. We tell ourselves that we can't do certain things," says Nemer. "AcroYoga is a chance for adults to explore and see what's possible."

Clearly, people are into it. In the year since Nemer and Sauer-Klein began training other acroyogis, they have certified more than 25 teachers. Earlier this year, the pair made an AcroYoga world tour (the clothing company Prana purchased wind power credits to offset the carbon emissions created by their trip), which took them to China, Japan, Thailand, India, Spain, Holland, and Germany to spread their unique form of playfulness.

"We're meant to play," says Nemer. "And we're convinced self-discovery is possible through play." (To find a class near you, check out acroyoga.org.)

Bathe in Ritual Waters

I'm entering a huge hotel ballroom with my six-year-old daughter, Story Frances. She's excited to be staying up late for "the dance party," and her eyes widen as we take in the scene: A few hundred people are sitting cross-legged on the floor singing mantras; kirtan leader Jai Uttal is onstage, pumping the harmonium; a life-size statue of Nataraj (the dancing form of Lord Shiva) sits in the center of the room; and all around us the walls are alive with ever-changing slides of Indian children, saints, sacred cows. It's the prelude to an evening Yoga Trance Dance session led by vinyasa flow teacher Shiva Rea.

Story is wiggly and giggly, and it's way past her bedtime. I briefly consider taking her home. But when I hear Rea's inviting voice, something softens inside me, and I realize this is the perfect outlet for Story's expressive energy. "Momma, dance with me!" she calls.

Trance Dancers don't face the teacher. Instead, everyone forms a circle. Rea often begins by demonstrating a few moves, encouraging folks to feel their center of gravity and move from the hips. Tonight, she asks those of us gathered to close our eyes and bathe ourselves with imaginary water to prepare for the shared ritual. I pretend we're in a shallow pond and lift the water, splashing my own face and rinsing myself, then helping Story pour some over herself, too.

Dance Like No One Is Watching

As the music builds an energetic arc, it feels as if anything can happen. And that's the wonder of it. First-timers and devotees alike report feeling alive for days afterward. "In that alive state, you're in a more creative place to deal with life and the world," Rea says. "It's a joyous way to be."

I watch my daughter's lithe little body twirling with delight and remember how I once loved to dance. In her exuberance, I see myself. Inside all of us is the seed of expression; this event is an opportunity to let it out. And I can sense that everyone here feels simultaneously self-conscious and eager to move.

The words of my friend and yoga teacher Janet Stone come to me: "If you close your eyes, nobody can see you. It's magic." So I close my eyes, and my self-consciousness melts. I am aware that others can see me and are likely to think I look ridiculous, but I stop caring. I'm starting to let loose.

"High school asana!" Rea calls out, doing a funky disco move. It's as if she's asking us to celebrate our own absurdity, our embarrassing moments, the inherent pain that accompanies the joy of making our way through this life. Now everyone looks a little ridiculous, and we're having fun with it. Woo-hoo!

My daughter and I dance, swing, sway, and laugh together, as the crowd slowly moves out of the circular formation and into a free-for-all of dancing, yoga moves, whatever inspires them. I see friends laughing, making funny faces, having real fun. Story skips away from me. When I fear I've lost her, I see that she's rocking out with a friend, and they both boogie back toward me. Finally, we wear ourselves out and leave the scene elated.

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