The teacher sat in the middle of the room in midnight blue and neon pink yoga pants. There were stars, too. Super clusters on her hammies, black holes on her buns.

Truth be told, her britches represented the universe, the ever-expansive material a befitting canvas. Her shoulders were relaxed, her spine erect. She glowed with a golden presence, as if a plant-based cheese sauce dripped over her soft pretzel pose. She scanned the room without criticism in her eyes. No ego in her drishti, not a furrow to be had on her brow. Judgment did not exist in Fawn Baker’s dojo. “Welcome. I’ll be guiding you through your Flow 1 class today. I’m Fawn.”

Besides the vibrant community and uplifting playlists, there was a reason why people practiced Flow State Yoga. And that was to reach a flow state. A sense of energized focus, sure, that’s how most people knew it. To be “in the zone,” you bet. There are no wrong answers here. But there was a different kind of flow state, too. A more clearly defined version. One with legal ramifications should you use the term without permission. A Flow State™, if you will. This definition was far more technical, and the overarching concept from which FSY was born.

The idea was simple enough, match a breath per pose for 444 consecutive poses. That’s precisely 222 inhales, and 222 exhales, in exactly 44.4 minutes using a 6-second breath.

Once the student does all of this, a Flow State™ is achieved. The numerology aspect added to the mystery of the difficult feat, although no-one could explain the 2 or 4 thing with very much depth. “The number 2 is a humble and balanced number, in stark opposition to the 1, who bows for nobody.” That was about as good as you were gonna get. Regardless of the rationale, the fact remained, Flow States™ were incredibly rare in the 108-degree rooms. The warrior would need to wield a saber of focus and strength, if they wanted to get their Flow State™ membership card punched after class. 

“We’ll sync up our breath as one before we dip into our first sequence,” Fawn said. “Remember why you’re here. Take it one breath at a time.” Together 12 lungs filled up with oxygen and then exhaled again. Then, with an authenticity forged from the bottom of her mulabandha, Fawn kicked off the flow. “Now stay together as one while we move. Inhale mountain pose… exhale forward fold… inhale warrior 2…”

FSY instructors underwent intense training and tracked all potential Flow States™ in their classes. And that’s exactly why Fawn had one of her three eyes on Nancy. It was a beginner class and a breath-per-pose flow in a heated room is a huge ask. Last Tuesday, Nancy opted for infant pose for a majority of class. But today she’d taken a gummy before leaving the house, and her stiff hips swung more efficiently than usual. Little did Fawn know, Nancy needed this one. The 47-year-old had signed her final divorce papers just hours before. She shed her husband’s last name and felt buoyant again without the extra weight. Mrs. Von Wolfenburger schneidermankowski, no more. 

FSY had its fair share of critics. Naysayers thought the goal-based model of Flow States™ were counterintuitive to the practice. And that it was bastardizing the real flow state. Many argued that level of presence didn’t come with a set of instructions. Many believed those conditions are in a constant state of flux. The founders and owners of FSY, Ron and Carolyn Masterson, didn’t waste energy on the doubters. They contended a Flow State™ was something to aspire to, nothing less, nothing more. “Try to achieve it or don’t, everyone is welcome either way.” At a yoga convention in Sedona one year, Ron and Carolyn presented their philosophy to a kombucha-drunk crowd. Boos rained down on the stage and the talk was cut short as the audience became incensed like sage before an aura smudging. Shouts and jeers emanated from the crowd of hatha, vinyasa, ashtanga, and yin followers, as they disputed the intention and legitimacy behind FSY. Despite the pushback, Carolyn and Ron’s community continued to grow. 

The Flow 1 class was rounding the corner of their simple Sun A. It was early and every student was still on pace for a Flow State™. No wasted breaths, no missed movements. Just 24 appendages, 6 bodies, 1 breath, all moving together. Synchronized swimming on land from Fawn’s vantage point. But she knew it wouldn’t last long, as the Universe pulled the guidance from her lips like warm taffy. “Breathe. Pull from the collective prana. Sit one inch deeper into your Truth.”

Fawn was special. Either her gift or her discipline was next level sublime.

She’d guided sixteen Flow States™ in her 7-year teaching career, a studio best. But the odds of getting one in a beginner’s class were slim. Fawn knew dedicated yoga instructors who still hadn’t achieved such greatness. Dudes with legit man-buns who hadn’t even cracked the 400 mark.

But as Carlos, nailed the first cactus pose, the thought of a Flow State™ first entered Fawn’s mind. Carlos wasn’t known for his heart-openers. The 19-year-old loner from the nearby community college wasn’t known for much. He hardly made eye-contact and squirmed in the presence of others. But when he flickered his eyes closed today, he snapped into a groove of pure comfort. His inner-gaze was hawk-like. His drinking bird, a vision. This kid may get this goddamn thing, Fawn thought as she coached the waves rising and falling. “Inhale warrior 2… Exhale extended side angle… Inhale mountain pose… Exhale forward fold… Inhale to pig in the sky… ”

Fawn stopped logging her numbers long ago out of humility, but some estimated she had 50-plus Flow States™ under her strap. Not only was her technique phenomenal, but visually she was the poster child of balance. Perfect symmetry from crown chakra to all 4 corners of all 2 feet. Yet, while her bubble may have floated between the lines, she was a rare bird that lived by an odd code. In a display of permanent humility, she got a regrettable tattoo on purpose. The only ink on her entire body was a neck tat of a hot dog. No ketchup, no mustard, no mayo, no relish. Just a dark green line-drawing of a frank on a bun. Merely a bumper sticker on a meat van. “An everyday reminder to stay humble.”

“Really beautiful breath, you guys. Now dial in as we make the transition to our balancing sequence.” The class exhaled into a pack of downward dogs, and a growl filled the room as Arnold, the 68-year-old wearing only Speedos, made an ill-timed contribution to the collective flow. He reached back for dancer’s pose, and his heart popped open, setting off a hip bone connected to the thigh bone type phenomenon. The dominos fell and cracked down his spine, and fired up and old muscle in his taint, which flipped open for the first time in four decades. The exposed calcified shit wrinkle was the human nostril’s worst nightmare. And it filled the room in great haste.  

Carlos wobbled. Nancy red-lined. Fawn fired back. “Stay in it. Why are you here? There it is, Nancy.”  Fawn opened the door and fanned it with a ginger swing. She didn’t want to blow the collective momentum away, but if the room didn’t breathe soon, 6 Flow States™ would reach their final savasanas before side plank. The wave of the class still flowed together, but sour looks were causing undue tension. But sure enough, the risk paid off. The muscles in the students’ faces relaxed again, and Arnold’s cloud dissipated out the door. Nancy evened out her breath, Carlos grounded down even deeper. What a save. It was Fawn at her finest. 

Achieving a Flow State™ was the obvious focus and flagship concept for Flow State Yoga. But there was a level that existed beyond this. A state even more consciously pure and elevated: for an entire class to achieve a Flow State™ together.

Now that was something to behold. For all the yogis in the room to sync their breath and then achieve a Flow State™ as One, that was the ultimate enlightenment. That was a Turbo Flow State™. The studio hailed such an accomplishment as the pinnacle of yoga. Inner and outer consciousness in perfect fuck. Legend had it, the Turbo Flow State™ had only been achieved 3 times in its 35-year history. But as Fawn’s beginner’s class moved into airplane together, it was in the back of everyone’s  empty minds. Everyone was well aware. Very conscious, of course.

Fawn had to fight every instinct not to hurry the breath in the room and sprint towards the end of class. Experience taught her not to be influenced by struggling yogis. The shaky poses. The strained looks. The dry-heaving. That’s what they came for, whether they knew it or not. Her job was keeping the pace so the coal could last to the station. Her job was dropping these yogis off in nirvana before the they hit E. “Exhale to Divine sofa. Inhale mountain pose. Exhale forward fold.”

As they reached the final sequence, Fawn knew the class was now on their own. Chris Isaak would have to take the wheel from here. There was a reason she spent hours each week crafting her playlists.  Getting the right song for the right pose. Tying conceptual loops with every moment. And it was here where the thoughtful approach paid off.  All 6 students swayed with their breath in their various tree, dancer, and warrior 3 poses. But they stayed in balance, remained in sync. At one-point Fawn saw Nancy mouthing the lyrics as she exhaled to a standing splits. What a clinic the freshly-minted divorcee was putting on. It was literally the perfect song. How did Fawn do it? The song ended and the sound of pure presence filled the room. Perspiration poured down on the yoga mats like rain on a rooftop. Sweat blew out of the 6 mouths in unison like a flock of wild sea whales breaching together. This ragtag group of yogis had melded together as the collective, and The Divine was just around the bend.  With 14 poses to go, and the biggest push behind them, the breath gained momentum. Were they really moments away from joining the yoga crème-de-la-crème with Ashtanga, Iyengar, and Bikram? Fawn floated to her phone for one last playlist tweak. Smiles crept onto faces as the class entered the cool-down portion of the flow.

Then Fawn went another way with it. And fucking cranked it.

Death metal at full blast rattled the room, and the class fell out of their Flow States™ one by one. Nancy shrieked at the top of her chair pose and fell onto her fanny. Arnold was next, and he doubled up on breaths at the bottom of a forward fold. The violent guitars and machine gun drums took down Betty and two others during chatarunga. Carlos was the final hope for a Flow State™, but he crumbled to the mat after a failed upward dog. Too much turbulence for the boy’s wee fragile heart. Phil Anselmo and Dimebag Darryl devoured the yogis in a matter of seconds.

Fawn glided to the top of her mat and asked the class to join her in Tadasana. “Thank you for letting me guide you through your practice today. I’ll be at the front if you have any questions. Yoga blocks and towels are 30% off until the end of the week.” And with a namaste, Fawn bowed to the class and left the room. The class stared at each other in confusion and disappointment. Why did Fawn forsake them?

News of the Flow State Fiasco™ soon reached Ron and Carolyn. Eventually everyone caught wind. No one was happy with it, and at minimum, the noise pollution in such a sacred space was crossing the line. Needless to say, the moon room was shut down until further notice. Amid the controversy, Fawn resigned from Flow State Yoga, without a word offered up in her own defense. “I understand it wasn’t a popular decision,” was as much as she’d say. Before disappearing she remained polite, respectful, and sincere, with her best wishes to Ron, Carolyn, and the entire FSY community. “Blessings and gratitude.”

A conspiracy theory gained momentum.

Was Fawn told by Ron and Carolyn to protect the sanctity of the Turbo Flow State™? Were they all in cahoots? Were Ron and Carolyn yoga classists, who thought beginners were unfit for such glory? Carlos seemed to think so. “Ron and Carolyn didn’t want a bunch of schlubs holding the chalice. Do you really think they want me and Nancy Von Wolfenburgermanschneidermankowski emblazoned on the lobby wall of fame? Open your eyes.” Carlos canceled his Flow State membership, and was later stabbed to death at an Apache Junction rest stop. After that, the chatter simmered down a bit and business returned to normal. Flow States™ were reached once more.

Many moons later, Ron and Carolyn held their annual event, the Flow State 500™. This advanced breath-to-movement flow challenged the yogis to 500 breaths for 500 straight poses. Once you lose your breath, your flow is over and you must remain in child’s pose, where you belong, until the end of class. And this year the Mastersons promised their most challenging sequence ever.

Just minutes before the Flow State 500™ took its first breath, the door swung open and Fawn walked into the 110-degree room with a hoodie on. Ron gave a polite nod and Carolyn touched her heart and smiled. After 6 years of no contact, Fawn Baker rolled out her mat next to her old family and participated in the grueling event with a sweatshirt on. 

In a dazzling display of grace, focus, and strength, Fawn was the only yogi in the sauna to keep her breath for the entire 50 minutes.

Oso went second-furthest, making it to number 474 before falling out of horse pose with a horrific yelp. But after Fawn took her 499th breath, instead of crossing the Flow State 500™ finish line with a forward fold, she stepped off her mat. With breath 500, she rolled her mat back up and then disappeared into the steamy fog and out of the door without a word. The studio full of master yogis looked at each other in astonishment. Some nodded their heads slowly, others looked like they had just seen God™. It was hard to argue otherwise. Finally, Ron broke the silence and said what everyone must have been thinking. “My word… what a divine soul,” he said in a loud whisper. “But technically, that’s not a Flow State™.”

CREDITS: VOICEOVER

Fawn Baker by Katie Pine

CREDITS: MUSIC

Alaupas: “sequence-3”

Robinhood76: “low creepy hole”

Inspector: “ambience wind chimes-b”

pchelovek1205: “space whoom-2”

jobro: “attention-04”

s-cheremisinov: “corporate rise and hit 05”

platypusva: “monastery sounds”

zagi2: “mellow conga vocal loop”

vinnypux: “sad drama romantic stinger”

setuniman: “piano loop 1e71”

foolboymedia: “peaceful break”

rodincoil: “tribal style drums”

Setuniman: “cinematic intros » nervous and calm together”

Chris Isaak: “Wicked Game”

Pantera: “Strength Beyond Strength”

Xcwm: “SnS Vox”

Calpomatt: “SFT_Solo"