Doing Yoga at Hollywood Forever Cemetery
Only while ‘Living in Hollywood’ can you attend a memorial service for a friend at a movie theater, and then take a friend to a movie at a memorial park. I’ll be reminiscing about my life here since 1985, and I hope to reveal some fascinating insights about this place called Hollywood.
Two things I post most about on social media are my dogs and Hollywood Forever.
I have three stubborn little chubby Dachshunds whom I love dearly, and I love visiting Hollywood Forever — which is far more than a cemetery. It’s one of my favorite places on Earth. (There’s a reason the two converge, too, by the way, which you can see by googling #DoxieTombstone, but that’s another story.)
During the Pandemic, when all the city parks shut down, this was a place I could see my friends. We would sit a tombstone away from each other and have socially distanced picnics. With masks, of course. And I could bring my dogs. (Yes, they allow dogs at the cemetery, just keep them away from the swans, peacocks, squirrels, turtles, ducks and feral cats that also hang out there).
They offer yoga at Hollywood Forever every day of the week at 9 a.m. It’s donation-based, and is usually held on the Fairbanks Lawn, around the reflecting pool of the great swashbuckling actor Douglas, and his swashbuckling son, Jr.
The father and son had a bit of a strained relationship, and the son didn’t like the way the cemetery fell into disrepair. But by the time he died in 2000 things were fixed up, and he was buried with his dad.
His father has “Good Night Sweet Prince” on the white sarcophagus at the end of the reflecting pool. The cemetery added an “S” so now it says “Good Night Sweet Princes.”
It’s at this pristine sloped grassy lawn where we spread out our mats and do yoga. I go on Tyler Tuesdays when Hollywood Forever’s president, Tyler Cassity, takes us through his Kundalini yoga kriyas, which is less stressful for me with my Multiple Sclerosis. It focuses on a lot of breath work which is helpful for me.
Often I bring my dogs. I used to bring four: the mom, dad and their two kids. It often was a chore to bring them all, so I sometimes bring one at a time so they are less disruptive during our chanting and meditation.
Not long ago, I went to yoga with Charly, who is a girl. My nephews saw a brown face on her mostly gray body and called her Charlie Brown. All my mini-doxies are familiar with the cemetery, and they have become mini-celebrities of a sort.
This one morning, I didn’t have time to feed the dogs. I usually have to put their bowls in separate areas: Charly in the kitchen, Seal in the living room, and their old daddy Rex in his caged area.
After we closed off our yoga session with a long “sat nam,” I was chatting with Tyler and Noelle, one of the friendly funeral directors there, and Charly was playing with her ubiquitous ball that she always has in her mouth.
Suddenly, without warning or reason, Charly darted into the cemetery, among the tombstones in a section I rarely go. She wouldn’t come back when called. She stopped, dropped her ball, looked at me, then took her ball in her mouth and kept running.
Noelle took off with me, calling for her, and worried that she would find her way into the road, but she was in the thickest part of the tombstones.
“She seems mad at you,” Noelle kidded.
“She probably is, I didn’t feed her yet this morning,” I said, still searching for her.
We saw her ball, plopped in front of a tombstone. Then, she poked her head from around it.
The tombstone read: “Kitchen.”
I told Noelle where I usually feed Charly and we laughed. I told Charly we were going home to the kitchen, and she followed me to the car.
A few weeks later, I brought Charly again, and Noelle and I were telling other yogis the story about Charly being able to read. Charly was particularly difficult that morning, and kept disrupting our quiet Kundalini with her high-pitched barking. She wanted to chase ducks.
Noelle joked as she told the story, that we have to see what else Charly can read.
“Not today, she’s been such a bad barker during yoga,” I said.
Suddenly, Charly took off again. Noelle and I took off to see where she went. She plopped in front of a mausoleum.
It read: “Barker.”
Now, I don’t ever remember teaching my dogs how to read, and I don’t even think I’ve even spelled words out loud in front of them.
But one thing is for sure, Charly is smarter than she looks.
You can reach the author at mikeszy@aol.com.
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My Dachshund Charly can read, and she’s proven it.
Photo by Mike Syz
