Reading David Gordon White’s Sinister Yogis (Chicago and London: The Chicago University Press, 2009) is great fun. Day by day, I am learning a lot. White’s claim that yogis in the so-called east and west are rather different creatures is well taken. As well as superbly argued with all the historical evidence at his disposal. What does it mean for me, though? In a word, nothing. Yoga as I know it has changed my life. After years of striving, I have managed to liberate myself from the world around me. To wit, I abandon all thought at will, and for as long as I wish. And I have abandoned all fears and desires, as well. The animal in me leads me through my daily routine without fail. Luckily for me, it is still alive and well in my own body. One way or another, yoga has helped me reach this singular state. In the end, all I feel for the teeming sinister yogis in India and South Asia is pity. Everything they have needed to reach liberation has been at their disposal for millennia. And yet, they have pursued a wide variety of childish arts instead. A great pity, indeed.