Where I must begin ...

"You're late! ... Why you so late?"  I'm not sure if he is referring to my arrival at the tail end of the season or the daily registration time.  I am late on both counts.  Add it to the list of all the ways I've fallen short lately.  "Come here. Sit."  With this, my teacher welcomes me back to the shala.

I arrived in Mysore just over a week ago, my third trip in as many years.  I arrive here feeling like a broken, tangled up shadow of myself.  I had planned to be here at the end of December, but I've been wrestling with serious demons the universe has thrown in my path.  The last six months or so have been as close to a living hell as I've ever come.  Old traumas have been resurfacing in ways that have been wreaking havoc in my life and in my closest relationships.  If complex PTSD was a formal diagnosis, I'm pretty sure it would apply to me.  So here I am with yet another deeper, darker layer of samskaras to burn through.

My first year in Mysore cracked me open, quite literally.  My second year, I was filled to the brim with so much light and the deepest sense of joy I've ever felt, a joy that I took home with me and continued to cultivate over many months.  Out of that substantial joy and clarity, one of my best friendships turned into something much more.  In that friend, the universe presented me with a relationship that has brought me face to face with the depths of my love and all the beautiful gifts I have to give, along with the darkest and most terrifying parts of myself that have remained hidden in shadow.  These shadowy parts are beyond my rational thinking and cannot be reasoned with.  They behave like a wild animal engaged in a life or death struggle, complete with a fight or flight response that has a broken off switch.  I come to Mysore this year with the sole intent to face these darkest edges of myself and do the work required of me to heal and integrate them so these old traumas can no longer hijack the ship and sabotage all the beauty and wonder I have worked so hard for all my life.

My friend James Boag taught a class on the yamas on my first full day in Mysore.  And a couple of days later at the first conference I attended at the shala this season, Sharath also talked at length on the yamas and niyamas.  The yamas are moral and behavioral principles, practical references for how we ought to deploy our energy.  Patañjali refers to the yamas as the maha-vratam, the Great Vow, which must be observed at all times, in all places, by all people, regardless of circumstance.  As I measure myself against each one, I can see just how far off course I have veered.  To be more honest and more precise, I feel like I am a wretched human being.  How on earth did I get here?

Ahimsa.  I have caused tremendous harm to myself and to others whom I love most dearly... in thought, in word, in deed.  The specific kind of harms manifest more clearly in the rest of the yamas.  Satya.  I have lied.  I have abandoned my truest self and my deepest desires, and I have been untrue to my dearest friend.  I have allowed myself to be driven by the fear and darkness of old traumas and not by my genuine, authentic self.  Asteya.  I have stolen from myself the things that matter most, so recklessly sacrificing the eternal for that which dies in an hour.  And I have stolen from one I love dearly by asking for far more than he was able and willing to freely give.  Brahmacharya.  I have squandered that most potent of creative energies in careless ways. I have been unfaithful to my own heart and to the timing of life circumstances, and I am implicated in my friend's unfaithfulness to himself.  Aparigraha.  I have clung desperately to the darkest parts of myself, to fears of abandonment, to parts of myself that do not and cannot serve my deepest desires.  And I have allowed that darkness and those fears to drive my interactions with one I love.  I have grasped and held on to him as if it was life or death.  I have taken far more than my share of my dear friend's time, energy, and heart.

I don't really know how I arrived here.  I'm not sure it much matters.  Regardless of how or why, this is where I must begin.

My heart was heavy with grief before I left Austin, and now that I'm here in Mysore, the grief has been pouring out by the bucket load.  I grieve for not being strong or courageous enough to face the darkness with the grace and kindness that has been shown to me.  I grieve for all that has been lost, for succumbing to the darkness and watching in paralyzed horror as it destroyed the things I love most.  I grieve for the beautiful things not seen and not born, for all the moments full of love that I will never know, that were destroyed before they ever could begin.  I grieve for falling short, so tremendously short, and my heart breaks over and over and over again knowing how much I have hurt the people I love so dearly.  This is the place where I must begin.  It hurts like a living fucking hell.  It's suffocating and nauseating.  It's hard to breathe and I can barely eat most days.  It's dizzying and disorienting, and my whole body has been shaking like crazy during my asana practice and even during chanting and kirtan.  It is soooo not pretty, it's anything but comfortable, it is most definitely not easy.  But this is what I must face head on.  Wholeheartedly.  I must tap into a hidden reservoir of courage and strength that I do not yet know.  I must stand up, no matter how many times I fall, and put one foot in front of the other.  I must do my practice and do it with all my heart.  I must have faith in the moments of deepest fear and doubt.  And when the darkness threatens to take hold, I must keep my eyes turned firmly toward the rising sun.  All that I love depends on it.

अहिंसा परमॊ धर्मस तथाहिंसा परॊ दमः।
अहिंसा परमं दानम अहिंसा परमस तपः।
अहिंसा परमॊ यज्ञस तथाहिस्मा परं बलम।
अहिंसा परमं मित्रम अहिंसा परमं सुखम।
अहिंसा परमं सत्यम अहिंसा परमं शरुतम।।

The sweetness of home practice...

The biggest challenge for me coming home from India this time around was going back to practice at the studio I'd been at for the last year.  Maybe I changed, or maybe I was just seeing things more clearly, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong there anymore.  I love the people there, but it was clearly the time for me to move on.  There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.

And I don't know exactly where I'll end up.  There are not a lot of ashtanga options in Austin.  Aside from where I was practicing, there are two other options, one way across town during evening rush hour (not ideal time or location) and the other - taught by the only teacher I know of in town who has actually been to Mysore - is a weee bit too early for this night owl, and it's held out of a local gym.  But a third option has presented itself.  In the last couple of weeks, a new ashtanga program started up at another studio where I practiced a couple years back.  The time and location are both good.  I don't know the teacher, although I have heard good things.  So I may go check that out sometime soon.  And I got word that the studio up north will be switching their evening classes to morning next month, so that may become a more viable option.  I plan to explore all these possibilities and just see what feels right. 

I'd like to find a teacher in Austin.  And at the same time, I recognize within myself a certain skeptical resistance to feedback from people who haven't been to Mysore.  Especially when that feedback is contrary to the way things are done in the main shala.  The general etiquette in a yoga class is that you do what your teacher tells you when you are practicing with them, even if it is contrary to how you normally practice.  But a big part of me thinks that is totally bogus.  Especially over here in the west where a couple thousand bucks and a few weeks of your time can buy yourself the title of 'yoga teacher'.  And especially in a lineage-based yoga practice like ashtanga that has a specific tradition and way of doing things.  Luckily, most ashtanga teachers have a well established practice and much better grounding than most.  But still, there is often a massive gap between those who go to Mysore and those who don't - not just on the outer appearance of the practice but energetically too.  I think it's important to critically reflect upon feedback and not accept it blindly, being open to what is useful and letting go of the rest.  I don't think this is disrespectful - I think it is what a responsible, engage student ought to do.  I think it is what being accountable to yourself and your practice looks like. 
Afterall, "two gurus will kill one student."

Sharath is my capital T teacher.  I trust him implicitly.  He sees what I am capable of before it's even on my radar, and he helps me see that in myself.  He helps me become that.  There is some ineffable quality in his presence, in his watchful eye, in his laconic instruction, and in his sense of humor, that instills in me total faith in him.  Not blind, unquestioning faith but a faith tested in the fire of experience.  A faith that is so wholly hearted it burns all doubt to ash.  Śraddhā.  Guruji used to say, “Many teachers, crazy making. One teacher, shanti is coming.”  And I feel that peace with Sharath.  There is no doubt in my heart or mind.  I have found my teacher.  And so, maybe I'm not even looking for a teacher here in Austin, per se.  Maybe I'm looking for a mentor, someone who can provide valuable feedback while also recognizing and honoring that Sharath is my teacher.  And maybe they're even interested and curious to hear about the way things are in the main shala.  Maybe I'm looking for a place where the integrity of the tradition is respected, even if no one has been to Mysore.  Maybe I'm just looking for a solid adjustment every once in a while.  Maybe I'm looking for the sense of familiarity and community you develop with the people you practice with every day, even though you may rarely even say a word.  

Every day in utpluthih, I hear Sharath saying, "Lift up.... lift up.... lift higher..."

So where does this leave me...?  I have departed without any certain place to go.  And I'm okay with not belonging anywhere in particular for the moment, not having a teacher here or even a community of other ashtangis to practice with.  And I'm okay with the prospect that I may not even find those things here.  I'm open to the process of discovery and this in between place of the unfolding.  And you know what, for right now at least, I am really enjoying home practice, even with its challenges.  I've been on a major huge intense creative streak since I've been home, and so it's been all too easy for me to start working on one of my many exciting projects first thing in the morning and get so wrapped up that before I know it, I look up and it's already late in the afternoon and I haven't done my asana practice yet!  So what if I hit the mat at 4pm?  The inconsistency in my practice timing has actually been helpful in some ways.  It keeps me from getting too comfortable, from taking anything for granted, and it allows room for all this creative energy to be expressed in all kinds of juicy ways.  But inconsistency can also be an uphill battle.  It's much harder to hit the mat as it gets later in the day, so I am working towards a little more consistency - just enough to keep me reigned in and focused but not so much that things become too rigid for deep, sustained creative work to unfold in that unpredictable way it so often does.  I like having room to improvise when the muse comes to visit.  I will say, I am continually amazed at how much discipline and commitment it takes to keep up a home practice, especially since I work from home and there are plenty of ways to detour myself.  And I am nothing short of shocked (shocked, I tell you!!!) that I have become a person who could even remotely be described by the words 'disciplined' and 'committed'.  Oh what a potent and peculiar sort of magic yoga is!!! 
 

Asana practice itself has been great.  Except, to be honest, I miss those rock solid backbending assists in the shala. "Catching?" "Yes catching, no problem!" Every day catching. I could totally catch my ankles on my own if only I can find my balance.  Even so, my backbending is deep and steady, my breath is more full and calm than I thought possible that deep in it... Backbending has gone from a fear and panic inducing thing I had to force myself to confront every day, to my very favorite part of the day... All is coming!  Who could of guessed?!

<Exhibit A>  Exhale, go back... Breathe 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... Inhale, up!

I've been taking some video of my backbending at the end of practice.  I thought it would be good to see how it looks for myself.  It's been helpful to see myself in motion, how I fidget too much sometimes, but also how beautiful and deep backbending has become!  Slow and controlled, steady and focused.  And you know what else?  Looking at myself backbending, it occurs to me that my ass is so big it's damn near a miracle I can bend back over that thing!  As I told my friends who were quick to defend my derrière, I'm not saying fat bottomed girls are a bad thing.  Au contraire mon frère!  I think it's funny!  And kind of awesome.  Clearly, I don't have the ballerina-esque body that seems most commonly found amongst yogagirls... certainly amongst the most naturally graceful and flexible yogagirls.  Hahah, and yet!  I've discovered that my body is plenty capable of doing some damn amazing things.  <see exhibit A, above>  I've been struck with an overwhelming clarity and peace of mind that comes from recognizing how this body is an ally, a comrade on the battlefield, the dearest most loyal friend in life.  I've spent far too much time and energy struggling against it, berating it, trying to force it to be something it's not.  But no more.  How could I have anything other than love and gratitude and respect for a body that does this every day? 

And so... practice is practice is practice... whether you're on the other side of the world, waiting for the "one more" that signals you to enter and roll out your mat to begin your practice as seventy other people are in the midst of their own... Or whether it's just you at home all alone... Practice is practice, and it is so very sweet, same same. 

 

Everything to give...

Well, I'm back in Mysore.  Feels like I never even left.  

I had another dream before I left Austin.  I had been feeling quite anxious about some circumstances that presented me with the opportunity to practice non-attachment in a big way.  I was conflicted about whether I should stay in Austin to deal with the unfortunate situation, or go to India as I had set in motion months ago.  When India calls, it is not a subtle argument.  It is not the sweet whisper of a lover.  No, it is the full force of a new moon tide pulling me toward shore.  There is little option but to surrender.  And my dream whispered to me, "Go.  Go, and take nothing.  She has everything to give..."   

So here I am.  And it is a beautiful, sweet homecoming.

I haven't even been here for a week and already Sharath has me catching my ankles in backbends.  Remembering the lessons from last year, and being thankful for them and integrating them into my practice every day, my practice is so much stronger, more focused, more refined - which is most definitely apparent in my asana practice, but also moreso apparent (to me, at least) in my inner devotional practice.  Last year cracked me open, stripped the outer artifice of the practice away, and let me see all that remains.  With a dislocated rib and pulled intercostals, I was crawling and crying my way through the most basic practice, in terrible pain with every breath, and I realized that everything I need was right there all along.  Yoga is really not about the asanas.  Referring to the asana practice, Guruji said, "Yoga is showing where to look for the soul - that is all."  And in the last year, the sweetness and devotion I found in my cracked open heart has grown and taken root in a much more substantial way, in ways apparent from the outside, and, most importantly, in the infinitely more nuanced inner workings.   

Yesterday was my first day of self-practice at the shala.  I attempted to have a nice leisurely stroll of a practice.  I did a few dropbacks with just a little moral support from one of Sharath's assistants while Sharath kept a watchful eye on me, and then he tells his assistant to 'make her catch' in the final dropback.  To which I responded the only way a person really can to such a direction, with a look of complete shock and terror!  For all you non-ashtangis out there, that means dropping back into backbend from standing and grabbing both your ankles.  I didn't do it quite because I sort of panicked and just ended up landing my hands about two inches from my heels, but I feel somehow like I've been found out, and I should be very, very afraid of what's in store.  'No fear, no fun!'  

And then today, I did dropbacks all by myself without the mental safety net of someone standing right in front of me.  And then another one of Sharath's assistants comes over to do half backs and the final deep dropback.  He asked me if I catch and I'm sure I had that scared look in my eyes and said I never even tried or thought about it until yesterday.  So he talked me through it.  My hands landed nice and close to my heels, and I walked them in until they were just a hair away, then he told me to straighten my arms and he grabbed my right hand, put it on my right ankle, and then did the same with the left.  Then he readjusted me a bit higher on my ankles and told me to straighten my arms again, and I took the usual five breaths before coming back up.  As I was getting squooshed in forward bend, Sharath asked, 'Catching?'  And his assistant replied, 'Yes, catching.  Easy for her.'  Ummmm, yeah... easy.  Hahah!  Not so easy inside my head!  But also not as crazy scary as I could have imagined if given a little more time to think about it. 

So there it is, once again, experiencing first hand how the impossible becomes possible, and one day the possible may actually become easy.  So go do something that scares you, aim for something just out of reach.  Practice.... All is coming!

Forget your perfect offering...

A month just flew by in the blink of an eye.  Time is strange here.  The days are impossibly long, and yet the accumulative passing of them goes by in a flash.  I still have another week in Mysore, and many people have already left or are in the process of leaving this weekend.  There is much to catch up on since my last post, but mostly, if there's anything to know, it's that practice is practice is practice, whether you're at home or halfway around the world in Mysore, whether you're strong and rockin it or injured and crawling your way through the vinyasas.

In the last few weeks practice has taken an interesting plot twist for me.  I caught the bind in supta kurmasana just a day or two after my last blog, got moved on to the next bit of primary, the garbha pindasana to kukkutasana bit, then the following week got to go ahead with full primary.  Doing full primary means I'd get to work on dropping back.  But then a week and a half ago, I felt something pop in the right side of my chest as I was doing backbends from the ground.  I wasn't pushing myself to my edge, I was very much working within the realm of what's possible and even comfortable for me.  As I came back down to the ground, I was in serious pain.  If the pain had been on my left side, I would have seriously thought I was a having heart attack.  I couldn't finish the rest of the closing sequence, so I sat up, did the closing mantra, rolled up my mat and went home to lay down.  Next day I was in serious pain, literally crawling through the vinyasas.  I rested for a few days, since we had a moon day, then led class which I skipped, then Saturday off.  Sunday I practiced at home and it was so painful all I could do was cry.  Later that morning, I went to an ayurvedic bodyworker to see if I could get some relief.  He told me, "Pain is good sign, noooo problem.  Only in mind is there problem.  Your heart is opening, madame.  Happiness coming soon.  Yes, love coming too... coming very soon, maybe three or four days only.  No worry, pain good sign..." *head wobble*  The second opinion I received was a little more sobering.  It looked like I may have separated the rib from the cartilage that attaches to the sternum, and that I was looking at a six week minimum recovery, and perhaps as long as six months.

Three or four days later, I was still suffering, and I was coming to terms with the more grim prognosis of a long recovery.  Things were rough, and I was doing my best to handle it with grace and surrender.  To add insult to the injury, I came down with some awful upper respiratory infection, coughing, sneezing, sinus pressure hell.  It already hurt to breathe, and then with every cough and sneeze it was like a knife in my ribs.  It was so painful.  I mean, what the fuck, Universe?  I come to Mysore, prepared for whatever is in store for me, ready and willing to suffer if need be, and yet, my predicament seemed beyond ridiculous (and somehow entirely appropriate).  Of all the sicknesses I could get in India, I get the one that hits me right in the chest where I was already injured?  (And as far as being sick in India goes, I think I prefer the coughing and sneezing over the alternatives... but still).  I was suffering so badly, and yet the irony was not at all lost on me.  I started laughing about it, which was also very painful, but I think that's when something shifted...

I found a little book called The Yoga of Beauty.  It talks of beauty as one part of the holy trinity of the Good, the True, the Beautiful.  The trick is finding beauty in things that are not pretty and perhaps downright ugly.  There is plenty of art that is aesthetically and/or emotionally challenging that I find beautiful.  Some of the most beautiful moments of my life were ones marked by hardship.  The thing that makes something beautiful is not a set of some formal characteristics which are pretty, but it is a whole accumulation and unfolding of moments that lead to an aesthetic experience.  The Japanese concept of wabi-sabi is a good example of how we can celebrate imperfection.  If a vase is broken, it is put back together in a way that adorns and embellishes the cracks instead of attempting to hide the imperfection.  And as the very wise Leonard Cohen says, there's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in...

I went to talk to Sharath about modifying my practice and to get any advice he may have about my situation.  He told me to breathe into the pain, stabilize my mind on my breath, and to only do half primary and skip the vinyasas in between right side and left side.  And so I put my full trust in him and did just that.  Sharath said something in one of the conferences (I'll post full notes on those when I get a chance) that despite the ups and downs of life, Guruji always had an evenness about him.  He said life is like the streets of San Francisco, up down up down, you never know what is coming, but to find a steadiness and ease regardless of the terrain, that is one of the gifts and rewards of yoga.  And so I wondered, is it possible to have a great practice when I'm this down and out?  Can I find the beauty in this pain no matter how ugly things feel?  Whenever I've been in pain in the past, I always pick little projects for myself to focus on.  Like with my shoulder injury, since I couldn't work on building strength in the vinyasas, I decided to work on bandhas and lengthening in the forward bends.  With this current injury and sickness, I decided that I would find a steadiness and ease in my breath and mind and have a good practice the next day.  And I did.  To a casual observer, I'm sure I looked hobbled and suffering, but I would say the energetic quality of my practice was as sweet and focused as the days I feel strong and totally rockin.  Each day of practice this past week, I felt marginally better, just enough to renew my faith and not lose hope.  The measure of progress in the practice is not if I can get my legs behind my head or jump back with grace and ease, but it is if I am becoming a better person, more clear, more open, more loving... and I think that I am...

Last night it rained in Mysore.  First rain in many months.  The sun was setting, and I went for a walk to enjoy the thunder and rain.  I realized that the last few days the pain in my ribs shifted.  It feels less like suffering and more like opening.  Big opening, filled with much joy and gratitude.  And I realized that happiness is not coming, it is already here...

Every heart, 

every heart to love will come, 

like a refugee... 

Ring the bell that still can ring, 

forget your perfect offering. 

There's a crack, 

a crack in everything... 

that's how the light gets in,

that's how the light gets in...

~Leonard Cohen

When the center of the universe is a coconut stand...

When the center of the universe is a coconut stand... not a coconut, the coconut stand.  Of course there must be hundreds in Mysore, but you know the one I'm talking about, because your whole life revolves around it... 

My first week and a half in Mysore and I'm feeling the rhythm of things here like I've been here forever.  For as long as the days feel, they are also quite full.  I start my day with practice, Monday through Thursday are self-practice, and I start around 8am, although the time will keep moving up earlier and earlier as people keep leaving.  Friday and Sunday are led classes which start at either 430am or 6am.  Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I have chanting class in the morning after practice, and then Sanskrit and philosophy class later in the afternoon.  I love chanting, it is so beautiful.  I wish we did it every day.  The words and melodies stay with me all day long, echoing for hours with their beauty.  Sundays we have conference with Sharath, usually in the late afternoon.  Saturdays and full/new moon days we have for rest.  My experience so far has been filled with so much joy and happiness, lots of laughter bubbling to the surface, thoughtful & knowing smiles, so much brightness shining through.  I really enjoy my connection with Sharath.  Some love him, some fear him, some revere him... for me, it is all of these, and yet, most of our interactions look like this, filled with joy and laughter and a good amount of goofiness.  It is very much the same energy I experienced in the dream of him when he told me, "Come home, it's time."  He has quite a sense of humor, and we also share a deep love of wilderness and photography.  He told me some pretty amazing stories from a trip he made to the Serengeti.  He offered to show me his work sometime soon, and I am very much looking forward to that!  
  
As far as practice is going, I'm still working on catching the bind in supta kurmasana.  I am so close to getting it.  Sharath came up to help me last week.  He said, "you do" as he helped me bind my hands, and then when my hands kept popping loose as he crossed my feet over my head, he said, "Ahhhh, you need to eat more chapati."  No chapati, no strength.  The next day, he was helping someone else when I got to supta k.  My shoulder was hurting and I didn't even try to get all the way into the bind, but I went as far as I could.  He came over after I had started my backbending and asked, "Did you do?"  I smiled and shook my head no and told him my shoulder was hurting.  He said it will help if I can get my legs as far up over my shoulders as possible when entering kurmasana.  Interesting, right?  The tendency when I'm hurting is to back off and not go as deep, but that may be precisely the thing that is causing pain.  I said to Sharath, "Monday, I will do it, both [hands & feet]"  He said, "Yes, you will do... I will help."  And then he smiled and laughed in a way that inspired confidence, comfort, and a just a bit of fear, which are all useful and motivating for me right now. 

Yesterday I attended the Yoga Stops Traffick event at the Mysore palace.  The event was held to benefit Odandi Seva Trust which is an organization that helps rescue and rehabilitate victims of child trafficking.  They carry out brothel raids and provide sanctuary and a chance to rebuild their lives for the children they rescue.  The annual global event is held to bring awareness and raise funds for the cause.  There were a lot of kids participating along with many from the yoga community, there were even quite a few Tibetan monks who came to watch as well as many locals and passersby who stopped to see what it was all about.  After twenty seven sun salutations, coconuts and holi colors to celebrate!

On my rest days, I've been getting body work from a couple of different Ayurvedic massage therapists/healers.  I've found one in particular that I really like.  Aside from helping open up my shoulders and hips - things were popping left and right, and he always made this 'ahhhhh' noise like he could feel the release in his body - he told me I have fear in my belly.  He said, "Do you feel this, these knots?  That is fear.  Mmmm, yes, here.  See?  It gets in your way, restricts you.  Shine the light there.  Let it go.  Let the light shine in there.  There is darkness so many places in this world, but here, the light must shine."  After the session, we sat around and talked for a bit.  He said, "There is brightness within you.  Listen, listen.  Your body belongs to this earth, your soul belongs to god.  Listen to them.  Listen to them like you listen to your best friend.  Listen like you listen to your teacher, to your guru.  See?  You listen, and then it will come.  The brightness within you, let it shine through, and listen to what is says.  Let it guide you..."  Beautiful.  I am looking forward to my next session with him...
   
Aside from practice, study, healing, and socializing, I have been wandering around photographing things for my next series of fine art pieces.  India is amazing, a feast for all the senses.  The oils and incense and silks, the grime and rot and non stop horn honking, the laughter and despair and devotion, the smell of jasmine and spices and burning trash, the coconuts and kumkum and wandering cows, the beggars and holymen and housewives, the chanting and yelling and the hundreds of unheard whispered prayers... I love it here!  The joy and sorrow are interwoven so seamlessly, as it should be.  Everywhere I look is heartbreaking beauty.  I am so inspired by it all, it feels like such a gift.  I find myself filled to the brim with gratitude.  My heart breaks opens in awe of it all.  Everything about it is just so beautiful, even the sadness is full of beauty... The light will break your heart, if you're lucky now...

ॐ स॒ह ना॑ववतु । स॒ह नौ॑ भुनक्तु ।

स॒ह वी॒र्यं॑ करवावहै ।

ते॒ज॒स्वि ना॒वधी॑तमस्तु॒ मा वि॑द्विषा॒वहै॑ ॥

ॐ शान्ति॒ः शान्ति॒ः शान्ति॑ः ॥

ॐ असतो मा सद्गमय ।
तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय ।
मृत्योर्माऽमृतं गमय ।
ॐ शान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति: ॥

A sleeping turtle in the land of yogis...

First few days in India felt like a whole week.  With a nearly thirty hour trek to get to Mysore, I saw two sunsets and two sunrises in twenty eight hours.  Hours feel like days as I am sinking into the rhythm of things here in Gokulam.

First day of practice.  My start time is 9am, which is technically 845am shala time, and so I arrived at the shala a quarter after 8am since I have heard it's good to be early.  Sharath looked at me and said I was "too early, you come ten minutes before your time, that is all."  Ok, no problem!  I was half expecting my first practice here to be more of a struggle than it was, since I am jetlagged and a little off kilter, but it was actually pretty damn good.  It is hot and humid in that room, good for the sweat and the breath.  Plus the energetic buzz in that room is off the charts.  Made it to supta kurmasana and am still half an inch away from the bind there.  On a good day and with help, I can touch my fingers.  I can cross my feet over my head, no problem.  Sharath stopped me there.  Also, "no backbends until you do full primary."  No problem!  There is work to be done with the asanas I have.  It feels magical and blessed to be practicing at the shala. 

Second day of practice.  Led primary, 6am start time.  Walked to the shala around 5am in the cool pre-dawn air and waited outside on the steps with other folks who arrived early to get a spot.  Even so, I wound up in the ladies changing room with a dozen others who weren't pushy or early enough to get a spot in the main room.  I didn't mind being in there, actually, as we started practice, I became increasingly relieved I wasn't in the main room.  My practice felt heavy, sluggish, sore.  Jetlag and a creaky neck and shoulder caught up with me.  Today is rest day, hoping a deep tissue massage later this morning will set me straight. 

I have been contemplating the lessons supta kurmasana has for me.  Every asana creates a doorway to the inner work.  What is the spiritual lesson for me in this pose of the sleeping turtle?  It is one of the gateway postures of the primary series and opens up an entire universe of behind-the-head postures.  It is a counterpose to urdhva dhanurasana, requiring a strong core and lengthening of the spine necessary for dynamic backbending.  Supta kurmasana also seems to me to be a very receptive and quiet posture.  Meditative.  Every time I get myself into it as deep as I can go, it feels very cozy and contemplative and somehow emotionally restorative.  Safe, even.  I always feel compelled to stay longer than five breaths.

One of the primary physical benefits of the posture is that it increases blood flow to the heart and lungs.  I find this especially interesting when considering supta kurmasana as a counterpose to backbending.  Backbends open the heart and, for me, have been purging old sadnesses which Chinese medicine says reside in the lungs... Coincidence that this is where my work is right now, highlighted and underscored and asterisked, a door I must figure out how to unlock before I can walk through?  I think probably not. 

Out of curiosity and a hope to be inspired by the symbolism, I looked into the mythological underpinnings of the asana, and of turtles in general.  I'm fascinated at what I found.  In general cross cultural symbolism, the turtle shell is a symbol of heaven and the square underside, a symbol of earth.  Turtle represents a union of heaven and earth and a temporary dwelling place of souls making their way to nirvana.  Turtle is also a shore creature, a gate keeper between land and water.  Turtle is easy going, patient, wise, steadfast, and tranquil.

In Hindu mythology, there are various accounts of world-tortoises, that is turtles who hold up the world on their back.  One of them, Akūpāra, meaning unbounded, is a turtle who carries an elephant that carries the world on its back.  The elephant is the masculine; the turtle, feminine.  Another tortoise, Kurmaraja, is the second avatar of Vishnu.  In an epic battle between the gods and the devils, the gods were losing strength.  Vishnu suggested they drink the nectar of immortality to regain what was lost, but it had been hidden in the milky ocean of the universe.  They began churning the ocean to recover the nectar, but the mountains began to sink.  Vishnu assumed the form of Kurma to bear the weight of the world in order to recover the nectar.  As the churning continued, halāhala (poison) was thrown out and threatened the existence of both the gods and the demons.  Shiva drank the poison to save the gods.  The nectar of immortality was recovered, and the gods regained their strength.

As the Hindu proverb goes, you have to digest halāhala (poison) before you get amrita (immortality).
And somewhere, Ganesha is looking over, laughing...

Come home, it's time...

I am getting on a plane to India tomorrow to go study and practice at the Shri K Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in Mysore.  I have been having a lot of dreams leading up to this trip, dreamland visitations by people I will soon meet.  Mostly they are anonymous dream characters who give me an information download, but one night Sharath came to me as I was wrestling with the decision to go and the timing of my trip.  He had a very light, joyful, playful energy, at the same time commanding my unwavering respect and trust.  He told me very clearly, "Come home, it's time."  Well ok, then!  

When I originally started planning this journey, my intent was to go to deepen my practice.  Something has shifted though in my practice to allow me to see the depth of the work there, and now I feel like I'm going to heal something within myself, first and foremost.  The practice has become such a deeply devotional activity for me, that I have no attachment to what asanas I may be given, or whether or not I'll get the bind in supta kurmasana once and for all, or if I'll start second series.  I only care about any of that insofar as it supports the spiritual dimension of the practice.  The asanas create gateways to the inner work.  They show me where to look, where my fears and suffering hide, where my weaknesses and vulnerability are, where I need to pay attention more closely, where I need to push myself harder, and where I need to let go.

I want to practice in that room with people from the world over, where the roots of the lineage have grown deep through the generations, where the spirit and history is palpable with every ekam inhale.  I want to go deep into my own work, to push my edges, to sweat and burn through the things that no longer serve me, to heal old wounds and discover things I don't yet know about myself.  I want to taste my capacity for joy and sorrow and suffering and courage.  I want to confront my fears and pain and know the source of my own strength.  I want to walk to that edge, to see my limitations, and then go a little further to see what I'm made of just beyond the present horizon.  I feel like my whole life has led up to this.  In many ways, it feels like I'm preparing for battle, like I'm about to step right into the fire.  And I'm ready for whatever is in store for me.  I am, afterall, about to be practicing under the sway of Durga who slayed the demon Mahishasura in the Chamundi hills on the outskirts of Mysore.  My recent experiences in backbending (which Kino mentions at the end of her recent article) have given me a look into the depths of what is there and how much work there is to be done.  After a couple of weeks of almost daily full body sobbing after practice, I've had several days of respite from the emotional purging.  A lot of joy and laughter have been bubbling to the surface, even in the midst of the somewhat stressful hustle to get ready to leave the country.  I feel like I'm peering over the edge of a rabbit hole, about to dive in.  I am ready to surrender to the current, wherever it takes me, whatever painful or blissful or beautiful or ugly places it has to show me within myself.  I'm willing to do the work required of me, to confront whatever demons need slaying and to bow down at the feet of gods, trusting completely in the unfolding.  I feel held and supported and blessed by my amazingly awesome friends, my teachers, the community, and something so much bigger than me, something beyond my wildest dreams.  I am filled to the brim with gratitude and a deep sense of trust as I venture forth on my journey...

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers
but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain
but for the heart to conquer it.

Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield
but to my own strength.

Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved
 but hope for the patience to win my freedom.

~Tagore 

Samskaras, tapas, & burning through...

The only way out is through.  Last weekend I took a workshop with Ashtanga badass Kino MacGregor.  One of the main points of focus was about developing agni, or the karmic fire which burns through obstacles we encounter along our path.  Kino talked about tapas, the significance of pleasure & pain, and the importance of burning through samskaras.  She said that if things are uncomfortable enough to make you want to skip practice some days, then you're onto something important, and if things are so uncomfortable that you think about giving up the practice altogether, then you're really onto something important.  It's those times that are absolutely crucial to show up on the mat, to stoke the inner fire and burn through whatever is in the way, be it pain or fear or old emotion or unhealthy habits.  If your practice is comfortable and pleasurable, you may not be doing it correctly, or at least not maximizing its potential for your own transformation.  It's that burning sensation, whether burning muscles or burning emotions, that let's you know you're on the right path.  Kino recently wrote a great article, Let Her Fall.  The entire article is worth a read, but for those short on time, here is one part that particularly resonated with me as it relates to the things I'm confronting in my own practice. 

I recently heard R. Sharath Jois say to his assistants in Mysore, India, to let certain students work on challenging arm balances or backbends for awhile before going over to help them. His actual words were “let him suffer” or “let her fall.”  These two experiences tie directly into the discussion of pain and suffering within the context of our yoga practice, and as such they also offer the most potential for growth and development in the student.  When you learn a new posture you often need the teacher present to go to places inside of the body and mind that bring up fear and pain. After awhile, you will need to strengthen your nervous system and face these places with your own inner resolution. Sometimes, asking for the teacher to help you every day is a kind of escape that prevents you from experiencing exactly what you would need to experience in order to learn the tough lessons contained within some of the most difficult postures in the Ashtanga Yoga method. If you always either go to the wall or ask a teacher to spot you, then you will never develop the kind of self-confidence that it takes to master the posture on your own. You have to learn to…let yourself fall... Learning how to fall is about understanding what suffering is, how to face it, accept it and ultimately make it your friend. This is at the core of yoga’s deepest teaching (Kino MacGregor, Let Her Fall). 

In my last blog, I talked about fear in backbending.  Last weekend in morning mysore practice, I dropped back and stood back up by myself for the first time ever.  Kino was standing there in case I needed help, and I rather shamelessly pleaded with her to spot me, as I'm used to my regular teacher really holding onto me so I know he's there.  But Kino does things differently, and I have to trust her and surrender to whatever it is she is trying to show me.  Honestly, I wanted to run away.  I wanted to tell her to hold my hips so I could feel she was there and feel safe and not be so fucking terrified that I'd fall.  But she stood there, a few feet away, smiling and sweet and a little scary like a stern but tough loving parent all at the same time, and said, "It's ok, I'm here.  Just your fear in the way.  Body, no problem.  Now go."  She was throwing me in the deep end.  I felt like I was about to sink straight to the bottom.  And despite wanting to run and hide, I dropped back anyways.  And I actually did it.  And then I came back up.  Kino was there smiling at me, "Good.  See, you did all by yourself, both ways."

Insofar as I imagined this day would come at some distant point in the future, I imagined I would be ecstatic with joy of the accomplishment.  Like jump for joy happy.  Like feeling as if I could do anything I set my heart and mind to.  Instead, I finished the closing sequence, laid down in savasana, covered my face with my hand towel, and cried.  Sad tears, not happy tears.  After practice, I got in my jeep and cried some more as I drove home.  So much sadness.  When I got home, I drew a super hot salt bath and cried even more.  Bawled, actually.  Big whole body sobbing.  I let it all go into the salt water, got it all out, and then crawled into bed and took a nap until it was time to go to the afternoon workshop.  It felt like some kind of spontaneous combustion happening on an emotional level, like I'd set aflame old things that no longer serve me.  It's the burning through of old emotions, the emotional detritus that accumulates over a lifetime, or even over many lifetimes, and roots itself into the body and heart and mind. 

During my post-practice, post-cry nap, I had a dream.  I was tending a vegetable garden, with big, almost ripe veggies I knew I would be enjoying for dinner in a day or two.  Plump, juicy, sweet, and brightly colored veggies.  Down in the dirt, I see a little thorny weed sprouting up, just barely three inches tall.  I pinch it just below the surface and pull, but it barely moves.  I dig a little further in and start to tug.  It feels like it is starting to move a little but is clear it has roots down deep.  I pull and dig some more, my fingers are covered in thick, dark, sticky mud.  As I dig and pull, I discover a massive, gnarled root, so imbedded in the earth it takes all my strength and focus to get it out.  I don't want to pull too hard too soon because I know I could make the root break and leave part for it to grow up again.  With what seemed like a lot of time, a lot patience, and a heroic effort, I pull the entire root system out in tact and examine it.  The little tiny thorny sprout was growing from a massive, hardened, and mostly dead root clump.  I throw it in the fire pit in the center of the yard and watch it burn.  It hisses and smokes and burns brightly, quickly to ash.  Then I wake up.  

I know I've carried a lot of sadness throughout my life.  Not just my own, we inherit our parents' (and countless generations passed) sadnesses, too.  I have some deeply rooted traumas from my childhood and early adult life.  I grew up in a physically and emotionally abusive family to parents wholly incapable of loving me in the ways I want and need and desire.  Thank god I had a natural capacity for love and empathy, and a proclivity for independent and creative thinking combined with a fierce stubborn streak that served me well enough to keep my head above water during some dark times.  I've dug through and healed much of those traumas over the years, and yet it's an ongoing process and one that continually reveals new and more profound lessons and layers of healing.  The old traumas no longer guide or control my relationships.  If anything, now, they help me hold myself and my relationships to the highest levels of integrity.  And yet, it now feels important to talk about it even more openly as part of burning through those remaining dark spaces.  There are more layers there needing the light, even deeper roots sunk into that thick black earth that need burning, like that big mass of mostly dead root from my dream that needed to be thrown on the fire.

The things that have been coming up in my practice in general, and backbending in particular, feel very much like they're tugging on and uprooting those traumas, whatever remains of them.  All the fear, issues of trust, vulnerability, sadness, anger, pain.  There are also profound moments of joy, love, hope, strength, and glimpses into the depth of my own courage and the opening up of new possibilities.   It's like when we discover a nuance in our asana practice, and then suddenly there is a whole new space that opens up in postures that once were impossible or uncomfortably constricted.  To find courage and hope where there seemed to be absolutely none at all, that's where the work begins.  It is only by confronting the struggle and burning through samskaras that we open up new landscapes within ourselves.

"Think of the yogi as a brave warrior going on a long and epic journey to the center of the soul. Just as in every heroic epic there are fearsome, painful and worrying battles that test the limits of the hero’s ability, so too in yoga are there challenging, difficult and nearly impossible postures that test the limits of your body and mind. But if you are the hero who is committed to the whole journey, then you also have the heart to see the experience all the way through to the end and win your final freedom."

~Kino MacGregor

Check out Kino's website & youtube channel.