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।।

On friendship... this is the training ground part 2...

In my last blog, This is the training ground, I wrote, "It is this place - between the running and the staying, the closing and the opening, the hardening and the softening - where we see precisely what we're made of.  This is where we can initiate meaningful and substantial change within ourselves.  This is where we become better people, more integrated, more open, more loving, more clear.  No one is exempt from fighting this battle within him or herself.  The only real choice you have is which side you fight for.  It is the choice you make - between the fear and the love - that becomes the story of your life.  Which side are you fighting for?  What story do you choose to tell?"  This is an internal dynamic as well as a dynamic we take into our relationships with others.  There has been lots of talk on the wind lately of friends having difficulties with other friends, questions about how to be a friend, how to stand in your own integrity when a friend is struggling in their own darkness, how to stay open instead of shutting down.  It has been at the forefront of my mind lately, too.  One thing I know for certain is that unless we each confront our own darkness, there is no way to have deep, meaningful friendships with anyone else in this world.  The good news is these difficulties are opportunities to become better people, no matter which side of the scenario you fall on.  As we head into the dark of the year, it is an ideal time to turn our focus to the internal work required of us to become the best people we are capable of becoming...

Meaningful relationships depend upon our individual, ongoing self-reflection.  It's crucial to know where our landmines are, our triggers, our hard edges that cast the darkest shadows. We need to be mindful of all the ways we escape, shut down, short cut, run away, numb out so we can be accountable when those things come up in our relationships.  I hold myself to high standards of integrity and accountability, and I likewise expect that from my friends.  We all fuck up sometimes, it's not only okay, it's to be expected.  This isn't about being infallible, it is about actively working on being the best we can be, and being accountable to ourselves and others for our thoughts, feelings, words, and actions when we fall short.   

 So what do we do when another person's shadow butts up against our own?  We are not alone out in the cold, there are tools we can use to bring clarity to our own internal dialog so we can bring clarity into our dialog with others.  If I see a friend trying to pound a nail into the wall with a sock, I go give him a hammer!  There is no judgement or blame here, none of us have these tools when we come into this world.  Some of us are very lucky to find them along our way, and many of us still need someone to give us a goddamn hammer!  Now if my friend keeps using a sock to pound the nail after I give him a hammer and show him how to use it, then there is not much I can do other than feel compassion for his folly as he becomes increasingly despondent at the failure of his method.  Afterall, we all have blind spots and stubbornness that obstructs our view at times.  It can be challenging and often futile to reason with someone who is already convinced of things being a certain way.  As a stubborn person myself, I know how frustrating it is for my friends to try to convince me of something I don't want to hear or think I already know.  But if we tune into the nuances of our own inner workings, our emotional reactions become a light that shines precisely on the places we ought to be looking.

Our emotional life maps our incompleteness: A creature without any needs would never have reasons for fear, or grief, or hope, or anger. But for that very reason we are often ashamed of our emotions, and of the relations of need and dependency bound up with them.  So people flee from their inner world of feeling, and from articulate mastery of their own emotional experiences... What is the remedy of these ills? A kind of self- love that does not shrink from the needy and incomplete parts of the self, but accepts those with interest and curiosity, and tries to develop a language with which to talk about needs and feelings. ~Martha Nussbaum  

Feeling emotion deeply can be a gift when we are equipped with the tools to properly manage it.  When we don't have the tools or know how to use them properly, our emotions can be overwhelming and outright destructive to our lives and the relationships that are most important to us.  They can undermine and sabotage everything we desire and work so hard to create.  We end up living out our greatest fears.  But when we employ the proper tools, our feelings can be a great catalyst for transformation.  They can propel us toward our dreams.  They can be a bridge that connects us in the deepest and most meaningful ways to the people in our lives.  We have the choice, every day, to approach our emotions with interest and curiosity and to use them to initiate beneficial change in our lives and in our friendships.

Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom... The last of one’s freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance.  ~Viktor Frankl 

Our thoughts generate our emotions.  If we change the way we think about something, the way we feel will likewise change.  When I am upset about something, I work to understand what is at the root of my discontent.  I inquire within myself about my own needs, motivations, judgements.  What is my role in this?  Oftentimes, creating just a little bit of space between the situation and the emotional reaction is necessary to have enough clarity to responsibly manage the habituated response which, more often than not, is counterproductive to our contentment and the wellbeing of our friendships.  How do we create that space when things are heavily charged with fear, hurt, pain, vulnerability?  We take a breath.  We breathe just enough space around our fear/hurt/pain so we take a moment to ask ourselves some important questions.  In my yoga practice, fear comes up in backbending almost every day and can induce something close to a panic attack.  This is a helpful place for me to practice creating that space between the situation and my immediate reaction, even if it's just pausing for one breath before I cave to the fear.  The next day might be two breaths, and my capacity to make that space continues to grow as I continue to practice.  Learning how to fall is also helpful, so when that fear comes up, you can ask yourself, what is the worst that can happen?  And you answer, I could fall.  Well, as silly as it sounds, it's quite helpful to test it out so you know you won't die if you fall, and it hardly ever hurts as much as you fear it will.  For me, yoga is a safe place to practice this, and there are also relationships in my life that are safe places to practice making space in my emotional reactions.  No matter how safe these places are though, it always feels risky.  That's okay so long as we are continually pushing our capacity to stay open.  The greatest things in life involve the greatest risk.
  

 

Gamble everything for love, 

if you’re a true human being. 

If not, leave this gathering.  

 Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty.   

You set out to find God, but then you keep stopping 

for long periods at meanspirited roadhouses.  

~Rumi

So how do we make space in our reactions to a friend?  Well, we embark on a process of self-inquiry.  For instance, if a situation arises where I do not get what I need from someone, I look to see... Did I ask for what I need?  (When I ask myself this question, the answer is almost always a resounding no!  And I'm always shocked!  Shocked!  I mean... but... how... uhhh... what... but.... if... damnit!  Why can't you read my mind?!  (Note to self: Be fearless in asking for what you need.))  If you don't ask, the answer to your question is always no.  And as the guy who picked me up hitchhiking one time many years ago said, "If you've got the balls to ask, the only answer is yes!"  I've realized this is a profound insight into the inner workings of the universe.  Regardless of whether or not I asked for what I need, was I open to receive what was given to me?  Was I open to recognize what I need in unexpected forms or from unexpected sources?  Did I express gratitude for the kindnesses extended to me?  Did I give freely to others what was needed of me?   

If I judge someone else as having fallen short, say, by being unkind.... I ask myself, "In what ways have I been unkind?"  If I already know the person to be a good person based on our shared experiences and history, then I am inclined to give a more generous interpretation for their actions.  I ask myself if there are other factors at work: Are they under duress?  Do they have the proper (physical/emotional/spiritual) tools to deal with the situation properly?  Are they doing the best they can under the conditions?  Are they willing to acknowledge where they fell short?  Are they actively working to be better?  And then I turn every single one of those questions on myself. 

Hopefully that line of inquiry turns up a new, more positive perspective on the situation and my friend and I can start working things out from there.  But if it doesn't, I consider if I could be mistaken in this assessment of my friend.  Is there a more fair and generous interpretation?  Am I projecting my own fears/biases/beliefs/pain/anger onto this person?  How is this triggering my own pain/fear/darkness?  Did this person unknowingly step on one of my landmines and go explodey all over both of us and now I don't know which way is up?  What is at stake if I act on a potentially inaccurate or incomplete understanding?  Is this friend important enough to me to do the work required of me to gain greater clarity?  Do my feelings about the situation or attachments to my defense mechanisms outweigh the care and regard I have for my friend?  Is my friend willing to help clarify the situation, their motivations, their feelings?  Am I willing and courageous enough to stay present and open even though it's uncomfortable/scary/confusing/triggering me? 

Don't turn away.  Keep looking at the bandaged place.

That's where the light enters you.  ~Rumi 

What is at stake is not just the friendship.  By running away or shutting down or closing myself off, I am reinforcing my own negative patterns, defenses, and fears.  What part of me does this serve?  Does this serve my deeper desire for connection and intimacy?  No!  Does this serve the love and care I have for my friend?  No!  How do these defenses obstruct my ability to have meaningful and substantial relationships with myself and the people I care about?  And most importantly, how do I serve the higher parts of myself, the desire for connection, the love I have for my friend?  

 

Very little grows on jagged rock,
Be ground, be crumbled,
So wild flowers will come up where you are.
You've been stony for too many years
Try something different
Surrender.

~Rumi

 

Our defenses are thorny weeds, the more we indulge them, the more strongly they take root.  So long as we submit to the spurious whims of our shadow, we will remain complicit in our own suffering.  We are making a choice, whether we realize it or not, every time we run.  But there is another choice we can make.  We can ventilate those claustrophobic places, we can uproot those thorny weeds.  We can choose to stay present in those moments we want to run, we can choose to stay open instead of closing ourselves off, we can choose to feel the depth of our emotions instead of numbing ourselves out.  Choosing this course of action chisels away at our defenses and opens up greater possibilities in our inner landscape.  It also brings us into greater integrity within ourselves and our friendships.  Standing in integrity means our thoughts, words, and actions are in alignment and turned toward the Good.  Breaking down our reactionary defenses and integrating the shadow part of ourselves is necessary if we are to live contented lives and enjoy meaningful relationships.  

We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.  ~C.G Jung

It's worthwhile to look around your life every so often and take inventory of things.  It's helpful information to know if you've surrounded yourself with people who serve the lowest parts of you or the highest.  Take a good look around to see what kind of people populate your life and bear their influence upon your physical, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing.  And ask these questions of yourself, as well, to see what kind of friend you are to others.  Does s/he hold herself and her friends to high standards of integrity and accountability?  Does s/he manage her emotions responsibly?  Does s/he call me on my negative patterns?  Does s/he refuse to coddle my weaknesses?  Does s/he challenge me to look at the dark places within myself?  Does s/he encourage me and support me in becoming a better person?  Does s/he celebrate my successes?  Does s/he see the best in me even when I fall short?  Is the care and regard for our friendship mutually reciprocated?  Do I feel lighter/clearer/more energized after spending time with him/her?  Am I a better person for knowing her/him?  

If we are earnest in our inquiry, it is likely we've turned up some unsavory aspects of ourselves and our friends that may cause alarm.  Fear not!  This is to be welcomed and expected as the natural result of sincere self-reflection.  Afterall, I do not know a single soul who is as good as they'd like to be.  And the very best ones are often filled with the most doubt and fear and questioning.  So long as we are moving toward our goodness, that thing perpetually on the horizon ever out of reach, we are headed in the right direction.  When we fall short or do wrong, know that it is possible to repair the infraction.  First, acknowledge your short-falling at the very first opportunity you have to do so.  The more time that passes without acknowledgment, the more damage is potentially done to both you and your friend.  Then, account for the short-falling.  Explain to your friend what was going on in your heart and mind that caused you to behave the way you did.  Show your friend where you have clarity and where you are still struggling, and ask them to show you the same in return.  Listen to your friend's side of the story, and be open to really hear what they say so you can both better understand how to support each other and more gracefully navigate any difficulties moving forward.  Next, make amends by making the situation right in whatever ways you can and committing to yourself and your friend to actively work on becoming better.  Finally, forgive your friend for their short-fallings, and ask for forgiveness for your own.  Now hug it out, you two!

Life, and love, is short.  The forgetting, and regretting, is so very long.  Be fearless.  Be the first one to pick up the phone.  Say I'm sorry.  Extend a hand.  Ask for help.  Ask for clarity.  Ask for forgiveness.  Be forgiving.  Cry together.  Express gratitude.  Laugh at yourselves.  Celebrate the little things.  Friendship must be tended to, cultivated.  It takes continual, sustained effort over time.  It takes devotion.  It takes practice.  It takes showing up even when it's not convenient or pleasurable or easy.  It takes good days and bad days and falling down and getting back up.  It takes fighting for what and who is important to you.  It takes courage and a willingness to go far outside what's comfortable.  It takes vulnerability and sacrifice.  It takes looking your fears in the face.  It takes staying instead of running.  It takes being seen by another, shadows and scars and all.  It takes bearing witness to another person's pain and darkness and loving them still, even more.  It takes a goddamned impeccable, unshakable sense of humor.  It takes risking everything for the chance of love.   

This is the yoga of friendship, and it is one of the most beautiful and worthwhile things in the entire world.

Street art by Swoon

Lovers gather and give each other shade,
relief from the direct sun.
Stay closeby that community.
Be shade with them,
until you yourself are full of light
like the moon, then like the sun.

~Rumi

This is the training ground...

Ok, yeah, so I haven't written a blog since I was in India.  I figure I should at least say hi and let y'all know I'm alive and well in Austin.  Ahhhh, to update you in a nutshell on the last several months... My rib injury healed and my practice has been going well.  It took me about two months to be able to catch the bind on my own in Marichyasana D after the injury. Now that I'm back to full steam, things have been progressing nicely overall.  I've been pushing the edges of my strength and am growing stronger and leaner every week.  I've also been sweating like crazy during practice, it feels like I'm condensating more than sweating.  Beads of water just drip drip drip off me out of every pore.  It was a long summer in Texas, and now slowly turning into fall, and I'm working hard in practice, so the sweat feels good.  It ushers in that post-practice lightness and clarity, like cleaning the soot off an oil lamp.  In the last month or so, I've moved into second series, so my practice is quite long now.... all of primary and second up to laghu vajrasana.  Kapotasana coming soon! 

Coming home from India was a tougher transition than I expected.  I came home all filled up with this amazing experience that words cannot adequately express, and I felt like a lot of people just didn't care or have interest or know how to relate to me.  I got asked questions like, "How was your vacation?" as if I'd been sitting on a beach drinking fancy drinks out of pineapples without a care in the world.  I quickly slipped back into my reclusive tendencies and rhythms of life, for better and worse, here in Austin.  I'm very comfortable here, too comfortable in many ways.  There is little sense of urgency, and I find I become too complacent with life if I'm not careful.  I started fantasizing about selling my house, buying a little airstream, packing up my dog and cats, a few essential things, and hitting the road indefinitely.  I daydreamed about all the places I would go, being free as the wind, spending months in places I love, finally going places I've always wanted to see.  I was escaping my present reality and getting lost in a fantasy.  And then... 

A month after I got home, my beloved dog, Amallah, died suddenly and so very unexpectedly.  I loved that dog more than I've loved any human.  The heartbreak of her death and the big gaping hole she left in my heart and my home have been a daily struggle and tremendous source of sorrow.  I slipped into what was probably the worst depression of my life.  Most days it was all I could do to show up to practice.  And I decided that if all I do is my yoga practice, then that's enough.  Everything else falls away as irrelevant and arbitrary.  Practice is an anchor, a lifeline, and I truly believe it's kept me alive during some of the darkest times of my life.  Some days, tears come with the very first ekam inhale; some days not until savasana.  Some days, something resembling joy seeps back in, and all I know is that I need this practice like I need the very next breath.  It is perhaps the greatest act of love and devotion that I know, and this becomes especially apparent when there is nothing but darkness, like a fever you can't shake, all around and inside you.

 

The Uses of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
 

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
 

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.  

~Mary Oliver 

One of my dearest friends helped me tremendously through that very tough time after my dog died.  I don't think I have ever known heartbreak like that.  My friend kept saying, "Use this pain, let it galvanize you!  Let it transform you!  It is a gift."  Of course the instinct is to close yourself off to that kind of pain, to turn away from it.  It is overwhelming, to say the least.  And it takes a kind of deep, sustained courage I did not know I even possessed.  But if you make the choice to stay, tap into your deepest well of courage and lean into the pain, let it burn down all the defenses you've built against it, let it move through you, let it come in and uproot the darkest places within yourself, sweep out the debris, it will change you in the profoundest of ways.  Shantideva tells us, we are like a blind man who finds a jewel in a heap of garbage.  Right there in all that you'd rather throw away is your treasure.  If you throw away the garbage, you throw away the treasure too.  Instead of running away & thereby reinforcing old patterns of suffering, be loyal to this experience irregardless of good/bad, pleasure/pain.  Staying, no matter how uncomfortable, is where the treasure is.  In fact, the harder it is to stay, the bigger the treasure.  When it hurts like hell and pushes at all your edges and you're full of doubt and fear and every impulse in your heart and mind tells you to run, that's how you know you're onto something wholly worthwhile.  As an ayurvedic healer in India told me, laughing, "Pain is noooo problem.  Pain is very good sign, indeed.  Pain means happiness coming soon."  Oh, how those words have rooted themselves in me and make me laugh at my own suffering, no matter the cause.  Those simple words continue to ring true in the deepest of ways, so very, very true...

Showing up to practice is one thing; showing up to life can be a whole other battle.  If you practice even when distracted/distressed/hurt/upset/in pain, then you are training well.  This is the training ground, afterall.  So let us train wholeheartedly.  It's easy to show up to practice, to work, to relationships, to life, when things are flowing effortlessly.  But how do we respond to our pain, our fear, our hurt, our anger, our distress, our wounds?  How do we respond to others who are battling their own darkness?  Do we run, do we close ourselves off, shut people out, fortify our defenses, harden our heart, become apathetic, numb, uncaring?  Or do we stay present even though it hurts like hell and scares the holy shit out of us?  Do we stay open even though it makes us vulnerable, even though others can see our darkness, our doubt, our fear?  Do we take a sledgehammer to our hardened defenses and open up our view to greater possibilities?  Are we able to sink deeper into the sources of love, compassion, and equanimity?  It is this place - between the running and the staying, the closing and the opening, the hardening and the softening - where we see precisely what we're made of.  This is where we can initiate meaningful and substantial change within ourselves.  This is where we become better people, more integrated, more open, more loving, more clear.  No one is exempt from fighting this battle within him or herself.  The only real choice you have is which side you fight for.  It is the choice you make - between the fear and the love - that becomes the story of your life.  Which side are you fighting for?  What story do you choose to tell?

If you bring forth what is within you, 

what you bring forth will save you. 

If you do not bring forth what is within you, 

what you do not bring forth will destroy you. 

~Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas

The last few months, I've had a lot more sunshine and clarity seep in.  I'm working hard, staying just the right amount of busy, enjoying my relationships - even the difficult ones, and I'm excited about the projects I'm working on in all areas of my life.  I recently launched a new line of wearable art called Soul Azul, much of it directly inspired by my trip to India and the photos I took there.  I'm also working on some spoken word film projects that have been a long time in the making, so stay tuned for those in the coming weeks.  I love this time of year, the fall always feels like spring bursting forth in my own creative cycle.  So much comes flooding in all at once.  The days are shortening, the leaves are turning, the wind is stirring up delightfully unexpected little treasures, the weather in Austin is divine.  A breath of fresh air.  And I've been having epic adventures in my dreams... realizations about how much India felt like a home coming... and learning how to come home to myself no matter where I am or what the circumstances of my life may look like... And seeing so clearly how, in each others' light, we become better people... and how much work there still is to be done... and how far we've already come...

Read On friendship, this is the training ground part 2...

 

P.S.  I am so very grateful to everyone who reads my posts here, takes interest, comments and emails... I am really so very humbled and blown away at the response from people all over the world who can relate to my experiences (and are trying my recipes!)  It means a lot.  I am energized by your remarks and your willingness to share your experiences, too.  While I juggle many projects, I feel this is one of the most worthwhile ones, and although I may come and go at odd intervals, I do intend to keep up with things more regularly here... so check back every so often, and please do stay in touch... I love hearing from y'all!  Om shanti...

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.

The places you fear to go....

"No fear, no fun."  One of the things I love about Ashtanga, is that it requires me to confront some scary places.  I started working on dropping back and standing up from urdhva dhanurasana (backbends) a few weeks ago.  My teacher came up to me as I was going into the finishing sequence and asked if I wanted to try it.  It hadn't even occurred to me, much like many parts of the practice that at one time seemed so inaccessible I wouldn't even attempt it.  It's one of the gateway postures in the primary series.  Once I get to Mysore, I'll need to be able to stand up on my own in order to move on to the intermediate series.  He explained how we can work on it with him spotting me.  I said it sounded really scary and that I was afraid.  He said it was indeed terrifying.  And I replied, "let's do it!" with enough mock bravery to convince myself that maybe I could do it, or at least not break myself in half trying.  We've continued to work on it in class, and it's still pretty much as scary as it was that first day.  But I'm getting more comfortable with the fear, and that, if anything, feels like progress.  Pain is a guru, a gift.  And so is fear.  How can I unwrap it? 

There's all kinds of stuff packed into fear, but as I'm fond of saying or being reminded of as often as needed, "where there's fear, there's power."  That power cuts both ways.  If I do not confront my fear, that thing will have power over me and will be an obstacle and limitation, often amplified into something monumental and insurmountable.  But by confronting fear, I come to embody that power and open up those spaces that I feared to go.  Those places are often the most fertile territories we can colonize within ourselves, and the rewards of such an endeavor echo into every area of our lives.  We become empowered in all we do when we confront our fear.  In addition to confronting the many layers of fear, there is a tremendous amount of trust I must give my teacher to not have me do something I'm not capable of doing, and of course, to not drop me on my head.  The teacher is an archetype, a mirror in which the student glimpses previously unseen possibility.  The most important gift a teacher can give is to be a clear reflection that allows the student to see what they are capable of, to help navigate and facilitate the student's own self-discovery.  And when it comes to backbending, I am not only trusting my teacher, but also myself.  I have to trust I will stay focused and aware and not get all turned upside down and around and try to come up on the wrong count - which is precisely what happened a couple weeks ago.  I got ahead of myself and all turned around (it's hard to tell which way is what when you're upside down) and I came up a count too early and damn near made us both wipe out.  Luckily no one was hurt.  It rattled my nerves a bit, but I got right back up and did the rest of my five drop backs.  This made me realize that the trust cuts both ways too.  It's like mountain climbers tied together, even though the more advanced one leads the way, if either one falls, they could both potentially go down.  

And yet, the act of trusting is far deeper and infinitely more subtle than merely knowing I'm not going to get dropped on my head.  Trusting can be terrifying, and all the times I gave my trust and was somehow betrayed come rushing to the surface.  Whether intentionally or accidentally broken, the rupture of trust can be traumatic.  Broken trust, most fundamentally, feels like a self-betrayal because it inevitably comes to the question, "How could I have allowed myself to trust an unworthy person?"  That's a heavy question to have to confront, and, for the faint of heart or meek of spirit, it can undermine the most basic sense of self.  And now realizing that my teacher has to trust me to some degree too, I must rise to the occasion to be worthy of that trust.  Breaking another's trust is perhaps even scarier to me than the prospect of them breaking mine - and most certainly scarier than falling on my head.  And so go the layers and layers of work to be done here, all potent and alive in just this one part of the practice.  And so I breathe into all those spaces, and I acknowledge that trusting is scary, even scarier and more difficult for me than the actual backbends themselves.  I'm sure my teacher sees some of these inner workings as I stand there preparing and trying not to freak out too much, outwardly at least.  He reassures me so that I feel safe and supported.  That reassurance is not just comforting physically, but even more so emotionally.  The emotional dimension of feeling safe is profoundly transformative and healing territory for me, having grown up in a very emotionally unsafe family dynamic.  I have done a lot of deep work to heal those early traumas, and still, when I push myself to the edges, tilting the mirror just enough to see into the darkest of spaces, there are still shadows wanting for the light.  Those shadows cast hard edges, and it's those edges that offer the greatest leverage for healing and discovery.  The heat generated from the practice is purifying, it breaks up stagnation and old traumas and clears the way for the light to shine through.  Combine that with urdhva dhanurasana being one of the most powerful heart opening asanas, and the conditions are ripe for some serious magic to happen.  Dark places are coming into light.  As one of my earliest yoga teachers from my highschool days in Idyllwild was fond of reminding us, backbends place the heart over the head.  "That's the medicine."  She was right, it is medicine, and it's potent.

As I continue to make progress with the physical practice, the emotional dimension continues to open up as well.  As I come up from the backbend, the natural instinct is to lift the head.  It's an automatic reflex like blocking your face if some object is flying at you, but really the head should hang back and be the very last thing to come up.  Lifting the head too soon can actually cause you to lose balance and fall back.  I have to really fight the impulse until it becomes second nature to let it haaaaang back.  Interestingly enough, keeping the head back also keeps the heart open, guiding the movement upwards.  And so I ask myself in what other ways are my impulses and reflexes self-sabotaging and can cause me to lose balance and fall?  Where else can I fight the knee-jerk reaction and train myself to haaaaang back?  Where else do I close myself up instead of staying open?  Where else do I let my head lead over my heart?  What am I capable of when I remain open and trusting, when I surrender to the movement of the heart?  And in practice last week, I caught a glimpse of what I'm capable of.  In the final deep bend of the backbending sequence, I walked my hands in close enough that I could see my own feet from behind.  At first I thought they were my teacher's feet because it is very strange and unexpected and exciting that I'd be able to see my own feet in a backbend.  I wonder what else will come into view in this wild, uncharted landscape.  There is so much to discover, and I am so grateful, every day, for this practice, and the vistas it is revealing.

This is incredibly potent heart opening territory.  And in some moments it is scary as all hell, and some moments it is so full of joy and wonder and discovery.  This is where the work is.  This is the place where I face my fears and see what I'm made of.  This is the inner landscape that holds the kind of power and beauty that cracks the heart wide open.

And the light is dawning there...

 

May your trails be crooked, 

winding, lonesome, 

dangerous, 

leading to the most amazing view... 

where something strange 

and more beautiful 

and more full of wonder 

than your deepest dreams 

waits for you 

beyond that next turning 

of the canyon walls...

~Ed Abbey

Pain is my guru...

Ganesha, the creator & remover of obstacles.

"New asana, new pain."  "If yoga causes pain, yoga cures pain." "Pain is your guru."  These are just a few of the peculiarly wise, often funny, and sometimes debatable Guruji-isms ashtangis like to rattle off as it suits them.  I guess these about pain are similar to my particular favorite, "no coffee, no prana," and, well, who the hell am I to argue with that one?! 

I've been thinking a lot about pain in relation to my ashtanga practice because, well, lately I've been experiencing pain that has resurfaced from an old shoulder injury.  A few years ago, I had a complete tear in the labrum and partial tears in some of the ligaments that hold the shoulder together.  I tried to rehab it for half a year with alternative methods like herbs and acupuncture and some ass kicking medieval torture physical therapy, and then went ahead and opted for the surgery my orthopedic specialist recommended from the get go.  He said there was no way to heal a complete tear like that with the level of edema I had, the labrum would not reattach to itself.  So, after a very painful surgery, I had a long road of recovery which left me completely immobilized for 2 months, followed by more than a year of intense, brutal rehab.  It sucked.  Big time.  I got really depressed during that time of my life.  I couldn't wash my own hair, or dress myself, or pull my pants up after I peed, or drive my car (stick shift), much less continue my tai chi practice which I was really in love with and totally committed to.  I gained a bunch of weight, having gone from very active and happy in my life to completely laid up and totally depressed.  I was on lots of narcotic painkillers, which definitely didn't help my mental state even though they helped with the physical pain.  Those were some very dark days that I'd prefer not to think about.  I've come so far since then through a lot of persistent, deep, hard work on every aspect of myself.  I've put in a metric ton of sweat and tears to be the healthy, active, joyful, and contented person I am today.  There really is no substitute for sweat.

Screaming Artist, lithograph by Fritz Scholder

And so I noticed something peculiar these last few days when my shoulder started acting up.  My temper started acting up too.  I was getting frustrated and angry very easily, for no particular reason really, and I was reminded very quickly how closely physical pain and emotional pain are tied together.  Pain is an interesting thing, even when acutely physical, it can have an even greater impact emotionally and spiritually.  I don't really mind a certain degree of physical pain, I've got a pretty good tolerance to it up to a certain threshold.  But all the attendant repercussions, or perceived repercussions, of it are where the challenges really lie.  The fear, the dependence on others, the asking for help, the cutting back or total elimination of activities I love, the feelings of weakness and vulnerability, feelings of failure, of not being good or strong or mindful enough.  All that stuff is totally bogus when you really take a good long look at it, but these things like to come up and rear their ugly heads when you're down and out.  Funny, that... Just remember to enjoy a nice cathartic scream every once in a while...

So where does this leave me with my practice?  On the one hand, I don't want to unquestioningly submit to the fear that I could re-injure myself and use that as justification to let myself off the hook in moments when I can push through and get to something deeper.  Pain can be an opportunity, a key, a doorway, and by confronting it and walking through it, it can lead me to places I've never dreamed of, in really awesome, empowering ways.  Where there is fear, there is power, and confronting pain and working with it can lead to all new, previously inaccessible, feelings of wholeness and health, strength and focus.  On the other hand, I really-seriously-for-real don't want to f'in re-injure myself and compromise a happy, healthy, strong body and mind ready for the intensity of daily practice in Mysore in just six weeks!

So, I just acknowledged to myself all this emotional stuff as it was triggered by the shoulder pain, patted myself on the head, and said, "you'll be ok, this is probably just old stuff purging itself and not indicative of a new injury."  And then I decided to give myself an extra rest day on Monday, which was the day after it started hurting.  I was feeling hungry and weak in general that day too (three weeks into my fast) and with my shoulder aching, I decided not to push myself, to just simply rest, peacefully, with no affliction or conflict about my decision.  I picked my practice back up on Tuesday and managed it with just a few minor modifications... not even trying to bind marichyasana d, and taking it easy in all the chaturangas.  That night my shoulder was aching again.  It felt dislocated and had a sharp soreness in the joint and behind my shoulder blade.  I had restless sleep that night and called my chiropractor first thing on Wednesday.  She popped me all back into place, and I went ahead to the new Mysore class I mentioned in my blog last week.  I decided to just be easy on myself, to just enjoy my practice wherever it is and not to push too hard.  And you know what?  I had an awesome practice, I felt more present in each asana, deepening my relationship to my breath and movement.  My heart felt more open, and practice felt very sweet in a new way.  I simply felt an openness and gratitude and joy to be there, to be practicing.  And I didn't even modify all that much, other than doing girly chaturanga (with knees down) and skipping the shoulder stand asanas in the closing sequence.  And I feel okay.  The shoulder may take some time to come back around and join the party.  I may not be able to push as far as I want with my upper body strength just yet, and that's okay.  There is plenty of room to grow within the practice in other ways, and I am open and look forward to those opportunities. 

And so I am learning something very important.  Pain in and of itself is not a bad thing.  It is a teacher, and it is a healer.  I'm not going to ever say, "I'm in pain, no practice today," because that will not serve me.  I will listen to my body, and if I am legitimately injured, I will recognize that and take time to heal.  But there is no reason to turn away from practice altogether.  It's all about finding the intelligent edge and backing off just a bit when necessary.  Pain is an opportunity, so instead of asking myself if I should practice, I will ask, "how can this pain guide me today into a deeper understanding of myself and my practice, how may it be of service?"  And I will follow it to wherever it leads me, and I will revel in what I find there.  Pain is a guru.  It is a key.  A doorway.  Walk through...

Novantatre, from the Me + You series by Laura Lea Nalle

 

Pain is a treasure, 

for it contains mercies.
The kernel is soft 

when the rind is scraped off.
Oh brother, 

the place of darkness and cold
is the fountain of life 

in the cup of ecstasy.
So also is endurance of pain 

and sickness and disease.
For from abasement 

proceeds exultation.
The spring seasons are 

hidden in the autumns.
And the autumns 

are charged with springs.

~Rumi