Playing in the Mud

It's an oft-used metaphor in yoga: the lotus, symbol of beauty and perfection, rises from mud. Not from perfect mounds of colored mulch, nor from pretty clay pots, but from the stuff that sank to the bottom of the water and collected there. The muck.

This is what we are faced with when we explore the yogic and buddhist concept of awakening. From what does our blossoming awareness come? From the muck! From the drudgery of everyday life, from the conflict, the messiness of it all.

That's the trap AND the release. Samsara (the wheel of life) IS nirvana (awakening, freedom from that wheel's repetition), as buddhism says. A regular practice of yoga asana (postures) and pranayama (breath and energy techniques) shows us this, whether or not we even purposely delve into the other limbs of yoga or the philosophies that sprang up around them!

When we confront the tightness, the weirdness, the asymmetry, the tenderness of the body each day, we sometimes feel trapped in this body, with its limitations. Why am I stuck in a body that can't do lotus/won't balance/creaks when it moves/is too big to bind a twist/is too small to hold itself up on its hands/betrays me in so many ways?

If we stick with it and are both gentle (ahimsa!) and passionately, willingly disciplined (tapas!) with ourselves, we see that it is in those limitations, in those weaknesses, in those gaps we perceive in ourselves, that the illumination occurs. The learning, the awakening. Nothing has to change. It's already there in the muck.

It's true in our minds, too. When they swirl like eddies of dirty water, all we have to do is watch. The dirt might settle, the water become clear. Or it might not. Either way, when we observe, we have a chance to notice how FULL each breath, each repetitive thought, each restricted movement is. The lotus is already there, in the mud, even if we don't see the petals on the surface of the water.

Let's play in the mud. What are the muddiest, messiest parts of your yoga practice? Hip opening? Transitions (like jumping back or stepping forward)? Seated meditation?

Can you observe these points today and watch for the beauty, the light, even in the parts that feel the muckiest?

(Playlist suggestion: Leonard Cohen's "Anthem". He reminds us in his lyrics: "Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.")