Regardless of our other resolutions and intentions for this year, let's form one small and doable and potentially life-changing one:
Every day for the next three weeks, wake up and do ten minutes of sun salutations before anything else.
Make them the same sun salutations every day for these three weeks (then you can change them if you like).
Wake up to ten minutes of music, set a timer, or just estimate it.
No excuses. You don't need contact lenses or yoga clothes or even (gasp!) a mat. Just get yourself breathing deeply and moving mindfully, even if it feels sloppy.
It doesn't matter if you plan to take class that day. Still do it.
Let me know how it goes!
03 January 2011
19 December 2010
Yaded (rhymes with "jaded")
A few months ago, I saw a man in a construction-logoed pick-up truck stopped at a red light in my village. His arm dangled out the driver's side window, and from his hand waved a long string of what I was pretty sure were mala beads. He looked like he was actively engaged in japa yoga--the repetition of mantra with mala beads, working each bead with the fingers as the mantra is repeated 108 times.
This was not an Indian construction worker; it was a older white guy. I was astonished and pleased to see an act of devotion being performed in an everyday locale, and by an unlikely demographic. How wonderful to have some evidence that any unlikely driver passing through might be repeating the name of the divine or counting blessings or giving thanks as s/he waits at the stoplight!
As I drove on, though, the suspicious part of my mind took over... it DID seem a little ostentatious, hanging the beads out the window like that...perhaps he WANTED someone to see his mala beads. Perhaps he was really just trying to pick up yoga chicks!
Well, yes. Maybe. Maybe not. Once you've been practicing yoga in America for some time, you realize you will find a good amount of ordinary humanity in each yoga community, just as you find it in yourself. It is easy to hold yogis--students, teachers, dabblers--in some higher regard, and then become jaded and disillusioned when they do not all turn out to be already enlightened. Or even just already teaching exactly the way you want them to.
Maybe the hardest thing we are confronting right now as a loosely interwoven aggregate of yoga communities in America is the sense that we each have the "right" way to teach/practice yoga. This sense is supported by the late-capitalist imperative to emphasize what makes each school or style of yoga unique, and for each teacher to "brand" him- or herself in a distinct way. The sheer number of teachers in most places provides each of us with an incredible array of CHOICES in how to practice yoga, which is wonderful--there is a method for everyone, right where there are, right now. Gentle, vigorous, therapeutic, chatty, spartan, juicy, intellectual, emotional, filled with metaphor, anatomically precise, visually demonstrated, verbally cued, set to a soundtrack, basking in silence, prop-heavy, prop-free, paced quickly, paced slowly...you name it.
Find a teacher who can teach you as you are, right now--it may take many trial classes to find him or her! And then, once you are well established in your practice, branch out, try the ones that are maybe SO NOT RIGHT FOR YOU, because they will sometimes teach you even more.
And here's the hard part, for me, at least: let go of needing to evaluate why they are so not right for you. Let go of wanting to warn people away from them (unless you feel you need to give a gentle warning because you fear for people's safety in those classes....see, I told you it was hard for me). Let go of yoga-jadedness...the way we think we can tell so much about a person just from observing him or her from the outside. How s/he will teach, what his or her intentions are, what style of yoga s/he prefers. Why the mala beads are hanging out in full view.
This intention is for the next time we each take class: Assume the best about each person you encounter. Assume they have the highest intentions towards you and everyone else around you. The teacher, the students, the fly on the wall.
I'll be right there with you. Go, mala man, go!
This was not an Indian construction worker; it was a older white guy. I was astonished and pleased to see an act of devotion being performed in an everyday locale, and by an unlikely demographic. How wonderful to have some evidence that any unlikely driver passing through might be repeating the name of the divine or counting blessings or giving thanks as s/he waits at the stoplight!
As I drove on, though, the suspicious part of my mind took over... it DID seem a little ostentatious, hanging the beads out the window like that...perhaps he WANTED someone to see his mala beads. Perhaps he was really just trying to pick up yoga chicks!
Well, yes. Maybe. Maybe not. Once you've been practicing yoga in America for some time, you realize you will find a good amount of ordinary humanity in each yoga community, just as you find it in yourself. It is easy to hold yogis--students, teachers, dabblers--in some higher regard, and then become jaded and disillusioned when they do not all turn out to be already enlightened. Or even just already teaching exactly the way you want them to.
Maybe the hardest thing we are confronting right now as a loosely interwoven aggregate of yoga communities in America is the sense that we each have the "right" way to teach/practice yoga. This sense is supported by the late-capitalist imperative to emphasize what makes each school or style of yoga unique, and for each teacher to "brand" him- or herself in a distinct way. The sheer number of teachers in most places provides each of us with an incredible array of CHOICES in how to practice yoga, which is wonderful--there is a method for everyone, right where there are, right now. Gentle, vigorous, therapeutic, chatty, spartan, juicy, intellectual, emotional, filled with metaphor, anatomically precise, visually demonstrated, verbally cued, set to a soundtrack, basking in silence, prop-heavy, prop-free, paced quickly, paced slowly...you name it.
Find a teacher who can teach you as you are, right now--it may take many trial classes to find him or her! And then, once you are well established in your practice, branch out, try the ones that are maybe SO NOT RIGHT FOR YOU, because they will sometimes teach you even more.
And here's the hard part, for me, at least: let go of needing to evaluate why they are so not right for you. Let go of wanting to warn people away from them (unless you feel you need to give a gentle warning because you fear for people's safety in those classes....see, I told you it was hard for me). Let go of yoga-jadedness...the way we think we can tell so much about a person just from observing him or her from the outside. How s/he will teach, what his or her intentions are, what style of yoga s/he prefers. Why the mala beads are hanging out in full view.
This intention is for the next time we each take class: Assume the best about each person you encounter. Assume they have the highest intentions towards you and everyone else around you. The teacher, the students, the fly on the wall.
I'll be right there with you. Go, mala man, go!
01 November 2010
untying the knot
"...the ego is the confusion or the knotting together that occurs between pure consciousness...and the content of consciousness."
Richard Freeman reminds us that pure consciousness is like the open blue sky, and the content of it (thoughts and feelings) is like clouds moving across that sky.
"In our minds knots are created when we confuse pure consciousness with the products of our mind, and this confusion is the source of the ego, which within the yogic tradition is considered to be an imaginary sense of our separation from the fabric of the universe."
"We have to practice in such a way that we allow insight into the union of the body and mind, the inhale and the exhale, the twist and the countertwist, so that we experience our own merging into what we naturally perceive as our background--all that we see as separate from ourselves...our practice becomes a constant offering of the sacred knot of the ego back into its own root."
In your practice today, offer the knot of your ego back into what we think of as the background, the open blue sky, pure consciousness. Let go of the products of consciousness as they arise--thoughts, feelings, sensations--knowing that those are not separate from that pure consciousness that we all share. Watch how the borders of each thought, each movement, each feeling, are porous--one morphs right into the next. And watch for the space between, that openness that when we take time to notice it, can be so refreshing.
Richard Freeman reminds us that pure consciousness is like the open blue sky, and the content of it (thoughts and feelings) is like clouds moving across that sky.
"In our minds knots are created when we confuse pure consciousness with the products of our mind, and this confusion is the source of the ego, which within the yogic tradition is considered to be an imaginary sense of our separation from the fabric of the universe."
"We have to practice in such a way that we allow insight into the union of the body and mind, the inhale and the exhale, the twist and the countertwist, so that we experience our own merging into what we naturally perceive as our background--all that we see as separate from ourselves...our practice becomes a constant offering of the sacred knot of the ego back into its own root."
In your practice today, offer the knot of your ego back into what we think of as the background, the open blue sky, pure consciousness. Let go of the products of consciousness as they arise--thoughts, feelings, sensations--knowing that those are not separate from that pure consciousness that we all share. Watch how the borders of each thought, each movement, each feeling, are porous--one morphs right into the next. And watch for the space between, that openness that when we take time to notice it, can be so refreshing.
21 October 2010
What's the most useful thing you've got?
From the many things you do in your yoga practice, consider what is most useful to you. By that I mean: What helps you feel less fragmented, more unified as a self AND more connected to others?
Focus on that today. Maybe it is breathing consciously, with or without a formal yogic technique. Maybe it is moving your body, or maybe it is sitting still. Maybe it is voicing your love aloud in words or in song, or maybe it is basking in silence.
Maybe you find it helpful to read or hear the ideas that have been passed along to us about HOW THINGS REALLY ARE (metaphysics) or HOW WE CAN ACT TOWARDS ONE ANOTHER AND OURSELVES (ethics). Yes, we can consider philosophy just another tool in our toolbox of yoga. It may be one you don't care for (I just never seem to use the socket wrench; it's just too dang complicated-looking). Or maybe it's a tool you really find handy for helping you put yourself together and connect yourself to others. (In my case, that would be the allen wrench or the hammer.)
The point is, it's another tool, just like the "physical" practices of hatha yoga. We often categorize it as "theory," separate from what we do on the mat or cushion, which is "practice." But there are many differences and disagreements within yogic, Buddhist, and Western philosophies...and this is because they're all using language to describe something beyond language. They are approximations of HOW THINGS ARE and HOW WE SHOULD ACT. And thus, they're just more tools for us to wield in our efforts to dismantle the walls we've built to avoid seeing that we're irrevocably, joyously, NOT separate from each other.
So whatever it is in your toolbox that works best for you, use it today for some time, however brief. (For me, it is the breath and the nondualism it reveals and reinforces.) If you practice using it daily, you'll remember to pull it out when things are really tough and you need it most, when you and those around you seem to be flying apart.
Focus on that today. Maybe it is breathing consciously, with or without a formal yogic technique. Maybe it is moving your body, or maybe it is sitting still. Maybe it is voicing your love aloud in words or in song, or maybe it is basking in silence.
Maybe you find it helpful to read or hear the ideas that have been passed along to us about HOW THINGS REALLY ARE (metaphysics) or HOW WE CAN ACT TOWARDS ONE ANOTHER AND OURSELVES (ethics). Yes, we can consider philosophy just another tool in our toolbox of yoga. It may be one you don't care for (I just never seem to use the socket wrench; it's just too dang complicated-looking). Or maybe it's a tool you really find handy for helping you put yourself together and connect yourself to others. (In my case, that would be the allen wrench or the hammer.)
The point is, it's another tool, just like the "physical" practices of hatha yoga. We often categorize it as "theory," separate from what we do on the mat or cushion, which is "practice." But there are many differences and disagreements within yogic, Buddhist, and Western philosophies...and this is because they're all using language to describe something beyond language. They are approximations of HOW THINGS ARE and HOW WE SHOULD ACT. And thus, they're just more tools for us to wield in our efforts to dismantle the walls we've built to avoid seeing that we're irrevocably, joyously, NOT separate from each other.
So whatever it is in your toolbox that works best for you, use it today for some time, however brief. (For me, it is the breath and the nondualism it reveals and reinforces.) If you practice using it daily, you'll remember to pull it out when things are really tough and you need it most, when you and those around you seem to be flying apart.
21 September 2010
Yoga as a science; yoga as an art.
I often hear and read that yoga is a science. I agree. It is a set of methods that has been passed along for countless numbers of people to try out and see what happens. It's a series of experiments for each of us to engage in.
But in the Western scientific method, the idea is to control enough variables each time that every person who does the experiment will get the same results. (Well, at least it was until quantum mechanics explained how that will break down at the smallest level...but it still holds true at the macro level.) Scientists only have to keep doing the experiment in order to see if in fact they will NOT get the same results--the idea is that we seek to DISPROVE the hypothesis, and if we can't, then we'll call it a theory.
In yoga, we don't have to believe in the hypothesis or theory that explains what will happen when we develop a daily practice--whether it is postures(asana), breathing practices (pranayama), cleansing practices (kriya), concentration techniques (dharana), meditation (dhyana), chanting (bhakti), or another path.
Those hypotheses do exist. Some of the yogic texts tell you what will happen, and others tell you why and describe the true nature of the universe. But you don't have to know about them, agree with them, or seek to disprove them in order to do your own yogic experiments. And you don't have to have the same experience as your fellow yogi scientist. So the analogy only takes us so far.
Which leads me to the other way to think about our practice: yoga as an art.
It's a set of techniques, like you'd learn in order to paint or sculpt or design a house. You learn the techniques, you learn the rules, and then you get to play with them, respecting the lineage you come from and also making it your own.
In this way, we can make our practice something we craft, a thing of beauty, that we offer up to the world. To the other people in the room with us. To the other living beings that benefit when we are calmer and more flexible. To something bigger than ourselves.
Both approaches are good ways to think of our practice.
Some days, we inquire. What will happen if I do this?
Some days, we create. Here is this, I made it, for You.
But in the Western scientific method, the idea is to control enough variables each time that every person who does the experiment will get the same results. (Well, at least it was until quantum mechanics explained how that will break down at the smallest level...but it still holds true at the macro level.) Scientists only have to keep doing the experiment in order to see if in fact they will NOT get the same results--the idea is that we seek to DISPROVE the hypothesis, and if we can't, then we'll call it a theory.
In yoga, we don't have to believe in the hypothesis or theory that explains what will happen when we develop a daily practice--whether it is postures(asana), breathing practices (pranayama), cleansing practices (kriya), concentration techniques (dharana), meditation (dhyana), chanting (bhakti), or another path.
Those hypotheses do exist. Some of the yogic texts tell you what will happen, and others tell you why and describe the true nature of the universe. But you don't have to know about them, agree with them, or seek to disprove them in order to do your own yogic experiments. And you don't have to have the same experience as your fellow yogi scientist. So the analogy only takes us so far.
Which leads me to the other way to think about our practice: yoga as an art.
It's a set of techniques, like you'd learn in order to paint or sculpt or design a house. You learn the techniques, you learn the rules, and then you get to play with them, respecting the lineage you come from and also making it your own.
In this way, we can make our practice something we craft, a thing of beauty, that we offer up to the world. To the other people in the room with us. To the other living beings that benefit when we are calmer and more flexible. To something bigger than ourselves.
Both approaches are good ways to think of our practice.
Some days, we inquire. What will happen if I do this?
Some days, we create. Here is this, I made it, for You.
11 September 2010
No need to improve. You are that.
So you've noticed that you're breathing more fully, or you're regaining range of motion in your hips, or you're able to stand on one foot for longer, or you're sleeping better, or all of the above.
Or maybe you've noticed that it's THAT chick who is sticking Tree (Vrkshasana) and Headstand (Shirsasana), and today you are decidedly NOT.
Whether you are feeling encouraged or discouraged, remember that this yoga thing is not about self-improvement. It is about Self-realization.
Yes, your small-s "self" will improve. But not necessarily in the ways we expect or desire. The set of physical sensations, thoughts, emotions, and whatnot that makes up your individual self changes a LOT because you practice yoga.
But just go back to the old yogic texts when you need a reminder--and I so often do--that it's not really about that. Patanjali's Yoga Sutras devote a whole chapter to outlining all the siddhis--abilities--that may come about from a regular, intense, devoted yoga practice. Then the chapter ends with a warning: Don't let these newfound skills distract you from the real goal. What's the goal of yoga? The same as the process of yoga:
Remember the Self. Wake up to the realization that even though it seems like I'm just a small-s self wandering this earth bumping into other small-s selves, we're really all a part of something bigger. This is what the Upanishads call the Self (with a big S).
I prefer the verbs "realize" and "remember" because the yogic texts, and our own yoga practices, constantly show us that it's not a process of acquiring new information. This is something we know already, deep down, and we let ourselves forget it in the rush of getting things done. In fact, as amazing as the process of childhood and adolescent development is, it is really a process of building up a small-s self and creating a shell of personality (preferences, differences, opinions, divisions) around our basic, deep-down similarities and connections.
Once we do this successfully, we have a few choices. We can just keep shoring up the line of defense of that isolated self with more and more likes and dislikes, more rigid opinions, and so on...or we can begin to OBSERVE the process by which we do this and not be entirely threatened when we realize that the small-s self isn't all there is.
So whether you balance masterfully or tip over and laugh today, whether your hips ache in tightness or open lightly like flower petals to the sun, just remember what Uddalaka teaches his son in the Chandogya Upanishad. He tells his son to put salt in a cup of water and bring it to him.
"Where is that salt?" the father asks.
"I do not see it," the son replies.
"Sip here. How does it taste?"
"Salty."
"And here?"
Salty."
"And there?"
"I taste salt everywhere."
"It IS everywhere, though we see it not. Just so, dear one, the Self is everywhere, within all things, though we see it not. You are that."
You are that, dear ones. Tat tvam asi. You are already that which you seek. The Self, or whatever you prefer to name it.
So is everyone else. Now can we remember that as we leave our mats?
(The Chandogya Upanishad excerpt is adapted from Chapter VI of Eknath Easwaran's translation, a lovely one, loose for the sake of poetry and clarity.)
Or maybe you've noticed that it's THAT chick who is sticking Tree (Vrkshasana) and Headstand (Shirsasana), and today you are decidedly NOT.
Whether you are feeling encouraged or discouraged, remember that this yoga thing is not about self-improvement. It is about Self-realization.
Yes, your small-s "self" will improve. But not necessarily in the ways we expect or desire. The set of physical sensations, thoughts, emotions, and whatnot that makes up your individual self changes a LOT because you practice yoga.
But just go back to the old yogic texts when you need a reminder--and I so often do--that it's not really about that. Patanjali's Yoga Sutras devote a whole chapter to outlining all the siddhis--abilities--that may come about from a regular, intense, devoted yoga practice. Then the chapter ends with a warning: Don't let these newfound skills distract you from the real goal. What's the goal of yoga? The same as the process of yoga:
Remember the Self. Wake up to the realization that even though it seems like I'm just a small-s self wandering this earth bumping into other small-s selves, we're really all a part of something bigger. This is what the Upanishads call the Self (with a big S).
I prefer the verbs "realize" and "remember" because the yogic texts, and our own yoga practices, constantly show us that it's not a process of acquiring new information. This is something we know already, deep down, and we let ourselves forget it in the rush of getting things done. In fact, as amazing as the process of childhood and adolescent development is, it is really a process of building up a small-s self and creating a shell of personality (preferences, differences, opinions, divisions) around our basic, deep-down similarities and connections.
Once we do this successfully, we have a few choices. We can just keep shoring up the line of defense of that isolated self with more and more likes and dislikes, more rigid opinions, and so on...or we can begin to OBSERVE the process by which we do this and not be entirely threatened when we realize that the small-s self isn't all there is.
So whether you balance masterfully or tip over and laugh today, whether your hips ache in tightness or open lightly like flower petals to the sun, just remember what Uddalaka teaches his son in the Chandogya Upanishad. He tells his son to put salt in a cup of water and bring it to him.
"Where is that salt?" the father asks.
"I do not see it," the son replies.
"Sip here. How does it taste?"
"Salty."
"And here?"
Salty."
"And there?"
"I taste salt everywhere."
"It IS everywhere, though we see it not. Just so, dear one, the Self is everywhere, within all things, though we see it not. You are that."
You are that, dear ones. Tat tvam asi. You are already that which you seek. The Self, or whatever you prefer to name it.
So is everyone else. Now can we remember that as we leave our mats?
(The Chandogya Upanishad excerpt is adapted from Chapter VI of Eknath Easwaran's translation, a lovely one, loose for the sake of poetry and clarity.)
02 September 2010
Where is my guru?
Sometimes I have dreams in which my teacher Sharon looks like someone else, or even changes into someone else. Once she suddenly turned into my mother-in-law. Another time she had short blond hair, like a good friend of mine.
I think this is my mind's not-so-subtle way of reminding me that my teacher, my guru, is in everyone. People I get along with, people I don't, people I barely know. Friends, strangers, family, animals...those in my past, those in my present, and those I have yet to meet. The teacher is in all situations--beginnings, middles, and ends.
This is also Sharon's lovely interpretation of the "guru brahma" chant, and if you think you've never heard it, listen closely the next time you hear the George Harrison song "My Sweet Lord." It's in the background. You can read her full interpretation in the book Jivamukti Yoga.
The "guru" is the teacher who removes the darkness, the "goo," the muck that coats our windows and prevents us from seeing clearly. Sometimes we think it's just one person, but it can be everywhere if we are ready for it.
Dedicate your practice today to seeing the guru in EVERYTHING...your tight muscle, your injured joint, your fantastic capacity to balance, the tailgater behind you, the delicious lunch, the spilled tea, the smile on a stranger's face.
I may not understand what is being taught at each moment, but I can open myself to the possibility of the darkness being removed, so that I am ready to see more clearly how things actually are. Whether I am taking a class with my teacher Sharon, or talking with my mother-in-law, or seeing an old friend, or looking in my rearview mirror.
I think this is my mind's not-so-subtle way of reminding me that my teacher, my guru, is in everyone. People I get along with, people I don't, people I barely know. Friends, strangers, family, animals...those in my past, those in my present, and those I have yet to meet. The teacher is in all situations--beginnings, middles, and ends.
This is also Sharon's lovely interpretation of the "guru brahma" chant, and if you think you've never heard it, listen closely the next time you hear the George Harrison song "My Sweet Lord." It's in the background. You can read her full interpretation in the book Jivamukti Yoga.
The "guru" is the teacher who removes the darkness, the "goo," the muck that coats our windows and prevents us from seeing clearly. Sometimes we think it's just one person, but it can be everywhere if we are ready for it.
Dedicate your practice today to seeing the guru in EVERYTHING...your tight muscle, your injured joint, your fantastic capacity to balance, the tailgater behind you, the delicious lunch, the spilled tea, the smile on a stranger's face.
I may not understand what is being taught at each moment, but I can open myself to the possibility of the darkness being removed, so that I am ready to see more clearly how things actually are. Whether I am taking a class with my teacher Sharon, or talking with my mother-in-law, or seeing an old friend, or looking in my rearview mirror.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)