letting go of doubt

"The asana practice is one of those experimental zones where we can really test the waters of the mind. Often what comes up is recognition of my own courage, compassion and longing to connect--but not always. I just as often slam into a psychic wall of fear and discontentment. I find that if notice myself being harsh or doubtful on the mat, chances are good that I approach myself with the same attitude off the mat." This resonated with me and I just wanted to share this, from writer on the laughing lotus love blog, about sthiram, sukham, and letting go of doubt.

my brilliant image

One day the sun admitted,

I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you
The Infinite Incandescence

That has cast my brilliant image!

I wish that I could show you
When you are lonely or in darkness,

The Astonishing light
Of your own Being!

~Hafiz (as translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

not here

There's courage involved if you want
to become truth. There is a broken-

open place in a lover. Where are
those qualities of bravery and sharp

compassion in this group? What's the
use of old and frozen thought? I want

a howling hurt. This is not a treasury
where gold is stored; this is for copper.

We alchemists look for talent that
can heat up and change. Lukewarm

won't do. Halfhearted holding back,
well-enough getting by? Not here.

~rumi (as translated by coleman barks)

only breath

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu
Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion

or cultural system. I am not from the East
or the West, not out of the ocean or up

from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not
composed of elements at all. I do not exist,

am not an entity in this world or in the next,
did not descend from Adam and Eve or any

origin story. My place is placeless, a trace
of the traceless. Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
worlds as one and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human being.

~ Rumi (as translated by Coleman Barks)

avidya

avidya means ignorance, but not simply a lack of knowledge. It is the illusion of separateness, mistaking what is not real for what is real, in short, ignorance of the true nature of being.

the yoga sutras describe avidya as the root forgetting or ignorance of the nature of things that is the breeding ground for the kleshas (2:4) and as being an ignorance of one of four types: regarding that which is transient as eternal, mistaking the impure for pure, thinking that which brings misery to bring happiness, and taking that which is not-self to be self (2:5). the gita says that all suffering and limitation imposed by the ego come from avidya and so one must seek knowledge. avidya os related to maya, in that it is a veiling of the truth, and once the truth is recognized the illusion begins to fall away.

so, avidya is the very ignorance which keeps us from reality, from being one with pure consciousness, with the eternal, and we must work to remove this ignorance, wipe clean the illusory veil that obstructs our view of the truth. there are endless opportunities each day to move closer to this truth or further away (and thus further away from ourselves, too). avidya is the forgetting that hinders our self-remembering, our ability to transcend so that we might again see our union with the real, the eternal, the divine.

sukham sthiram

steadiness and ease. these are the words used to describe asana practice in yogic texts. sukham means (according to various translations) happiness, sweetness, comfort or ease, while sthiram means balance, without difficulty, firmness, steadiness. this is relatively easy to imagine in terms of asana practice, but when looking at yoga as a whole system, not simply as a physical one, it quickly becomes more abstract. what does the mind look like and feel like when it is both steady and relaxed?

this sounds marvelous to me, but it is not so easy to accomplish. it has something to do with the play between effort, challenge, and then release. In a truly relaxed state, the mind can be ready for anything, because energy is not being wasted unnecessarily. likewise in the body. when our energy is not misspent on tensions then it is free to put that energy toward a goal. our efforts become fruitful. and, since I don't really believe in any sort of mind-body split, the body-mind that is both firm and relaxed, which acts with both steadiness and ease, is one that is best poised to meet its goals, spiritual or otherwise.

so, how does one accomplish this? little by little every day in both the physical and mental challenges that we set for ourselves or are put upon us every day. we make a conscious choice to continually redirect our energy toward mindfulness and ease, even at the apex of our efforts. step by step and day by day, one hopes we arrive closer to the goal.

sādhana

Mr. Iyengar, in Light on the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, says that sādhana is a discipline undertaken in the pursuit of a goal and that a sādhaka, or practitioner, is one who skillfully applies mind and intelligence in practice towards a spiritual goal. Yogi Bhajan says that it is a committed prayer and something which you want to do, have to do, and which is being done by you as self-enrichment and not something which is done to please somebody or to gain something. He says sadhana is a personal process in which you bring out your best.

My understanding of sādhana is that it comprises the practices that you do each day to bring you closer to that spiritual goal. What that practice is each day might vary a little, but the idea is that there is a steady and continuous practice that you do in the service of spiritual growth. This might include meditation and mantra, asana practice, or any other ritual that points the mind toward liberation and enlightenment, but the key is that it is a regular, dedicated practice. For this reason, it is perhaps best to make your daily sādhana something manageable, and then, if one has the time and is feeling so inclined, more can be added to that practice, but always the basic practice is regular, whatever you have determined that to mean, and that the practice does not become mechanical.

For me, I endeavor to rise in the morning and light a candle and incense, before which I sit quietly for a few minutes. I intend for those minutes to be contemplative, conscious... you know, meditation, but this is not always easy for me. Still, I arrive before the flame and the smoke and I sit on my zafu in silence. Some days are more successful than others. Beyond this I try to do 30 minutes of asana practice each day. When I began, I tried to do 60 minutes of asana practice and found that I was not consistent. So, I dialed that back a little so that I might make it more achievable and thus more consistent. This seems to have helped.

In a perfect world, where job obligations and the like were not an issue, I would rise in the morning and sit before my candle and incense, then do 60-90 minutes of asana, then a coconut oil self-massage and bathing ritual, and then prepare and eat breakfast in a manner more fit for an offering. I would do this every day. This is my long term goal, but the mundane requirements of daily life often seem to get in the way of this and I haven't quite found my way around that...

becoming

Just wanted to share this quote (from 500 BC):

All things come out of the One and the One out of all things. ... I see nothing but Becoming. Be not deceived! It is the fault of your limited outlook and not the fault of the essence of things if you believe that you see firm land anywhere in the ocean of Becoming and Passing. You need names for things, just as if they had a rigid permanence, but the very river in which you bathe a second time is no longer the same one which you entered before.

~Heraclitus

satsang

I think the definition of satsang is "association with truth" which is taken to mean both our inner examination of and relationship to the truth, as well as our relationship with a community of like-minded individuals with whom we share philosophical readings, conversation, examinations, and experiences with and pertaining to the truth. It is quite similar to, if not the same as, the buddhist sangha. The idea is that our associations can keep us focused on the spiritual goal and, since negative associations can undermine a lot, positive, supportive associations are a benefit to cultivate since the path to truth is long and arduous. So, what we are doing in yoga school is also satsang. I don't think the idea is to promote conformity of thinking by surrounding yourself with like-minded people, but rather to have a supportive group you can turn to, talk with, and share with, even when (especially when?) you are struggling with something.

bhakti

My understanding of bhakti, thus far, is that it is the practice of love and devotion, specifically with regards to one's relationship to the divine, however the divine is conceived. In this practice, the love and devotion are valued above ritual and/or pure knowledge, either of which can be approached in a more clinical manner, and with bhakti the heart must be authentically engaged. The object of the devotion is usually god expressed in a form, however, what god means seems more open than what I have typically been exposed to. Still, there are some paths that devote themselves to serving god, and others that believe god is realized within us, in which case a life of service to god results in a merging with the divine, rather than getting to hang out at god's party. In either case, it is a participatory relationship with the divine.

love dogs

dharma

We have been asked about our understanding of dharma, which, as I understand it, has to do with following one’s path and that to attempt to follow a path that goes against your nature will only lead to misery. In some ways this makes perfect sense to me... who hasn't felt like they were swimming upstream when partaking in an activity that is not just foreign, or unfamiliar, but feels plain wrong, like wearing your shoes on the opposite feet.

This metaphoric rubbing the wrong way reminds me a lot of a scene in the film The Men Who Stare at Goats in which Lyn says to Bob:

“Have you ever hear of Optimum Trajectory before? Your life is like a river, Bob. If you’re aiming for a goal that isn’t your destiny, you will always be swimming against the current. Young Ghandi wants to be a stock-car racer? Not gonna happen. Little Anne Frank wants to be a High School teacher. Tough titty Anne. That’s not your destiny. But you will go on to move the hearts and minds of millions. Find out what your destiny is and the river will carry you.”

This is, of course, a bit reductionist, but it resonated with me all the same and very much seems to be in keeping with the idea of dharma. I also think dharma has to do with turning inward to find liberation, rather than seeking it externally. In order to find truth, cultivate compassion, purify the self, etc. one must look inward and develop deep awareness. I'd imagine that having such awareness also makes it much easier to see clearly your path. And perhaps it isn't even necessary to know exactly where the path leads, just that it moves you in the right direction, right, here, being defined as not simply what feels good, but what decidedly does not feel wrong. We waste a lot of hours doing things that, if they don't feel wrong, then at least don't actually move us any closer to what would feel more right.

Oh, now I've wandered into right and wrong territory. Dangerous. Mucky logic problems tend to pop up in here. Best to wander back away now...

guru

What exactly is a guru? And is a guru a necessary part of the path to enlightenment? The word comprises gu, which means darkness, and ru, which means the destroyer of that darkness. As with any great teacher, then, the guru is one who understands darkness and can also dispel the darkness by illuminating it. But what does that mean, exactly? Teachers arrive in many forms... books can illuminate the way. Any of my lovely yoga teachers are continually illuminating the path for all of their students. But does that make them gurus? My understanding of a guru includes the idea that this person possesses the ability to transmit energy to the student and, through this transmission, can dissolve spiritual ignorance or energetic blockages that prevent the student from understanding and dispelling the darkness they possess. So, by this standard, does that mean a person who can bestow shaktipat is necessarily one's guru? I have a friend who has received shaktipat twice now from a local shaman, but I don't think either of them view their relationship as that of guru and student. So what makes a guru more than just a teacher? And how does one determine whether they've encountered a guru? The Dalai Lama says to "rely on the teachings to evaluate a guru: do not have blind faith, but also no blind criticism."

karma

The concept of karma is, naturally, a recurring theme in our philosophical discussions at yoga school. Though we have talked about it a lot, I have to say that I don't feel any more comfortable with the concept than I did at the outset. I think I have, perhaps, a better understanding of it, seeing it now as more than simple cause and effect (though, that is related to it) and viewing it more as action that ripples out in all directions, affecting the past, present, and future. So, there are actions and there are responses that correspond to those actions, but it is not necessarily a 1 to 1 linear causal relationship.

What I have trouble with, however, is the notion that somehow we all get exactly what we deserve or require. On one level, I can see the potential benefit from experiencing all things, high and low, good and bad, easy or difficult, because, at least if one is truly present and aware, one can learn from any and all experiences, and thus advance in personal and spiritual endeavors. But, from there it seems to delve into seriously mucky territory, because it is rather a short leap then, to say that the person who was born into poverty or warfare is somehow acting out their karmic inheritance, or working out their karmic relationships, that somehow their previous actions have created or influenced their present circumstances. Again, on some level, I can follow the logic, because a person born to abhorrent circumstances still has the opportunity to respond to them, and, based on that response, may advance spiritually, burning off karmic debt, or what not.

I guess what makes me uncomfortable is this seems like a very easy, too easy, way of accounting for economic inequities and other, worse, injustices in the world, and thereby somehow justify classism and all the other stupid hierarchies and ~isms that are so intensely problematic. You know, logic that says, well, we have been born to privilege and therefore we must have done something to deserve it, or we would have been born into something else... and I can't get on board with that idea. Which is to say, while I feel I have a clearer picture of karma (which is much more nuanced than I've indicated here) I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it.

rumi

I love Rumi. I love poets who translate other poets (they're really the only ones I trust with translation of poetry). This poem was read at kirtan tonight:

Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and attend them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture, still,
treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Welcome difficulty.
Learn the alchemy True Human Beings know:
the moment you accept what troubles
you’ve been given, the door opens.

Welcome difficulty as a familiar
comrade. Joke with torment
brought by the Friend.

Sorrows are the rags of old clothes
and jackets that serve to cover,
and then are taken off.

That undressing, and the beautiful
naked body
underneath,
is the sweetness
that comes
after grief.

~Rumi (tr. Coleman Barks)

on faith

The whole concept of faith is one with which I have struggled immensely. Those close to me have told me on more than one occasion that I am one who possesses too many doubts to be that certain of anything that I would just "have faith" without some other sort of evidence to corroborate it. And yet, I have found I often inexplicably rely on my intuition, which is really just a kind of knowing, but a knowing that depends on faith that what one's gut is saying is somehow as reliable as any fact.

Something in that assessment doesn't sit right with me though. I am tripping over the relationship between faith and belief and the difference between that and knowing. Knowing doesn't really require faith, it is not a supposition; for all intents and purposes, it is fact. But where is the basis for this fact? Sometimes we know things to be true until further information comes along to upset that equation. The earth was known to be the center of the universe and the geocentric model persisted until greater knowledge upset what had been accepted as fact. You can thank Copernicus, Galileo, and Kepler for the heliocentric model. That, too, persisted until new knowledge came into being when Herschel and Hubble posited our earth in the middle of our galaxy, which existed in relation to other galaxies... which is to say, how does one manage to have faith when even facts fall apart in the face of our ever increasing apprehension of reality?

I don't know that I have a satisfactory answer to this question. I just know that it has something to do with the heart and observation of the universe and, I feel, not a whole lot to do with doctrine and dogma. It is a participation in the act of knowing, then?

gayatri

We have been given the assignment to spend a week chanting the gayatri mantra. This is one of the few mantras I was already familiar with, since the lovely RMH spent a period of time a couple of years ago repeatedly chanting this mantra (I think it was once a day for a month), and I do think it is a lovely mantra.

This was the first version I had heard, followed by this, but neither of them really resonated with me (the latter one, specifically, sort of made me want to dance around the room in a mildly silly fashion - which I wholeheartedly endorse - but I couldn't get into chanting it). Finally, I came across this version by Mahendra Kapoor, which appealed to my apparent preference for more a more moody take on this mantra.

In any case, the experience of chanting this mantra was a positive one, but I am unsure of its effect on me, mostly because I think it felt a little forced on my part and I don't know if it was a matter of feeling pressed for time, and therefore less engaged in the practice than I would have liked to have been, or if, as a fellow yoga student of mine put it, it's just not "my jam."

yoga anxiety?

I wasn't feeling well this morning and thought I had sent a text message to my teacher Hari-Bhakti, but it evidently didn't go through. Obviously, I would have preferred to feel better and to have made it to my morning asana class, but apparently I fell asleep again only to have awful yoga anxiety dreams. Now, it's possible that my dream was a reflection of my anxiety about having missed class, or perhaps, as was pointed out to me by a dear friend, my body actually needed that extra bit of sleep to process anxieties that I had already churned up and needed to be dealt with. In any case, the dream was sort of fantastic, in the sense of hitting pretty much every angle of anxiety available.

Pretty much the dream went like this: there was my teacher H-B, only in my dream she had this wild pink hair and was really really fashionable. I mean like super-model guru fashionable. And she was casually sitting in a chair saying to me (with a cadence and tone completely unlike her natural speaking voice), "Well, you know, maybe you're not pure of heart enough... This practice really takes commitment and hard work and maybe you're just not dedicated enough to attain any kind of enlightenment." And as though that weren't painful enough, the dream then flashed back to my arrival at that morning's class (because in the dream I had made it, but I'd made it an hour late). I walked in to find that the whole class had choreographed an elaborate yoga dance routine, replete with song, and they were performing it flawlessly. It was more complicated than a professional marching band field routine. And H-B was very casual about that, too. "Oh, yes, we just threw this together this morning." And I couldn't believe it. It was the sort of thing that would have taken weeks to develop and several more to execute flawlessly. "You must really be a great teacher," I told her. But she wasn't having it. "All of my students were just so into it, you know?" And I stood there, trying to figure out how this could have possibly happened, how anyone could have accomplished all that in an hour, and I stared in amazement at all of my fellow students' smiling faces.

But that wasn't enough. My dream wanted to make sure it had tripped every anxiety laden circuit available to it, and it was then that dream H-B revealed to me that they had ALSO taken a comprehensive midterm that morning and that it was not something I could make up. So, there I was, stunned, feeling completely like a yoga school flunky destined for spiritual failure and a lifetime of un-enlightenment. It really, really sucked. But then I woke up. I decided right then that perhaps I should be kind to myself and accept that I had missed class and that, rather than beat myself up about it (or anything else related to yoga school) I should instead regroup, refocus my energy, and rededicate myself to this adventure, and do so with a spirit of wonder and joy and NOT with all the weird stuff my dream was directing my attention toward. Yikes.

kindness

Yesterday, my teacher Diana read the following poem at the end of class and I love the poem and the poet, so here it is:

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

meditation

My experience with meditation has been long, varied, and often unfruitful. There was a time, when I was much younger (perhaps 20 years ago?), that I practiced meditation regularly, sometimes as often as twice a day. I was just discovering yoga and had been immersing myself in eastern philosophy and, as luck would have it, my professor and friend brought our class to a zen center in the santa cruz mountains. Immediately, I fell in love with the idea of meditation. But in practice, I found it was quite difficult to do.

What I discovered was a lot of monkey chatter. I would later come to call this "thoughting" since most of it didn't involve actual thinking, but rather random acts of thought just sort of happening independently and without much (if any) conscious direction. It was a little horrifying. Even on those rare occasions in which I could settle the noise down a bit and begin to approach something like stillness, no sooner than I was beginning to experience what I think may have actually been real meditation, the monkey mind would start up again and exclaim, "Look! You're doing it!" or some other nonsense, and before I was even finished patting myself on the back, the moment was lost to me...

My understanding is that this experience is quite normal and that a lot of the practice of meditation involves just showing up to the practice and putting in the time, much like what established writers seem to do with their writing practices. Show up. Pay attention. Put the time and effort into the practice. And, maybe, hopefully, if you're lucky, the rest will eventually sort itself out. So, I am embarking on yet another effort to get down with a solid meditation practice. So far it has not been terribly fruitful. It seems as though there is more monkey chatter now than ever. I'm choosing to view this as the result of churning up a lot of stuff internally through my engagement with yoga and yoga school lately, and that, having now been churned up, that junk is free to dissipate and get flushed out with any other unnecessary garbage. This is my current operating theory anyway. Wish me luck.

another poem

This afternoon my teacher Diana came up to me before the start of class with a book outstretched in her hand. "I wanted to share a poem with you that I've been reading this week, which has to do with this idea of the teacher looking for the student as much as the student looking for the teacher." She left the book with me and walked away. I read it and felt tears begin to sting my eyes. I felt grateful. The poem is as follows:

Bring the Man to Me:

A Perfect One was traveling through the desert.
He was stretched out around the fire one night
And said to one of his close ones,

"There is a slave loose not far from us.
He escaped today from a cruel master.
His hands are still bound behind his back,
His feet are also shackled.

I can see him right now praying for God’s help.
Go to him.
Ride to that distant hill;
About a hundred feet up and to the right
You will find a small cave.
He is there.

Do not say a single world to him.
Bring the man to me.
God requests that I personally untie his body
And press my lips to his wounds."

The disciple mounts his horse and within two hours
Arrives at the small mountain cave.

The slave sees him coming, the slave looks frightened.
The disciple, on orders not to speak,
Gestures toward the sky, pantomiming:

God saw you in prayer,
Please come with me,
A great Murshid* has used his heart’s divine eye
To know your whereabouts.

The slave cannot believe this story,
And begins to shout at the man and tries to run
But trips from his bindings.
The disciple becomes forced to subdue him.

Think of this picture as they now travel:

The million candles in the sky are lit and singing.
Every particle of existence is a dancing alter
That some mysterious force worships.

The earth is a church floor whereupon
In the middle of a glorious night
Walks a slave, weeping, tied to a rope behind a horse,
With a speechless rider
Taking him toward the unknown.

Several times with all of his might the slave
Tries to break free,
Feeling he is being returned to captivity.
The rider stops, dismounts—brings his eyes
Near the prisoner’s eyes.

A deep kindness there communicates an unbelievable hope.
The rider motions—soon, soon you will be free.
Tears roll down from the rider’s cheeks
In happiness for this man.

Anger, all this fighting and tormenting want,
Mashuq,**
God has seen you and sent a close one.

Mashuq,**
God has seen your heart in prayer
And sent Hafiz.

*Murshid - Persian: teacher
**Mashuq – Persian: sweetheart

plankety plank plank

It seems a rash of little breakthroughs is sweeping through yoga school this week. Mine has to do with plank position and, specifically, how this position transitions into chaturanga dandasana. Plank, I'd thought, I was reasonably comfortable in, and I had assumed that my struggles with chaturanga were simply a result of my upper arm strength, or rather, my lack of it. While this is partly true, two simple observations recently have forever changed both of these poses for me!

First, I had not realized that I was not using my legs effectively, or that I was not flexing my feet sufficiently to really activate this pose. Those small changes turned on my abdominals in a way I had never previously engaged them, dramatically changing the pose (and I have the sore abs to show for it). But the big breakthrough was what came next: in order to transition from plank into chaturanga one must shift the position. This might mean shifting the feet significantly forward on the toes, or perhaps moving the position of the hands down, or stepping the feet in, or all of the above-- and that it is OKAY to do this!!

Until I watched my teacher Lisa Mae transition from one pose to the next *without* making these adjustments, I had not realized how awkward it was and how much more difficult I had been making it for myself. It was positively awful to watch. Then she did it again, shifting her feet, and her arms magically aligned and the pose looked effortless. It will not, at this point, look or feel effortless to me, but now I can actually work toward building the strength to be able transition from plank to chaturanga in one straight line because I can now access the pose and the correct alignment. It's amazing! I'm still on my knees for this, but now I can practice the pose and it isn't so frustrating and demoralizing! It's like a whole new world has opened as a result of this tiny change.

It also makes me want to practice chaturanga with this lovely assist, as demonstrated here by the amazing dawn jansen.

a poem

I have been thinking about my last entry and the things we do to stay focused on, or, alternatively, get through the moment and it made me think of this poem by Mary Szybist:

Script Says Cry

They look more alert and patient now.
They quiet around me and wait.
I must be frail here, summon the appearance
as it is a cold day, as the curtains are thick with dust—

But I am all interruption.
I arch my back a trifle, my mouth embarrassed and open—

A metal teaspoon slants in a glass cup;
I lean on a chair at the same angle.
I try to hold still. My leaning begins to swoon,
I touch my head with one fingertip, flinch.
I bring my mouth to my shoulder and nudge it.

A handkerchief falls. The moment is still going on,
the lamp at the end of the table is still coating the room
with its expected flush, and the natural heat of my body,
though conscious of great sweetness,

is growing colder as the moment presses closer, against me,
with eyes intent on me. . .
but they are tired of me now.

I look at them more directly than I have for several minutes.
To continue past the moment I say I am thirsty
and continue past the moment.

pranayama

This week we have been asked to consider the practice of pranayama. In my time on this earth there have only been a few nuggets of wisdom that I've found I could consistently rely upon. The first was "this too shall pass." I found this was important to remember, whether something good was unfolding, or something terrible had just occurred. When I was 19 I experienced a succession of deaths, including an open casket funeral for an 18 year old, having never experienced death before, not even of a pet. It was a difficult year. But to arrive at a place where I could remind myself that this, too, would pass, I had to be able to have the presence of mind to arrive there.

More than anything, over the course of my life, remembering to breathe and to look up, often, has saved me from completely losing my mind. I won't say it's like meditation, but perhaps it is a little bit like a magic spell, once invoked, that creates a little space and a bit of freedom in an otherwise overcrowded landscape populated with deeply unruly thoughts and emotions. Breathe and look up. It's so simple, really. But it helps. Noticing that it helped eventually led me to discover other kinds of breathwork. In yoga, I was consistently introduced to ujjayi breathing, which helped me to stay focused and present while I was practicing. Yoga practice also introduced me to kapalabhati, or skull shining breath, which produced a different effect. I became curious. There are many traditions that employ breathwork as a means of effecting change, gaining focus, moving further toward liberation. I have encountered some breath practices that produce radical, and sometimes unsettling, effects.

Of course, I do not always remember my breath. It is a continual effort to remain conscious of it, in much the same way that it is a continual effort to become and remain aware of my bodily tensions and to consciously work toward undoing them. Often, when I am physically struggling with a pose, the breath is the first thing to go. It's not that I don't breath. I do. But my attention withdraws from it and I am no longer conscious of my doing it. My presence in my own practice changes as a result. When I can stay with my breath, I am more present. And the more often I am present in this fashion, the more I find it crosses over into other aspects of my life, generally to my benefit.

Which brings me to my last little nugget, which is, perhaps, only a synthesis of the two that have come before: "This is happening." For several months, now, "this is happening" has been a sort of silent personal mantra. I am so easily compelled to try to look forward to the future or to attempt to make sense of the past, which decidedly brings me further and further away from the present. This, right now, in this moment, in my body, in my breath, in this space, is happening. It's sort of the mantra equivalent of breathing and looking up. If I can stay focused there, I can't spin out into some dramatic emotional overload (or some other kind of psychic spin out).

Given these experiences, it seems clear to me that one's state of mind, of being, is directly linked to one's relationship to the breath and the mindfulness attached to that. Like everything else in yoga school, it is clear to me that I still have a long way to go and much to learn, but furthering my knowledge of and experience with pranayama practices is possibly one of the most beneficial aspects of this particular adventure.

yoga

Last night was my first night of yoga school and we were asked to comment on what "yoga" means to each of us. Continually, as we exchanged words around the room, I saw a chorus of nodding heads. "Yes," we seemed to say, "I recognize that, too." It was strange to feel that, perhaps, I truly had just been dropped into the middle of a real community.

On the one hand, this seems obvious. Here were some twenty individuals gathered together with a common purpose. Naturally, we would find common ground among us. But it also felt like more than that. As we shared with each other over the course of the evening, we learned that most of us had spent some time struggling, experienced perhaps enough grief and loss to push us to find a better way to deal with such things. We each found ourselves practicing yoga because it brought some measure of peace to our lives. In which ways this time proved therapeutic or healing varied in their specifics according to the individual addressing the question, but each of us found that our lives had been dramatically improved when we consistently engaged in the practice of yoga.

So, we sat together, holding space with and for each other, because something had called each of us there and was directing us to walk this path at this time. I took a long look around the room, noting that each of us seemed to stare at the others with a bit of wonder. The unspoken question perhaps, "Could it be that we are really not quite so alone?" Of course there are innumerable differences between us, but there was such a spirit of deep humanness and respect, and the sense that each of us aspired to be more fearless and more kind.

As for what yoga means to me, I know that I have spent a lot of time in recent years thinking about the ideas of love and surrender. I have dedicated a lot of energy toward my fierce attempt to walk through the world with an open heart. At times, I think this has left me too open. At other times, I think I have not yet opened enough. It's a delicate balance, I think, and I've certainly not mastered it. I know there is something to this idea of devotion, the act of and willingness to commit to something, to surrender to something, that is beyond the self. In this regard, I think that yoga has already taught me a lot about how to hold open the necessary space in which the heart can do its work. I think I have much still to learn.

For the first time in a long time I feel I am in exactly the right place and doing exactly the right thing. I am committed to walking this path and discovering where it leads. I don't know that I can say the same about anything else in my life right now.