Heart Full

I walked into class today, thinking I had a handle on the teacher training program. I felt, that since we were past the halfway mark, the rest of the program was going to progress similarly to the last couple of weeks. I was comfortable with the assists, and any lecture after anatomy was bound to be easy. I took my (comfortable) seat, ready to take notes, and absorb information. Today’s talk would be philosophy and more esoteric yoga. I was eager to learn both topics, but had already decided that I accepted the esoteric teachings only on a conceptual / scholarly level. It was fine as part of my education, but not part of my spiritual development. I mean, wheels of energy? Along my spine? Honey please. I’ve seen this chestnut before and I have to say, if the wheel with a thousand petals was there, I’d have known about it. Going forward I’ll keep in mind, decades of denial doesn’t mean the flower isn’t there, it just means it hasn’t blossomed.

How appropriate that it would be my first love, sound, to usher in my first enlightenment. Prana, was the topic, living, vital, and nourishing energy, what some call chi, or even “the force”. Our guest lecturer proposed that this prana (energy) could be created, and its’ flow navigated not by the obscure chakras, but by us, through humming. Skepticism was loudly rattling, and the exercises weren’t convincing me, instead they were putting me to sleep. In fact, I was asleep, and had just woke up when she was working us into into bridge and had us chant / hum the sounds that built energy. I got to “Vam” the sound of the second chakra, when I felt an internal vibration, and it wasn’t mild. The vibration continued with “Ram” the sound of the third chakra, but diminished progressively with “yam” (the chakra of the heart). I was awake, and I wanted more. When she asked for a volunteer to demo a pose, I took the opportunity to dive in.

I stood in front of the class, a bit nervous, but feeling the love. I closed my eyes, and she moved me into a variant of ardha chandrasana, prompting me to half hum- half chant the seven building (bij) sounds – laaaaam laaaam, vaaaam, raaaam, yaaaaaam, haaaaam, *gasp for air* ohm ohm, ohmmmmmmm — my world silently and slowly withdrew. Inhale, find my center. Exhale, repeat – laaaaam laaaam, vaaaam, raaaam, yaaaaaam, haaaaam, *softer inhale for air* ohm ohm, ohmmmmmmm. Inhale to find my center, tadasana. I could still feel the vibrations, and if I didn’t know better I would’ve sworn that there was a visible halo around me. I cracked my eyes open, I felt as if I’d been gone for hours. Everyone was smiling, and J our guest teacher was beaming, “Do you see anything different about her”? She asked in a way that almost implied SHE could see something different, is that possible? Maybe I shouldn’t be looking with my eyes. Something had changed. The chakras? The prana?

I’m unsure what to make of the experience, I feel strange talking about it, I’m afraid they’ll look at me the same way they look at people who swear they “see dead people”, I have hope that the other girls felt it too, that slight shift in the soul, as if light had finally shined into the dark corners.

I was rushing off to yoga class the other day, when a good friend of mine half asked and half stated, ” why bother, you don’t even get much of a workout.” Emotions, explanations, and excuses bubbled up, thankfully none came out. I paused.

They say a yogi counts their life, not by years, but by breaths. How was mine doing? What was its’ quality? The first clear memory I have of my breath was as an adolescent, twelve years old, a sprinter on my middle school track team. As a sprinter, I often found I was out of breath, running constantly to catch up with it, and the other runners. Later, as a cross country runner, I learned to conserve and regulate my breath. This was the last time I remember being kind to my breath. By the time I was in college, I learned the art of procrastination, barely making it to class on time by running up 10 flights of stairs, heaving as I took my seat, out of breath. Staying up all night driven by caffeine, and “rewarding” myself with cigarette breaks, polluting my breath.

A decade later, my body gave up on all nighters, yet I was still polluting my breath, and admittedly most mornings driven by caffeine. I would like to say that as soon as I had embarked on my yogic journey that these things stopped, that yoga miraculously changed me, but it didn’t. I can say that the deeper I follow this path, the more desires I’m able to overcome, or channel to productive expressions. I don’t smoke anymore, and I’m slowly weaning off the caffeine. I’m trying to improve my diet, but I’m keeping it real, the miracle of my change won’t happen over night, and I’m not going to set myself up for that disappointment.

Having left the relationship with my breath over a decade ago, I’ve spent the better part of a year getting reacquainted. I’ve been surprised by it’s fragility, and warmed by its’ healing as it weaves through my body. Every inhalation is an opportunity to participate in my life and in this world more. It’s a rare opportunity that I won’t take for granted again.

So as I turned to my friend carefully considering which answer to give, I found the honest one was the best one, “I’m going to learn how to breathe.” The words awkwardly hung between us, I figure I’ll get a follow up from her soon. I’m hopeful she’ll want more, who knows what can happen with a little bit of curiosity, and besides the workout is in fact awesome. Bonus.

Deciding to do the Teacher Training program is an important decision in every yogini’s life. Even before the first day of class, it’s clear that it’s going to require commitment, determination, all of your eneregy, and a certain degree of political panache as you sidestep family and friends for your weekly rendevous with the mat. More important than this however, is deciding on a teacher.

To most, my choice seemed intuitive, I chose to do my training at the studio I’ve been attending for the past year. I liked the community, and progressively the studio has become my home-away-from-home. Despite all this, it wasn’t an easy choice to make. New York City boasts far more famous studios, with world renowned teacher training programs. I had moved by the time the training started, so the studio was no longer a convenient 3 blocks from home, but more than 80 blocks uptown. And which teacher would best suit my needs? A world famous one, a man, a woman, how experienced? I trolled through all the teacher training literature from NYC studios, balancing how much I could pay vs. what they were offering, but I kept coming back to New York Yoga.

I discovered I wanted to learn with Kristin, that I admired her style, keen observations, serenity, and most importantly her humanity. I felt she wasn’t born perfect, that she had to earn her marevlous ability, and her asanas (postures) were more a testimony to her determination. Between her dharmas (story-telling insights) were glimpses of a quirky sense of humor, and echoes of a colorful past life that probably reflected my current one. She knew where I was coming from, and perhaps that knowledge is what has always enabled her to to clearly show me the next steps.

Knowing what I know now, I’m confident in my decision. Maybe other programs are more prestigious, rigorous, and encompassing. But for me, this program is the right one, because this teacher for me, is the right one.