Heart Full

I’ve been hearing about the Rubin Museum of Art for a long time. They have exceptional exhibits (Carl Jung currently), and apparently their Friday nights are not to be missed. I don’t know why it took me so long to get here, it’s one of those items on my to-do list that somehow kept getting de-prioritized. But this past lazy Saturday I finally did make it.

I thought I’d start at the top floor, (the sixth) and work my way down. Figuring that I’d peruse / quickly browse as I do for most museums — peppered with a couple extra minutes on special items, but all in 2 hours, two and half tops. I underestimated, or had too much faith in my perusing abilities. I spent an hour on the sixth floor alone. I thought maybe it was me, that finally seeing artifacts embodying my beloved asanas (yogic poses), texts detailing the yogic traditions of people inspired me, naturally I would spend awhile here. But it wasn’t just me. I noticed scattered throughout the floor were other people who “came around the same time”, and were equally fascinated. I couldn’t even get my hardly-comes-to-yoga-class husband to leave. We were all captivated.

The fifth floor showcased Mandalas, and it was equally hypnotic. It traced the gentle progression of mandalas, focusing on tantric Buddhism.  The two dimensional circular patterned image (not unlike a kaleidoscope) I had in my mind of a mandala, were not these. These were breathtaking. Not just meditation pieces, but art rich enough to fill your imagination. In one room, there were mandala’s in every direction surrounding a golden majestic Buddha, it felt magical. Later, I discovered the *three* dimensional mandala. Three! It was gold and it seemed to rise from pure divinity.

I didn’t make it to the fourth floor and below. Our time was up. We had spent close to three hours just on the fifth and sixth floors, and the book store. I firmly believe that the energies of the objects affect the beholder, a mild kind of empathic connection. And in this museum each beholder is given a vision of peace, devotion and yearning. It wasn’t so much an educational experience to be in the company of this art, as it was a meditation.

Om Yoga Center one of the great studios of New York City. It’s celebrity is perhaps only surpassed by its’ founder, the yoga guru / mogul, Cyndi Lee. At a sprawling 11,500+ sq feet, over 5,000 student base, retreats, 200hr and 500hr teacher training program, it is an epic yoga school and brand. I’d been itching to try this yoga studio. Not only because its’ so well known, but because it’d been reputed to seamlessly combine Buddhism and yoga.

For the first class, my friend Carolyn and I took the 60-minute “Sweaty Express” open class. The studio was small, but the pillars about the room gave it character, and the fanciful Buddhist insights painted along the walls gave it warmth. The teacher seemed experienced and soothing. Given the name, Carolyn and I were ready to sweat. But I noticed that each time she or I tried to take it further, the teacher reigned us in. Which truth be told, I liked, yoga in my mind shouldn’t be “sweaty”, nonetheless I did want to move.
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