In yoga we are encouraged to investigate our world, to determine for ourselves if what we see and experience is satya (truth). In Patajali’s Yoga sutras he writes,” although destroyed for him who has attained liberation, it (the seen) still exists for others…” The heart of this sutra, Satchidananda reveals, is maya, the vedantic term for nature, illusion. But it is only illusion to those who have been liberated from it, the rest of us, are still experiencing a world heavily cloaked in illusion. Taking these lessons to heart, I’ve been trying to apply truthfulness in my life. I’ve been reevaluating my priorities, and I believed I was making painful progress towards the long road to enlightenment.
I found myself speaking calmly to friends and family about how change is natural, and that it was only our perceptions that was causing pain. The universe, I wisely observed, doesn’t bring good or bad, it’s our “maya” that brings these perceptions. I was sounding like a yogi, maybe I actually was the calm center of the life-storm. That calm center, half rolled, half fell out of bed on the fresh Sunday morning of March 9th, 2008. As usual, I was already running a few minutes late, I figured if I brushed my hair, teeth, and showered all at the same time, I should just make it “under the gun” as my teacher teases. I was ready in record time, my heart palpitating, my breath short and shallow, my mind focussed on the goal of making it to 86th and York in 15 minutes.
I stumbled through the door of New York Yoga. On the wall, I noticed the clock read, 8:17am, I had 3 more minutes before class, score! I scribbled my name and told the receptionist I was practicing. I don’t want to imagine what she thought I was practing, it wasn’t my breathing (pranayama). My clothes flew off me in the locker room. When I reached the studio door, I purposefully pushed through. I was surprised that the class was starting off in the dark, and the students were against the walls, in a kind of restorative pose. There was a palpable feeling of relaxation in the room, as if people were winding down. With as little disruptive noise as possible, I rolled out my mat. I was still catching my breath, and so proud of myself for having made it to class ON TIME, maybe even one minute to spare. My teacher was leading them through another restorative pose, and I tried to calm my mind, breathe into it, and let go. I was here now, and now I could begin yoga, “atha yoganusasanam“.
My teacher walked quietly over to me, smiling. I smiled back, still feeling proud that I managed not to be late. “Did you forget about day light savings time?” she asked. The maya in my mind swirled. How could this be? My whole carefully configured world, set to atomic time, experienced a massive failure. And all the signs were there. The dark room, the quiet relaxed atmosphere, the surprise I felt when I saw (just) one of the many clocks in my apartment showing AN HOUR LATE. All dismissed, because I believed so thoroughly in my maya. I looked through embarrassed eyes around the room, everyone was relaxing, only Alex, pixie Alex looked at me and smiled sympathetically. Opting not to do the Scooby-Doo tiptoe out the door, K put a comforting hand on my shoulder, “don’t worry, you can stay and take or assist the next class.” My cheeks blushed so deeply, I think they actually swelled, thankfully I’ve met real people, and made real friends in yoga, at least that’s not maya.
I went back to Jivamukti this week. The venerable yoga studio, who’s price tag I feared would break the bank when I last reviewed them. My wallet did protest rustily as I paid for my class pack, but I’m eager to learn more about the studio that gave us vinyasa, its’ history, and the calm the teachers effortlessly exude.
