Heart Full

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.

Our teacher talked through one of the meditations her teacher had worked through. It went something like, imagine yourself in a clearing, the trees and sky are bright. After settling in, begin to call out your name, and see who comes forward. With honesty she revealed that she didn’t like any of the manifestations of her that came out, and as the meditation progressed, it only disturbed her more.

I decided to try the meditation at home, as part of my practice. I lit the candle, burnt some lavender oil, really cementing the mood, and moved into my meditation. Not surprisingly I found that I didn’t like the Marie that came out from behind the trees. Unexpectedly no matter how many times I called my name hoping to find another, SHE came out, she refused to be ignored, my dark side of he moon.

Let me describe her to you. In class, she decides there are some people she just doesn’t like. Maybe she feels that they muscle themselves into moves, try to get too much attention, seem to think they’re so great, so enlightened even if they seem only concerned with the asana (posture) part of the practice. She feels she’s justified in her dislike for those students.They’re the ones, after all behaving like they’re the master yogi

What she won’t admit is that she singles out people who do the asanas better than her, or maybe they kind of looks like her but skinnier and more advanced, which bothers her, breeding envy in her blood. My mind recognizes this isn’t helping me, for my own sanity I need to get over it. But sometimes I can’t, SHE over takes, and I become fixated on this poor soul who is now the victim of the daggers shooting from my eyes.

She follows me everywhere, polluting and tarnishing all of my endeavors, because wherever I go, I find someone else, that bothers me in that elusive, unreasonable way. What’s worse, is that sometimes I use her. I use her festering annoyance or envy to motivate myself to practice a posture until I too, can do it. And I feel good about it, even if I had to bankrupt my spiritual development to do it.

I haven’t found the strength to get rid of her, part of me likes that she motivates me, but lately I’ve become more and more ashamed of it. I hope that now that I’ve recognized her, and called her name, I’ll find a way to work with her, so that we can become whole, a union, a yoga.

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.

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.