"Choose contentment. In this very moment, you can choose contentment - and in the next, and in the next, and in the next.
The changing seasons show us the absolute reliability of change. Nothing is more dependable than change. Take comfort in the changes."
From Judith Hanson Lasater's book A Year of Living Your Yoga.
A milestone birthday reached. A growing realization that my growing family has outgrown our wee, quaint dreamhouse and needs more space. A growing understanding that I want to live my next decade somewhere with trees. Choosing contentment while also taking comfort in change.
I turned forty this week. My children are growing into larger boys. Three very large boys in one very small house. The train tracks that are twenty feet behind our house are getting busier, stinkier, louder. They rattle the house, my bones, every fifteen minutes or so. They park and idle for half an hour at a time, spewing black clouds of lung-raping particulates into the air, blackening our walls. A large housing development is going in around the corner from us - 200 units. Our government representatives are admitting that the subway we were planning on isn't going through. A growing discontent with the schools that my children attend. The sinking feeling that everything is about to change. A heated, all-consuming debate in the community about the schools and how they stink but they might be better than they used to be. The fact that we can't spend ten minutes with other parents from the community without someone complaining about the school system.
The fact that my youngest is afraid of trees? That many of my kids' peers are playing "gangsta" on the playground? That they are reading books about urban blight, a young girl who rather than getting depressed every morning tiptoeing around the homeless drunk person asleep on her stoop, decides to pick up some litter and make her neighborhood less depressing? And realizing that we don't have to live like this, that we can make a choice. And realizing how hard that choice is to make. And resisting change. And trying to choose contentment in this moment and the next and the next.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me Home
This is like what they used to do on radio when there were holidays - the DJs wouldn't be there, and they would eat up time playing canned "Greatest Hits" or "Top 100 Countdowns" until everyone came back from wherever they were. So, as I embark on a holiday adventure, enjoy some Rumi, who says things better than I do, anyway:
"What strange beings we are!
That sitting in hell at the bottom of the dark,
we're afraid of our own immortality."
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkeness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place, I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home."
"In Complete Control,
Pretending Control.
With dignified authority.
We are charlatans...
Or maybe just a goat's-hair brush in a painter's hand.
We have no idea what we are."
"Can you endure silence?
Are you a night fighter?
Or more a child bored with outgrown toys
trying to win at tip-the-cat?
If you have any patience left, we know what to do.
If you love sleep, we'll tear you away.
If you change into a mountain, we'll melt you.
If you become an ocean, we'll drain you.
This is how a human being can change:
There's a worm addicted to eating grape leaves.
Suddenly, he wakes up, call it grace, whatever,
something wakes him, and he's no longer a worm.
He's the entire vineyard, and the orchard too,
the fruit, the trunks,
a growing wisdom and joy that doesn't need to devour."
"What strange beings we are!
That sitting in hell at the bottom of the dark,
we're afraid of our own immortality."
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkeness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place, I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home."
"In Complete Control,
Pretending Control.
With dignified authority.
We are charlatans...
Or maybe just a goat's-hair brush in a painter's hand.
We have no idea what we are."
"Can you endure silence?
Are you a night fighter?
Or more a child bored with outgrown toys
trying to win at tip-the-cat?
If you have any patience left, we know what to do.
If you love sleep, we'll tear you away.
If you change into a mountain, we'll melt you.
If you become an ocean, we'll drain you.
This is how a human being can change:
There's a worm addicted to eating grape leaves.
Suddenly, he wakes up, call it grace, whatever,
something wakes him, and he's no longer a worm.
He's the entire vineyard, and the orchard too,
the fruit, the trunks,
a growing wisdom and joy that doesn't need to devour."
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Rib Cage, Body Awareness, Mortality, Giving Myself a "C"
After living with my body for many many years, after studying anatomy and physiology periodically, I must admit that I still am only now coming into embodiment, body awareness and deep understanding from the inside. I thought I knew what my body was capable of, what I could ask it to do in yoga, in life. And then I lost all of that somehow in the last several years. Some sort of disconnect, crossed wires, that I attributed to the rigors of childbearing, child-rearing, aging, any number of things.
Now I find that all of what I came to know about my body over the past decade was false - impressions placed upon me from external sources - doctors, psychiatrists, physical therapists, other authorities who I trusted to guide me and help me understand my self.
Deepening my yoga practice and study over the past two years has brought a level of embodiment that I did not know existed. I can physically feel things in a way that I never have before, and I have pushed my body well beyond anything it has ever done before - all of this on my fortieth birthday!
Part of this comes from a greater understanding of the mechanics of movements, an idea expressed so beautifully by Iyengar in Light on Life, that all movement is expansion from the core: "When you extend and expand, you are not only stretching to, you are also stretching from...Always try to extend and expand the body. Extension and expansion bring space, and space brings freedom. Freedom is precision, and precision is divine. From freedom of the body comes freedom of the mind and then the Ultimate Freedom. The Ultimate Freedom that yoga works toward can be tasted in our own bodies, as each limb gains independence, flexibility, and freedom from its neighboring limbs."
I feel like this is only the tip of the iceberg, but deeper body awareness has been building in me over the past two years, daily, step by step, but one big milestone was reached during the anatomy portion of my 200 hour teacher training this summer. The class was taught by Lou Benson, the most skilled and passionate bodyworker I've ever had the pleasure of working with (and I've known many and trained to be a rather unskilled one myself many years ago). Lou has a knowledge of anatomy and physiology that is beyond compare, and she has an enthusiasm for the topic that makes it surprisingly easy to understand.
Lou spoke about how the rib cage is misnamed - that it isn't a cage at all. And it seems obvious now, but I can honestly say that I never thought of it that way before. That little seed of knowledge planted in my mind made me realize through all of my movements over the past six month that my rib cage doesn't move. I can practice deep inhales and exhales in pranayama, and I'm still not breathing any expansion into my ribs. I'm breathing vertically, not in 3-d.
Knowledge and practice not being the same thing, I've been hammering myself over the head with wanting to bring movement to my ribs for the past six months. But last week, I went to Lou for a massage, and she worked on the spaces between the ribs, the spaces where the ribs connect to the sternum, and the pecs, which she discovered on a previous visit were always carrying tension. She spoke of how I stand up very straight, but that I'm actually standing up too straight. She spoke of how I'm doing backbends, heart-opening poses, and even pranayama with movements that approximate the real movements and look right on the surface but are really only reinforcing bad postural and structural alignments.
She spoke about how being embodied is scary for people because recognizing the body, meeting it where it's at in any given moment of any given day, this makes you realize that you are a body, that you are going to age, fall apart, and die. And many people prefer ignoring their bodies and living separately from them so as to avoid that knowledge on a daily basis.
And finally she spoke about not trying to fix everything all at once. And this is the biggest lesson. She says little lessons, practiced regularly, make the biggest difference over time. Iyengar speaks to this as well: "If you learn a lot of little things, one day you may end up knowing a big thing." Lou says you have to be okay with giving yourself a grade of "C" on your efforts, rather than always striving for the "A". "C" is good enough, and will be sustainable over time and won't knock you out.
This was the real meat of the lesson, now, wasn't it? Lou works in mysterious ways. Mysterious, calm, glowing ways. So, on the dawn of my forties, this is what I work on. Giving myself a "C" on everything. And knowing that is enough.
Now I find that all of what I came to know about my body over the past decade was false - impressions placed upon me from external sources - doctors, psychiatrists, physical therapists, other authorities who I trusted to guide me and help me understand my self.
Deepening my yoga practice and study over the past two years has brought a level of embodiment that I did not know existed. I can physically feel things in a way that I never have before, and I have pushed my body well beyond anything it has ever done before - all of this on my fortieth birthday!
Part of this comes from a greater understanding of the mechanics of movements, an idea expressed so beautifully by Iyengar in Light on Life, that all movement is expansion from the core: "When you extend and expand, you are not only stretching to, you are also stretching from...Always try to extend and expand the body. Extension and expansion bring space, and space brings freedom. Freedom is precision, and precision is divine. From freedom of the body comes freedom of the mind and then the Ultimate Freedom. The Ultimate Freedom that yoga works toward can be tasted in our own bodies, as each limb gains independence, flexibility, and freedom from its neighboring limbs."
I feel like this is only the tip of the iceberg, but deeper body awareness has been building in me over the past two years, daily, step by step, but one big milestone was reached during the anatomy portion of my 200 hour teacher training this summer. The class was taught by Lou Benson, the most skilled and passionate bodyworker I've ever had the pleasure of working with (and I've known many and trained to be a rather unskilled one myself many years ago). Lou has a knowledge of anatomy and physiology that is beyond compare, and she has an enthusiasm for the topic that makes it surprisingly easy to understand.
Lou spoke about how the rib cage is misnamed - that it isn't a cage at all. And it seems obvious now, but I can honestly say that I never thought of it that way before. That little seed of knowledge planted in my mind made me realize through all of my movements over the past six month that my rib cage doesn't move. I can practice deep inhales and exhales in pranayama, and I'm still not breathing any expansion into my ribs. I'm breathing vertically, not in 3-d.
Knowledge and practice not being the same thing, I've been hammering myself over the head with wanting to bring movement to my ribs for the past six months. But last week, I went to Lou for a massage, and she worked on the spaces between the ribs, the spaces where the ribs connect to the sternum, and the pecs, which she discovered on a previous visit were always carrying tension. She spoke of how I stand up very straight, but that I'm actually standing up too straight. She spoke of how I'm doing backbends, heart-opening poses, and even pranayama with movements that approximate the real movements and look right on the surface but are really only reinforcing bad postural and structural alignments.
She spoke about how being embodied is scary for people because recognizing the body, meeting it where it's at in any given moment of any given day, this makes you realize that you are a body, that you are going to age, fall apart, and die. And many people prefer ignoring their bodies and living separately from them so as to avoid that knowledge on a daily basis.
And finally she spoke about not trying to fix everything all at once. And this is the biggest lesson. She says little lessons, practiced regularly, make the biggest difference over time. Iyengar speaks to this as well: "If you learn a lot of little things, one day you may end up knowing a big thing." Lou says you have to be okay with giving yourself a grade of "C" on your efforts, rather than always striving for the "A". "C" is good enough, and will be sustainable over time and won't knock you out.
This was the real meat of the lesson, now, wasn't it? Lou works in mysterious ways. Mysterious, calm, glowing ways. So, on the dawn of my forties, this is what I work on. Giving myself a "C" on everything. And knowing that is enough.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Most Meaningful Songs of All Time
A friend asked me to put together a compilation of songs from my embarrassingly large music collection for her teenaged son who is like wicked cool and a guitar player and he's kinda awesome. So, I spent a day and a half sorting through the list, parsing through the songs collected over a forty year period (I turn forty tomorrow), trying to find the ones that were the Most Meaningful.
I wasn't just sorting songs, I found I was sorting memories, feelings, old loves, periods of depression and lightness. My computer was moving at the pace it prefers - haltingly slow - so I had plenty of downtime in which to ponder those late teenage years where you feel torn in fifty million directions and none of them make sense. You are waiting for the singular path of your future to appear, with neon signs pointing it out - "Go This Way", but instead all you get are forks in the road, myriad forks with none looking any more promising than any other. You are a grown up and a kid at the same time, and - here's the tough part that I don't think you get until a few decades later - you think you are going to outgrow that feeling when you finally grow up, but you never really do. Even now twenty years past that point, I still feel like a child and a grown-up all at once, and I'm still looking for the one road with the neon sign saying "Go This Way". True, now that I'm a few decades in, many of the forks in the road have disappeared in the distance - no longer possibilities for the future - but there's still no outline to follow. And now I have my kids who think I'm the grown-up with all the answers, which would be hilarious if it didn't feel so weighty. Like I should have the answers but I somehow missed them along the way.
At any rate, here's the playlist of The Most Meaningful Songs of All Time. I tried to steer clear of songs that still get played on the radio, and I threw in some less meaningful songs so that the meaningful ones wouldn't drag my teenaged friend into some sort of depressed abyss. I tried not to pick anything from the past decade - preferring songs that were written before he was born (yikes - that's how old I'm feeling today). I went heavy on the guitar, since he and I share a love of that instrument, and I tried to steer clear of Seattle, because I think he knows all those songs already.
You Said That Last Night - Apples in Stereo
Heaven in the Gutter - Cobra Verde
Drawerings - Dinosaur Jr.
Not Ready Yet - Eels
The Swimmer - Frank Black
Any Other Way - Posies
Common People - Pulp
Driver 8 - REM
Screenwriter's Blues - Soul Coughing
A Good Idea - Sugar
Hook in Her Head - Throwing Muses
Swamp Song - Tool
Don't Go - Matthew Sweet
I Kill Children - Dead Kennedys
My Last Christmas - Dirtbombs
Carry the Zero - Built to Spill
Not Even Stevie Nicks - Calexico
Porno Starlet Vs. Rodeo Clown - Califone
All Her Favorite Fruit - Camper Van Beethoven
The Man's Too Strong - Dire Straits
Yer Ropes - Giant Sand
Growing Up (Falling Down) - The Living End
Divorce Song - Liz Phair
O Lonely Soul, It's A Hard Road - Mary's Danish
Wanted to Be Your - Spoon
Piss Up a Rope - Ween
Mr. Riely - Vic Chesnutt
Boys Don't Cry - Cure
No Depression - Uncle Tupelo
Cool as Kim Deal - Dandy Warhols
Doin' the Cockroach - Modest Mouse
Hole in the River - Crowded House
Bottle of Fur - Urge Overkill
Sugar - Bikini Kill
Dry - PJ Harvey
All F*cked Up - Nashville Pussy
Beauty in Vulnerability - Hybrasil
Exoskeletons - Lynnfield Pioneers
Scratch - Morphine
Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel
Socks - King Missile
Bad Things to Such Good People - Pedro the Lion
Rebel Yell - Quintaine Americana
Moon Calf Tripe - Red Red Meat
RV - Faith No More
Pretty As You Please - Ass Ponys
Fell Off the Face of the Earth - Firewater
Satan Gave Me a Taco - Beck
I wasn't just sorting songs, I found I was sorting memories, feelings, old loves, periods of depression and lightness. My computer was moving at the pace it prefers - haltingly slow - so I had plenty of downtime in which to ponder those late teenage years where you feel torn in fifty million directions and none of them make sense. You are waiting for the singular path of your future to appear, with neon signs pointing it out - "Go This Way", but instead all you get are forks in the road, myriad forks with none looking any more promising than any other. You are a grown up and a kid at the same time, and - here's the tough part that I don't think you get until a few decades later - you think you are going to outgrow that feeling when you finally grow up, but you never really do. Even now twenty years past that point, I still feel like a child and a grown-up all at once, and I'm still looking for the one road with the neon sign saying "Go This Way". True, now that I'm a few decades in, many of the forks in the road have disappeared in the distance - no longer possibilities for the future - but there's still no outline to follow. And now I have my kids who think I'm the grown-up with all the answers, which would be hilarious if it didn't feel so weighty. Like I should have the answers but I somehow missed them along the way.
At any rate, here's the playlist of The Most Meaningful Songs of All Time. I tried to steer clear of songs that still get played on the radio, and I threw in some less meaningful songs so that the meaningful ones wouldn't drag my teenaged friend into some sort of depressed abyss. I tried not to pick anything from the past decade - preferring songs that were written before he was born (yikes - that's how old I'm feeling today). I went heavy on the guitar, since he and I share a love of that instrument, and I tried to steer clear of Seattle, because I think he knows all those songs already.
You Said That Last Night - Apples in Stereo
Heaven in the Gutter - Cobra Verde
Drawerings - Dinosaur Jr.
Not Ready Yet - Eels
The Swimmer - Frank Black
Any Other Way - Posies
Common People - Pulp
Driver 8 - REM
Screenwriter's Blues - Soul Coughing
A Good Idea - Sugar
Hook in Her Head - Throwing Muses
Swamp Song - Tool
Don't Go - Matthew Sweet
I Kill Children - Dead Kennedys
My Last Christmas - Dirtbombs
Carry the Zero - Built to Spill
Not Even Stevie Nicks - Calexico
Porno Starlet Vs. Rodeo Clown - Califone
All Her Favorite Fruit - Camper Van Beethoven
The Man's Too Strong - Dire Straits
Yer Ropes - Giant Sand
Growing Up (Falling Down) - The Living End
Divorce Song - Liz Phair
O Lonely Soul, It's A Hard Road - Mary's Danish
Wanted to Be Your - Spoon
Piss Up a Rope - Ween
Mr. Riely - Vic Chesnutt
Boys Don't Cry - Cure
No Depression - Uncle Tupelo
Cool as Kim Deal - Dandy Warhols
Doin' the Cockroach - Modest Mouse
Hole in the River - Crowded House
Bottle of Fur - Urge Overkill
Sugar - Bikini Kill
Dry - PJ Harvey
All F*cked Up - Nashville Pussy
Beauty in Vulnerability - Hybrasil
Exoskeletons - Lynnfield Pioneers
Scratch - Morphine
Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel
Socks - King Missile
Bad Things to Such Good People - Pedro the Lion
Rebel Yell - Quintaine Americana
Moon Calf Tripe - Red Red Meat
RV - Faith No More
Pretty As You Please - Ass Ponys
Fell Off the Face of the Earth - Firewater
Satan Gave Me a Taco - Beck
Monday, December 5, 2011
On Mermaids, Unicorns, and Faith
Maybe I was trying to start something with him, maybe not, but after Fred's Dark Prakrti comment yesterday, I decided to follow up after the kids' bedtime by asking him to comment on the following excerpt from Iyengar's Light on Life:
"A scientist sets out to conquer nature through knowledge - external nature, external knowledge. By these means he may split the atom and achieve external power. A yogi sets out to explore his own internal nature, to penetrate the atom (atma) of being... The presence of truth can make us feel naked, but compassion takes all our shame away."
Now, Fred lost it after the (he called it) inflammatory sentence about scientists. I had to shush him to even be able to read the rest. Then he said that, since there is no spirit, or soul, there is no penetrating the atma because there is none. And that this, according to him, is the problem with yoga as it is sold in the West. He thinks we are being sold a religious system that is outdated and dangerous, mixed in with our postures. Seems we might be dealing with an atheist rather than an agnostic at this point. Hmm.
So, I argued that some yoga is selling the idea of a divine, of a spirit, but it doesn't have to be so. Some yoga is just therapeutic, take it at face value, it feels good, it does good things in the body. He says he's okay with that.
So, I argue that during restorative and meditative practice, I have felt something Other that I can't describe or explain. He says, "Well, I can explain it. You've trained your mind to the point that you are accessing it differently, the same way anyone who trains in meditation or those kinds of practices can."
So, I argue that we can't really argue about it, because he hasn't experienced it, and he gets all mad. I tell him that this perception that I have of there being something more is the unicorn. In this book I have about raising agnostic kids, it describes a fun activity that they do at agnostic kids' summer camp (sounds like a fun place, huh?) - they break up into teams and try to disprove the theory that there's a unicorn that lives at the camp. You can't do it. I told Fred he was trying to disprove my unicorn and that he couldn't do it. He said we shouldn't argue anymore; that after bedtime wasn't the time for such discussions. Hmm.
Which brings us to the point of faith. I was raised a good Catholic - bought into the whole thing. If I had met a nice Catholic boy and settled down, I might even still be practicing to this day. But I met Fred instead, and somehow over the course of our undergraduate days he chipped away at my faith with penetrating questions and dark, sarcastic skepticism until it was completely gone. I was thinking last night (instead of sleeping) that it's very tragic and sort of like a fairy tale - let's say "The Little Mermaid". To be able to be with the handsome prince and live my fairy tale life, I had to give up my old life, give up my tail, my faith, and take on the legs and other trappings of an agnostic scientist, which I truly am not at heart.
Fred argues that there doesn't have to be a soul to explain the things that I am experiencing, and I say, "Yes. That's true. The teachings would agree with that." He says there doesn't have to be a divine for there to be all this Prakrti, all this matter, and I say, "Yes. That's true." I think it infuriates him. His science brain can't find a crack.
So here I am, at a place where I feel that my faith is growing, albeit in a different direction again, and I'm willing to take Fred on this time. These are arguments neither one of us will win, though. I argue with him that he has to take his physics and new scientific discoveries on faith - that he hasn't seen them and can't do the math himself (though he can do a lot of it), so he's believing in something someone wrote somewhere and that this is a lot like a religious faith. He disagrees. On these things, we will never agree.
Ah well. We can always discuss plans for next spring's garden. We argue there, too, but at least there's some give and take and agreement can be reached. Maybe I'll keep Prakrti and all the rest for myself. And maybe he's right - after bedtime definitely isn't the time for such discussions. I could have used more sleep and less Little Mermaid in the wee hours last night.
"A scientist sets out to conquer nature through knowledge - external nature, external knowledge. By these means he may split the atom and achieve external power. A yogi sets out to explore his own internal nature, to penetrate the atom (atma) of being... The presence of truth can make us feel naked, but compassion takes all our shame away."
Now, Fred lost it after the (he called it) inflammatory sentence about scientists. I had to shush him to even be able to read the rest. Then he said that, since there is no spirit, or soul, there is no penetrating the atma because there is none. And that this, according to him, is the problem with yoga as it is sold in the West. He thinks we are being sold a religious system that is outdated and dangerous, mixed in with our postures. Seems we might be dealing with an atheist rather than an agnostic at this point. Hmm.
So, I argued that some yoga is selling the idea of a divine, of a spirit, but it doesn't have to be so. Some yoga is just therapeutic, take it at face value, it feels good, it does good things in the body. He says he's okay with that.
So, I argue that during restorative and meditative practice, I have felt something Other that I can't describe or explain. He says, "Well, I can explain it. You've trained your mind to the point that you are accessing it differently, the same way anyone who trains in meditation or those kinds of practices can."
So, I argue that we can't really argue about it, because he hasn't experienced it, and he gets all mad. I tell him that this perception that I have of there being something more is the unicorn. In this book I have about raising agnostic kids, it describes a fun activity that they do at agnostic kids' summer camp (sounds like a fun place, huh?) - they break up into teams and try to disprove the theory that there's a unicorn that lives at the camp. You can't do it. I told Fred he was trying to disprove my unicorn and that he couldn't do it. He said we shouldn't argue anymore; that after bedtime wasn't the time for such discussions. Hmm.
Which brings us to the point of faith. I was raised a good Catholic - bought into the whole thing. If I had met a nice Catholic boy and settled down, I might even still be practicing to this day. But I met Fred instead, and somehow over the course of our undergraduate days he chipped away at my faith with penetrating questions and dark, sarcastic skepticism until it was completely gone. I was thinking last night (instead of sleeping) that it's very tragic and sort of like a fairy tale - let's say "The Little Mermaid". To be able to be with the handsome prince and live my fairy tale life, I had to give up my old life, give up my tail, my faith, and take on the legs and other trappings of an agnostic scientist, which I truly am not at heart.
Fred argues that there doesn't have to be a soul to explain the things that I am experiencing, and I say, "Yes. That's true. The teachings would agree with that." He says there doesn't have to be a divine for there to be all this Prakrti, all this matter, and I say, "Yes. That's true." I think it infuriates him. His science brain can't find a crack.
So here I am, at a place where I feel that my faith is growing, albeit in a different direction again, and I'm willing to take Fred on this time. These are arguments neither one of us will win, though. I argue with him that he has to take his physics and new scientific discoveries on faith - that he hasn't seen them and can't do the math himself (though he can do a lot of it), so he's believing in something someone wrote somewhere and that this is a lot like a religious faith. He disagrees. On these things, we will never agree.
Ah well. We can always discuss plans for next spring's garden. We argue there, too, but at least there's some give and take and agreement can be reached. Maybe I'll keep Prakrti and all the rest for myself. And maybe he's right - after bedtime definitely isn't the time for such discussions. I could have used more sleep and less Little Mermaid in the wee hours last night.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Unity, Prakrti, Purusa, Matter
I was taught that Prakrti is matter, Purusa is soul. Iyengar talks of Prakrti as Nature, and Purusa as non-physical reality, because he likes to avoid the religious connotations of the word "soul". Everything around us, and even our "us" is Prakrti. The nature of Prakrti is change. We find comfort in thinking that our bodies and our personalities will continue forever, but it is not so. I have heard Prakrti compared to sand paintings. Great, beautiful realities are built up and then blown away. In contrast, Iyengar says Purusa is an abiding reality. He says, "It is logical but remains conceptual to our minds until we experience its realization within ourselves. We rightly associate this abiding reality with selfless love, which is founded in the concept of unity, not difference. The strength of a mother's love derives from her unity with the child. In unity there is no possession, as possession is a dual state, containing me and it. Soul is unchanging, eternal, and constant; it always remains as witness, rooted in divine origin and oneness. The whole practice of yoga is concerned with exploring the relationship between Prakrti and Purusa, between Nature and Soul...It is through the correct practice of asana and pranayama and the other petals of yoga that the pracitioner (sadhaka) experiences the communication and connection between them...To achieve this union, the sadhaka has to look both within as well as looking out to the frame of the soul, the body. He has to grasp an underlying law or else he will remain in Nature's thrall and Soul will remain merely a concept. Everything that exists in the macrocosm is to be found existing in the microcosm or individual."
A few things here. First, the italics were my emphasis on Iyengar's words. Here, he describes that intense feeling I had with the twins when they were newborns - that they were the same flesh as me. We were one being; they were not other. This is a far cry from the call that we should all abandon our intimate connections to avoid suffering that I have read in other texts.
Second, Edwin Bryant took this explanation of Prakrti versus Purusa further when he described matter. He said that matter is only here to give the different Purusas the experiences they need to have in each lifetime in order to grow. He said something to the effect of "this Prakrti might be a dinosaur and then a sea plant and then a redwood and then a Celestial and then a cockroach and then a rock." I thought of the kids' play dough when they are being really creative and playing pretend.
Fred just leaned over and asked me what Prakrti was. I said "matter", and he said, "well, you should write about dark Prakrti. What does Krishna have to say about the fact that most of the universe is made up of dark Prakrti?" His constant questioning and undying scientific agnosticism only makes me want to dig further to somehow prove him wrong, I must admit. And, ultimately, it does not matter what either of us believes because, as he would be the first to say, "It's gonna be what it's gonna be, and we can't change it." And despite his skepticism, I find it pretty easy to find a groove between the barebones cosmic physics that I know and the barebones Hindu philosophy I know. He would say that it's because I know only a fraction of what there is to know about the two things that allows that groove. But learning more doesn't seem to be making the connections go away; they seem to be getting stronger and grooving even more. It's a journey, and it feels good to be asking the questions, even if the answers are not forthcoming and do not, ultimately, matter.
A few things here. First, the italics were my emphasis on Iyengar's words. Here, he describes that intense feeling I had with the twins when they were newborns - that they were the same flesh as me. We were one being; they were not other. This is a far cry from the call that we should all abandon our intimate connections to avoid suffering that I have read in other texts.
Second, Edwin Bryant took this explanation of Prakrti versus Purusa further when he described matter. He said that matter is only here to give the different Purusas the experiences they need to have in each lifetime in order to grow. He said something to the effect of "this Prakrti might be a dinosaur and then a sea plant and then a redwood and then a Celestial and then a cockroach and then a rock." I thought of the kids' play dough when they are being really creative and playing pretend.
Fred just leaned over and asked me what Prakrti was. I said "matter", and he said, "well, you should write about dark Prakrti. What does Krishna have to say about the fact that most of the universe is made up of dark Prakrti?" His constant questioning and undying scientific agnosticism only makes me want to dig further to somehow prove him wrong, I must admit. And, ultimately, it does not matter what either of us believes because, as he would be the first to say, "It's gonna be what it's gonna be, and we can't change it." And despite his skepticism, I find it pretty easy to find a groove between the barebones cosmic physics that I know and the barebones Hindu philosophy I know. He would say that it's because I know only a fraction of what there is to know about the two things that allows that groove. But learning more doesn't seem to be making the connections go away; they seem to be getting stronger and grooving even more. It's a journey, and it feels good to be asking the questions, even if the answers are not forthcoming and do not, ultimately, matter.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Light on Iyengar
I've been doing yoga for most of my life, and most of my yoga friends are surprised or horrified that I have never read or studied BKS Iyengar. I decided to crack open my old copy of Iyengar's Light On Life in honor of his recent birthday. It is riveting, and I feel a little bit guilty (though with loving kindness and self-compassion) for not having read it before.
I tried reading Iyengar's Light On Yoga a few years ago and got about halfway through. I found that some of Iyengar's recommendations in that text did not resonate with me or work on my body at all. So I put the book - and Iyengar - down until now.
In Light On Life, Iyengar focuses more on the journey rather than on the specifics, and this I can appreciate. He is humble yet glowing, and his personality shines through as compassionate and inspirational. He promises that the yogic journey will "pay benefits commensurate to the time and effort we put in - the lowest being our ability to tie our own shoelaces when we are eighty and the highest being the opportunity to taste the essence of life itself." Both pretty good outcomes, so how can you lose?
Here is an extended excerpt for your perusal. There will be more talk of this Light On Life here in this blog, I reckon, as I haven't even gotten through the introduction, and I'm already moved to grab a highlighter and start blogging about it.
"I wanted to live as an ordinary householder with all the trials and tribulations of life and to take my yoga practice to average people who share with me the common life of work, marriage, and children...the life of a householder is difficult, and it always has been. Most of us encounter hardship and suffering, and many are plagued by physical and emotional pain, stress, sadness, loneliness, and anxiety. While we often think of these as the problems caused by the demands of modern life, human life has always had the same hardships and the same challenges - making a living, raising a family, and finding meaning and purpose. These have always and will always be the challenges that we humans face. As animals, we walk the earth. As bearers of a divine essence, we are among the stars. As human beings, we are caught in the middle, seeking to reconcile the paradox of how to make our way upon the earth while striving for something more permanent and more profound. So many seek this greater Truth in the heavens, but it lies much closer than the clouds. It sits within us and can be found by anyone on the Inward Journey."
I tried reading Iyengar's Light On Yoga a few years ago and got about halfway through. I found that some of Iyengar's recommendations in that text did not resonate with me or work on my body at all. So I put the book - and Iyengar - down until now.
In Light On Life, Iyengar focuses more on the journey rather than on the specifics, and this I can appreciate. He is humble yet glowing, and his personality shines through as compassionate and inspirational. He promises that the yogic journey will "pay benefits commensurate to the time and effort we put in - the lowest being our ability to tie our own shoelaces when we are eighty and the highest being the opportunity to taste the essence of life itself." Both pretty good outcomes, so how can you lose?
Here is an extended excerpt for your perusal. There will be more talk of this Light On Life here in this blog, I reckon, as I haven't even gotten through the introduction, and I'm already moved to grab a highlighter and start blogging about it.
"I wanted to live as an ordinary householder with all the trials and tribulations of life and to take my yoga practice to average people who share with me the common life of work, marriage, and children...the life of a householder is difficult, and it always has been. Most of us encounter hardship and suffering, and many are plagued by physical and emotional pain, stress, sadness, loneliness, and anxiety. While we often think of these as the problems caused by the demands of modern life, human life has always had the same hardships and the same challenges - making a living, raising a family, and finding meaning and purpose. These have always and will always be the challenges that we humans face. As animals, we walk the earth. As bearers of a divine essence, we are among the stars. As human beings, we are caught in the middle, seeking to reconcile the paradox of how to make our way upon the earth while striving for something more permanent and more profound. So many seek this greater Truth in the heavens, but it lies much closer than the clouds. It sits within us and can be found by anyone on the Inward Journey."
Friday, December 2, 2011
Withdrawal
The Sutras and the Gita talk about withdrawal of the senses from their sense objects as part of the process of yoga and meditation. In Elemental Yoga, we spend a few minutes at the beginning of every class closing our eyes and turning our outer gaze inward and turning our outer hearing into a deep, internal listening. This is a great way to begin a class, to "drop in" to oneself and to have a truly meditative practice.
These days I'm thinking about a different kind of withdrawal, as I've tapered down to a minuscule fraction of a fraction of my anxiety meds. This last round of withdrawal was nothing like what I went through last spring when I came off of Zoloft and Xanax - a potent cocktail a terrible drug-pushing psychiatrist had put me on. It was so bad that I went cold-turkey and went through the "zaps" of withdrawing from Zoloft and the increased anxiety of being off the Xanax. Ironically, when you go off your anxiety meds, anxiety is one of the withdrawal symptoms.
Now I'm coming off the of the benzodiazepine that my new, not so drug-pushing psychiatrist put me on when she found out I went cold turkey off of the others. This is a replacement drug that is easier to titrate down off of, so I was cutting pills in half, then in half again, until I basically was swallowing some pill dust each night before bed. I did have increased anxiety, again, with each titration, but it was nothing like the cold turkey craziness of the Zoloft/Xanax.
I have found that restorative yoga takes the place of these meds. If I take one hour of restorative everyday, it has the same effects as popping a benzodiazepine. Of course, it's much easier to find the time to pop a pill than it is to find an hour to lie on a bolster and a couple of blankets with an eye pillow on my forehead (restorative has been shown to be much more relaxing for people with the addition of weight on the forehead in the postures). But then restorative doesn't have any negative side effects. Though I think it can be addictive.
The last stage of this withdrawal from the meds seems to be a general foggy mind. I forgot my son's backpack this morning - had to drop him off then run back home to pick it up and take it back to school. I got our schedule mixed up and showed up to a Tae Kwon Do class 45 minutes early. I can't seem to find the energy to cook supper beyond heating up frozen vegetarian chicken nuggets. But this will pass, and I'll be myself again. A self without psychotropic medicine, a self that still has panic attacks at times, and still has anxiety, but who is capable of viewing those things as passing emotional and nervous system states that can be watched with a compassionate, meditative eye, knowing that they will pass within ten minutes (usually) or faster if I'm in a place where I can watch my breathing, do a restorative pose, or practice some other intervention (engaging uddiyana bandha works wonders here, too).
These days I'm thinking about a different kind of withdrawal, as I've tapered down to a minuscule fraction of a fraction of my anxiety meds. This last round of withdrawal was nothing like what I went through last spring when I came off of Zoloft and Xanax - a potent cocktail a terrible drug-pushing psychiatrist had put me on. It was so bad that I went cold-turkey and went through the "zaps" of withdrawing from Zoloft and the increased anxiety of being off the Xanax. Ironically, when you go off your anxiety meds, anxiety is one of the withdrawal symptoms.
Now I'm coming off the of the benzodiazepine that my new, not so drug-pushing psychiatrist put me on when she found out I went cold turkey off of the others. This is a replacement drug that is easier to titrate down off of, so I was cutting pills in half, then in half again, until I basically was swallowing some pill dust each night before bed. I did have increased anxiety, again, with each titration, but it was nothing like the cold turkey craziness of the Zoloft/Xanax.
I have found that restorative yoga takes the place of these meds. If I take one hour of restorative everyday, it has the same effects as popping a benzodiazepine. Of course, it's much easier to find the time to pop a pill than it is to find an hour to lie on a bolster and a couple of blankets with an eye pillow on my forehead (restorative has been shown to be much more relaxing for people with the addition of weight on the forehead in the postures). But then restorative doesn't have any negative side effects. Though I think it can be addictive.
The last stage of this withdrawal from the meds seems to be a general foggy mind. I forgot my son's backpack this morning - had to drop him off then run back home to pick it up and take it back to school. I got our schedule mixed up and showed up to a Tae Kwon Do class 45 minutes early. I can't seem to find the energy to cook supper beyond heating up frozen vegetarian chicken nuggets. But this will pass, and I'll be myself again. A self without psychotropic medicine, a self that still has panic attacks at times, and still has anxiety, but who is capable of viewing those things as passing emotional and nervous system states that can be watched with a compassionate, meditative eye, knowing that they will pass within ten minutes (usually) or faster if I'm in a place where I can watch my breathing, do a restorative pose, or practice some other intervention (engaging uddiyana bandha works wonders here, too).
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