If yoga is all about peace and unions, then what’s with the Warriors? Is it a bad translation? A way to relate to those who do not seek peace? Did we run out of animal names that looked like these poses?
Perhaps. For those interested in the mythology, the great story of Virabhadra talks of a vengeful god, born of rage as lord Shiva tore a lock of hair from his head and threw it into the ground. Up from the ground (warrior one) came a fierce multi-armed-eyed-and-weaponed Virabhadra. He did lots of nasty, merciless things, destroyed a lot of sacred stuff and royally irritated everyone around. To make matters worse, he cut off one particularly important head (warrior two).
Really? Is this the energy I’m manifesting in my yoga classes… this seems like a bad plan.
Yes. However, after his rage burned out (and he had a firm talking to from some other god-friends), Shiva recognized the pain he had caused and replaced Daksha’s missing head with the head of a goat as an act of reconciliation. Peace (warrior three).
Yoga does not prevent us from feeling rage, from making poor decisions, or operating without a perfect plan. Some days I wish that it did. Others I know that I wouldn’t relate well to others if I didn’t experience the same myriad of emotions that they do.
Instead, asana animates this ancient story of confronting one’s rage and making amends. By sensing the power of what is planted beneath us (w1), we redirect it into everything we do (w2), and it takes balance and attention to lower the gaze to the earth, allow the heart and mind to live on the same plane, and restore sanctity to what we have overlooked or chaos we have created (w3). By finding balance, pushing into the earth with just as much force as the earth presses into us, we deliver what we can truly offer, no more, no less.
"Nothing in the Universe survives without mercy..."
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Weary Warrior
Virabhadra was born of rage. He had lots of arms. He was cutting off heads, poisoning sacred oils, breaking stuff, poking people with sticks, holding a flaming lotus, shooting arrows all at the same time.
Does this sound familiar to you? You’re probably not quite as destructive as Virabhadra was, but you likely have only two arms. Have you wished for more? Have you heard others (or yourself) say something like “I only have two hands!” Would you say this is more often during times when you are closer to or further from the emotion of ‘rageful’?
Interesting.
I myself have wished for additional arms now and again. I’d love to be able to chop, grate and peel at the same time. I long for additional arms when the time comes to match and fold socks. It would be convenient to have at least one extra hand while wrapping a present. How on earth are we expected to wash the dog with only two hands? And god help you if you have to wash a cat.
While it would be irrefutably easier to have a third, and possibly fourth, hand while changing diapers, there are few tasks where our wish aligns with only a single task. Many times we entertain these multi-limbed fantasies because our minds are already attempting the multi-task mambo. With few exceptions, our minds really like to be in one place, managing one concept at once. This has become a strange and foreign concept. We prefer to fantasize about the possibilities of accomplishing many tasks simultaneously. Like scaling a fish, changing our contact lenses, and hamstring curls.
No?
It is just as silly to consider walking the dog while earnestly learning French on your iDevice as your toenail polish dries. Texting and driving? Or perhaps eating in the shower? To save time? If you can seriously tell me you love nothing more than eating a Reuben in the shower, by all means, live it up. But just because these multitasking scenarios are more plausible than the insane scene I painted above doesn’t mean they make any more sense to your brain.
Reasonable multitasking scenarios:
- Enjoying a sunset while resting on the beach.
- Running and listening to music.
- Eating and enjoying a conversation with a friend.
Next time a loved one calls, try focusing in on the conversation. Stop everything else. Sit. (ok, enjoy the breeze). Virabhadra could take a lesson from you and your two arms.
Does this sound familiar to you? You’re probably not quite as destructive as Virabhadra was, but you likely have only two arms. Have you wished for more? Have you heard others (or yourself) say something like “I only have two hands!” Would you say this is more often during times when you are closer to or further from the emotion of ‘rageful’?
Interesting.
I myself have wished for additional arms now and again. I’d love to be able to chop, grate and peel at the same time. I long for additional arms when the time comes to match and fold socks. It would be convenient to have at least one extra hand while wrapping a present. How on earth are we expected to wash the dog with only two hands? And god help you if you have to wash a cat.
While it would be irrefutably easier to have a third, and possibly fourth, hand while changing diapers, there are few tasks where our wish aligns with only a single task. Many times we entertain these multi-limbed fantasies because our minds are already attempting the multi-task mambo. With few exceptions, our minds really like to be in one place, managing one concept at once. This has become a strange and foreign concept. We prefer to fantasize about the possibilities of accomplishing many tasks simultaneously. Like scaling a fish, changing our contact lenses, and hamstring curls.
No?
It is just as silly to consider walking the dog while earnestly learning French on your iDevice as your toenail polish dries. Texting and driving? Or perhaps eating in the shower? To save time? If you can seriously tell me you love nothing more than eating a Reuben in the shower, by all means, live it up. But just because these multitasking scenarios are more plausible than the insane scene I painted above doesn’t mean they make any more sense to your brain.
Reasonable multitasking scenarios:
- Enjoying a sunset while resting on the beach.
- Running and listening to music.
- Eating and enjoying a conversation with a friend.
Next time a loved one calls, try focusing in on the conversation. Stop everything else. Sit. (ok, enjoy the breeze). Virabhadra could take a lesson from you and your two arms.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Dear Charlie
Dear Charlie,
I've missed you in my workshop the past three weeks. I was truly looking forward to learning more from you, from your wry smile and tepid questions. Having you in my class a few months ago challenged me to be a better teacher (really... I thought harder when preparing my next several classes because of you). My explanations were never quite what you were hoping for, but rather than frustrating me or hardening my skin, your questions inspired stronger answers.
You helped me grow. The only thing we hope to offer as teachers is room for growth in our students, openness to the questions beyond, and a willingness to open your eyes.
I'm not sure I can imagine the storm you must have been in, the fury and finality. I missed the telltale look in your eyes, even though I've seen it a few times before. Did I mistake desperation for challenge? My memory is too foggy to see through.
I hope that wherever you are now, in ground or sky or on the wind at night that you have found peace. You remind me to relish each day, each student, each interaction. You remind me that the student is the true teacher, and the teacher merely a humble student.
The light in me sees, honors, and reflects the light in you. I hope that in your favorable rebirth, we may meet again. Namaste.
I've missed you in my workshop the past three weeks. I was truly looking forward to learning more from you, from your wry smile and tepid questions. Having you in my class a few months ago challenged me to be a better teacher (really... I thought harder when preparing my next several classes because of you). My explanations were never quite what you were hoping for, but rather than frustrating me or hardening my skin, your questions inspired stronger answers.
You helped me grow. The only thing we hope to offer as teachers is room for growth in our students, openness to the questions beyond, and a willingness to open your eyes.
I'm not sure I can imagine the storm you must have been in, the fury and finality. I missed the telltale look in your eyes, even though I've seen it a few times before. Did I mistake desperation for challenge? My memory is too foggy to see through.
I hope that wherever you are now, in ground or sky or on the wind at night that you have found peace. You remind me to relish each day, each student, each interaction. You remind me that the student is the true teacher, and the teacher merely a humble student.
The light in me sees, honors, and reflects the light in you. I hope that in your favorable rebirth, we may meet again. Namaste.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sunsets
I have an inordinate number of pictures of myself facing the ocean, looking into the sunset. This is strange because I live in a desert thousands of miles from any given ocean. Even my inland pictures are frequently of bruised skies mourning the sun.
There is something magical about a sunset.
When I was five, my father explained sunsets to me. He said that the colors in the sunset are always there, but we can't see them because of the angle of the sun/atmosphere/something else about physics. Do you know? I can't remember the exact description, but I do remember the key element. The colors in the sunset are always there, we just don't always get to see them.
So much exists that we can't see unless we are lucky enough to look at just the right time, from the perfect angle. This is true in yoga. When we slog through our days and start to look down at the ground, we forget to look up and we forget to look within. Stepping onto the mat we put ourselves in the right place for an amount of time that something might fall away and we might just see the colors in the sky. We salute the sun, we sit, we lie down, and if we are lucky enough we drive home just in time to see the sunset. We see what has always been there. That which is within us begins to reflect the brilliance of what is around us, which in turn, shines more brightly inside of us.
We set the world ablaze.
There is something magical about a sunset.
When I was five, my father explained sunsets to me. He said that the colors in the sunset are always there, but we can't see them because of the angle of the sun/atmosphere/something else about physics. Do you know? I can't remember the exact description, but I do remember the key element. The colors in the sunset are always there, we just don't always get to see them.
So much exists that we can't see unless we are lucky enough to look at just the right time, from the perfect angle. This is true in yoga. When we slog through our days and start to look down at the ground, we forget to look up and we forget to look within. Stepping onto the mat we put ourselves in the right place for an amount of time that something might fall away and we might just see the colors in the sky. We salute the sun, we sit, we lie down, and if we are lucky enough we drive home just in time to see the sunset. We see what has always been there. That which is within us begins to reflect the brilliance of what is around us, which in turn, shines more brightly inside of us.
We set the world ablaze.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Hanuman
If we were in a yoga class right now and I said "Hanuman" you would probably:
a) cringe, grimace and find an excuse to fix your clothing, mat, hair, etc.
b) become frustrated, enraged, and irritated that some idiot came up with this pose.
c) worry intensely about how your groin will feel for the next several minutes.
d) one of you would get really excited. Maybe.
So many yoga classes depart from the history of the postures, with one exception. Hanuman is the story you hear over and over again, his devotion, his leap of faith, blah blah blah while the teacher tries desperately to keep you distracted from the OUCH my CROTCH mantra that has taken over your mind.
Have you ever really thought about Hanuman? His life story is a little soap-opera-esque, demi god, half monkey, big fan of the king. But his power came from hearing the voices of people cheering him on as the king asked the impossible: go back to the Himalayas and find the herb that will save my brother. He didn't think he could do it. Onlookers told him he could, and when he got back, he couldn't find the right herb (he was half monkey, after all). Rather than giving up, Hanuman put the entire mountain on his back and jumped back to Sri Lanka, stretching as far as he could and saved the king's brother.
Has this happened in your life? My guess is that it has. Someone has probably asked the impossible of you, supportive people cheered you on, and you made an incredible leap of faith. You're probably not a monkey, and you likely can't carry mountains on your back, but the principle is what is pivotal to the pose. Next time you are there, close your eyes. Hear the supportive groans of your fellow yogi(ni)s, and have faith that the posture will come in time.
Off the mat, the story of Hanuman isn't about the splits, and it isn't even always having faith. The essence of Hanuman is listening to the people in your life who say YOU CAN DO IT.
Sahas badan tumharo yash gaave
(Thousands of living beings are chanting hymns of your glories)
a) cringe, grimace and find an excuse to fix your clothing, mat, hair, etc.
b) become frustrated, enraged, and irritated that some idiot came up with this pose.
c) worry intensely about how your groin will feel for the next several minutes.
d) one of you would get really excited. Maybe.
So many yoga classes depart from the history of the postures, with one exception. Hanuman is the story you hear over and over again, his devotion, his leap of faith, blah blah blah while the teacher tries desperately to keep you distracted from the OUCH my CROTCH mantra that has taken over your mind.
Have you ever really thought about Hanuman? His life story is a little soap-opera-esque, demi god, half monkey, big fan of the king. But his power came from hearing the voices of people cheering him on as the king asked the impossible: go back to the Himalayas and find the herb that will save my brother. He didn't think he could do it. Onlookers told him he could, and when he got back, he couldn't find the right herb (he was half monkey, after all). Rather than giving up, Hanuman put the entire mountain on his back and jumped back to Sri Lanka, stretching as far as he could and saved the king's brother.
Has this happened in your life? My guess is that it has. Someone has probably asked the impossible of you, supportive people cheered you on, and you made an incredible leap of faith. You're probably not a monkey, and you likely can't carry mountains on your back, but the principle is what is pivotal to the pose. Next time you are there, close your eyes. Hear the supportive groans of your fellow yogi(ni)s, and have faith that the posture will come in time.
Off the mat, the story of Hanuman isn't about the splits, and it isn't even always having faith. The essence of Hanuman is listening to the people in your life who say YOU CAN DO IT.
Sahas badan tumharo yash gaave
(Thousands of living beings are chanting hymns of your glories)
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Yoga, on the Rocks
I just spent three days in the wilderness, without internet.
And I survived.
Every year my husband and I (and a small group of our assorted closest friends and relatives) head out into the mountains and spend time eating, sleeping, and staring off into space. We occasionally hike, but more often we daze and allow our minds to reacquaint themselves with the rhythm of life, as dictated by the rise and fall of the sun, tummy rumbling, and whatever the dog happens to be doing.
It is well known that our particular spot is outside of the reaches of the 21st century (namely the 3G network, Wi-Fi, and even microwaves), and yet I still find myself compelled to check The Phone. For the first eight hours of our excursion in the wilderness, I find that I've got about a three-minute window to think of things other than "did I get a new message yet?" or "I wonder what time it is?" As luck would have it, this is also the amount of time it takes the average hospital patient on pain-meds to avoid pressing the morphine button.
The irony is not lost on me.
When I came to the realization this time that my compulsion resembled an addiction, I did not throw the phone into the river, but I did let it die. I threw caution into the wind and took off my watch, and had to rely on the sky to tell me what I needed to know. Slowly peeling my fingers back from the iProduct of the moment, I let the sun kiss my face and said hello. For once, it wasn't time for yoga because it was Time for Yoga, it was simply all that needed to be done.
Yoga, on the rocks.
And I survived.
Every year my husband and I (and a small group of our assorted closest friends and relatives) head out into the mountains and spend time eating, sleeping, and staring off into space. We occasionally hike, but more often we daze and allow our minds to reacquaint themselves with the rhythm of life, as dictated by the rise and fall of the sun, tummy rumbling, and whatever the dog happens to be doing.
It is well known that our particular spot is outside of the reaches of the 21st century (namely the 3G network, Wi-Fi, and even microwaves), and yet I still find myself compelled to check The Phone. For the first eight hours of our excursion in the wilderness, I find that I've got about a three-minute window to think of things other than "did I get a new message yet?" or "I wonder what time it is?" As luck would have it, this is also the amount of time it takes the average hospital patient on pain-meds to avoid pressing the morphine button.
The irony is not lost on me.
When I came to the realization this time that my compulsion resembled an addiction, I did not throw the phone into the river, but I did let it die. I threw caution into the wind and took off my watch, and had to rely on the sky to tell me what I needed to know. Slowly peeling my fingers back from the iProduct of the moment, I let the sun kiss my face and said hello. For once, it wasn't time for yoga because it was Time for Yoga, it was simply all that needed to be done.
Yoga, on the rocks.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Spring... Er... Summer cleaning
Winter has done it's best to wipe the slate clean: the ground is ready, animals awake, and boots ready to head into their annual slumber in the back of the hall closet. Fuzzy sweaters and holey socks find new homes and renewed purpose staking tomato plants, scrubbing floors, or keeping someone else warm.
That's the easy part. Perhaps you don't get around to washing the high windows or buying new car mats, but those are lower on the list that margaritas on the patio and starlit campouts.
Or at least they should be.
This spring... Er... Summer... I invite you to turn that cleaning bug inward beyond facials and tooth whitening and outward beyond washing windows. What is the one dirty and damaging thing you are doing to yourself inside? Eating something that doesn't fuel you? Drinking something that hurts you? Telling yourself sad stories? Smoking?
Saucha is there for you, friends. Think of it as a green light to clean the thing you've been ignoring (and not the gutters). I invite you to treat your body like you would treat your favorite room in the house. Maybe it is full of garbage and gifts Christmas morning, but the rest of the year it is pretty darn inviting for guests, electricians, and even in-laws. If you can create a welcoming and well cared for self, you'll be a more gracious friend, employer and even in-law.
It's a two-for-one deal: heal yourself and yourself will heal the world.
That's the easy part. Perhaps you don't get around to washing the high windows or buying new car mats, but those are lower on the list that margaritas on the patio and starlit campouts.
Or at least they should be.
This spring... Er... Summer... I invite you to turn that cleaning bug inward beyond facials and tooth whitening and outward beyond washing windows. What is the one dirty and damaging thing you are doing to yourself inside? Eating something that doesn't fuel you? Drinking something that hurts you? Telling yourself sad stories? Smoking?
Saucha is there for you, friends. Think of it as a green light to clean the thing you've been ignoring (and not the gutters). I invite you to treat your body like you would treat your favorite room in the house. Maybe it is full of garbage and gifts Christmas morning, but the rest of the year it is pretty darn inviting for guests, electricians, and even in-laws. If you can create a welcoming and well cared for self, you'll be a more gracious friend, employer and even in-law.
It's a two-for-one deal: heal yourself and yourself will heal the world.
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