Dungeons and Dragons

When my husband and I go for walks around our neighborhood, we frequently see rabbits doing rock impressions. They hold very still, flatten their floppy ears onto their backs and hold their breath. Because we are far from normal, we always compliment them as we walk by:

"What a great rock impression."

or

"Look at that rock in the middle of that yard."

If we see them about on a sunny day with updrafts and skydancers, we warn them.

"Get into the shade, or the skydancers will see you!"

This describes, in terrifying detail, how I have been living my life for the past four years. Not the walking and talking to rabbits part, but the hiding, freezing, and breath-holding. In this past year, The Year of the Iron Rabbit, (according to the lunar calendar) I have been hunkering down and waiting for the storm to pass.

Yesterday on our walk through the native space behind our house, my husband and I noticed... a pelt. He recoiled and said "what does that to a rabbit?"

"A predator. And time," I answered.

The thing about predators is they have nothing but time. They wait, gliding on updrafts, resting on warm air.

-----

As I think forwards to this New Year, the Year of the Dragon, I'm still inside my stone-rabbit cell. I've never seen a dragon, have you?

It is the only mythical creature on the 12 year cycle in the Chinese system. Dragons are fierce and powerful. They breathe fire. They fly. Dragons only exist within the context of the human imagination. In the West, we slay dragons. In the East, we become them.

I read this as an invitation to tap into the deepest sense of power and reinvent ourselves. This is a year beyond resolutions and goals, outside of weight loss and closet organization. This is a year to cast off shackles and fly.

After a year of turning inwards, focusing on the nature of ourselves, we launch into liberation.

From dharana to dhyana to samadhi.

Are you ready?

To Seethe or Not To Seethe

Today was not one of my better days, yogicly speaking. I was invited to an upscale event in the fancy part of town and experienced a fair degree of social awkwardness. As an anthropologist, you would think I would relish these fleeting opportunities to observe another social class in their natural environment. I could scribble small notes about unique greeting patterns involving partial hugs, or describe the ceremonial scarves and belts brought to you by specific and highly regarded individuals (such as Marc Jacobs or someone named Coach). Perhaps I would include a diagram of the various areas of the room populated by persons of each respective social class, to the best of my ability, as an outsider.

Instead, I triumphantly marched in carrying my fair-trade bag, my unpolished nails balled into my unadorned hands, and spent the good part of an afternoon making myself feel like crap.

I have spent a goodly amount of time exploring my own psyche/seeking my own North star/communicating with my inner wildebeest, and yet it took me fewer than three seconds to realize that:

a) I spend far less time on personal grooming than these new friends might find acceptable

b) A significant quantity of the 'things' that I own have either been owned previously, were extracted from the garbage, or were created by a person in a far away country who is working for a fair wage and making things out of garbage

c) I had never ranked snorkeling in gobs of money among my top ten life values

and

d) that I was not six years old.

What is it about these situations that makes us feel so small? Why are my hard-earned values so easy to discard? And how does anyone get floors and windows that clean???

As you may have guessed, I cozied up with the irrational side of myself and had my own little two part conversation.

Alpaca-Kari: "Why didn't I become an investment banker/doctor/mob boss?"

Yogini-Kari: "Because you don't realistically know what any of those people actually do for a living, but you're pretty sure none of them get to teach yoga or play with puppies on a regular basis."

Alpaca-Kari: "Ok, so why didn't I marry someone who was one of those things?"

Yogini-Kari: "Because you didn't want your identity to be wrapped up in the occupation of someone else... you wanted to live freely and guided by your own actions, with a partner who didn't rely on you to host cocktail parties or bury people in cement."

Alpaca-Kari: "So then why did I think I had any business coming to this part of town? I'm obviously not like these people at all."

Yogini-Kari: "You came because you are a good friend and clearly had no idea that you would stick out like an elephant."

Alpaca-Kari: "Ok, fine. But why didn't I at least go buy a brand new outfit for this shindig, wherever these people buy their clothes?"

Yogini-Kari: "Because on some level you wanted them to know that you are comfortable in your own skin. You know that teaching yoga means more than telling people when and how to balance on their elbows, and that non-grasping is a good thing. Also you have no idea where these people shop and would probably have to sell your car to buy a scarf."

Alpaca-Kari: "Wow, Yogini-Kari, you seem to have all of the answers. Now will you please unlock the bathroom door and get out here with me?"

I would like to tell you that I've transcended these petty feelings, or that I'm immune to grasping for status. I would like to say that after practicing yoga for 26 years that I have these yamas down and I'm just working on experiencing a samadhi-like state of bliss 80 or more percent of the time. The reality is that Yogini-Kari often locks herself into the bathroom when she feels uncomfortable and leaves the anxiety-prone and skittish Kari out on her own. Alpaca-Kari forgets that she could simply pretend to be an anthropologist and observe this unusual behavior and instead begins to sound various social alarms by dropping food onto people, accidentally discussing socially inappropriate topics, like human reproduction, and possibly gnawing through the rim of her paper cup.

The best advice I have for all of us is to become aware of the grasping the alpaca side does and allow the yogi(ni) side to peel the fingers back from the object of our infatuation.

Perhaps the lesson isn't to avoid grasping, but to learn how to ungrasp.

Tabula Rasa

I realized this week that I'm terribly fond of one particular grudge. Like a story from glory days, I'll happily chat you up about how much one person really chaps my hide, supported with many examples of just how ridiculous this person is so that hopefully you will share in the holiday joy that comes with lambasting someone you've never met.

Think for a moment of the stories that you cling to. Perhaps your neighbors' penchant for nude hot tubbing midday which has lead you to the conclusion that they must be unemployed perverts who show off their lady parts just to spite you? Or your coworker's extended afternoon appointments which you've spun into a wildly illicit affair, supplemented by a complete disregard for the important work of designing holiday cards (or whatever it is that you do). Maybe your husband's singlehanded plot to cover every surface in your home with a combination of toothpaste, discarded socks, and coffee rings?

I happen to know not only that you tell yourself these kinds of stories, but that you lack the awareness that you do so. The good news about this? You could always pick up a second job writing for a situation comedy, because they thrive on the absurdity that is daily life. The bad news? You're living in a sitcom, minus the laugh track, perfect hair, and commercial underwriting.

In the 90's, all we could hope for was a little sitcom life. We idealized Friends, Frasier, and in my case, Dharma and Greg, and wanted nothing but fun bits where everyone spent time together in coffee shops bemoaning the curse of adulthood. The time has come to move on. The menu of TV options should be a clue that times have changed, what with the horrific choices of shows that romanticize homicide. Rather than plugging into the despair, or writing your own sitcom, consider your favorite YouTube videos, those viral little bits of joy that pop up on occasion. This is the time of Otters Holding Hands, Baby Panda Sneezing, Emerson: Mommy Blows Her Nose.

The next time you open your mouth to share some vile sludge about your neighbors, family, or coworkers, instead pick up your nearest iDevice and watch a little baby monkey riding backwards on a pig. Enjoy the unrivaled bliss of laughing until you cry.

As we step forwards into a year the Mayans couldn't even conceive of, how will you greet the dawn?

As this year dies, what will you allow to die with it?

Average, schmaverage

I love Lake Wobegon from A Prairie Home Companion... where everyone is above average. This idea beautifully describes the way we see the world both on and off the mat, doesn't it? A silently screaming mass of people attempting to be above, or in the case of weight, just below average. Does this seem silly to you? An arbitrary benchmark that you try like hell to stay close to?

It should.

There is one area where we settle for average and hope for normal: our health. If your cholesterol is above 200, or your blood pressure above 120/80, or waist above 30" your doctor will tell you to eat less fat, sugar, salt, cholesterol, etc. If you manage to squeak in below these magical numbers, your doctor may not tell you anything at all, because you are normal.

And you're fine with that?

Really?

If you are like me, you go in for your yearly physical and they tell you that your iron, weight, blood pressure, cholesterol, sugars and everything else are normal. You tell them that you are tired, you worry about things, you wonder when the rat race will end and you can just live life again. They tell you to take a multivitamin and keep doing what you're doing, and that this is the way that life is. You should feel fortunate for being normal. There should be some level of comfort in knowing that everyone else feels this way too.

REALLY?

So then we go home and feel tired, and cranky, and icky. We drink eight glasses of water a day, sleep eight hours at night, get 30 minutes of exercise three times a week, and go through the life motions grateful to be in the company of a culture who is also tired and cranky and icky.

What would happen if we started with yoga? If we started with ahimsa for real and didn't allow ourselves to wake when we were still tired, didn't force ourselves to drink water when we weren't thirsty (subsequently waking us in the night to use the facilities and lose a bit of sleep), didn't drag our bodies to the gym when we were exhausted or let ourselves off easily because we had finished the prescribed run for the week?

What if we tried to get as far away from average as possible? What if our goal was to feel above average? Ask yourself (no one else is watching): do I remember what it actually feels like to be well rested? Hungry? Full?

When we do violence to ourselves, we do violence to the world. If we offer help from a place of illness, work from a place of apathy, or extend compassion for others in a void of compassion for ourselves, we do nothing of service. Conversely, if we do anything from a place of rest and intention, we do it mindfully without room for error.

Significantly insignificant

Moments in my life remind me how small I am in the context of the greater world: beautiful things like fall colors and crisp mornings, scary things like the bears who spelunked in my garbage last night, and humbling things like learning that I'm six hundred and twelfth in line for the next available representative. All of these lessons are good lessons, even if they alternately make me want to live in a cave and live in the concrete jungle.

As I hear other teachers mention the same stories I've told, or pick up on my mannerisms, I am humbled. On a daily basis I joke about my kind of yoga being called Kari Kwinn Vinyasa Flow Yoga, because I think that naming one particular practice after oneself is a bit... pompous. But at the same time I realize that what I'm teaching is Kari Kwinn Vinyasa Flow Yoga. It is a combination of the yoga classes my four year old self took on crisp autumn mornings instead of physical education, the years of participating in improv comedy and stand up as the 'straight man,' the shame of living years of my life trying to be someone I wasn't, and the joy in living my right life.

My teaching is informed by my every move, and I've come to realize that others who have taken my classes have absorbed bits of my verbiage and style and created their own yoga. This yoga evolves in the way that language evolves. It is a living thing that takes root in each of us and expands to the limits of our interpersonal reactions. It becomes the way we tell our story and share our personal significance with the world.

Can you recall a particularly profound yoga class you have taken? Where you were moved to tears or felt a few fleeting moments of bliss? That is a part of you today, it is in the conversations you have with loved ones and interactions with the clerk at the grocery store. Whether that moment stays at the forefront of your memory, it is the reason you take a breath instead of yelling at the driver who cut you off, or the reason you give away your last five dollars against your better judgment. If you teach yoga, it flows through you and ripples out into the world.

Your yoga is not your yoga, it simply flows through you.

Om bolo sat guru bhagavan ki

Boundless Boundaries

If you are relatively new to yoga, you might think that there are no boundaries in yoga. Case in point, I recently visited a studio out of state where I was 'adjusted' by a burly man who simply picked me up, rearranged my limbs according to his preference for the pose, and returned me to my mat. I literally hung in the air waffling between a state of terror and finding the situation more than amusing. It was a WWJD kind of moment. Like, seriously, what would Jesus have done?

I'm not sure any religious scholars have every contemplated this particular tidbit, but I think that he would have felt rather like me: uncomfortable. This is the best part of meeting new people and traveling to new places. I hear in some parts of Asia you are expected to snuggle with strangers on public transportation, while my parents would most like to greet you from the other room. And stay there. For dinner.

At the studio where I spend most of my time, people lay their mats down until they are nearly touching. Sometimes they bonk heads to tails or legs to walls, or feet to mirrors. The mat isn't like a magic carpet where your arms and legs must stay inside the ride at all times, the mat is a suggestion. A practice boundary.

Touching also happens. I've never actually lifted off of a yoga mat before (except in meditation, of course), but I've inadvertently grazed the wrong part of someone else's body with the wrong part of mine. I've stepped on toes, adjusted too harshly and otherwise invaded the space of others. I hate to admit it, but I've even grabbed the wrong water bottle. When all goes well in a flow based yoga class, we most resemble a school of fish, moving in tandem without making any contact.

Yoga is a singular experience. And it is about the union of self and everything else that isn't self. We don't often think of boundaries in our lives unless someone crosses one. Sure, if you mistakenly step on my mat as you fall out of a posture, no big deal. But if I walk into class and you're on my mat, practicing? We have an issue. I might feel comfortable with you using my toothpaste, but my toothbrush? Not on your life. Asana practice helps us explore those boundaries we've yet to discover in the rest of our lives and gives us an opportunity to assert them again. It is kind of like a return to Kindergarten.

"By the practice of the limbs of Yoga, the impurities dwindle away and there dawns the light of wisdom, leading to discriminative discernment."II 29, The Yoga Sutras

Aha, Aparigraha

The people who say "it is better to give than to receive" seem like the people with the least stuff, right? They are giving the stuff. They should have the least stuff. I have always like to think of myself as a give-r, not a have-r or (heaven forbid) a keep-er.

So why do I have SO MUCH CRAP?

Have you ever experienced the beauty of this inner dialogue? Well, my darlings, the problem is in thinking we must always be ready to give, because IT IS BETTER TO GIVE than to receive. Do you follow? This little ditty implies that I must always have something to give, lest I ever be in a position to receive. Perhaps this is the reason that I have seventy bottles of wine, socks that don't fit me, and teething rings. This could explain my compulsion to purchase bird seed when it is on clearance, even though I have no birds and putting bird seed out in my neighborhood defies various covenants. My house is teeming with well intentioned purchases or acquisitions that are just standing by, waiting to be given at a moment's notice.

It is true that my friends appreciate my boyscout nature. You can be certain that whenever we travel together I will have the ibuprofen, the lotion, kleenex, bobby pin or quarter that you need. However, it recently dawned on me that it is just a tad unreasonable for me to take a condom with me on a business trip away from my husband, lest someone else need one.

You might be surprised to learn that no one has yet asked me for this valuable and well-traveled commodity in my five years of work travel

Perhaps the examples in your life are closer to reasonable. You have artificial sweetener on hand at home in case someone drops in who needs it, except you haven't had a soul in your home in the last five years requesting an artificial sweetener? You are equally as compelled as I am to obtain every last tiny, crappy hotel soap that has ever crossed your path even though you have yet to use one and you're starting to run out of space in your closet for unused soap (that guests might use if you ever had guests who wanted to use their own individual bar of soap).

What hole in my life am I trying to fill with tiny soaps?

What hole are you trying to fill with tiny soaps?

This is the blessing and curse of this yama. Non-grasping is what we're going for, and yet, we can't grasp for it. We must work towards placing what is clenched tightly in our fists into the open begging hands of the world, both figuratively and literally. Stop taking what you don't need. Start clearing out one thing every day that no longer serves you, whether it is an idea, a habit, or a million tiny soaps. Use them, or at least stop allowing them to use you.

It is better to give than to hoard, to keep, to hold tightly.