We have a choice. We can emphasize what we don’t think enhances life (for example, an over-sized, gas-guzzling, suburban SUV with city plates) or we can focus on an exquisite reflection of beauty. That we see what optimally would better be changed or shifted to be more fully aligned with nature or that we speak of it does not mean that we are not seeing beauty or embracing the whole of life with love.
Last week I chose not to read details of the state of the environment, the financial markets, the wars, the budget, etc, etc. I knew from reading emails requesting political action and contributions general information, including what happened in the special elections, the actions in the Senate on financial regulatory reform, and the aftermath of the oil leak in the Gulf. Now it is Monday morning, and I am back.
As I saved for later the reference to this talk on derivatives, I thought about John Friend having said at a retreat several years ago that we should take the time to read the parts of the newspaper that do not directly interest us as yogis. He suggested that we should take the time to read news about finances, politics, and global affairs. I remember thinking at the time that since I already read that part of the news with engagement, I’d have to start reading the sections about sports, television, and cars. I actually try to do the latter on occasion, just to better understand those around me.
If we are to live in the world, we need to try and appreciate what motivates and impassions those around us, whether we agree with them on the surface or not. It is easy enough to say we should love everyone regardless of who they are and to do so at a very abstract level. The challenge is finding a loving space when we know the details, and we believe that the details point to a life that is not being lived in accordance with our ethics, our own surface wants, or how we envision the world. When we have a broader understanding of the details of why people believe and act a certain way, though, sometimes it is then easier to find compassion and commonality, because we start to understand that the different details come from the same elemental yearnings for worthiness, empowerment, and love.
I am writing this post as I sit on the Metro platform at Takoma, waiting for a train back to Union Station. There were already dozens of people waiting when I got here. I have been here for ten minutes or so, and there is no time posted on the board yet for the next train.
Some people are talking on their phones or socializing with each other. Some are pacing back and forth. Some look resigned. Some are going into tirades about the problems with Metro. Some are reading and have made themselves more or less at home where they are.
I sit cross-legged, basking in the sun, blogging for now, and if time permits also in my journal. I could be angry or impatient or annoyed, but it would not get me home any sooner. So I just find enjoyment of the waiting time with the materials at hand.
Although there are circumstances where physical pain or suffering cannot be avoided, yoga can help us find a greater sense of equanimity when we are challenged. As John Friend reminded us this week in a different context, “in a large part, it will be seen that the suffering is optional.”
I now approach Union Station. Perhaps when I get home I will supplement this post with appropriate citations to Patanjali. Or maybe I will play with the cats and pick some grrens from the garden for dinner.
When I pause to think about it–something I try to do consistently with the fruits of technology–it is an extraordinary marvel that I can be telling stories to the world from a little device I am holding in my hand, one that also has let me speak and exchange notes while I am away from home with friends, colleagues, and business connections.
What I cannot do (more likely because I haven’t yet learned how than it is not possible) is to be my usual careful self when posting entries. I have not done hyperlinks to attrbute my sources, nor have I spell-checked. At home, I would not hit the “publish” button without doing those things.
Under the circumstances of being away from my regular computer, my library, the ability to check my references, and to provide proper citation, but being brimful with enthusiasm for being with my teachers, colleagues, friends, and the practices while I am at the teachers’ gathering, it seems better to post than not, using the means at hand. I sacrifice some of my usual discipline to share the joy.
All of life is like that. We may have ideals of what is proper, what are our standards for appearance, for work, for sharing a meal or our homes. When circumstances limit our ability to meet our own standards, it is part of the yoga to see whether the standards are binding us or serving to help us better connect. I believe that we should always strive to be more precise, more technically accomplished, better able to convey a sense of grace and beauty. But that effort should not cut us off, bring us to a halt, disempower us, prevent accomplishment of things. Most of all, it should not deaden a sense of spontaneity of gesture–the part of art and relationship that reveals our true spark.
When I first got to my room on the fourth floor of the hotel, the airconditioner was straining noisily, and the room was very stuffy. To My great delight — the windows not only open, but have screen and look out onto an unveveloped tract of land with trees higher than my window. I immediately opened the windows and let in the smell of fresh air and the sounds of the forest. There is occasional car noise, but it is muffled by the sounds of wind and rain in the trees.
I thought this morning how often I end up in an office building or hotel where the windows do not open. That cutting off access to the realities of nature, of what is greater than our little world, in order to have a controlled climate seems like much of modern life.
Many I know do not even notice that the windows do not open. Others of us, see the windows and want to know what is outside and to be with the greater energies. We seek to oprn the windows and know. Those who are able and so moved and who are able — rare beings — leave behind the buildings and go entirely on the renunciate path. The rest of us who live the life of householders, seek to have windows that open and spend time each day breathing in the sweetness of what is greater.
I am on Amtrak heading to the Anusara teachers’ gathering in
Morrisville, NC. The train is surprisingly crowded and not surprisingly a whole different vibe than the train to NY.
By day we will be practing and gathering in a hall at a Hindu temple. The grounds are reported to be beautiful and welcoming. By night, those of us who don’t have local friends will be staying at hotels off the highway with cable TV that usually serve the visitors to the big university ball games and events. We’ll then all be driving back and forth to the venue and out to eat.
I find it of mild interest that I spend more time in cars and more time in a place with TV when I travel to study yoga than at any other time during the year.
says the man next to me with a slightly interrogative inflection, while we are both looking at a photo of Dylan taken by Alan Ginsberg at the show of Ginsberg’s photos at the Nat’l Gallery. He is a beefy guy with a crew cut, wearing chinos and a polo shirt. He looks like he’s maybe one of the thousands of police officers from around the country who are here for “Police Week.” Lots of police wives are taking a break from the demos and competitions to look at the impressionist and modern paintings from the Chester Dale Collection. Maybe he just got a little farther west than he had intended.
I smile at him in a way that I hope seems welcoming and open, yet does not actually convey agreement with his statement. I wonder how he felt about the photos ofd the Orlovsky brothers. I am at the exhibit on my lunch hour for the first of what will likely be a number of visits.
The Beats are an important part of my identity. My parents met in Greenwich Village in the late fifties — my mother dabbling as an artist, my father involved in peace activism, the places they frequented also frequented by the beats. My great Aunt H’s favorit book in those days allegedly was “On the Road.”
As a teenager, I relished and romanticized this part of my history. In so doing I read widely not only the writings of the Beats, but also what they were reading, which included the great Hindu and Buddhist texts. To want to discover the illumination of the Beats was to explore Eastern philosophy and mysticism and to meditate and practice yoga.
“No,” I thought to myself, “I’ve never connected the word ‘strange’ to Bob Dylan. Maybe when I get home I”ll play me some before I sit to meditate.”
Last night, after yoga class, I went with a couple of students to the new Italian restaurant at Eastern Market, Acqua al 2. I’d been shown the inside before it opened, but this was the first chance to go and eat. A long-time neighbor, yoga student, and friend is the mom of one of the co-owners and has known the other owner since childhood. The co-owners were both were raised in the District and have returned after college, along with many of their friends to live, and work, and be with family. I went to eat with the eagerness of knowing my friend and her family better and supporting them, more than for the purpose of needing to be one of the first to check out a new dining opportunity on the Hill, although that was certainly another pleasure.
As we planned the dinner (we have been awaiting the opening for some months and talking about going since then), I thought about how different it is to go to a business where I feel a connection to the proprietor or the workers. I felt more open to what would be there, more joyousness at its very existence, and a yearning to find it wonderful and be supportive. When the business is run by a stranger, or even more removed, some corporation whose duty is mostly to shareholders, the natural forgiveness for quirks that we have for those we like, welcome, and love is missing, and we ourselves miss out the essence of true relationship. Getting to share this new place with my friends was a superb reminder how important is community and how we can support it and cultivate it.
What a delight that, even as a NY-bred food snob, I can cheerfully recommend the restaurant. It is larger than most restaurants on the Hill, so it does not feel like a neighborhood-style Hill restaurant. but I think the neighborhood was ready for something larger. The atmosphere is lovely: communal seating in front near the bar for those who have forgotten to make reservation (yes, you already need them, unless you are coming after 9 [kitchen serves until 11]), spacious, pleasantly lit, comfortable tables, and a great mural on the outside, which transforms a concrete wall a foot along the side of the restaurant into a view of Florence.
We started with the “zuppa del giorno,” which yesterday in keeping with the unseasonably cool weather, was a warm bread and tomato soup that was a rich and flavorful concoction. Given the lateness of the hour, we didn’t have the entrees (though I’ve heard good reports). We shared at our table for three, the pasta sampler (for two), which was five different vegetarian pastas of the chef’s choosing, and the salad sampler (which you can get as all vegetarian if you ask). We each had different favorites of the pastas, but all were good and very classic in preparation and presentation. The salads were light and fresh, with an emphasis on bitter greens, which I like, and were an excellent foil to the rich pastas. The pastas came out one by one, giving an opportunity to have two or three bites to savor, with then a little wait in between for the next one. This was not a meal to be hurried; things come at a European pace. I was too full for dessert, but my friends insisted. The cheese cake is the kind that is more like mousse than the heavy American cheese cake and my companions raved. I had a fruit tart that was well-prepared — most of which I took home. I will enjoy eating it today after speaking on a telephone seminar with people I know are asking challenging questions.
The restaurant is still getting its rhythm. It was packed with lines out the door even at 8pm on a Tuesday night just two weeks after its opening, which is no doubt inviting the staff to live up to intense challenges. The food is sure to be good, and if you go with the generosity you would have for family and friends starting out on a new venture, you will have a delicious experience.
Note: Plenty of vegetarian options with the pastas and salads, but it would be harder to find vegan on the menu (given that it is a Florentine restaurant). My only wish based on last night’s meal, is that the restaurant would use more environmentally friendly containers for taking things home. Right now, it is using foil trays with a plastic cover, so if you anticipate bringing part of a dish home, try to remember to bring your own carry container.
I got caught up in something in the middle of the day today. By the time I could reasonably take a break (I did eat my lunch from home), it was too late to be able to get a real break. I then worked fairly late. By the end of the day, I really noticed the difference between a day when I have taken a walk, met a friend, sat at the Botanical Garden or the museum for even 15-20 minutes and this day, when I let myself get so tangled in the demands of work that I did not take a break.
I work better in the afternoon when I have taken a break, just as my work, my body, my digestion, my sleep, and my relationships are healthier when I practice consistently. I no longer need a reminder how important it is both to take a good break each day and to find time for practice. I am looking at this day, though, as a teaching lesson, an extra reminder of the importance of finding some delicious time to bring into the rest of the day.
Do you take a break to eat quietly or take a walk in the middle of your day? Can you notice the difference the days you do and the days you don’t? What about the weeks you practice and the weeks you do not? Does this not fire you up with resolve to be steadier in your practice and kinder to yourself?