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Plugging into the Source (on and off the mat)

ByElizabeth

John Friend talks of “plugging into the source” when we need more power to serve, to offer, to fulfill our responsibilities, and also to find our own connection to the greater consciousness in asana practice.  I understand this to mean to understand that we are not alone, that when we tap into the strength of community and spirit, we are empowered to do more.

In asana, as in anything else we do, I believe this means moving and acting with integrity and deep integration, rather than just powering through things for the sake of ego or other external goals.  This means softening and opening to a greater purpose before moving or acting (opening to grace).  We then use the other Anusara principles of alignment — especially muscular energy — to integrate muscle and bone into our core, so that we reach from an informed place of strength.

These principles help us stay healthy when we engage physically outside of ourselves, whether it is offering someone else a hand, lifting and carrying, gardening, or doing housework.  When we slow down and steady ourselves with purpose and then plug in by using our own power as leverage, we will not only be healthier ourselves, but will have more to offer.

Plugging into ourselves in this context means not reaching out before stabilizing ourselves, moving from the core not the periphery — not “telescoping” to some goal without staying grounded and steady.   To plug in mentally, we remember our ultimate purpose and stay connected no matter how diverse the issues.  To stay plugged in physically when we are doing physical activities off the mat such as gardening or housework, we start aligned and stay there and then use our own body as leverage, for example, bracing one arm against our side or thigh before using both hands together before moving, pulling, or shifting something.  If we can keep with this practice with whatever we are doing, we are not guaranteed to be free from injury, but we are much more likely to stay healthy and strong.

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    Poor Man’s Caviar

    ByElizabeth

    Last year, when it was dry and hot early, I had an extraordinary season of peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers.  This year, the peppers and cucumbers were not particularly abundant.  The heat came too late and the rain has been too inconsistent for them to thrive.  The eggplants, though, were ecstatic this year.  Every week brought at least two and sometimes four.  When cooking for one, it is easy to find two eggplants a week far too many.  It was a relief to go to Santa Fe, where I could eat seasonal vegetables that did not include eggplant.

    I was delighted, though, knowing I was about to host a party, to come home to five eggplants almost ready to be picked.  What better base for a potluck party dish than eggplant?  Knowing the crowd, I anticipate baba ghanoush by the bucketful; could not make that.  The tomatoes are not longer succulent enough for caponata (they must all become sauce); that was out.  I chose, then, eggplant caviar.  Not a bad pick.  What could be a better offering for a party in Washington DC at this time in history than what is often called poor man’s caviar?

    I do not know the historical basis for it being named poor man’s caviar.  It does not look like caviar.  Not really.  It does not taste like caviar.  You can put it on bread or crackers the same way you would serve caviar, but that certainly does not further the explanation.  It is, though, a delicious and festive dish that pretty much requires only having eggplant growing in the backyard (or a trip to the farmer’s market) and the time to take care of it.

    Eggplant caviar is a dish that reminds me that with only a little space and the willingness to provide nurture and pay attention for a season and to cook a simple dish slowly, I can experience what it is to enjoy and share little luxuries without being entirely dependent on money.  I am finding that comforting and encouraging.  (I do recognize that there are those for whom a little space and times are luxuries they cannot even imagine.  For me, choosing the simpler luxuries allows for more to share and offer.  Going entirely without comfort would not help much of anything.  As for sharing and giving, I certainly do hope those help.)

    Recipe (adapted from Thomas Keller’s Eggplant Caviar in “New York Cookbook,” Molly O’Neill)

    Take 3 to 5 eggplants, depending on size of eggplant and number of portions desired. Cut them in half, score the flesh and salt it.  Let the eggplants drain cut side down, weighted by a heavy plate or pan, for 45 minutes to an hour.  Rinse and squeeze out the eggplant.  Roast, cut side down, until very tender.  (In my convection oven, that’s about 25 minutes at 350F).  When cool enough to handle, scoop out flesh and chop coarsely.  Drain again in a strainer for 10-15 minutes.

    Meanwhile, wisk together olive oil, pressed garlic cloves, and dijon mustard to taste (to be local, you could use walnut oil, and it would taste excellent; I expect, however, that there may be party guests who are allergic to nuts).

    Squeeze out the eggplant pulp and mix it with the remaining ingredients.  Best if sits overnight or at least a few hours.  When ready to serve, adjust the salt and pepper.

    Variation Make with mushroom.  Skip right to roasting (or even just mince finely and saute until juices evaporate).

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    Sometimes

    ByElizabeth

    After I have been working and studying intensely, I sometimes find myself called to lie underneath the cats and read fiction.  Just because it isn’t hard work, doesn’t mean I won’t find treasures that further my explorations.  This bit, for example:  “Then he felt his heart floating again, sunlit and serene, impossibly heavy, impossibly light; he felt the earth itself balanced on his outstretched finger.”  Patricia A. McKillip, Alphabet of Thorn.

     

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    Lord Murugan and the Peacock Yoga Pants

    ByElizabeth

    A few months ago, I succumbed to the brilliant marketing at one of those yoga studio boutiques filled with enticing outfits that make one feel like part of the in crowd and bought a pair of leggings covered in an allover peacock feather print that made me think of Murugan whose temple we visited on the trip to South India and whose steed is a peacock.

    One of the stories about Murugan, who is Ganesha’s brother (Ganesha being the beloved elephant god and remover of obstacles), talks about a competition between Murugan and Ganesha for divine knowledge.  (Let’s leave aside for now the question of why a divine being would need to enter a competition to gain divine knowledge as too big a question for a blogger who has no academic or priestly expertise in the Hindu pantheon).  In the story, as I have heard it (and as described in the Wiki article that I have shamelessly linked to above, despite all the disdain one might appropriately have for one who cites to a Wiki article), Murugan loses because what he does is try to show off his prosaic prowess by tearing around the world three times.  Ganesha wins by quietly circumambulating with quiet worship Shiva and Parvati, the god and goddess, the essence of being, the pulsation of opposites.

    When we were out walking in the woods the other day, my friend ER took an incredibly insightful picture of me trying too hard to look like the yoginis who grace the magazine covers and can do the most magnificent asana.  The brilliance of the photo is its revelation of the empty ridiculousness of my posing like the  beauty I am not, and of pointedly demonstrating how neither wearing wild peacock pants, nor being able to do a tolerably deep backbend reveals anything to the self about spirit.  But perhaps it also shows, in its candid and ironic look at an all too human yogini, that like Lord Murugan, who despite of or perhaps because of his absolutely flawed nature is actively and devotedly worshipped, I in my laughable striving may still have in my human being something of the divine.  I can only hope.

    peacock pants

     

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