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.
It started before yesterday’s Tuesday night class. There was a piece of fuzz next to one of the students mats–a schmutz. We then decided that the yoga outfit, especially the old raggedy one, was a schmata. Tonight, I was in an uncharacteristically silly mood. With birds falling out of the sky, fish washing up on the shore, and the Republicans taking back “control” of the house, I could weep or I could find the laughter in small things. Tonight, with a practice theme of the Anusara’s “first principle” — opening to grace — I spontaneously and giddily came to the latter.
I mentioned the idea of yiddish for yogis, and the class took off. We were all women tonight, so it was “yoga for yentas.” The word one utters when going into the first forward bend of the practice, is of course, oy, which can be lengthened to oy vey is mir. When we are truly opening to grace, we are kvelling; when we are noticing our aches and pains and forgetting to move towards the good, we are then kvetching.
Just FYI, I learned after doing a cautious internet search before posting this blog entry, that it turns out that the phrase “Yiddish Yoga” has been trademarked. I am pretty certain we can still have fun talking about using yiddish vocabulary words in yoga class without violating any laws, though it has been over 20 years since I took class in copyright and trademark law. So feel free to think of your favorite yiddish word and how it should be used in yoga class. You never know how it will enhance your practice, for whom it will bring a smile or a laugh, and what other thoughts might arise. I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a yiddish equivalent for satcitananda, any more than there is an English equivalent for weltanschauung or schadenfreude, or a French word for sandwich, but at least one student wants to give it a try.
It was gray when I woke and mostly gray—though not raining most of the day. For a few fine minutes the sky called me to watch.
Some of the teachings hold themselves out as truest or best. That may indeed be accurate for the one offering the teaching. But most are not for everyone.
When I walked out of the back of the hotel through the pool area just after day break, one of the pool side assistants was out getting things ready for the guests. “Windy,” he said, as I was wrapping and knotting my meditation shawl around my neck into the face of a strong breeze coming from offshore. “But look,” I replied, pointing to the sun rising over the ocean, “it’s so beautiful!”
“I see it every morning,” he answered, partly with a shrug of weariness and partly with a grin of delight. I guessed he was in his mid 50s–hard for me to tell, his skin was so leathery from the sun. Probably an old stoner surfer was my thought, and the shrug of resignation was for the fact that taking care of the lounge chairs and umbrellas for endless legions of tourists was what he needed to do to eat and still be with his dearest love–the sea and the sun. The smile was for the sun and the sea itself and to be able to share their beauty once again with someone who is seeing them with fresh delight.
During the course this week of study, we spent time discussing the Shiva Sutras. The second sutra–jnanam bandahah–literally means “knowledge is bondage.”
“Why do we automatically assume bondage is a negative?” John asked us at one point. Any time we make a choice, we are to some extent binding ourselves because we are, by making a choice and being limited by space and time as we are in this human form, forgoing other possibilities.
The Sutras also say that knowledge is freedom. Though the sanskrit words are different for the knowledge that binds (limited knowledge) and knowledge that leads us to freedom (highest knowledge or knowledge of the divine), using logic equations, one could say that if knowledge is bondage and knowledge is freedom, then at some level, bondage, too, is freedom.
If the pool side attendant regards himself as being utterly beaten down by his job, feels stuck with drudgery because he had nothing else he could do to survive, and then forgets about the beauty surrounding him, that would be an example of knowledge constricting or limiting us, putting us into bondage that takes us away from spirit.
If, on the other hand, he looks at the ocean each morning with joy in his heart and recognizes that he chose his job to be able to be with the ocean and sun every day, that would be knowing that bondage can actually free us (in our limited form) to dwell in and from the heart.
What the tantric yoga and meditation practices that come out of such teachings as the Shiva Sutras are designed to do, is to help us find the freedom in our limitations, to make choices in our associations and actions — our bindings — that lead us to love and wonder rather than disappointment and fear.
What do you choose?
Paul Muller-Ortega, who teaches philosophy and meditation from similar roots to those that inform Anusara yoga, spoke yesterday of the differences between the path of the renunciate and the path of the householder. He strongly stated that neither path was better. What he suggested, though, was that a householder will better flourish practicing yoga designed for the householder rather than attempting to practice renunciate techniques, while still staying in the householder path.
What does this mean? I think it means that we become unhappy and conflicted if we try attempt the practices of the path of complete non-attachment and transcendence of body and mind while we are still very much staying in society and responsible for family, work, and citizenship. The tantric, householder path, including that of the Shaivite tradition of Kashmir and Abhinavagupta, offers practices that enable one to live liberated in society, instead of suggesting that the only way to true liberation is to reject and transcend work, family, and community. In yoga terms, the householder path is one that realizes moksha (liberation), through ardha (physical and material well-being), kama (love/relationship), and dharma (right work/path) rather than by transcending them.
Taking the householder path does not mean just indulging. It still requires sensitivity, dedication, discrimination, and alignment. I think it may be even harder than renunciation. I know it is easier for me to just stay alone and practice, for example, than to bring yoga off my mat to how I work, consume, relate to others, and participate in society. The householder path, though, is the one for me.