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    Effulgence (and Practicing Gratitude)

    ByElizabeth

    This morning I walked up to Cultivate the City with a neighbor. I am going to try more fruit this year–I found a spot for a passion fruit vine; I will put strawberry towers on the sleeping porch; I may put in a golden raspberry; the Concord grape is looking promising. Meanwhile, around the neighborhood, the cherry trees are in full blossom.Image of cherry tree in full bloom against blue sky

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    “You Who Choose to Lead Must Follow,” Argentinian Tango, and the Dance of Shiva and Shakti

    ByElizabeth

    On Friday night, Professor Douglas Brooks offered a satsang that was hosted by District Kula. One of the attendees, who said that she did no yoga, but taught Argentinian tango, wanted to know about what she had heard of yoga talking about the dance of masculine and feminine because that’s what tango is all about.

    Douglas gave a quick overview of the idea of the tattvas as a foundation for an answer to the tango dancer’s question. As part of this background, he discussed the numerological aspect of the tattvas, saying that Shiva and Shakti relate like this:  one is two becomes three becomes five. The two must separate, and the space between them makes three and teaches us the one.  Because of the spaces between, we do not have one to two to four, but two (one because inseparable) to three to five.  We know the one only when we know two, and the one is therefore part of three.   (“Lovely dance of numbers; that makes perfect sense,” I thought, having a happy geekfest in my own mind.  “I’ll enjoy pondering how that might be an explanation for there being five top tattvas and not six or four and wondering whether I had even begun finding an understanding, even though what Douglas was talking about is something I have been contemplating for years in various ways and contexts.)

    Douglas then led into a description of the inseparable, inextricably intertwined nature of Shiva and Shakti.  “It is like that in tango,” the dancer interjected at multiple points.  “The better the leader, the more he is listening to the follower, thus allowing the follower to be the leader.”  Each time Douglas refined his response, the dancer offered something else about her experience with tango.  “Right, when they are dancing well, the man takes on some of the characteristics of the feminine, and the woman that of the man.  The difference between them starts to dissolve into the dance itself.”  Her eyes lit up, and she bubbled up with speech, in her excitement at finding in the tantric philosophy what appeared to be an explanation of what she experiences in the tango.

    The tango dancer and the yoga texts assign specific roles and attributes to the masculine and the feminine, and we tend to fall into that tradition when we discuss the tantric philosophy.  As much as the traditional tantrika or tango dancer might say that the masculine and feminine (when embodied) take on/have characteristics of each other, they have assigned masculine/feminine roles to play, and they are still stuck in a paradigm that keeps real humans in assigned roles.  These assigned roles impact how male and female are permitted to act in society, regardless of any recognition that who is actually, rather than technically, in charge may be in flux on different levels.

    The paradigm of tango dancing kept Friday night’s discussion within the context of typical and rigid roles for male and female, but I do not think that is a required way for us to think of how to bring the tantric yoga philosophy into our lives.  When we think of the tattvas as abstract principles, we do not have to privilege in our lives or own thinking the traditional divide between male and female roles as the basis for understanding the play of opposites (though to be true to the text in its historical context we do).

    I believe that the dance of shiva and shakti is as much about the dance between the universal and multiplicitous individuality as it is about the specific play between masculine and feminine in assigned roles.  The one is two.  The two (one) separates into three; when the two separate we discover the one (two), and after that the three becomes five.  I remember a friend saying in our college days, “There are three of us in it:  there is me, there is my loved one, and then there is our relationship.”  To be in the world and relate fully, the tattvas (and dances with partners of either sex) teach us that two are inseparable by being in relationship.  By recognizing the appearance of separation, the dance of Shiva and Shakti tattvas shows us the relationship — the oneness.  Thus, all consciousness is one, but two, and then three, and yet still one.

    How this informs me, other than enjoyable thoughts in my head, is that when we try to be spaciously and openly aware in all of our relationships of this elemental play of individual identity, separability, and indivisible unity, we see the other in ourselves and ourselves in the other.   This helps much to inspire friendliness, understanding, and compassion.  It also helps bring understanding of the leader when we are following, which it makes it easier to follow with discrimination, but without judgment.  When it is our turn to lead, it helps us know that for those who might choose to or be required to follow us for some particular project, that to lead well we must listen to the followers.  As the the Grateful Dead taught me decades ago, “you who choose to lead must follow.”

  • Minding My Own Business–Sort Of (and Seva)

    ByElizabeth

    When I was walking to work this morning, I saw this man stretched out on the grass in Stanton Park. It was drizzling, but pleasant. I did not feel any need for an umbrella. The man was definitely breathing, and he had put some cardboard on the ground before lying down. Had it been sunny and had he been lying on a bench or a spread out blanket instead of on wet grass, I would not have wondered at all whether he might need help.

    Would he want “help” that would include waking him up? Would it serve to call emergency services when his lying out in the rain did not seem like an immediate matter of life or death, though did raise questions about whether the man was ok? If all calling did was trigger police waking him and telling him to move actually have made things better for him? Because I could not answer these questions and because he had made himself the pallet of cardboard–leading me to think he had chosen the spot rather than fell, I decided to leave him be. I cannot know whether that was the right thing to have done.

    This debate in my head did raise questions about the conundrums of offering charity and service and whether and when we can ever serve selflessly, unclouded by our own preconceived notions of what is right and good.

    Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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    “Stabilize the Periphery; Move from the Core” (and blogging)

    ByElizabeth

    For the past week, I have been contemplating, practicing with, and teaching the axiomatic sequenced alignment principle of Anusara yoga “stabilize the periphery; move from the core.”  It means exactly what it says.  We stabilize the outer edges of the pose (feet, hands, head) and move from our core to get into the full expression of the pose.  For example, have you noticed how often the yoga teacher will have you put your hand on your hip when you are first in a standing pose and working the alignment of the foundation and core body?  Only when the central alignment has been reached, do you extend the arm and hand to complete the full form of the pose.  The reason Anusara teachers are taught to use this technique is that it stabilizes the periphery, so that the students can concentrate on the major alignment and then move from the core.

    Off the mat, this principle means to me that we start with our overall goals and needs and the essential principle of trying to move from and respond in the highest before getting distracted by the details of whatever is going on.  As I contemplated and taught the principle this week, I found myself thinking and talking about lots of different examples on and off the mat.  The central idea was there, and then as the classes progressed, depending on the level and the students, I wove in illustrative examples that made sense with what was happening in the classes.

    I found myself struggling, though, to write about this principle.  I had too many different things I wanted to explain about how it helps in yoga asana both as an important therapeutic practice and as a way to expand one’s core abilities.  A plethora of examples of how it works off the mat came to mind.  To write coherently when one has limited space/attention span of reader/number of words, one has to first stop getting into the details and start with the central theme.  Then it is necessary to flesh out the central theme with very select details that enhance the understanding of the central premise.  The writer chooses not to scatter the central theme into so many details that the central point is obscured or lost in the details.  My struggle to write about this principle served then as a perfect example to myself about the very principle about which I was choosing to write.  I needed to “stabilize” the details, so that I could express coherently the core principle.

    Do you have good examples of how applying this principle has helped you on or off the mat?

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