Durga Vahana Vyaghra


I came home last night from my cousin’s funeral to discover that the temperature in the house was 83F (it is now up to 86F). The air conditioning system, which had been serviced last week, is now not working at all. The repair person is not scheduled to return until Friday afternoon, and the forecast is for blazing heat. I have two choices: (1) I can get into a dither about whether the work last week in fact broke the system and get stuck in suffering from the heat; (2) I can be grateful that I have electricity, which is giving me ice and fans. I can wear comfortable clothing, eat lightly, and do yoga practices suitable for the heat.
I am choosing the latter (I am not long from the period of years when being too hot on an irregular, but consistent basis is both inevitable and beyond my control, so this will be good practice). I may not be able to control the heat, but I can, to some degree, control my reaction. Part of controlling the reaction is just accepting the situation with equanimity and grace, so that my mind and emotions do not get heated. One of the reasons we do strenuous and challenging poses on the mat is so that we can get progressively more skilled at feeling comfortable with where we are, even when mind and body are taken out of our comfort zone by forces beyond our control.
By keeping my reaction cool, I actually physically am noticing the heat less. As I will not be able to cool off much after practice, I will be choosing practices that are still and inward and take advantage of how warm are my muscles, rather than engaging in exertion that will make it hard for me to get cool afterward. Balanced and cooling breathing practices, meditating on stillness, and sweet hip openers and forward bends are definitely in the picture.
My cherished friend Cynthia for who there will be a memorial service on Wednesday often said that her favorite time of year to garden was winter. She was not only a passionate gardener who had established an exquisite ornamental garden over a period of decades, but also a scintillating intellect. In winter, of course, she would tend the houseplants and have flowers from forced bulbs, but that was not “winter gardening;” it was just having some beauty in the house. Winter gardening for Cynthia meant sitting in her nice warm house, reading stacks of gardening books and seed and plant catalogs and planning ways to enhance and develop the garden come the new growing season. Cynthia did not practice yoga or meditation although she asked about yoga and exhibited her habitual, engaged and polite intellectual curiosity about my practice out of friendship.
After I took care of the house plants this morning, I sat down with a gardening book and read it while I had my morning hot drink and thought of Cynthia saying this was the best gardening time. This time last year, I was marveling that I had chard to eat from the garden and espousing the joy of sprouting indoors in order to have fresh food year round (still sprouting and recommend it to all especially this harsh winter). This year I cannot even see the containers (see picture below after five days of melting and before another coating to come this afternoon), much less any plants outside, so spring gardening will be a completely different experience than it was last year. I go back, then, to my books. I read about edible container gardening for climates where spring starts later than is typical for DC. I think about what I can start indoors and whether I will want to start with different plants. In the space of time when I cannot actually garden, I develop my intellectual knowledge so that my garden skills and experience can still develop. When I am out in the garden this spring, digging in the dirt, watching things grow, I will experience with joy in my very being the subtle and not so subtle differences from a dry, warm winter and a cold, snowy one throughout the whole growing season.
This pulsing relationship among practical experience, study, and joyous understanding is our true practice (sadhana). Steady practice includes not just actual doing of postures and meditation, but also repeated study for enhanced intellectual understanding of what we are experiencing (vikalpa samskara), and joyous, non-intellectual contemplation with heart and spirit (bhavana) of the burgeoning of combined experience and study. When we appreciate on the mat and off that there will be times for practical experience, times for study, and times just to rest with a rich fullness of contemplation of the fruits of experience and study for the joyous recognition of beauty and consciousness, then we will never be empty. We will not suffer from the confinement of a blizzard or an injury because we will know that it is time to shift our focus from being on the mat or on our meditation cushion or out of the garden (or whatever it is that is your work or hobby or course of study) and more to studying what others can teach us in words or demonstration. We will know that the more we enhance our practice with both practicum and book learning, the more we can move towards an ever refined and steady abiding of whatever is our passion in our hearts.
Unless you have to wear a uniform, there is probably a little flexibility in what you can wear to work (aren’t we lucky to live such a bountiful lifestyle that this is a dilemma). A tie might be required, etc, etc. You can always choose, at a minimum, to have clothes that fit properly and allow some freedom of movement.
My choice to be comfortable rather than “lawyerly” in my office attire except for special occasions possibly has impacted my career, but it is salutory for me on a day-to-day basis to wear clothing that is appropriate for the weather (when we dress inside for the weather outdoors, we need to use less energy for heating and cooling; wouldn’t it be great if we could get everyone to do this) and allows for freedom of movement (this includes shoes).
When I pick out my clothing, I want to be able comfortably take a full breath (think waistline), easily raise my arms overhead or interlace my hands behind my back (how do the shoulders, chest, and back fit), do uttanasana (coverage, waist line, tightness around the legs, back, and shoulders), and run for the bus (tightness of clothes and shape of shoes; forget heels). If you need to wear a jacket, there still is nothing stopping you from wearing a shirt underneath that allows for free movement nor having the jacket properly fit.
There are a lot of ways our choices can enhance freedom rather than constrain it. Choosing to wear comfortable clothing (which usually is better able to be cleaned at home than at the dry cleaners — helps the environment) and comfortable shoes (which helps avoid bone deformation and possible surgery — good for you; good for the environment), is just one of many.
MoveOn just posted this Howard Zinn quote on Facebook: “Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience. Our problem is that people all over the world have obeyed the dictates of leaders…and millions have been killed because of this obedience…Our problem is that people are obedient all over the world in the face of poverty and starvation and stupidity, and war, and cruelty. Our problem is that people are obedient while the jails are full of petty thieves… (and) the grand thieves are running the country. That’s our problem.”
It spoke my mind and resonated with what I wrote about yesterday with regard to how to be open to yoga’s invitation to practice humility without ceding power to authoritarian structures. This quote is spurring me to think aboutPatanjali’s eight-limbed path of yoga, and particularly the niyama (observance) of ishvara pranadhana (surrender). I don’t see why a true, radical yogini could not simultaneously surrender to the mysterious outrageousness of being while still being appropriately disobedient to authoritarian structure. But maybe that is because I was raised a Quaker; there’s quite a bit of overlap between some of the tantric yoga principles and the teachings of Quakers.
A number of years ago, I attended a week-long workshop with Rod Stryker. He invited us to meditate on absolute stillness — cara sthira — meditation. Sitting comfortably, still the skin, the muscles, the bones. Draw the attention to stillness. The breath and heart will still move, but the concentration is on stillness rather than on any movement. Rod Stryker discussed the next day the challenges of this meditation, especially for those who are intellectual, who enjoy being active in the mind. I found it difficult at the time and even dreamed about the issues the meditation brought up for me. Meditating on stillness can be very challenging in a way that meditating on a mantra or the breath would not necessarily be.
I believe the origin of the meditation comes from the principle of sthira being the absolute unmovable, the essence of being (not dissimilar to Kant’s unmoved mover). We invoke pure stillness, pure potential out of which movement comes because that is part of our essence and a place where we can rest our spirit. See, for example, the Srimadbhagavatam.
I discovered absolute joy in this meditation a couple of years after I learned it. I was suffering from a severe sinus infection and bronchitis simultaneously; I joked that I was fine as long as I didn’t breath through either my mouth or my nose. In the midst of my suffering, I remembered the teaching. For a few days I stayed in the meditation for hours at a time. I found the place where I did not really need the breath. Enough came to survive, but I forgot about wondering how to breath or finding a place for it or my struggles with it. In the stillness, there was space and peace and supreme bliss. Ever since then, I have chosen this form of meditation when I have a cold, a sinus infection, or other challenges with breathing. Meditating on the breath, obviously, will not be soothing when breathing is a struggle. But when even breathing is a struggle, peace can be found in complete stillness.