Find your body, resting in space. Find your breath in your body. Become aware of the fact that you are alive; your breath is the evidence of that.
So much has brought you to this moment. A collection of stories and experiences, culminating in your identity. We forget that we are constantly evolving. Millions of years of survival. Each breath is evidence of your ancestors. Your next breath is evidence that you want to survive. This energy of life is always there, moving you towards something. What is that something?
Meditate on your dharma--your divine duty--beyond the archaic duty of gender or the constructs of society; it is your purpose. A deep purpose. A Truth that moves not from ego, but from love. Love for yourself and, in turn, love for others. Filling and then giving from that overflowing cup.
Focus on making your yoga practice a practice that fills the cup of your dharma. Svadharma. A practice that supports & supplements how you want to live your life. With each breath a chance to move from a place of truth, love, and purpose—not ego or judgment or approval.
Before you open your eyes, maybe ask yourself: Why am I here? What’s most important to me in the deepest part of my heart? What would life look like yoked to my dharma? What would it look like to consciously move from a place of purpose?
A reminder that you don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to know. But seek. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna says it’s better to carry out your dharma imperfectly than to perfectly carry out another’s.
Rub your hands together, generating heat and place your hands over your eyes. Gentle open your eyes & feel the heat enter. Bring your warm palms to your cheeks, like a loved one holding your head in their hands. Finally, palms to your heart. Centering and offering. Thank yourself for showing up.
What does it really look like to show up for social justice? To show up for social justice in yoga?
What would it mean to voluntarily give up some of my privilege in order to make space for a bit more equity?
How much am I willing to risk in order to show that change needs to happen?
My layers of privilege (aka power) are stacked pretty high, permeating more parts of my experience than I will ever know. I only deviate in one perceivable way (woman). And that isn’t even the case within a Western Yoga context.
Currently I am financially and emotionally held and supported. Taking bigger risks and falling hard on my ass (again and again) should be the expectation. If I’m not continuously & uncomfortably speaking up (especially in a season of my life where I WILL BE OKAY regardless), then I’m a part of the problem. I can’t keep blaming systems without equally holding myself accountable.
And I need to turn the dial down any time I sense I’m doing it for my own satisfaction or self-gratification. Showing up for social justice is not and will never be about me. And I get that writing these words from and around my perspective is kinda, well, still about me to some extent. Damn. Is expressing this publicly just another white feminist excuse to heighten my visibility (if so, tell me…well…if you’re white maybe we listen first)? Or is it my space to express a bitty bit of vulnerability from unpacking and reflecting?
I guess a step is a step, but the convenience of contemplation still speaks for itself.
& revealing wholeness
& thank you to the two women yesterday who reminded me of the great power in spaces of sisterhood (& human hood, but my work is still sisterhood). I love you.
Privilege is the awareness that my discomfort is a choice. It is a place from where I voluntarily maneuver. The world is organized in many ways around my comfort and survival. Too many folks in marginalized bodies wake up every day without this basic privilege of choice.
So I choose to show up to discomfort because to not show up would be an act of violence, bolstering a veil of self-care without acknowledging that there cannot be unity & liberation without a capacity to be intimate with the suffering of all beings. It is spiritual. To have a spiritual practice without a fire towards showing up to the suffering of others is like the inhale without the exhale.
I have to hold myself accountable to my discomfort. My yoga practice is not & cannot be separate from my politics, my relationships, my access, my teaching, my bones, my spirit. And this reality makes me feel even more alive.
“Maintaining our spiritual practice is essential to our collective liberation.”
"In the contemplative yoga practices, we are asked to breathe, notice, and sit with the questions, deeply consider them, and create from them still more questions with 'stretch, resonance, and flexibility.' We must hold this responsibility dear, and not proceed breathlessly profitable in the modern yoga gold rush; as though there was a color blind, post-racial, post-colonial vacuum in which only yoga exists, forcing yoga into the shape of a perfect alibi for whiteness to persist."
// Roopa Kaushik-Brown
My love for yoga cannot be separated from my love for social justice work. It just can't. It would be body without mind & mind without spirit; fragmented and without wholeness.
And I'm grateful for that.
My darkness is also my dharma.
I am flawed, but learning.
I am compassionate, but sometimes complicit.
And this is my work.
This is my heart.
Thank you to those who understand or work to understand.
I am a healthy 29 year old woman. Well, I might have some spatial awareness issues (walking into shallow pools at brunch after only two cocktails, for example) which result in bruises in very weird places. But, looking me over, nothing worrisome. Yet at 29 years of age I have a deep fear of losing my vision. I have a deep fear of losing my ability to witness and absorb every hue of this life. Now this fear didn’t develop out of thin air. When I was 15 years old I went to the optometrist for a routine eye exam. I had never had any eye issues and I didn’t even wear glasses, but during the exam the optometrist (the wonderful Dr. Cleary) found a tear in the retina of my left eye. To this day, we’re not sure if it was congenital or trauma-induced (retinal detachment runs in the family and I had many not so pretty headers in soccer). Regardless, I was rushed from small town Plainwell, Michigan to Kalamazoo to Grand Rapids and finally to Detroit to see a retinal specialist. Side note: even as I’m typing this out, my hands are sweating and the whole thought of writing about this is not pleasant. But—pressing on.
The surgery to repair my retina was successful but, because it was noticed a little late in the game, half of the vision was lost in my left eye. A year or so later, a cataract developed and I had a voluntary surgery to replace the foggy lens (during spring break of my senior year, actually. Party on). At 18 years old, I had never broken a bone in soccer. I had never jammed a finger more than a handful of times in volleyball.
I have no allergies.
I’ve never had a cavity.
But I go to at least two ophthalmologists (different than optometrist) every year to examine, dilate my eyes, and make sure that all is well.
And today is the day. I hate it, and at the same time I recognize what a privilege it is to be able to do this. To take extra care. To be insured to do so.
It’s a human right to be healed.
It’s a human right to be well.
I’m sure I will be well.
And for folks who are able, please go get that full eye exam (dilation and all). And eat your carrots. Xo.
Can we please stop using yoga and mindfulness practice as an excuse to be idle, minimize, or disregard systems of oppression?
The spirit of mindfulness---the spirit of the practice---is not to be comfortable. There is this somewhat self-destructive mantra in society that happiness is the key. You’re supposed to be happy. You’re supposed to be content.
No. You’re supposed to be human.
For the privileged, mindfulness is not to witness (hear or read), acknowledge (or have a feeling), and then release (disregard) the reality of social injustice. The spirit of the practice is presence and full engagement with life in this moment. It is a shifting towards union. Union is driven by ethical compassion. Sincerity of being. Karuna.
As yogis and practitioners, it’s critical that we eventually move beyond our own space of experience. The narrative of our own suffering is valid, but it doesn’t exist in isolation.
If we turn inward to find peace and stop there, this withdrawal from the world is problematic. It’s a distraction. We turn inward to face our superficial habits & assumptions in order to be a focused & present participant in the reality of life.
It is powerful to pay attention.
The Buddha wasn’t just a wanderer in the forest.
Patanjali wasn’t an idealist.
Healing in the body can only happen through a healing of our culture.
So, yes. We sit. We close our eyes. We encounter suffering. But then we try and intensify our relationship with it. Non-attachment is not discarding thoughts & sensation; it is refining and releasing the superfluous in order to see what is really there and needs our attention. And then we move into the world with more sincerity and humility.
And if you’re still reading this please know that I am telling every word of this to myself. I am paying more attention because I am in a season of being too comfortable with the narrative of my existence. My privilege. I have not been paying enough attention. Living overseas in a manufactured bubble is a choice; it is not an excuse to disconnect from social action.
Starting with yourself is important, but it is just that---- a start.
After over an hour of shifting and shaking my physical form, aligning and synchronizing with breath as much as I can, I attempt a shape of stillness. I elevate my sitting bones and try to grow taller in my spine. Relaxing my shoulders away from my ears as I encourage my tongue to melt away from the roof of my mouth.
I take in the figure of creative Saraswati, sitting lovingly on my altar before I allow my eyes to close. Palms settling onto thighs. Taking a few moments to reflect. I reflect on the intention of that asana practice---you are divine, embodied love. Really, you are. Your sweat thinks so.
I reflect on the various shapes & creatures I channeled that morning; humble warriors, cats and cows, a dancer, a firefly, cobras, camels, the shaky tail feather of a peacock.
And then, compassionately, I acknowledge my efforts and settle inside this shape of stillness.
But stillness isn’t absolute. I can feel the aftershocks of the practice. The residue escaping my skin and vibrating on the surface like the few seconds after fingers leave the skin of a drum.
It’s a protective layer of sorts. Holding my form as I journey to the inner landscape.
Now I am in seated meditation.
Now I am in seated meditation.
I am absorbing the nutrients of the practice.
I am isolating the voice that listens more than it speaks.
Let the breath be natural. Delicate, as one of my teachers says.
Gazing softly at the dance of color and stars behind closed eyelids.
But even that can be a distraction.
I am aware. I am aware that I am aware.
That piece gets me every time. Evolution to the point of being aware of awareness.
Awareness of body parts. My thighs connecting to the mat. The tattoo on my left big toe. My ears that look exactly like my grandfather’s ears. My heart rate shifting as my breath softens. The hairs on my head.
This body that is mine even though my mind doesn’t dictate the rate of my fingernails growing or the date of the next blemish on my chin (despite all the water I drink and whole foods I eat).
This body I spent years shaming when all it did was show up. What the hell is that all about?
Awareness of these thoughts. Awareness of all the thoughts reinforced over time to manifest as identity. I am creating future experience through this moment.
Back to the breath.
Now I am in seated meditation.
Now I am in seated meditation.
Sitting like the Buddha.
Or am I already the Buddha?
This is the work today.
Thoughts from my latest Instagram post//@_katowens
Who do you follow for yoga?
What images do you seek out?
What images inevitably always show up?
What do the yoga bodies look like? Homogenous much?
Please don’t be mistaken. Yoga is an inclusive practice, but society doesn’t want that. Inclusivity means empowerment. Empowerment means confidence. Confidence doesn’t sell.
So, we get images of advanced asana defining and diluting the spiritual path. Look at your screen & then look around you in your next yoga class and ask yourself: how many people of color? Larger bodied folks? LGBTQ folks? Older communities or disabled bodies? You deserve to own your experience and your practice, but you aren’t stepping off your mat into isolation.
For me, svadyaya is a constant unpacking of my own privilege and my own story within the modern yoga framework.
The yoga industrial complex doesn’t want me to feel empowered.
I have much more to say on this, but I’m also aware that there are TOO MANY folks who look like me taking up space on this topic. Diversity in yoga is not my space to define. I am not in a marginalized body. My white, cisgender, able body has plenty of representation.
So I listen. Ask questions. Do the research. If I’m triggered or feeling defensive, I ask myself why.
If you're still reading & still curious, I invite you to lean into that. If you don’t know where to start (for yoga or in general…although “not knowing” is kind of its own issue in this age of google), I got you. Please check out these folks/groups on social media:
and so many more, I’m sure….in fact, help a lady out and add on with a comment. #yoga #socialjustice
I’ve been retreating from the uncomfortable lately. I haven’t written a blog post in months and I’m even finding it hard to journal random thoughts or reflections. There seems to be this unnecessary anchor of anxiety. I feel like every time I go to write that something profound must manifest off of the page. So, I don’t even entertain it. For years my writing was messy, but a critical part of my day
But now it’s just hard. Why is it so hard?
I’m writing this sentence after almost 40 minutes of staring, erasing, editing, and caffeine-ing.
I’m pissed because inspiration and an intense desire to investigate through writing just isn’t the norm right now. And it might shift tomorrow. And with Ramadan here (and things quieting down) I want…I feel this strong desire to patiently sift through the murky, cobwebbed spaces. Something is there. But it feels so dense (and empty) at the same time. But it’s important.
This post doesn’t sit well with me. But I’m sharing because I’m human and not everything is filtered, final, or clear.
And some days (or months) are harder than others.
But I won’t pack easy into the emptiness.
Holding out for the right medicine, I suppose.