If you don’t like where you are, change it. You’re not a f*cking tree. Okay, I might have added one point there. But those words are all too necessary as I come into a season of feeling antsy and self-critical. A season of leaning into the overcritical opinion that I’m just coasting through the motions of life, but with a simultaneous awareness that I could totally change my situation at any time (how beautiful yet grossly privileged). I am not a tree. I am not stuck (emotionally or physically). I literally moved my entire life across the globe fifteen months ago. I am not completely limited. But I am weirdly frustrated. It's the realization that I don’t have the familiar daily grind; the structure of working full time for five years (summers included) in education. As much as my rebellious, travel-without-an-itinerary free spirit wants to shove this reality away, the reality is that (professionally) I dig structure. I might be late to a friend’s dinner party, but I will always be the one 10 minutes early to my job or a doctor’s appointment. I guess my high school choir director’s reminder that “early is on time and on time is late” annoyingly stuck (thanks, Mr. Cahoon). When I worked as a counselor in Brooklyn, I kept a small spiral notebook with me wherever I went. I made checklists. I legit drew little boxes next to the reminder to call a guardian or input a mediation case note (sometimes up to 3 or 4 mediation case notes in one day--for one student)…and felt NOT OKAY if all those little boxes weren’t checked off before I left for the day. And now I’m here. Living in the Middle East. Living in a city that was settled only 16 years before the U.S. Declaration of Independence was adopted. I'm a two hour flight from India and a two minute walk to my choice of Starbucks or a Seattle's Best. I don't have an 8 hour work day. Weekends are often work days. I’m here, trying to wiggle my way back into education (which has been a maze of frustration, to say the least) while I explore/deepen/share all things yoga in the meantime. It’s weird. There is no immediate answer or concrete plan. It’s lonely sometimes. But it’s a healthy opportunity to go hard, uproot this false feeling of being stuck, and set a higher bar of expectation by myself and for myself (and definitely plan another trip to India)--all things that will undoubtedly shape me in more ways than I know. .
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I have to express some full on, sprint Rocky-style-to-the-top-of-the-stadium-stairs gratitude for the inspiring folks in my four-week Intro to Yoga workshop (last class is tomorrow and I am not emotionally prepared), the Charity Sun Salutation class last Friday, and the Releasing the Grip workshop last Saturday.
Such diverse bodies, ages, abilities, and stories. But a unified curiosity to explore and understand themselves a bit better. A shared willingness to unravel, self-heal and be a bit vulnerable. And, in turn, creating an even safer space for me to unravel, self-heal, and be a bit vulnerable. Because these are innate abilities that we all possess. I’m overwhelmed by the community here in Abu Dhabi. So, thank you. Thank you for making this somewhat disjointed, sterile city feel like home. Namaste. Truly. I honor the place in you where the entire universe dwells. I honor the place in you that is of light, love, truth, peace, wisdom, and action. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are one. Drip. Drip.
Two drops of sweet sweat journey, one right after the other, off the tip of my nose and connect with my yoga mat, expanding in various directions; my personal Rorschach sweat-blot. Snowflake maybe? Wait, my drishti. I turn away from my snowflake and bring a soft, focused gaze back to my extended upper arm. Exhale. Inhale, come up to stand. I look over at the yogini next to me. Beautiful, serene face. Effortless form. I wait for my mind to make its conclusion of thought or feeling based on what my eyes absorbed. But there is just one thought: sacred solidarity. After 28 trips around the sun, I have created & proudly sustained a vulnerable space in my heart for the women in my life. I have created friendships where reciprocity is expected, not hoped for. Instead of diminishing them or comparing myself to them, I am inspired by and rejoice with them. This has been no small endeavor. My stomach still tightens with a great awareness that, out of uncertainty & a lot of unwillingness, I spent so many years bullying my vulnerability....and I lost the potential magic of brilliant female friendships in the process. I know this isn’t completely my fault. I know that the patriarchal mass media-driven world is fueled by a culture of comparison. We are not taught to be soft; in speech or in form (this goes for both men and women). So I make a choice every day to celebrate my vulnerable heart. I will not apologize for it. I will look at the woman next to me, sitting radiantly in full lotus, and I will celebrate her. I will uplift her. I will thank her. “The body can only gradually accept an asana.” -TKV Desikachar
Gradually. Synonyms include: slowly, steadily, gingerly, progressively. Another word synonymous with gradually is unspectacularly. Most days, my yoga practice feels pretty unspectacular. I show up. I bring breath and movement together to make various shapes. I give my body the choice to explore and, over time, gradually accept these shapes as second nature. And then I sit, ruminating in the unpredictable aftershocks of asana, attempting to remain aware and conscious of my breath. Cooling inhalations through my nostrils invigorate trikuti (my eyebrow center). Warm exhalations soften my shoulders. Sometimes I feel grounded. Other times I feel a bit uneasy. I sit with all of it. I rub my hands together vigorously, generating an immediate heat. I place my heated palms tenderly over my eyes. Opening them, I allow the warm heat to enter while gazing deeply into the swirling world inside my palms. I deepen my breath. I slowly lower my hands. I thank myself for showing up. However gradually, my yoga practice is healing me. Along the way it is also revealing me. Slowly. Steadily. Usually unspectacularly. But always at a pace I can lovingly accept. In my yoga class last week, I spoke about mandalas, specifically the sand mandala. Meaning “circle” in Sanskrit (another translation is “a world in harmony”, which I really like), mandalas are highly detailed and symbolic forms of ancient art. They represent layers of the universal divinity. In Tibetan Buddhism, monks meticulously craft these intricate mandalas with colored sand. The process can take days or even weeks and is seen as a powerful aid in meditation and healing. Mandalas are crafted with intense compassion and positive intentions. But unlike the mandalas which are painted or made three dimensional, sand mandalas are destroyed upon completion. Crafted with compassion and then destroyed upon completion, symbolizing the impermanence of all phenomena.
When I first witnessed a sand mandala being destroyed (a word that has such a negative connotation…so maybe I’ll say deconstructed or dismantled instead?) it was quite heartbreaking. That’s not supposed to happen! It took so much time and fastidious effort! At least take a few pictures! And I defaulted to these thoughts because the act is so unfamiliar in a Western driven world where the outcome is everything. And not just achieving an outcome, but marinating in it. Most of us identify and are defined by our list of achievements, instead of the skills we cultivate in the journey to them. At our superficial, socially constructed core we need to experience and own the outcome. But it doesn’t stop there; by reinforcing the notion that results are everything we sprint past the process (I wrote about this theme of missing the process a month or so ago). We minimize it. And by doing so we minimize ourselves & life becomes more about execution rather than adventuring. Beyond the symbolic notion of dismantling impermanence, some sand mandalas are also swept into bodies of water as a blessing; an offering of compassion to the world. That is also quite powerful. If all our tangible manifestations or results were swept away today, how would that make us feel? How would it make us feel to offer up our results to others? How would it make us feel to offer up to the world? I remember speaking with a friend of mine about his thoughts on being a father one day. He said, “All I can do is teach my child everything I possibly can, and then hope that one day they will teach me more than I could ever imagine.” So, as Rumi suggested, I will continue not to gather but to burn becoming light and heat and help and then melt. . "When you have more than you need, build a longer table instead of a higher fence." ....and yes. I am aware of the political relevance. . "I must create an atmosphere in my classes in which each student can find his or her own way to yoga. I have to realize that each of my students is not the same person today as they were yesterday, and not at all the same as when they came last week... .....Yoga serves the individual, and does so through inviting transformation rather that by giving information." TKV Desikachar, the son of Sri T. Krishnamacharya, developed and emphasized a therapeutic style of hatha yoga which took into account a person's unique and specific physical condition. I am grateful for his honest & healing approach to the practice---a passion which has undoubtedly helped illuminate and bolster inclusive conversations around the importance of trauma informed/sensitive yoga. His heart will be missed. . I awoke to the orange hue of the rising sun, its glow tiptoeing forward across my pillow. The floor to ceiling bedroom windows welcomed the warm first light of morning. I sat up and placed my bare feet down on the cool floor. First sensations. I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table and took a sip, its stimulating downward voyage bringing immediate comfort. With soft eyelids I walked over to the two small, uneven wooden tables in the corner of the room.
My altar. I sat down and lit a candle. Taking in the first fragrant note of sandalwood I smiled lovingly at my two tables, each adorned with things of beauty: an envelope of letters, a tea bag string, mala beads gifted from the wisest of women, dried flowers, a Khata, dearest Saraswati, striped stones from a lost city, and a homemade heart made of orange clay with a typed out message: K- 4ever moving towards the uncomfortable. -B Tomorrow marks one year of living in the Middle East. A year of choices. Desire over doubt. Action over assumption. Ritual over results. But mostly, love over everything. On my mat today I am, with the fullest heart, thinking of each person who has helped guide & support my arrival to this moment. Gratitude isn’t strong enough of word. So, to each one of you, I promise to continue moving towards the uncomfortable. There will be moments of sitting in stillness, reflecting on my growing acknowledgement of the unpredictable unfolding of the world as it is. But there will also be an ever-growing recognition that my yoga practice is a privilege. My practice, however personal to me, is blossoming within a billion dollar global yoga industry which is hell-bent on uprooting and repackaging “yoga” for corporate gain. For me, and for yoga teachers who look like me, there is a choice. There is a choice to show that yoga means more than balancing on our hands (asana is only one of the eight limbs of yoga, after all). Balancing on our hands won’t overturn systemic injustices. Saying ‘love & light’ is beautiful, but without intentional action those words just become empty rhetoric to folks experiencing true oppression and hardship. We can’t dwell in the realm of maya (illusion). This altar is my reminder. I want to put love & light authentically out into the world, not just on tank tops and following a hashtag. . "Look deeper through the telescope and do not be afraid when the stars collide towards the darkness, because sometimes the most beautiful begins in the chaos."
Yoga does not reject chaos. Yoga does not judge chaos. The breath navigates us through the chaos. Always our breath. Always our choice. . |
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