Integration
Integration –Sowing the Seed, Tending to Growth How do you know when the practices you have done, on and off the mat, are transforming your life? Can you see and sense into the subtle and gross effects of the hours spent – in your relationships, in your sense of Self and worth, in the person you are becoming, in the beliefs and ideas renounced? Or does it still feel like practice is isolated and somehow different from daily life? I fondly remember stepping into the start of a 3-month Yoga intensive at Yasodhara Ashram. We were asked to reflect on what we were hoping to gain from participating in the course. I thought to myself, as someone who had been practising Hatha Yoga for over a decade, and daily, “I want to start to see the changes in my life” and that is what I said. There felt like a disconnect: I would start my morning practising, breathing, in prayer, and still my life felt disjointed. It was apparent in the way I carried myself, in my interactions with others; something wasn’t coming together, maybe I was doing it all wrong. The truth is, I wasn’t doomed; I was misunderstanding Yoga. Yoga is not something I do on my mat, it is a way of being in and with my world, and the world. I knew then I sincerely desired to live the practice; not as an idea or something I “do”, but a way of living. What is learned and the changes that happen will take on a life of their own, if we let them. It can seem scary, unpredictable, brimming with unknown variables. If we don’t fight tooth and nail to perpetuate what is familiar we might discover wonder and awe in the natural spontaneity of life and our place in it. Have you ever thought about it: What is the reason for your practice? Where do you aspire to see changes? What you do there and the way you live here; is there cohesion? How can unity become present and the apparent separations illumined? How do you live what you have learned and inspire others? The knowledge gained through personal experience to flourish and bloom, must take root. We are on the Earth; the teachings are a seed. Sow the seed, watered by your dedication and commitment and tend, with care, to what grows.
What is Yoga to You?
What is Yoga to You? When I say the word Yoga, what comes to your mind? Is it turning upside down in a headstand and trying to find balance? Warrior pose? A path of devotion that presents both challenges and victories? Is it study, of the Self and God, and what the difference might be between those two? Or perhaps it is reading scriptures, recitation of mantra, or breathing exercises. Maybe something else came to mind of what Yoga means to you and with reflection you might discover ideas that you hadn’t previously known you had. That, is a step. Before we embark on a journey, whatever that journey may be, it is often helpful to know, where am I going? What do I hope to receive, to cultivate, to refine in the process? How do I know when I have “gotten there”? How often, though, is that the case? Many come into Yoga with little understanding of what Yoga is really all about, or what gives it meaning on a personal level. It can change depending on who we are learning from, of what is being taught and the authenticity of the teachings, and of our willingness to explore and engage. All things considered, the experiences of what Yoga is has the potential to differ dramatically and if that is the case, than what really is Yoga? What is the aim of this practice? I’m not saying there are universal answers to questions such as these; perhaps rather the answers are more individualized and are meant to be dynamic, more like verbs in action. Reflection is one way to gather grist for the mill; a contemplative practice that evokes insight and intuition. When you know where you want to be going the Path becomes rich with meaning, alive, diverse. Questions such as what is the purpose of me being here? What makes my life become alive and me become alive in it? These can offer a sense of orientation when we may otherwise lack a compass and walk in circles. This compass guides from the inside so we move with purpose, intention, and ideals that reflect, as a mirror, if we match up with what we said wanted. In that way springs forth the wisdom of no escape, not being able to escape our own self and an invitation towards a ruthless, unprecedented, honesty. The path of Yoga is no different. To cultivate a sense, or at least a sincere curiosity, of what you think, what you desire from the practice can help reveal expectations, false beliefs, and personal and collective projections. Is Yoga not a path to Liberation? What, then, stands in the way of being liberated? I find, in my own exploration, it is ideas, attachments, outdated stories and narratives, and an erroneous identification of who I believe I am. To forget and to remember is a Divine dance of waking up. This question, what is Yoga? is a means to open and personalize what Yoga means to you. When the Path becomes personal there is an active and unique role that you play, a role that could not be played by another; there are choices and responsibility. When the practices are lived day in and day out they have a way to expose rather than conceal, to illuminate where the shadow is among the everlasting, eternal sun.
Decisive
Enough, worry and wonder, what is really happening here? Contemplation, a sharpened hook for indecision, aspiration, an angel in disguise, mental acrobatics dressed in costume, larger than life and shrinking, on stilts standing, a balanced point in wanting, what is best, what is right, what is of service to the most high, thoroughly, thoughtfully, tiredly twisting, turning thoughts in endless consideration, in proclamation, more information is needed…before…choosing, that is one way to avert responsibility, the fear of failure that stops one dead in their tracks, light is shining straight on, these patterns illuminated so blindness no longer can cover over, now the secrets out there is no doubt that can contain the desire for clarity, not clarity given, clarity that is chosen, that comes from stepping off the ferris wheel leading no where, only spinning in circles what’s the appeal to not moving forward? that is a choice, to not decide is a half-way point, a mid-marker that does little to mark or move, a stand still place where no heat happens, the fire of transformation demands decisiveness.
Love requires everything
Why be so afraid of love? Where are the roots of your fear? Can you follow them to the start? Digging to the deepest tendril, What do you find there? Do you know this is all you’ve ever wanted? to be loved and to love, returning limitations five by one, for a free fall into the water, ocean of bliss, is that it? The root of this fear, Knowing you must get in, swim, dive to the depths of darkness, to retrieve what is yours. That pearl of a great price resides on the sea floor, requiring you to be enveloped by a power greater then you could conceive, the force of love is all you need. It is impossible to stand on the shoreline and receive the ring. Your commitment depends on your very own exploring. It’s a total loss of control, no more questions can stall you now, to renounce this sense of you and me, you jump, merging with the waves, the current that carries you through terrors wake, the many forms resistance to love takes, must be faced and given away. Look straight at what surfaces in the process of losing yourself. Who is that that you deem to call you? Is it true? Couldn’t it be that everything you have believed, about what you are and how you are meant to be was accepted blindly and all too early, and is, in reality, nothing but false prophecy; love is your essence here to set you free. That same love you’ve developed ten thousand ways to push away. That causes the heart to shake, doesn’t it? Small me, Wrong me, Bad me, Poor me, Me, me, look at me, Excuses that limit infinity. Yes, you, are, that big. And that is what is asked of you, to shine on like a diamond, unlocking chains that confine, love from dancing with itself outside of the lines. Is that what is frightening? Those moments when “you” disappear? If only you could see with clarity what becomes of your pain then, you might be blinded by such light rather then darkness, you might be consumed by fire, flames that transform, and dismantle locks at the doors of your heart. Love, asks of your everything and gives to you eternity.
Graduating seedling
I stand within these well acquainted walls, walls that confined my torture, that defined hardships in pillows barely able to quiet screams, damp with tears, closets and drawers kept parts of me well tucked away, clothes that concealed a body full of hate, clothes now in piles, heaps on the floor, too many to count, outnumbered and out-of-date, such false protection never protected in the first place. I have decided to leave it, let go, now I know I need no more. In that room there are stories, sentences and sentiments written in permanent ink, they haven’t disappeared, behind the strides of rolled on purple paint. It isn’t so easy to cover up what is left undone, it must be brought to the front and faced, reconciliation leads to resolution, the stories must be changed. Where I slept under glow in the dark stars, under saturns luminous ring, under jupiter, galaxies of my imagination took me off to distant skies unmapped in my mind, where electric staircases were made of elastic and lions lye on flat land, grandfathers sleep, beds drop too low in the middle, too soft for comfort, not enough form, a black hole to get lost in where I left myself outcaste, nearly dead. When I try to recall, I can’t remember what was written on those walls glimpses come and go with little substance, fleeting images in my mind. Sometimes, it is good to forget. Sometimes, that is exactly what helps me remember. To pull apart where this identity came from, what year, what time, what place, reviewing and recalling records, not everything needs to be known , says grace somethings ask of my patience to be strong enough to hold tension and wait. I do. I sort through what has developed from such decorations: statues of unconscious courage, dispensers of false sweetness, quotes tattooed on two feet, skeletons dancing on tapestries, I have enough to go by and the rest I can release, that is part of what begins to set me free. I never wanted to be a hoarder of things without purpose that have no use, what’s the point of filling spaces when instead I could have space? This old tshirt, these stripes and jeans and dresses, that which I was, a representation of me, clothes displaying a false prophecy, clothes stolen and binding me into something I never was, something I put on to fit in, because, to not was not an option, to be left out was worse then falling, and my knees already carried too many scrapes. I choose my outfit to graduate, after having done this work, it is the only one I take, a black dress transparent can see right through my chest into heart no longer covered by steal and ice, metal has tampered its grief, water will nourish this emergent seed. Seed, Four letters, One, two, three, four A new word, A new world, The birth of something yet to become, but bound to be. These seeds are coloured velvet red and black, they are seeds that grow universes, surfacing impeccable with time, from a depth of darkness hidden, invisible to the eye, out of sight to everyone else, but that seed knows itself. It starts: pushing through the hardened crust of earth, having been uncertain for many months, frozen for years on end, underground for days that turn to decades too quickly, scarified by seasons having come and went. Ripening, they are ripening, in preparation for whats to be, a sprout and two cotyledons leaves, receiving light, lifted towards the sun, all that they were, is in what they become. Its a metamorphosis of commitment, the willingness to change, to shed, to drop, to gather, to organize and rearrange, to open, to bloom, to weave, to loosen tangles of thought, to have action match speech and let the heart lead, because, why be caught?