Last year at this time I was working in a Primary school in North London, predominantly non-English native children, predominantly Muslim, many Turkish, Somali or East African. Still at Christmas, it is tradition to do a Christmas play, a nativity or something like it. What I loved about North Harringay is that they did not insist that the plays be nativities, and in fact chose beautiful plays to put on.
The younger children did a show called Babushka, an adaptation of a Russian folktale, about an older woman who obsessively cleans to fill a hollow place in her heart. She learns from the traveling kings, who ask for rest in her home, and an angel pasing her window that a baby has been born in a dirty stable in Bethlehem, a special child. Mortified at the thought of the child born in a dirty stable, she packs a doll, a blanket and a bottle of cordial as gifts, as well as some cleaning products so she can clean the stable. Following the new and brightest star, she begins her journey.
On the way, she meets a little girl with no toys. To her she gives the doll. She meets an elderly couple weary from their journey, and to them she gives the cordial to drink. And as she is nearing Bethlehem, she meets a shepherd boy who is cold in the night and to him she gives the blanket.
When she arrives at the stables, she has no gift to give the baby Jesus. She almost turns away, when Mary calls to her, and invites her in. Babushka realizes that the baby in the manger has the doll by his side, is sleeping on the blanket, and Mary and Joseph bring her a glass of cordial. The children sing:
"Everything you give with love, you give to him: AMAZING.
Everything you say with love, you say to him: Amazing.
Everything you do with love, you do for him,
because he is love.
Yes, he is Love."
I have been thinking about the practice of bhakti, (practice does not seem exactly like the right word...) and this Christ consciousness, or this true understanding of love, incarnate.
My all time favorite book is Franny and Zooey, by JD Salinger. It to embodies this sense that if we attach to the external, beauty gets parsed into intellectual exercises, the great thinkers reduced to phony ego serving activities. And that even prayer can become that when its intention is not aligned. Franny in the throws of her own mental drama, comes to realize that it is not only through becoming reclusive and praying, or breaking down inside, that she can best serve. And her greatest service was in the actions, for her acting. And that in the moments of doubt, to do it for someone else, someone with little else, is what true inspiration is. Or more accurately, where she can eventually find peace and rest.
Like Babushka, when you make offering to anyone, you give to all. When you act in service of of any one aspect of humanity it becomes manifest in the greater sphere. And like Franny, if you act as service, it aligns you to love in the complete, universal and unconditional kind. We stop separating ourselves and start acting in alignment, both with our own particular role in the human incarnation, and with the entire universal energy.
Its about doing and acting from love. It is about doing what is required now. It is about loving that role.
It is about creating with the christ consciousness of unconditional love, with detachment from return. Or with simple knowing that the urge to keep acting, praying, living, being is the return message. (Rumi)
So this year, at this time, I am meditating and thinking through the messages come through from the universe, through the language ofo the emotions and the heart. What successes are coming, where I feel most aligned and content? Where has love comes through, and given courage? How to not discriminate in my own actions so that they become in service of the highest good of all.
Obey, serve, Love, Excel. Obey, Serve, Love, Excel. Thank you teachers in every form you come, from children's stories, to yoga gurus, to sages disguised as beggars, to messages from the heart.
Hari Om, Tat Sat.
Om Shanti.
Love and Peace to all.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Friday, 5 November 2010
Mighty Ganga
I intended to write in my blog in India, but somehow every time I was on a computer, I felt no desire to write. The words came instead from a pen to a private page or in conversation. But now, as time goes on, I think some of the stories have to be told in this form. The form of making meaning out of experience and putting it into written word, and making them public. Please forgive if this is all very abstract or doesn't all fit yet. At the moment this is just me trying to make some sense of it all.
Instead of just traveling alone, I joined a group yatra for the purpose of traveling to Badrinath, a sacred town and temple in the Himalaya. In my mind this pilgrimage was one of the main points of my travels, a special darshan, prayer and offering I wished to give. So leading up to that journey, I made a number of choices, let go of other opportunities to make that trip with that group of people.
We left Haridwar on the road to Badrinath on Yom Kippur. It was too late in the day, bound by the need to eat in clean places, we waited until after lunch to set out. By evening we were nowhere near the intended destination of Rudraprayag. In fact we had only made it about 30 km past Rishikesh, up the road to a small town/rafting drop off point/intersection of power lines called Kaudiyala. We took rooms in a hotel shaped like a motel, with doors and porches just a few meters away from the Ganga's edge. Those of us observing broke our fast on the porch next to the river with fruit, incense, Indian perfume and a Shabbat candle. We then ate dinner in the dhaba by the road. The water was already high as the monsoon was heavy and lasting deep into September, and quickly flowing in the rains. We went to bed early, preparing to continue driving early the next day.
At about ten o'clock there came a knock on the door, pounding really. 'Pack up your things. The water is rising.' We made our way uphill to the dhaba, as the Indians packed up the televisions and other movable valuables from the rooms. The water rose quickly, reaching up to the porches of the rooms. As we stood and looked out, one man says, 'Now she turns to Rudra'. (Rudra
In ancient Vedic myth, Rudra is the malignant god of storm and wind, and is also considered the god of death. He is the personification of the uncultured nature, the symbol of unculturedness.) The angry, the howler. The dark face. The raw and uncontrollable. It was an incredible sight, the water rising. Rudra perhaps, to some, but I couldn't help thinking of the bible, Job and the tests sent repeatedly. I couldn't help think of the Sea crashing over the heads of the Egyptians, or Jonah in the belly of the whale. This is the God that can send plagues to a civilization, the God who can flood the world, and take first born sons. This is the God we pray to out of fear, hoping for the sparing hand, the easy transit, the peaceful life. When this God comes out we cry and beg, "why, God, Why? WHY have you forsaken me?"
These are our prayers like a pleading child, the God we look to like a punishing parent. We plead our case, 'I have prayed this much...' or 'I must have earned...' or we curse ourselves or our circumstances. We beg like children at the hems of our mothers dresses: I want a sweet, I want a toy, I want, I want, I want...
Of course, there is no great prayer bank in the sky, where we can withdraw our prayer merits when the going gets tough. And of course the great universal workings are beyond what we can comprehend. The fires that burn houses, burn the parasites from trees, the floods deposit fresh minerals, the destruction gives way to new life. Here she is the mighty flowing river bursting her banks till she rises up to our feet, over the bushes, up to our lamp posts. This great force washes down the mountainside, smashing the statue we built for the very purpose of remembering that God is always here. God will always be here. And yet now we cry out that she is forgetting us, or in our way!
My God did trouble the water, the water rising angry to the edges of the road, and cracking through the rock, tearing down the side of the mountain. What I don't know is if this is a test, of strength and perseverance, or faith, or some other 'lesson' wrapped up in an event.
At the moment, I am struggling with the idea that everything happens for a reason, as I feel that it personifies God. Destruction is part of the cycle of life, but is it predetermined by a plan? Meaning is overlaid after by our reflection and the wisdom gained from hindsight and the knowledge that life has gone on despite the challenges and suffering endured. A lesson has been learned, or some other unexpected benefit has arisen despite the 'failure' of the intention that we had set. But was that meaning always in the event when it came?
On the road down from Dharmashala to Chakki Bank, there are many tiny temples, sometimes just a painted rock or two, along the sides of the road and the sides of the rivers. All these little reminders that God is present, and to be praised in all her forms. When we see this rock we remember him (usually Shiva) and offer and pray. It is easy where the flowers grow, or a stream pours out of a mountain. But sometimes nature's face turns to overpowering might, the stream you bathed in rushes and destroys the structures you built, washes clean away all those earthly possessions. Even the spiritual desires are not spared, your wishes to reach the mountain, to see the temple, to make the offering. For all you can see is your own small desire, the sweet you crave. You can't see that this is so much bigger than you.
God is intelligence, but not intelligent, and presents us with challenge, setbacks, floods and broken roads. But not intentionally, to teach us as a parent would, but because that is nature, creation, sustenance and destruction, all the time. In this is how teaching arises, how wisdom unfolds, and that is the nature of the exchange between the human and the world.
That is, if there were a separation between me and not me. Which there is not. This flood itself is empty of meaning. The challenge arises not from the flood, but within me, and exists only because I hold this goal in mind. It only is reasonable if I make it have reason, and learn and grow from what is presented. The test of faith is that I need my faith to give sense to what is senseless, I need a bigger picture, I need something to hold onto while forms come and go.
I look on the swirling, brown waters, the trees and plants whipped by the power, the torrent of rain and the swirling current. God did not cause that, God is that. She is the vikalpa and the sankalpa, the intention and the obstacle. She is the teacher and the lesson, she is the river, the mountain, the flower, the drive in my heart, the sadness in the loss.
To pray then is to accept, to surrender, and to love. It is to meet the challenge with the detached awareness of what is given at this moment, and what I do with it is only what I can do. If tomorrow I awake to the sun and the repaired road and the magic of the temple, I must still remember that God is no closer than she would be if there is no road and no where to go. Its not that Because the intelligence is the journey and the changes we must endure if the journey is to make us grow. Because the consciousness is the light that illuminates the darkness of separation: the thinking that an object is somehow separate from me. This is a test because i am still wanting to get somewhere and seeing forms as reality, and seeing a geographical place as the goal of my travels. In that way the river is not a river, but a fickle guardian of the temple, or an obstacle in the way.
So I bow to pray. Not to get through to the other side. Not to reach the promised land. Not to intercede and give me my way. I pray to as an act of connection, a union of my own consciousness to the divinity in all things. I pray because there is no separation, and the act of loving what is in all her forms is an act of unconditional love for my self. Not my personality, but soul, which is divine itself.
It is the act of love that matters, the co-creation and the humility. Maybe in the prayers, the forms will be burnished until they shine only the divine light. Maybe in the act of loving, the resistance will fall away. maybe in the dark of this storm, the light of consciousness might bring me clarity, humilty and the deepest recognition that I am that.
I did make it to Badrinath, in a Jeep that took 12 hours from Rishikesh to reach the town. In my finest mountain clothes, I went to the temple at dawn, made my offerings and prayers, sat next to the sages and pilgrims, honoured the ancestors, looked to the mountains and the valleys and bowed my head. To the divine in all things, I bow. To the teacher that takes me from darkness to light, I bow. And life is the great teacher. Thank you mountains, thank you river, thank you roads, thank you rains, thank you driver, thank you eyes, thank you heart. Thank you love for all that is given and for teaching me that all is one.
Hari om, tat sat.
Om Shanti.
I love you.
Instead of just traveling alone, I joined a group yatra for the purpose of traveling to Badrinath, a sacred town and temple in the Himalaya. In my mind this pilgrimage was one of the main points of my travels, a special darshan, prayer and offering I wished to give. So leading up to that journey, I made a number of choices, let go of other opportunities to make that trip with that group of people.
We left Haridwar on the road to Badrinath on Yom Kippur. It was too late in the day, bound by the need to eat in clean places, we waited until after lunch to set out. By evening we were nowhere near the intended destination of Rudraprayag. In fact we had only made it about 30 km past Rishikesh, up the road to a small town/rafting drop off point/intersection of power lines called Kaudiyala. We took rooms in a hotel shaped like a motel, with doors and porches just a few meters away from the Ganga's edge. Those of us observing broke our fast on the porch next to the river with fruit, incense, Indian perfume and a Shabbat candle. We then ate dinner in the dhaba by the road. The water was already high as the monsoon was heavy and lasting deep into September, and quickly flowing in the rains. We went to bed early, preparing to continue driving early the next day.
At about ten o'clock there came a knock on the door, pounding really. 'Pack up your things. The water is rising.' We made our way uphill to the dhaba, as the Indians packed up the televisions and other movable valuables from the rooms. The water rose quickly, reaching up to the porches of the rooms. As we stood and looked out, one man says, 'Now she turns to Rudra'. (Rudra
In ancient Vedic myth, Rudra is the malignant god of storm and wind, and is also considered the god of death. He is the personification of the uncultured nature, the symbol of unculturedness.) The angry, the howler. The dark face. The raw and uncontrollable. It was an incredible sight, the water rising. Rudra perhaps, to some, but I couldn't help thinking of the bible, Job and the tests sent repeatedly. I couldn't help think of the Sea crashing over the heads of the Egyptians, or Jonah in the belly of the whale. This is the God that can send plagues to a civilization, the God who can flood the world, and take first born sons. This is the God we pray to out of fear, hoping for the sparing hand, the easy transit, the peaceful life. When this God comes out we cry and beg, "why, God, Why? WHY have you forsaken me?"
These are our prayers like a pleading child, the God we look to like a punishing parent. We plead our case, 'I have prayed this much...' or 'I must have earned...' or we curse ourselves or our circumstances. We beg like children at the hems of our mothers dresses: I want a sweet, I want a toy, I want, I want, I want...
Of course, there is no great prayer bank in the sky, where we can withdraw our prayer merits when the going gets tough. And of course the great universal workings are beyond what we can comprehend. The fires that burn houses, burn the parasites from trees, the floods deposit fresh minerals, the destruction gives way to new life. Here she is the mighty flowing river bursting her banks till she rises up to our feet, over the bushes, up to our lamp posts. This great force washes down the mountainside, smashing the statue we built for the very purpose of remembering that God is always here. God will always be here. And yet now we cry out that she is forgetting us, or in our way!
My God did trouble the water, the water rising angry to the edges of the road, and cracking through the rock, tearing down the side of the mountain. What I don't know is if this is a test, of strength and perseverance, or faith, or some other 'lesson' wrapped up in an event.
At the moment, I am struggling with the idea that everything happens for a reason, as I feel that it personifies God. Destruction is part of the cycle of life, but is it predetermined by a plan? Meaning is overlaid after by our reflection and the wisdom gained from hindsight and the knowledge that life has gone on despite the challenges and suffering endured. A lesson has been learned, or some other unexpected benefit has arisen despite the 'failure' of the intention that we had set. But was that meaning always in the event when it came?
On the road down from Dharmashala to Chakki Bank, there are many tiny temples, sometimes just a painted rock or two, along the sides of the road and the sides of the rivers. All these little reminders that God is present, and to be praised in all her forms. When we see this rock we remember him (usually Shiva) and offer and pray. It is easy where the flowers grow, or a stream pours out of a mountain. But sometimes nature's face turns to overpowering might, the stream you bathed in rushes and destroys the structures you built, washes clean away all those earthly possessions. Even the spiritual desires are not spared, your wishes to reach the mountain, to see the temple, to make the offering. For all you can see is your own small desire, the sweet you crave. You can't see that this is so much bigger than you.
God is intelligence, but not intelligent, and presents us with challenge, setbacks, floods and broken roads. But not intentionally, to teach us as a parent would, but because that is nature, creation, sustenance and destruction, all the time. In this is how teaching arises, how wisdom unfolds, and that is the nature of the exchange between the human and the world.
That is, if there were a separation between me and not me. Which there is not. This flood itself is empty of meaning. The challenge arises not from the flood, but within me, and exists only because I hold this goal in mind. It only is reasonable if I make it have reason, and learn and grow from what is presented. The test of faith is that I need my faith to give sense to what is senseless, I need a bigger picture, I need something to hold onto while forms come and go.
I look on the swirling, brown waters, the trees and plants whipped by the power, the torrent of rain and the swirling current. God did not cause that, God is that. She is the vikalpa and the sankalpa, the intention and the obstacle. She is the teacher and the lesson, she is the river, the mountain, the flower, the drive in my heart, the sadness in the loss.
To pray then is to accept, to surrender, and to love. It is to meet the challenge with the detached awareness of what is given at this moment, and what I do with it is only what I can do. If tomorrow I awake to the sun and the repaired road and the magic of the temple, I must still remember that God is no closer than she would be if there is no road and no where to go. Its not that Because the intelligence is the journey and the changes we must endure if the journey is to make us grow. Because the consciousness is the light that illuminates the darkness of separation: the thinking that an object is somehow separate from me. This is a test because i am still wanting to get somewhere and seeing forms as reality, and seeing a geographical place as the goal of my travels. In that way the river is not a river, but a fickle guardian of the temple, or an obstacle in the way.
So I bow to pray. Not to get through to the other side. Not to reach the promised land. Not to intercede and give me my way. I pray to as an act of connection, a union of my own consciousness to the divinity in all things. I pray because there is no separation, and the act of loving what is in all her forms is an act of unconditional love for my self. Not my personality, but soul, which is divine itself.
It is the act of love that matters, the co-creation and the humility. Maybe in the prayers, the forms will be burnished until they shine only the divine light. Maybe in the act of loving, the resistance will fall away. maybe in the dark of this storm, the light of consciousness might bring me clarity, humilty and the deepest recognition that I am that.
I did make it to Badrinath, in a Jeep that took 12 hours from Rishikesh to reach the town. In my finest mountain clothes, I went to the temple at dawn, made my offerings and prayers, sat next to the sages and pilgrims, honoured the ancestors, looked to the mountains and the valleys and bowed my head. To the divine in all things, I bow. To the teacher that takes me from darkness to light, I bow. And life is the great teacher. Thank you mountains, thank you river, thank you roads, thank you rains, thank you driver, thank you eyes, thank you heart. Thank you love for all that is given and for teaching me that all is one.
Hari om, tat sat.
Om Shanti.
I love you.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
A very thorny month
July is like a blackberry bush. Or, maybe this july was a blackberry bush.
The theme for July was making space. Coming out of June which focused on energy consolidation for power, the opening to length and grace, within the body and within the practice was the energy I began cultivating. There were many great lessons that happened this month, in those two threads, on and off the mat. There were more emotions and depths of emotions that I have never felt before. There were also more stars than I have seen in a long while.
Early in the month, I went to a class in which the teacher suggested (during warrior two) that the body should be hard on the outside and soft on the inside. I found this image very difficult to relate to, besides that I was not sure how to achieve it, and decided I had to disagree with that image and think through the strength aspect of the postures in a different way. I notice in my students that if they think 'hard' the body stiffens. When I look at the hands or arms, in say warrior 2, the energy blocks in the extremities. The muscles over grip and bind the energy inward. Besides being inefficient energetically, this pattern reinforces the stress patterns in the life. As the muscles harden around the bones, the arms become heavy, so the muscles work harder, so everything descends into struggle and strain.
There is another way possible. I have been working more with lunges these last weeks than warrior two, so the arms extend straight up from the shoulders. Instead of holding the arms, what if they are tossed up towards the sun? Not pulled (which tends to draw the shoulders up), not reaching (which encourages a sort of exteriority which I am not opposed to but just not exactly working with at the moment), and certainly not held. As the arms toss up into the space, it is like the energy from within can fountain up. But it also makes incredible space for the great energetic boomerang to allow energy to flow back in. If I release what my arms hold in them, then they become like antennae to heaven drawing energy back in. Arm bone floats in shoulder joint and holding the arms for longer becomes more ease-y.
Of course these images work for 5 breath, 8 breath, 10 breath postures in a vinyasa practice. But the end of the month saw the Kundalini festival with meditations for 11, 22, 31 or 62 minutes often with the arms involved. The question is, do the same principles apply?
One of my recent practices has been the Reverse Adi Shakti Kriya or the Kriya for Self Love.
http://www.pinklotus.org/KY%20KRI/KRI%20KY%20kriya/Reverse%20Adi%20Shakti%20Kriya.pdf
I will spare re-articulating the entire kriya. In the Kriya the right arm is held above the head for 11 minutes. The breath pattern is slow deep breath building up to a one minute breath: 20 second inhale, 20 second hold, 20 second exhale. I practiced the kriya a number of times, and the image that helped me stabilize the arm above the head is that the hand is resting on the auric field. It is not held up in space, but resting on the energy. The slow deep breathing creates the sense that the body and the auric field are expanding and thus the hand rests easily. Then one time I forgot to consciously practice the breathing pattern. The arm felt like lead after a few short minutes. What it showed me was that the image of making space within allows the body to find the energy to support itself (or be supported) without holding. The musculature of the body becomes like sails in the wind. The amount of tension, as determined by the body positioning or energetic investment in the pose can effect how much energy the body can catch and then carry itself with.
There came another great lesson however this month from the 3 day White Tantra practice. The meditations were all either 31 or 62 minutes, with a partner, either looking into the eyes or eyes closed but holding the space between. For one, the ordinary Anjali Mudra (prayer pose) was joined together: so my hand, his hand, my hand, his hand. Anjali Mudra is fairly effortless as a pose individually. As we put our hands together, I could feel the work and effort of trying and holding the hands up coming in. As we held the position 62 minutes, this became quite tiring. It was my practice to keep making space within myself, to make my hands as light as possible, to let them float so there would be no need to hold and bind the hands in the air. What flooded into me was the sense of love. That loving is not holding onto, or holding up, but making space for. That love is feeling the struggle and channeling it through, not taking it on. That love is bearing witness to all that comes, from the resistances and griping, to the fear and shutting down, to the release and all its bliss. And the love is trusting being held, trusting the energy to be there so that you don't need to make it and force it, knowing it is within you at all times if you can let go enough to let it move itself.
July was a very thorny month. In my own process of making space, I uncovered deep rage, resistances to people, blockages in my heart, throat, intuition. Hatred for my own body and resistance to movement at all. And yet the movement came in. And the deep breath started to ache to expand more. And the love of the dear soul family tapped gently at the hearts walls. And it all started to move. I think I have understood for myself why the Reverse Adi shakti is for self love, because as we make space within ourselves for all that is when we become loving. That love need not be fixed to anyone or anything. It is suspending judgment and giving permission. Making space within is the act for me of self love. So July was a blackberry bush, with thorns and pains, but as the wind blew in, and I reached down, I ended up with the sweetness of the berries in the summer sun.
Hari Om, Tat Sat.
I am grateful for all the lessons this life and love in my life.
Peace to all, Light to all, Love to all.
The theme for July was making space. Coming out of June which focused on energy consolidation for power, the opening to length and grace, within the body and within the practice was the energy I began cultivating. There were many great lessons that happened this month, in those two threads, on and off the mat. There were more emotions and depths of emotions that I have never felt before. There were also more stars than I have seen in a long while.
Early in the month, I went to a class in which the teacher suggested (during warrior two) that the body should be hard on the outside and soft on the inside. I found this image very difficult to relate to, besides that I was not sure how to achieve it, and decided I had to disagree with that image and think through the strength aspect of the postures in a different way. I notice in my students that if they think 'hard' the body stiffens. When I look at the hands or arms, in say warrior 2, the energy blocks in the extremities. The muscles over grip and bind the energy inward. Besides being inefficient energetically, this pattern reinforces the stress patterns in the life. As the muscles harden around the bones, the arms become heavy, so the muscles work harder, so everything descends into struggle and strain.
There is another way possible. I have been working more with lunges these last weeks than warrior two, so the arms extend straight up from the shoulders. Instead of holding the arms, what if they are tossed up towards the sun? Not pulled (which tends to draw the shoulders up), not reaching (which encourages a sort of exteriority which I am not opposed to but just not exactly working with at the moment), and certainly not held. As the arms toss up into the space, it is like the energy from within can fountain up. But it also makes incredible space for the great energetic boomerang to allow energy to flow back in. If I release what my arms hold in them, then they become like antennae to heaven drawing energy back in. Arm bone floats in shoulder joint and holding the arms for longer becomes more ease-y.
Of course these images work for 5 breath, 8 breath, 10 breath postures in a vinyasa practice. But the end of the month saw the Kundalini festival with meditations for 11, 22, 31 or 62 minutes often with the arms involved. The question is, do the same principles apply?
One of my recent practices has been the Reverse Adi Shakti Kriya or the Kriya for Self Love.
http://www.pinklotus.org/KY%20KRI/KRI%20KY%20kriya/Reverse%20Adi%20Shakti%20Kriya.pdf
I will spare re-articulating the entire kriya. In the Kriya the right arm is held above the head for 11 minutes. The breath pattern is slow deep breath building up to a one minute breath: 20 second inhale, 20 second hold, 20 second exhale. I practiced the kriya a number of times, and the image that helped me stabilize the arm above the head is that the hand is resting on the auric field. It is not held up in space, but resting on the energy. The slow deep breathing creates the sense that the body and the auric field are expanding and thus the hand rests easily. Then one time I forgot to consciously practice the breathing pattern. The arm felt like lead after a few short minutes. What it showed me was that the image of making space within allows the body to find the energy to support itself (or be supported) without holding. The musculature of the body becomes like sails in the wind. The amount of tension, as determined by the body positioning or energetic investment in the pose can effect how much energy the body can catch and then carry itself with.
There came another great lesson however this month from the 3 day White Tantra practice. The meditations were all either 31 or 62 minutes, with a partner, either looking into the eyes or eyes closed but holding the space between. For one, the ordinary Anjali Mudra (prayer pose) was joined together: so my hand, his hand, my hand, his hand. Anjali Mudra is fairly effortless as a pose individually. As we put our hands together, I could feel the work and effort of trying and holding the hands up coming in. As we held the position 62 minutes, this became quite tiring. It was my practice to keep making space within myself, to make my hands as light as possible, to let them float so there would be no need to hold and bind the hands in the air. What flooded into me was the sense of love. That loving is not holding onto, or holding up, but making space for. That love is feeling the struggle and channeling it through, not taking it on. That love is bearing witness to all that comes, from the resistances and griping, to the fear and shutting down, to the release and all its bliss. And the love is trusting being held, trusting the energy to be there so that you don't need to make it and force it, knowing it is within you at all times if you can let go enough to let it move itself.
July was a very thorny month. In my own process of making space, I uncovered deep rage, resistances to people, blockages in my heart, throat, intuition. Hatred for my own body and resistance to movement at all. And yet the movement came in. And the deep breath started to ache to expand more. And the love of the dear soul family tapped gently at the hearts walls. And it all started to move. I think I have understood for myself why the Reverse Adi shakti is for self love, because as we make space within ourselves for all that is when we become loving. That love need not be fixed to anyone or anything. It is suspending judgment and giving permission. Making space within is the act for me of self love. So July was a blackberry bush, with thorns and pains, but as the wind blew in, and I reached down, I ended up with the sweetness of the berries in the summer sun.
Hari Om, Tat Sat.
I am grateful for all the lessons this life and love in my life.
Peace to all, Light to all, Love to all.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Jumps for June
I am so CORNY, I can't believe. But yes, here it is, the wrap up from jumps for June, our great theme of the month in my classes. Some really interesting things happened in my teaching and in my practice. What started as an exploration of lightness in the practice, of bandha and jumps forward and back became an exploration of the lower triangle of energy centres, root, sacral and naval chakras. In the practice it looked like the ha-tha of the openness and connection of hips, inner legs and mula bandha, and lower abdominal muscle wall. It looks like Titthibhasana, drawing in to lift up. It looks like deep straddles with pelvic and abdominal contractions like agni sara. It looks like I need rootedness with my hip opening, and flow with consolidation. It feels like power in the base to elevate to higher consciousness. It feels like I know what might come next.
So as June was consolidation in the lower triangle, July will be about making space, creating length.
Here is a flow as it came tonight:
This body. this space, this universe.
This site of interconnection.
This life energy pulsing.
This potential, this flow. In and out. In through body spaces and out through pores, that almost nonexistent boundary between you and all. It pours in, it seeps out.
This is life, this flow. This is space. This is you, which is not fixed but ever dynamic, ever potential, ever spacious if you feel its vastness.
Your body is a universe of space. Light years of space.
Feel yourself breathing into that space. breathing to expand that space. In this space you are completely yourself. without the limits of labels and thoughts, projections and identifications.
Take a moment to reflect on anything in your life that stops you from being exactly and completely yourself, and question whether you can move it, gently. in this space, nothing is permanent, nothing is fixed. We are dynamic and every changing, moment to moment, day to day, year to year. So what can be moved now, in this moment to create more space for you, yourself, that spirit, that Atma to make itself present and alive in this life.
This is my intention for July; length and space and truth and light. The long days of summer, the letting be, the letting grow. The who am I in all I do.
Hari Om, Tat Sat.
So as June was consolidation in the lower triangle, July will be about making space, creating length.
Here is a flow as it came tonight:
This body. this space, this universe.
This site of interconnection.
This life energy pulsing.
This potential, this flow. In and out. In through body spaces and out through pores, that almost nonexistent boundary between you and all. It pours in, it seeps out.
This is life, this flow. This is space. This is you, which is not fixed but ever dynamic, ever potential, ever spacious if you feel its vastness.
Your body is a universe of space. Light years of space.
Feel yourself breathing into that space. breathing to expand that space. In this space you are completely yourself. without the limits of labels and thoughts, projections and identifications.
Take a moment to reflect on anything in your life that stops you from being exactly and completely yourself, and question whether you can move it, gently. in this space, nothing is permanent, nothing is fixed. We are dynamic and every changing, moment to moment, day to day, year to year. So what can be moved now, in this moment to create more space for you, yourself, that spirit, that Atma to make itself present and alive in this life.
This is my intention for July; length and space and truth and light. The long days of summer, the letting be, the letting grow. The who am I in all I do.
Hari Om, Tat Sat.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Camel Pose
Here is an article I have written about Camel Pose for Yoga Abode.
Hari Om Tat Sat.
www.yoga-abode.com/practice/camel_pose_ushtrasana
Hari Om Tat Sat.
www.yoga-abode.com/practice/camel_pose_ushtrasana
Sunday, 9 May 2010
on creativity (or the wisdom that helped me stop pursuing dancing)
Since I was very young, dancing was the deep love of my life. It was central to my childhood and adolescence, and I developed the longing for it to be my profession. Especially since transitioning from ballet to contemporary dance, I though of my dancing as my artistry, and therefore my creativity.
What happened to me in the world of professional dance was that the energetic return on my energetic investment (to put it crudely) were never equal. Working for months on a project that got performed 3 times. Working unpaid, and missing other work. Doing shows that ended with nothing to show for them, not even photos or decent videos. Because of my identification of creativity and output, if the work didn't go anywhere, it invalidated me as a creative human being. Instead of feeding and nurturing and bringing joy to my life, the whole process became thankless and painful.
What I have come to understand is that being a creative human being has nothing do to with output. (The gesture here is like holding a round loaf of bread between the heart and navel centres)-> I am a creative person. You are a creative person. We all are creative beings. That is within us, and always will be. Artistic output is a separate quality than creativity, though it can at times be an indicator of creativity. Creativity is a quality of being, output is a result of action. At times it is difficult to dissociate those two, but with understanding that I am not what I do, it is completely possible to be creative in my existence (as all beings are) without producing any tangible results.
The other part of what I have learned, and what has made me let go of the profession of dance is that the energy was not supporting it. I (as in my ego that needed validation) was making work (often from my head pointing to some goal). I had dreams of recognition, "success", rockstardom. But there was not the energy to create that (neither my own, nor the universal energy). And so it had to be me motoring something forward, even when signs from withing me and without pointed to the ultimate futility of this way of operating. Or course when the ego which needs validation is put forward and fails to receive that validation, the pain is immense. As it was. As was the stress in the process.
What I am realizing now, and these written words are a part of it is my creative self likes expression, in written word, conversation and teaching, in movement and in yoga, in music made and heard. T/his expression need not be shared, but can be if that's where spirit leads. At the moment, I am playing lots of music, purely from the joy and beauty of sharing. I am writing not knowing who will read, and not caring but because there are thoughts in me that are longing for form. From that place, the energy is being created to play more, write more. Different possibilities are arising. But it is not through me doing anything but remaining open. And at the moment, it feels right to continue with them, because they are further opportunities to share the beauty that I feel playing, practicing and living.
I hold no illusions of an outcome, especially where music is concerned. I have no hope. All I know is that I am being supported in the expression, something that I have not felt when dancing for a long time if ever. And I know that if that energy reaches its finishing point, its peak or a place where it is no longer supported, it will end gracefully.
Creativity pervades. It is as essential as Atma, the eternal self, indeed it is a facet of that self. Output or manifestation can be a natural expression of that self, or it can be the ego. So for now, I have no eye to the future, I am just enjoying the connection of creativity to that soul within. I sing, I teach, I practice from that place. And in that I am touched by deep grace.
All my love and gratitude for these words that flow, this song that sings, this yoga that teaches.
Hari Om Tat Sat.
What happened to me in the world of professional dance was that the energetic return on my energetic investment (to put it crudely) were never equal. Working for months on a project that got performed 3 times. Working unpaid, and missing other work. Doing shows that ended with nothing to show for them, not even photos or decent videos. Because of my identification of creativity and output, if the work didn't go anywhere, it invalidated me as a creative human being. Instead of feeding and nurturing and bringing joy to my life, the whole process became thankless and painful.
What I have come to understand is that being a creative human being has nothing do to with output. (The gesture here is like holding a round loaf of bread between the heart and navel centres)-> I am a creative person. You are a creative person. We all are creative beings. That is within us, and always will be. Artistic output is a separate quality than creativity, though it can at times be an indicator of creativity. Creativity is a quality of being, output is a result of action. At times it is difficult to dissociate those two, but with understanding that I am not what I do, it is completely possible to be creative in my existence (as all beings are) without producing any tangible results.
The other part of what I have learned, and what has made me let go of the profession of dance is that the energy was not supporting it. I (as in my ego that needed validation) was making work (often from my head pointing to some goal). I had dreams of recognition, "success", rockstardom. But there was not the energy to create that (neither my own, nor the universal energy). And so it had to be me motoring something forward, even when signs from withing me and without pointed to the ultimate futility of this way of operating. Or course when the ego which needs validation is put forward and fails to receive that validation, the pain is immense. As it was. As was the stress in the process.
What I am realizing now, and these written words are a part of it is my creative self likes expression, in written word, conversation and teaching, in movement and in yoga, in music made and heard. T/his expression need not be shared, but can be if that's where spirit leads. At the moment, I am playing lots of music, purely from the joy and beauty of sharing. I am writing not knowing who will read, and not caring but because there are thoughts in me that are longing for form. From that place, the energy is being created to play more, write more. Different possibilities are arising. But it is not through me doing anything but remaining open. And at the moment, it feels right to continue with them, because they are further opportunities to share the beauty that I feel playing, practicing and living.
I hold no illusions of an outcome, especially where music is concerned. I have no hope. All I know is that I am being supported in the expression, something that I have not felt when dancing for a long time if ever. And I know that if that energy reaches its finishing point, its peak or a place where it is no longer supported, it will end gracefully.
Creativity pervades. It is as essential as Atma, the eternal self, indeed it is a facet of that self. Output or manifestation can be a natural expression of that self, or it can be the ego. So for now, I have no eye to the future, I am just enjoying the connection of creativity to that soul within. I sing, I teach, I practice from that place. And in that I am touched by deep grace.
All my love and gratitude for these words that flow, this song that sings, this yoga that teaches.
Hari Om Tat Sat.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
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