Yogi on the Bus

I don’t like yoga anymore. 

I’ve marinated in that thought for the last hour as I peeled my mat off the floor after an especially bitchin’ and connected savasana, during the peaceful car ride home and the salt bath to follow. I’ve marinated in that thought for almost four years as my last piece of writing on this blog indicates. 

When I decided to leave my regular practice nearly four years ago, it was for the same reasons I still don’t like to participate in the white-washed style of yoga we’re fed today. I just feel weird doing something that wasn’t really meant for me. At least, not like this. The shiny, fancy version with leftover crumbs of authenticity scattered from studio to studio. But for some damn reason, I can’t stop coming back to it. Since I’ve gotten pleasantly plump in the last few years, I decided I would take on a 30 day hot yoga challenge to kick off the year (even though I find these kinda dorky, I need to shock my body back to health, cool or uncool). 

I roll up to the studio for my second class of the challenge with mid-calf length polka dot socks pulled up over my old and outdated lululemon leggings covered in cat hair, a jacket with dirt and mud smeared across the front from an outdoor job I did last week (no time to wash it yet) and zero make up on my face (we’re here to sweat and be gross, right?). As I enter the studio, I observe such silly fucking characters. I’m a silly fucking character in my mud jacket, polka dot baby-faced get up, to be fair.

The rich white moms with head to toe, brand new lululemon gear, perfect hair and make up who carelessly jangle their keys in the practice space then loudly slap their mats down to the floor. There’s always AT LEAST one. The fit young dudes who earnestly look around the room, desperately trying to ensure their alignment is okay. It usually isn’t. The young women who tug at their clothing in outward gestures of insecurity in between every posture, hoping nobody is seeing them struggle. The super duper fit and serious lady, who pops herself into every pose with haste and determination, often with very dangerous alignment. Cringe. Careful, super duper fit and serious lady! Your joints are precious! And of course, the quintessential older gentleman in a printed speedo breathing harder than anyone else in the room the entire time.

That last guy was my favourite during practice tonight. Well, not really. It took everything within me to not tell him to shut the fuck up when he was exhaling out his mouth the entire hour. Doesn’t he know that breathing through the mouth can activate the acute stress response in one’s body, indicating a perceived threat? Probably not. But was it my place to chastise him like an angry goon? Hell no. He was probably just trying to make it through the class. Which was precisely my intention the moment I noticed his intense breathing methods. Oh my God, just get through this class.

Am I saying we should never ever breathe through our mouths? Of course not, that would be impossible. I just personally find it really annoying. Love and light and whatever else to that dear man. May he learn proper pranayama techniques to sustain his practice.

The characters I’ve been observing in the last few days are actually quite interesting. They’re attending class for their own reasons, intentions and aspirations; just like me. Is it weird that everyone is wearing super expensive gear and I’m there in my favourite ratty t-shirt with a million holes in it? Maybe. Who’s to say? Another moment to remember to get over myself. We’re all doing our damn best.

What I really didn’t dig about the practice tonight, aside from mouth breathing man, was the very end. When I was a full time teacher, one of the things I found to be monumentally important was savasana. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this term, it means “corpse pose.” To lay flat on your back with your feet about as wide as your mat, toes softening outward, your arms resting comfortably by your sides with your hands gently facing up. Soft, untethered breath and wide open mind space. This pose is nearly always placed at the end of a yoga practice for about 10 minutes to inspire integration of the postures and a general settling of your nervous system. There is no breath requirement necessarily, with the goal being to slow everything down and “die” before entering your life again. Needless to say, it rules. 

I’ve practiced moksha many, many times and I understand the structure of a formal class is a bit different. That’s fine. I’m craving consistency right now and that’s why I chose to do this particular practice. Each style offers something unique to the practitioner and that is just great. However, these silly fucking characters nearly hop straight up from their 1 minute savasana as soon as the teacher left the room (she was darling, by the way. No teacher voice. Bless your heart). Slapping their mats around in a huff to get wherever it was they needed to get. By the grace of God, I dropped in despite their mat slapping. I fell so deeply into myself that I could notice being super mega bothered by the flurry of activity around me, but it didn’t detract from the softness of my body or the clarity in my mind. 

Folks were yelling on the other side of the door, completely ignorant of the few of us left in the hot room integrating the practice we had just completed. Other loud noises and bangs while I focussed on my brightly polished third eye and relaxed for a damn minute. 

When I could sense I was the last person in the room, I felt an overwhelming relief. I softened even more and stayed there for what felt like a full rest. I chanted a quick mantra before leaving the room (another thing that feels kind of wrong to me still... I’m just... so, so white) and slowly made my way home. 

I don’t like yoga. I don’t like what it’s become or how many ancient, sacred teachings have been lost or colonized because of it’s increasing popularity over the last several decades. I don’t like the fashion show, the competitiveness or the judgemental attitudes that often come along with some degree of “success” in one’s practice. I don’t like that it’s pretty, white and perfect. I don’t identify with those labels or those goals of the practice some people aspire to. 

But I love yoga. It makes my body work in a way I intellectually and physically understand. And even in a hot yoga class, my mind can’t help but reap the benefits of steady breath and focus. So how can I, and the rest of the world, benefit from this practice without being assholes?

I'm sitting here writing this piece in my beautiful sunroom listening to my favourite album at the moment, Physical World by Death from above 1979, and gazing out the window down the street to the yoga studio where I teach. Since returning home from Bali a few weeks ago, I've been witness to how much I'm transforming, and so quickly. I can't keep track of these rapid fire insights some days.

As a yoga practitioner, I'm constantly exploring and excavating aspects of myself that are craving to wake up. For the first few years of my career as a full time yoga teacher, I watched myself dive into the world of conscious community, super foods, cleanses and tight yoga pants. Now, after almost 4 years of teaching, I'm finally seeing which aspects of that lifestyle are actually relevant for me. 

This year in particular has been quite dark for the most part, and as I seek to express and feel that darkness, I'm granting myself permission to follow my heart away from yoga. I've bounced between loving the shiny, happy yogis of instagram, the glittery yoga events peppered around the globe and being completely repelled by what those same things represent. As I own my dark, the more I feel drawn toward others that embrace that aspect of themselves, too. 

I became quite dogmatic in my approach to the practice, seeking disciplines and regimes that did not increase my joy or commitment to what I have been teaching. I noticed myself becoming judgemental toward others that did not feel the need to dive so seriously into the practice, or the juice cleanses, or even of my own (now ex) boyfriend, who lived fully and in a way that made him happy. I got so serious about who I thought I was supposed to be as a yoga teacher that I stopped having the kind of fun that I know I like to have as a plain ole human being. I guilted myself into doing what I thought I should be doing as a yoga teacher and placed unreasonable amounts of pressure on myself in the process.

I love live music. I love mosh pits. I love going out for beer. Hell, I even love a shot of whiskey (or two) once in awhile. I love to stay out late. I like eating ice cream for breakfast sometimes. I like eating meat. I curse. I drink a lot of coffee. Sometimes (gasp) I even smoke a cigarette or two. 

Avoiding aspects of oneself that are 'bad' or not in line with what we think we 'should' be doing is far more harmful than just doing them in the spirit of being alive and being open to what is present before us. I want to exist in balance with the high vibrational practices, as well as some of the lower, even frowned upon practices of the 'unconscious'.

Doesn't Krishna say in the Bhagavad Gita that it is far better to do one's own dharma poorly than try to execute that of another's perfectly? 

I'd much rather be a kind, imperfect, beer drinking yogi, than the version of myself that gets uptight or judgemental when I'm living 'yogicly.' I value that imperfect dharma much more.

All of that being said, or outed, rather, I do enjoy early morning yoga practices followed by a tea and journaling session in this very sunroom. I love green juice as regularly as possible (to balance the whiskey, of course). I love prayer, ceremony and rituals to celebrate the cycles of the moon. I love ancient text. I love raw food. I love crystals. I love hyper positive self help gurus and their books. I love chanting to the Goddess. At my core, I do love yoga.

I've simply decided that yoga is not my identity. I am more than a yoga teacher, and I crave inspiration from so many places. More than that, I crave having the experience that I'm meant to have as a human on this planet. I want it all. 

My insights are revealing to me that it would be highly responsible and I think, necessary to step away from yoga as I teach it now. I'm not the kind of person who does something half way. I want to be over the moon excited and feeling grateful everyday to do what I'm doing. Right now, I'm not getting that from yoga, and I feel fine with that. I am feeling lit up about music, and so I'm going to pursue that.

If my balance point within this practice is to step away to more fully appreciate my role as facilitator and hold space from a place of clearer responsibility and perspective, then I must listen to that call.

I don't want to be the dogmatic, righteous yogi who pretends that everything is perfect and blissful all the time. I see that too much in the yoga world, and I want rawness. I want to see the gritty and dark spaces within myself so that I can become more awake. I want to be the teacher that has lived the teachings thoroughly. This is how I want to pursue the teachings.

I want to write about music. I want to spend afternoons listening to albums. I want to go to shows. I want to start doing cross fit. I want to spend more time making art. I want to simply practice yoga without having to be the one at the front of the room leading. 

This practice, especially the art of teaching, is such a high responsibility. I don't take that lightly. If my heart isn't ready to stay in that space, why would I try to pretend? 

I finished writing a commentary on the yoga sutras just a little over a year ago. Since the completion of such a massive project, it’s felt like my love of writing had exhausted itself. Which is quite strange, because I’ve always loved writing. Creating in general. Here I am now, fresh off the plane from a month in Bali, and I'm feeling inspired.

The process of creating usually hits me in varying degrees of intensity. There will be months at a time in which I cannot stop painting. Or a fervent desire to write personal commentaries on philosophical texts ceaselessly over the course of 7 months. Although this process is generally quite nourishing for me, it isn’t consistent. After studying the yoga sutras and writing about each one consecutively for 196 days, I was done writing. Some aspect of this process had depleted my inner reserve required to keep on producing. 

I’m sitting here pondering my own unique style of expressing my creativity, and wondering if there will ever come a time in which I am able to produce art in a way that flows fluidly, and always creates space for more creation. To bounce gracefully between charcoal sketches, writing brilliant philosophical pieces, creating fun yoga classes, lovely watercolour designs and heart felt acrylic paintings. Without forgetting about any medium for years. Without sadly noticing the empty canvasses lining my wall without any inspiration to add a dash of colour to them. Without dumping my creativity solely into formulating cool sequences or themes for a yoga class. I want more. 

How do other people stay inspired to create? What is it that drives us creative folk to continue exploring our inner terrain and offer it up for others to decipher? Why has it taken me travelling to Bali to want to begin writing and sketching again? Is creativity truly just something angelic we become mere channels for? 

When the channel is clear, it’s cathartic. When the channel is clear, it’s medicinal. When the channel is clear, magic happens. Creating art, no matter the form, is something that is natural for us to experience. To be a human, we are co creating with the universe simply to be alive in this form. And so, as natural born creators, it seems a bit strange, for me at least, that we go through periods of stagnation in our creative processes. I guess this is why the expression, ‘writer’s block’ exists. What is that?

In this moment, I’m making a commitment to myself to always explore not only the phases in which the channel is open and creativity shoots out of my third eye like a rainbow, but also the phases of non creation, almost like the quiet of winter. To wholly welcome the concept of writer's block and use that as an invitation to pick up a paint brush. At least now, there seems to be a renewed sense of hunger because of that alien feeling that belongs to us upon returning home after an adventure.

Although my fascination with the yoga sutras, for now, has lessened its grip on me, I'm happy to be stringing words together again. I'm even feeling a little bit giddy that I don't have a clear direction for my writing just yet. Perhaps sometimes the boundaries we place on ourselves in the spirit of creation are a bit too limiting. I stopped writing for a year after a very confined space to express myself within. At least, it felt confined. 

I don't want to have to wait for another adventure around the world to be inspired again.

The desire to continue the practice is tapas. When there is discipline and appropriate restraint, the yogi has the power and energy to ascend into higher realms of consciousness. I certainly notice a difference within myself when I'm practicing and meditating consistently versus the days I can't/won't get myself on my mat or my cushion. As we've seen from the yamas and niyamas so far, it really is about the choices we make that step us in closer to the highest teachings of yoga.

Having discipline is something that I continue to work on, especially in the fall and winter months. As we go through the change in season, our vata dosha increases, and there seems to be less steadiness, decisiveness and even the desire to practice. I've felt like drinking tea and absorbing myself in books instead of practicing, especially this past month, but since the desire to know my highest Self is stronger, the tapas is sustained. The power over the senses, doshas, seasons, etc. is the commitment to tapas, and the connection to the Self.

It can be a balancing act when it comes down to doing the practice, or even switching to a gentler practice in favor of our current embodiment. When we look back to brahmacharya, and the conservation of our essential energy, it's important to consider what will be the most nourishing choice. With a disciplined and athletic style of practice, I feel it is necessary to balance with a bit of softness or restorative every now and again. On the flip side, if the predominant practice is soft or slow, it could be beneficial to integrate some challenge to inspire a new layer of tapas.

Those points made, while listening to the callings of your body, can there be some way to develop consistency? The physical asana could change daily, but perhaps the practice of meditation remains the same on a regular basis. Or if the preference is a consistent set series style of practice like sattva or ashtanga, maybe the style of meditation or pranayama changes to encourage curiosity and keep things fresh.

I believe it's important to develop some form of routine to create a steadiness within the practice of tapas, as well as a clear pathway to personal growth. 

When we make a choice to step onto the mat, take time to breathe or meditate, we are strengthening the desire to practice more consistently. Each small act adds up, and even if your practice does look a little different each time you decide to participate, the work is still getting done.

After cleanliness, we are invited to practice contentment, or santosha. Quite simply, santosha is the practice of inner peace.

I've been looking at santosha through the lens of challenge. How is it possible to accept and even welcome a bit of challenge in life with a sweet disposition? I feel as though it's something we have to continue learning how to do. Aside from past lives, we're all here figuring things out for the first time in these forms. There will be experiences that throw us off, and challenge where we are in our stage of individual evolution. Maybe at first there were reactions coated in anger or hesitation. As we evolve through the practice of yoga, we begin to learn tools to respond evenly and with present moment awareness. Over time, the quick reaction settles into something more peaceful.

A practice of seeing things clearly, and very simply, exactly as they exist in any given moment. Santosha is a great practice in all moments, no matter where we find ourselves. Something to consider while washing the dishes, tidying the house, taking a shower, etc. Tasks that don't necessarily have a lot of joy tied to them, can be transformed into meditations all on their own. As we hone the skill of present moment awareness while floating through the day, we are empowering ourselves to respond softly in the next moment of turmoil that hits. It can become easy to live in such a peaceful way, but when that peaceful and content state is threatened, we are called upon to test our practice of santosha.

If the yamas are sacred societal observances, the niyamas take us from the gross to the subtle into sacred personal observances. These practices create an internal peacefulness and clarity that prepare us for the deeper practices contained in the rest of the eight limbs.

The first niyama is saucha, which means cleanliness of the body, mind and spirit. As we dive a bit deeper into the study of the yamas and niyamas, we see that we can apply each principle skillfully in both external and internal realms. With saucha, the same is true. If the external reflects the internal, we could consider the state of cleanliness in our home to begin with. Are we keeping things neat and arranged in a way that we feel at peace when we are there?

At the studio after your practice, how are you exiting the space? Are the props you used being returned mindfully? Energetically how are you leaving the space?

Even the way we keep our bodies clean is an aspect of saucha. What kind of products do you use on your skin? What kind of foods are you feeding your body? All aspects that refine themselves from the external toward the vast interior. 

When it comes to clarity, or presence of mind, I feel like it's all about getting quiet. This doesn't necessarily mean that we need to set aside an hour a day to meditate. Sometimes that isn't the medicine we need. I think we need to get innovative about the way we meditate. Get intimate with silence. It's such a quiet adventure to turn inside and get clear in the mind. Cleanliness within the mind offers us support in being fully present with everyone and everything in our lives. 

PURUSARTHA SUNYANAM GUNANAM PRATIPRASAVAH KAIVALYAM SVARUPAPRATISTHA VA CITISAKTIH ITI

Liberation comes to the yogi who has fulfilled the aims of life (purusarthas), and transcended the gunas. Consciousness is established in its purest form: freedom.

This sutra defines kaivalya through two processes: evolution and involution. We explore, through both means, the path to purusa's liberation. The process of evolution involves transcending the gunas. We use these tools in the external realm to deepen and grow toward enlightenment. The process of involution is the practice of fulfilling the individual purusa's aim in life.

According to Patanjali, there are four aims in life called the purusarthas: dharma (right, spiritual duty), artha (means to achieve these duties), kama (pleasures or the way we enjoy our lives), and moksha (freedom from the worldly pleasures).

In B.K.S. Iyengar's commentary, he believes that these fourfold aims of life correspond to the four padas of the yoga sutras. In the first pada, we are given practices to tap in to the state of yoga and find stillness. Dharma is divine duty, and we are pointed in that direction in  samadhi pada.

The second pada, sadhana, offers the means in which the practitioner works toward his divine duty. This is artha, the way in which we execute our duties within the world.

The third pada, vibhuti, explains the extraordinary psychic powers that are obtained through devoted practice. Patanjali reminds the yogi to remain steady so as not to be tempted to use these powers for joy rather than to deepen in spiritual discipline.

Kaivalya pada is about freedom. Moksha, or the fourth aim of life is the detachment from the worldly life. The focus is now on fully existing as an enlightened being.

Once the individual purusa has developed through each stage of life, through involution, and clears the need for the gunas, through evolution, kaivalya is established.

The word "iti" at the end of this sutra translates to "that is all."

KSANA PRATIYOGI PARINAMA APARANTA NIRGRAHYAH KRAMAH

As the gunas are cleared, the endless flow of moment to moment (time) stops. This is only recognized once kaivalya has been achieved.

Patanjali describes the flow of present moments as the concept of time. When the yogi has released his need for nature (prakriti), drops the need to obey the gunas (qualities of nature), he is said to be freed of time.

When the yogi is completely present with each moment as it comes, that is freedom. When the yogi is still learning to keep the mind focused, there is still distraction, and the mind is being pulled away from the present. When this phase of practice evens out, and the yogi can exist fully within each moment, the concept of time stops. 

TATAH KRTARTHANAM PARINAMAKRAMA SAMAPTIH

Then, once the attainment of utter clarity has been achieved, the sequential transformation of the gunas is complete.

The state of dharma meghah samadhih has now been reached, and the yogi is free of the fluctuations of prakriti. Prakriti's qualities, or gunas, have been stilled and even fulfilled. 

TADA SARVA AVARANA MALAPETASYA JNANASYA ANANTYAT JNEYAM ALPAM

Then, all veils and impurities are removed, and the yogi is still within the vast infinity of all knowledge.

The steady stream of dharma meghah samadhih causes freedom, but also the removal of any clutter or impurities standing in the way of universal knowledge.

Once the clutter no longer exists, the yogi has infinite knowledge. As the soul, or Atman, or Brahma, or purusa, is the essence of the universe, the yogi exists within that pure space and gains the secrets of the universe.

I love the way this sutra is explained in the book "How to Know God" by Swami Prabhavanananda and Christopher Isherwood.

TATAH KLESA KARMA NIVRTTIH

Then comes the disappearance of the kleshas (afflictions) and karma.

The result of dharma meghah samadhih, or the highest state of being, is simply freedom. We are freed from the things that pull us from our true nature, such as the kleshas. These afflictions including being attached to things, or having an obsession with the ego, lead us to a place far removed from the intelligence that naturally rests within the soul.

When we reach a place so centered and uplifted, the natural result is this freedom. Even still, the practice is done to maintain an even keel, so that there is no wavering from this deep, inner calm.

As we begin to flow with the divine, any action is effortless, and there is a willingness to move within integrity at all moments. The yogi has transcended prakriti and the two main forms of bondage, the kleshas and karma.

PRASAMKHYANE API AKVSIDASYA SARVATHA VIVEKAKHYATEH DHARMAMEGHAH SAMADHIH

When there is no interest or motivation even to achieve the highest state of spiritual evolution, the yogi attains dharma meghah samadhih, or the seedless fruit of the practice of yoga.

As the yogi advances in the practice clearly enough that there is no longer the motivation or desire to advance, he has attained freedom.

This is vastly different from becoming lazy or complacent within the practice. This state of seedless dharma meghah samadhih is essentially the experience of satchitananda, or truth, consciousness and bliss. The practice comes naturally for this yogi, and all work is done only to maintain purity, rather than striving toward a specific aim.

To the practitioner who reaches this state, the concept of enlightenment may be viewed as a hindrance to his ever pure consciousness. Thus, there is no thought of attaining anything, but rather the practice will serve to sustain.