Atha Yoga Anushasanam

This Sunday, I will be teaching my first, official yoga class and there has been no question in my mind as to what the theme of the class will be: the Heart, the great elixir. Since graduating from my training program a little over three months ago, I've had ample time to prepare myself to sit in the seat of the teacher. I feel ready, in a weirdly comfortable way, a sense of preparation I've felt for quite a while now. Sure, there will be nerves before I actual take the seat of the teacher come next Sunday and I know I may falter in giving "perfect" cues or saying the "perfect" thing to tie together the deeper meaning of the various asana postures throughout class, but one thing is certain, my heart is clear and ready to lead, even if just for this hour and a half.

And, that is just it: letting the wisdom and strength of the heart guide my actions and allowing it to be the inner compass to recalibrate back to the now, over and over. That has and will in all honesty, continue to be my life-long practice. And, what better way to jump start my teaching than to do so in the heart, the center of transformation. It is within the heart that we find the spaciousness to hold, to sit with, and to eventually integrate and transform even the seemingly most polar opposites of the mind. As my teacher would say, the heart has no problem with polarities or opposition. It's the mind that says you have to pick one and stick to that form, whether in thought, feeling, belief or action. The heart knows in its infinite wisdom that grace exists in the space between the polarities, between the inhalation and the exhalation, the exchange between two opposing forces. In this space, there is flexibility, freedom and choice. And, softness.

For me, the journey back into the heart is a constant one, one I would like to say is getting easier and maybe it is in terms of realizing there's truly no end goal or state to be achieved. Much like yoga, I'm settling into the deeper knowing that yoga: union, bliss, enlightenment, remembrance of Self, isn't a state to be achieved or attained by means of arduous practice. Not to say things like asana, meditation, or other various forms of conscious practice have no purpose, because they so greatly enhance and expedite the process and journey of remembrance. But, through my own practice and intentionality on the heart space, it's become clearer that each breath is merely an invitation to re-member, to come back into the sacred temple of the body, to the moment, with heartfelt acceptance, compassion and love.

It's the practice of becoming conscious time and time again when our default is to go unconscious, on autopilot, especially in times of boredom, mundaneness, discomfort, or habitual checking out. But yoga invites us to do otherwise, to cultivate the opposite, to check in, instead of check out. To Show Up for what is, even the uncomfortable, especially the uncomfortable. To recognize and tend to the constant ebb and flow of thought and emotions, but to not be swept along for the ride. Showing up doesn't mean surrendering to the chaos of life but it does mean bringing vigilance in attention to the constant fluctuations of mood, thought and feeling. And, as overwhelmed as the mind becomes by this task, the heart is ready, just waiting for us to call it to action.

My own journey back into the heart has been one marked by strife but also strides of freedom and reclamation. As someone who has lived the majority of her life living in the extremist, black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking, the heart has invited me to experience, even if momentarily, the gray area, the space between two opposing forces. My extremist thinking has tricked me into believing that two options exist: binge or restrict, over-exercise or do nothing, anxiety-driven or depression-induced, perfection and rebellion. The polarities persist: the light and the dark, the ego and the Self…but the heart keeps on keeping on, each inhalation meeting the next exhalation. The effortless exchange between the two emanates from the heart space, inviting us to feel into any opposing force, to unite the two with consciousness in the heart and to offer it up for transformation.

Coming back into my heart and into my body (an ongoing process), I was met with "un-yogic" feelings, seemingly paradoxical to this center of love and compassion. What I saw and felt was anger, resentment, guilt, shame, fear, judgment, self-criticism and self-loathing. It has honestly been an overwhelming, frightening and sometimes debilitating process to continue to face and move through all this darkness and shadow. The shadow has been something I have pushed away, feelings I resisted by means of food or body abuse. I have resented it as a foreign entity invading and desecrating my temple, unwelcome for the mess that it made time and time again, by means of self-abuse with words, thoughts and actions.

But, little by little, I've come to realize that in order to heal and come back into wholeness, the shadow parts must be integrated and held in unconditional love and compassion. Not an easy thing by any means. Talk about seeing the worst parts of yourself day in and day out. Becoming conscious was one thing. But, no sooner did I start becoming aware of these shadowy parts of myself, that I met these dark parts with more judgment, self-criticism and hatred. So, yes I missed the mark on that, meeting myself, the whole of myself, the light and especially the dark, with love, heartfelt acceptance and compassion. But, it's a work in process. And, thank goodness my heart has never called it quits on this responsibility to show up for myself time and time again.

In the first sutra of the first chapter in the Yoga Sutras by Patanjali, it says:
"Atha yoga anushasanam" which translates as
"Yoga is NOW"

Now, it doesn't say anything about yoga being after you are able to come into full wheel or handstand, nor does it say after a state of perfection is attained, in any essence of the sense. This has been literally like someone knocking me over the head, sometimes over and over, that I've got it all wrong. Yoga is union, right here right now, perfect imperfection, acceptance of what IS, not what it should be, or what it should look like. That, in and of itself, has kind of unraveled and left me pondering all the things and "doing" nature I've mistaken for who I am, to prove my sense of worth, to attain acceptance from other or from this ideal I've created in my own mind. Patanjali says nothing about this. Enlightenment is now, not off in some cave or high mountain top after a ten-day vision quest or fast. Wholeness is nourished when you see who you really are, as you are, in this moment, accept what you see and heal what needs to be healed.

This has been pivotal on my journey and ongoing recovery from disordered eating and exercise addiction. To meet my body as it is, to move and love in this body, not in the ten-fewer-pounds body, or the body a month from now, when I've finally kicked the binging once and for all, or in the ideal image of perfection in my head (whatever that means). But, in THIS body. A constant practice, to re-member and breath deeply into this body, this moment, this feeling, to use exercise not in a way of self-abuse or another means to reject the body I have now, in hopes of a different one in the near future. But, to use food and exercise to heal and reclaim the body I am in right now. It means showing up for this body, with love, acceptance and compassion. And, when I do that, even if for a brief part of my day, man what a difference it makes. A welcoming softness and sweetness where rigidity has existed and ruled.

So, that is briefly (okay not so brief), but in short or long, this will be my teaching for my first yoga class (whew). To show up for what is, to attend to the breath and the heart. To remember that Yoga is NOW. To savor the sweet space between polarities. To lead if only for a few breaths, with the heart, instead of the incessant stories in the head. To let this inner compass guide your movements a little more each day. And, to do so with heartfelt acceptance, compassion and love. Atha Yoga Anushasam.

The Shadow

The darkness unnerves me still,
Its looming, dooming presence.
Threatening to abolish the light.
A pervasive, invasive fear.
Percolating in the shadows.
Do I dare venture?

Heart quickening, breath shortening.
I teeter on the brink of
Self-evacuation.
To run, to numb, to hide.
To retreat.

Back into the spaces,
The cracks of old wounds,
Past hurts,
Tantalizing me with their stories,
Convincing, rehearsed.
Discomfort residing in the comforts
Of this fear all too familiar.

But the light within beckons,
A mere glimmer, a glimpse
Into the blackness of the night.
Glittering over my half-closed eyelids.
A softening sweetness.

The lightness deepens, expands, widens.
But the Shadow remains.
Unavoidable.

The Shadow,
The dark side of the Moon.
In all her glory, she reflects her
Light toward Earth.
Our Mother.
Goddess of Love and Light.

The Shadow,
The other half,
The unseen. The obscure.
Without its presence,
Light dim and weak.

The Moon is both and,
Shadow and Light.
Dusk and Dawn.
Morning and Night,
Illuminating,
Intoxicating.

And somewhere in between,
The Space,
That holds both,
Deep in her bosom,
Nourishing, nurturing.
The infinite, unknown.

The Shadow,
Just as much a part,
Of her as is the Light.
The infinite capacity, spaciousness
To hold it All.
The Fear.
The Love.

The Shadow thirsts for the warmth,
Of Light.
To guide her home.

Nowhere to hide in the space,
Exposed and vulnerable,
But held.

Embraced as One,
They dance on into the darkness of Night,
Into the illuminating presence of the Moon,
All One.
Whole.
Complete.

Anywhere but Here

It is a blessing and a curse to be introspective, aware of one's state of being in a consistently persistent, exasperating manner. Or, rather an intermittent moment of awareness to one's perpetual and habitual tendency to be anywhere but here, anywhere but the present moment. I call it the "Anywhere-But-Here Syndrome," a phrase my ego would like to call its own, but as it turns out, I'm not the only one with self-evacuation protocols in place. And, I'm evidently not alone in falling victim to the incessant chattering and chaotic whirlings of the mind. Yes, I had to google the coined "syndrome" just to prove to my (sometimes) proud ego that I'm not the only one mulling over such prevalent dis-ease on both an individual and societal level.

Returning back to the words awkwardly and a little forcibly appearing on the screen before me, I set aside my neurotic "googling" behavior of temporarily satiating my mind's hunger for security, affirmation. My mind is undeviating in its hunger for more, more, more. More knowledge, more time, more pleasure. Scarcity mode of thinking: the fear and belief that there is never enough, a bottomless pit waiting to be filled, full, but to no avail. It is simply never enough to appease the mind's incessant wanting. Scarcity-based thinking inevitably perpetuates the belief that the present state is not enough as is, that there is always a hole to be filled, driving many, myself included, into addictive thinking and behaving. Observing this conditioned thought pattern, I inwardly pat myself on the back for a "job well done" of nearly perfecting this practice. Yes, it is a practice. Whether that practice is conscious or not and serves your highest is a whole different matter.

Becoming conscious of this often times debilitating pattern of thought and behavior is where it all begins and ends, quite possibly. And, unfortunately, for myself and many of you fellow recovering perfectionists, this is where the judgement card comes into play, the condemning voice, perhaps the bully within you constantly on the prowl for "bad" behavior. The self-judgment and criticism for our perceived shortcomings come strong and hard for most of us. For me, its the judgments around not being enough, not doing enough, an aversion and rejection of my shadow qualities: the anger, guilt, selfishness, laziness, greed and addictive behavior. As of late, my inner perfectionist, has lavishly adorned herself with the new label, "Spiritual Saint," minus the merciful, compassionate nature. She is the voice berating me for anything less than perfect attendance to the here and now. She points out and ruminates on my inability to show up, authentically, wholly 110 percent of the time. Anything less is met with criticism and self-rejection.

The voice taunts me, "Look at you, you fraud. You only want others to think of you as this perfectly zen, kumbaya yogi who has her shit together 100 percent of the time. If they only knew your shadow, your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities." Maybe, just maybe you can relate to the voice in varying tones, traits and degrees. So, not only do we have to confront a prevalent way of self-evacuation, by means of autopilot, checking out or numbing out, but now, we have the judgements added to the mix. It is a windy, curvy road inward, a journey home to ourselves, where we encounter all of these voices: the judgments, the fears, the stories intertwined but precariously positioned on particular expectations and images of ourselves.

And, somewhere along the way, we (meaning I) forget the whole purpose of the quest, the journey inward. To awaken to what is. Not to push away, cast aside or dilute the deemed shadow qualities. But, to turn on the light to it all. And, in the words of my teacher, once the light is on, with the cobwebs and dust settling in the corners, you can't unsee. The practice is to see it all, and to see it all and embrace it with compassion. You show up for what is, not for what it once was or what may be. You show up for the given moment, regardless of whether the dualistic mode of thinking has already gone in to seek its claim on the labels of "good" and "bad." In my own practice, and boy is it that, it's a constant recalibration back to my present state, feelings, fears, discomforts and all.

It's as simple as driving in traffic, that is in terms of explanation factor not necessarily the ease of a practice. Yup, the doomed, witching hour when all you want is to get to your destination, to be anywhere but where you are, with no patience to show up to the in-between, the transitionary time. So, you evacuate the present moment. And your mind is off spinning into a thousand different directions, what you're going to make for dinner that night, oh and maybe you should call that friend of yours you've been meaning to call to kill the time, and man, now you're going to be late for work and that's going to set your whole day off, and now you're angry. You're angry at yourself for leaving too late, at the driver next to you in the Subaru with a "Save the Earth" sticker on its bumper for congesting your route and now look at you, how horrible of a person are you for sending your unjustified anger to that kind individual who probably is just as fed up as you are. And, the whirlings of the mind are just getting started.

But, all the meanwhile, amidst the chaotic fluctuations, where are you? Well, considering I just experienced this same drama early this morning in route to work, I'd have to say I was sitting front and center in the "I deserve to be angry" seat. Because, of course, who likes to be stuck in traffic, rushing to work? But, the point is, I created the drama on top of the drama. Our reaction to the current state of things follows a similar pattern, the tailspin into a dissatisfaction of the present moment, a habitual checking out.

Through my yoga teacher training program, which has since…dare I say it…come and gone and metamorphosized into this next phase of integration and creation, the daunting unknown of what now has come bubbling up to the surface. Of all the things I learned in my training, the most prevalent teaching here and now (no pun intended) seems to be this: yoga asana is merely a tool to purposely create drama and study ourselves in it, our tendencies, our modes of thinking and reacting, and pure and simple, but not so, our only task is to Show Up for what is, by means of the breath. To show up for the sensations, the thoughts, the feelings.

Currently, so many fears are whirling in my own inner world, namely the fear of this next convoluted phase of my life, yet another awkward transitionary period to reflect on what was and to move forward into what is to come. Coming into stillness, but not staleness. It is a moment of pause, an often times painfully uncomfortable and unsettling feeling that I should be "doing" more, that I'm not doing enough to work toward the intentions I have set out for myself. Knowing my procrastinating tendencies perpetuated by worry and fear, I will now, give them a voice to whoever is listening out there. Here it goes.

My heart truly wants to be heard, to be expressed, to be given a voice, a platform to stand on. And, the ways in which my heart is yearning to be expressed is in the form of the following: teaching yoga asana, offering Reiki sessions and semi-starting my own business (more on this later), returning to school to work toward a masters in counseling, and writing, in whatever shape or form that comes in…blogs, poetry, a book. My heart wants to lead. Scary? Yes. Uncomfortable? Absolutely.

It feels as though my dreams are circling and drawing me in, but the winding path toward them is unclear. And, of course all the meanwhile, the ingrained stories of unworthiness are fighting to survive. This transitionary phase draws me in, beckoning me to sit in the stillness of it all, that the here and now is alright even in its confusion and stagnation. In fact, it is more than alright, it is perfect in all its perfect imperfection, not necessarily in the dualistic good/bad qualities but in its inherent worth for being the only moment guaranteed. Each moment invites us to show up, to savor. For it is in the practice of savoring, that we are coaxed into not merely allowing, but appreciating what is. A daily, moment to moment practice. And, to allow for ourselves and others, a little more space for grace in the stillness for our own unique journeys home. That is my practice.

Wholeness

Where You end and I begin,
The separation is not clear.
The womb from which my heart began,
Forever tied to the beating of your own.

As one you birthed me into this world,
A separation that etched out my heart,
My body, the temple of my Spirit.

It is no mystery why we both are here,
Intertwined in similar stories,
Mistaken beliefs of unworthiness.
Forgotten.
Veiled.

But, perfectly imperfect we press on,
Picking up the pieces,
Making amends for all the generations,
That came before,
To boldly, unapologetically proclaim
Our power, our voice, our love.

Though the ancestors before us,
Shied away,
From the Truth,
The heart.

Building up walls, instead of safe passages.
Fortresses, instead of temples,
Desecrating the temple with fear,
Instead of love.
Darkness,
In place of light.

But I stand before you now,
Seen, vulnerable, awake.
As mother and daughter, we stand,
Singing a similar melody,
Distinct in voice and pitch.

An agreement we made long ago,
To journey alongside one another,
To do the best we can, in each moment,
Releasing ourselves from the burden,
Of perfection, of something to be attained.
To recognize our innate self worth,
By simply breathing.

To forgive one another for mistaking,
Who we are as broken,
Something to be fixed.
To free ourselves from the burden,
Of unworthiness, guilt, shame.

To reclaim our roots,
Of wholeness and worth,
To flourish yet again in our beauty
And love.
To remember,
The core of who we are,
Boldly reclaiming the lost jewel in the city.

That all we are is a burning flame of
Love.
Burning down all the walls,
The fortresses,
Resurrecting the temple,
Sacred
Whole.

Mother, daughter,
Crone, maiden.
All one.
Unfurling from the other.
A continuation of the seed,
Planted long ago,
A reclamation of all forms.
In wholeness once more.

Reclamation

A pain unnamed,
Masked, hidden.
A feeling unfelt,
Buried, burrowed,
Forgotten.

A wounded innocence,
A buried gem,
Hidden, in fear,
Of misuse, abuse.

Dusted over by layers,
Of fear,
Conditioning,
Distrust,
In Self.

Its pureness salvaged,
In wholeness.
Pain masked by silence.
Invisible.
Unseen.
Waiting.

A vulnerability,
The truth discarded,
Cast aside.

The veil dropped,
The armor in precarious perfection.
Cold, hardened, withdrawn.
Preservation of an innocence within,
A jewel in the city.

The fear of being seen,
In the truth of the heart,
the unstruck instrument,
The inner compass.
Hidden behind the veil,
Of illusion.

To be seen,
Reclaimed.
Raw, exposed, vulnerable.
A seductive dance,
Controlling the outward elements,

In hopes,
Of stifling inner chaos,
Of feelings unnamed,
Unfelt,
Unmasked.

Seen.
       In perfect.
                     Wholeness.
                                   A reclamation.

Hunger

Seduction at its finest,
A tantalizing flux and fluctuation of thought.
A gnawing, a hunger.
Mistaken for physical.

Duped yet again by attachment,
To fill, to fix, to fade,
The gnawing of a feeling unnamed.
For naming it would mean tuning in,
Into the unknown of a feeling,
Raw, vulnerable, undone.

A reaction convoluting the gap,
Between feeling and fix.
Awareness and action.
Allowing no space for choice, no room for grace.

Duped, tricked, seduced.
To numb out this unnamed, unfelt feeling,
A gnawing of a need not met.
Resorting to the commonly practiced comfort,
Food as refuge, solace.

Belly full, soul empty.
Aching felt, guilt brewing,
For the perpetuation of self-induced suffering.
A hunger remains.

To Be Seen

To be seen,
Heard, felt, held in beloved arms.
The heart holding space for what is,
In this moment, you are loved.
In this moment, you are held, nurtured.

No judgments, conditions, expectations.
All is as it is, with each breath.
The heart feeling deeply, reverently, adoringly.
For the inner wounds, the scared and abandoned,
The fearful, disjointed parts tucked away in darkness.

The sacred space for breath to flow,
For healing, transformation,
Reconciliation of the darkness,
Threading the stitches, rooting down into earth,
Unearthing false identities,
Stories we've told woven into the fabric of these images,
Of ourselves, of others.

The lies we've taken on as our own,
The falsity in beliefs we clutch so tightly,
Debilitating fear of loosening, letting go,
Of what we believe to be true,
The precariousness and fragility with each faltering step.

The heart, the spirit, stifled by aching pain, felt deeply in our bones
Taken on as our own, latched onto the stories of past,
Hurt, trauma, loss, grief.
As measures of our worth, inadequate and lacking,
In need to be filled, covered, fixed.
A brokenness, a void.

To feel deeply, expanding the space for dawning to break,
Opening up to the light and the dark,
Spaces within.
In this expansive silence,
We meet our Selves,
The seed we've forgotten, the inner light overshadowed.

In this presence, we see it all,
The inner trenches of shadow and light,
To hold steady for both to exist as is,
Without fleeing, freezing, fighting.
In this moment, we are whole, complete.

An inward reclamation of who we are,
Freeing the fires within to transform,
The beliefs, the veils covering the seed,
Of who we are.

A journey of fierce courage and persistence,
But one of softness and sweetness.
The two dancing in the flames and embers of transformation.
Letting love be their guide,
Compassion, heart-centered.

An unfolding choice each breath, each moment,
To shift, nurturing the seed within,
To step back into the light.
Inviting the light in others to shine forth.
In authentic wholeness.

Unearthing the entanglement.
Returning to the roots,
And rooting deeply into being, steady, held, loved,
At home in center, in Self.

You are seen, heard, beloved,
As you are, in this breath, in this moment,
A light in the darkness,
The reclaimed seed,
Whole and complete.
Rooting into the earth.
Grounded, held, loved.