Chop Wood, Carry Water

by Jamie Shane

  So, we put our feet on the mat, begin to truly breathe and move. We move the body, we move the breath, we move inside. And, for many of us, this is the first opportunity we get to understand what it is to be within. What it means to connect. This practice of yoga is an encounter with our subtle being, with our very lifeforce. We see that our existence is more than physical, that we live on many levels, and that we have the ability to work on these varied levels.

  Wow. Big. Scary. Concept.

  But, as we travel the byways our inner self, we may also find a few things we aren’t really ready to look at. Resentments, fears, truths. These things have all stored themselves in the subtle bodies, tucking away into dark nooks and crannies of the English muffin that is our spiritual soul. And as we work through the postures and breaths of yoga, as we come to true awareness, sometimes these things just release. Sometimes they jump out of the bushes with a big old Boo!, and sometimes they leak out slowly like water from an old, cracked faucet. But it cannot be helped and it cannot be avoided. Nor should it be.

  I have seen these releases come in all shapes and forms. They are all beautiful to behold. But the most common, and the most bewildering when experienced, is the spontaneous release of tears. There you are, in a simple squat when, boom, you are weeping with no explanation. You don’t know whether you are sad, or happy, overwhelmed or awestruck. It is the most curious of sensations. People tend to backpedal here, to try and pull themselves back. What am I crying for? Quit being ridiculous! There’s nothing to cry about.

  Oh. No, no. no. Maybe there isn’t anything to cry about now. But maybe once upon a time there was. Maybe you stuffed something so far down that just now, it has managed to work itself out. How beautiful to be able to let that go. Or perhaps you have touched upon the great connection. Perhaps you have received a glimpse at the sublime, the beauty of life and living and god. Perhaps you have uncovered the well of joy that exists within all hearts. That, too, is worthy of tears. So let them flow. Its all good.

  We are creatures of vast potential, complex and multi-layered. We are so unwilling to explore that. It is too big. Too scary. Too unknown. No wonder people weep. But to release is to discover. To learn. To live. To be.

  All you have to do is step on the mat.

  23

  There is an interesting theological notion out there that claims sacrifice is good for the soul. In one way or another, in one translation or another, this thought makes its way into most of the world’s major religions. Even in yoga, though it be not a faith, this concept appears. And I find that when an idea crosses inter-religious lines as extensively as does this one, it bears serious consideration.

  Where we run into problems is in people’s perception of what it means to ‘sacrifice’. Somewhere along the way, our collective consciousness decided that all sacrifices were grand gestures that equaled martyrdom. If we weren’t giving something to another that created personal suffering, then we weren’t really ‘sacrificing’. If you think about it, this definition of sacrifice has allowed us to practically abandon the concept altogether. In other words, ‘If I have nothing so grand to give, I have nothing to sacrifice at all.’

  That is very wrong thinking.

  Sacrifice is simply the noble art of foregoing small comforts or conveniences so that others may thrive. If you need examples of this, simply look at Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi. These two were Michelangelos of sacrifice, and they were the most joyous of people. Without a stitch of martyrdom between them, they made many small chips of sacrifice, whittling away at the marble of selfishness to find the beautiful David within. Sure, at times they probably found challenges, but they did not give away their lives, liberty or happiness. And still they managed to serve the greater good.

  Sacrifice does not need to equal suffering. You can sacrifice any number of things quite easily and make a ferocious dent in world problems. You can sacrifice something small and simple to make a monumental change in your own, personal experience of happiness. You do not need to make a Christ-like offering of sacrifice to do good in the world.

  Allow me to present a small example: Last Friday was a perfect, Florida day. Warm, sunny and breezy with a comfortable temperature of about 76 degrees. This was the kind of weather that we brag about, that we call to torture our Northern friends with, that hundreds of thousands of people fly hundreds of miles to experience. And yet, I was practically the only car on the road with my windows rolled down enjoying the air. I kid you not.

  This means that almost all of the other cars had their windows up and the air conditioning on. What does any of this have to do with sacrifice, you say? Think about it. The average car loses roughly four miles per gallon of gas in fuel efficiency when the AC is on. That (for my car) is a little more than 2 gallons of gas per tank, per week. Do some very rough math here, and estimate if the entire population of Naples eschewed auto air-conditioning during our stretches of beautiful weather. That’s about 600,000 gallons of gas saved per week, 2,400,000 gallons of gas per month. And that’s just one mid-sized town. Take it out over the state, over half of the year when the weather is fair and you have just created a dent in the energy crisis. That is a lot of good for a very little effort.

  And what did you sacrifice? Habit, comfort, convenience—in the realm of things, a very little personal sacrifice for a great big boon to the common good. Most of us can easily afford to make sacrifices like this in our lives. If we let go of some conveniences and change some basic living habits, we can create better health for ourselves and the world. Make the change in your mind and sacrifice becomes an everyday gift, not a once in a lifetime event.

  This is the sacrifice that feeds the soul. Not just yours, but everybody’s.

  24

  A friend of mine once asked me: Is it a form of violence to refuse the service of others? Not one of our lighter conversations, warranted. But an interesting thought nonetheless.

  We are taught from a very young age to share. We are indoctrinated in the belief that it is holy to give. That charity is one of the finest virtues. We are rarely taught the value of receiving, or that there is virtue in a gracious acceptance of another’s offering.

  How many of you know someone who gives and gives and gives and never ever allows you to do anything for them? Don’t pretend. We all know the selfless martyr. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m happy just to do it.” But is this really selflessness? Or is it just another, less jaded form of selfishness?

  To do for others makes one feel good. It makes us feel valuable. In some instances, it makes us feel superior. Rarely is it a conscious decision of “I’m so much better than everyone else because I am so generous.” But that feeling is there. To be selfless takes us closer to God—or at least that is what we are told. But we are also shown that it is alright to be satisfied by our generosity.

  You must know what I mean. An example would be those people who donate a fortune to a charitable foundation and then plaster their name across the building. That is not selfless giving—that is a form of hubris. That is not true service. The instant that act of giving becomes qualified by pride, it is negated.

  Service is giving without expectation of reward or recognition. Even private recognition. When done without pride, service is the ultimate expression of holy love. Even the simplest of acts can be divine if freely offered. This is giving.

  But as all of life is an ebb and flow, a give and take, there can be no giving without receiving. To refuse to accept what another wants to offer is terrible selfishness—even if the thought of self never rises. To refuse to accept means that you are better than, or don’t need, others. That you have more than enough love, happiness, charity to pass out freely without ever compromising your vast store of self.

  What crap.

  Even the strongest of warriors needs help sometimes. Even the holiest of men needs the support of others. The offerings of love, support, wisdom—even money—should not be turned down out of hand. Did you ever stop to think that the
person offering wants to share of themselves with you? That they need to be of service as much as you do? That somewhere exists a cosmic balance sheet that needs to be reconciled?

  One cannot give exclusively. Nor can one receive exclusively. A good life comes from a healthy balance between the two. If you accept that, you will find that you will always have what you need. When you are low, another will rise up to fill you. When you are full, undoubtedly someone will need of you. To give freely is divine. To receive freely is graciousness at its best.

  So would I go as far as to say that it is violence to refuse service? Hmmm. Probably not. But I will say that it is a selfish outlook that does damage to others, yourself and cosmic equilibrium. No man is an island. And you are not the only human who feels a need to give.

  So the next time someone offers you a gift of themselves just say, “Thank You.” Even if you don’t think you need it, maybe they do. And that, my friends, is true grace.

  25

  When I was much younger, I ran in a pack with a girl we nicknamed “Witless”. Yes, Witless. As in ‘Not-too-smart’. We called her this to her face. For our Senior week, the poor girl had to drink from a bright pink cup emblazoned with this rude moniker. (And for those of you thinking how cruel, be assured, the defamation was wholesale: mine was festooned with a big, red ‘b’ word.) However mean this may have been, it seemed—at the time—brutally true. It took Witless ages to reach a decision on anything and everything from lunch to college. To a pack of on-the-go teenagers, this was completely maddening. We probably loved her more for this irritating characteristic than we knew. Because, in spite of it, things always seemed to work out for her (and us) in one way or another.

  I am so proud to still know her. She just finished a Masters degree in Applied Linguistics. Witless, indeed.

  What I realize now—nearly 20 years later—is that she was never really witless. She was just unknowingly deliberate. She took her time. She did what needed to be done only when it was absolutely time for it to be done and no sooner. This is why things always seemed to work out. In today’s rush-rush culture this is a rare gift. So rare that we took it for stupidity. And isn’t that just a cryin’ shame.

  What she intuited (and I had to learn) is that things happen in a deliberate order and in their own time. Fruit does not fall off of trees with no roots. Babies don’t materialize out of baking pans. First x must happen, then y, then z. This is how nature works. And, as much as we might wish it otherwise, human constructs work in exactly the same way.

  Life is hectic, busy, and hard. Sure. There is always something important to do and too little time to do it. Most of us develop the habit of just banging out whatever task is convenient to the moment, regardless of how far ahead of the line we jump. If we have a million things to do, how can it matter if we do #964,226 before #200,110?

  Because without patient foundations of thought and deed, we will always be running helter-skelter, achieving only by haphazard. Because to accomplish only for the sake of checking something off your list is allowing yourself to live in a low-grade panic. All the time. Disregarding the natural order of things carries with it the very real possibility of creating more chaos, which then only perpetuates the sense of having too little time. To simply be more deliberate, and trust that there is an appropriate time to act that might not be this very moment, will help you find that calm center from which thoughtful, effective action flows.

  As I age, I am learning this: Life exists in a strange space of opposites. It both passes quickly and ripens slowly. You can either spend your days desperately trying to keep pace, or you can sit in relative stillness and allow it to steep, acting only when the time is right. Only you can choose which side of the coin you want to live on. And only you can know when it is time for action. But if you are looking for peace, you must yield to the true nature of things and let them evolve. If you want the illusion of control, go ahead, rush away.

  Me, I’m finished scurrying around. I’m taking a page from Witless’ book even if it drives my family crazy the way she used to drive me crazy. Because that girl is a genius.

  And she always has been.

  26

  When you utter the word guru, two things happen. People conjure up an image of an old Indian man in a loincloth, gray beard stretching down to his toes, and shudder, thinking you must be a cult-blinded fool. Or they conjure up an image of an old Indian man in a loincloth, gray beard stretching down to his toes, and think: "Hallelujah! A man with directions! Finally!"

  These reactions are often the result of where a person is in their life, and cultural prejudices they carry around. For a yogi, the word guru comes with a lexicon of meaning. That meaning helps the relationship between student and guru to function. For a non-yogi, that word brings confusion—there is no meaning to determine the nature of this precious relationship. A relationship that can enlighten and enrich an entire lifetime.

  The term guru can be loosely translated to mean "one who removes you from darkness" or "one who brings you to the light." When approached this way, the guru principle can take on a vibrant new meaning.

  No longer is guru simply one who initiates another into the path of yoga, but one who brings another into a new mode of living. Just think, you, too, have had a guru. Who was the first person to bring you from the darkness and into the light?

  Think back. Waaaaaay back. You can't even remember the first person that brought you to the light. Because the very first guru you ever had was Mom. She brought you from the darkness to the light—literally— and then continued to do so for many years. This is the first and most precious guru you ever had.

  And I highly doubt that Mom has a long, gray beard, and if she's wearing a loincloth, well, let's not go there.

  Gurus appear throughout your life whether you follow the path of yoga or not. People are designed to learn from other people, and every person who enriches you can be considered a guru of sorts. Eventually you may want to find a "distinguished guru," someone who moves on the path of enlightenment and has the ability to show you the way. Maybe you won't. But to dismiss the value of a guru simply because yoga isn't your bag is to deny the value of our very human process.

  To question is human. And sometimes the questions grow so large that we do not have the ability to find the answers on our own. Enter the guru. This person will join your life when you need them most, and they might wear the most unusual faces.

  My most personal guru laughs every time I call her such. A regular woman, struggling to find her own way, struggling to make ends meet, decided to try the path of yoga. As she struggled, as she learned, she shared. She taught me yoga, and led me from my darkness onto the path that I walk now.

  No beard, no enlightened liturgy, definitely no loincloth. But she showed me how to think in a new way, and how to love the process of growth. She was who I needed at that moment in time to begin my own personal transformation.

  Everybody needs a guru. And I think that everybody has one. Maybe two, maybe three. Maybe its time for a new one. There is no shame in needing a guru, be it through the path of yoga, or religion, or even friendship.

  So keep your eyes open. Because when the student is ready, the guru will appear.

  27

  Non-violence has been a path of great victory for such notables as Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. They both claimed that it was the only path to a true, lasting peace. For yogis, non-violence is a cornerstone belief of the practice. It is the primary building block of the Yamas and Niyamas, or the rules of spiritual living. We call it ahimsa, and all other efforts are in it’s service.

  To practice ahimsa, one is asked to be non-violent in thought, speech and deed. No problem, right? How hard can it be? Don’t take a baseball bat to someone’s car. Don’t smack your husband silly when he says something stupid. Don’t zap your neighbour’s dog with an electric cattle prod when they won’t shut up at six a.m. Easy stuff…if you only observe it on the surface. However.

 
Is it violence when you grab that can of Raid and unload it on the roach in your cupboard? Is it violence to wear leather shoes or eat a steak? Is it violence to drive a huge SUV that gets 8 mpg? These kinds of questions are just the beginning of a huge canon of debatable issues. It is an endless rabbit hole with no clear bottom.

  The issue of ahimsa gets even trickier when you move into the arena of non-violent speech. Again, it is quite easy on the surface: Don’t scream obscenities at a rude stranger. Don’t negatively reinforce your child. Don’t tell lies for the sake of telling lies. But here we go again, diving down into the murky depths of the issue. Is it violence to tell a lie that does good when the truth will ultimately harm? Is it violence to tell a truth that hurts even though your intention is good? Oh, messy ahimsa! Messy!

  And that’s not even the worst of it. To fully practice ahimsa, one is expected to be non-violent in thought as well. This is where I always fall off the philosophical wagon and sit on the curb thinking, “Now that’s just ridiculous.” Thoughts are like hiccups—you never know where they come from or how to really control them. To expect yourself to be able to censor your thoughts before they arise is really too much to ask. How can one fully explore the depths of this practice if it is filled with so many booby traps?

  The same way you handle everything else—one moment at a time. You just do the very best that you can and make choices that serve your own interpretation of what ahimsa means to you. When a violent thought arises, you push it to the side and say, “No. I will no longer think that.” When violence is on the tip of your tongue, stop and think. Does this really need to be said and what will be the ultimate result? If it serves non-violence, then go ahead and speak. If it doesn’t, hold your tongue and let the moment go by. Examine your actions and make decisions that help you practice ahisma. If something is too hard for you to manage, then it is a form of violence to yourself to force the issue. (With some notable exceptions like harmful addictions.)