Chop Wood, Carry Water

by Jamie Shane

  Things change. And unlike a house made of stone, the house of self is always shifting and growing. Your foundations are not set; they alter over time. Do not be so prideful as to think that what you know is what you know and that is the end of that. That’s just asking to get hurt—in any number of ways.

  Truly wise people realize that they don’t really know anything. There is great humour in that. And great freedom as well. This leads to awareness and grace—the real foundation of life.

  Now that’s something to be proud of.

  90

  There are many, many things in the world that will happily introduce you to your limitations. I happen to think yoga is high up on the list of those that will simply stun you with the limitations it reveals.

  For when we run across an intellectual limitation, we can easily dismiss our chagrin with the rationalization that we have simply not yet learned what needs to be learned. When we run up against a social limitation, we can simply chalk it up to class structure and the ills of modern society.

  When we run up against an economic limitation, we can just set our caps at making the money we need to surpass it. But when we run smack dab into the walls of our own physical limitations—those that aren’t caused by outright injury or handicap—we often find ourselves simply dumbfounded.

  I believe this is because we inherently assume that our bodies will do what is demanded of them. When we were children we wanted to walk, so we learned to walk. We want something on the top shelf, we reach up and take it off of the shelf. Our bodies have always simply responded to our desires with very little thought or effort towards how or why it performs for us. But the practice of yoga takes one out of automatic functioning and into conscious movement. It asks you to perform physical tasks that have no subconscious inherency. They are completely foreign, and you have no idea how foreign they are until you sit down and try to manage them the same way you have always managed your body—without thought to your real situation.

  And then forward fold meets tight lower back and your toes are a surprising eternity away. And then spinal twist meets collapsed pelvis and your hips astonishingly rage in protest. And then your ears hear right arm and your left arm raises curiously, leaving you completely, absurdly turned around. Suddenly you have simply no idea how to manage this body of yours that has always performed quite satisfactorily until just right now. Hello, limitations, how not nice to meet you.

  Sadly, this is where many people give up, assuming that yoga is ridiculous for even asking you to move this body in this fashion.

  Nobody likes to discover that they are limited. But I am here to tell you that being limited is a wonderful thing. For it is only when we discover and embrace our limited nature that we can discover the limitless being that truly resides within us.

  Think about it. The nature of the body is the nature of limits. We are limited by the boundary our skin. We are limited by our dependency on oxygen and food. We are limited by gravity. We are limited by our gender. We are limited by the jittery nature of our minds. We are limited by time and by death. We, the human being, are quite simply, limited.

  The eternal being, however, is limitless. The eternal consciousness has no experiential conception of time, gravity, gender, mind, food, air, death, etc. It has no conception of what it means to be restricted by all of the things that we simply accept as part and parcel of existence. Perhaps we are here to reflect that understanding back—to help define the nature of duality to that which is simply Oneness.

  From this angle, honouring and enjoying our limitations is of critical importance. Then and only then can we begin to work with them to discover that which is beyond them. Perhaps our task here is to be imperfect and flawed and limited. Perhaps it is not only to seek out eternal understanding, but to let it seek out our limited one.

  Perhaps your limitations are not the end, but only a beginning….

  91

  There comes a day when your yoga practice walks off of the mat and follows you home. Like a determined little puppy it shuffles along by your side, barking and sniffing at all manner of things that you had never noticed before. Suddenly, it seems, you are aware.

  Damn. How did that happen?

  My first teacher used to say that yoga asks things of you, that it is the most demanding of lovers. I never truly knew what she meant until my own yoga followed me home and began to root around in my life. There I was, perfectly discontent, practicing a few asanas to soothe my aching waitress feet when—bam!—yoga peeled off the blinders and, for the first time, I saw. Suffice it to say, things have never been quite the same since.

  Once this transition is made, there is, quite simply, no going back. There is no replacing of the blindfold. No ignoring of the truths. And, some days, this is what you will desperately yearn to do. It is far, far easier to live life in a cocoon of materialism and denial than it is to live the life examined. Sometimes the sights are hard and ugly. Other times they are beautiful enough to bring tears to your eyes. But this is the balance of life, and one of the many gifts that yoga gives. It is also one of its harshest demands.

  To walk with yoga, be it in full consciousness or burgeoning awareness, is to walk within the connection. In class, we are taught to connect the mind to the body. To be fully aware of what we are doing and why. At the end of class we are invited to relax, and to connect our awareness to the greater consciousness. Simply put, for an hour we are plugged in. We are whole.

  Do you believe that this is something that can simply be put away? Rolled up with your mat and stowed in the trunk of your car? Once experienced, would you even want to?

  Living in this awareness allows you to find true happiness. The kind that doesn’t always scream to be refilled. The kind that doesn’t expire beneath the spotlight of adversity. This gift of yoga is a constant companion, a true mate. This demand of yoga forces you to see that this happiness is all around you all of the time. But you must embrace it. You must carry it in your heart and share it with others. It will never be handed to you, and it is not always fun.

  To embark upon the practice of yoga is to seek. It is to begin to hear the right questions and to really think about the right answers. And, as much as we may like to pretend otherwise, yoga is like a Catholic schoolteacher. She may have your best interests at heart, but she’s not gonna take any of your bull. Your yoga will shine a bright, brilliant light into the darkest corners of your psyche and illuminate all of your hidden crap. It will ask you to explore, examine, and discard. Truly, you will come out a better person because of it. No matter the reasons for seeking out yoga, you will always find more than you bargained for.

  Is this a good thing or a bad? Some days it is hard to tell. Some days it is more than you want. But it is always exactly what you need. Life is big, and messy and scary and delightful. Sometimes, we all need a questioning puppy to lead the way.

  92

  My, what visual creatures we have become!

  You can learn your history from a TV show. You can send e-mails from your cell phone. You can teach your child how to do math from video. In this day and age, surely, a picture is more valuable than a thousand words—or more.

  It wasn’t always so. Generations of people were educated by rote. Listening, repeating. Listening, repeating. Vast, epic poems were learned and memorized with metre and cadence of language alone. Whole histories of nations were taught and remembered by ear. Amazing. Most of us today can’t remember what we were asked to pick up at the store.

  The art of listening is lost.

  I see this in my yoga classes all of the time. People who just refuse to listen. For years I would get a little agitated at this. I’m not up here talking to myself, people! It took me some time to realize that it isn’t that they won’t listen—it’s that they can’t. We have bred the skill of auditory comprehension straight out of ourselves. Why bother to hear what needs to be done when you can see it?

  Yoga remains a last bastion to this ‘from the knee’ kind of educa
tion. The art of yoga is truly learned only from another person. One who has more skill than you and is willing to let you sit at their knee and hear everything they have to say on the subject. Yoga is learned from the connection of teacher to student. The deeper levels cannot be fully grasped from a book or a video or by watching. And this simply visual attempt at comprehension misses understanding by degrees. The subtleties of yoga need communication to work.

  In other words, you need to listen. Don’t watch. Listen. You are being told more than you will ever see. Your instructor is imparting deeper levels of understanding with their words rather than their bodies. At times, the eyes can do more damage to your focus than help.

  For example. I do not mirror. If I say raise the right hand, I’m raising my right hand. If you are watching me and not listening then your left hand goes up. Well, now we’re just confused, aren’t we? If I say, “Bring your awareness to your left hip”, and you are watching me with your right hip in the wrong place then your awareness is on me and not where it should be. And now you are missing something.

  Listen. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. If I could just stand in front of a class and merrily practice away, fully confident that you understood the deepest subtleties of the asanas and could follow along, believe me, I would. And sometimes, I do. But if I am saying something to you, then hear me. This is why you came. This is how you learn about yoga. This is how you learn about yourself. By listening.

  It’s a shame that we have to practice this. It was gifted to us with the rest of our senses, as equally as valuable as any of them. Listening may be more subtle than seeing. Maybe more difficult. But listening is a bridge to remembering, a ferryboat to imagining. Try to tell a story rather than read one and you’ll see exactly what I mean. Listening is purer than seeing, and if you master the art you can ignore visual clutter and truly tune in. Focus. You may hear and discover things of which you never dreamed.

  …..and, no, the irony of this essay does not escape me at all….

  93

  I hope that by now it won’t surprise you to learn that I have a real Sci-fi habit. Books, TV, movies, you name it, I’ve probably read it, seen it, watched it. What can I say? I’m a geek at heart.

  Several years ago I read a novel that was later turned into a movie. Great book; crappy film. (Quel surprise…) But oddly, it wasn’t the plot that stuck with me, it was just one great thought. A comment, really, a casual observation.

  A team of scientists had just traveled back through time to the Middle Ages. (I know, I know, geek. Remember?) When they got there, one character mentioned how surprised he was by the absolute silence. Those were his words. Absolute Silence. And he went on to clarify that it wasn’t merely the absence of man or beast, it was the true quiet of a time when there was no omnipresent electric hum.

  Now, for some reason, that thought just set me back on my heels. Because it’s so true and we never, ever think about it. There is always something humming along in the background. Not just appliances or air-conditioning, but the simple fact of electric presence in the power lines that spider web our lives. We are always surrounded by sound, even if it is so low as to be barely perceived as such. I guess, as modern man, we are denied the gift of true silence.

  As a yoga teacher, I find this idea even more intriguing. We take such pains to create a quiet space, to try and bring the sounds of modern living down to silence. Of course we never succeed absolutely. There will always be garbage men, phones, voices, dogs, car doors, what-have-you. Even if we know that we will never fully succeed, we at least try, seeking this silence as best we can. How interesting to know that there ultimately is no such thing.

  The remedy to this outside chitter-chatter is, of course, to turn the attention within. One simply chooses not to hear external stimuli. We still the mind and allow ourselves to become quiet within, trying to ignore that which is not inside of us. But this inward turn can actually make the outside noise seem worse if one is not equanimous towards it.

  They say you have a thousand thoughts in the wink of an eye. Think now about the noise that makes in your head. If you’ve got all these thoughts racing around, shouting at you—for all intents and purposes—then you probably won’t be as disturbed by the wail of a distant police siren, or the barking of a neighbor’s dog. But once you start to silence these thoughts, as we do in yoga, those other noises have more room to move in. Your quiet self can be more susceptible to the person shouting at their cell phone outside. Their noise can invade your space and annoy you as if they were standing right next to you hollering at the top of their lungs.

  In order to keep this from sinking your concentration, one must achieve a rather blasé reaction to it. Oh well, there is some noise. It is as good as silence; I’ll be fine. In other words, one cannot attach a “successful” yoga practice to the idea that it should be done in perfect quiet. Because, as we have just said, no such thing exists.

  Ultimately, quiet is only a state of mind. And trying to control your external environment absolutely will only serve to make you nuts. So nuts that you have little hope of really finding that true peace and quiet.

  The kind that comes from within.

  94

  Technically, yoga can be practiced just about anywhere. Imagine, in the millennia that have gone before, millions upon millions of yogis practicing on mountaintops, in forests, deserts, parks, playgrounds, beaches, rooftops, living rooms, gymnasiums, back porches and so on. There is no hard and fast rule that says you have to practice in a solemn, yoga-only environment. I know lots of yogis who just roll out the mat and let it fly. I’ve been known to be one of them.

  However, ask any guru and you will probably be told that you should maintain a dedicated place for yoga. Hm. Hard to do. And if yoga is so portable, why should it matter?

  Well. That’s a tricky one to explain. Because it does matter. And, it does not. If you have a deep enough grasp of the practice, you should be able to clear your mind to the point where you could practice in a pen of howler monkeys and still be fully present. Conversely, the more open and connected that you are, the more susceptible you become to residual negativities and energies left in your environment.

  We have all been to places that just ‘felt’ good. For no visible reason, you feel instantly at home, relaxed. I know we have also all found ourselves in places that feel wrong. You feel jumpy, tense, or just plain “ready to leave”. We humans are very sensitive to our environment.

  These stray feelings are our subtle awareness of other people’s energy.

  First, you have to understand that we are all emotional graffiti artists. Every one of us is walking around with a case of spiritual spray paint. Which can we use depends on our mood and emotional state. So, if you’re stuck in a room and are pretty ticked off about it, you radiate angry, irritated energy. That room is then going to carry traces of that angry, irritated energy whether you stay there or not. You have tagged it with the colour of your emotions.

  Now, if you create a place that only experiences feelings of peace and serenity—say, a dedicated yoga space—that place will remain full of that good feeling. Every time you use it to create those same feelings, you reinforce it. You continually paint it the same colour every time you visit. This is why the gurus say you should have a dedicated space for your yoga and meditation.

  You can find that space in a number of ways. The first, and most obvious way, is to set up an area in your house which is meditation-yoga only. Now, I don’t know about y’all, but my house is so small that the prospect is laughable. So, my space is outdoors. Things move in the outdoors. It is too big for crap to hang around. By default, it is a clear space.

  Another alternative is to practice at a studio. There are a number of them in town, please don’t think I say this selfishly. Studios are spaces that are being reinforced with spirit all day, everyday. Can you say that about your gym? Or your clubhouse? Studios are places of focus and dedication. Every student who comes in the do
or, every instructor that shares their vision is helping to paint the space with the brightest of energy. And that energy stays there as long as the doors are open and people come to experience yoga.

  It is, of course, between you and your practice how and where you choose to express your yoga. But it is worth investigation to step away from the convenient and into the deeper end of the pool. If you learn to feel the difference between muddled energy and clear, you will have developed a sense that can be invaluable in the everyday practicality of life.

  95

  A very close friend of mine recently confessed that she wanted to become a yoga teacher. She was giving serious thought to the Teacher Training Program I attended with Yogi Hari.

  I think I might have frightened her with my response.

  I believe I likened my teacher training experience to being suddenly swept from your feet, hung upside down by the ankles a mile over the surface of the earth and shaken vigorously until every bit of emotional and intellectual change had fallen out of the pockets of your soul.

  It was awful. It was wonderful. It was a pivotal life experience that showed me exactly how much of my life before had been circus play. And it was only once this realization came clear that I was ready to begin a new chapter as a teacher of yoga.

  There are multitudes of teacher training programs out there. They are as varied as wildflowers on a Vermont hillside. Some will treat you like a guest, giving you thorough anatomical information needed to lead others through asana. Others will pamper you in luxurious, comfortable surroundings while inundating you with Vedic philosophy. Yet others will treat you as I was, stripping away any illusions of identity with firm tugs until you are emotionally naked enough to absorb the teachings.