Putting the Teachings into Practice
As I was driving through the village of Assago today I spied a tiny brown sign along the side of the road. It read “Post Office” in both English and Hindi. For weeks I’ve been meaning to go to the post office to send some cards that I wrote more than 2 months ago. But, because I dread going to the Mapusa City Post Office, I procrastinated. At Mapusa City, the post office closest to my home, there is no such thing as forming a line; it’s just a hoard of people bumping into one another trying to make their way to the solo clerk behind the counter. When I’m there, the adage “survival of the fittest” comes to mind. You have to stand strong in the mayhem and firmly point out to each person who cuts in front of you, that you’re actually waiting to mail a letter too. If you don’t, you’ll be pushed to the back of the crowd and right out the front door.
When I saw the small sign, I felt excited, like I had discovered a secret door. I turned off the main road and onto the dirt path where the sign was posted. I drove and drove. The path became more and more narrow. At the end of path there was a little stone house, and in front, a man sitting in a plastic chair. He didn’t look my way, even though I knew he knew I was there. To get his attention I said, “Hello…Post Office?” This is how I speak these days, using as few words as possible to form a sentence (I need to learn Hindi!). I assumed he would shrug his shoulders to indicate that I was nowhere near the post office, but instead he pointed to the house.
There was no sign that the house also doubled as a post office – just a clothes line with a few tattered saris, a cow tied to a tree, and a broken bicycle leaning up against the fence. As I stood there wondering if I was in the right place, the man pointed again to the house and said “Open.” So I walked toward the little dwelling and opened the rusty gate. After taking a few steps into the garden, I could hear sounds coming from a TV. I made my way around the back of the house and saw a porch. Behind that, through the glass-less window, I saw two women sitting on the floor of their living room watching TV. I called, “Hello” to get their attention. Here in India, saying “hello” is the equivalent of “excuse me, please.”
One of the women jumped to her feet and quickly came to the porch. I was surprised at how fast she moved. I think customer service in government offices worldwide is dreadful (except for Switzerland), but this is especially true in India. But then again, clearly I was at someone’s home, not exactly in a government office.
I asked her, “Post Office?” She smiled and said, “Yes madam.”
I pulled the letters from my bag and put them on the rickety wooden table that stood between us. She picked them up and examined each one carefully.
After some time she said, “Would you like to mail these?” I’m not really one to quip, but in that moment I felt like saying something a little sarcastic.
Instead, I said, “Yes please.”
She paused, and then said, “I’m sorry, Madam. We have no stamps today. Maybe tomorrow they will come,” she said.
“Maybe tomorrow they will come” is a commonplace phrase in India. What it actually means is, “We are out of whatever it is that you want, and we have absolutely no idea when we will receive a new shipment.” You can be almost certain though that it will not be “tomorrow.”
I smiled, thanked her, and began to walk away. She called, “Come back tomorrow, madam.” I got on my scooter and headed down the dirt path knowing I had no choice but to go to Mapusa City. I decided no more procrastinating. I drove through the winding, pot-holed roads of Assago, and then into the traffic, horns and exhaust of Mapusa City. When I arrived in front of the post office, remarkably, there were many parking places. I thought to myself, “Wow, I’ve really picked a good time to come.” After getting off my scooter, I saw a white board leaning up against the door of the post office. Someone had scrawled in blue ink “The Post Office has shifted to its old location. Sorry for the inconvenience.” I had no idea where the old location was, and of course, there was no mention of it on the sign.
Rather than feeling defeated or frustrated, which would have been my normal response some years ago, I accepted that, for whatever reason, I was not meant to mail my letters on this particular day.
India has been a great teacher for me in so many ways. It has taught me not to overlay my Western standards onto India’s systems or way of life. I have to let go of expectation or else I will spend a lot of unnecessary time feeling frustrated. As my partner Olaf says, “If you’re not flexible, you will die in India.”
India has taught me to be patient. Everything takes time – lots of time. And there’s no other option than to respond with patience.
India has taught me to focus on what’s going right. Instead of being frustrated on the days that we don’t have internet access, I am grateful on the days that we do. Instead of complaining when we lose power, I am thankful for all of the hours that we have it. Instead of judging and feeling disgusted by the piles of trash that accumulate along the sides of the roads, I see the beauty in the stretches of road where there is no garbage. Instead of feeling sad and overwhelmed by the despair I see among the poorest people living here, as well as all of the homeless animals, I offer help and try to make a small difference in the ways that I can.
In a few days I will go to either the tiny Assago Post Office or to chaotic Mapusa City and try my luck at mailing these cards again. If I am able to send them, I will be thankful. If not, I will appreciate another opportunity to put into practice many of the fundamental teachings of yoga…surrender, patience, gratitude and non-judgment.
Life is Good
This afternoon I walked along a winding, gravel path in Weinfelden (Weinfelden means “Wine Fields,” in German). Behind me were lamas grazing on the hillside while their babies suckled; to the right, a swaying wheat field still green, too early in the season to be golden; and up ahead, an old Swiss farm house painted white with sunshine-yellow shuttered windows and a garden over-flowing with wild flowers. On the left side of the path I was hoping to see Bergita working in her garden. At first she wasn't visible, but then I saw her, behind a bushel of orange poppies, hunched down low, digging in the dirt. I said “Grüezi,” the traditional Swiss salutation.
Like many Swiss, she rents a small plot of land in the countryside for gardening. She’s built a tiny shack made from mismatched pieces of wood to house her rake, wheelbarrow, shovel, and vintage push mower. At age 79, you would guess Bergita was 20 years younger.
Bergita greets me warmly, as if I am a dear friend. We don’t know each other, I just see her from time-to-time on my walks, and I always stop to say hello. Bergita , who rides a basket and bell-adorned bicycle to her garden patch daily, speaks German to me slowly, carefully enunciating every word, using lots of hand gestures. Originally from Serbia, Bergita came to Switzerland 55 years ago.
She tells me about her life…how she arrived in Switzerland not speaking a word of German, without family or friends, and without any money in her purse…a woman, in those days, all alone. She doesn’t share why, and I haven’t asked her yet.
When I talk with Bergita, I feel like I’ve just made a pilgrimage to the Zamzam Well and had my vessel filled (the ZamZam, a place I’ve only read about, is located in Saudi Arabia and believed by Muslims to be divinely blessed, satisfying hunger and thirst, and able to cure illness and disease).
Bergita is a devout Catholic. Her blue eyes sparkle as she tells me that as long as I trust in God and pray every day, I will be able to work through any problem. She says, “Life is short, shorter than you realize. Don’t spend energy on angst and worry.” In this moment I feel as though Bergita can see right through me.
Then she asks me if I know the meaning of “Gesundheit!” I tell her, in German, that I know it’s what you say after someone sneezes, except that I don’t know the word for sneeze in German and gesture one instead. She says, “Yes, yes, but do you know what it means?”
“To your health,” she says. “To your wholeness,” she smiles. Then, she takes my hands in hers, looks me in the eyes, and says, “Life is good.”
In this moment, out in nature, talking with a woman I don’t even know, I feel so held, so loved. This interaction awakens my consciousness to how magical, beautiful, and precious life is. It’s so crystal clear; I wonder how I can possibly forget some days.
A true Yogi sees the divine in all beings. I know from our talks that Bergita knows little about yoga. However, she is one of the most spiritual beings - one of the most beautiful yogis – I have ever met. Her reverence for the divine in all things is apparent in they way she lovingly cares for every plant, bush, and flower in her tiny garden, as well as how she treats complete strangers on the path.
Making Things Good
One teacher who has influenced me greatly is Baron Baptiste. I’ve completed his Level 1 and Level 2 teacher trainings, attended his master classes when he has visited Seattle, and recently assisted him for his Seattle “Personal Revolution Weekend.”
Like anyone who rises into the limelight, Baron receives both praise and criticism. The adage, “Don’t judge a book by its cover” fits Baron perfectly—literally and figuratively. Baron’s first Book Journey into Power has a photo of him bare-chested, wearing a bandana, and hunched in a fierce bakasana, or crow, pose. Based on that, not to mention the name of the yoga system he developed, Power Vinyasa Yoga, you might assume Baron is all about the other adage: “No pain, no gain.”
Like all of us, Baron has a softer side. Baron’s vinyasa sequence, taught in the traditional way, makes beautiful sense in my body. Mostly though, his philosophical teachings resonate with me—they’re simple and matter-of-fact, and truly speak to our human nature.
I have been deeply moved by Baron’s teachings through studying with him, as well by reading his two books (the other is 40 Days to Personal Revolution). One teaching that has stayed with me in particular is “making things good.”
In every situation, we have a choice: we can make things bad, or we can make things good. Yes, this is common sense, but when we’re really honest with ourselves, which way do we tend to lean?
It’s easy to make things bad. When things don’t go our way, they become bad. When people don’t behave the way we want them to, they become bad. When we fail, we become bad.
Baron challenges his students to make things good. For me, this practice had significant impact mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I have found that it takes as much energy to make someone or something good as it does to make them bad. When we make a situation or someone bad, we are trying to elevate ourselves or just feel better. Ultimately though, making things bad makes us feel worse, whether we’re conscious of it or not. When we make things good, we are in our integrity, and ultimately we feel good.
Making things good doesn’t mean glossing over a bad situation, ignoring injustices, or denying something that isn’t working. When we make things good, we look at the bigger picture. We try to understand, for example, the root cause of someone’s behavior. When we see injustices, we try to do something about it—on some level—rather than just complain. When we make mistakes or fail at our endeavors, we don’t beat ourselves up, but rather try to learn from them so we become more skillful the next time.
Making things good is a practice. For me, if I feel anger, disappointment, or frustration, I automatically want to place blame. My practice is to stop this natural response, and really sit with my feelings. Why do I feel angry, disappointed, frustrated, or hurt. What is the source, what is the cause of the way I am feeling? Are my feelings even rational? Then, I try to find understanding, which leads to making things good.
When we truly try to understand someone or a situation, then we can see the positive or begin to investigate ways to help transform it from a negative into a positive. Making things good is a process. We must be patient and results are often not instant.
The beauty is that when we practice making things good, how we feel is instant. We feel good when we consciously try to find understanding, which helps us to respond to any given situation with thoughtfulness and integrity.
Forgiveness
In September 2007, I attended a yoga teacher training with Seane Corn at Kripalu, a beautiful retreat center in The Berkshires of Western Massachusetts. Tucked into a deep green forest and perched on a hill overlooking an untouched lake, Kripalu offers a picturesque and peaceful setting, helping you to leave the stress of daily life behind and easily slip into retreat mode.
I've practiced with Seane twice before, once at the now, unfortunately, defunct Northwest Yoga Festival, and last year at Yoga on Beacon. Seane offers a basic, but powerful, vinyasa flow, infused with yoga philosophy.
Seane is the most authentic teacher I've studied with. She teaches from the heart and openly shares herself with her students. Seane is more concerned about teaching her students than impressing them. Despite her popularity, beauty, endorsement from NIKE, and frequent Yoga Journal covers, the fame has not gone to her head. There's truly no sign of ego. She doesn’t wear name-brand clothes, promote her upcoming offerings during her workshops or trainings, or sell t-shirts, DVD's, etc. Additionally, Seane truly gives back to the global community. She is the spokesperson for several children's and AIDS-related organizations, strategically using her status and working tirelessly to raise awareness and money to help the world's poorest and most vulnerable people.
I'm most drawn to Seane because she masterfully blends the teachings of the chakras with asana. Her practice inspires and offers space for self reflection. I had such a powerful experience while studying with her this past month. On the 5th day of the training, during the morning practice, I was in pigeon, a pose, like most yogis, I've done hundreds of times. Out of nowhere, issues I'd thought I had dealt with a decade ago began to surface. I felt rage and intense sadness in a single moment. As much as I wanted to release the pose, and leave the room really, I forced myself to stay with the sensations in my body. I know in order to really heal emotionally, you need to feel. If I ran away in that moment (released the pose), I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was presented with the unresolved issue again.
After the practice I went for a long walk in the woods, down to the lake, and watched the water, which calmed me. I knew I'd experienced a release--I felt physically and emotionally lighter, plus I felt like my vision was better and brighter, I could truly see more clearly.
While sitting there, filled with the beauty of my surroundings, I knew it was time to forgive. I asked God to help me forgive. I feel like I have the most open and forgiving heart...IF someone shows remorse and says they are sorry. However, I have a really difficult time forgiving when there is no sign of remorse.
Later, in our group circle, Seane was taking questions. I asked, "How do you forgive someone when there's no sign of remorse?" She looked at me dead in the eyes and said, "You have to...for your own soul." As obvious as this may sound to some, her words penetrated me. I realized immediately I needed to forgive to end my suffering and my anger around the issue. My suffering and anger were only hurting me...whether or not I ever sensed remorse from this person, I needed to forgive.
My next question then was HOW? I really was at a loss. Later that evening, I started to journal. In my writing I asked God "How do I forgive?" Within a moment, a question that seemed completely unanswerable was answered. My pen began to move as if on its own, and suddenly the answer appeared. The answer applied to a particular person and situation, so it would not be helpful for me to share it here.
My time with Seane Corn was life changing. For as much work as I feel I've done on this beautiful path called yoga, I realize it is kind of a two steps forward, one step back journey. As a doula, I compare the path to the birthing process. During the last stage of labor, as the baby is moving down the birth canal, the mother gives everything she has to help her baby be born. As the hours pass, the baby progresses two inches down with each push, but then retreats one inch. The yogic path feels much like this. Knowing that at some point, in some lifetime, my soul will reach samadhi helps me to stay committed to the path.