Feb 15 On Freedom, Beauty, and the Mouse-Death Smell

You know, sometimes I contemplate these posts and it sounds like ooh and aah over the yoga glories. Days go by and we talk about, read about, and write about, and wait for the next…Yoga.

So, I’ll tell you a secret of mine. I can’t believe I’m disclosing this, what is so sacred. I do hope somehow in the sharing we both, yous and I, are enriched.

In the past year I realized I don’t need to do the asana anymore. It was an accident, this realization. Circumstances conspired to keep me out of the yoga for a 6 week period. The first 2 weeks were excruciating. Then I just let it all go, the only way to heal this injury (which was not yoga related, FYI) is to let it heal and do a little physical therapy. I ended up enjoying all the free time I had without doing practice, and the rolling around the floor that constituted my therapeutic scheme. And after 6 weeks, I took practice again. Somehow in that first month of taking differing amounts of practice as I felt out what was appropriate, I realized a freedom I hadn’t known for 12 years.

Asana is a choice, not a necessity.

Now, this assumes that I am not adding much stress to my body that needs to be removed by yoga. Diet and lifestyle must be quite advanced along the yoga ladder for asana not to be important. But what I realized was this:

The Yoga is in me. Deep in my tissues, lodged there like seeds under snow. This body is so trained in the practice now, a consistent, systematic practice that taught my body’s systems how to function in effective ways. It’s like learning a language, surely some review is needed from time to time to keep the chops on, but its right there just waiting to speak again.

The other aspects of Yoga become more important, and should take precedence. It no longer feels appropriate to pig out on asana when energy is needed in other places. Like facing some old conflict, helping others learn this yoga system, or manifesting that elusive quality which I believe should be a hallmark of any yoga teacher- peaceful. Whatever it takes to keep this quality coming is the priority these days.

But I will say this- asana is still my favorite part. Why? Not for the progress of it as much anymore, not only for the ways it transforms me, but for the beauty of it. Moving and breathing is downright gorgeous. For the comfort of it, to be moving my healthy body through a dance it has been making so many years, like a marriage. I like to wear red and hot pink while I practice. I like to be in a very still environment. Everything around begins to whisper of the spirit of Prana. The air is filled with tiny birds and pockets of light. Everything smells like life. There is nothing interesting to LOOK AT. The eyes recede, the ears are listening from the inside. Quiet quiet and nothing matters. God is here.

. . .

Well, that ended up another I love yoga its so special post. I just can’t help myself. Let me just remind though, I still tend to pig out on asana, there is a lot of nutrition there. The transformation coming is no joke, and the work of it is not gorgeous most of the time. Its smelly, achey, and damp. Like digging down dirty to put the foundation before the nice white house goes up.

If you could have seen and smelled the alien that was flushed from my ear after 3 days pain this morning you would wonder who that was talking about birds and pockets of light. I’ll spare you the description but it was surely a mammoth ball of wax (right? Gulp. Dude it smelled like mouse-death-behind-refridgerator.) Certainly some channel is opening there and it’s not fun or pretty. I’m just glad there’s some container to be working in here, and others going through their own alien births. And foremost, a teacher to hold it together.

Ciao for now, and after fevers and mouse-death smell, I am, as much as the next, wondering what tomorrow will bring here at Camp Mysore.