For me, embracing Tantra began with a question.

How can I see myself as more than what happened to me?  This was the question that hummed in my mind as I packed my bags for Asheville, N.C.  I had spent hours doing searches on the top yoga teachers and making charts trying to quantify and qualify the unquantifiable. A Web site wasn’t going to show me who my teacher was. The teacher for me was the person who could help me to experience the answer to my burning question. I wanted to hold that understanding in my bones.

All too well, I knew how fleeting momentary bursts of inspiration could be. I had done the new age thing, which helped me to see the brighter side of life, but didn’t teach me how to see myself as more than The Girl Who Was Abused. I had done the Buddhist thing, but I yearned for connection with a higher power and they weren’t really into the G word. Soul retrievals, rebirths, shapeshifting,  Reiki, holotropic breathwork, energy work, psychic exploration, yoga, sweat lodges, mindfulness meditation… I had tried it all. A savvier woman would’ve bought shares in Omega Institute. Although each book I read, each experience I had offered a hint of how to define myself beyond my trauma, that glimmer faded as the days stretched between me and the last workshop. From cognitive behavioral therapy to punching pillows sessions, no matter how much time I spent on cushy couches trying to rewire my thinking or allow myself to feel what I’d buried for so many years, there was a sense of futility, of trying to make sense of what would never fully make sense. Like a sad sack roll call, the underlying depression muttered ‘present,’ followed closely by a nagging sense that no matter what I learned or how much I accomplished in life, I was at my core a victim. I wanted a new story but I wasn’t sure how to write it.

There is something about asking the question that sets everything in motion. 

The name of the workshop was Yoga Sutras: Light on Self-Mastery. The A-student in me liked that. Self-mastery. I’ll have that, please. My Yoga Soul Sister and I packed up my car and started the drive. We laughed, sang kirtan, car danced to Afrobeat music. We played If You Had a Siddhi, What Would It Be? Our drive felt like a true journey, as hundreds of miles stretched between us and Philadelphia. We were going to spend five days studying with Rod Stryker to see if he was our teacher.

We arrived in Asheville that evening and awoke early the next morning, nervous and excited. The space the workshop was being held in was huge. We settled in the middle of the room, which somehow felt safe. Rod started to speak. I felt like I was in good hands because what he was saying felt grounded. He kept referring to the texts. He spoke of his teacher and his lineage. He didn’t seem interested in getting everyone high on yoga. Quite the opposite, as he taught us how to watch our experiences rather than getting carried away by them.

Initially, I experienced the style as quite different. Where was the trance dance music? What is this revolved triangle with parallel feet? But I trusted. Listened to him speak of sthira and sukham. Hadn’t I heard this before? I had indeed, but the way he was instructing us to breathe and inviting us to observe ourselves being stable and effortless in postures…I was experiencing the unfolding of an awareness that was like nothing else. I felt I was seeing a part of myself that was both familiar and new. As we entered savasana, I felt like a cleaner version of myself. I’d felt a nice, warm, tiredness after yoga classes, but this was the first time I felt like I’d taken a yogic shower, polished bright and shiny on the inside and outside.

photo credit: h.koppdelaney

He brought us out of savasana and into meditation. We watched the light move on the breath and then I met my highest Self for what felt like the first time.  I met the part of me that wasn’t abused, and wasn’t a victim, wasn’t depressed, and didn’t feel like a wrong fit for the world. There was so much light. I was light. I felt like blurting, Yes! This is me. My true nature was a clear bright light that was expansive and full of love. He brought us out of the meditation and I remember thinking, nooo I only just got here, and also wanting to ask, What was that, but I was so busy crying that I couldn’t form the words. Bless the heart of whoever actually asked the question and I remember Rod answering that we’d had a glimpse of Purusha, the part of you that remains untouched by any suffering.

My hands were shaking as I wrote down the answer to my life’s biggest question. There was a part of me that was untouched by all that pain that had occurred. There was a part of me unmarred, free. And for once, I didn’t read it in a book. I felt it. I knew it existed because I had direct experience of it. I’d found my teacher. I had found Tantra.

All this on day two of the workshop. I remember thinking, Clay Davis style, sheeeeee-it, the rest is gravy. But for the next few days we learned how to return to that place. We used mantra, mudras, kriyas, pranayama, meditation, and visualization to keep coming back to ourSelves. We learned how to hold concentratred prana. For the rest of that week my Yoga Soul Sister and I shared experiences that felt amazing and ones that felt like crap, but every practice left me with another experience of my soul.

That experience with Tantric practices two and a half years ago created a foundation from which I continue to learn and practice and grow. It felt like a rebirth. Thanks to the grace of my teacher and our lineage I have learned to use the tools of asana, mudra, kriya, pranayama, mantra, and meditation to remember my true nature, grow my inner light, and transform my life. Practicing ParaYoga taught me how to make peace with my past trauma and how to transform the energy that was tied up in pain and avoidance into energy for being a force for healing and joy in the world. Having Rod Stryker for a teacher showed me that I am never separate. There is no space between me and the Divine, and daily practice is how I remember, especially when those dark days arise from time to time. Perhaps the greatest gift of this practice is that of accessing my inner teacher, who nudges me back on track when I revert to the myth of separation.

I ran across this quote from Rod the other day:

“Tantra’s ultimate aim is to empower us to be a vital, joyful, and fearless expression of our source – an infinite continuum or truth, beauty, and auspiciousness.”

The resulting empowerment has a spacious quality, allowing the light to shine through everywhere, breaking down distinctions bewteen the spiritual and the mundane, the joy of living and the pain that sometimes occurs.  For me it has created a sense of acceptance, that yes, some hard things happened to me, but they don’t define me and in fact they helped shape who I am today.  The self-acceptance and love I learned through this practice has empowered me to teach others the tools to help them transform their lives into an expression of their highest purpose. Sometimes I am giddy with the thought that I have the rest of my life to learn these teachings.

There are increasing opportunities for seekers to find their way to this path. Most recently, the Yoga Journal Conference: Colorado kicked off with a Tantra Yoga Immersion featuring a panel of the top voices of Tantra, all of whom specialize in leading people to their inner teacher. When I’m asked, why Tantra? Why practice this way? This whole story flashes through my mind, and it’s too much to share.  I just say that Tantra returned me to my Self, and let the practice show them how.

“I realized why I have so much trouble focusing on my breath,” said a student after Gentle Vinyasa ended.  No sweeter words have ever been spoken to a yoga teacher. Yoga insights rule! I invited him to tell me more.

“When I focus on my breath,” he said, “I feel a lot of fear. Fear of death.” I clamped down my jaw so I wouldn’t excitedly blurt “Abinevesha!” I held it together so I could listen to him share his experience.

“I kept thinking, ‘Breathing is involuntary. Am I supposed to focus on something that just happens naturally? What if I pass out? Will Nicole notice and revive me?’” he laughed. “Then I stopped thinking. I just let go, and it was so peaceful. I really went somewhere,” he said. I thanked him for being willing to draw his awareness to his breath and to let go in the midst of his fear.

Floating home, ecstatically happy that teaching yoga allows me to bear witness to such awesome experiences, I thought of a great drawing in T.K.V, Desikachar’s book The Heart of Yoga. In it, he describes the kleshas, or afflictions, namely, avidya, raga, dvesha, abhinivesha, and asmita. First illuminated in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, these are the obstacles that prevent us from seeing things as they really are. Desikachar uses the image of a tree, with the root of the tree as avidya, or misperception, ignorance. The tree has four branches: raga, which is attachment; dvesha, which is aversion; abhinivesha, which is fear; and asmita, which is false identity. It is the practice of yoga that reduces these afflictions which obscure our true nature.

photo credit: Easa Shamih (eEko) | P.h.o.t.o.g.r.a.p.h.y

The yogi in my class had come face to face with abhinivesha, or fear. He experienced it as fear of death. Abhinivesha comes in many flavors: For me it’s fear of being seen, or fear of getting it wrong, for you might be fear of change, or something else based on what’s happened in your life.

Fear is pervasive in our society. People are scared of losing their jobs. Scared of their financial security. In this election season, some are scared Romney will win. Others are scared Obama will be reelected. As we move through our day, abhinivesha is bound to come up.

So what’s a yogi to do in the midst of all of this?

The process the student followed at the beginning of the article outlines the steps found in the Sutras. The student was in a yoga class. That’s step one: tapas, which means heating, purifying, or discipline. His choice to come to class to practice yoga asanas, pranayama, and meditation each week had a cleansing effect that removed blockages physically and energetically.

Step two: he practiced svadhyaya, which means self-study. When he felt the fear of death arise, rather than run from it, he noticed it. Sat with it. Wondered about it. He included it in his experience.

Step three: he practiced ishvarapranhidana, or surrender. He trusted that even though he was scared of drawing his awareness to his breath, if he did so he would be okay. He let go. And as a result, he had an amazing experience of his true nature.

Avoiding fear only grows that emotion. Tantra teaches us that energy follows thought. Even when you’re trying not to think about something, you’re directing a lot of energy to the very thing you’re trying to avoid. It is through welcoming in what we fear that we are able to grow and expand.

We are constantly presented with opportunities every day to practice these steps. Having a daily meditation and asana practice allows us to make discipline an integral part of our lives. Whether it’s by practicing early in the morning or by practicing for 15 minutes in the morning and 15 minutes at night, meet yourself where you are and commit to a practice that fits your lifestyle with ease.

If you’re reading this article, you’ve probably made self-study a part of your daily life already. The very fact that you’re seeking out an article on yoga or meditation means you have a relationship to these practices and want to learn more about yourself. To go a step further, at different moments in the day, drop into the observer. Notice what’s occurring for you mentally. Which types of thoughts flow through and which ones get stuck on your mental conveyer belt? What shifts your thinking from negative to positive? Tune into that part of you that remains unchanged by all experiences.

Lastly, surrender is just a breath away. When fear arises, stay present with it, drawing the breath down into the belly and breathing smoothly so the inhalation flows right into the exhale, evoking a sense of inner calm. Know that there is a natural order to the universe and in that knowledge, move forward. Accept that fear is there, and take action anyway without expectations regarding the outcome. The yogi at the beginning of the article had no idea what was on the other side of letting go. He just trusted, and surrendered.

photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography

Of course, this is easier said than done. As I write, I’m reminded of my father, who used to tell me when I tried to do things too quickly, “Do it by the numbers.” Moving through fear is a tall order. But if we do it by the numbers of daily practice, self-study, and surrender, choice by choice we can live into our true nature.

What part does daily practice, self-study, and surrender play in your life? How do you move through fear?

Photo by Christine Hewitt

I’m sitting on the rooftop of my apartment, watching an orange sunset through the coconut trees. A cool monsoon breeze rustles the leaves as scooter horns honk in the distance. And I can just make out a cow as she meanders her way up my street.

Yup, I’m in India.

I’m in Mysore, to be exact. Mysore is a city in the south Indian state of Karnataka, located about 90 miles from the tech hub of Bangalore. It was the home of Sir K Pattabhi Jois (Guruji), the world-renowned teacher of Ashtagna Yoga. Today Guruji’s grandson Sharath and daughter Saraswati continue his legacy as they teach traditional yoga at the Krishna Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Intitute (KPJAYI).

This is my second trip to Mysore to study. I made my first journey less than a year ago, and plan to come back again. I’ve left jobs, an apartment, friends, family, yoga students and the comforts of home (washing machine, anyone?) to come dip my toes into tradition.

Someone asked me what the difference is in practicing here as opposed to practicing at home. After all, the asana portion of Ashtanga Yoga is practiced in a memorized, self-led style and includes the same postures every time.

Why make the journey to Mysore? What makes it special?

For any discipline worth pursuing, there is a root. Japan gives us Karate. France, Ballet and classical cooking. Capoeria is uniquely Brazlian, though its dance roots are distinctly African. Nashville is the headquarters of country music. And India gives us the beautiful practice of yoga, and that’s one of the things that makes it so special to me.

A few years after I began practicing yoga, I realized I wanted to learn from the source. I felt terribly unsatisfied with the way yoga was presented in the United States. The English names for poses sounded empty to me, and learning from teachers that treated it only as a way to stay fit felt belittling (it is, by the way, a great way to stay fit).

I wanted to understand the culture from which yoga comes.

I wanted to see India, to feel its pulse and to understand how this very Indian practice truly translates to me.

Here, actually in Mysore, I’m at the pinpoint of something universal. The practice room is full to the brim with yoga students from every corner of the globe. It’s hot and sweaty. It’s intimidating and at the same time so incredibly inviting.

Although it’s almost too crowded these days, I feel a sense of space among the masses. Most importantly, traveling here becomes a sort of pilgrimage. I’m able to devote time to really practice practicing yoga, just as Guruji did here for his entire life.

I believe that anyone practicing yoga should have some knowledge of or exposure to the Indian culture and circumstances in which the discipline evolved.

But not everyone is interested in coming to India to study, and I think that’s perfectly fine! I simply felt the need to come.  I also feel that just because a teacher or a student has come to India does not mean they are a good teacher or a better yogi.

In fact, there’s a whole myriad of things that go into being an effective teacher…

But I want to be a teacher who has seen India.

Last Sunday in the weekly group conference with Sharath (our teacher) a student asked how often we should come to India. He asked her why she had returned to study after almost two years. She answered honestly that she “felt the need to come back.”

He smiled and told us that was our answer. Come study here “whenever you feel that you need to come.”

Have you traveled to India to study yoga? Would you? 

Do you think it’s important for a yoga practitioner?

What about a yoga teacher?

photo credit: BChristensen93

“Lie down, on your back, legs rolled open, arms slightly apart from the body, palms facing up.  If you want to cover yourself with a blanket, or put a bolster under your knees, do that now.  Close your eyes.  Relax your body.  Do a quick scan starting at your feet, and if you feel any tension in your body, just make a mental note to release it.  allow your breath to find its natural rhythm.  Let your mind empty of thoughts.

“This is the time to let the positive benefits of the practice sink into your cells.  Absorb into your very deepest being.  This is where the transformation happens.  Corpse pose is when you die to this very moment.  Allowing your ‘personality’ to pause and the true essence of who you are, your pure Atma, or soul, to emerge.”

Your yoga teacher stops talking.  There is some flute music and drumming coming from the stereo.  Someone farts.  Someone sneezes.  You notice you are squeezing your eyes shut tight.  You try to relax them.  You want to fidget, but you refrain.  You do not feel relaxed.  Someone starts snoring next to you.  You want to hit them.  Immediately you think, that is not very yogic of me.  You try to cultivate compassion.  You do not feel compassionate.  You wonder if it would be too disruptive to move your mat away from the snoring man next to you.  Your foot falls asleep.  You roll it back and forth, trying to be quiet.  You really want to leave now.  You felt so good and sweaty doing all those asanas, and now you feel resentful that you are being forced to lie still, like a child at nap time in kindergarten.  That’s exactly how you feel right now.  Like a child.  Lie still.  Lie still.  Your mind is racing.  Did you put enough money in the meter?   It would really suck to get a parking ticket.  Then whatever vestige of yoga calm you might have had will surely be gone.   You wonder if the health food store will still be open, and if they will have that organic chicken at the deli counter that you’re craving.  You hear your stomach growl.  No, it is not your stomach.  It is the snoring man next to you who did a snore/cough/snuffle/gasp.  You softly bang your sleeping foot on the floor.  This is not Eat, Pray, Love.  You do not feel released from your ‘monkey mind.’  She probably isn’t really happy either, you think, that world famous author.  That guy she married probably doesn’t look anything like Javier Bardem.  He probably drinks too much and doesn’t work, and is mildly depressed and using up all her book royalties while she tries to look happy for the press.  She probably doesn’t meditate any more.  It was just for a book, right?  You think, did she really change her life.  Once Oprah and Julia Roberts and the Forbes power rating came out, that meditation thing probably went right out the window.  You wonder if this yoga teacher, what’s her name?  Indira?  Indigo?  Inspired?  why can’t they just call themselves Susan or Sally?  Why do they have to go all ‘India?’  And with that stupid dot on her forehead.  You want to take your thumb and rub it off.  And could her yoga outfit be any smaller?  You think she could at least put a real shirt on.  It is so distracting to wonder if her tits are going to fall out when she demonstrates handstand.  And come on, does she really think anyone is going to jump up onto their hands in the middle of the room like that?  Of course that hairy guy who wears perfume that smells like dirty socks tried it.  He looked like a three year old.  Oh, you catch your mind.  There it is again, being anything but yogic.  When will this damn nap end so you can get up and go home and take a hot shower and eat some food.  Enough with this self-improvement stuff, you have some serious work to get done tonight.  You wonder again if you could just sneak out.  But surely it must be over soon.  Surely this has to end sometime.

photo credit: ginnerobot

And then Intrepid rings her stupid little gongs together.  Now you just have to suffer through the ear cracking chants, and she’ll probably read some uplifting prayer.  And then you’ll be free.  Free to go.  Free at last!

“I am a part of the divine.”

I remember listening to my teacher Rod Stryker share this as one of the five qualities of reality as revealed by Shankara, the father of Tantra.

It was during a 5-day ParaYoga training on Tantra during which I experienced waves of resistance as the teachings warred with my old worldview. Over the past two years, I’ve struggled with that teaching. As my practice has deepened, my worldview has shifted from one of separateness to one of connectedness, resulting in a shift in my relationship to the teachings.

A few weeks ago, I was at a coaching training,  and after a particularly juicy day in which I had an experience of the depths of my anger, I laid down to do yoga nidra (deep guided relaxation). At first, my mind was racing: feelings of joy that with the support of our leadership group, I had allowed myself to fully feel an emotion that was scary for me, and feelings of guilt about having given myself so completely over to my anger in the experience. Finally, my mind settled and toward the tail end of yoga nidra, the words “maha vidyas” came into my mind.

Sitting up, my brain filled with images of the Maha Vidyas, or wisdom goddesses. Maha Vidya means great truth, and in the Tantric tradition, the great truths of life are represented by 10 goddesses. As I thought back to expressing my anger earlier that day, I saw myself as a fierce Kali, wearing a garland of skulls and brandishing an ax. Though much has been said about her scary aspects, Kali’s gift is one of growth and transformation. Being present with my anger stripped away my illusions, much like Kali strips away avidya, or wrong knowledge. Dropping the illusion that feeling anger was wrong created a feeling of freedom and transformation from which I could express what was true for me from a place of clarity.

The Maha Vidyas are a key to embracing and loving the parts of ourselves that are hard to love, by seeing and appreciating the divinity within. Some of the Maha Vidyas are known for their positive aspects. Tara is known for peace. Tripura Sundari represents the essence of beauty. Bhuvaneshvari represents the openness from which all creation and creativity is born. Yet not all of the maha vidyas are so readily appreciated. A few of them have characteristics that initially don’t seem divine. What about Dhumavati, who at first glance appears to be a goddess of suffering and inauspiciousness? She is a great portal into viewing all parts of ourselves as divine.

photo credit: mckaysavage

Think of the parts of yourself that you view as inauspicious. What’s divine there? I’ll go first: in the past I’ve had a hard time seeing the part of me who can be judgmental as divine. I judged my Inner Judge as having quite an edge that was not yogic or spiritual. However, she is not hard to love when viewed through the lens of the Dhumavati. Why? My inner judge has amazing powers of viveka (sanskrit for discrimination). I choose to love all of my judge which includes that discriminative power. When my inner judge arises, rather than beat myself up, I ask, why is my power of discrimination needed in this situation? With practice, the judgment about what I’m seeing in front of me disappears, I use my power of discrimination, and I can move forward with clarity. This is the power of Dhumavati. She represents the essence of knowledge gained from experience and that which releases loss in order to realize our spiritual potential.

Another example is Chinnamasta (also called Chamundi), who is depicted as having cut off her own head. Yikes. And yet the gift she has is pure awareness, the power of transformation in action, and dissolution of the ego to realize the highest state of aliveness. I’d like a slice of that, please! Regardless of whether or not you have a relationship to Tantra, all of us can look inward and gaze softly at the parts of ourselves that we have a hard time accepting. What are the treasures in those aspects of you? How can you use those gifts to serve yourself and others?

The teachings on the wisdom goddesses are a gift to us all. They are a perfect embodiment of divinity that is not always pretty on the outside, but has deep, long lasting gifts to bestow. The Maha Vidyas help us to look deeper into the parts of ourselves that we may not see as favorable, and see and love the gifts that lie therein. When we are able to do this for ourselves, we serve as models for those around us to come into a greater experience of acceptance and love.

photo credit: srijankundu

Do you see accepting all of yourself as part of your yoga practice? Do you think its important to see divinity in all aspects of life? Which Maha Vidya most resonates with you?

In the past 15 months yoga has stepped into my life and reintroduced me to myself. And the Self that I’ve grown to know is lovely, dynamic, and healed.

photo credit: lululemon athletica

At age 17, I suffered a life-threatening eating disorder. The ensuing years left me in a heap of confusion, bobbing in swells of emotion that would come in and out like the tide. I don’t mean to insinuate I was unhappy; I’ve always been a brilliantly happy and vibrant individual, save for the year and a half that I was crippled by anorexia. I came out the other end, but turned a blind eye on my experience. I didn’t talk about it, I didn’t think about it, and I didn’t acknowledge it as a part of me. I had beaten the odds and left the sickness in my wake. That was my mistake. I was ashamed of my experience, ashamed of the memories and deeply traumatized by what I had put my mind, body and loved ones through. That blind eye had yet to see what yoga has since taught me: that we must accept ourselves wholly, fully, and unconditionally.

Yoga reintroduced me to myself. The practice handed me the key to my own holistic wellness and, once unlocked, I was welcomed into a world of healing, hope and utter prosperity, both physically and mentally. My soul came alive when I realized that yoga is a deep and permanent part of my being, as much so as was my battle with anorexia. I am well and long-since recovered, but I’ve learned that our battle wounds are not something to cover or ignore. My practice has allowed me to see my body through new eyes;

I see my body now as an “instrument, rather than an ornament,” as Ashley Turner so poetically describes.

A little yoga backstory. I took my first class at the age of twelve. I vividly remember learning to press down with the four corners of my feet, and to use my big toe and pinky toe to balance in tree pose. From then on yoga had a place in my heart, though my practice was incredibly sporadic throughout my teens as I played every sport under the sun. I worked at a health club where I would practice as I began college. My practice grew even further while living in Florence, Italy for a semester abroad. My flatmate, also my dearest friend and fellow yogi, and I would practice each evening in our foyer, and on Sunday mornings. It has really been in the past year and a half, though, that I have truly began to study the practice of yoga. In this time, yoga has become more than a soothing and peaceful activity, it has become a mode of survival.

I am a “Type-A” perfectionist individual. I had always been an athlete, a social butterfly, and during my senior year of high school, I succumbed to the dark and devastating disease of anorexia. My once bright life morphed into one of doctors’ appointments, weigh-ins, half-hearted senior year classes, and a traumatizing prom full of stares and looks of concern. My “bright life” became one of huddling over the flame of a candle trying to beckon warmth for my shivering, waiflike frame. It was sad. It was sad and I thought I’d never climb out of the hole into which I’d fallen.

I remember thinking to myself, “I’ll get to have chocolate again one day, I’ll let myself have it on my wedding day.”

I had chocolate before my wedding day. I had broken into a thousand tiny pieces. My psyche, my heart, my body, all of it just crumbled. I had completely and utterly lost myself. I had been faced with hospitalization and I had one last chance to stop my weight from falling. I was beyond reluctant to eat the chocolate truffle cake that the waiter placed in front of me. I sobbed through every bite, but to this day I remember it being one of the most cathartic acts of my life.

photo credit: daniellehelm

Yoga has allowed me to look back on a part of my life that I viewed with regret and denial, and to accept it. It offered me the means through which to do the work of unlocking a lost part of myself. When one is handed a key, they still have to figure out which door to open. The practice has allowed me to welcome that piece of me, that piece that was lost and tortured and say, “you are part of me, I love and accept you, and without that darkness, life would not be so filled with light today.”

Yoga, like life, has many different aspects and niches. I practice Vinyasa Flow, am partial to restorative poses before bed, and have a burning desire to discover Ashtanga Yoga. I have practiced Sivananda Yoga, Iyengar Yoga, Yin Yoga and Hatha Yoga. While I always loved my yoga, until recently I just never fully understood that is the key to holistic wellness.

It has also helped me learn to use food as fuel and nourishment. Food was once something that I greatly manipulated and had developed a very disordered relationship with. Through my study of yoga I have grown to realize that eating what I like is very important, but thinking first about how my human vessel, my body, will benefit from the “fuel” is equally as important. I fell in love with Ayurvedic cooking techniques during my retreat on Sivananda Ashram and Yoga Farm last September, and I have since copied many of their delicious creations in my own kitchen. Because of my past, I don’t adhere to a specific label when it comes to food. I could easily be a vegetarian, even a vegan, because I frequently prepare my meals that way. I could be a pescatarian because I adore fish, and could easily live without other meat. I don’t digest dairy well and avoid it 98% of the time, but I choose not to dive into the world of veganism - as I did at the age of 18, in my struggle to recover and redefine “healthy eating.” I feel I’ve spent too much of my life allowing anorexia to restrict me, boxing me into a label, keeping me from enjoying my life to the fullest, from sharing meals with my loved ones. I choose for myself on a daily basis what fuel I put into my human vessel, and I find no solace in adhering to any other label than “me.”

This practice has allowed me to be flexible and embrace moderation in all areas of my life. I practice daily, but when my body asks for rest, I listen. Yoga has led me to introspective parts of my own soul and heart that I didn’t know existed. It has allowed me to slow down, look inward, and trust that nobody knows me better than I do.

 Holistic wellness means something different to us all, because we as human beings are all beautifully and radically different. Here is what it means to me:

I have the capacity to chase my bliss energetically in a healthy body, with a clear mind, and with a passionate soul. Yoga stirs the deepest elements of my bliss from the depths of my being. Yoga gives me energy and a strong, able body to chase my dreams. Yoga wipes clean the slate of my mind, calming chatter and offering serenity after exposure to chaos. Yoga unveils my truth, allowing me to look back on every experience I’ve had and embrace each one equally. Yoga sparks the passion within my soul, making me feel more at home and alive in my own skin than I ever thought possible.

Yoga has allowed me to accept myself, to worship and honor every bit of my own being. My flaws are my perfections because they are unique to me. My likes and dislikes are dictated by no one other than myself; my thoughts, actions and words are manifestations of the wellness I cultivate everyday on and off the mat. I am well, I am whole and I am a product of the blissful practice of Yoga.

photo credit: *Micky

I have a spare key, care to use it?

 photo credit: Veganbaking.net

Let me rewind.

A few weeks ago a bunch of us settled in a classroom, ready to learn about Ayurveda, the “science of life” that originated in India. If I had to describe thousands of years worth of wisdom in one short sentence, I’d say Ayurveda teaches us how to balance the elements within the body so that our experience of life becomes physically, mentally, and spiritually harmonious.

I was there because I wanted to learn, but I also had a ton of resistance. Like many of us, I fell deeply into what one author calls The Busy Trap. Somewhere along the way I learned to place a high value on doing, perhaps a higher value on doing than on being. And the care of the vessel that does all of this doing? Duh, I do asana. Beyond that, I don’t have the time, I tell myself. I see my non-self care bretheren everywhere, from the yoga studio to the conference room.

The science of life shows me how important it is for me to make time. From our teacher, Kathryn Templeton, I came to understand that making time for a morning routine promotes health, and when she laid out exactly how a morning routine fosters a sense of internal balance, I could see how my lack of making time for myself is creating dis-ease, or at least the early warning signs of it.

A daily routine called dinacharya is one of the ways Ayurveda encourages us to adopt behaviors that promote health. This is just one step in a number of behaviors dedicated to improving health.  The added benefit is that by committing to dinacharya, we learn to make time for ourselves. Some of the activities might already be a part of your life: Yoga postures. Meditation. Using a Neti pot. As my classmates and I read the list of activities, I thought, this isn’t so bad.

Then we got to abhyanga:  Self-massage. A huge wall of resistance washed over me and I felt myself stiffen. As I drove home at the end of the weekend–notebook full of amazing information–I pondered my resistance. Where did I get the idea that self-care = self-indulgence?  Why am I prioritizing my time in a way that doesn’t make room for self care?

The next morning I woke up. I used the tongue scraper for the first time. Not bad. I used the neti pot. Always nice. I added nasya oil to my nostrils. Smells delish. Some simple asanas. So far so good. I stared at the jar of coconut oil. I felt like I wanted to cry. I told myself I was worth taking the time to care for. I stopped fighting it and just surrendered. After dry brushing my body, I reached through the resistance and grabbed hold of the oil and started to rub it into my skin. I felt nurtured. My shoulders relaxed. My breath softened. In the presence of that voice telling me I didn’t have time, I allowed myself to make time. My skin felt warm buzzing and I my whole body was enlivened. My mind was slowing down and getting quiet. After I was covered with oil, I put on a comfy shirt and sat in front of my altar for meditation.

A month has gone by. Abhyanga was just the start of my personal revolution. There are ripple effects that come from treating yourself with more kindness, like learning to say no when you are overextended or an increased sense of well-being. Each time I’ve reach for the oil, there has been a little less resistance. On a good day, there is none. The word surrender still floats through my mind as I practice abhyanga. As I care for myself in this way, I have an exquisite experience of loving myself just because I’m me. In those quiet moments I experience my essence as love and light, having nothing to do with any sort of doing. Just being.

photo credit: [JO]² – Immortal Lens -( Youssef Hanna )

Are you interested in starting your own daily ritual? A sample is shown below. You can follow the steps in whatever order works for you, or you may want to have a different focus, in which case, here’s a comprehensive list of activities that make up a dinacharya. Start off slowly. If there is resistance to any of the steps, acknowledge it. Much like in a yoga pose, feel yourself relaxing around the resistance. Surrender. Where there is friction, there is an opportunity for growth.

Sample Daily Ritual

–         Tongue scrape and brush teeth.  Ama, or toxins collect on the tongue while we sleep. By using a tongue scraper we clean the mouth more deeply. Learn more about the benefits (and where to buy one) in this article.

–         Use the bathroom. Proper elimination is key to optimal health. Sit there for 10 minutes (I know, TMI). Use a timer if you are impatient.

–          Use the Neti pot and then nasya oil for the nostrils. This practice cleans the nose and reduces the build up of mucus. Watch this video to learn the technique.

–          Practice abhyanga using either sesame oil or coconut oil (coconut has cooling effects for those of us who run hot). This article helpfully outlines the steps.

–          Meditate. If you don’t have a practice, here is a wonderful article that outlines five steps to meditation.

Enjoy!

photo credit: zalouk webdesign

Yogis like to argue as much as any other subculture, despite the mislabeling of us as pacifist. But one fact that most yogis can agree on is that the overwhelming percentage of yoga practitioners in the US are women. Probably as much as 90%, though in some city centers, where yoga is more mainstream it might be more like 70%. Regardless, women make up the largest demographic. And as women, it makes complete sense to be extremely upset by the sexual use and abuse by male teachers in the highest echelons of yoga. From the Indian men who brought yoga to the west, right down to the recently humiliated John Friend, male yogis have been abusing their power the way men usually abuse power – sexual exploitation. So yes, the yoga women, in my opinion, have every right to be angry, rageful even.

But lest the pot be accused of calling the kettle black, I think it is important to look at the other side of the equation. No one, to my knowledge, has ever called out the abuse by women in the yoga community. From the highest echelons of female yoga teachers, down to the newest girl graduate from her weekend Teacher Training, women yogis abuse their power the way women usually abuse power: by being cruel, demeaning, spiteful, catty, cliquey, condescending, manipulative, and downright mean.

I’ve been studying and teaching yoga since 1997, and have witnessed first hand the power of the female yogini. The Yoga Diva is a well known phenomenon in yoga circles. The teacher who “borrows” books (forever) from the retreat library or makes undocumented international phone calls; the Diva who swans around the room with her regiment of handmaidens, refusing to make eye contact with the students who’ve paid thousands of dollars to study with her; the Diva who insults and gossips about students, calling them fat or inflexible or lazy, often behind their backs. And then there are the Diva Students. The ones who come to class late, then move peoples’ mats around to get their preferred space; the ones who talk, loudly, about other students during break; the ones who co-opt class time asking long, self-involved questions referencing their own studies with Indian Gurus and their many positive attributes.

Yes, the imbalanced male yogi takes advantage of his followers sexually. But the female yogi uses her sexuality too, prancing around the front of the room in wee, tight clothes, sending her sexual power vibes through the room, just without the lay as the end point. Instead, she uses her sexuality to empower herself and manipulate her students. She causes the men to want to serve her, to put her on a pedestal and thus increase her own importance and social standing. She causes other women to fear her and become obsequious servants in large and small ways. These women in power also undermine each other in their quest for more prominence. They cattily criticize their fellow teachers and ridicule the less accomplished students. They use their power positions as fodder for their own comedic enjoyment without regard for the feelings of these students.

photo credit: Ani Carrington

After I lost my own yoga studio in northwest Montana in a bloodless coup, I went into voluntary exile in Baja, Mexico. I drove down in a VW van with my nine year-old black lab, Tippy, to see if I could find what I had so quickly and drastically lost – my faith, my sense of hope, my personal power. Yoga is like that, I thought. The in-breath, the-out breath, here, then gone. Stability, then crashing to the ground. Maybe, someday, I would find the constancy of balance, the fine art of the tiny, constant adjustments that keep you steady no matter what goes on. But I didn’t find it there. Not in Baja.

There, I smoked a lot of pot. Tried to write a book. Decided to finally abandon my country because of politics I hated. And I took a weeklong yoga retreat with a Yoga Diva.

She was a big deal in the yoga world. She had a following. Videotapes. A clothing line. She was a good teacher. She taught a vinyasa flow class to lots of loud thumping music. She offered a spiritual aspect to things. She went surfing.

But she was not a nice person. She had a way of listening but not really paying attention. She was devoted to her own being. Her own practice. The perfection of her own body. She surrounded herself with men. She had a devoted following of yoga boys who would do anything for her. She had a few women in her inner circle too, but it was clear that she was the alpha. If there were women around her, they were obsequious, submissive. They brought her glasses of fresh orange juice, and she beamed a huge smile on them. But she was not kind.

One day we were focusing on heart openers. First, you start with hip openers. Because the hips are where we hold emotion, and for most of us, the hips are very tight. We in the western world don’t use our hips much. We don’t squat. We don’t dance madly. We don’t swing when we walk. From hips, we moved into shoulder openers. The energy of the body runs in X’s, so the hips cross over to the shoulders. Tight right hip, tight left shoulder.

When it was time for the heart openers, we laid on our stomachs and did mini cobras, then big cobras. Lifting up our chests, lifting out of our shoulders, using our back muscles to hold us up. To support us.

I was moving very deep into this practice. I could feel my neurons firing. Feel my muscles lengthening, and softening. I could feel myself opening up. Here in the heat of Baja, with the rhythmic ocean pounding just meters away, I was dissolving into my true nature. Love. I could feel it start to spread upward from the power in my sacrum, up my spine and into my heart.

We were now into the deepest part of the class. Backbends. Urdhva Dhanurasana, upward facing bow. By now, this was easy. I practically floated up, beyond the ‘muscling’ that I used to do. It felt like an intrinsic energy was lifting me up of its own accord. I could have stayed in this backbend forever, it felt so easy. So right.

The teacher asked if I would demonstrate to the class. I beamed. Maybe I was wrong about her after all. Clearly she saw the power and the softness, the love and the goodness that I was emanating, not only in this one pose, but during this whole week. And she was going to make me an example for the class - this is what love in action looks like.

The class circled around me and I bent my knees and bent my arms back so the palms of my hands were by my ears. I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled, floating gracefully up into an arch. She made a slight adjustment to my arms, and I lifted even deeper into the pose. This is one of the most powerful heart opening poses because it is one of the most vulnerable. You are literally offering your soft underbelly up to the world, with nothing to protect yourself.

She backed away from me as I continued to breathe easily. “Look at those hairy Patti Smith armpits,” she said at last. “Ugh,” she said, quieter, as a few people around her giggled. She took a step closer and put a hand under my back and said, “Your low back muscles are weak, you need to strengthen them.” She stood back again and said, “Okay. That’s good. You can come down now.” She walked to the front of the room to drink her fresh squeezed juice. Everyone returned to their mats, and I sunk onto my back, hugged my knees to my chest.

photo credit: JD Hancock

There was a serious east coast/west coast demarkation in the yoga world at that time. New York, where I’d been studying, was still rebel, counter-cultural, hippy. New York yogis ate granola with hemp milk, and did not shave all their body hair off. This yoga was still grungy, still evolving out of the free-love 70‘s. On the other side was L.A., where this teacher based. L.A. has always been a ‘beauty’ town, more plastic than all-natural. L.A. women dyed their hair blond, they plucked, shaved, tweezed, botoxed and implanted.

There was always condescension between the two ranks. One being looked at as overly obsessive, narcissistic, faux, while the other was looked at as unclean, unkempt, feral and tribal. Around the “turn of the century,” bit by bit they’d all come to be taken over by the hairless ethic. Fakeness became more and more the coin of the empire, and even a truth-seeking sport such as yoga was not immune to the Roman Coliseum fervor of the day. This new ‘plastic’ ethic would steamroll over every other human endeavor.

As I lay on my back feeling the wound of humiliation, I started to say the heart chakra mantra, yam, over and over again, so my poor, sweet, open heart, would not slam itself shut again because of that skinny, tanned, waxed and ugly-hearted woman.  Welcome back to Mean Girls Yoga.  I hugged my body close and resolved to keep my heart open.  These girls could be mean for all eternity, but my devotion was to the practice.  It was to Truth and Love in the core.  But not just my own core. 

I knew I wasn’t the only lonely soul on this planet aching for kindness and connection.  True community.  My eternal optimism, which by this point was starting to look scarily close to self-lacerating insanity, kept going back to the same trough and expecting a different outcome.  But I knew there was the possibility of real change in this system.

I knew that I needed to cultivate compassion toward this teacher too.  I had to be the bigger woman, even in my current ‘small’ state.  The cycle of behavior needed to stop, and all I could do was to stop myself from taking her cruelty and making it my cruelty. 

This guru abuse is pervasive.  With men, it is death by one blow.  With women, it is death by a thousand cuts.  Maybe, eventually, it could evolve to the death of the ego, or rather, that part of the ego that still rules, is still mean, shifty, unconscious.  The exposure of the truth is a way of ripping off that protective layer.  Forcing us to grow.  Which is, after all, why we became yoga teachers in the first place.

These words would be my only meditation.

photo credit: FreeWine

So I read Gail Caldwell’s Let’s Take the Long Way Home, and my heart itched with longing at her description of rambling walks with her best friend, Caroline, and their dogs along wooded pathways and sunset-emblazoned rivers. I wept with grief when Caroline’s cancer and – subsequent death –interrupted their story. The loss vibrated from the page to my chest.

I found myself taking big gulps of air as my breathing became shallow, but still I read.

Tears poured down my cheeks.

My nose dripped.

But still I read about these two friends who existed in a cocoon of their own making, one equally transformative as a chrysalis to a butterfly. Women whose relationship transcended their collective false starts of addiction and diseased love affairs. Women who attached.

photo credit: h.koppdelaney

Attachment. It’s that idea we all ponder as yogis, isn’t it? According to the Yoga Sutras, Vairagya – nonattachment – is learning to let go of the many attachments, aversions, fears, and false identities that are clouding the true Self. Sounds easy enough, but the simplicity of the definition belies its inherent complexity.

If everything is made of opposing forces, after all, then we can both cling to the judgment and expectations that inhibit self-actualization and cling to the idea of non-attachment. We can recognize and own our attachments as imperative to our growth and refuse to attach because somehow it’s easier to emotionally contain or dispose of one another that way.

In bearing witness to those moments, it’s difficult to uphold the Sutras as absolute, and I walk along its uneven path conscious of the weight of the contradictions.

I also study attachment theory as part of my work, and it posits an infant’s attachment to at least one primary caregiver is necessary for normal social and emotional development. When this dyadic interaction doesn’t occur, the child’s neurological, emotional, cognitive, and behavioral functioning is compromised and can manifest in serious and heart-wrenching ways throughout one’s life.  To put it simply, attachment is a developmental necessity for us mortals. We are essentially wired to cling. We are born to dance with the intimacy of human connection and need. Whether we want to claim it or not, biologically we are all what Gail Caldwell alludes to in her memoir as “addicted to attachment.”

Perhaps we don’t find the answers by asking the questions but in experiencing the process that is attachment. Maybe it’s less about espousing one philosophy and more about finding our own realities – be it in the safety of our intimate attachments or through our individual and collective struggles to release them (detaching from the Yoga Sutras… try that one on for size!).

photo credit: Poetprince

It is now evening.  As the sun lowers and I near the end of my meditation – Gail and Caroline’s story – I know only this:  attachment can bring us the truest expression of joy and the harshest communion with heartache. There are times when clinging to it might be the only thing keeping us alive so we’re actually here to let it go when the time comes, as it surely will. When it does, we will be stronger for the attachment, and we will survive its departure.

As Caldwell says, like a starfish, the heart endures its amputation.

photo credit: hannes.a.schwetz

Each time I leave my mother’s home, I must become a bit like steel. She starts to cry when I reach for my coat. I button my coat and tell her I love her. “I will see you soon!” I say brightly. I pick up my handbag and I open the door. Hug her one more time. Shut the door. I hear her childlike sobs as I walk down the hallway. She is shouting through the door, “Good bye, Rachel! I love you!” If I didn’t turn hard at that moment of “Goodbye,” if I looked back, I wouldn’t have the strength to leave. It is how I return to a life. My life. The one I am trying to make, despite the constant feeling that I am failing; that I am just treading water to not drown in my mother’s bills and pills and co-pays, phone calls from nurses and aides with questions I don’t have answers to, but must provide.

How can I change, fix, soften the feeling in my gut when I leave her room and walk out into the lobby where the loud television blares Wheel of Fortune, and the aides from Sierra Leone and Kenya and Colombia who don’t speak much English (yet, who are ostensibly responsible for my mother’s care) smile at me politely? How do I quiet the guilt that seizes me as I push the elevator button that takes me to the main floor, where I pass people dozing in wheelchairs – people who don’t want to live any more, too sick and tired to care about living? And again as I walk out through the automatic sliding glass doors and into the cab that is waiting for me, driven by a man from Ecuador. “Nice. You visit your grandma. Ci, mama?” No, “My mother,” I say. I look out the window. I am tired. I have spent much of this visit cleaning blood off the walls.

photo credit: arvindgrover

My mother has bloody noses and no matter how many emails I write or calls I make, no one there cleans it up. I cleaned around the toilet. Whether her bladder can’t hold or she can’t see, I am not sure. I styled her hair, in a fun makeover moment whereby she walked into  the bathroom, asked me, “Where is the bathroom?” and proceeded to take a plastic cup full of water and dump it on her head. “I  needed moisture.” she says. My mother, who once quoted poets and intellectuals at dinnertime and wouldn’t let a Sunday pass without reading the Times from cover to cover now finds making ornaments out of pipe cleaners her proudest accomplishment. My friends’ mothers are enjoying their new retirement: traveling, running marathons, helping them choose their wedding gowns or giving advice how to soothe their new babies. My mother, who at age 59 spent every dime she had until Medicaid stepped in is trying desperately to remember where she put her glasses, her phone, the name of the person she just spoke to, the day off the week. Just five minutes more and the driver will drop me off at the bus stop on the side of Route 32 somewhere in Jersey, which is where my mother now lives in assisted living. A bus will pick me up and take me back to New York. Back to a life.

I practice yoga instead. I show up when my wish to be invisible, sob or scream is at its highest. Here, I have learned that often our greatest acts of courage are private. They merit no medals or words of praise. We all possess shadows that threaten to pull us down and under. Each of us fight mini-wars  that others know nothing about. This has taught me compassion, and to not judge a person by what I see, for there is always so much more.

At brunch or parties friends ask, “How are you?” I can’t exactly say over my mimosa (in between discussion on Keith Olberman’s last rant or my feelings on Occupy Wall Street) that I wish I could live in a padded suit. One where no one could see me. One where, maybe, I could close my eyes and collapse for just a moment and the padded suit would catch me, its warm foamy, flannel fabric hugging my every curve, supporting me so that finally, I could rest. Instead I say, “I’m good. Busy, but good.” The other reason I don’t admit this desire is that I wish to rise above it. Transform it. Work through it. Get to the other side. And so, I practice yoga.

 

photo credit: hannes.a.schwetz

 

The other day after class, a man came up to me. “You were in front of me.” he says. “You’ve got an incredible practice. Some people move through the postures, but you dance.”