Bridge of the Gods by Prairiekittin

Many of us dream of the easy life: a life in which opportunities arise without complications and we move effortlessly through our day in a happy state of bliss. In search for this idyllic state of living, we dread obstacles and disdain struggle and conflict. Yet, we need the resistance of opposing ideas, the clash of contrasting expectation, and the work of climbing the metaphorical career ladder, in order to for us to grow.

Resistance is around us all the time. In yoga class, we always have at least one body part touching the earth. This floor-bound body part not only secures us to the land but also creates a force in which we can utilize to expand. We push against the floor, to find more lift. In physics force is possible when one object interacts with another. There are different types of forces in physics but a uniform concept states how much force is applied by one object is met with the same amount of force. For example, in handstand if we don’t press away from the earth, we sink. When we push against the floor we activate our muscles and find the bodily support and length needed to align in the posture.

Resistance is often considered to impede our flow and thwart our growth. Yet, just as there are at least two opposing actions occurring at all times, resistance can foster and hinder our personal expansion. In the yoga world, there is always a discussion about awareness, to mindfully look at your present circumstances. Many of fight change and we fight against obstacles. We see these obstacles as a place of struggle rather than a stepping stone for growth.  In class, we are reminded to be attentive to our mental, emotional, and physical state without judgment. This is because in yoga we come to realize that the most of the resistance we meet is from our own struggle against change. As we grow, we bump up against our own issues, rejections, fears and insecurities and we retreat, hide, and try to shove the feelings back into the bag we carry them in.

When we cave-in to our self-doubts, we are walking our path like someone blindly moving through a dark forest hoping not to drop into a ditch. Instead of recoiling we must address these feelings of inadequacy head-on. When we realize that our fear holds power and strength, we can use that force to help us grow. To utilize resistance for your own optimal development, you must become aware of what you are bumping up against. With proper awareness and self-realization, you are able to flourish seemingly effortlessly.

I spent my childhood summers in a small fishing village off the coast of Western Canada. I remember the times I would jump in the icy ocean and tread water attempting to get back on the dock. Without a rock to push off of, climbing out of the water was a struggle. Many of us live like this – trying to tread water, not realizing that each obstacle that comes to us is a place from which we push off. We cannot allow ourselves to become afraid of what we butt-up against, we cannot let that stop us, rather we must find a way to move through, around, or even better, step-up on the bumps in our path.

Nataraja, King Dancer, holds a drum representing the primordial sound of creation; in another hand he holds fire symbolizing death; and balancing on one leg, as he lifts the other, Nataraja dances within the fire of samsaras, or life habits that often inhibit us. In a dance of “continual loss and instantaneous regaining of balance,”[1] Nataraja reminds us that all of nature dances in the cycles of birth and death where there is neither beginning nor end. Because of this infinite movement I see the circle as the ultimate symbol of balance.

When we live in balance we find the contentment we seek – we no longer have to look to the external world to satiate our desires.  As anyone who has ever tried to stand on one leg knows, maintaining balance is hard. Our bodies, our mind, and our life churn constantly. Ideas, financial situations, relationships, and our moods are in a state of flux. Nothing ever stops moving: the wind blows, the seasons change, leaves drop, and birds migrate. There is a cyclical nature of movement but nothing is ever in the same spot twice. You may come into urdhva dhanurasana (upward facing bow or wheel  pose) three times in a class yet each time is different. The pose is the same but your body, mind, mood, and  experience, can be drastically different. We are always changing and in order to maintain a sense of peace we must maintain balance.

Yoga is about uniting with our divine self, our shadow self, and the person next to us; yoga is our union with all living beings. All your emotions, all your moods, all your experiences are a part of yoga; the key is to find the equilibrium within your joy, sorrow, birth, death, grief, and bliss. When we move too far into any one place, we will fall off balance and eventually come toppling down. The way to balance is to dig deep within and connect to your innermost self. At your core, your breath is the fundamental life energy which is always working to keep you aligned and stable. When you inhale, notice how your breath moves downward while your body lifts, and as you exhale, your breath moves upward while your body rests to the ground. As the circle is a symbol of completeness, with every inhale and exhale you simultaneously ground to the earth and lift to the heavens in perfect symmetry.

When I look to the sky above, listen to the geese, and notice how the trees branch out, I can’t help but meditate on my part within the rotation of the natural world.  I notice how my own sense of calm or chaos echoes the natural progression of the seasons and follows the movement of light to dark from sunrise to sunset. Nataraja as the Cosmic Dancer continuously moves through creation and dissolution forcing each of us to establish equilibrium in the ever-changing world and repetitive loop of our samsaras, or habits. As I reflect on this, I understand that when I maintain my inner balance, I effortlessly move with the rhythms of life’s on-going dance.

In 1980, Joel Kramer said that “at its core, yoga is a process that involves confronting your limits and transcending them.” He explained that yoga is not about attainment but rather how you work within limits. In other words, yoga is not about getting into a pose but rather about how you get into the pose, where your mind and heart are situated. We can spend our whole lives trying to find happiness but when we desire to control what is beyond us, we will end up feeling empty. In my own little hole, I recognized that I was refusing to see the reality of my situation, how things move smoothly and how I am blessed. I was unable to be content because I was too focused on what was not there. I created a gap for something I never had. When I acknowledged and labeled my feelings, I felt energized ready to move beyond them.

In Hindu mythology we first encounter Kurma, an avatar of Vishnu, in the mythological battle between the demigods and demons. The demigods were losing and, in despair, they asked Vishnu for help. He told them they needed to drink the amrita, nectar of immortality, which was in the milky ocean. Knowing they could not get the amrita alone, the demigods and the demons agreed to split the nectar and both began to work together to find the amrita. As they churned the ocean, Mount Mandara began to sink and Vishnu turned himself into Kurma, the tortoise and supported the mountain on his back until the amrita rose.

As the demons and demigods churned the ocean many things came up: some lovely like the goddess of fortune, Lakshmi, and some unpleasant like the poison, Halahala. As in life, when we stop and listen to our thoughts we find the pleasant and unpleasant sensations of our experiences. Yet, as yoga practitioners we need to remind ourselves that what arises is neither good nor bad – it just is. Our mind places a label on the feeling and describes the feeling, sensation, or thought is one thing or another. Just as Kurma had the strength to hold up Mount Mandara, with focus and stability we each have the strength to center our mind.

When I focus on the life of friends, or any life outside of my own, I only exacerbate the feelings which manifest as jealousy, competiveness, laziness, and exhaustion. For each of us, our mind is the milky ocean in the myth of Kurma and the poison that arises from the ocean are toxic feelings that must be released. When I went within and recognized my feelings, I immediately reminded myself to stop comparing and notice the riches I have because from where that poison arose so did the beautiful and fortunate goddess Lakshmi. At these times I acknowledge my life’s own perfection. At an unhurried, steady pace, when I focus and become familiar with my experiences (good or bad), I find unlimited wealth.

Kramer, Joel. Yoga as Self Transformation. Yoga Journal May/June 1980. Online.

I forget to breathe for what must be a long time. Everything around me goes out of focus. Outside the windows the sky is blue and the world is humming right along without a skip. But I can’t move.

In the Japanese language, the word crisis is denoted by two symbols: one represents danger, the other opportunity.

At first, my own crisis felt very much like falling, and all I could register was the danger. The painful mass in my abdomen had turned out to be a tumor. Once removed, there were decisions to make. My doctor laid out an aggressive plan of attack. He wanted to wage a war on my body that was supposed to give me a chance, maybe even save me. But I wasn’t so sure. My instincts told me chemotherapy wasn’t my road. And then there was the clear ring of my Grandmother’s voice, her adamant words pushing up through layers of childhood memory, a nurse’s warning for anyone who was listening—“chemotherapy and radiation treatments are nothing more than poison, don’t let the doctors fool you.”

So, I sat down at the computer, ready to arm myself with all the knowledge I could find to help me make and defend my treatment decision. I expected to be shouted down by my doctors and my family when I announced that I would take a naturopathic approach to healing myself.

I read case histories, one after another, seemingly similar to my own, but always with their differing details. I studied drug trial results with their vague conclusions until I found myself slumped in the blue glow of the computer screen, confused, unsure, and terrified by the radiation bath I must surely be absorbing.

I powered down. I sat alone in the dark and asked myself what I wanted to do. First, I wanted to live. And I wanted to live well. Be healthy. I wanted to be free of all that had led me to the point where I was having to make this one terrifying decision that would define the rest of my life; whether that life would be months or years I did not know.

I did know that something important was happening to me.

When I began my search, I assumed I would find answers, know what to do, and do it. But as the questions mounted, it became clear that this would be a process with several possible outcomes. I wanted a guarantee, clarity, and I wanted to know that I was making the right decisions—the ones that would lead me back to health.  I wanted a sure thing. What I got instead was the opportunity to trust in myself.

The great discovery in this tortuous process came when I recognized my pattern of looking outside myself for answers. It became suddenly clear to me—I would have to be my own advocate, my own authority, my own caretaker. Every decision about my health was mine and mine alone to make.

I had agreed to chemotherapy in a fog and a funk. I knew my father would be relieved. He thought I should listen to my doctor. My family felt safe this way. This, more than the cancer itself, was my crisis.

The chemo room is cold and clean. A circle of recliner chairs and IV’s strung with bags of clear, innocuous looking liquid. I stepped into the circle but didn’t feel for a moment that I belonged in this place.

I already knew that I was healing. I already felt wellness brimming inside of me. What am I doing here, I kept asking myself. When the needle was inserted into my right arm just above the elbow, taped down securely, I wept.

Prior to my surgery, I felt safe and sure. I slept easily in the belief that  the cancer would be removed and I would awake on New Year’s Day to a new life.

But on the night following the chemo treatment I had the first of many nightmares. Every night, and in every dream, I died. The message was more than clear to me. I had betrayed my own best instincts. I knew what I had to do.

It was a radical shift in perspective: I decided I would trade anything for health, even if it meant walking away from everything I knew. Here’s where things began to get easier. I listened for my own voice, followed my gut, cancelled the chemo treatments, and sat down in my sunny backyard in California. I was finally learning to listen. My crisis, and the opportunity it offered reshaped my entire life.

The shock of serious illness was a violent shove over the edge of my old life. In that fall, I lost my health, my sense of strength, my wild mane of hair, all the things I defined myself by. It was only in the process of peeling away all those layers and looking deeper that I discovered my real strength, found my true path, and took back my life.

I was nearly fearless as I gave up the career, the house, the stuff of my old life. Once I was feeling healthy and well, my husband and I made a sojourn. We camped in the Rockies just after the last snow, and among the Lodge Pole pines in Montana. We drove across the empty places, so beautiful and sacred we lost our urge to speak. One night, in the pitch black of the Tetons, we stole up beside a pair of deer, motionless, mesmerized, as we were, by the flashing Northern Lights.

Eventually, we made our way here, to Portland.  Of all the places we’d ventured to, it was clear this would be our chosen home. And because the path of yoga had helped me come home to myself, I set my sights on teaching, and went off to study. I hoped to one day teach at Reed College, and I’ve been there for over five years now.

Joseph Campbell counseled, “To have the life that is waiting for you, you must give up the life you have planned.” In that planned life of mine, a photo of a Roman ruin hung over my desk and I looked at it, and those words inscribed below it, everyday. And everyday I imagined another life—the one that was waiting for me. The way I see it, I fell over the cliff edge and learned to fly.

There is the still place, like a clearing in the woods, where we can stop and discover that even in crisis, opportunity shines down like sun through the trees. At a moment when I felt lost, unsteady and unsure, I rooted myself in the immediacy of breathing right into that moment and I was able to hear my own voice. I followed my inner wisdom, and a whole new life opened up to me. I reached out and I grabbed it!

In yoga, and in life, we are continuously circling the wheel of birth and death. This wheel is the cyclic representation of creation, preservation, and dissolution that is prominent in every action we take: thoughts, relationships, movements. An entire yoga class follows this wheel of birth and death. We start class in a place of stillness: seated mediation, balasana (child’s pose), and savasana are the most common. We wake up our bodies to the practice, move within, and then metaphorically die in savasana, only to be reborn as we roll over into fetal position and come up to a seated position to close our practice. The death in practice is just as important as the birth and preservation aspect.

Our mind is a living entity that processes and stores all our thoughts, emotions, and experiences. These impressions, known as samskaras, are embedded in our subconscious and are the basis for many of our habits: the way we eat our ice cream, the way we recoil from a hot stove, the way we may fall asleep in savasana. Our samskaras are the basis for how we see the world, how we see others, and how we form our own character.  According to meditation teacher, Sally Kempton, “Changing our samskaras by shifting our way thinking will also affect the way we act.”[1] A basic yogic notion is that if you change your perspective and change your habits, your life will inevitably change.

Savasana is a place to release old ways of thinking, to let go of old associations and create growth in a new direction. Giving yourself permission to relax in savasana, to enjoy the simple sensations of breath and the drifting waves of thought helps to create a lasting mind/body connection. Today’s society requires we reside in the fast lane, constantly moving, pushing ourselves, and stressing about…everything. This high-stress lifestyle promotes a mind/body disconnect. During savasana, a practice of conscious breath, slowing down, and relaxing, the body rests and returns to its normal functioning state.

Next time you find yourself heading into savasana thrilled to finally get a nap into your day, or fidgeting because you have too much to get done and laying around is a waste of time, stop and recognize the need for a metaphoric death. We can only grow from the release of our samskaras and habitual behaviors. Savasana is a way to “let go of the old, and make room for the new.” This new self you have created or connected with during your time on the mat embodies a deeper realization to recognize the practice of mindfulness as not only a way to shape your body, but a way to unify your mind and spirit.

The inflexible student often knows they are stiff and can feel their limitations. They may not like them, but they are aware of them.  And this is a great first step to yoga – self awareness. As a teacher I have noticed that students who are tight or inflexible are forced to move slower and are more likely to use props, initially building more muscular strength in the process.

Yoga requires strength. Not always physical but also the mental and emotional dexterity to remain present. And that is difficult for any person – flexible or stiff. I recently read yoga begins when things get hard. Yoga is when your partner is sick and you still have to smile at the world, yoga is finding a way to keep moving when you are alone on a dance floor, yoga is to say ‘sorry’ or ‘I love you’ to a co-worker, lover, or friend. Yoga is to get up each day and give your best. This takes adaptability but also courage to embrace who you are and the endurance to stay focused.

In yoga there is a process of engaging muscles that is sometimes so intricate and finite that as students we may not notice we are not doing it — a rotation of a thigh, a lift of our belly — subtle shifts that create full body alignment. When we align our bodies we create an energy flow that moves through our entire being allowing for an expression of peace and compassion that vibrates our entire Self. I think of muscle engagement as activating the energy lines throughout our entire body like a highway through the city. Energy lines move from our center out into our body and are inhibited by stiffness, lack of strength, and lack of endurance; smooth, unobstructed energy lines help to recharge and enliven each of us.[1]

I am a flexible person but a 20-year old hamstring injury limits movement on my left side.  This injury has been my yoga nemesis as well as one of my greatest teachers. Because of my injury I have to wait poses out, learn to modify, and check my ego at the door. When I first began yoga, I could not move into forward folds, I refused to use props, and spent many classes cursing my hamstring. To this day, on my left side, I cannot fully extend into Virabhadrasana III (warrior III) or hanumanasana (splits). But that’s okay. I have learned to take better care of myself.

I cannot force a pose, but I must wait and build strength with blocks and muscle engagement. I, like most of us, see things in opposites: good/bad, weak/strong, stiff/flexible. Yet, there are no opposites but different perspectives. I spent years cursing my left side as my weak side when, in reality, I gained valuable insight from it: patience, self-awareness, and self-compassion.

When we come onto the mat with self-awareness, we allow our energy lines to organically reconnect.  Through the engagement of energy lines we find the strength to know where we are in our practice and in our bodies. Flexible or not, take time and engage yourself in the process of yoga and find the way each pose fits into your unique body.

The other day, I attended Shannon Kluever’s class. Run down and exhausted, I told Shannon how tired, tense, and constricted I felt. She looked at me, and in her smooth, even tone, suggested I speak slower. Sometimes I speak so fast I don’t finish what I am saying as if sound outruns my words. Other times, I speak so fast the words collide into a scrambled unintelligible noise. Shannon suggested I pause before speaking not only to create space in my mind but to also create space for those around me. The imagery of space between my words to create room in my environment resonated with me. I practice and advise my students to use their breath to clear their body and minds of tension, stress, the left-over stale parts of yesterday. Why not create space through my words too?

The fifth chakra, located in your throat, resides over voice, communication, and resonant vibrations. Just as the neck connects the head and the body, the fifth chakra is considered the bridge between mind and body. What we think in our minds and what we feel in our body comes out through sound vibrations. When our fifth chakra is off balance, blocked or excessively open, we are unable to fortify a solid connection between our mind and body. This disconnect can be actualized as an inability to speak up, speak out, speak truthfully, or stop speaking.  My frequent inability to listen, the need to always talk, to interrupt others, and to be a dominant force in conversations exacerbates an already off-balanced fifth chakra.

As I awaken to the obvious connection between language and consciousness, I recognize my disjointed body/mind connection. I habitually reach for my phone to peruse Facebook or check emails without intention behind my action. I walk my dog, day dreaming, completely absorbed in my head, unaware where I am going or how I got someplace.  As I pause to observe my words before speaking, I find the space is creating opportunities for self-awareness.

I am reminded of an earlier blog post where I touched upon the potentiality of empty space.  In the pauses of my words, in the act of mindfulness, I find that I have begun to slow down everywhere: how I eat, shower, walk. I pause in my thoughts and notice what my body is doing. As I fight the urge to rush forward, I find myself fully aware of emotions, feelings, and thoughts. Sometimes sadness envelopes me as I decelerate, sometimes exhilaration, sometimes nothing but being alive.

If like the sages say, language is consciousness, then how can not only the words we say but how we say them also affect our psyches?[1]  Feelings from our heart move upward to our throat and what develops in our mind moves downward toward our throat. As thought and feeling meet, we speak, communicate, and listen. On the mat, we are instructed to observe our breath, note bodily sensations, and unite breath and movement in order to connect to our innermost Self. Off the mat, the same is true. To connect intention and action, pause before words, observe the space in our breath, and listen to those around us is, I am discovering, when we really begin to know who we truly are.

Tapas, often translated to mean “inner heat,” or “fiery discipline” is a tool to achieve personal and spiritual enlightenment.  Tapas is sometimes considered a rigid practice of castigation and severe discipline, yet, according to T.K.V. Desikachar in The Heart of Yoga, tapas is not penance but “the process of inner cleansing” by building heat through asanas (poses)  and pranayama (breathwork).  Like Desikachar, when I hear the word tapas I do not associate it with austere, strict, and rigid behavior. Rather, I connect tapas with the consistent flow of energy generated through our thoughts, the beat of our heart, and the intention of our actions.  I believe tapas to be the perseverance and faith we dedicate to our path.

As humans, we have wishes, we create goals, we dream of desired outcomes, and from these dreams we brew the energy needed to transition our dreams into reality. Yet, as humans, in one way or form, we also experience mesmerizing enchantments that tempt us away from our path. In the story of Vasistha and Vishvamitra these two sages fall from their path. Like us, they get seduced by emotion and thoughts.  We all get swept away and tapas is the energetic force that helps us realign our focus with our heart.

We can spend so much of our life being angry, blaming others, and all this external focus will only result in destroying ourselves. As fire burns things up, our energy can burn us up, burn us out, or fuel us; we need to harness our energy and direct it in a mindful manner.  We must speak, listen, and act as if everything we do has significance. We must act as if our hearts are beams of light and what we direct into the world, good or bad, will be absorbed by the people meet, the trees we see, and the air we breathe. When Brahma scolded the two sages, he scolded them for generating such heat in negativity: what we think, we can become.  Our own energy is the power that can steer us. Like Vasistha and Vishvamitra, we can allow it to overpower us in devastating ways or we can open ourselves up to the bright potential that lies within us.

Desikachar, T.K.V.. The Heart of Yoga: Developing A Personal Practice. Rochester: Inner Traditions, 1995. Print.

Yet, many of us shy away from awareness because through awareness comes knowledge.  I believe this is because awareness is often intertwined with a degree of turbulence.  When we realize we are not happy in a relationship, job, or current life situation, we have two options: 1) stay as we are or 2) change. If we chose option 1, usually we get to the point of complete unhappiness that change is forced upon us. Whether we chose option 2 or get caught in a forced change, we venture through a series of events: some chaotic, some heartbreaking, some exciting, but all altering.

Earlier this month, I attended a lecture by Eric Shaw, a scholar on the philosophy, history, and science of yoga. During the lecture, Shaw touched upon the connection between energy and space. According to Shaw, space embodies pure potentiality. Energy moves into space and when something is empty, anything can be created from the emptiness. If you fill up the space, there is little room for awareness. We need to create space in order to maintain flow in our lives.

When we are busy in the affairs of our life, filling up every nook of our being with something to do, or with anxiety that we are not doing something, we are unable to grow and to manifest into our supreme self. In gardening, we are asked to prune plants. When the foliage becomes dense, the plants produce little to no flowers. The same is true for us. When we are cramming our days with busyness or minds are constantly bombarded with thoughts, images, sounds, clicks of the phone, internet, and texts, we produce little to no flowers. As we fill up the spaces of our life, there is less room for awareness. We are no longer able to grow and expand our consciousness. We need to prune our lives in order to blossom.

Give yourself permission to be idle, to do nothing. Feel the effects of space in your life, of clearing out the boxes you carry in your mind, heart, hips, and on your shoulders. We are all brilliant beings that get weighed down with anxiety, stress, and to-do lists. Instead create space for your energy to radiate through and experience your life with clear awareness.  Make the time to stop, smell the flowers and bask in the bright essence of your life.

One day the sun admitted,

I am just a shadow.

I wish I could show you

the infinite incandescence

that has cast my brilliant image!

I wish I could show you when you are lonely

or in darkness

the astonishing light

of your own being!

~Hafiz

Even after all this time

the sun never says

to the earth

you owe me.

Look what happens

with a love like that…

It lights up the whole world.

~ Rumi

In the middle of winter

I at last discovered

within me

an invincible Summer!

~Camus

The rising sun blesses my mind with joy…

The setting sun blesses my mind with peace.

~ Sri Chinmoy