Essence of Yoga – You Seem Alive. Have we met?

I happened to be the only one logged into Zoom. Only my living room and yoga practice were visible. It was dark; I was more of an outline. As I finished, I looked at the sitting, unmoving person in the screen. I didn’t appear to be anything more than a decoration in the home I sat in. Just another Buddha statue, but far less enlightened. My mind was racing, my body anxious; every part of me felt as if I was active and alive. And yet, there was this body. Sitting there…disconnected from everything that I label as ‘me’. Have we met? You look completely unfamiliar. And so do I. The me I am sitting with. And that body over there.

You Seem Alive

I’ve noticed lately that in my living yoga practice, I am not one essence that is me. What I thought were memories, seem to be body etches. Yoga is like an Etch A Sketch. Even when an experience ends, the essence of it comes alive again. If you look deeply enough, perhaps you can even see all of the sketches that came before. Nothing is ever completely erased. Why do we believe it will be? The more I practice yoga, the more alive my experiences are.

Practicing yoga and meditation has been the most important element of maintaining my mental stability throughout the pandemic. It has always been a beneficial part of my life. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that movement and exercise have always been a beneficial part of my life. Yoga arose at a perfect time when I was working through a serious unlearning process. I actually find the unlearning is much, much harder than learning. It takes a lot more effort and comes with a lot less motivation.

Teachers

One of the parts of yoga that I’ve always been attached to is my teacher. I recognize that is the least yogic thing I could say. But here we are. I’ve often labeled that part of me as a weakness. I had a teacher, in fact, who challenged me to practice loving my family members without attachment by imagining that they were dead during my daily meditations. Not only did I panic and go through some kind of existential breakdown that I still can’t describe, I concluded that it was impossible. That was the lesson I gained from practicing love without attachment. I noticed I can’t do it. And won’t. Lesson complete.

During the pandemic, I was not one of the bored people. I did not order toilet paper in bulk while watching Tiger King and I definitely don’t judge anyone who did. I felt a bit left out during the Tiger King surge. Johnny…something? I’m cool – I swear. My experience was different. It was tough as hell. It was also amazing. I consider my experience to be the ‘best case scenario’ because realistically, we’re talking about a pandemic. A global outbreak of novel disease. It was and is scary and shitty for everyone. I feel my life was the least shitty it could be given things were in the world. It was hard; no denying that. But good. Hard, in my experience, is not always unpleasant.

Bumpy Flow

Yoga is a big reason, I believe, that hard is not unpleasant. Yoga has a way of giving your body and mind a safe place. A refuge. Initially, yoga is all about learning the poses and feeling embarrassed; followed by a series of feelings of shame, confusion, sadness, excitement, embarrassment again and new types of physical pain. Then you start to like it. Then you hate it so much. Then, life changes and you like it enough to invite it in on a more permanent basis. Then the practice begins.

I have temporarily made it to the yoga invitation into my life on a semi-permanent basis. I say that because I don’t feel attached to any one ‘thing’ and know that I could completely change my interest and become a Jujitsu master or join the circus. Or flee society in utter defeat, live in an Ashram and make mandalas for a living. Any or all of these things could happen. One would think that as a yoga teacher, I would proclaim myself a lifelong yogi; dedicated to passing along the traditions and teachings. That isn’t me. I teach what I practice. I am as much a student as anyone else. Yoga, and life, are far too complex for me to completely commit to anyway. 

Living Yoga

Recently, I noticed yoga weaving its way into my life in a different way. My fear of losing teachers started arising on a fairly routine basis over the past couple of years. Teachers, in different forms. I would become very attached to a teacher and that teacher would become a guide or mentor or friend. The teacher often created the sense of safety in my practice. Or the opposite. If you begin yoga with a hope of befriending your body or feeling safe in it, that becomes a journey. I noticed that the safety aspect, and therefore happiness, was directly connected to whomever was leading the practice. Quite recently, I went through a phase that felt as if my life was lining up the people who guided me the most and dropping them out of my universe one by one. It didn’t happen over night or in a single, consistent way. It was subtle. And painful. It continued and continued; I mourned the loss of being guided. My teacher told me “you have to parent yourself too“. I took that as a reason to detach even further because I could not cope with how much loss and miss I was feeling. 

In my little world, after I felt comfortable with a teacher then my practice started to become alive. I learned; I was able to deeply engage in it and I changed modalities numerous times. There is no form of yoga that I don’t enjoy; I have always been active and I think that extra layer of guidance is what really illuminates a practice for me. Can I learn from you? In order to do that, I need to connect because the connection brings me trust. And if I trust you, I’ll allow myself to learn from you. More specifically, I will allow my body to learn from you. Because the body never forgets. The Etch A Sketch doesn’t erase anything permanently. It just adds layers of new drawings over top of the marks of the past.

Losing Yoga

Then everyone left. One at a time; in many ways. Some teachers, I had to leave because of my life circumstances. For some, I felt this incredibly wrongness about practice with no explanation whatsoever. Some quit teaching, some died, some lost their life to suffering and some closed shop during the pandemic. Even when I left due to my life circumstances, there was grief.

It was about a three year period where the theme was losing your life teachers. A guide to no guidance. The essence of yoga and meditation is, I’ve heard, within us all. But it is not the essence that I questioned; it was the ingredients of it.

When the pandemic caused a lock down in Canada, I continued to practice yoga because I needed to move my body. I can’t stand the feeling of inactivity. When I feel lazy, I go through quite a bit of mental conflict. I could just act like a normal human and be lazy sometimes. But no. I make it a total mind fuck. Due to this mental problem, I have always exercised consistently and yoga is a truly wonderful way to exercise many aspects of yourself. And so I continued. With a teacher that I trust very much. And another teacher who ran an online course. Both of which, of course, I am very attached to (we’re all shocked).

Essence

It was during these quiet mornings, in my two dimensional yoga classes, that something new came alive inside me. And by new, I mean old as well. New and old. I was working from home and this made getting to practice much easier. I just had to wake up and roll to my mat. The house was dark. And safe. It was my house. I didn’t feel a shred of discomfort because it was my special environment. I’ve really Feng Shuied my house so it looks like some type of Egyptian, Buddhist, Bohemian masterpiece; laden with children toys, unwelcomed, crayon-based wall art and floor cheerios. I love it.

In my quiet home environment, I tuned in every day and there was my class. We chanted together, but on mute. Slowly, I could feel the chant. I could feel the other students even though I could only hear my own voice. I didn’t have to talk. I barely had to wake up and I brought coffee to my mat. And that’s when I started to notice the ingredients of the Aliveness of yoga practice.

Within and Without

My teacher practiced with us. I noticed, again, my attachment and sadness that she was ‘gone’. The practices were initially very hard for me. I didn’t want to be alone. Not for yoga. I missed having a teacher be able to make corrections and advance (or reduce) my series. I missed having a trusted person right there so I knew I was safe; I was safe in my body, with myself and with the other students. I suppose this was amplified by the pandemic and hundred days of isolation. 

I also missed passed and past teachers. The practice was so quiet. I felt so dark inside. When it came alive, it was my teachers coming alive inside me. Instead of remembering them as narratives or figures, I began to remember the moments they impacted my yoga practice. It wasn’t an aliveness that I would necessarily call happiness. It felt more like noticing something that was always there but never made it quite to the surface of my awareness. Overtime, it was as if I didn’t know who was even living inside this body anymore.

After waking each morning in the deep solitude of the lock down, I went through the same series. I felt the same sensations and experiences arise. I grew so familiar with my body that it was like exploring a newly renovated building. Everything on the outside was the same, however, the feeling inside me was like one teacher or experience after the next, represented by a pose or a breathe, that came together as a series of movement. My life; my impacts.

Grasp. Attach. Repeat.

When I faced attachment and sadness; frustration and grief; I thought about my teacher who challenged that thinking. The teacher who infuriated me. And made me laugh so hard that I fell out of poses. His essence was intense. Focused. At times, he was harsh and cynical. I feel him when I struggle with my mind; noticing the spiral of thoughts that lead nowhere. I feel him when my heart hurts too. When life confuses me. I breathe in and hear his voice speaking about the inhale. I recall his description of the monkey mind, and how his life ended due to the suffering of his own mind. It was all inside me and alive anytime I felt his essence during practice.

When I practice yin yoga, I miss my gentle and kind yin yoga teacher. And the truth is, I never practice yin yoga. I never wanted to without her. I still don’t. Perhaps the loss of a teacher is more profound when you don’t feel you want to do the practice anymore either. I don’t know why it is that way; I tell myself it’s the practice that is important and not the person. My body feels differently though. Very few practices have been invited as permanent guests. When I lose a teacher that I am attached to, I often lose the practice. 

I love Kundalini yoga. But much of it is because of my teacher. I challenge myself sometimes and ask ‘would you continue without her?’. Usually, my answer is no. The interesting part is that I don’t necessarily want to challenge that part of me anymore. Maybe I don’t even want to change it. So often when we see these patterns in ourselves, such as attachment or urges that our ego deems unacceptable, we think our practice is to rid ourselves of these patterns. To fix ourselves. 

Sometimes it is. 

But perhaps, sometimes the practice is acceptance. In other words, maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I don’t want to change. Maybe I can’t.

I’m pretty sure I can’t. 

My Essence

Every teacher I have ever been attached to that has left in some way has felt like a tremendously profound loss. Yoga teachers, meditation teachers, life guides and feeling as if someone is watching over you; I miss it all so much. Those small moments of safety and peace inside. Even in my spiritual practice, during the time of teacher loss, I had some type of spiritual breakdown. Anytime I meditated, I imagined killing my inner guides. I couldn’t stop this terrible, spiritual homicide. It became so troublesome after a year or so that I had to leave my meditation school. Everything was just gone. 

I often criticize my ridiculously out of control grasping and total lack of ability to own my personal practice. Is it mine if I don’t want to continue it without my teacher? Did I even do that for me?

Have we met?

Throughout this pandemic, I have practiced more than ever and have deepened my perspective of my own attachment, who and why I remember and what the impact could mean. Why do I remember a moment eight years ago when my Yin Yoga teacher said ‘sometimes we all need a little more time‘. I wonder why I breathe differently now, after a lifetime of breathing, after one single teacher taught me a different inhale technique. 

Why now does he live in my breath? Why him? So many teachers have taught me breathing techniques. His words, his description; the feeling I had when he stood near me. All of it is alive when I inhale from lotus. No other inhale. Just one specific inhale; he lives forever in that one inhale. 

The Great Flow

My body, in many ways, moves through a practice that shifts from teacher to teacher; lesson to lesson. During an inhale, I can feel the essence of the person who etched a breathing pattern into my practice. During the exhale, I can feel a person who etched energy absorption into my practice. When my mind wanders and slips into darkness, I remember the teacher who showed me the light. The many teachers who have. 

Sometimes I feel immense gratitude that I am a living, breathing memory of a moment that I treasure. Sometimes, the feeling of miss takes over and I grieve for what is gone. This has been my yoga practice for the last couple of years, particularly during these times of uncertainty. Groundless and not knowing who I am. Who I should be. If I will find me again or if I ever have. 

The Flow of Everything

That is what I’ve come to see in the aliveness of yoga. Each teacher, in an essence, is alive in my movement, my body, my psyche. I don’t know if my practice will ever feel like a flow of only me. I hope not. Because the more I grow and learn and lose; the more alive my yoga practice becomes. It fills with my past. The energy of it. They say to let go of the past. I prefer to let it integrate and then notice that I’m not really any one thing. I’m every experience I’ve ever lived. Every person. Every impactful moment. 

If I really look, I can definitely say that I’ve never let go of anything in my life. Otherwise I would be incomplete.