There is a very subtle interplay between the concepts of "need" and "want". Few of us manage to sustain the dynamic equilibrium between the ever fluctuating nature of our inner and outer environment, and the consumption of resources available to us to help us to adapt to these oscillations. For most, life is either an ever-continuing experiment with nature and reality – we sway too far in one direction and then rapidly swing back again, then move gently closer to the centre, only to just miss it and go veering off in the other direction – or it is a passive resignation to convention and less than optimal health: we stop trying.
Last week I undertook a detox programme which demanded that I not eat food for over a week. My diet was supplemented by a lemonade high in vitamins, minerals, carbs and spices to ease the digestive tract. Due to my pitta (fire) nature I am not the type to miss a meal and tend to become anxious and disorientated if this should occur. I could not have conceived of going for twenty four hours without at least juice or vegetables to quench my voracious appetite.
However, it was largely due to my pitta nature that I chose to take on the challenge of forgoing everything for an extended period. I was surprised at how easy it was to not eat. Once I had made the shift in my mind that food no longer applied to me I was very happy to sip my lemonade and was even relieved at being unburdened of the task of choosing whether, what and how much to eat, how to cook it and all those hundreds of tiny decisions that one makes just over food during the course of a day.
By the second day of my fast, the most notable thing that occurred to me was that when I felt hungry I didn’t necessarily want to eat, and that when I wanted to eat I didn’t necessarily feel hungry. By taking away the fuel of my psychological attachment, I was, for the first time in my life, directly experiencing the difference between need and want. I began first of all looking at my wants, which did not appear as cravings so much as glimmers or reflexes that were barely conscious. I perceived how these reflexes surfaced when I was tired, or at certain key points of the day when I would normally nibble on something for a treat. The most interesting thing for me was that I took refuge in the restraint. What I found more satisfying than indulging a want was the realisation that I did not need it.
A want is a symptom of a lack – an emotional boil which bursts at the surface of consciousness, and can manifest itself in any number of ways, usually as a projection on to the physical world. It may be a desire for chocolate, for attention or for a partner or a child to love, but it is always accompanied by a preceding and subsequent chain of corresponding emotions that may begin with anxiety, metamorphose into self-pity or greed, transform into guilt and then seep back into anxiety and dissatisfaction – and take on many guises and intensities in between. The one thing all of these emotions have in common is that they are all born of fear. Fear that there is not enough.
Taking part in this lila or play, is part of being human and it extends to all parts of the human’s relational realm. By removing one large part of my relational existence I was able to become more attuned to my wants, but more importantly I discovered the self-empowerment that comes with relinquishing them and becoming sensitive to that which I need. I realized that I had everything that I needed and with that balance restored I experienced a new, purer kind of energy. For one week I listened especially carefully to my body and responded by resting at the appropriate times and giving myself the right amount of sleep.
By day seven of my cleanse I sensed that my body had completed the detoxification that it needed and I was ready to recommence eating but with more mindfulness and more intimate knowledge of the delicate balance of my bodimind. I am also more comfortable witha hunger pang and less apt to enter into irritable dialogue with it. Overall I feel my edges more clearly defined – by that I mean that the process which informs my body is no longer chaotic like a the uncontrolled scribbling of a child, but deft, balanced and clear more like a practised etching. I feel more clarity of being.
The axiom to which we always return in Hatha yoga, is that we are perfect and complete just as we are. We need add nothing, nor take anything away as we are naturally ebbing, flowing tides of consciousness. Through these glimpses of limitless abundance, we hope to learn the way to freedom – without crutches.
Although I completed my experiment unharmed and feeling wonderful, I would not recommend the Master Cleanse nor would I repeat the experience. There are other, less harsh ways to cleanse and feel wonderful!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
What's water?
I am currently reading a book by Haruki Murakami, whom I love for his exploration and merging of inner and outer landscapes which seem to blur at their borders. He is a narrator of the mystical human condition and the desire-shaped universe in which we live. In his book The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, one of his characters states to another," It is not a question of better or worse. The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up, down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down. When there's no flow, stay still."
In our world there is a certain amount of engineering that takes place in our minds from an early age, creating a spreadsheet of conditioning which imprints itself on our psyche and draws us to categorise that which we perceive into pairs of opposites: smiling in a photo is good, refraining from smiling in a photo is bad; getting up early is good, getting up late is bad; and there are infinitely more pairs of opposties than good and bad: light, heavy; big, small: courage, cowardice etc but ultimately we can categorise each item and idea as either good or bad. We regularly assess our adherence to these guidelines, scoring ourselves highly or low, depending on how many of our choices and outcomes fall into the "good" column. It is in this way we gauge whether or not we are "good" people or "bad" people. Most of us score as "could do better", with scores varying greatly according to the individual's self-esteem and hormonal state, which may rely on an infinite number of external factors.
This spreadsheet, to which we refer unconsciously when we make our tens of thousands of choices each day (when we decide which is the right way to brush one's teeth, the correct time to wash one's towel, the appropriate response to a friend's good news, the right thing to eat for breakfast), is of course of some use. It is the spreadsheet of culture and the blueprint for ease of communication between members of the same culture. There is one inherent problem in this spreadsheet however, and that is that every culture in every country is different and that every culture has several subcultures including the subculture each individual member of the culture. The data in one of these spreadsheets is never wholly compatible with another.
Murakami also observes the danger of generalities in his book, taking the unorthodox standpoint that the closer one gets to examining things, the more generalised they become. Therefore on observing and explaining the minute details of a situation or object, one's analytical instinct is to apply one's findings across the board. By abstracting, generalising and engineering our social formulae we have imprisoned ourselves in a rigid scaffolding of culture in which there are limited boundaries that inhibit organic growth, and which insidiously alienates those with a different blueprint - bearing in mind that there are 6 billion slightly different blueprints on the planet, that results in a hefty helping of alienation.
In our need for a paradigm or let's call it an external compass, we have sacrificed individual needs and supressed our internal messages. Having lost the skill to listen to our bodies and our intuitions, we have squeezed ourselves into the little boxes on the spreadsheet. We are unable to truly accept our natural instincts and we move with less grace and freedom in the world. We do not flow. However, there is nothing inherently bad (or good) about thinking everything must either be bad or good; this instinct for compartmentalising is an element of human nature and is essential for us to function healthily in the world but we must recognise that these categories are merely guidelines and represent stepping stones to a state which lies beyond pairs of opposites and value judgments.
In the Tantric practice of Hatha yoga, the body-mind is used as a tool to enter and experience the Self in its true nature. Nothing is added or taken away and what is ultimately found is the Self which has always existed in its perfect state beyond time, space and hair-straighteners. What makes it so difficult for the modern Western human being to realise the Self is the linear perceptions ingrained into each of us from birth. The modern yogi must strive to unlearn linear time and the notions of success through progressive accumulation which accompany it. A simple equation of this erroneous judgment would be more=better, making it counter-intuitive for us to absorb fully the axiom that we are complete and perfect just as we are. We are able to cognitively understand and accept that love is all around, that money can't buy me love, that the best things in life are free and countless other jingles we blithely mutter and hum in everyday life. Very few people, however, manage to untether themselves from the underlying conviction that we must race towards the end of our lives, amassing as many things as possible and ticking off the boxes of marriage, children, mortgage, divorce etc whilst barely considering whether possessing these things would even result in happiness.
My teacher Chetana Panwar describes yoga as "the unification of the web of dualities", which succinctly depicts the departure from wholeness that we experience when we enter the world and learn its paradoxical nature, followed by the return to wholeness experienced when we consciously realise the merging of all of our divided perceptions and the dissolution of our sense of separateness. When we stop fighting what is and enter the flow, we embrace life and suddenly wake up to the infinite abundance which carries us and supports us throughout our life. Paramahansa Yogananda writes of a yogi who listens to a young disciple remark on his renunciation of riches and comforts in order to seek God. The yogi, Bhaduri Mahasaya laughingly retorts "I have left a few paltry rupees, a few petty pleasures, for a cosmic empire of endless bliss. How then have I denied myself anything?". We adamantly believe that having more things will make us happy when it is proven to us time after time throughout life that this is not the case. Why then, do we insist on resorting to inane acquisition?
Another teacher of mine, Hillary Rubin, told a story in one of her classes about two fish who were swimming in the sea. Another fish swam by and said "The water's cool today!" and the younger fish turned to the older and said "What's water?". I love this story for its touching demonstration of our innocent ignorance of the infinite power, force and energy and mindblowing complexity/ simplicity of the manifest world. We are consciousness, we are surrounded by consciousness; nothing is ever added or taken away.
In our world there is a certain amount of engineering that takes place in our minds from an early age, creating a spreadsheet of conditioning which imprints itself on our psyche and draws us to categorise that which we perceive into pairs of opposites: smiling in a photo is good, refraining from smiling in a photo is bad; getting up early is good, getting up late is bad; and there are infinitely more pairs of opposties than good and bad: light, heavy; big, small: courage, cowardice etc but ultimately we can categorise each item and idea as either good or bad. We regularly assess our adherence to these guidelines, scoring ourselves highly or low, depending on how many of our choices and outcomes fall into the "good" column. It is in this way we gauge whether or not we are "good" people or "bad" people. Most of us score as "could do better", with scores varying greatly according to the individual's self-esteem and hormonal state, which may rely on an infinite number of external factors.
This spreadsheet, to which we refer unconsciously when we make our tens of thousands of choices each day (when we decide which is the right way to brush one's teeth, the correct time to wash one's towel, the appropriate response to a friend's good news, the right thing to eat for breakfast), is of course of some use. It is the spreadsheet of culture and the blueprint for ease of communication between members of the same culture. There is one inherent problem in this spreadsheet however, and that is that every culture in every country is different and that every culture has several subcultures including the subculture each individual member of the culture. The data in one of these spreadsheets is never wholly compatible with another.
Murakami also observes the danger of generalities in his book, taking the unorthodox standpoint that the closer one gets to examining things, the more generalised they become. Therefore on observing and explaining the minute details of a situation or object, one's analytical instinct is to apply one's findings across the board. By abstracting, generalising and engineering our social formulae we have imprisoned ourselves in a rigid scaffolding of culture in which there are limited boundaries that inhibit organic growth, and which insidiously alienates those with a different blueprint - bearing in mind that there are 6 billion slightly different blueprints on the planet, that results in a hefty helping of alienation.
In our need for a paradigm or let's call it an external compass, we have sacrificed individual needs and supressed our internal messages. Having lost the skill to listen to our bodies and our intuitions, we have squeezed ourselves into the little boxes on the spreadsheet. We are unable to truly accept our natural instincts and we move with less grace and freedom in the world. We do not flow. However, there is nothing inherently bad (or good) about thinking everything must either be bad or good; this instinct for compartmentalising is an element of human nature and is essential for us to function healthily in the world but we must recognise that these categories are merely guidelines and represent stepping stones to a state which lies beyond pairs of opposites and value judgments.
In the Tantric practice of Hatha yoga, the body-mind is used as a tool to enter and experience the Self in its true nature. Nothing is added or taken away and what is ultimately found is the Self which has always existed in its perfect state beyond time, space and hair-straighteners. What makes it so difficult for the modern Western human being to realise the Self is the linear perceptions ingrained into each of us from birth. The modern yogi must strive to unlearn linear time and the notions of success through progressive accumulation which accompany it. A simple equation of this erroneous judgment would be more=better, making it counter-intuitive for us to absorb fully the axiom that we are complete and perfect just as we are. We are able to cognitively understand and accept that love is all around, that money can't buy me love, that the best things in life are free and countless other jingles we blithely mutter and hum in everyday life. Very few people, however, manage to untether themselves from the underlying conviction that we must race towards the end of our lives, amassing as many things as possible and ticking off the boxes of marriage, children, mortgage, divorce etc whilst barely considering whether possessing these things would even result in happiness.
My teacher Chetana Panwar describes yoga as "the unification of the web of dualities", which succinctly depicts the departure from wholeness that we experience when we enter the world and learn its paradoxical nature, followed by the return to wholeness experienced when we consciously realise the merging of all of our divided perceptions and the dissolution of our sense of separateness. When we stop fighting what is and enter the flow, we embrace life and suddenly wake up to the infinite abundance which carries us and supports us throughout our life. Paramahansa Yogananda writes of a yogi who listens to a young disciple remark on his renunciation of riches and comforts in order to seek God. The yogi, Bhaduri Mahasaya laughingly retorts "I have left a few paltry rupees, a few petty pleasures, for a cosmic empire of endless bliss. How then have I denied myself anything?". We adamantly believe that having more things will make us happy when it is proven to us time after time throughout life that this is not the case. Why then, do we insist on resorting to inane acquisition?
Another teacher of mine, Hillary Rubin, told a story in one of her classes about two fish who were swimming in the sea. Another fish swam by and said "The water's cool today!" and the younger fish turned to the older and said "What's water?". I love this story for its touching demonstration of our innocent ignorance of the infinite power, force and energy and mindblowing complexity/ simplicity of the manifest world. We are consciousness, we are surrounded by consciousness; nothing is ever added or taken away.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Precious Gems of Yoga
Each time I study with a new teacher I see my yoga differently, so I see life differently. Yesterday my new teacher described the core of one's yoga practice as like a diamond, with so many different facets each reflecting a different light, or a different aspect of the manifest self. Each facet reflects to us what we need to work on or with and so the diamond of our practice lights the way to deeper realisations.
I read once, and I'm afraid I cannot attribute this analogy to an author - it may be Paramahansa Yogananda, that the yogi is like a diamond: pure, clear and filled with light which reflects from every surface, but in essence hard and strong with impenetrable will - where love is the will.
In my practice, which still evolves rapidly after 14 years, I am truly absorbing that which I have always taught to my students. I am learning to back off. Finally. Rationally it has of course been very easy for me to understand the precept of respecting one's body, respecting one's limits and working at a pace suited to the body's needs. As a classic overachiever it is difficult for me to recognise my limits and to be sensitive to the ever so fine line between pushing boundaries and pushing one's sacro-iliac joint out of alignment.
I am a true Pitta (Ayurvedic fire type) in nature and over some years of being conscious of the idiosynchrocies of Pitta and of noting the patterns of cause and effect of environment, sustenance and activity on my constitution, I am nearing a satisfactory strategy to balance aggravated Pitta. However, my biggest sticking point in yoga practice has been my determination to work, and the pleasure and fun I take from bending, stretching and balancing my body. A dangerous combination.
My new teacher is taking me back right to the beginning. With my back injury, that is where I belong. I am a beginner - just because I can straighten my legs in a forward bend it doesn't mean have to. The absorption of this information is like Ben and Jerry's for my being; I have been telling myself to respect my limits for years and numerous teachers of hundreds of led classes have been telling "the class" that for years, yet it took one teacher to sit down next to me and say it to me, yes me, not anyone else in the room! I don't have to straighten my legs or touch the floor in triangle pose or have the longest base in warrior 1.
Yes, what a relief. Now I can finally feel my yoga more deeply, communicate more freely with my body, listen more peacefully to the rhythm of my life and the life which pulses vibrantly around me. I have uncovered a little more of the path I have been seeking yet could not reveal. Every yoga practice of my life has been a revelation, another facet of the diamond. With deep, deep gratitude I begin the next chapter in the story of the diamond, which will take me incrementally closer to the truth; the smooth, spherical crystal of truth at the heart of the Ben and Jerry's.
I read once, and I'm afraid I cannot attribute this analogy to an author - it may be Paramahansa Yogananda, that the yogi is like a diamond: pure, clear and filled with light which reflects from every surface, but in essence hard and strong with impenetrable will - where love is the will.
In my practice, which still evolves rapidly after 14 years, I am truly absorbing that which I have always taught to my students. I am learning to back off. Finally. Rationally it has of course been very easy for me to understand the precept of respecting one's body, respecting one's limits and working at a pace suited to the body's needs. As a classic overachiever it is difficult for me to recognise my limits and to be sensitive to the ever so fine line between pushing boundaries and pushing one's sacro-iliac joint out of alignment.
I am a true Pitta (Ayurvedic fire type) in nature and over some years of being conscious of the idiosynchrocies of Pitta and of noting the patterns of cause and effect of environment, sustenance and activity on my constitution, I am nearing a satisfactory strategy to balance aggravated Pitta. However, my biggest sticking point in yoga practice has been my determination to work, and the pleasure and fun I take from bending, stretching and balancing my body. A dangerous combination.
My new teacher is taking me back right to the beginning. With my back injury, that is where I belong. I am a beginner - just because I can straighten my legs in a forward bend it doesn't mean have to. The absorption of this information is like Ben and Jerry's for my being; I have been telling myself to respect my limits for years and numerous teachers of hundreds of led classes have been telling "the class" that for years, yet it took one teacher to sit down next to me and say it to me, yes me, not anyone else in the room! I don't have to straighten my legs or touch the floor in triangle pose or have the longest base in warrior 1.
Yes, what a relief. Now I can finally feel my yoga more deeply, communicate more freely with my body, listen more peacefully to the rhythm of my life and the life which pulses vibrantly around me. I have uncovered a little more of the path I have been seeking yet could not reveal. Every yoga practice of my life has been a revelation, another facet of the diamond. With deep, deep gratitude I begin the next chapter in the story of the diamond, which will take me incrementally closer to the truth; the smooth, spherical crystal of truth at the heart of the Ben and Jerry's.
Friday, June 12, 2009
PranaShakti community yoga? you may ask.
The birth of Communityoga, East Bristol
Before coming to Bristol I had become drawn increasingly to the idea of making inclusive yoga my offering. This idea began way back when I started teaching and mentoring teenagers with behavioural difficulties and even then when I had no conscious spiritual inclination I saw this work in a karmic light, often joking about my role as a teacher being my karmic retribution. Having been a “wild child” myself I feel a lot of empathy and identification with the pain of teenagers in difficulty, and so we discovered together a healing symbiotic relationship.
In my years teaching young learners I discovered a joy in casting off the framework of a rigid, grown-up paradigm of reality. My students and I created patterns and concocted alternative realities which led to greater understanding on both sides. I was able to draw innate understandings from them and help them to apply this to their learning in the world, and they were able to show me ways of being open and receptive, to which I had closed in the process of cementing my identity.
Yoga for me has always been a therapeutic practice. I began my home practice when deeply in need of peace and a way to view the world without so much egocentricity and self-pity. Over time I noticed that when practicing regularly I was calmer, lighter (in an energetic sense) and more balanced. In my Anusara practice which I began only two years ago, I was instinctively drawn to the therapeutic possibilities of application of knowledge of biomechanics and a conscious physical embodiment of the teachings. I became more and more fascinated by the inherent ability of the body to heal the body, and of the mind to heal the mind and the mind to heal the body and the body to heal the mind and the... and set to work learning how to use these tools to help others to help themselves.
This naturally progressed to an inclination to share knowledge with those with whom I felt a deep compassion; with those who face daily a struggle of identity and acceptance and who feel marginalised and misunderstood. I read recently that one teaches best what one needs to learn. This neatly sums up for me my urge to guide people to discover their own tools for self-empowerment and also to realise how much support and beauty there is if one knows where to look.
The Communityoga project will begin with classes for women Muslim refugees in Easton with a subsidised class at Easton Leisure Centre. There are also donation-only classes at the Wellspring and at Barton Hill Settlement in Barton Hill. I intend for this project to grow into a network which will include local schools, care homes and others who come to yoga for any reason. Simply bringing people together, communicating and sharing in a neutral space through positive intention is a powerful act with the potential to transform isolated individuals into a vibrant synergy. Joy is contagious, after all, and a small drop of it can infect everyone who comes into contact with it. It is in this sense that I intend to begin the next pandemic, hopefully it will be more well-received than swine flu.
Before coming to Bristol I had become drawn increasingly to the idea of making inclusive yoga my offering. This idea began way back when I started teaching and mentoring teenagers with behavioural difficulties and even then when I had no conscious spiritual inclination I saw this work in a karmic light, often joking about my role as a teacher being my karmic retribution. Having been a “wild child” myself I feel a lot of empathy and identification with the pain of teenagers in difficulty, and so we discovered together a healing symbiotic relationship.
In my years teaching young learners I discovered a joy in casting off the framework of a rigid, grown-up paradigm of reality. My students and I created patterns and concocted alternative realities which led to greater understanding on both sides. I was able to draw innate understandings from them and help them to apply this to their learning in the world, and they were able to show me ways of being open and receptive, to which I had closed in the process of cementing my identity.
Yoga for me has always been a therapeutic practice. I began my home practice when deeply in need of peace and a way to view the world without so much egocentricity and self-pity. Over time I noticed that when practicing regularly I was calmer, lighter (in an energetic sense) and more balanced. In my Anusara practice which I began only two years ago, I was instinctively drawn to the therapeutic possibilities of application of knowledge of biomechanics and a conscious physical embodiment of the teachings. I became more and more fascinated by the inherent ability of the body to heal the body, and of the mind to heal the mind and the mind to heal the body and the body to heal the mind and the... and set to work learning how to use these tools to help others to help themselves.
This naturally progressed to an inclination to share knowledge with those with whom I felt a deep compassion; with those who face daily a struggle of identity and acceptance and who feel marginalised and misunderstood. I read recently that one teaches best what one needs to learn. This neatly sums up for me my urge to guide people to discover their own tools for self-empowerment and also to realise how much support and beauty there is if one knows where to look.
The Communityoga project will begin with classes for women Muslim refugees in Easton with a subsidised class at Easton Leisure Centre. There are also donation-only classes at the Wellspring and at Barton Hill Settlement in Barton Hill. I intend for this project to grow into a network which will include local schools, care homes and others who come to yoga for any reason. Simply bringing people together, communicating and sharing in a neutral space through positive intention is a powerful act with the potential to transform isolated individuals into a vibrant synergy. Joy is contagious, after all, and a small drop of it can infect everyone who comes into contact with it. It is in this sense that I intend to begin the next pandemic, hopefully it will be more well-received than swine flu.
Polishing the mirror: how we can see ourselves more clearly
1.41: “As the patterning of consciousness subsides, a transparent way of seeing, called coalescence, saturates consciousness; like a jewel, it reflects equally whatever lies before it – whether subject, object, or act of perceiving.”
2.4 “Not seeing things as they are is the field where other causes of suffering germinate, whether dormant, activated, intercepted or weakened.”
The Wisdom of Yoga, Stephen Cope.
“Yoga is the process of deconstructing all of the barriers we may have erected that prevent us from having an authentic connection with ourselves and the world”. In her introduction to Yoga Body, Mind and Spirit, Donna Farhi offers this definition of yoga.
I have heard it recommended on several occasions that words should carry warnings, and although it may sound absurd that the utterance of some words might be attached to a hazard sign, have an age restriction or even require a license, if one considers the damage that can be inflicted with a word, it is reasonable to suppose that they should be handled with considerable caution. We speak often of a language barrier between people who do not share a common language. Language was initially created as a means of communication with which to overcome barriers, to exchange information and share experience. As a survival tool, it was one of the primary facilitators of progress. However, societal development providing a full reflection of humankind and its foibles, we can see how this valuable commodity has fallen victim to our misperception and is commonly used both consciously and unconsciously as an implement of power, oppression and confinement – both of others and of the self.
That which separates countries, regions, generations, social brackets and religions is largely the language we use. Human instinct dictates that a collective cements an identity, and the most efficient and effective way to establish exclusivity is by establishing lingo. This process, although it provides the group with ostensible sanctuary, is also a process of alienation, serving to cleave from the external environment. Similarly, as individuals we attribute labels to ourselves, compelled by the need to forge a palpable boundary between us and what we perceive to be external to us: I might find comfort in saying, “I have red hair and green eyes, I like toast, I dislike public speaking” and so on until I have constructed a pleasing amalgamation of labels that can be recognised as Me. It is this fragile and ever-changing identity in which I take refuge as I haul it through life as proof that I am different and unique. In light of this it is interesting to consider that although it is perfectly possible to survive without an eye, a kidney, a lung or a hand, if there were no longer trees on this planet, then “I” would not be able to breathe and would perish in seconds. This begs the question of which one is more Me: my green eyes, without which I could happily live, or the tree outside the window, without which I could not survive? Or more pertinently – where do I end and the trees begin? So it becomes apparent that we cannot truly rely on the signifier “I” as meaningful when the signified is so open to interpretation.
Stephen Cope states that, “The ordinary reality, in which people live, is an elaborate construction based on subtle but important errors in perception ”. Language exists as a microcosm of this elaborate construction which is asserted to be our reality. One theory is that both culture and language are in effect abstract prisons that we have erected inside our minds in maintaining the illusion of separateness from the world around us. In order for consciousness to evolve we must break down the doors and reach out to what lies beyond our own self-inflicted confines. On a molecular level there is very little separating you or me from the desk we are sitting at, and in fact if you lay your hand on the desk, there is nothing physically separating you at all. You are a continuation of it, and it would be possible to see with a microscope that there is not a place where you end and the desk begins. What lies between you and the desk is mainly language. However, I recommend that instead of seeing language and culture as barriers to authenticity, we regard them as stepping stones to a greater consciousness; as the means rather than the end.
The Bhagavad Ghita describes the reality of sameness: “He sees himself in the heart of all beings and he sees all beings in his heart. This is the vision of the Yogi of harmony, a vision which is ever one.” This can be interpreted with particular reference to Patanjali’s Sutra 1.41. Patanjali maintains that when we remove all concepts and reactions from around an object and concentrate on it fully, we can see it as it really is, and realise sameness with the object whereby the subject-object relationship ceases to be. The perceiver, the signifier and the signified are merged at their source. Eckhart Tolle in his book The Power of Now warns against over-identification with words for the very reason that our reactions to them can cloud our perceptions so easily. He recommends that we use words more as signposts to lead us to a greater understanding of what is signified; due to our nature, we have the propensity to use words as crutches to support our preconceptions and uphold the comfortable structure which alleviates the responsibility to broaden perspective and step out of our comfort zone.
Let us take for example the word “God”; a word so highly charged in collective consciousness with history, love, hate, conflict and confusion that most find they have some kind of emotional reaction to their concept of God. Until very recently, my own personal reaction to this word was of disinterest bordering on aversion. Having grown up in an atheist family who nevertheless had very strong humanist beliefs I felt that God was a security blanket for people who didn’t want to take responsibility for themselves, and in my mind I was unable to separate the concept of God from dogma or from the violence being committed worldwide in the name of religion, and could not understand any intelligent person who believed in the existence of such a possibility. I firmly believed that God was for other people, and it was not until I began to read more about yoga philosophy, having already been practicing yoga for ten years, that I began to open to new ways of thinking.
During the period when the seeds of new possibilities regarding spirituality were germinating, I embarked on my RYS 200 course with World Conscious Yoga Family at Anand Prakash Ashram in RIshikesh, India. My teacher, Chetana Panwar, possessed of erudition, intuition and a talent for communication encouraged many philosophical debates about spirituality, religion, faith and God. The Hindu archetypes were demystified by her to be revealed as representative of divine energies, of aspects of consciousness rather than the thundering, gallivanting, rather kitsch gods and goddesses as they had previously appeared to me. Similarly it became apparent that all religions had one common goal – unity; the well-known adage “The paths are many, but the truth is one” finally resonated with me on a deeper level. I began to be able to recognize that the place I sought in my meditation practice, the place of stillness, timelessness and truth, the Source - could bear the name of God. I finally opened to the possibility that the universal energy source in which I believed could carry this name and retain the purity of the concept. On inspection, my previously formed ideas proved to be fabricated from a pile of assumptions and erroneous beliefs, designed to emphasise my disassociation from organised religion. Sometimes it can be difficult to separate one’s beliefs surrounding God from one’s identity, and to admit fallibility in this area would be to shake the foundations of the perceived relationship with the world.
I have begun to think of the word ”God” as similar to the Titanic; a great vessel filled with riches which, under the force of so much pressure, sank to the bottom of the ocean some years ago, and over time has been accumulating all manner of algae, barnacles and debris which prevent the onlooker from recognising its original form. In a similar way, many of the words that we use suffer much misuse and are attached to so much pain, longing, despair and manipulation that these emotional attachments begin to act as an obstacle standing in the way of the original object and the word itself becomes an object distinct from its meaning. It may be seen that, as our bodies automatically follow the path of least resistance in our asana practice, so our minds also do in relation to objects. However, the human mind experiences great difficulty in conceiving of immanence beyond space and time; The Bhagavad Ghita endeavours to convey the full power and magnitude of all consciousness displayed to Arjuna where it reads “If the light of a thousand suns suddenly arose in the sky, that splendour might be compared to the radiance of the Supreme Spirit”. Although this is a powerful image, we ultimately find that the words merely bind us to our intellect and limited imagination and serve as a reminder that the human mind cannot comprehend that which is larger than the human mind. Patanjali speaks of an experience beyond intellect, in the realm of the spirit.
In Sutra 2.4 Patanjali lists avidya, or not seeing things as they really are, as the root of all suffering. If we examine the cycle of aversion and attachment which we have seen arise especially when our notions of objects are jeopardised, then this seems to be the case. Stephen Cope, in his book “The Wisdom of Yoga” alludes to this phenomenon as “the misperception that happiness results from our relationship with objects”. Data collected solely from sense perception and subjective experience cannot be relied upon to be expressed as truth in words. Due to the constant fluctuations in the patterns which constitute our perceptions, no one thing can be said to be true for any longer than the moment at which it was perceived to be true. This subjective and mutative illusion of “truth” suddenly loses its credibility between one moment and the next.
In order to be able to see things as they are we must clear away the emotional and ideological connotations and debris, take a step into the unknown and at least provisionally accept the possibility that our perceptions may be inaccurate. I propose going one step further than using words as signposts, and utilising them also as mirrors. If a word provokes a strong feeling or opinion it is useful to look inside for the root of this reaction, and in doing so one may find that the charge attached to this word reflects fear, pride and all too possibly ignorance. A step into the unknown can only result in knowledge, and in decreasing our dependency on language for self-affirmation we may be taking an illuminating step into the dark towards evolution of consciousness.
2.4 “Not seeing things as they are is the field where other causes of suffering germinate, whether dormant, activated, intercepted or weakened.”
The Wisdom of Yoga, Stephen Cope.
“Yoga is the process of deconstructing all of the barriers we may have erected that prevent us from having an authentic connection with ourselves and the world”. In her introduction to Yoga Body, Mind and Spirit, Donna Farhi offers this definition of yoga.
I have heard it recommended on several occasions that words should carry warnings, and although it may sound absurd that the utterance of some words might be attached to a hazard sign, have an age restriction or even require a license, if one considers the damage that can be inflicted with a word, it is reasonable to suppose that they should be handled with considerable caution. We speak often of a language barrier between people who do not share a common language. Language was initially created as a means of communication with which to overcome barriers, to exchange information and share experience. As a survival tool, it was one of the primary facilitators of progress. However, societal development providing a full reflection of humankind and its foibles, we can see how this valuable commodity has fallen victim to our misperception and is commonly used both consciously and unconsciously as an implement of power, oppression and confinement – both of others and of the self.
That which separates countries, regions, generations, social brackets and religions is largely the language we use. Human instinct dictates that a collective cements an identity, and the most efficient and effective way to establish exclusivity is by establishing lingo. This process, although it provides the group with ostensible sanctuary, is also a process of alienation, serving to cleave from the external environment. Similarly, as individuals we attribute labels to ourselves, compelled by the need to forge a palpable boundary between us and what we perceive to be external to us: I might find comfort in saying, “I have red hair and green eyes, I like toast, I dislike public speaking” and so on until I have constructed a pleasing amalgamation of labels that can be recognised as Me. It is this fragile and ever-changing identity in which I take refuge as I haul it through life as proof that I am different and unique. In light of this it is interesting to consider that although it is perfectly possible to survive without an eye, a kidney, a lung or a hand, if there were no longer trees on this planet, then “I” would not be able to breathe and would perish in seconds. This begs the question of which one is more Me: my green eyes, without which I could happily live, or the tree outside the window, without which I could not survive? Or more pertinently – where do I end and the trees begin? So it becomes apparent that we cannot truly rely on the signifier “I” as meaningful when the signified is so open to interpretation.
Stephen Cope states that, “The ordinary reality, in which people live, is an elaborate construction based on subtle but important errors in perception ”. Language exists as a microcosm of this elaborate construction which is asserted to be our reality. One theory is that both culture and language are in effect abstract prisons that we have erected inside our minds in maintaining the illusion of separateness from the world around us. In order for consciousness to evolve we must break down the doors and reach out to what lies beyond our own self-inflicted confines. On a molecular level there is very little separating you or me from the desk we are sitting at, and in fact if you lay your hand on the desk, there is nothing physically separating you at all. You are a continuation of it, and it would be possible to see with a microscope that there is not a place where you end and the desk begins. What lies between you and the desk is mainly language. However, I recommend that instead of seeing language and culture as barriers to authenticity, we regard them as stepping stones to a greater consciousness; as the means rather than the end.
The Bhagavad Ghita describes the reality of sameness: “He sees himself in the heart of all beings and he sees all beings in his heart. This is the vision of the Yogi of harmony, a vision which is ever one.” This can be interpreted with particular reference to Patanjali’s Sutra 1.41. Patanjali maintains that when we remove all concepts and reactions from around an object and concentrate on it fully, we can see it as it really is, and realise sameness with the object whereby the subject-object relationship ceases to be. The perceiver, the signifier and the signified are merged at their source. Eckhart Tolle in his book The Power of Now warns against over-identification with words for the very reason that our reactions to them can cloud our perceptions so easily. He recommends that we use words more as signposts to lead us to a greater understanding of what is signified; due to our nature, we have the propensity to use words as crutches to support our preconceptions and uphold the comfortable structure which alleviates the responsibility to broaden perspective and step out of our comfort zone.
Let us take for example the word “God”; a word so highly charged in collective consciousness with history, love, hate, conflict and confusion that most find they have some kind of emotional reaction to their concept of God. Until very recently, my own personal reaction to this word was of disinterest bordering on aversion. Having grown up in an atheist family who nevertheless had very strong humanist beliefs I felt that God was a security blanket for people who didn’t want to take responsibility for themselves, and in my mind I was unable to separate the concept of God from dogma or from the violence being committed worldwide in the name of religion, and could not understand any intelligent person who believed in the existence of such a possibility. I firmly believed that God was for other people, and it was not until I began to read more about yoga philosophy, having already been practicing yoga for ten years, that I began to open to new ways of thinking.
During the period when the seeds of new possibilities regarding spirituality were germinating, I embarked on my RYS 200 course with World Conscious Yoga Family at Anand Prakash Ashram in RIshikesh, India. My teacher, Chetana Panwar, possessed of erudition, intuition and a talent for communication encouraged many philosophical debates about spirituality, religion, faith and God. The Hindu archetypes were demystified by her to be revealed as representative of divine energies, of aspects of consciousness rather than the thundering, gallivanting, rather kitsch gods and goddesses as they had previously appeared to me. Similarly it became apparent that all religions had one common goal – unity; the well-known adage “The paths are many, but the truth is one” finally resonated with me on a deeper level. I began to be able to recognize that the place I sought in my meditation practice, the place of stillness, timelessness and truth, the Source - could bear the name of God. I finally opened to the possibility that the universal energy source in which I believed could carry this name and retain the purity of the concept. On inspection, my previously formed ideas proved to be fabricated from a pile of assumptions and erroneous beliefs, designed to emphasise my disassociation from organised religion. Sometimes it can be difficult to separate one’s beliefs surrounding God from one’s identity, and to admit fallibility in this area would be to shake the foundations of the perceived relationship with the world.
I have begun to think of the word ”God” as similar to the Titanic; a great vessel filled with riches which, under the force of so much pressure, sank to the bottom of the ocean some years ago, and over time has been accumulating all manner of algae, barnacles and debris which prevent the onlooker from recognising its original form. In a similar way, many of the words that we use suffer much misuse and are attached to so much pain, longing, despair and manipulation that these emotional attachments begin to act as an obstacle standing in the way of the original object and the word itself becomes an object distinct from its meaning. It may be seen that, as our bodies automatically follow the path of least resistance in our asana practice, so our minds also do in relation to objects. However, the human mind experiences great difficulty in conceiving of immanence beyond space and time; The Bhagavad Ghita endeavours to convey the full power and magnitude of all consciousness displayed to Arjuna where it reads “If the light of a thousand suns suddenly arose in the sky, that splendour might be compared to the radiance of the Supreme Spirit”. Although this is a powerful image, we ultimately find that the words merely bind us to our intellect and limited imagination and serve as a reminder that the human mind cannot comprehend that which is larger than the human mind. Patanjali speaks of an experience beyond intellect, in the realm of the spirit.
In Sutra 2.4 Patanjali lists avidya, or not seeing things as they really are, as the root of all suffering. If we examine the cycle of aversion and attachment which we have seen arise especially when our notions of objects are jeopardised, then this seems to be the case. Stephen Cope, in his book “The Wisdom of Yoga” alludes to this phenomenon as “the misperception that happiness results from our relationship with objects”. Data collected solely from sense perception and subjective experience cannot be relied upon to be expressed as truth in words. Due to the constant fluctuations in the patterns which constitute our perceptions, no one thing can be said to be true for any longer than the moment at which it was perceived to be true. This subjective and mutative illusion of “truth” suddenly loses its credibility between one moment and the next.
In order to be able to see things as they are we must clear away the emotional and ideological connotations and debris, take a step into the unknown and at least provisionally accept the possibility that our perceptions may be inaccurate. I propose going one step further than using words as signposts, and utilising them also as mirrors. If a word provokes a strong feeling or opinion it is useful to look inside for the root of this reaction, and in doing so one may find that the charge attached to this word reflects fear, pride and all too possibly ignorance. A step into the unknown can only result in knowledge, and in decreasing our dependency on language for self-affirmation we may be taking an illuminating step into the dark towards evolution of consciousness.
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