It's the end of the big holiday weekend: the late-evening firecrackers and bottle rockets have nearly disappeared from our neighborhood, we have a refrigerator full of left-overs from the annual family cookout, and thoughts of independence and freedom are still running through our minds.
Freedom means different things to different people. For Americans, it is the guiding principle on which our Nation was founded, and the concept that our brave service men and women strive to protect. For some of the early settlers it meant being able to worship in whatever fashion they wanted. For the founders of our Nation, it meant the ability to govern ourselves instead of answering to a King on the other side of the ocean. For teenagers it may be the ability to make their own decisions, for entrepreneurs it is the opportunity to create financial independence doing something they love. Regardless of race, heritage, gender or politics, however, most of us are seeking freedom from suffering.
There are forms of suffering which are imposed upon us, and about which we can do very little: political or religious persecution, health problems, poverty, hunger, etc. There are other forms of suffering which are endured for a short time for a greater good. Then there are forms of suffering which we choose, either consciously or unconsciously. These are the forms of suffering which we have the power to change and free ourselves from.
At the time I discovered yoga, I was also heavily involved in a 12-Step program. The 12-Step work laid a foundation where I was able to take responsibility for my life and outlined a course of action to follow. Through this work I was able to come to grips with the true nature of the problems which had been plaguing me though much of my adult life. I discovered that the source of many of those problems was a self-centered attitude which colored the way I viewed events. I couldn't get out of my own way, and had become, in my mind, a victim of the circumstances of my life.
When I went to my first yoga class, I saw very clearly how the underlying philosophy supported my 12-Step work. Not only did the physical activity improve my attitude and inspire me to become more healthy, but the encouragement to observe myself and witness the feelings and sensations that arose provided insights on how I reacted when I was challenged (I should just give up!), when I was adjusted (why are they always criticizing me?), when I was asked to quiet my mind (Oh great, now I can't NOT think!), when I was told to do all of this without judgement (Huh?).
Yoga also provided some very practical observances and practices which would provide valuable tools to assist me. Practice being non-harming. Practice being truthful. Practice being content with the things I have. Practice observing myself.
Between the 12-Step work and the yoga practice, I slowly began to shed the actions and the attitudes which had mired me in the morass of self-pity and self-centeredness. The suffering I had accepted for years slipped away, and a new life of freedom began. I was finally able to move forward with my life and become happy and productive.
From time to time something will happen which will nudge me back towards my old ways. I feel overwhelmed and begin to withdraw. When this happens, I am generally quick to recognize the symptoms and embrace my practices more closely (Practice, not perfection!). I am able to formulate a plan of action, and more importantly, I am able to not attach to the results of those actions. This allows me to continue to move forward, rather than allow myself to become stuck in the skipping phonograph of the past. This, for me, is true freedom from suffering.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
A two-fer
Two posts in one day...amazing! Except, the first post, Meditations on a Table-Saw, was actually a reprint of an article I wrote for my newsletter a few weeks ago. If you'd like to sign up for my newsletter, go to www.consciouswarrior.com and click on the link.
I decided to post again, because over the last few weeks I've had some surprises...some good, some not so good. It's really easy to practice serenity and equanimity when things are going well, but it's a bit more difficult when things aren't. That's when I have to remember that it's only practice.
I'll start off with the not-so-good news...a few weeks ago I was informed by my biggest corporate client that they were no longer going to be subsidizing the classes. I could still teach there, but I'd have to rely only on what the employees were paying for the class. This really wasn't a big surprise...I was aware that there had been lots of staff layoffs and downsizing. I knew it was just a matter of time. Still, these things always happen at the worst possible moment. This was right at the time that a couple of other corporate classes were going on hiatus for the summer, and I had also just made the decision to let go of a couple of classes which were struggling in order to clear my schedule completely for a day. Oh, and my wife and I had also planned a couple of vacations right around the same time. Any one of these would have made a financial impact, but all of them together have created a gaping hole in my financial health. So, I'm in the market for either a couple of well-paying corporate gigs (I have a finders-fee offer for anyone who assists me in this), or for a part-time job. It's the first time in three years that I've had to actually try to find other work to supplement my yoga business, so I know that I've been very fortunate. I'm staying close to my practice and am just trying to take whatever the next right action seems to be, and practicing letting go of my expectations.
On the positive side, I've had some really exceptional feedback from students recently. Last week a woman appeared in my class who was in town from NY...turns out she studies and teaches at OM Yoga Center (the studio I studies at, and from where I received my certification). I was a bit nervous when I found this out, but she had glowing things to say to me afterwards. It always feels great to get good feedback, but it's particularly gratifying when it's from someone with similar background and experience.
I had another woman come to class on Wednsday night from Iowa...she left this on Yelp.com! I was thrilled!
Julie and I had great trips to Denver and to New York. I took a couple of excellent classes in NY...one in Mt. Kisco which was totally unexpected. Overall, despite minor setbacks, everything is fine.
Namaste!
Meditation on a Table Saw
A few weeks ago I decided that I would take up woodworking as a hobby. This decision was not arbitrary; I wanted to convert my home office into a home yoga studio and needed to replace the large furniture that was in the room with something smaller and more portable. After looking around for a while I couldn't find any furniture that I liked or that was within my budget. There were a few other projects that needed to be done, so I decided to buy some tools and start to work.
My first project was actually a small table for my wife's office. Although it turned out okay, it was a definite learning experience. With this new knowledge, I decided that I needed a couple of "learning projects" before I started building the furniture pieces for my studio/office, so I started to work on some shelving units for the garage. After several hours of work, I ended up with a lot of scrap wood. The shelves didn't quite go together the way I had hoped. I was disappointed, but not disheartened. Taking the lessons from that attempt, I started anew.
What I have found is that I actually look forward to spending time with the wood and the tools. There is something about the conception of the project, the ritual of laying out the tools, the measuring and re-measuring, the satisfaction of cutting a piece of lumber that actually fits where it is supposed to that keeps my mind active and absorbed, and stimulates the part of my brain that enjoys figuring things out. Even when I'm having a bad day, if I spend even a little time in my garage shop I feel renewed, refreshed and alert.
I hear other people talking about similar experiences with gardening or painting or cooking or knitting. No matter what it is that is going on in their lives, there is a small corner that is theirs and theirs alone, where they can take a mental break from the stress of work or family or commitments and turn their focus onto something that not only holds their attention, but also gives them peace of mind. After even a short time involved in these pursuits, the person becomes clear-headed, even-tempered and with a renewed perspective on those things that had previously been troubling to them.
The final four limbs of Patanjali's Ashtanga Yoga talk about the process of liberating ourselves from the restraints that our minds sometimes put us in. Pratyahara (withdrawl of sensory stimulation), dharana (concentration), dhyana (connection) and samadhi (absorption) are all results of the actions that we take in the other limbs. In his book, The Heart of Yoga, T.K.V. Desikachar says that these cannot be practiced, but instead occur spontaneously when we create the proper situation for them to occur. Through preparation, we begin the process of concentration, then we form a connection with the object on which we are concentrating, then finally we become "one" with the object of our concentration. The rest of the world, distractions and stress, seem to fall away.
Developing a hobby has been shown to reduce stress and improve health, Interestingly, some of the most popular hobbies, such as gardening, needlework, knitting and woodworking, are not those which allow the mind to wander, but instead give the mind something to focus on besides the pressures of everyday life. This re-direction of the mind is exactly what we strive for in meditation. I's like giving our minds a little vacation. When the mind is allowed to re-focus on something other than the bills that need to be paid, or the deadline at work, or the spat with the brother, the mind is able to let go of it's attachment to the object of it's suffering and relax. The relaxed state of the mind contributes to a sense of well-being and harmony, and provides a boost to our energy level. No wonder many hobbies become passions - they give us little glimpses of the liberation from suffering that we strive for.
My first project was actually a small table for my wife's office. Although it turned out okay, it was a definite learning experience. With this new knowledge, I decided that I needed a couple of "learning projects" before I started building the furniture pieces for my studio/office, so I started to work on some shelving units for the garage. After several hours of work, I ended up with a lot of scrap wood. The shelves didn't quite go together the way I had hoped. I was disappointed, but not disheartened. Taking the lessons from that attempt, I started anew.
What I have found is that I actually look forward to spending time with the wood and the tools. There is something about the conception of the project, the ritual of laying out the tools, the measuring and re-measuring, the satisfaction of cutting a piece of lumber that actually fits where it is supposed to that keeps my mind active and absorbed, and stimulates the part of my brain that enjoys figuring things out. Even when I'm having a bad day, if I spend even a little time in my garage shop I feel renewed, refreshed and alert.
I hear other people talking about similar experiences with gardening or painting or cooking or knitting. No matter what it is that is going on in their lives, there is a small corner that is theirs and theirs alone, where they can take a mental break from the stress of work or family or commitments and turn their focus onto something that not only holds their attention, but also gives them peace of mind. After even a short time involved in these pursuits, the person becomes clear-headed, even-tempered and with a renewed perspective on those things that had previously been troubling to them.
The final four limbs of Patanjali's Ashtanga Yoga talk about the process of liberating ourselves from the restraints that our minds sometimes put us in. Pratyahara (withdrawl of sensory stimulation), dharana (concentration), dhyana (connection) and samadhi (absorption) are all results of the actions that we take in the other limbs. In his book, The Heart of Yoga, T.K.V. Desikachar says that these cannot be practiced, but instead occur spontaneously when we create the proper situation for them to occur. Through preparation, we begin the process of concentration, then we form a connection with the object on which we are concentrating, then finally we become "one" with the object of our concentration. The rest of the world, distractions and stress, seem to fall away.
Developing a hobby has been shown to reduce stress and improve health, Interestingly, some of the most popular hobbies, such as gardening, needlework, knitting and woodworking, are not those which allow the mind to wander, but instead give the mind something to focus on besides the pressures of everyday life. This re-direction of the mind is exactly what we strive for in meditation. I's like giving our minds a little vacation. When the mind is allowed to re-focus on something other than the bills that need to be paid, or the deadline at work, or the spat with the brother, the mind is able to let go of it's attachment to the object of it's suffering and relax. The relaxed state of the mind contributes to a sense of well-being and harmony, and provides a boost to our energy level. No wonder many hobbies become passions - they give us little glimpses of the liberation from suffering that we strive for.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Creating Possibility
A couple of years ago I was in Lisbon with a group of tourists (I suppose that actually made me a tourist as well, but I digress). Several of us took an evening excursion to a local casino. I'm not a big gambler, so I just spent some time at the slot machines. On the way home one gentleman in our group, who looked and sounded a bit like Humphrey Bogart, asked the tour director where the craps tables were. She replied, "The Portuguese don't really play craps." Thinking for a moment, "Bogie" retorted, "How could they, without any tables?"
Inevitably when I mention to people that I'm a yoga teacher, someone will say, "Oh, I can't do yoga, I can't even touch my toes!" I always chuckle when I hear this, because when I went to my first yoga class I couldn't touch my toes either. In fact if a pose required any flexibility at all, I couldn't do it. I'm still more drawn to poses that require strength over flexibility. I know other people who suddenly need to use the bathroom when we start working on inversions, but could fall asleep in Paschimotanasana (Seated Forward Fold) with their head resting on their shins.
I had a teacher once who took the time to work with me on the mechanics of a forward fold. We started with the action of the legs in a standing forward fold: quads active, knees soft, grounding through the balls of the big toes, sitting bones opening, lower belly drawing in. From there we started bending from the hips, using blocks under my hands to provide the support I couldn't get from the floor which was too far away. We experimented with the legs straight, the knees bent, etc. until I could feel the fold in the hips and the deepening of the groins while still working with the activity in the legs and the lengthening of the spine. My hands still didn't make it to the floor, and I was clearly getting frustrated. My teacher patiently explained that my hands may never touch the floor, but that we were creating the situation where it's possibe that they might. The important thing was that I worked in this manner, regardless, so that I didn't strain my back or hamstrings.
With the understanding that not all poses are appropriate for all people, the way I try to approach my practice and my teaching, particularly when I'm working on poses that are new or challenging, is that I break them down from a mechanical perspective. Am I grounding myself in my feet or my hands? Am I essentially folding forward or opening the front of my body? Where is my gaze? Where does the support in the pose come from: the core? the shoulders? the legs? Which direction is the energy in the pose going? How am I using my breath? From there I practice bits and pieces of the pose until I can start to combine all of the elements together. Even then, there is no guarantee that I will get my legs extended and floating off the floor in Titibhasana (Firefly Pose) or lower my hips all the way to the floor in Hanumanasana (Forward Splits), but in continually practicing the elements, over and over in the face of all obstacles as Martha Graham says, I am creating the possibility where these things might occur.
This requires a lof of determination and a leap of faith, but we all have to make these leaps in our lives from time to time. We spend years studying and preparing for a career, but there's no guarantee that we'll get the job we want. Oftentimes we have to start with a job that is only related to what we want to do, but we continue to show up every day, building our set of skills and practicing our craft; creating the situation where the dream job will present itself. We want a family, so we have to put ourselves in the situations where we might meet the person with whom we want to create it. We have the novel we want to write, the landscape we want to paint, the cabinet we want to build, the program we want to code; whatever goal we set for ourselves we have to put in the work, with no guarantee of the result we want, but in the practicing we create more and more possibility.
Recently I decided to sell my desk and a sofa that were taking up too much room in my home office. I'm creating a space where I can do my home practice and possibly teach private yoga sessions. Right now the space is a mess until I find or build the storage I need for my books and files. I'm quite certain that I'll continue my home practice, but I have no guarantees that I will get any private clients. But like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams, I'm going to build it, and hopefully they will come.
Inevitably when I mention to people that I'm a yoga teacher, someone will say, "Oh, I can't do yoga, I can't even touch my toes!" I always chuckle when I hear this, because when I went to my first yoga class I couldn't touch my toes either. In fact if a pose required any flexibility at all, I couldn't do it. I'm still more drawn to poses that require strength over flexibility. I know other people who suddenly need to use the bathroom when we start working on inversions, but could fall asleep in Paschimotanasana (Seated Forward Fold) with their head resting on their shins.
I had a teacher once who took the time to work with me on the mechanics of a forward fold. We started with the action of the legs in a standing forward fold: quads active, knees soft, grounding through the balls of the big toes, sitting bones opening, lower belly drawing in. From there we started bending from the hips, using blocks under my hands to provide the support I couldn't get from the floor which was too far away. We experimented with the legs straight, the knees bent, etc. until I could feel the fold in the hips and the deepening of the groins while still working with the activity in the legs and the lengthening of the spine. My hands still didn't make it to the floor, and I was clearly getting frustrated. My teacher patiently explained that my hands may never touch the floor, but that we were creating the situation where it's possibe that they might. The important thing was that I worked in this manner, regardless, so that I didn't strain my back or hamstrings.
With the understanding that not all poses are appropriate for all people, the way I try to approach my practice and my teaching, particularly when I'm working on poses that are new or challenging, is that I break them down from a mechanical perspective. Am I grounding myself in my feet or my hands? Am I essentially folding forward or opening the front of my body? Where is my gaze? Where does the support in the pose come from: the core? the shoulders? the legs? Which direction is the energy in the pose going? How am I using my breath? From there I practice bits and pieces of the pose until I can start to combine all of the elements together. Even then, there is no guarantee that I will get my legs extended and floating off the floor in Titibhasana (Firefly Pose) or lower my hips all the way to the floor in Hanumanasana (Forward Splits), but in continually practicing the elements, over and over in the face of all obstacles as Martha Graham says, I am creating the possibility where these things might occur.
This requires a lof of determination and a leap of faith, but we all have to make these leaps in our lives from time to time. We spend years studying and preparing for a career, but there's no guarantee that we'll get the job we want. Oftentimes we have to start with a job that is only related to what we want to do, but we continue to show up every day, building our set of skills and practicing our craft; creating the situation where the dream job will present itself. We want a family, so we have to put ourselves in the situations where we might meet the person with whom we want to create it. We have the novel we want to write, the landscape we want to paint, the cabinet we want to build, the program we want to code; whatever goal we set for ourselves we have to put in the work, with no guarantee of the result we want, but in the practicing we create more and more possibility.
Recently I decided to sell my desk and a sofa that were taking up too much room in my home office. I'm creating a space where I can do my home practice and possibly teach private yoga sessions. Right now the space is a mess until I find or build the storage I need for my books and files. I'm quite certain that I'll continue my home practice, but I have no guarantees that I will get any private clients. But like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams, I'm going to build it, and hopefully they will come.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Yoga Magellen
Today I was feeling a little stiff in my lower back, and my left shoulder was bothering me. I had planned to do a home practice, but was very tempted to skip it to give my back and shoulder some rest. Still, I thought maybe I'd just do a light practice to loosen things up a bit, and then get on with my day. Since my time today is a bit less structured, I hit my mat with no particular expectations; just the idea to work on the areas that were bothering me. An hour and a half later I had done a full practice, including some inversions and arm balances that I hadn't worked on in a while. With no particular agenda for my practice, I was able to use my time to connect with my body and breath, and allow them to lead me where I needed to go. I took my time along the way to enjoy a few poses and work on some variations I hadn't worked on before. I played around with some sequencing ideas; some worked, some didn't, and even though I had a sense of the direction I was going in, I had no specific poses that I specifically wanted to visit but instead opted to follow where I was being led.
Sometimes I feel like a tourist visiting my practice. I have my guidebook in hand, I know all the sights I want to see along the way, I have an itinerary of where I need to be and at what time. I may be able to see and do some fun things, but at the end of the day I really didn't get to partake in the culture, or spend time browsing through the really cool bazaar at the side of the road. Today I felt more like an explorer. I had my compass and a knife, a bottle of water and a sleeping bag. I was able to set out on a journey with no specific destination in mind, spend time with the locals and make some new friends along the way. I journeyed in whatever direction I was compelled, and took my time once I got there.
So often I get caught up in what I can accomplish; how much can I get done? how many poses can I fit in? how can I make this transition more interesting? This approach has it's benefits. Structure can be very beneficial, and we can learn a great deal from setting goals and making plans on how to accomplish them. It's when I get caught up in the results that I get discouraged. When I start judging today's practice by what I did yesterday, or last week or even last year. That's where I need to remember to point my body in the right direction and let my breath guide me the rest of the way. Then I become open to whatever might present itself, and stop being locked into the rut of what I "should" be experiencing. So, even on those days when I'm pressed for time and need to stick to the itinerary, I can still retain the spirit of the explorer.
Sometimes I feel like a tourist visiting my practice. I have my guidebook in hand, I know all the sights I want to see along the way, I have an itinerary of where I need to be and at what time. I may be able to see and do some fun things, but at the end of the day I really didn't get to partake in the culture, or spend time browsing through the really cool bazaar at the side of the road. Today I felt more like an explorer. I had my compass and a knife, a bottle of water and a sleeping bag. I was able to set out on a journey with no specific destination in mind, spend time with the locals and make some new friends along the way. I journeyed in whatever direction I was compelled, and took my time once I got there.
So often I get caught up in what I can accomplish; how much can I get done? how many poses can I fit in? how can I make this transition more interesting? This approach has it's benefits. Structure can be very beneficial, and we can learn a great deal from setting goals and making plans on how to accomplish them. It's when I get caught up in the results that I get discouraged. When I start judging today's practice by what I did yesterday, or last week or even last year. That's where I need to remember to point my body in the right direction and let my breath guide me the rest of the way. Then I become open to whatever might present itself, and stop being locked into the rut of what I "should" be experiencing. So, even on those days when I'm pressed for time and need to stick to the itinerary, I can still retain the spirit of the explorer.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Dancing On Air
A few years ago, my wife and I went to a hot-air balloon festival in New Jersey. We spent much of the afternoon visiting the vendors and eating "fair food," but at around 5 p.m. everyone started to stake out their territory next to the balloon launch zone to witness the big show - the launching of dozens and dozens of hot-air balloons. My wife and I spread our blanket, set out our chairs, got out our picnic supplies and started to settle in for the spectacle. Already we could see several balloons beginning to inflate; there were balloons of every shape and color, and the excitement was becoming palpable. All of a sudden we were approached by a rather official-looking person who asked if we'd like to help crew one of the balloons. At first we were just stared at each other in disbelief, but then we both jumped up and started to gather our belongings. How could we pass up a chance like this?
We were escorted to a balloon owned and operated by a Pepperidge Farm distributor from the St. Louis area. He specialized in the little goldfish crackers, and in fact had one of the goldfish emblazoned on the side of his balloon. He also had baskets full of sample-sized goldfish cracker packages, all with long red streamers attached to them. We were quickly informed that we were going to help them inflate the envelope (the technical term for the balloon). First, we helped attach the basket, which looks like a big wicker flower basket, then the crew chief and I unfurled the envelope. The pilot turned on a couple of big fans and aimed them into the throat of the envelope. My job was to help hold the throat open while other crew members helped open the folds of the envelope so that the air could distribute inside. It was beautiful to watch. Like some multicolored primordial creature, the balloon would begin to expand, then as more folds were opened it would softly settle. The air was both giving it shape and supporting it's mass.
Once the envelope was most of the way full, the pilot directed the propane jets into it, and started heating the air. It was like a giant had been awakened. The air inside heated surprisingly quickly, and the balloon began to lift upright. The crew chief and I held onto the ropes to keep the balloon steady as the pilot entered the basket with the paying passengers. Just as the balloon was about to leave the ground, the pilot turned to my wife (who is not overly fond of heights) and said "Get in." She gave me a look that said, "I have to!" and up they sailed.
I should mention that if you've never seen a mass launching of hot air balloons, it really is indescribable. Virtually silent except for the sound of the propane jets and the gasps of the crowd, it's almost reverent.
I got into the chase car with the crew chief and we started following our balloon. For about 30 minutes we navigated the back roads of New Jersey, through neighborhoods and fields, business parks and ball parks. Finally we saw the balloon start to descend in a neighborhood. Red streamers started to fall from inside the basket as packages of goldfish crackers were being tossed to the crowd below. The pilot had landed in someone's back yard, and it was as if Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Willy Wonka had landed. Dozens of kids and parents were running over to see what wizard had fallen from the sky. The pilot, all smiles, helped the passengers out of the basket as the crew chief and I grabbed the ropes. My wife was beaming and almost speechless. As we helped deflate the balloon she just kept saying, "You've got to do this...you've got to do this."
The next day I had my chance. We ended up going back and helping them with the morning launch, and I was the one who got to experience the magic of flying, suspended by nothing more than air and a few ropes. The ascension was nearly undetectable. All of a sudden we were 50, then 100, then 200 feet off the ground. Elevators are more jarring. The whole experience was peaceful and awe-inspiring. Every few seconds the pilot turned on the porpane to heat the air so we would rise, or would open the vent at the top so that we would descend. Like breathing, it was a constant balance of inhales and exhales in order to keep us at a favorable altitude.
Lately in my yoga practice I've been reminded of this experience. As I warm up, I use my breath to help open up all the tight spots in my muscles and joints, preparing my lungs to breathe fully. I tune in to the subtle movement that my breath is creating in my body: my inhales opening me and giving me structure, my exhales softening me and releasing tension and rigidity. As I allow my breath to deepen, I begin to move my body in the directions that it is being encouraged to go. Inhaling length and space, exhaling roundness and surrender. My breath then guides me through a series of sun salutations, creating heat and suppleness in my joints and muscles. As I continue in my practice, I begin to alter the shape of my body to direct my breath into different areas, like squeezing a balloon will cause the air inside to expand away from the point of constriction. Softening, I allow the breath to open up the points of restriction and tension, allowing me to find even more opening. Using the quality of the inhales and exhales as a guide, my body finds the right altitude to sail at, effortlessly and peacefully. If I stop paying attention I can either over-heat and begin to sail away into unsafe altitudes, or become dull and start to fall from the sky. The constant flow of breath, the inhales and exhales, allows me to maintain an even tack. As I let my exhales deepen and my breath become softer, I allow gravity to assist in the process of letting go of the flight, and re-ground myself to the earth.
We were escorted to a balloon owned and operated by a Pepperidge Farm distributor from the St. Louis area. He specialized in the little goldfish crackers, and in fact had one of the goldfish emblazoned on the side of his balloon. He also had baskets full of sample-sized goldfish cracker packages, all with long red streamers attached to them. We were quickly informed that we were going to help them inflate the envelope (the technical term for the balloon). First, we helped attach the basket, which looks like a big wicker flower basket, then the crew chief and I unfurled the envelope. The pilot turned on a couple of big fans and aimed them into the throat of the envelope. My job was to help hold the throat open while other crew members helped open the folds of the envelope so that the air could distribute inside. It was beautiful to watch. Like some multicolored primordial creature, the balloon would begin to expand, then as more folds were opened it would softly settle. The air was both giving it shape and supporting it's mass.
Once the envelope was most of the way full, the pilot directed the propane jets into it, and started heating the air. It was like a giant had been awakened. The air inside heated surprisingly quickly, and the balloon began to lift upright. The crew chief and I held onto the ropes to keep the balloon steady as the pilot entered the basket with the paying passengers. Just as the balloon was about to leave the ground, the pilot turned to my wife (who is not overly fond of heights) and said "Get in." She gave me a look that said, "I have to!" and up they sailed.
I should mention that if you've never seen a mass launching of hot air balloons, it really is indescribable. Virtually silent except for the sound of the propane jets and the gasps of the crowd, it's almost reverent.
I got into the chase car with the crew chief and we started following our balloon. For about 30 minutes we navigated the back roads of New Jersey, through neighborhoods and fields, business parks and ball parks. Finally we saw the balloon start to descend in a neighborhood. Red streamers started to fall from inside the basket as packages of goldfish crackers were being tossed to the crowd below. The pilot had landed in someone's back yard, and it was as if Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Willy Wonka had landed. Dozens of kids and parents were running over to see what wizard had fallen from the sky. The pilot, all smiles, helped the passengers out of the basket as the crew chief and I grabbed the ropes. My wife was beaming and almost speechless. As we helped deflate the balloon she just kept saying, "You've got to do this...you've got to do this."
The next day I had my chance. We ended up going back and helping them with the morning launch, and I was the one who got to experience the magic of flying, suspended by nothing more than air and a few ropes. The ascension was nearly undetectable. All of a sudden we were 50, then 100, then 200 feet off the ground. Elevators are more jarring. The whole experience was peaceful and awe-inspiring. Every few seconds the pilot turned on the porpane to heat the air so we would rise, or would open the vent at the top so that we would descend. Like breathing, it was a constant balance of inhales and exhales in order to keep us at a favorable altitude.
Lately in my yoga practice I've been reminded of this experience. As I warm up, I use my breath to help open up all the tight spots in my muscles and joints, preparing my lungs to breathe fully. I tune in to the subtle movement that my breath is creating in my body: my inhales opening me and giving me structure, my exhales softening me and releasing tension and rigidity. As I allow my breath to deepen, I begin to move my body in the directions that it is being encouraged to go. Inhaling length and space, exhaling roundness and surrender. My breath then guides me through a series of sun salutations, creating heat and suppleness in my joints and muscles. As I continue in my practice, I begin to alter the shape of my body to direct my breath into different areas, like squeezing a balloon will cause the air inside to expand away from the point of constriction. Softening, I allow the breath to open up the points of restriction and tension, allowing me to find even more opening. Using the quality of the inhales and exhales as a guide, my body finds the right altitude to sail at, effortlessly and peacefully. If I stop paying attention I can either over-heat and begin to sail away into unsafe altitudes, or become dull and start to fall from the sky. The constant flow of breath, the inhales and exhales, allows me to maintain an even tack. As I let my exhales deepen and my breath become softer, I allow gravity to assist in the process of letting go of the flight, and re-ground myself to the earth.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Reflections
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
~ Anais Nin ~
What do you see when you look in the mirror? Is the reflection a strong, confident person, or someone who needs to lose 10 pounds? Is the face looking back at you a husband or wife, father or mother, boss or employee, son or daugther, student or drop-out? Does the person looking back at you change during the day? Is it a different face in the morning than it is in the evening?
In truth, all you see when you look in the mirror is the interplay between light and a reflective surface. All of the other identities, attachments and aversions are those that we create from our own experience and judgement.
We have other mirrors around us all the time. They are our friends, relatives, co-workers; even the person who serves us our coffee. Each of them acts as a reflective medium of our behavior and attitude, bouncing back to us our own behavior based on their experience of us. When we are feeling upbeat and friendly most people react in kind. When we are grouchy and abrupt, people may treat us coolly or even avoid us altogether. If, however, we are generally happy and sociable, and one day we are grouchy and sullen, those who know us may react with concern. Suspecting something is wrong, they may behave more compassionately or even cautiously towards us. If we are generally quiet and reserved, and suddenly begin to make jokes and "let our hair down," people may be surprised at first; perhaps even shocked. Some may become suspicious, others may begin to gravitate toward us, still others may try to encourage us to continue in this new behavior.
We also react to what other people say and do through the filter of our own experience and attitude at the particular moment. Someone says "have a nice day," and depending on our circumstances, we might react in a variety of ways. If we've just been met with some bad news, we might lash out. If we are in a rush, we might dismiss the sentiment. If we are feeling upbeat, we might respond with a smile and a "Same to you!" Each of these reactions will then be reflected back by the recipient based on their experience at the time, and their knowledge of us. So each of our interchanges becomes a series of reflections back and forth, much like a funhouse maze.
Of course, just like in a funhouse, sometimes our image gets distorted when it is reflected back. Often this happens in the context of a relationship, be it spouses, relatives, friends, co-workers, simply becuase there already exists a set of expectations and behaviors. We say or do something, and depending on the recipient's state of mind they might misinterpret our words or deeds. The distortions caused by their present cirumstances bend our meaning like the waves in a carnival mirror, and what is reflected back is out of proportion to reality. They react in a way that we weren't expecting, we get confused and react back based on that confusion. All of a sudden we are embroiled in something completely different than we had intended.
This is what Patanjali refers to when he speaks of the "citta vritti," or "fluctuations of the mind." Through our practice of awareness, observation and attention, we are able to recognize when we are reacting out of our circumstances rather than the reality of the situation. Once we are able to clean and smooth out the surface of our mind, we become able to interrupt these patterns before they take hold, allowing us to see and react with clarity and equanimity. When we become sensitive and receptive to how others react towards us, reflecting our behavior, we develop the ability to understand how our actions are seen, and we gain greater insight into our own agendas and attitudes. Ahimsa (non-harming) and Satya (truthfulness) become the light that uncovers patterns of behavior, and we begin to take responsibility for our actions and attitudes.
When I teach Partner Yoga, the one thing that I always find interesting is witnessing how the partners relate to each other. It's easy to see what the relationship is like simply through the way the participants work with each other. Do they work as a team, or is one person the leader? Does one person get frustrated with the other because they are not as strong/flexible/ supportive? Do the partners take time to really relate to each other, to sense each other's breath and presence, or do they plow headlong attached to their own agenda? One woman asked me during a private Partner session if this was couples therapy. I smiled and said, "No, this is just yoga. But if you remain open, who knows what you might discover."
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