So...it's not about the asana.
I've figured that much out. Challenging as they are, the Ashtanga yoga series are simply a means to an end. I have no idea what this end is. Is there a pot of gold at the end of the sixth series?...(I like to envision it as a long sweaty rainbow) A stack of warm chapati and dhal? A really fancy saree? How can we even be sure that there is an end? A destination. I think it's a lot more ambiguous than that. I think it's about the journey, just like life itself.
Along the way, the series heal all kinds of stuff, if you allow them to, that is, if you surrender and give them all you've got. Everything. They'll wring out your mind, forcing out streams of negativity, anger, fear, hatred, anxiety, sadness, you name it. They leave you free to sit there with a giant smile on your face, like a drooling, toothless baby in a state of permanent goo goo da da bliss. Of course, babies have their tantrums and dark days too, but ultimately, they snap out of it. Or so I've heard.
The practice also awakens some dormant demons. We've all witnessed them, heard of them or felt them tossing and turning as they rouse out of their slumber.
As luck would have it, I made a friend here who has been coming to Mysore for years, he actually practiced with Guruji. He's almost 50 years old but looks (and acts) like he's not a day past 13. So, not only has he been something of a restaurant and tour guide for us newbies, but he often drops these groundbreaking wisdom bombs that are pretty earth-shattering. He's really private and would definitely kick my butt if I revealed his name.
So, he's clear on one thing. The teachers he respects are humble. They're the ones who are not out there seeking the spotlight, waiting to pose for the yoga paparazzi, the stars of their own celebrity fantasy. The ones who, like Guruji, are dedicated to transferring their knowledge to a little family of students that they care deeply about. Because parampara goes both ways. They're low profile. Ego-free.
When he says stuff like this, I imagine Saraswathi or Guruji or Sharath opening Facebook accounts and posing for selfies and new profile shots and it makes me giggle internally. I am so glad they are not into that kind of stuff. I am so glad that Saraswathi is a 72-year old grandma who is clearly not into this for the glory. And that you can see that just by looking at her face. Into her radiant, multicolored eyes. She really wants everyone to get the pose, whatever pose they're stuck on.
I'm also glad that my teacher back home sometimes wears really old yoga pants that have holes in them. And I'm so glad that, from what I've seen, Ashtanga yoga generally attracts simple people, who are not into trendy yoga mats and flashy yoga clothes. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I just don't think that's what this is about, not for me anyway.
So, my friend, I've asked him countless times to sit down for an interview to share everything he knows with the world but he's too humble and private for that, he says there are tons of people who know more than he does and believes that every bit of knowledge will come to us if we just keep practicing. I kind of agree. Maybe words and blogs and magazines are pointless too in the end. In the face of this practice, that strips you of everything unnecessary, down to the very bone marrow and our pumping hearts.
Anyway, he shared a beautiful story the other day, something he heard straight out of Guruji's mouth. One day Guruji said something like this:
"Three men are shipwrecked." (Ok, picture it all in Guruji's accent, and actually my friend couldn't remember if it was a sinking boat or some other catastrophe. Let's go with the boat.) "One man is Muslim and he prays to Allah and Allah saves his life. One man is Christian and he prays to God and God comes and saves him. And the other guy is Hindu, so he prays to a thousand different Gods. And the Gods start to quarrel with each other about their plan of action. The boat sinks and the man dies."
Apparently, Guruji used this story as an example of what'll happen to people who have multiple teachers. He said we should stick to one guru. Otherwise we'll get all confused and end up a (ship) wreck.
I think I have two now, my teacher back home and Saraswathi, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't quarrel if my boat were to sink.
And the other day I had the overwhelming feeling that it simply wouldn't make sense for me to practice anywhere else right now. I want to stay in Mysore and learn everything that Saraswathi can possibly teach me.
So I decided that I'm not going back...yet.
I feel like I've found everything that I was ever looking for here, and I looked pretty much everywhere. Under the sea, in deserted islands, all around the world. And this kind of explains why I didn't want to leave India when I visited the first time. I wasn't done with this place. India wasn't done with me. But does anyone ever want to leave India? I guess so.
And now I found her, Saraswathi. And a place where everything revolves around the practice. So, there's no time to lose. I was starving for this, and one day I hope that I'll be humble enough and ready to share what I've learned.
In the meantime, practice, practice.
I've figured that much out. Challenging as they are, the Ashtanga yoga series are simply a means to an end. I have no idea what this end is. Is there a pot of gold at the end of the sixth series?...(I like to envision it as a long sweaty rainbow) A stack of warm chapati and dhal? A really fancy saree? How can we even be sure that there is an end? A destination. I think it's a lot more ambiguous than that. I think it's about the journey, just like life itself.
Along the way, the series heal all kinds of stuff, if you allow them to, that is, if you surrender and give them all you've got. Everything. They'll wring out your mind, forcing out streams of negativity, anger, fear, hatred, anxiety, sadness, you name it. They leave you free to sit there with a giant smile on your face, like a drooling, toothless baby in a state of permanent goo goo da da bliss. Of course, babies have their tantrums and dark days too, but ultimately, they snap out of it. Or so I've heard.
The practice also awakens some dormant demons. We've all witnessed them, heard of them or felt them tossing and turning as they rouse out of their slumber.
As luck would have it, I made a friend here who has been coming to Mysore for years, he actually practiced with Guruji. He's almost 50 years old but looks (and acts) like he's not a day past 13. So, not only has he been something of a restaurant and tour guide for us newbies, but he often drops these groundbreaking wisdom bombs that are pretty earth-shattering. He's really private and would definitely kick my butt if I revealed his name.
So, he's clear on one thing. The teachers he respects are humble. They're the ones who are not out there seeking the spotlight, waiting to pose for the yoga paparazzi, the stars of their own celebrity fantasy. The ones who, like Guruji, are dedicated to transferring their knowledge to a little family of students that they care deeply about. Because parampara goes both ways. They're low profile. Ego-free.
When he says stuff like this, I imagine Saraswathi or Guruji or Sharath opening Facebook accounts and posing for selfies and new profile shots and it makes me giggle internally. I am so glad they are not into that kind of stuff. I am so glad that Saraswathi is a 72-year old grandma who is clearly not into this for the glory. And that you can see that just by looking at her face. Into her radiant, multicolored eyes. She really wants everyone to get the pose, whatever pose they're stuck on.
I'm also glad that my teacher back home sometimes wears really old yoga pants that have holes in them. And I'm so glad that, from what I've seen, Ashtanga yoga generally attracts simple people, who are not into trendy yoga mats and flashy yoga clothes. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I just don't think that's what this is about, not for me anyway.
So, my friend, I've asked him countless times to sit down for an interview to share everything he knows with the world but he's too humble and private for that, he says there are tons of people who know more than he does and believes that every bit of knowledge will come to us if we just keep practicing. I kind of agree. Maybe words and blogs and magazines are pointless too in the end. In the face of this practice, that strips you of everything unnecessary, down to the very bone marrow and our pumping hearts.
Anyway, he shared a beautiful story the other day, something he heard straight out of Guruji's mouth. One day Guruji said something like this:
"Three men are shipwrecked." (Ok, picture it all in Guruji's accent, and actually my friend couldn't remember if it was a sinking boat or some other catastrophe. Let's go with the boat.) "One man is Muslim and he prays to Allah and Allah saves his life. One man is Christian and he prays to God and God comes and saves him. And the other guy is Hindu, so he prays to a thousand different Gods. And the Gods start to quarrel with each other about their plan of action. The boat sinks and the man dies."
Apparently, Guruji used this story as an example of what'll happen to people who have multiple teachers. He said we should stick to one guru. Otherwise we'll get all confused and end up a (ship) wreck.
I think I have two now, my teacher back home and Saraswathi, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't quarrel if my boat were to sink.
And the other day I had the overwhelming feeling that it simply wouldn't make sense for me to practice anywhere else right now. I want to stay in Mysore and learn everything that Saraswathi can possibly teach me.
So I decided that I'm not going back...yet.
I feel like I've found everything that I was ever looking for here, and I looked pretty much everywhere. Under the sea, in deserted islands, all around the world. And this kind of explains why I didn't want to leave India when I visited the first time. I wasn't done with this place. India wasn't done with me. But does anyone ever want to leave India? I guess so.
And now I found her, Saraswathi. And a place where everything revolves around the practice. So, there's no time to lose. I was starving for this, and one day I hope that I'll be humble enough and ready to share what I've learned.
In the meantime, practice, practice.
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