Stories That Teach and Heal

Last night during yoga practice, while in sirsasana attempting to rotate the left side of my hip towards the teacher standing in front of me, I lost, completely, my sense of direction without knowing it or feeling it.  Each time I would make the rotation asked of me, I would move in the opposite direction.  I felt a slight defense mechanism kick in, a mild sense of defiance. Surely I was doing it right and the teacher was wrong.  How could I not "get it?"   There is a simple fix to this and I came home and did it in front of a mirror and could clearly see how I was rotating in the opposite direction asked of me.  I can be my own worse critic.  I can take things personal when they are not meant to be.  (Even if someone does attack us personally, it rarely has anything to do with us and everything to do with them.)  The only one "attacking" me, was, of course,  me.  So what is the lesson in all this?  Many.  Don't take things personally.  Don't criticize yourself for not being able to do something that doesn't much matter more than a hill of beans.  Be patient and kind towards yourself, always.  Probe, plumb the depths.  As always, my hypersensitivity comes from a deep longing to be loved and accepted, and often I think that is not happening because of a deep sense of feeling unworthy of love and acceptance.  My issue, totally.  My story.  My history.  It always comes back to the basics.  Learning to listen to our own stories, learning to tell our own stories as well as learning to listen to the stories of others, results in learning, growth, wisdom.  When those feeling arise, stay with them.  (Also, don't drive.  After class, I knocked over the entry gate post--metal and set in concrete--and did a hell of a lot of damage to my car because I was so caught up in processing this and not focused on driving).

In Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Naomi Remen writes:  "Everybody is a story...The more we listen, the clearer that Story becomes.  The wisdom in the story of the most educated and powerful person is often not greater than the wisdom in the story of a child, and the life of a child can teach us as much as the life of a sage...Hidden in all stories is the One story...Our true identity, who we are, why we are here, what sustains us is in this (our) story.  The stories are about the same things, stories of owning, having and losing, stories of sex, of power, of pain, of wounding, of courage, hope, and healing, of loneliness and the end of loneliness.  Stories about God.  In telling them, we are telling each other the human story.  Stories that touch us in this place of common humanness awaken us and weave us together as a family once again. These are stories about who we are, not what we have done." 

I think this is so very important.  When we get hooked into those moments where we buy into the voice that says we are not worthy of love, we suddenly find ourselves moving away from our real, authentic self and buying into the falsehoods we have spent years trying to unlearn.  This is all okay, just have an awareness of what is happening.  One method is to acknowledge that you are aware of what is going on, congratulate yourself for having this awareness, take three deep breaths, then think of things that are healing, move towards thoughts and feelings that run counter, or opposite, to this "wrong" thinking. (Ana Forrest). 

It often comes back to the basics, no matter how lofty our thoughts, no matter what great strides of accomplishment we make, no matter our social or economic standing, it always comes down to the basics of each and every one of us being human, and finding that and connecting.  Staying real, staying true, finding the authenticity, and going to battle against the stories that teach us the wrong things.  It is through these very stories, these life experiences, that we learn and grow, fall down and get up, sometimes it feels like little more than putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again.  But, as Hanuman showed, putting one foot in front of the other may be one enormous leap, whether we realize it or not. 

Strange Fruit

Yesterday while standing in line at the post office to pick up a package I overheard a customer loudly refer to his employees as wetbacks.  The postal worker he was talking to looked at me wide mouthed, to which I responded by shaking my head.  The elderly white haired man looked at me and said, "Would you prefer that I use the word illegal immigrant?"  My only response was "the word you used is very derogatory."  "Tough shit," he said, "that's just the way it is."  I left.  Then I got mad.  I called the Postmaster.  He had heard all about the incident--in fact, all this occurred while he was retrieving my package--and had every intention of taking some kind of action.  "I cannot believe in 2013 we still have that kind of bigotry, I don't want to hear it, my customers don't want to hear it, and I don't want my sons to hear it, and I'm sorry you had to hear it." 


After seeing a photograph of a lynching and haunted by the image for days, Abel Meeropol--husband, father, poet, social activist--wrote the following poem which he also set to music and which was later made famous by Billie Holiday:

     Strange Fruit

     Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
     Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
     Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
     Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

     Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
     The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
     Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
     And the sudden smell of burning flesh!

     Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
     For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
     For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop.
     Here is a strange and bitter crop.

This same man later adopted the two sons of the Rosenbergs who were found guilty of treason and executed for conspiracy of passing information to the Russians.  At that time, the 40's and 50's, many Americans who joined the Communist Party were pioneers in the civil rights movement. 

Why is it so very difficult to do unto others as you would have them do unto you?

Who hangs from yonder passion tree?
Your son, dear Mother
Do you not know me?

"The Latin root of religion--relegere--means to be aware, and absolute awareness will never perceive difference or conflict." 

"...dharma is rather about the search for enduring ethical principles, about the cultivation of right behavior in physical, moral, mental, psychological, and spiritual dimensions.  This behavior must always relate to the growth of the individual with the goal of realizing the Soul.  If it does not, if it is culturally limited or warped, then it falls short of the definition of dharma.  Sadhana, the practitioner's inward journey, admits of no barriers between individual, cultures, races, or creeds."  B.K.S. Iyengar

And so.




 

It Is Not Easy

I'm fascinated by one of the synonyms for alcohol, which is spirit or spirits. Why is alcohol referred to as spirits? Alcohol transports us to an altered state of mind, a changed state of consciousness, as, for example, do the hallucinogens used by certain indigenous peoples of the Americas in their various Shamanic and other ritualistic, spiritual practices. When we sleep and dream we again leave the day to day waking state of consciousness and visit a world, which, for the most part, is a transcendent world we do not often fully comprehend, yet one we are generally quite fascinated with. We love to tell others of our dreams, as though we have seen a strange and alien movie, often not realizing we are describing our own thoughts and feelings clothed in a language and symbology not well understood, yet one that has been created by our own subconscious mind and having everything to do with our day to day waking conscious life. Perhaps a kind of doorway of understanding into those things in life that challenge us, scare us, perplex us, and so on. When we allow our inhibitions, our fears, our walls to fall down, we are left quite vulnerable, and most of us do not like being in that state of vulnerability. When we pay close attention to our lives and to our dreams, they reveal themselves.  When we approach challenges with a sort of open hearted vulnerability, we allow for the space needed to more fully face what is before us.  Long ago, when I was a teen, I wrote a short poem that I wanted to be inscribed on my gravestone.  At that time, I was certain I would die very young.  It went something like this:

  At night I hear the spirits singing,
  The wind, their wing, their very being,
  Does blow and bring their melody.

Like so many others, I often craved the transcendent state of death because I felt so very ill equipped to deal with the present, so unable to awaken to life, so frightened of, shall we say Reality, or more accurately, to escape the suffering ego.  If I were to re-write this little poem today, I might very well substitute wing with the word breath.  The meaning would remain essentially the same, but my understanding has grown over the years. I associate breath with prana, although they are not the same, prana being the cosmic breath, the universal vital energy of life and beyond.  Even today in asana practice, I encountered several moments whereby I noticed myself nearly gasping for breath for no apparent reason.  But there was a reason, and I am sure I know what it is.  Those traces of deep rooted fears that occasionally get triggered.  People used to ask me, when talking about a particular fear, what's the worse that could happen?  the answer being "I could die."  This can be the ultimate fear because we as humans tend to naturally fear the unknown, and yet, paradoxically, we are always reaching out trying to touch that unknown, that which transcends consciousness as we know it, that which takes us to another place that we both long for and fear. 

This past Sunday, a man who has been my friend longer than anyone else on this planet, passed away at the age of 58.  Death of loved ones can shake me to the core.  I gasp for breath, I cry, I am engulfed by a deep, tender sadness that I know I must feel fully in order for the feelings to pass through me.  As Stephen Cope says, when we allow our emotions (and there are no exceptions) to be fully felt they pass through us like the many patterns of weather.  Let the storms happen and just breathe.  Iyengar says that everyone desires samadhi, it is in our very nature to want to transcend, to unite with that which is blissful, but most transcendent methods are unsustainable.  We need to do our best and never rest on our laurels.  It is not easy.  Good-bye my dear friend, I will listen for you in the wind. 

Old Towne Dubrovnik

Our apartment here in Old Towne, Dubrovnik, is old, cluttered, and noisy!  Updated with modern conveniences, yes, but still, an old air charm that doesn't quite work for me.  Two more days of leisurely sightseeing then we fly back to Barcelona where we board the ship for 16 days of cruising the Mediterranean followed by a transatlantic crossing.  I loved Barcelona.  I imagine going back, renting an apartment long term, studying Spanish, and visiting the Iyengar Yoga Center regularly.  It is a city of 1.3 million, but well organized with beautiful old buildings, long tree lined avenues, extremely pedestrian friendly.  Almost anywhere in the city you are within a few blocks of just about everything you would need--grocery stores, banks, cafes, shops. There is really no distinction between commercial and residential, it is all combined, as are most European cities.  Parks everywhere, museums, galleries, with no shortage of interesting things to do and see.  And, not so very expensive.  It is so very vibrant, alive, and friendly.  Very different here in Dubrovnik.  In general, I get the impression that the employees and proprietors of stores and restaurants seem annoyed and unhappy, possibly because the place is so densely packed with tourists--from outside the old town, from ships, and from those of us staying within her walls.  And to imagine, we are well past the height of the the tourist season! I just don't get a positive vibe at all.  The hustle and bustle in the old town may be different from outlying areas, I don't know.  Yesterday we finally found the Dominican Monastery that seemed so elusive.  It was very quiet there, with no other tourists at all.  A complete refuge.  No wonder it was hard to find.  It was nice to just sit and feel the silence.  Today and tomorrow we have a long list of things to see--the Synagogue Museum, the home of Marin Drzic, the former convent of St.Clair, the Church of St. Saviour, a Franciscan Monastery, St. Blaise Church, the Rector's Palace, and more, or not.  Maybe more than one gelato break, as they are everywhere. 

Time to eat breakfast and get moving. 

Bits of Barcelona

It is so nice to get away from all the politics of home.  I will be very disappointed if Obama loses.  Barcelona is a fascinating city, there is so much to do and see, it's a matter of picking and choosing, somewhat randomly.  It rained most of the day but we managed to see Gaudi's absolutely fascinating Cathedral as well as Barcelona Cathedral.  Such a fascinating architectural contrast.  We have many more things to see, but we are taking it all in stride, moving slowly and not rushing anything.  I've arranged a 90 minute massage tomorrow afternoon after a full morning of touring.  We rented a lovely 3 bedroom apartment right next to the old town (Gothic), in Eixample.  Very nice and comfortable and spacious, and we can prepare our own food when we want.  Neighborhood food markets, bakeries, fruit and vegetable stalls, and cafes are in abundance.  Taxi fare is reasonable, and they are easy to find.  The city seems very alive and vibrant.  There are a couple of Iyengar Studios here I hope to visit.  After six nights here we fly to Dubrovnik via Vienna to an apartment we've rented in the Old Towne.  Then we cruise the Mediterranean, revisiting Seville and Lisbon, and seeing Madeira for the first time.  Afterwards, a transatlantic crossing.  All in all in a longer trip than usual for us, but leisurely and slow paced.  Nicole Rodriguez is taking care of the house and the cats.  I already miss my cats but get regular updates.  Off to bed!

Fractured and Running

I went to a memorial service this weekend for a friend who recently succumbed to the suicidal impulse.  This impulse can be overwhelmingly powerful among those who suffer from bipolar illness, especially when one has been experiencing a particularly powerful, sustained manic episode.  Sleep deprivation can have fatal consequences.  This young man did everything right, well almost everything.  He was in tip top physical condition, he did yoga, he went through yoga teacher training, he dedicated himself to meditation practice, had a Buddhist master under which he studied, took the bodhisatva vow, saw a therapist, belonged to various groups--Buddhist, Sufi, music, poetry, support.  He had a wide circle of friends who loved him dearly.  He was a massage therapist who created a unique method he called Guided Release Therapy, in which he guided his clients through a methodical, hands on approach towards achieving a deep, meditative state of relaxation/release.  He was a bright spirit, he gave of himself, he went about living life fully.  He was remarkable, and it was an honor to know him and work with him.

In the case of bipolar illness, one must follow medical protocol and get stabilized on medication in order to achieve a stable foundation on which to function, to chemically control the imbalances that are occurring in the brain. Even though this often is not an easy task, and, unfortunately, in some cases may take months, even years, this is a cardinal rule.  Improving diet, meditating, staying healthy, avoiding alcohol, doing yoga--these are feats of accomplishment to be greatly admired.  But they will not "beat" or "overcome" the illness.  It must be treated professionally by a skilled psychopharmacologist.  I recently took a workshop with George Purvis, a senior Iyengar teacher who has so much to teach.  He told us that a number of years ago he was diagnosed with advanced stage melanoma.  The prognosis for this is not good.  His doctors prescribed an aggressive treatment program that left him exhausted and weak.  His students, and others, asked, why are you not doing yoga, or using yoga to treat yourself?  His doctors told him if he didn't follow the outlined, aggressive treatment program he would be dead in a matter of months.  So he did not do yoga for a prolonged period of time.  In truth, he was doing yoga the whole time, because he clearly had developed a keen intelligence (buddhi) that guided him in the direction that resulted in conquering this aggressive cancer through "correct" thinking.  The bipolar sufferer, when in a state of chemical imbalance, cannot think clearly.  In fact, some move into states of psychosis.  Good judgment flies out the window.  The pain endured by these sufferers can be profound.  The impulse to end it all can be irresistible.

I mourn the loss of my friend, I grieve, I cry, I place flowers at the memorial created at the entrance to his house, I light a candle, I remember his sweetness and tender heart, his beauty.  I feel deep empathy for his suffering.  Then, I move into anger, which I believe is appropriate, healthy, therapeutic.  We must make room for all feelings that come up.  I'm angry that he killed himself, especially in such a violent manner.  I'm angry that he didn't take better care of himself in a way that might have prevented this.  I'm angry that he left so many people behind who love him dearly and who suffer from his loss.  After the anger will come forgiveness.  I am almost there.  We do our best, and that is all we can do.  And sometimes, that just isn't enough.  Sometimes we fail ourselves.  Sometimes the systems, our systems, our most keenly developed intelligence, fails us.  And that is just how it is, and ultimately it's all okay.

Recommended reading:  Kay Redfield Jamison, "Night Falls Fast (understanding suicide)"
                                        B.K.S. Iyengar, "Light on Life"

      

Sweet Joshua

May the melody of your song forever be heard by all who knew you.  May you rest peacefully.  Thank you for sharing.  Our paths intersected only briefly on this often, very difficult journey, but I was deeply touched by your loving, kind spirit.