
Note from Sandra: a guest blog by my yoga teacher, Shelley Masar
In recent weeks I’ve been listening to a Sounds True download, The Lost Teachings of Yoga, by yoga scholar Georg Feurerstein. Over the course of six 70 minute CDs he delivers this message: yoga is the on-going process of self transformation. Yogis study with teachers and texts. They meditate, practice breath exercises and asanas ( yoga postures). They strive to be virtuous all in order to become more self-aware. They seek to become self aware in order move beyond the physical, mental, and emotional habits that cause suffering.
Without awareness, according to the yoga sages, everything we do and think is little more than habit. Becoming aware of and changing habits was no easier 2,000 years ago when yogic wisdom was first compiled than it is now. So the ancient teachings are full of suggestions about how to wake up to subtle habits and all the ways they play through us. And the teachings are full of insight about how we should navigate after we’ve learned all about the boat ( You can know a sail is torn, and set to mending it without knowing any more about reading the stars.).
New intentions and disciplines are treacherous and it is easy to become self disgusted. But all the teachings are clear that self-disgust is NEVER useful. That said, self-acceptance is paradoxical we are told to accept our ourselves AND re-train ourselves? (I think of the bumper-sticker that says, ” You can’t simultaneously prepare for war and peace.” I always think, “Yes, but don’t you have to?”)
One of my physical/mental/emotional “ways” is to keep a keen watch for the unhappiness of others. My mother likes to say that “[my] antennae are attuned to pain.” For example every morning I drive across University Avenue one of the main east west arteries of this midwestern university town that is also the boundary between the traditionally black north end of Champaign-Urbana and the burgeoning engineering campus on the northern edge of the University. The strip I travel passes two major regional hospitals, a 40 million dollar university research laboratory, an upscale hotel for visiting scholars, a shabby motel for the rest of us, a dozen fast food places, gas stations, auto parts stores, muffler shops, an ambulance service, and a slew of low-rent local businesses trying to stay afloat in box store America.
My antennae scan both sides of the avenue. The fix on the exhausted nurses and orderlies waiting for buses in front of the hospitals. On the poor kids trudging to and from schools where the chips are so stacked against them it will take a miracle if they come out confident and curious. On the inactive people people in line at the drive-thrus waiting for donuts and tacos who will grow more sluggish on the corn syrup that makes the food so cheap. And to the cars, the small (polluting) sports cars I envy. The big old (polluting) cars with duct-taped windows. Cars that remind me that I too am driving a (polluting) car past gas stations where the price of ( polluting) gas is over $4.00 a gallon. On the people going into gas stations that traffic in chips, cigarettes, lottery tickets, soft drinks, and celebrity magazines. ( I don’t buy the magazines, I loiter at the racks reading about Brad and Angelina who I think is beautiful, and Brittany and Paris, Jennifer, Janet, and Madonna.)
These observations of personal and collective despair threaten my yogic optimism. To wax poetic, they threaten to start the landslide from the ever-melting glacier on my inner cold mountain that will plow down the pine trees of my soul to say nothing of the fragile trillium that grow beneath them.
“We practice to become more self-aware, more self-accepting, so that we can move beyond the physical and mental and emotional habits that cause our suffering.” The morning practice, meditation and breathing, I do before heading across University Avenue has been strengthening. That is, it’s becoming more habitual in a good way and more often interesting. It was after meditating that it dawned on me that my dark observations and self-incriminating thoughts were, are, no more, no less, than habits. The lonely exhausted hospital workers won’t start to laugh, the children won’t be happier, the crap-food/ gas dependency, the fantasy magazines and the lottery-thing won’t be replaced by more promising cultural mores because I rail against them in my mind. I could do as the teachers suggest and replace my distraught and compulsive observations with the beautiful Buddhist mantra that wishes all beings happiness and the root of happiness; freedom from suffering and the root of suffering.
Perhaps letting go of my dark litany might actually better fulfill the first of Guru Pitanjali’s commandments, “Ahimsa,” to do no harm. At least I’d lay off my knee-jerk reactions to myself. And perhaps the subtle energy of my less unhappiness would rub off somewhere. Maybe I’d eventually find more energy to contribute somehow, somewhere.
We change slowly. Little by little. But we do change. I wasn’t always sure that was true. My unfolding yoga experience began long ago, but one of it’s precursors was a stint in AA where meetings would end in a circle where we held hands and said the serenity prayer after which we would pump hands and chant, “It works if you work it.”
The yoga teachings also say that no effort is ever wasted. Slowly, step by step, we make our way, integrating everything our souls have ever longed for.
Om Ganeshya Namaha, May our obstacles be removed.
Shelley