Karma yoga focuses on the adherence to duty (dharma) while remaining detached from the reward. ~from Wikipedia

I’m soooo not into Christmas. But it’s a ritual that my family adheres to, and I’m expected to take part. So I do what I can to spend responsibly. I don’t buy outrageously expensive presents, and I try to make them things people actually want, or will like and use. Or experiences – dinner, gold class movie tickets etc.

However, it really doesn’t sit well with me, this spending spree at the end of the year. Just on family members alone, I can end up spending several hundred dollars (especially now that my nieces are here – I am weak when it comes to spending on them!).

This bothers me. And inevitably, all this shopping for Christmas presents leads us to buy ‘presents’ for ourselves, too. I’ve done it.

As if to emphasise the point, I’ve just finished watching Heart of Yoga – a marvellous DVD on Swami Satyananda and the fabulous work he did for the small town Rikhia in India. Did you know that before he established his ashram there, it was one of the poorest towns in India?

The DVD documents the annual Sat Chandi Festival, which is all about love and giving to those in need. It includes plenty of interviews with Swamiji, and also his closest disciples. There are two other sections of the DVD – Satsang (spiritual discussion) and a little footage of the Tantric Panchangi rite that Swamiji performed non-stop for almost a year.

I’ll write up a review of the DVD another time. For now though, I want to focus on the giving aspect.

Swamiji talks about how giving is not the same as charity. And that we should share what we have with others. We should not be stingy. He points out that there are millions of people around the world in need of care and no one is looking after most of them. And that there’s no reason why this should be.

Swamiji was not a rich man. He simply created a community where giving was a part of the culture. And so people came and they gave. As one example, this giving enabled young girls from poor families to get married by providing the all-important dowry, without which Indian girls can not get married (in traditional society).

He says we have to give what people need. That giving must be practical.

Then, I thought about Linda-Sama and her attempt to raise money for the Seva Foundation. She was planning on giving them $108 from each American yogi who signed up to support the Kilimanjaro Center for Community Ophthalmology, in Tanzania.

To help people with sight problems (in terms of Christmas presents, that’s kinda hard to beat, isn’t it?).

Things didn’t quite work out like that – every place on Linda’s retreat was filled by locals in Tanzania. And maybe the Tanzanian yogis needed to be there instead. Who knows? However, that did put a bit of a dampener on Linda’s plans for donations.

BUT – what about me? And you? And you, over there? We can still give.

Even if it’s only $5, $10 or $20. Or if you can manage it, the $108 Linda planned to donate per American yogi.

I tend to think that most people who can afford a place to live, buy clothing and enough food to eat, can afford to give some amount of money to someone else.

So how about it? This Christmas, I’m asking that you share some of your money with others who are less fortunate. Just because you can.

Read Linda’s post about how to donate.

Also, ask other people in your life if they would like to show some Christmas generosity to others, too.

Blessings to you all!

~Svasti

Such a strange weekend, the one that’s just said its farewells with the typical indolence of the underappreciated and often harried. Even marginally less busy than most others in recent months, still I felt its melodramatic sigh as I scurried towards this morning’s tram.

I can sense the tenseness and tentativeness, and a knowing that right now is almost the end of a number of things. But it’s also almost the birth of others. It’s another one of those sandhis, and yet there’s no lapse in activity this time. Rather, everything is swiftly accelerating.

So it seems it’ll just be all go-go-go while the changing of the guard occurs… it’s a churning (once again) as the solstice draws near, marking the slow death of the sun. Which is nothing more than a re-birth in disguise, is it not?

Been reading a bit more about the life of Swamiji, courtesy of @SatyanandaYoga – here’s a handful of interesting posts:

• Childhood Years
• The Discipleship Years under Swami Sivanananda
• The Parivrajaka Years: Wandering Mendicant
• Swami Satyananda: The Mission

I was especially struck by a paragraph from The Parivrajaka Years (third link):

…Once he was roaming about in a town which he had never visited before. Feeling tired and hungry, he approached the shopkeeper of a large shop and said, “Hari Om.” The shopkeeper replied, “Go away. Find someone else to feed you. Young man begging, have you no shame? Learn to work.” His devotees would be very upset to hear about such treatment, but Swamiji, being unmoved by both praise and blame, would just laugh…

I pray for that state of attainment. That view of the world where neither praise nor blame is important. Where non-duality isn’t just a concept, but a permanent way of being in the world.

For now it’s like speckles of sunlight through the trees – present, but not my moment-to-moment experience. Not yet, anyway. Not until I walk out into the sunlight, eventually, when I find the way…

I bring this up because I’m having to contend (yes, I know, it sounds like the wrong word, isn’t it?) with someone seeking out my company in a way I’m not really used to anymore.

I’m not talking about romance here. Just a person being friendly. Wanting to get to know me. Alright, full disclosure: a person of the opposite gender. And that, well… it is still very much a struggle for me.

It’s been four years since I was assaulted, and now I’m pretty darn functional in most ways. I’m doing very well, even if I say so myself. Especially this year, which has included some of my worst lows, as well as this ever-present and miraculous path of opening.

But it bugs me sometimes that I’m able to meditate and do yoga, and study wonderful books on various yogic topics, and get the whole non-duality thing and even have some experience of what that’s like… and then sometimes I’m still like a frightened rabbit around strange men.

Because right now, I still see difference instead of non-difference.

Probably it’s because I haven’t practiced that whole letting people in thing too much. Mostly, I haven’t had to. But then when I have, it hasn’t really worked out too well.

Mostly I’ve lived like a monk – no contact, not even trying. There were three exceptions to that rule, and none of them were good. There’s also been the odd platonic friend or two that I trusted, but later discovered they weren’t the best ideas I’ve ever had. My view in this respect has been heavily compromised.

Okay, there have been a couple of good eggs – others like me, finding their way out as best they can. And they are still people I count on (they know who they are!!). Thank goodness for them! But they’re kinda different, because they’re in the same boat.

So in response, I’ve grown this reticence – not allowing people to get too close – especially men. It was very necessary for me, to survive living with PTSD. I had to create boundaries, as much to keep myself in one piece as to keep others at bay.

But I don’t need that iron-clad cloak any more. Yet it won’t be shrugged off as easily as that!

So when on Saturday afternoon, the proprietor of my favourite local cafe came over for a chat… it was a bit dicey for a moment there. I mean, it took me at least three weeks of brunch every weekend before I’d look him in the eye as I paid my bill. This, despite absolutely loving the food, music, the way the place is decorated and so on… it’s still not easy for me to be more than polite to a complete stranger of the male persuasion.

There’s a fear that arises when someone reaches out. It’s not rational. It doesn’t even relate to what happened the night I was assaulted.

And this is strange for me, because I am fierce and brave in almost all aspects of my life. But not in this way.

Once the afternoon trade slowed, he sat down next to me for a chat. I froze for a moment. But then one of his mates arrived, and suddenly I was invited to join them for a beer. And what a beer – White Rabbit – a sumptuous local dark ale. Followed by a Czech beer with a distinct honey-ish after-taste (mmmm!).

And we were talking, swapping stories and learning things about each other. And not because he was trying to hit on me. He is just a genuinely nice man, who was busy explaining the passion and magic that goes into creating his cafe and why he does what he does.

He seems to like me. As a person to hang out with. He doesn’t want anything from me, but to get to know one of his loyal customers and be on friendly terms. I suspect the drinks would’ve kept on flowing if I’d stayed. I turned down a third as it was!

I feel welcome at his establishment. I feel liked and appreciated beyond the money I spend eating the divine food that emanates from his kitchen.

And that is strange to me. And I get that it’s strange for it to feel strange. It shouldn’t feel strange when someone offers genuine friendliness, should it?

Then I read how Swamiji laughed at the shopkeeper who berated him for being a wandering sadhu. I get that the limitations of a person’s view can keep them in a place of judgement on others. Like mine have.

My (sub-conscious) judgement has been that men are not safe or honest and I can’t trust them (all good reasons to keep them at arms length). Which is quite unfair, of course. And a rather exaggerated response to the many resulting from the actions of just one.

But I see how my view of friendly relations has collapsed, where a line of innocent questions have in the past, led to terror. Structurally this view has no integrity, that is clear.

And there are demands for change and they want to be heard.

So I didn’t run. Instead, I took several deep breaths and I laughed at myself for feeling out of place in this spontaneous moment of camaraderie.

And enjoyed the sunshine and the beer.

~Svasti

Towards the end of the class now, and I’m exhausted. Shadow Yoga always does that. Often I feel like I want to puke. Or cry. Or fall on the ground in a heap. Or all of those things put together.

Every movement is both not enough and too much. I can’t find the way to stop the ache in my body, but I’d rather not stop. If only my legs wouldn’t shake.

We need a bolster each and I stand taller than ever, gliding over to the props. The soles of my feet are tingling, but not in that pins and needles way. More in the every-part-of-my-body-feels-vibrantly-alive-and-yet-its-my-feet-that-feel-it-the-most kinda way.

They all look the same more or less. Long and roundish. Some blue, some lavender. And yet I notice I’m searching for the one I want above all others. Which strikes me as absurd. Still, in the mass of sameness, I crave differentness. I crave my preference. I seem to have some idea of what that preference is, despite a complete lack of distinguishing features from one to the next.

And then we lie over our bolsters, feet on a block, shoulders on the ground and relax. And I couldn’t care less.

That bolster-want was superfluous, of course. Redundant, but noisy nonetheless. And if I’d allowed myself to listen, I could’ve driven myself nuts and/or missed another minute or two of relaxation. It’s a tiny bit of insanity, is it not? To care about which bolster among so many is the best one for me?

Some would say that desire for a bolster is the same as the desire for enlightenment and understanding one’s essence nature…

There’s a searingly profound honesty in this yoga. Or perhaps it’s doing this kind of yoga at this specific time in my life? Or both? Anyway, it’s hard work and not just physically.

Every movement challenges what I think I know about myself because it’s all so unusual, supremely physical and requiring me to think about my body in ways I normally don’t.

Much of what we do churns the spinal column from the base of the skull to the tail bone and in so doing, churns those other hidden repositories of emotion and fear. The fear plays out in what my mind allows my body to do or not do. The emotion spews forth in the volume of my perspiration, and how often I feel like I’m about to vomit tears onto the floorboards.

Afterwards, it takes all I have to float down the studio stairs and out into the day…

~Svasti

Thanks to Sevapuri (@yidl) for pointing me towards this stunningly beautiful sankalpa (see below), these photos sent out via the Mangrove Mountain Ashram in Australia, and this lovely post of the writer’s experience meeting Satyananda in person (a post that’s well worth reading).

And also, thanks to Linda-Sama for sharing this marvellous looking DVD with me: Yoga of the Heart, featuring Swami Satyananda (I’ve purchased it, and will do a review here some time!).

These are my guru’s words to his students on hearing the news of Swamiji’s passing:

When a great master leaves his body it is not a time to be sad but a time to rejoice. We can give up the fruits of our practice for his quick transition in the clear light. It is important to pray that he will be re-born quickly so that he may continue to be a blessing for all beings.

He also wanted to remind us:

…about feeling the immense gratitude for Swamiji’s presence in the parampara and that to show true gratitude is not to be sad of his passing but to realize the fruits of the practices that he has passed down to all of us so that we may too be a source of grace and inspiration for all beings.

Swamiji’s sankalpa

I am an invisible child of a thousand faces of love,
That floats over the swirling sea of life,
Surrounded by the meadows of the winged shepherds,
Where divine love and beauty,
The stillness of midnight summer’s warmth pervades.

Life often cuts at my body and mind
And though blood may be seen passing,
And a cry might be heard,
Do not be deceived that sorrow could dwell within my being
Or suffering within my soul.
There will never be a storm
That can wash the path from my feet,
The direction from my heart,
The light from my eyes,
Or the purpose from this life.

I know that I am untouchable to the forces
As long as I have a direction, an aim, a goal:
To serve, to love, and to give.
Strength lies in the magnification of the secret qualities
Of my own personality, my own character
And though I am only a messenger,
I am me.

Let me decorate many hearts
And paint a thousand faces with colours of inspiration
And soft, silent sounds of value.
Let me be like a child,
Run barefoot through the forest
Of laughing and crying people,
Giving flowers of imagination and wonder,
That God gives free.
Shall I fall on bended knees,
And wait for someone to bless me
With happiness and a life of golden dreams?

No, I shall run into the desert of life with my arms open,
Sometimes falling, sometimes stumbling,
But always picking myself up,
A thousand times if necessary,
Sometimes happy.
Often life will burn me,
Often life will caress me tenderly
And many of my days will be haunted
With complications and obstacles,
And there will be moments so beautiful
That my soul will weep in ecstasy.

I shall be a witness,
But never shall I run
Or turn from life, from me.

Never shall I forsake myself
Or the timeless lessons I have taught myself,
Nor shall I let the value
Of divine inspiration and being be lost.
My rainbow-covered bubble will carry me
Further than beyond the horizon’s settings,
Forever to serve, to love, and to live
As a sannyasin.

~Swami Satyananda Saraswati

There is something in that for all of us! Reading those words, I find myself melting and dropping all of my pretence and struggle. Even if only momentarily. So, I’ve decided I will create a poster of the sankalpa with photos of Swamiji – something to hang up in my home and re-read often, to be continually inspired!

For those who know the mahamrityunjaya and if you feel inclined, it would be good to do some rounds of this mantra and dedicate them to Swamiji.

~Svasti

“Let the inner lamp grow brighter and brighter. Let the old leaves wither away. Lets the clouds subside. Let the great light prevail. Let the divine force rejoice in thee.”
~ Paramahamsa Satyananda Saraswati (Book of Rikhiapeeth 2009)

He took mahasamadhi on 5^th December 2009, reportedly he was found in padmasana. According to reports, his last words to Swami Shivpur Saraswati were: “I see flowers from the cottage where I lie”.

Though I was never privileged to meet him, Swamiji (Paramahamsa Satyananda) has been a part of my life for many years.

He is my guru’s guru and as such I’ve heard innumerable tales of my guru’s time with him, and his photo is on my altar (along with my guru’s and also Swamiji‘s guru Swami Sivananda), as well as others around my house. I have many Bihar School of Yoga books by Swamiji and those of his disciples.

Swamiji was one of the greatest yogis of this era. But he was no “rock star” guru. Although he spent twenty or so years teaching in the West and established the Bihar School of Yoga, he was never in the game of becoming famous.

Instead, once he’d fulfilled his gurudakshina, he retired from public life to focus on his practice in private, for the benefit of all beings.

The stories of Swamiji’s early life are quite legendary – the sorts of things that cause skeptics to snort derisively. It is said that he had to learn to fully inhabit his physical form, unlike most humans who need to learn to work up from the densest tattwas. He spent his teen years learning Kundalini yoga and at age nineteen he met his guru, Swami Sivananda in 1943.

In 1973, Swamiji was recognised as an Adept/mahasiddha (God realized Yogi). Some people have reportedly seen evidence of this, including that of the ability to produce two physical bodies in different places at the same time. As well as touring and teaching in the West, Swamiji also established various charitable organisations including Sivananda Math in 1984.

His physical age at the time of his passing was 86 although once a being becomes a mahasiddha, it is said their birth is erased: never born, never died.

The most interesting experiences I’ve had with Swamiji have been while sitting at my altar, meditating… it’s a little hard to explain any further than that…

And of course, he was my guru’s guru. Although my guru is not a part of the BSY organisation, he benefitted directly via teachings from Swamiji as well as Swami Naranjananda. It is through those teachings that I have come to the path of the dharma.

So I have a great deal of gratitude and love for Swamiji.

Given my recent guest posts, I realised I was unclear that much of my last eight or so years studying yoga have not been strongly focused on asana. But more the other aspects of yoga – meditation and philosophy. We learned asana of course, but it was never the “main meal”, so to speak. It’s only been in the last couple of years that I decided to take a more serious interest in asana.

Despite Swamij’s lack of interest in fame, is surprising to me that so few westerners know who he was/is. That Yoga Nidra thing you might’ve heard about or even used yourself? You have Swamiji to thank for that. He ressurected it as a practice and as a result, it became well known. His book on Yoga Nidra is well worth reading if you get the chance.

Swamiji was and is a great master of yoga – a true and authentic being whose eyes always seem to overflow with love and compassion.

This video is a recording of Swamiji’s voice, singing the Shanti Path mantra.

May all beings dwell in happiness. May all beings dwell in peace. May all beings attain oneness. May all beings attain auspiciousness.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti!

It is said that when a mahasiddha takes a conscious passing, that he never really dies – make of that what you will…

~Svasti

Today’s post is not here. Rather, it’s a piece I wrote for Linda’s Yoga Journey.

It’s my response to a whole bunch of stuff that’s been going down on Yoga Dork and Elephant Journal. Linda-Sama, one of my yoga sisters (who agreed with what I was saying when many didn’t), invited me to write a guest post.

Took me a couple of weeks to work out what I wanted to say. Topically, it’s very yoga-related.

It’s a two-parter titled “I don’t know how old yoga is, and neither do you”.

• Read part 1
• Read part 2

Please do check it out, and stay to read more of Linda’s musings. Coz she’s awesome!

~Svasti

I’ve large feet, but apparently not as large as they should be (anatomically speaking) for my height of 179cm (or 5’ 10.5”). They are an Australian size 9½ which is a 41 (European) and 8½ (US).

They are my father’s feet: weird squiggly toes and plenty of calluses that I get smoothed down whenever I have a pedicure.

They’ve carried me to many places around the world: Egypt, Chile, England, Wales, Orkney Islands, New Zealand, America, Bali and Thailand. They’ve trekked through dessert sands, snorkelled on the Great Barrier Reef, climbed dormant volcanoes, skied many an alp, belly-danced all over Sydney, walked dogs, taken part in the Sydney City to Surf, swum thousands of kilometres… they’ve done a lot for me, these feet.

And yet, it seems I do not trust them as I should.

Have I taken them for granted? Have I assumed limitations for them that do not exist? Am I wary of what they can and can’t do, and am I afraid to find out?

It’s true; they’ve let me down in the past. Or perhaps it was me that did the letting down? There’s been two broken toes in their history (both on the left foot – little toe, then the one next to the big toe), one bone graft (see photo), and several sprained ankles. They’ve suffered abuse as all dancer’s feet do. They’ve coped as well as they could given my high instep.

And actually, they still make awesome ballet pointed feet, even today. Which was always a bonus as a synchronised swimmer, back in the day…

But now I understand that I don’t have complete faith in my feet. Which, when you think about it, means I don’t have complete faith in myself. But of course!

Last Sunday in Shadow Yoga we began to learn another part of the Balakrama form. You can see a little bit of the series in the video of Emma Balnaves, below…

Unfortunately it cuts off just before you get to see Chakri. Which is performed with the legs in horse stance, and requires you to rotate your upper body in a revolving circle. Dipping the upper body forward and down, between the legs and back up again. All the while, keeping the legs in horse stance.

In case you’re wondering, it’s not easy to get it right. But it is far easier than I thought it was. At first, I relied very much on my upper body and core strength to complete the circle. I don’t think I was the only one.

Our instructor corrected the class with words we hear often in Shadow Yoga: Plant your awareness in your feet.

Then perform Chakri! And oh, the lightness in the body! The smoothness of my circles compared with how they had been!

All I had to do was allow my body to rest in my feet completely. Doh!

More evidence is to be found in my attempts to perfect Vahni, which is in the opening sequence of the video clip. Here’s a screen grab so you can get a better look…

In Vahni, you are sitting on your back heel. This is what anchors the pose. Thus far, it’s the hardest part of my Shadow Yoga practice (of course, what we each find challenging varies with our different bodies, strengths and flexibility).

Sometimes I can do it and others I find I’m still holding onto a block either side of my body as I struggle to find my balance.

But I learned something last weekend: I don’t have a balance problem at all, if I allow the weight of my body to sit more fully on my back heel.

Right now when I do that, it feels almost like I’m going to fall over. But then I don’t fall; instead I’m sitting on my heel. And Vahni (the flame), is steady.

While it feels as though I’m leaning back, really, I’m just becoming more upright. My weight shifts onto my heel and I am vertical.

But a lifetime of leaning forward has pushed my sense of vertical off-center. I’m perfectly fine with standing, of course. But balance poses (as I’ve mentioned before) have always been a bit vexatious for me.

It’s been both a physical and emotional leaning forward. Physically, because I was always head and shoulders above my friends from age twelve. And because I got very busty, very quickly: something that’s caused many back problems over the years. Emotionally, because the first instinct for someone in pain is to curl up in a ball. Our shoulders hunch forward and we seek comfort by making ourselves small and round.

Shadow Yoga is fascinating because it seems like the “under the hood” version of yoga. Like how a boy with his new bike will take it apart so he can see how to put it back together. This is my experience of Shadow Yoga thus far, in all its primal and intense expressions.

Its true, my balance has improved this year, and really, really improved in the last couple of months… since I started Shadow Yoga.

Still, in Vahni and Chakri I have troubles. Because they are looking through the magnifying glass at tiny details, and absolutely it breaking down. So I can see.

And what I see is that my balance issues are directly proportional to the faith I place in my feet and myself. Do I trust myself not to fall? Do I believe in the strength of my body and mind?

These kinds of realisations are one of the many miracles of yoga. And its amazing how such a light bulb moment can change your entire practice instantaneously. And then, how your practice then extends out into your life!

As has been said many times, yoga was never meant to be solely an ‘on the mat’ practice…

~Svasti

P.S. Pun fully intended.

I accidentally sat down on my poor little niece on Sunday!

She’d been sitting next to me when I stood up for some-reason-or-other. Stealthily, she moved over to where I was sitting without saying a thing! Then I went to sit back down without looking behind me…

Tears!

When you’re two years and eight months old, having your thirty-seven year old aunty sit down on you – even if it’s only for seconds – is quite the shock, I’d imagine.

She wasn’t injured. But those beautiful long and dark brown lashes drowned in the backwash of her tears, and her deep dark chocolate puddle eyes were entombed in a layer of moisture.

So I picked her up and gave her many hugs and kisses. Told her how very sorry I was. Checked she was okay. Still, she cried.

Then I asked her what I could do to make things better, suggesting a game of chasey around the house (she loves chasing/being chased).

Immediately the tears dried up and she shouted “Yes!!!”.

So we played chasey. Several times. And there were tickles. More cuddles and kisses. Laughter.

And it was over. Forgotten.

Sometimes I wish that as fully grown humans, we could retain the ability to move on just like that… to just drop our shit and get on with life.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Seems to me, that’s kinda part of what yoga is about. Or something like that.

~Svasti

Haven’t been talking much about my yoga teacher training here. Which surprises me; thought I’d be writing about it a lot more than I have! And here we are, a month from the end and I’m almost qualified (hooray!).

Yet, I feel a little remiss. I could have shared more here. In some ways I’ve wanted to. But much of it has felt so very personal. So interior. Like my body has been drip feeding secrets to my mind. So I haven’t been in a place to share, because I’m still getting it myself.

Huge day today though.

Including a MASSIVE session on inversions. So we can learn how to teach them, as well as checking our progress.

And yeah. We did Every. Inversion. Going.

Or tried to. Couldn’t quite cut it with Scorpion/forearm balance. But it was right at the end, by which time I was pretty zonked.

*Yawns!*

Excitingly, we learned a new way to teach headstand that allows for a free-standing pose, but with support so it doesn’t seem so freaky. Well, it’s a new teaching method to me, anyway!

The following is a description of what I learned.

But please: if you aren’t familiar with headstand, please don’t try this without a yoga teacher around!

Sit in dandasana with your feet flat against wall. Place a blanket where your knees are, so that its a lower leg distance away. Which means your starting position is near, but not right next to the wall.

Come onto your hands and knees. Elbows are one forearm distance apart (cross your arms to check the distance). Hands are clasped, forming a triangle with your elbows. Both wrists and elbows press firmly into the floor. The crown of the head is cupped by the hands. Walk your feet towards your head, making sure you are balancing on the crown of the head, not too far forward or back.

When you’re ready, kick or raise the feet up to touch the wall. The knees are bent (behind your body). Then practice lifting one leg off the wall at a time, so the leg is vertical and aligned with your body. Keep pressing into the elbows, the head and forearms must bear the weight evenly. Eventually work up to both legs off the wall and above the head, which requires core stability, strength and balance. The good thing is, the wall is always there to keep you safe! Which helps people overcome fear of falling, a limiting factor when attempting headstand.

Cool! And today, using this method I achieved the best headstand I’ve done to date!

Then… my turn to teach a practice class and receive constructive feedback. I’d invited a friend to join us, someone who isn’t as familiar with asana as my fellow students. Gotta make sure I can teach real beginners!

Putting the class program together was kinda dream-like. Actually, part of it did come together in my waking dream! I’ve written a few programs already, and it seems to get easier every time. So at 6am this morning (it’s been a busy week!) I woke, and in my demi-somnambulant state arrived a few visuals. Or perhaps they were thoughts? It’s a little hard to say.

Anyway. Class time. My fellow students and I were pretty exhausted from the inversions so I decided to mellow it up a little. Slow it down. And out it flowed.

Somewhere in there, about three quarters through, maybe in Pigeon pose, ethereal whispers wafted into the room. Like a just out of earshot conversation, but really, addressed to me. No one in the class was talking, that’s not what I mean…

Snippets of comprehension flowed into my body, but not my mind. The gist being something like: THIS is why you’re doing it!

As in, why I’m becoming a yoga teacher. Can’t say I’ve got a handle on that just yet. I didn’t quite plan it this way, yet here I am. And why? I’ve asked myself, but don’t have any honest answers.

I mean, why does the world need yet another yoga teacher? And why me? I was happy enough being a long term student of yoga in all its facets. I’ve never felt a desire to teach before, not really.

My body knows more than I do, though. It’s become the great furnace to process and reduce the dross, outputting refined and gleaming metal. So… guess I’ll find out when my body sees fit to release its secrets.

Its okay, I can wait…

Til then, it’s enough to know my class was enjoyed. That I guided people to a deep state of relaxation. That my friend felt “great” afterwards, compared to how she felt before. It’s a start, right?

And despite my lack of self-confidence for a good three quarters of this year, despite the heavy events that have threatened to sink me to the bottom of the ocean, somehow I am becoming a yoga teacher.

Even if I’m not quite sure how that came to be!

~Svasti

In the treacly syrup of therapy sessions that I waded through last year (and earlier this year), I’ve endlessly tormented myself with a clutch of seemingly unanswerable questions.

Why did this (assault/PTSD/depression) happen? To me? Why did I have such a strong reaction to it given it was a single incident? Why was I having such a hard time “getting over it”?

I had no answers. My therapist suggested that if it was important, we could address it later on. That there might not be any ready answers and in fact, worrying about the why just then was counter-productive to getting on with the healing process.

She was right. So we moved on to other topics, but I did keep returning to them for regular self-flagellation. I should have known better, right? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

We want answers. When something unthinkable happens, especially when it’s personal… we want to draw a logical line from point A to point B and say Ah!!! So THAT’S why!

I suspect that in our hurry to understand why, we create reasons. And then, people tell us things like: Everything happens for a reason. Or… Something positive has to come out of this.

People might even suggest a reason or two of their own. Good people. Well meaning people.

But it doesn’t help.

Rarely will someone say those kind of things about positive life experiences. We don’t ponder (not too much anyway) why we met our life partner, or why we get to travel, or win the lottery…

And to be honest, I don’t know if everything that happens in this world (and to us personally), has to have a reason. Maybe what we think of as “the reason” is not even the real reason. If there is a reason beyond general randomness!

After all, the universe has the capacity for randomness. So perhaps that’s the real reason that seemingly senseless things happen. Perhaps they just are senseless.

Can we live with that? Sometimes, and then sometimes not…

Over at Michele’s blog, we considered the idea that perhaps the reason doesn’t matter in the end (read the comments).

Perhaps.

Although there might not be exact reasons, there’s definitely contributing factors to certain events. Influences that led you to be where you are. Again, there’s no real proof that these actually cause an event to occur. Or not.

Whatever.

Lately, I’ve been considering my pre-disposition towards abusive relationships. All kinds. Friendships, lovers, family. And I do think that pre-disposition was a contributing factor that led to me being involved with a physically violent person.

Basically, it seems I’ve put up with people treating me poorly for many years. [Note: not that I'm perfect, or that I've never treated other people badly. I'm not saying that.]

Which is related of course, to poor self-image/self-worth. Similarly, the next level of waging war – in addition to beating ourselves up – is to extend the war to others. And this shows up as abusive behaviour between people. Often it goes both ways. Starting within our family, of course.

Parent to child. Sibling to sibling. Child to friends. Friends to child. And so on. The circle continues to widen.

Much of my young life featured what I’ll call “low-level” abuse on an emotional and physical level. I used to think it was normal for people to be nice to me one day, and horribly upset with me the next as a repeating cycle. There was the bitching, the withholding of affection, the physical violence, regular screaming matches, being given the silent treatment for months on end and bring threatened with abandonment.

To be clear, its not that I think any of the above is particularly unusual. Actually, I think it’s the status quo in a lot of families, and almost accepted as normal even.

But it’s not normal. This is abuse.

We get used to treating other people badly, and being treated badly ourselves. Of course, there are more extreme situations, with children being molested or otherwise mistreated. But the more casual forms of abuse are important, too. Perhaps because they’re so very ubiquitous.

Possibly, growing up like that doesn’t bother everyone. At a minimum the impact would be the way people mimic abuse that was visited on them – they deal what they were dealt.

But for those who are extra-sensitive or vulnerable or otherwise naive (like I was), it can be a disaster.

When I consider the relationships and friendships I’ve had/have, it’s clear to me that I seek peaceful and harmonious relations with others. Well, that’s what I want, but it’s not always what I’ve been attracted to. Certainly for the most part, it’s not what I’ve attracted into my life. Until recent times, anyway.

Maybe that’s one of the great learnings for me – seeing just how much abuse I allow myself to put up with (not to mention the abuse I’ve dished out in return), and why. It wasn’t a one-shot deal though. It’s something I’ve continued to learn about, especially this year.

For example…

I was trying to be friends with someone who didn’t really want to reciprocate. Like a puppy dog, I wanted to be liked. I bent over backwards to be nice to this person. I gave them things. I spent money I didn’t have to do things for them.

In return, there seemed to be a friendship developing. Even if it was uneven. Even if, from time to time, this person decided to take offense at something I’d said and chuck a temper tantrum about it, way out of proportion to the actual event. Even if they gave me the silent treatment from time to time. They still encouraged me to rely on them. And so I did.

Because I wanted to be friends, exhausting as it was.

This was an abusive friendship – both ways. But I stuck it out until in the end, after we’d both torn shreds off each other. And by then it was clear: I was barking up the wrong tree. This situation came about because really, that person never wanted to be my friend in the first place.

If only I could’ve seen the other person’s abusive reactions for what they were – a cryptic message to back the hell off! But because I was used to accepting abusive behaviour, I didn’t.

This time, the end result wasn’t a physical assault. But it was an assault on my heart and self-esteem.

And I think (and hope) it was the final wake up call.

I don’t want to be abusive towards others, and as a yogini I’m working towards stripping these tendencies away from how I move about in this world.

Equally, I don’t want to be friends with people who treat me badly.

Just maybe then, that is the reason why? In the end. Or perhaps it’s just a by-product? Either way, it’s a good piece of knowledge to have on this journey.

~Svasti