A teacher-y thing

Tags

arthritis, Asana, balasana, belly dancing, carpal tunnel, gut instinct, mis-matched socks, modified asana, observation skills, sun salutations, teacher-y thing, Yoga, yoga teaching

Apparently there’s this teacher-y thing that happens when one starts teaching yoga. Which I didn’t notice until I’d taught my first class. Teaching is a doing and a demonstrating activity, but also requires observation skills and an ability to translate what is observed into words and actions. Teaching relies on gut instinct, too.

I did a spot of teaching belly dancing about six years ago, but I never really noticed it then. This teacher-y thing.

And so far, I’ve had a grand total of five bods through the door in two different classes (if you remember, no one showed up to the first class!). Not a lot, but seems like that’s enough to get things going.

Had a bit of a plan for last Saturday’s class, based on some of what I’d observed my students doing the previous one. Not that I can expect too many repeat customers. I do have one though. She came back this week and I was excited to see her! Also, this week I had a guy join the class, all coughing fits and mis-matched socks and truckloads of concentration that prompted me to say: Soften the face, the belly, the arms, the hands, the heart…

I don’t ask where these people come from exactly. I know they or their social worker or someone has read an ad placed in various drop in centres around St Kilda on my behalf. I figure the rest doesn’t really matter as long as they’re happy to turn up and do a little breathing and moving with me.

So even though it wasn’t the same line up of students (I hadn’t expected it to be), my class plan was inspired by the previous class.

First part was simply planning to do less. I mean, we didn’t get through my entire class plan anyway, so it was time for a readjustment in that respect. This is a very beginner-y group, after all.

The second part was getting people to do some work at the wall. Asking them to start noticing their body a little more, and which part of the feet they’re placing their weight on. Insides? Outsides? Ball of the foot? Heel of the foot? Is one hip higher than the other? Is the spine a bit twisted? Are the shoulders rounded forward? And doing some sanding asana at the wall to really accentuate that awareness by seeing what touched the wall as they moved. Or how their weight distribution changed.

So that was cool. Then I introduced the class to sun salutations. A basic version that drops the knees to the mat and then into balasana before coming forward into upward facing dog. Gently does it with people that find down-dog and touching their toes to be challenging!

But I also had to create a REALLY modified version of sun salutes for one student (full disclosure: a friend of mine who was there to pad out the numbers). She has quite a nasty case of carpal tunnel, and also, arthritis in her toes. So too much weight on the wrists or the balls of the feet is just not good for her.

Just like Linda’s and Rachel’s recent posts on the myth of “perfect asana”, I wanted to find a way for my student/friend to experience sun salutations without all sorts of crazy pain.

What we devised between us (I needed her feedback to ensure it was doable) was sun salutations that used forearms instead of hands and kneeling instead of feet. So down dog was like balasana but with hips in the air (thighs at a 90 degree angle to the floor) and forearms reaching forward. Sphinx replaced up-dog. Transitions were on her forearms and knees, too. The rest she could manage. And as long as there was a focus on the breath and finding a flow to the movement, it worked for her just fine!

Funny thing is, she’d been to my practice classes when I was doing my teacher training and had never mentioned how much physical pain she was in. She didn’t think of explaining it to me until afterwards. She also didn’t think of not doing what the person leading the class asked her to do, regardless of her physical discomfort.

Which is interesting in itself. Students won’t always be honest about how they feel/what pain they’re in for unexplained reasons. That’s a good to know, right?

This teacher-y thing I mentioned? Well, it’s all of the above. To summarise, seems like it’s a sort of hyper-awareness of one’s students. Of what their needs might appear to be – which won’t necessarily be what is actually needed. And a responsibility to help people explore, learn more about their body and themselves in the process.

Also, I realised that mirroring (saying “take your left leg back” while demonstrating with my right) isn’t as hard as I’d previously thought. Well, sort of. As long as I look at the limb I’m talking about, I can manage to say the opposite one!

Finally, here’s something else I noticed. As a teacher, it’s very easy to infect the class with my state of mind. So, if I’m all about concentrating on saying the right things, not screwing up, and being precise… then I’ll have a very focused and probably quite tense group of people on my hands. But if I loosen up, and add in instructions like: Now take both the left and right corners of your mouth and turn them upwards…

Then they’re gonna have a bit more fun. And so will I. Yeah. 😀

~Svasti

Involuntary actions – Epilogue

Tags

ashamed, bad relationship choices, belly dancing, crescendo of disaster, epilogue, indelibly ragged scars, Meditation, naivety, rock bottom, six sheets to the wind, snaggle-toothed, Wake up, Yoga

[Read part 1, part 2, part 3 & part 4 first]

There is and never was anything I could do about it – then or now. I could never really remember enough to feel traumatised, just vaguely disturbed. Also… I tell myself there’s a possibility that I enjoyed and participated in whatever happened, six sheets to the wind and complete memory failure notwithstanding.

Sure I was vulnerable and stupidly so, given I’d allowed myself to be isolated like that. But they’d paid for a service and perhaps as far as they were concerned, they simply got their money’s worth?

I can only acknowledge those things – that they happened. That I was once a very scared and sad young girl who grew up in a family that did their best given their own long-standing wounds. And that I was woefully under-prepared and paid a very steep price for my wilfulness.

But I think I did my best too, despite my naivety. Fiercely independent and yet operating without a sense of self-worth or the necessary cynicism required to protect myself from the world I insisted on participating in.

If I’d written about this even just a couple of years ago, I don’t think I could’ve looked at what happened in the way I do now.

And though I don’t believe that something positive always has to come out of every negative experience (why should it?), I can see that hitting absolute rock bottom, completely losing all sense of who I thought I was and what I thought life was meant to be about… well, that pried open a lot of doors that’d previously been dead-bolted shut.

I can’t honestly draw a straight line from my early experiences as a mixed up kid, through to being assaulted and terrorised and sinking deeply into a very painful time emotionally and mentally. But perhaps there’s a dotted line or two there with a few bends and swirls? And I can look at the crescendo of disaster I was faced with and think… well, perhaps this WAS the biggest flag that could be waved in my face asking me to STOP.

Just stop doing and thinking in the ways I had been. Stop treating myself with so little love and respect. And, if I wasn’t going to make those changes for myself, if I couldn’t see how to make that happen or even see the need… why then I was gonna get some help, like it or not. Unfortunately, the sort of help I needed was to tear everything down, take it all a part and re-build.

For so many years I was desperately ashamed of myself. Of what’d happened to me. Of the choices I’d made. And although the outcomes of my wildness were relatively minor they still marked me with indelibly ragged scars. I could see them even if no one else could and they are still there today, even if they mean different things now… (I’m sorry to report, there’s another as yet untold story here which occurred a couple of years after this one. More to tell some time I guess! Later, but not now…)

For most of my life, I felt compelled to come clean with those closest to me – friends and lovers. But it was always storytelling with a tightly regulated filter. For my lovers I’d play up the sexy angle, making it sound fun and flirty (the reality was never anything like that!) and mostly they didn’t try to learn more than what was offered. For friends, I skimmed over certain facts and framed it as being very much in the past. But it wasn’t you know – guilt and shame persistently claimed space in my lungs and refused to let me breathe clean, untainted air.

Inhale regret and confusion… exhale humiliation and low self-worth…

While I only told partial tales, I’d delude myself into believing I’d been brutally honest and that people accepted me as I was, warts and all. I think I came close to telling the full story only once. It was probably the “lite” version though, with the less savoury parts tagging along silently.

So believe it or not – this is actually the very first time I’ve ever delivered the no-holds-barred-objectionably-ugly-I’m-soooo-not-the-hero story, as closely as I can recall. And, the only reason I feel I can do that is my somewhat snaggle-toothed veil of anonymity.

What’s brilliantly clear to me now is that I allowed my messed up teenage years to set the stage for most of the rest of my life. I felt worthless, stupid (for putting myself in so much danger), unlovable (who’d want to love someone like me?) and confused (no idea what to do with myself). I knew I was intelligent but I didn’t feel smart enough to figure out how to turn my life around.

Instead, I ran. Ran away from home, away from my brother and family, ran interstate, away from mistakes that made me feel like a fool and most of all I ran from myself.

Luckily I ran in the right direction though and enough blessings came into my life so that despite everything, I’ve been fortunate. Like discovering belly dancing and knowing immediately it was something I’d be good at (and I was)! It gifted me with a sexual confidence that didn’t make me feel like a whore. And I met my guru – one of the single most significant events in my life, which gave me a renewed spiritual confidence that who I am is no different to the very forces that create this universe.

These events (and others) changed the course of my life and gave me some authority, independence and confidence in myself once again and/or for the very first time.

However, it seems I’ve almost consistently made bad choices about men and relationships. Perhaps it’s because I believed I didn’t deserve any better? For example, I was just twenty-four and in London with my soon-to-be fiancé. I was desperately in love but so very afraid that he’d leave me once he figured out I wasn’t good enough for him. [*present-Self rolls eyes*]

And that’s the same reason I accepted other relationships that were never right for me in the first place – because it was someone paying attention to me, telling me I was special and worthwhile, showing interest in me when I simply didn’t feel like anyone could or would.

Fortunately I’m beyond thinking such horrible things about myself these days (well, mostly). And in no small part that’s due to the process of healing I’ve been going through in the last few years… this whole thing has certainly made me WAKE UP!

Not straight away. Not easily. Not without much misery and pain, almost more than I could bare.

But I was lucky. All along I had yoga, meditation, an amazing teacher and gorgeous teachings that showed me there was a bigger picture where the crappy things I believed about myself and the world weren’t true. Even if I couldn’t relate any of those things to myself yet, I knew there was more to reality than my present experience. And that helps.

I can’t ever say that I’m proud of some of the things I did. But I’ve come to a place where I don’t judge myself or others in my life with such a harsh finality any more. I did what I did and I was fortunate to get out of it all so lightly. Yet there’s no point dragging around a palette of toxic greys and blacks, tainting my life with ugliness from so many years ago.

My heart is now open to both myself and other people! I’m not saying I’m perfect or enlightened or that I’ve learned everything I’ll ever need to know. I expect and hope I never stop learning, in fact. And who knows how things might look if I ever end up in a relationship again! Good grief!

But I guess I am saying… this is where I’m at. This is where I’ve found myself (in more ways than one). I embrace that younger version of myself. I accept that she did the best she could. And I know that for better or worse, her story is also mine. It might’ve taken a while to see relatively clearly, but here I am.

~Svasti

History of a spiritual quest – part v

Tags

animal familiars, belly dancing, Canberra, fork in the road, Guru, Kali, Pagan, paganism, Pagans in the Pub, run-away stream, rune reading as an oracle, Runes, satin, shamanic, spirit journeying, spiritual quest, trance work, Vedic astrology, velvet, Vimshottari Dashas, weapons training

[Read part i, part ii, part iii, & part iv]

Now that I look at it, the path that leads to where I stand (for the moment anyway), has been this kind of run-away stream. For the most part of its own accord, it’s flowed merrily back to source with little direction from me. For a long time I simply followed the path of least resistance, come what may.

I was not purposeful, not imbued with a sense of knowing where I was going. Just had a gut instinct about where I had to get to. Like to like, I floated along – sometimes easily, others not – and with great surprise and yet no surprise, found myself at the beginning of where I’d meant to get to all along.

But growing up in a world devoid of clues as to exactly where that was, I relied on little more than my intuition and sub-conscious cues. And it took me a while to learn to trust all of that. Hence, this bizarre quest of sorts… this journey with so many twists and turns…

Picture a dust-drenched camping plot an hour’s drive from Canberra (the concrete capital), amongst parched gum trees spattered across a thirsty horizon, on a summery late-January weekend… add all those velvet and lace outfits, hippie clothes, cloaks, capes etc, in country-Australia, at a green and sweat flecked camp ground…

The Pagan Summer Gathering of 1988 was in session.

I was a long flowing skirt wearing, belly-dancing goddess woman – teaching a unisex belly-dance workshop (based on my theory of dance and movement – see point #6). J was all Celtic-warrior-hard-man-long-hair-and-beard spiritual stuff.

The day of my workshop, was country-Australia-harsh-unforgiving, get-a-tan-in-the-shade kind of hot. It was a blast, even though only a single guy turned up. It was my first ever gig teaching people something I wanted to share.

New sign post

There was also a workshop on runes happening a bit later and both J and I were interested. I’d wandered over to see what was going on, glanced at the guy who’d be leading it (someone I’ve written about here before and labelled A) and swiftly backed away. Little did I realise he was to become my teacher and years later, my lover.

I was “saved” by a good friend I hadn’t seen in a while. He pulled me aside to tell me some serious news. With a legitimate excuse to not go, I dragged my friend back to my tent to commiserate, eat food and talk.

But J did go, and excitedly returned. This guy is the real deal. He’s learned this traditional system of runes, he’s Sydney-based and will be teaching classes.

An unspoken agreement occured: we’d be going to those classes. Despite my initial reaction to A, everything that J told me sucked me in. A western style martial form with weapons? A kind of western tai-chi? Herbolgy? Mythology? Runes as an oracle?

Coooooool!

This PSG wasn’t amazing just because of this new fork in the road. It was also my first proper introduction to Kali, my Mahavidya (another story circa 2008, ten years later).

At this gathering, that slightly off-center guy (even for a group of pagans) I’d met at Pagans in the Pub was running a Kali ritual. Which involved nudity but no sex (many of these things did), mantra and dancing. Can’t remember anything else about it, probably because I didn’t understand it much.

Didn’t really think about it at the time. And so it was… Kali had already staked something of a claim. Then, maybe it’s just always been that way?

Runology

Back in Sydney, J and I and another friend started studying this runic system with A.

We’d travel from one side of Sydney to another every fortnight for about a year, learning an oral family tradition that’d been handed down from one generation to the next, and had finally been taught to four outsiders, to keep the tradition alive.

One of those four people was the man who’d become my Guru (he’s trained in many esoteric traditions). He was living in Australia at the time, so when he came back from the UK, he taught a few Australian students of his own, including A.

And what we learned was a rich and fascinating living tradition of western shamanism: animal familiars; spirit journeying; trance work; rune reading as an oracle; weapons training. And so much more. So interesting, especially since we white folk are convinced we lack such history. But in some pockets of the world, this knowledge lives on.

Around September of the same year, we were handed flyers for a rune workshop with my Guru. J was working that weekend and made the call not to change his work schedule. But I did go, staying at A’s place overnight. Which is kinda sorta where my Why I have a Guru series picks up…

Galaxy of coincidences

Something I haven’t mentioned in that series is how my Vedic astrology chart correlates with some of the monumental changes in my life. Vimshottari Dashas are major cycles of time a planet/moon rules in your birth chart and according to Vedic astrology; this can influence your activities and state of mind.

When I moved to Sydney from Melbourne at the age of twenty-one, it was smack-dab on the transition into my Sun cycle – a time of activity. And when I met my Guru, it was the exact transition from Sun to Moon cycle – good for inner work but little else!

So, major changes in my chart it seems, have equalled major changes in my life. Quite unbeknown to me at the time.

The first encounter with my Guru left me enamoured, dazed and definitely a little confused. Also, quite radiant, joyous and kinda high! I returned from my weekend up north absolutely raving about it all.

Of course, J was far from impressed. I’d say it was blatantly clear that if asked, I would’ve gone to live wherever my Guru was (that’s never actually happened, not yet!).

When I went back a couple of weeks later to talk to him some more, I was given some practices to get started with. Off-handed, and without really knowing anything about my relationship with J, my Guru said to me – Oh, so you’re still engaged? Like he was reading my inner turmoil and simply spoke it aloud…

Without doubt, that day was one of those moments where knowledge descends. But more on that topic soon. It was a quickening, a ripening, perhaps a remembering…

Down, down, down

By this time, things between J and I had been deteriorating for a good six months. We were slowly imploding, and here I was, infatuated with another man – even if it wasn’t actually infatuation in a romantic way. At the time it sure felt romantic to me, in my state of delusion and elation!

To complicate things, I’d also had something of a crush on A for a while, but told no one. Not a soul. Actually, I was kinda proud of myself that I was aware of the crush and had no plans to act on it. I was with J, and A was married.

J often blamed our relationship breakdown on my feelings for A and my Guru. But the truth was, we had our own problems and it would be wrong to blame external influences. I will admit that my Guru was a catalyst, but not in any obvious way. Perhaps it was just all part of that quickening…

As it seemed less and less likely J and I would ever get married, we both withdrew. The time of talking, arguing, pleading, crying and hoping was mostly done. I took off my engagement ring in protest, and left it on a shelf in the lounge room. J responded by playing more and more computer games with the study door shut.

Nature abhors a vacuum, so as many couples in that situation do… we found fault with each other more and more, and our focus was drawn in opposing directions. Until there was no longer a way to mend our broken bonds.

But before that, we had more rune workshops with the head of the family tradition, who’d flown to Australia. I had my very first and quite shocking experience with trance work, and found out just how deadly a half-blind old man can be in martial arts training!

J and I both delved more intensely into our mutual interest in this tradition. Yet all that time… we moved increasingly out of each other’s orbit.

To be continued…

~ Svasti

History of a spiritual quest – part iv

Tags

affianced, Aleister Crowley, Amar, belly dancing, cauldrons, divination, druids, freaky thieving stalker dude, full moon, mead, Meditation, Mother Goddess, Pagan Summer Gathering, paganism, rituals, Runes, shamans, spiritual quest, the proverbial sponge, U2, witchcraft, witches, Woodford Folk Festival

I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing fingertips
It burned like a fire
This burning desire
~U2

[Read part i, part ii, & part iii first]

In part iii, I gave y’all the bird’s eye view of my initial experience of Sydney’s pagans, witches, druids, shamans (and more) scene, oh my!

Those were heady times, my friends. Heady times, where I was busy soaking up knowledge and encounters like that sponge everyone’s always talking about (don’t think about it too much, its kinda gross).

And yet… the upshot (like the U2 song) was… I still hadn’t found what I was looking for (arf arf!). Despite some inner drive to do just that…

But along the way, I discovered the delights of mead, dressed in a lot of black and velvet (gotta blend in y’know) and learned quite a bit about working with energy, the elements, shamanic-inspired journeys, ancestral meditations , casting sacred spaces and tuning into the full moon and seasonal patterns.

I’d been worshipped as a representation of the mother goddess (which didn’t suck), danced ‘round fiery cauldrons, partook in shamanic rites, did a heck-load of drumming, and studied the works of Aleister Crowley (et al).

I also learned how to construct my own rituals, and divination became an interest – though it was much later before I learned how to read runes properly. For the record, I tend to think of oracles and divination as tools that reveal sub-conscious knowledge – i.e. stuff you already know somewhere deep down.

It was all good stuff, even if it was very early days.

The bit that wasn’t so good? When things ended with T (see part ii & part iii), I don’t think either of us realised he’d turn into a freaky thieving stalker dude, after throwing me out of the house we’d shared.

But I digress.

My interests in all things spiritual and dance continued. I explored ceremony, ritual, and meditation, and started performing as the bellydancer “Amar” (Arabic for moon).

This was a time of pseudo-homelessness – staying on a friend’s fold out sofa bed til I found a share house to move into, a new job (selling futons) and eventually, getting my own teensy tiny little unit.

Where T and I had run a small group for regular full moon ceremonies, I now did this alone, or with one or two others. By the time there was four or five of us, we were an unofficial ‘group’ of sorts… not that I wanted to run anything like that.

Little did I know, the aforementioned dress-up vampire night was attended by my future (and now) ex-fiancé, too (yes, he’s in the group photo, too). Our worlds began circling each other before we’d even met…

And I just kept hearing about this guy – J – and how we’d really hit it off.

Which of course, we did. It was kinda love at first sight.

J was part of sub-section of the pagan community, who attended some but not all of the same events.

Things with J moved so swiftly that within weeks of getting together, he’d moved into my tiny flat. Then, after our romantic UK holiday, we returned affianced.

J took me to different kinds of pagan events – the Pagan Summer Gathering, Rune Guild Winter Feasts (which I performed at, of course). Mash-up spiritual/music events like Woodford Folk Festival.

Slowly, I started to find a much less structured, more free-flowing kind of spirituality – a blend of dancing (which I’ve always considered to be very spiritual), that early knowledge I mentioned in part i, and a very strong intuition.

That intuition led me through events like the spontaneous healing I’ve written about before, and others I have yet to write…

Fate came knocking once more at the second Pagan Summer Gathering we attended, where I was teaching a unisex belly-dance workshop. It was J who discovered a runic workshop I had some interest in, but didn’t get to attend. J did though.

And right there, the path turned in yet another unexpected direction.

[Read part v]

~Svasti

P.S. As mentioned before, I’m skimming over a lot of details in my life to write this series – keeping the two original questions in mind – more about my experiences as a young heathen girl, and more about that moment when knowledge descends… I’m getting there, I promise!

https://svasti.wordpress.com/2009/08/05/history-of-a-spiritual-quest-part-iii/

Yoga is a Blacksmith

Tags

belly dancing, blacksmith, Confidence, constant immersion, Depression, Eye contact, forge, handstands at midnight, PTSD, theatre, Vulnerability, Yoga, yoga for depression, yoga for PTSD, yoga teacher training

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-lees/61448491/

There’s a thing that causes me to simultaneously feel dread and express tears of joy.

They are one and the same: the becoming of myself as a yoga teacher.

They’re two sides of the same coin. A coin that’s being heated, smelted, and forged into a new shape. Same raw material, but the qualities are shifting.

This re-working is an elemental process, creating change as a by-product of the end-result (which is really just another beginning).

But it’s not easy, just because it’s something I want. The wanting and the reality of the getting are entirely different.

The clamour of tools is distracting, and it’s tempting to not pick them up. Sort of. Actually, yeah. But then I look ahead.

Because it’s all about priorities. If I keep those in sight, then it’s easier to step back into the forge. Even if it means daily facing up to scary long-held patterns that scare me witless.

I’ve never seen you this nervous before, says the principal of my yoga school.

She says this after observing my very first effort last weekend, at leading a fellow student in a half hour impromptu yoga class (I was given fifteen minutes to construct a lesson plan).

Oh yes. Very nervous. Partly, it’s the hearing myself speak. And knowing the exact words to say, and being responsible for how other people move their bodies. Speaking emotively because that’s where we connect, that’s part of the work of yoga.

All of this has to come from a place of supreme openness and vulnerability, too. But also confidence and trust that speaking from this place will be well received and accepted.

So, there’s the confidence factor, which has never been one of my strong points. The vulnerability factor – I’ve spent the last four years or so feeling exceptionally vulnerable… and then there’s the thing with eye contact.

Dealing with PTSD and depression made me want to be invisible, unattractive, and hidden away from other people… it’s made holding eye contact very difficult…

So how is it I ended up doing a yoga teacher training course again? Oh yeah, because I love yoga. And because it was suggested.

Photo credit: http://digilander.libero.it/stebama/GoddessGallery.html

But y’know, this wasn’t on the pamphlet – thrown in at no extra charge, this training will help you burn through your shit.

Yesterday I had my second opportunity to lead my fellow students through a series of asana. Scary!

My extreme nervousness is a little strange because it’s not like I’m new to performing – years as a theatre actor and bellydancer took care of that. And this is sort of like a performance, right?

Except it’s not, it’s different. There’s no flashy costume or make up to hide behind. I am not being someone or something else. There’s no loud music to disappear into.

I am just me. Unadulterated. No filters.

So, this week I figured if I could just pretend like it was a theatre show and ‘learn my lines’, I’d feel more comfortable.

I spent all week preparing – writing copious notes on each pose. And practicing, even til late Friday night, trying to get some flow happening between poses.

[Note to self: handstands at midnight are just a tad too exhilarating!]

And making sure I had the right words to say, and avoiding gap-fillers: ummm, okay, what we’ll do next is…

In the process, I realised – of course!! – the key here really is preparation. Which requires constant immersion.

Because with yoga, to teach it, you really need to be living it. Theoretical knowledge simply doesn’t cut it.

But sometimes, I think it’s the immersion I’ve been running from. Because I know if I don’t, this change that’s coming will be irrevocable.

Then, that’s what I want, right? But with that change comes a free-fall from what I’ve known (even if its stuff I’m not happy with) towards the unknown…

A Svasti that lives and breathes yoga with every fibre of my being. And a Svasti that knows my stuff, and can help spread the gift of yoga to others.

So, yesterday’s session went really well! Not perfectly of course. But about a 150% improvement on the previous week. And it was such a high!

Afterwards, I was trembling, close to tears, grateful, humble and just… feeling entirely like someone else: that other aforementioned Svasti.

As I’m leaving my teacher remarks: So you’re looking so much better lately. There’s something very striking in your eyes. I noticed it last week as well. What’s going on? You look so much happier.

I replied: It’s this work. It’s changing me. It’s helping me face up to myself and burn off more of the negativity that’s been in my life for so long. PTSD destroys your self-confidence and here I am finding it again.

Then I told her that as well as general yoga, and yoga for women I’m really interested in yoga for those who deal with depression and PTSD, as I have.

Seems I’ve chosen a specialty of sorts, and the Blacksmith’s fire is still burning…

**Update: The wonderful BlissChick alerted me to the existence of an article on Yoga and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PDF file, 435kb) from The Trauma Center in Brookline, MA. An excellent read!!**

~Svasti

History of a spiritual quest – part iii

Tags

belly dancing, Carlisle Castle Hotel, coven, Egypt, full moon, Guru, Hare Krishna, Interview with the Vampire, Kali, Newtown, Pagan, paganism, Pagans in the Pub, pentagrams, Puja, satin, sexual preferences, spiritual quest, velvet, witchcraft

[Read part i & part ii first]

Various dark coloured shades of satin and velvet. A talking stick. Women with flowers in their hair, layers of silver jewellery and long swooshing skirts. Sequins and sparkly things. Incense. Grown men and women in robes with hoods. And capes. Leather pouches tied to belts containing runes or tarot cards. The occasional new agey t-shirt with a wolf howling at the moon.

And much beer.

This was my introduction to Pagans in the Pub in Sydney, circa 1993.

A group of twenty or so people gathered in the back room of the Carlisle Castle Hotel (yes, Pagans in the Pub held in a pub with the name ‘castle’ in the title – the puns are free and keep on coming!).

The Carlisle Castle, courtesy of Google street view

Just an unassuming working class pub in the narrow backstreets of Newtown surrounded by workman’s cottages built snugly together. The front bar was populated with stoic and gruff older men, surprised at the repeated declarations of ‘Blessed be’ emanating from the back room.

I spotted T, dressed in a dark red long sleeved shirt, a black vest and jeans, meticulous dark hair and beard. He introduced me to a bunch of people whose names I immediately forgot.

Of course, it wasn’t just ‘hi, I’m Jason’, but ‘hi, I’m Jason-Lightworker and I’m a Druid’. Or ‘hi, I’m Silverstar and I’m a Shaman’. Everyone there, it seemed, was a something-or-other-magical-label which they revelled in.

There was discussion and debate. Plenty of opinions voiced and egos marched out for all to see. The topics were decidedly unusual, but hey, what could I expect from a mixed bag of pagans?

Overwhelming is one word. Colourful is another. Whacky, free-spirited and a little lost… they’re other words.

Let me just say the start of my search in no way resembled where I ended up. But if I hadn’t taken that first tentative step (followed by many others), I never would have met my guru. Even if it was just a slightly out of the way route.

Me and T

Turns out T was one of the movers and shakers in the Sydney pagan community. He was somewhat notorious, and had been around for a long time.

Although at the time I was questioning my sexual preferences (gay/straight/bi), and even though I didn’t find T (14 years my senior) physically attractive, somehow we ended up together.

And actually at the time we met, I was in fact, dating a woman. Clearly, not for long.

That part of the story alone, is worthy of its own focus. There’s no way to write about the how’s and why’s of my relationship with T without changing the point of this story, which is my journey through the world of neo-paganism.

It was a mad eighteen months of my life in which: we went to Egypt (my first overseas trip and T is well-versed in Egyptian mythology); we moved in together (bookshelves, skull candelabras, pentagram rugs and all!); I started belly dancing (he thought I’d like it – I did); he taught me about witchcraft (not as dark and dangerous as most would imagine); we started a coven (small group of people learning witchcraft); we ran a pretty awesome dress up event for the premiere of Interview with the Vampire (another story yet again); T contemplated faking his own death (I talked him out of it)… and more.

Much more.

With T, I attended my first ever pagan type weekend gathering. You know the kind – a bush camp site with bunks and dorms, a mess hall, marquee tents and fire pits. Drums, full moon (and other) rituals, various workshops, late night jam sessions, hash, peace and love. He also took me to my very first Hare Krishna meal by donation/chanting session and we went often.

In some ways, T was the real deal and I learnt a lot from him. In other ways, he was completely stark raving crazy.

I had my doubts about T and I around eight months in. He was running away from his past, and stuck in a certain reality. I was still… learning. However, I was meeting plenty of people and being exposed to all kinds of new ideas.

That time in my life was somehow very important (which is part of that other story). I was still only twenty-two, impressively aimless and ashamed that I hadn’t gone to university.

What I learned

I was living life like it was some big adventure playground. But finally I was learning all kinds that made sense to me (at least some of it did) on spiritual topics. Things I’d written about many years ago. It was… helpful.

But the pagan scene, I found, was a little hollow. Many of the people putting on robes and turning up to full moon rituals could just as easily have been attending church. By that I mean, they seemed to want to belong and be a part of something. Have a label that worked for them. And there was little real magic going on.

I even met one guy who, despite his tattoos and piercings, eyeliner and 100% black wardrobe, claims to black magic and darkness… once said… Do you ever think about what will happen if the Christians are right?

Personally, I didn’t. I’ve never seen things quite as black and white as that.

Generally, the people were lovely and the experiences were cool. But I was looking for something else. I imagined it was like ringing a bell with a very specific tone and pitch that exactly matches my own.

And I hadn’t found it yet.

I even met a genuine yogi at that time – a Kali devotee – fond of naked puja. But it didn’t ring true, not with him. Which perhaps had something to do with the fact that I found him a little peculiar. Nice. But kinda whacked.

Endings & beginnings

Things ended with T as dramatically as they’d begun.

I’d been performing in some local theatre and he was jealous of my co-star (much closer to me in age, not to mention tall, dark & sexy). I found out later T had been following me as I walked to rehearsals!

Nothing had happened, except for the kissing required of our roles. But there was a definite flirtation going on.

T and I had put on another of our big costume parties. All our pagan friends, my theatre and belly dance friends were invited. It was a wild night with a band in the front room, local pop-rock stars in attendance, lots of dancing, drinking and madness.

For reasons known only to T, he flew into a rage after everyone had left, accusing me of sleeping with my co-star (I wasn’t, not yet). He didn’t believe me and threw me out of the bedroom, ordering me to move out the next day (with ominous threats of what would happen if I didn’t).

The threat I’ve never been able to forget is… a little too gruesome to write down.

I was sufficiently terrified and called one of my pagan friends. S said she’d help me move and I could stay with her until I found my own place.

[Read part iv]

~Svasti