Isha

Hatha Yoga: Becomings, invocations and eating south Indian style.

pjyogi — Wed, 5 Aug 2015 19:01:00 GMT

Last week there was day after long, hot day of feeling anxious to get the program started, we students were all saying the same thing, ‘OK, let’s go, we’re ready, come on already…..’ And, of course, now that classes have begin we’re ready for some downtime already. Our hips, backs and knees are screaming from sitting cross legged on the floor for hours on end, we’re wondering if we’ll ever memorize the daily invocations, if we’ll have enough breath to hold an Aum as long as the swami can, whether we can manage five months of such a micro-managed and over scheduled life. That’s us being un-enlightened, focus-on-the-negative human beings. Sadhguru writes that we are not human beings, we are human becomings, an ongoing process, a possibility - so I am reminded to focus on the positive aspects of being here at the ashram. I am responsible only for myself, I may have classes to go to, but I don’t also have to go to a job, cook my food, gas up my car, pay bills, clean house… an endless list of things to be grateful for. I am indeed privileged to be here and have this opportunity and I’m sincerely grateful. My only chore is washing my clothes in the shower and pegging them outside on a line to dry every few days. So far nobody has absconded with any of my garments, but I’m still not going to hang my precious Spiderman knickers out there, that might be tempting fate.

About the Invocations, the one that we sing before each class or meal goes like so:

     Aum… Aum… Aum…
     Asatoma sadgamaya
     Tamasoma jyotirgamaya
     Mrutyorma amrutangamaya
     Aum Shanthi… Shanthi… Shanthihi

Which means: ‘From untruth to truth. From darkness to light. From mortality to immortality. May I be led.. Aum. Peace, Peace, Peace.’ A lovely prayer, but I’m transported back to primary school, mouthing along to hymns that I didn’t know the words to; I was pretty good at it then. As I'm pretending to be an adult nowadays, rather than lip synching, I’ve been listening, trying to memorize the syllables so I can repeat them, but I’m just not an auditory learner. I've finally given up and plan to take a print out with me so I can read the words as they are sung. I hope I don’t get a rap on the knuckles with a ruler for cheating! I fear my lack of auditory learning ability will be an ongoing challenge, as I have to memorize the Sanskrit names for 84 asanas, as well as a scripted instruction (in English) to go with each of them. My aging brain is feeling the strain, but no worries, it’s a good vaccination against dementia, right?

Last night after our evening meal we met for a class session that was quite amusing. One of our instructors schooled us in how to eat south Indian style, in other words, with our fingers. As I’ve mentioned before, dinner is taken sitting on the ground, and eaten with the fingers of the right hand. I was a little hesitant initially, but quite enjoy using my fingers now that it‘s familiar. I find feeling the temperature and texture of the food, mixing the grain and the sauce together, and bringing it to my mouth with my fingers really adds something to the experience. More than just the potential for a mess, I mean. Be prepared if we go out to eat together when I get back to California, folks; I may be short on dining companions pretty quickly. We participants take turns serving the group, walking up and down the row with a metal bucket full of food, so our teacher also covered the etiquette around that; given that the meal is taken in silence there are gestures to indicate yes, no, a little, more, etc. He also informed us in what order the food is to be eaten, (from raw to cooked), showed an amusing video on how to eat from a banana leaf (for special occasions), and shared that it’s perfectly acceptable to lick your fingers. The finger licking permission increased my quality of life immensely; I’m like a toddler with a birthday cake at times. One fellow participant is left handed and while serving in the main dining hall (prior to this helpful class), he almost gave one older lady a heart attack by serving her with his left, there’s nothing like being swatted and yelled at in a foreign language to challenge your sense of inner peace. Poor guy.

To those of you concerned that I’ll return from this adventure a physical shadow of my former self, don’t worry! I think I’ve actually put on a few pounds since I’ve been here. The food is vegan, tasty, nutritious and plentiful, I eat huge servings twice a day and am utilizing far fewer calories at present than I do at home. Maybe that will change we start to practice the hatha yoga asanas. Currently we’re learning something called Upa yoga, which is essentially a stretching exercise for all the joints of the body and is used as a warm up prior to the hatha yoga asanas. Even the two days I’ve been practicing upa yoga has provided different instruction than I’ve received in other yoga classes. At home, teachers usually have us spreading our fingers wide for poses where the hands are supporting our weight, but here the fingers and thumb are aligned and touching. Also different is that eyes stay closed for most poses, so that we remain inwardly focused. This is a bit of a balancing nightmare, but I suppose I’ll adapt to it. Currently, I’d much rather be straining every muscle in my body to get into a posture, or be falling over in an asana with my eyes closed, than be sitting static in siddhasana (an advanced cross legged pose). I think it might literally be killing me to sit in siddhasana so much, but I hope it’s making me more flexible; sure I’m being melodramatic, but really, today I was in so much pain just sitting there that I broke out in a sweat. Aum… Here’s hoping that next time I write is to delight you with tales of my excellent, pain-free siddhasana, complete mastery of the invocation, and continued possession of my spidey-pants!

Life, death and the space in between

pjyogi — Mon, 3 Aug 2015 00:04:00 GMT

Just for a lark, I’ll pretend at being literary, and, as I’m in India, quote something from Midnights Children, the lone Salman Rushdie book I’ve read: “What’s real and what’s true aren’t necessarily the same.” This lifetime we’ve been granted has so much room for love, truth, and joy, yet is so often filled with suffering. I bumped into the suffering pretty regularly during my work as a hospice nurse, and am astounded at the variety of pain people live with, the emotional and spiritual variety so vividly colored and easy to spy but so very hard to palliate. This connection with suffering has over time sensitized me to a void in my spiritual life, which has contributed to my own pain and sorrow. Clearly, with three terminated marriages and a late in life recognition that I’ve been playing for the wrong team all these years, I’ve had my share of self-inflicted suffering. Hence a mid-life journey for some long overdue introspection and to maybe find my inner yogi. A friend recently reminded me that the point of life is to live it. A good idea, if only we could stay aware and ‘in the moment’ through our daily lives and have what’s real and true resonate at all times. How different would the world look?

Yesterday came distressing news of the self-inflicted death of a former intimate of mine. How do you make sense of a meaningless and selfish act, reconcile something so violent, conceive of forgiveness and understanding when there is no conduit for closure? I’ll let you know if I find an answer, and in the meantime make space to mourn. “Whatever happens - ultimately, life corrects itself.” Sadhguru. A truth I wish J. had taken to heart.

In Midnight’s Children, Rushdie writes, of destiny and existence: ‘I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone, everything whose being-in-the world was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I’m gone which wound not have happened if I had not come.’ That’s a lot to conceive of and too much to carry around. Here at the ashram I feel as though my sum total is being reduced and expanded all at once. I’m embarking on a quest to find something that moors me spiritually, that I might better be present, joyful, and of use to others.

Appropriately heavy stuff today,; but enough of these deep thoughts …. you’re expecting information about India, or yoga, so let’s shift gears and touch on arranged marriages. I talked with an Indian woman, who explained how this worked for her. Her husband’s family put an advertisement in a newspaper giving a list of requirements for prospective matches for their son, including what educational qualifications she should have; her husband then got to interview prospective brides, and selected her. Once it was determined that their horoscopes were compatible (a very important aspect) and a dowry was agreed upon, a wedding date was set. They’ve been married for 20 years and have two children, she says she has a happy marriage, and acknowledged ‘it was a big risk.’ Then again, so is marrying someone you met at a bar, online, or at work, without even consulting a horoscope!

It’s quite a challenge to try and wriggle into a place of comfort as a western woman in such an patriarchal society. I certainly want to be culturally sensitive and at the same time be true to my own values. Mostly at the present I’m asking questions, observing things as they are, and trying to withhold judgment as I just soak it all in. People are so pushy here, physically, I mean. As a polite, happy to stand in a queue, ‘properly raised in England’ kind of person, I find the line jumping and jostling quite affronting. My Indian roommate told me I need to get over it and adopt the Indian way or ‘you’ll never get ahead, and there won’t be any food left for you.’ Well, a yogi’s gotta eat… maybe I’ll give it a try. Please don’t tell my mother.

Isha Yoga Center

pjyogi — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 20:35:00 GMT

This place is magical, just amazing. The landscape and architecture, alone give me an ongoing sense of awe, lush, tropical, surrounded by the towering, verdant Velligirini mountains. The attention to detail in the buildings and temples on the grounds are something to behold. Everything is created by the craftsman on the ashram, from the 21 foot tall black metal head of Adiyogi, the first guru, replete with copper earrings, to the massive domed copper roof and hewn stone stairs of the Chandrakund. Volunteers are always hard at work, preparing and serving meals, sweeping and cleaning, tending to the landscaping; everyone has a smile and a hands together greeting - namaskaram here in Southern India versus the namaste of the North. There is a home school on site, and I delight in the happy, giggling presence of the children, dressed in their red and ecru colored uniforms; they are most energetic when running from supper to enjoy some brief free time before bed.

It is 6:30 a.m. and I’m sitting at a vacant desk in the reception of the cottages where I’m staying, the twilight has just lifted and the cacophony of bird song is quieting down, though the eerie cries of the peacocks continue. I’m out here with a few overly friendly mosquitoes, which seem mildly repelled by the eucalyptus and lemongrass oils I spritzed myself with, and besides are pretty easy to swat. I’m giving my roommate some space as she does her morning asanas in our room. She’s a lovely woman, a physician with two sons, native to the neighboring state of Kerala, but currently resident in Dubai.

There is only one key to our room, when departing the key is to remain in a basket at reception, this way the volunteers can get in there to clean, and roommates don’t have to travel in pairs. It’s inconvenient though, in that you have to lock the door when leaving or it won’t stay closed, also, the key slides into an apparatus on the wall inside that activates the electricity. This means that I have to be sensitive to my roommate’s needs, for example I couldn’t leave the room early this morning upon waking without either waking her to close the door behind me or locking her in without power (no fan, or lights). I refer to this not to complain of a mild inconvenience, but because it’s kind of charming and unique, like so many things in India.

My yoga school cohort (or ’batch’ as they call us…what are we, cookies?) are a diverse crowd based on the small sampling I met yesterday; they hail from all over India, Romania, United Kingdom, Australia, Peru, Lithuania, Italy, France and Hong Kong. Some have been to other Isha programs here, others, like myself, are on their first visit to India. Yoga experience ranges from next to none to current yoga teachers, some people meditate regularly, some not at all. There is a strong shared opinion that much of the yoga taught in the west is ‘not yoga’ in that the focus is on the physical aspect of the asanas with a mere nod, if at all, to the spiritual aspect. As a ‘power yogi’ myself , my hackles go up a little as I feel protective of my practice, and my hot yoga family at home; at the same time I recognize that the need for more connection with the spiritual is what drew me to this program.

Tomorrow, July 31^st is purnima, or full moon. There is an annual celebration on the first full moon that falls after solstice to recognize Adiyogi, the first yogi, who imparted his knowledge to seven sages that they might educate others in the ways to achieve enlightenment. This year is even more special because it is also a blue moon. Sadhguru will be here at the ashram to speak to an anticipated crowd of 10,000, as well as to initiate our teacher training program. I am told the celebration will go on throughout the night till the first rays of sun appear… I hope we’re not expected to be at class at 5:30am on Saturday!

Today and tomorrow are my final days with any significant free time, after that it’s up at 4:45am with classes from 5:30am till 9:30 pm, seven days a week for the next 21 weeks. I’m ready to begin, as I’ve been feeling somewhat unmoored and homesick since arrival, though that has diminished since other participants started arriving. Once classes start, the rigorous schedule will doubtless leave me little time for self pity.

Photos: Isha Yoga

pjyogi — Thu, 30 Jul 2015 14:05:00 GMT

Planes, pains and automobiles.

pjyogi — Thu, 30 Jul 2015 14:03:00 GMT

With some excitement, but mostly trepidation, I departed San Francisco on Friday afternoon and arrived at Isha Yoga Center in Tamil Nadu, India, around 36 hours later. And it felt that long. I really neither knew nor cared what day or time it was when I arrived, I just wanted a shower and to be able to stay in one place for a while. The taxi ride from Coimbatore to Isha Yoga Center was enough to revive me a little, though. The mass of vehicles, pedestrians, families on mopeds, and cyclists was startling. My driver seemed to want to overtake everyone and everything and there was constant honking of the horn to communicate his aim with those sharing the road. We passed a multitude of people, many of them moving along with some goal or another, some sitting, standing, or squatting with nowhere to go or be, some having animated conversations, others still at work in the variety of roadside stores and stalls. Cows stood at the side of the road, or sometimes in it, chewing and looking on with disinterested gazes at all this mayhem. Oh, and there were monkeys on the side of the road where the taxi pulled in to Isha. Haven’t seen any on the grounds though, just some cows, pretty birds, and an occasional dog.

Sun up is around six and it’s fully dark when I come out of dinner around 7:30pm. The temperature here hovers around 90 degrees, not oppressively hot, but enough to be uncomfortable for a northern California native. The lush, green mountains surrounding the ashram often have mist and clouds shrouding them. Intermittently the clouds gather and darken, threatening rain, but there have been only a few light showers so far. I had anticipated some monsoon rains, but people here tell me the time is past.

I was so proud of myself for getting up at 0422 when I woke on Monday morning. Yes! I got onto the time zone effortlessly, I thought. Ha! That afternoon at one I lay down to rest before setting out to volunteer, and slept for five hours; of course, that was 1am to 6am California time, plus I didn’t get to volunteer - lame! You have to understand that I do NOT nap, cannot, have no interest in it even when I’m extraordinarily tired. We’ll blame it on jet lag and never speak of it again.

Things at the ashram are getting busier come Tuesday, there were a lot more people at brunch this morning, many wearing badges identifying them as part of the teacher training. Today I moved into Nalanda #326, the room I will inhabit for the remainder of my stay here, it’s lovely, and has air conditioning. I will get a roommate, but she hasn’t arrived yet. As long as she doesn’t talk all the time, have flatulence, or snore, I’ll be happy! And if she is a chatterbox, farts and snores, I’ll deal, it’s the yogi way, right?

Walking to meals is a fun time, everyone from around the ashram is walking or biking there from all points, including the home school kids (so cute in their uniforms, wish I could snap some photos, but it is forbidden). We all remove our shoes and mill around outside the dining hall till they open the doors, then we enter, wash hands, and walk down one of numerous reed mats set on the floor. The mats have metal plates set out in front of them. We take a seat cross legged in front of a plate and wait for everyone else to sit, volunteers with metal buckets of food walk up and down the isle in front of the mat and serve different items. Someone starts an Aum, we complete three, followed by a chant that I don’t know the words to yet. Then we dig in, eating in silence using the fingers of the right hand; I surreptitiously watch other people’s technique, and am getting better at it!

Brunch menu today: curried potatoes, carrot salad, boiled peanuts, hummus and sticky brown rice all seem to be a staple based on yesterday’s meal; in addition we had brown gelatinous glob (!), really don’t know what it was, a bean congee maybe? It tasted OK mixed with hummus or the spinach gruel that came later. Papaya slice and tiny banana, yum. And a drink of something that tasted medicinal and not so great; I chugged it, figuring it might be good for me. So far I am not missing caffeine, sugar or alcohol, there’s a tea kettle in my room so I’ve had cranberry tea a few times a day and other than that just water. I’m really pleased that they have water filtration systems here, and have coolers of water placed strategically about. Have been taking my anti-malarial (plus probiotic) for three days now with no ill effect, so far-so good. There are zero mosquitoes here at present, I encountered just one, at the Mumbai airport, which I executed with a slap before it could molest me.

There are so many cultural norms that I am unaware of, I feel like a blundering, insensitive idiot some of the time. But really, how am I to know unless somebody corrects me? I wore my flip flops on the flagstones outside the dhyanalinga temple yesterday and a lady in a sari started gesticulating at me. OK, I get it, shoes off outside sometimes too. Geez! I’ll have it all down cold in no time, right?