Picture Me as an Empty House designed by Rumi, or Something...

Grabbing the mind-dog's attention with expanded horizons of meditation! A partial memory and a shallow understanding had left me like a doggie chasing its own tail (or tale) of sadness, making endless circles on the living room carpet until this past Monday when something changed...

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.

~ Rumi, Read more here.

This was just about as far as my imagination had held of Rumi's The Guest House: it was about all I was able to paraphrase to share with a meditation group I participated in on Monday night (even though there is more to the poem). And as I was saying my poorly remembered version of this poem, what I saw was that I had seen a picture of myself in the words, and what I was able to remember was that picture of myself. So I wasn't really remembering the poem; I was actually remembering a perception of myself as seen through the magic mirror of the language of the poem.

My creative offering towards these words (also known as my understanding) painted my house to be "the guest house" as in an extra house owned by a wealthy person that was a little less grand than the one they lived in. A guest dwelling like the smaller coach house in the back, hidden behind the established splendor of the main house.

In my memory of the poem I saw the crowd or “band of sorrows” running round and round in my little house, sweeping the insides clean. But If I had also remembered the next part my perception might not have been so stuck:

He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

And here is an awesome take on “the Guest”:

Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think... and think... while you are alive.
What you call "salvation" belongs to the time before death.

If you do not break your ropes while you're alive
do you think
that ghosts will do it after?

~ Kabir, Read the rest of the poem here.

So when I put the sensibilities of these two excerpts together, I see that a “Guest house” might be an extraordinary situation, indeed… But in the sensibilities based in my experience of myself in my life’s personal stories the situation looks different.

Am I a guest in my own house? I have definitely felt that way… Like a guest that gets a cheerful greeting upon arrival, but then realizes later that they are an imposition on the host. I think that this is how I also treat my needs: yes, I see you sadness, shame or anger, but my preference is for you to go away. And since I want to be true I attempt to entertain these unwanted guests, but many times I fail to see things clearly, shutting down in the face of my anger when I might be better served to move toward a motivated action.

On Monday night at a neighborhood Soto Zen center, I heard Taigen say a couple of things that came together in my mind as a question: 1)"Thoughts are seen like clouds moving across the sky." and 2)"When we sit we don't want to ignore our thoughts." So my question was "Does the sky ignore the clouds?" because my understanding of this metaphor is that the sky is pure perception, and the clouds are the thought forms. And I also realized that I had been ignoring my thoughts in meditation, because I saw them as having a low priority in the process. I mean, how much attention do we really pay to the clouds moving across the sky, anyway… But my perception in my body is smaller than the sky (or is it?). I tend to see myself as very small in that process.

My mental framework as a “guest house” then came together with the language of clouds and sky, and I saw that I had been ignoring what was in my “house”, which is really my head. I realized that I need to pay attention to what is visiting, and I might find that certain guests like those circulating sorrows, are actually ghosts from the old stories I have told myself about who I am (ghosts having little relevance in my reality today). It is high time to take another fresh look: every time I pay attention.

* with thanks to Taigen Dan Leighton, who gave an engaging Dharma Talk (one of many great talks!) at Ancient Dragon Zen Gate last Monday night *

** and see my latest offering at Elephant Journal: Spiritual Declaration of Independence **

The Mind just doesn't "get" Yoga.

Yoga is in a realm beyond words.

For as crazy in love with yoga as I've been, there is a part of me that remains skeptical. Just this morning, I'm embarrassed to say, I had a moment of fear when I wondered, "How am I going to stand in front of those people and teach them yoga." I was in a moment of feeling lost and disconnected, and I was about a block away from the building where I teach my first class of the day. And thankfully, moments later the looks of warm greeting and expectation from the class caused the doubting me to vanish. I was a passionate teacher, and totally into it once I got started.

There is an aspect of yoga (probably the heart of it) that is beyond words. All we really have to offer one another to pass yoga on is technique. Our minds can grasp technique. But what happens when we practice is ultimately beyond ordinary communication. Poetry tries, but only when we see through the spaces that the ideas open up do we get a fantastic glimpse. So, it's not the words of the poetry or the angles of the arms and legs in a yoga pose, but it is where we go from those launch pads of language and form that is so fortifying and affirming.

So I really believe that yoga is beyond the grasp of the thinking mind. And I find it wonderful that I want to talk about it so much. Isn't it strange to want to speak the ineffable?

The transmission of techniques is important. In a recent posts I've talked about my inner conflict with the traditional teachings, and how I've embraced the marketplace of yoga (because that's what I know...). This is another angle: the importance of studying, using, preserving, living and teaching yoga technique. There is something very real and powerful in these techniques for practicing yoga.

It's important to honor the teachings we have because the mind doesn't get it. And when we think that we've "got it" you can be sure that we're in an inflated state, or stuck because yoga is a window into the unknown. If we think that we know the unknown I'm sure that we are really oversimplifying. Labels and definitions help put things into human hands, but there is something about yoga that is beyond what any one person can hold by himself or herself.

I've been extremely fortunate to have studied extensively with the best Ashtanga Yoga and Iyengar Yoga teachers in town. And the situations where I have been so humbly blessed with beautiful experiences have happened when teachers were honoring these techniques for practice that came from India.

The mind can shape the container that yoga goes into, but that's all. The imperfect process of our humanity becomes blessed with yoga, and escapes the container of ordinary mind.

Linda-Sama recently commented on a post, "there is a saying in India: dharma teachings are like a bowl of rice; you pick out the dirt and leave the rest to nourish you."

There are flaws in the teachings, but even so, we might also be nourished by their wisdom.

*simul-posted at Elephant Journal*

Celebration of Cells

I have the celebration of cells in my body to help me go forward when news is difficult.

This morning I woke up to the news of a gang rape that happened to a young girl leaving a homecoming dance and a suicide (via Svasti). I know I'm not the only one that woke up to troubling news today.

I no longer use my yoga as an escape to an imaginary beautiful place that removes me from the pains in life—in essence walling me off from the world. I am integrating spiritual practice as a way to step forward in troubling times. So I don't use yoga to escape, but to connect.

I have taken notes from Seane Corn who watches the news in the morning before she practices yoga (I heard her say this at Kripalu.). Some yogis wonder why she would do this: How can you watch news before you practice when the news carries so much violence, suffering and tragedy (and isn't yoga about love and healing?)? Well, what I got from her is that that’s just the point. We are here to heal this world (if you choose that path), not to escape it.

I have the blessing of my breath when times are difficult. I am grateful for the opportunity of my life. I can use this body and mind and strength to do something that helps.

This news about the Homecoming dance gang rape deeply disturbs me. I was once 15 years old; I went to a homecoming dance. I was incredibly naïve, and might be only a little less-so now. Particularly harrowing is that some of the people involved were one-time friends, it sounds like they were drinking together. I know when I was a teen that we would go to places without adults around and drink. This is a horrible crime that happened in the shadows on school grounds.

Also, stories about suicides must be getting lost because, a few months ago, I was at a rally in support of health care reform, and one of the speakers said that there are more suicides than murders in the state of Illinois per year. I hear about murders in the news, but not suicides. Why don’t we seem to care about the cultural climate that contributes to people wanting to kill themselves? I do.

I also personally connect with this subject of suicide. For so many years I heard in my own mind: I wish I was dead. Now with me, I felt so powerless that I did not move forward or really even consider real-world plans to do something about those thoughts. Even though that’s true, I credit yoga with saving my life, because my inner world is so much healthier than it used to be and I am more empowered as a result. Even if I occasionally hear the old sadness, I don’t believe it in the same way I used to. I know that I have experienced despair, and that I am stepping forward through healing and love.

There is a silent chorus supporting me in the cells of my body.

Eyes Coming from Clarity

More on this quote:

"The Kathopanishad describes Yoga thus: 'When the senses are stilled, when the mind is at rest, when the intellect wavers not--then, say the wise, is reached the highest stage. This steady control of the senses and mind has been defined as Yoga. He who has attains it is free from delusion'"
-B.K.S. Iyengar, Light on Yoga, eighth paragraph of the Introduction.

I wrote a bit about it here, and I could probably write a post about it everyday for the rest of my life and still be learning. So here's more:

Yesterday, I saw it from the perspective of "Meaning Making Mischief" and talked about how we use our minds in everyday, ordinary consciousness. In worldly experience meanings change: If I'm feeling good I might love you so much, and if I'm in a bad mood I might not appreciate you as much.

Another thing that might affect how I experience you is past experience. Maybe my friend told me that you tried to sleep with her, and you're already in a committed relationship. I might have an aversion to you based on what I heard. And it might not be based on the truth. Maybe my friend was desperately lonely and egotistical and came on to you and had framed the story in the way it was told to impress me, and to protect her wounded heart. Well... You know, things get confused.

But if I was seeing with eyes coming from clarity, what would the world look like? What kind of decisions would I be making in my day-to-day life?

What if I could look at the world without story-clouds obscuring my view of life and the people in it? What would happen if I could really see how my heart is wounded, and how it affects what I do and say? I wonder if I might change, and start to act from a place of greater clarity.

A possible route to greater clarity could exist in a regular practice (yoga) that helps us transcend ordinary consciousness for a bit of time that would allow for a moment of insight on returning to everyday life. I think this IS what yoga offers. In taking time to step out of the storm of ordinary, everyday, getting-things-done-and-covering-your-ass type of mentality we might come back to our lives with a fresh perspective. And if we do this often enough, some of the insight may gain enough power to persist and enable the confidence it takes to make a positive change.

Let's practice and see!

The Forgiveness Room

Just as I might cultivate a rose garden on the land, I pledge to cultivate forgiveness in myself. This morning I started by waking up early and forgiving everyone who came up as I thought about the desire to forgive. And I allowed them, in my mind’s eye, to forgive me, too. My heart softened pleasantly as I did this. I imagined a room inside myself, and invited different instances from my experience to be forgiven.

Later, when I was on the train, I imagined that the car I was on was an extension of my forgiveness room. And if anything might come up that would ordinarily annoy me—like if someone were to talk loudly on the cell phone right by me—I intended to invite it to meet my forgiveness right away. I had a pleasant ride. As I walked to the yoga studio I imagined that everything I could experience outside at any given moment was a part of my space of forgiveness. I had a pleasant walk.

Then, when I taught the first private yoga session I imagined that the room I was in was the room of forgiveness. I needed to forgive myself for a couple things I said, and I did it right on the spot. I forgave my judgmental mind because it wasn’t so much what I said, but an internal judgment of, “stupid,” that needed to be forgiven. I’m hard on myself, and I can forgive my critical mind.

The mind must open to forgive. The heart must open to forgive.

But, an angry or resentful mind closes down to defend a position. An angry mind can’t see clearly. It judges harshly. An angry mind is stuck going round and round in the same place. An angry heart hardens into a little ball. An unforgiving mind demands or cries, “Why can’t you see me?”

And a forgiving mind can listen—even to anger and resentment. The forgiving mind can see hot emotions without loosing itself. A forgiving mind can learn. A forgiving mind and heart can love someone and see his or her limitations. The heart is expansive. And a forgiving and confident mind might say, “I see you, and I’m comfortable in myself.”

A mind that forgives can grow. A mind that forgives can relax. A mind that forgives can love freely with warmth and support from the heart.