The Power of Love, and shoulder loop!

This week's focus in class has been the Power of Love, stabilizing and opening the heart, in honor of healer and Anusari Scott Marmorstein who nearly died this week from a congenital heart condition.  He had a heart attack on Monday at age 31, and was at death's door for a couple of days, on life support, intubated, unable the breathe on his own, his heart repeatedly crashing.  The way I hear the story, he didn't slip into a coma but was in and out of consciousness.  Meanwhile, someone sat at his bedside and relayed to him the hundreds and hundreds of messages of love and support pouring through the internet, through Facebook, from all of the people who have been touched by him in one way or another.  Late Wednesday, Texas-time, after another full-day of last-ditch invasive surgeries, his heart-rate stabilized. And has been stable ever since. The doctors will be using his case as a teaching tool, because a recovery like his just doesn't happen, they say.  The doctors are calling it a miracle.  


So yeah, this week is all about the Power of Love.  And boy, don't we feel it in our community at times like this, when everyone comes together and there is this deluge of love and support.  How not to feel buoyed, carried along, uplifted on this big, big wave we all make?


Last night was the 5th in the 7-class Shri Series Laura has been teaching on the universal principles of alignment.  Last night was, fittingly, shoulder loop, which is all about creating the stability behind the heart so that it can open, open, open in a safe and supported way. The practice itself was technical, heavy in partner work, lots of hands-on adjustments to the shoulder blades to get the feeling of their tips moving forward, urging the heart open.  


I have to admit that this week has been touch-and-go for me emotionally, with what was happening with Scott.  I kept remembering that our own crisis, Joe's cancer, was not long behind us, that really, we're not exactly done with that darkness, until we get results from the PET scan that's scheduled for Monday, May 3.  I kept remembering how gigantic was the outpouring of love and support we felt going through cancer and chemo, how we were never alone on the journey but carried lovingly by our friends.  How much strength and joy that gave us both, to feel so loved, so surrounded.  The Power of Love, indeed, is an awesome thing.  


I am so grateful for the practice, for the opportunity to have more love than ever in my life, for the particular tools it offers to grow the potential of body, heart and mind.  Mostly, this week, I am so grateful for Love, for Scott's recovery, and for Joe's.  Long may we remain on this earth together, using our shoulders judiciously, opening our great big hearts to each other and everything life has to offer.


Om Namah Shivaya!

Oh, Sara Crewe, how I still love you

I'm continuing my Frances Hodgson Burnett binge with a new Puffin Classics copy of A Little Princess, a book I adored and read repeatedly as a young person.  I still wish for the copy I read so many times which lives, most likely, at my parents' house, but for now am contenting myself with this lovely little paperback.

I cried and remembered myself as a kid when I read these final words in the chapter, "The Diamond Mines Again," the chapter in which Sara loses her beloved father and becomes a pauper, an equal to Becky, the scullery maid with whom she is friends:

"Oh, Becky," she said, "I told you we were just the same -- only two little girls -- just two little girls.  You see how true it is.  There's no difference now.  I'm not a princess any more."   

Becky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to her breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain.   

"Yes, miss, you are," she cried, and her words were all broken.  "Whats'ever 'appens to you --whats'ever -- you'd be a princess just the same -- an' nothin' couldn't make you nothin' different."

So much comfort in these words when I was a child, so much solace and inspiration.  No matter what the grown-ups do, how they treat you, how they talk to you or regard you, you can still be a princess inside, the only place it matters.  For me, it still has all the power of a manifesto.


It's wonderful to re-read, to take in the details, to realize how much my image of Sara is influenced by the Shirley Temple movie which I also adored and waited for eagerly when Channel 44 ran old movies at 10:30 on Sundays.  How lovely to realize that Sara actually had dark hair and green eyes, not blond curls, dimples and blue eyes.  How lovely to remember that she is a precocious 7 year-old,  not even a tween.  How lovely to be on this journey with her again, all these years later, and delicious to know the sweetness that's coming her way.  It's as good as it was then, maybe even better!


Oh, Sara Crewe, really, so glad to be with you again, in your attic room, a brave little soldier making the best of a terrible situation.  

Beauty is in the eye

I've been continuing my studies of the Austerities by reading Swami Chidvilasananda, first Sadhana of the Heart and now The Yoga of Discipline.  I try to make time to read some every morning, though that's challenging given how I love to stare the early morning away, walk the dog, ride my train of thought around the internet.  But since I still haven't created a regular meditation practice for myself, I figure the least I can do is carve out some time to read a couple of pages, re-devote myself, get my head on straight for the rest of the day.

The particular chapter in The Yoga of Discipline that I just finished, "Teach Your Eyes How To See," has been -- sorry, can't resist -- eye-opening.  Practicing discipline in seeing means being discriminating about what we take in through the eyes, about maintaining shiva-drishti -- i.e., seeing what's beautiful, what's auspicious, the divine in every form.  "The world," Gurumayi says, "is as you see it.  If you cannot find happiness in your attitude, in the way you look at things, then you cannot find happiness anywhere else either."  It is no wonder that Gurumayi is the teacher of my teacher and the teacher of my teacher's teacher -- Anusara begins with attitude, all in the interest of happiness.

What's so wonderful about Gurumayi's words is how practical she is, how cognizant she remains that "as people living in this world, there are so many things you have to do.  You are not living in a monastery like a cloistered monk who has the privilege of seeing only nature with all its beauty.  You have to do quite a few things that are unpleasant."  How to cope with these unpleasant things?  "All you need to do is pray inwardly to honor every form.  Whatever happens, see the Lord there."  I read "think" where she writes "pray" and "nature" where she writes "Lord," and then it's all good.  Yes, so many unpleasant activities are made so much more pleasant if I approach them with the same open-eyed delight as I would bring to a visit to the aquarium or a really good beach-find.

And really, just so practical.  Here's how to start the day:

When you first wake up in the morning, instead of rushing out of bed, pause and repeat your mantra.  Then rest your eyes upon the murti, the statue of a deity, or a photo or any object of worship.  It could be a photo of your chosen deity or of your Guru -- whatever is closest to your heart on the spiritual path.  You let your eyes rest upon that, and then you begin your daily routine, whatever it is -- brushing your teeth, taking a shower, going to meditate.  After that, you pause.

I've always been an altar-builder, and have long arranged things so that I see my most favorite things (aside from my husband, of course) when I open my eyes in the morning.  What I see first is books, my beloved dive-log, nature guides, lichen, feathers, my mala, coyote, bones, flowers, Shiva, and as the photo below depicts, my favorite perfume (Prada, delicious).
 

 

Though I've always piled things I love next to my bed within visual range, now I appreciate that so much more, knowing that the conscious effort of taking it in through my eyes every morning is actually beneficial -- fills me with the delight that I do want to carry through the day.  Beauty is so in the eye of the beholder, so my particular piles of beloved objects might not be anyone else's cup of tea, but for me, what a wonderful way to start the day.

An unexpected benefit of migraine

A migraine has been hovering, for a week or so, on the margins of my brain, so I was disappointed but not surprised that as soon as I got to class last night after a fairly stressful day at work, took a breath and got quiet, it came in for a landing.

Disappointing because I was so looking forward to this class, the fourth in a series, in which I knew we were going to focus on my yoga-kryptonite, kidney loop.

It was super-weird not to feel up to doing partner poses or inversions, everything I did through a light-sensitive nauseous haze. Laura was good to me and assisted me through some things, gave my skull a good, strong squeeze and some great adjustments.

But mostly I spent a lot of time watching people in their poses and really deeply and silently working on that pesky kidney loop. And wow, observing in class is amazing, and I really feel like I learned MORE last night by not practicing than I might have if I'd been my usual jump-around self.

I'm not saying I'd choose to feel that funky in class - but it was an unexpected boon to just receive information, just listen quietly, just take it in.

Yeah, I mean it

- How many Anusara yogis does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

- One to demo and 99 to clap.*

The demo is one of my favorite parts of the Anusara practice. I love that moment when someone is called on to demonstrate a pose, generally saying Yes before knowing what the pose is going to be. I love watching the pose unfold, and the way the whole class appreciates the student in the pose, ooh'ing and aah'ing, and then the applause when the pose is complete. I suppose what I love really is the way that the person demo'ing gets to shine, has the entire attention of the class, and then is celebrated communally for their effort and expression. We genuinely cheer each other on. That's so super-sweet.

That general climate of appreciation extends beyond the demo and pervades the whole class. The teacher calls out praise in particular poses, and we compliment each other as well. "Nice handstand, Brian!" or "You rocked that, Nancy!" It's always 100% genuine, and makes it so much fun, like we're on the playground practicing new tricks, egging each other on. It just gets better and better all the time.

I've grown accustomed to compliments, to being praised, to hearing my name at some point in the class -- it's such a great feeling to be seen in this way, that the teacher or a classmate saw what I was doing and called it out. Maybe that's a little childish, but really who doesn't like the feeling of doing something well, with commitment, and being noticed? It's such powerful reinforcement -- progress on the spiritual path takes discipline and devotion, encouraging each other makes the progress easier. And bottom line: so much more fun.

Tonight in parsvakonasana, which is a challenging pose for me, I was working all of the principles, really focused on integrating the instructions, growing the pose. I felt good, the pose felt powerful. And then I heard Laura say from across the room, "Good, Ariananda: I can see that you mean it." And right away I felt even stronger, happier and bigger.

Because yeah, I mean it.

Those words went straight in, deep, and I'm still thinking about them, thinking about how important it is to mean it, all the time, whether you're on the mat or not. In class, Meaning It has a science: open to something bigger, fingerpads and four corners of the feet down, muscle energy, armpits lifted, thighs in, back and apart, tailbone down, organic extension. If you work the principles, everything gets easier. With practice, poses which were out-of-reach inch closer and closer 'til you stick them.

But Meaning It all the time, even off the mat, that's something else, isn't it, something for which the yoga practice is precisely just practice. Those hours of practice pay off, though, all that time stretching to new lengths, trying new things, working through challenge, encouraging each other, appreciating what's beautiful in each classmate. It requires the same discipline to carry that devotion off the mat and into the office and elsewhere, but that's where it's needed. Isn't that the whole point?

So yeah, I mean it. I mean it everywhere. So nice to have all those other yogis clapping - makes it so much easier to mean it every minute, all the time.

* Gratitude to my beautiful little sister Martine for telling me this joke. It still makes me laugh.