A little honest negativity in yogaland
Tomorrow brings the last twenty-four hours that I will spend in Mysore, probably for a long time, if not forever. In the last four weeks, I gradually have discovered that I feel no magical, mystical or physical allegiance to this place above other places in the world. I found no great abundance of some specially blended, finer than divine spirit here; in fact, I have encountered greater soul in a karaoke joint in Japan. Of course, I am not saying that this location, above other locations, was supposed to provide something esoteric to justify my silly yoga vacation. I am saying, however, that the most questionable locations on this fine, blue planet, which may include (gasp) Los Angeles or even (jeez) a Los Angeles County courthouse hold as much potential for lighting my path on life and must not be forsaken for their bad reputations.
In a nutshell, Mysore for yoga is not for everyone. Or, at least, it is not for me. Or, at least, Mysore for yoga with Pattabhi Jois and his family at their ashtanga shala is not for me. I have no impersonal reasons to support my feeling, so this selfish rambling will mean very little to no one. Despite the intended insignificance of this, I also anticipate that it may anger at least one or two of my new acquaintances. Oh well.
I found the shala with Pattabhi Jois to be charmingly chaotic-- a circus at best, and insubstantial, vacuous and avaricious at worst. I know there are plenty of practicioners who cling to the importance of the ashtanga tradition, and I also cling, though lightly, in my way. I believe that many good things will come through patience and persistence and joy in my good deeds. I believe that I can become more grateful for, and understanding of, this universe we share by finding focus and cultivating love and generating energy. All of that good stuff unites me to you, and hopefully, you to me. Finally, for this purpose only, I believe that the practice of asana is one useful tool in the box that helps me out in this crazy adventure. I am obliged to my sweet existence to be able to boast just a bit here that my box contains other tools too, and some colorful pictures, and paints, and letters and little doodads and bits of ribbon that all inspire me to live this adventure freely, kindly, gently, lovingly and helpfully.
Here's a joke: a yoga student, upon finishing her poses for the day, requested to be in the presence of her guru. The guru, sitting in his office reading the paper, invited her in. She said, "oh thank you, thank you." He said, "yes, very nice." She kissed his feet, kissed his lips, and left. Later, she complained that she could not do a pose, and it was such a struggle, but she would keep trying though it made her knees hurt real bad, and oh, she would really like to fast for a week.
Okay, maybe I told it wrong. Or, you had to be there.
I suppose I am not destined to understand the idol worship, or even the need to have this leader, or at the most basic level, the argument that he is imparting something to us as a teacher. I will easily acknowledge that I have learned a great deal here from Indian people I have had the wonderful fortune to meet, from lovely, transitory friends who rightfully may be skeptical of my cynicism, from the endless prattle in my conspicuously hyperactive head. Each of these powerful forces have guided my thought as I try to solve both the question and answer that have been nagging at me for the last, slow four weeks. I think I have finally figured out what they are.
The question is, "why am I here?" The answer is, "to check it out." I give thanks to the ashtanga shala because it was the medium here for all the interesting doodads I can add to my box. I give thanks to ashtanga yoga and all that it represents because it grounds me and gives me time to be free from my mind. I give thanks to everyone else who made the trip here to participate in the medium and the yoga, and I hope that they figure out their question and answer someday too.
I, for one, am off to find some better ones now. I prefer the questions and answers that are a bit more interesting, thanks. The cool thing about this approach is that I can live my life and love my love, from any corner of the world, with no need to tumble from bed at hideously early hours nor worry about whether my feet are properly arranged behind my head, while I investigate the questions and answers.
In a nutshell, Mysore for yoga is not for everyone. Or, at least, it is not for me. Or, at least, Mysore for yoga with Pattabhi Jois and his family at their ashtanga shala is not for me. I have no impersonal reasons to support my feeling, so this selfish rambling will mean very little to no one. Despite the intended insignificance of this, I also anticipate that it may anger at least one or two of my new acquaintances. Oh well.
I found the shala with Pattabhi Jois to be charmingly chaotic-- a circus at best, and insubstantial, vacuous and avaricious at worst. I know there are plenty of practicioners who cling to the importance of the ashtanga tradition, and I also cling, though lightly, in my way. I believe that many good things will come through patience and persistence and joy in my good deeds. I believe that I can become more grateful for, and understanding of, this universe we share by finding focus and cultivating love and generating energy. All of that good stuff unites me to you, and hopefully, you to me. Finally, for this purpose only, I believe that the practice of asana is one useful tool in the box that helps me out in this crazy adventure. I am obliged to my sweet existence to be able to boast just a bit here that my box contains other tools too, and some colorful pictures, and paints, and letters and little doodads and bits of ribbon that all inspire me to live this adventure freely, kindly, gently, lovingly and helpfully.
Here's a joke: a yoga student, upon finishing her poses for the day, requested to be in the presence of her guru. The guru, sitting in his office reading the paper, invited her in. She said, "oh thank you, thank you." He said, "yes, very nice." She kissed his feet, kissed his lips, and left. Later, she complained that she could not do a pose, and it was such a struggle, but she would keep trying though it made her knees hurt real bad, and oh, she would really like to fast for a week.
Okay, maybe I told it wrong. Or, you had to be there.
I suppose I am not destined to understand the idol worship, or even the need to have this leader, or at the most basic level, the argument that he is imparting something to us as a teacher. I will easily acknowledge that I have learned a great deal here from Indian people I have had the wonderful fortune to meet, from lovely, transitory friends who rightfully may be skeptical of my cynicism, from the endless prattle in my conspicuously hyperactive head. Each of these powerful forces have guided my thought as I try to solve both the question and answer that have been nagging at me for the last, slow four weeks. I think I have finally figured out what they are.
The question is, "why am I here?" The answer is, "to check it out." I give thanks to the ashtanga shala because it was the medium here for all the interesting doodads I can add to my box. I give thanks to ashtanga yoga and all that it represents because it grounds me and gives me time to be free from my mind. I give thanks to everyone else who made the trip here to participate in the medium and the yoga, and I hope that they figure out their question and answer someday too.
I, for one, am off to find some better ones now. I prefer the questions and answers that are a bit more interesting, thanks. The cool thing about this approach is that I can live my life and love my love, from any corner of the world, with no need to tumble from bed at hideously early hours nor worry about whether my feet are properly arranged behind my head, while I investigate the questions and answers.
posted by your friend at Thursday, October 20, 2005
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