Tag Archives: freedom

Rewriting our own story

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It’s so easy to fall into a hollow canyon, surrounded by cliff walls, barely seeing sunlight in the depths and narrowness. A story exists. An experience happened. Our reactions are real, the scars smart if pressed. It’s easy to bind ourselves into one particular way of telling that story. I have a yearning for justice. I have always had a strong need for truth.

But, reality is that there rarely is justice, the past can’t be changed, and everyone has a different concept of truth. We create the world we want to see and so does everyone else. So what do we do? How do we live with hurt? How do we live with injustice?

Yogic philosophy would say all of that is just attachment to the unreal. Maya – illusion, ignorance, entangled, temporary. Justice is sorted out through karma. To remain in peace we must detach from our reactions to experiences and focus on the steady truth of the Self. Letting go of the expectation of another person being held responsible for, or even just owning their actions, is what can liberate us.

That letting go is extremely difficult, but must occur. There is no changing other people, only ourselves, only our own reactions and attachment to our reactions.

It’s hard to let go of the feeling that I am constantly the loser, the one controlled, the one who has to sacrifice while having to watch someone else be the winner, the controller, the one who does not have to sacrifice. It feels unjust, and finding the faith to believe so deeply in karma that I can let go of all my feelings is a challenge.

My mind understands what I need to do. I understand where my yoga practice needs to go. I know what will bring me peace. I know what reality is and isn’t. But getting my heart to release from the desire for truth and justice, responsibility, accountability, reckoning and freedom feels insurmountable. Yet, if I can’t do it, I will be buried. I cannot make any of that a reality in what isn’t really reality anyway.

So I need to rewrite my own story. Disconnect my story from anyone else’s, just live my own truth, live a just life accountable for my own actions, view myself alone, unaffected by the world around me.

I wouldn’t be the me I am right now without having gone through what I have gone through. I wouldn’t have encountered a greater understanding of people and how they react in sadness and rage. I wouldn’t have been given the gift of compassion through empathy. I wouldn’t have experienced a fuller aspect of life. I wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to scale a mountain, to sink so low I couldn’t see even one ray of the sun, to be stepped on and pushed down against my will, to lift myself up, and to be responsible for my own decisions. I own my choices and the consequences of those choices. One day I will be able to let go of it all – let go of the story – and exist only in truth and peace.

I won’t try to pull myself out of the canyon, I will try to disintegrate the walls.

Memories of flying

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I grew up in Central California, Monterey County. We lived all over the Peninsula but I always had a special place in my heart for Carmel Valley. It was the heat. Monterey always had a veil of coastal fog that might or might not burn off. A chill ocean breeze. And a perfectionist kind of feel brought on by the need to impress tourists. As a kid, it felt like sitting on the “good” furniture.

Carmel Valley (at that time) was country – family farms, ranches, cattle, horses, rolling golden hills. My middle school was next to a corn field, part of PE was running around the corn field several laps. One of my fondest memories and forever longings is the smell of the wild flowers at Garland Ranch in the summer.

My childhood memories are of throwing rocks in the river, catching horny toads, and running from tarantulas. My brother took horse back riding lessons at a ranch and I took ballet in a big barn where we begged to have class outside on the grass meadow.

The summer I was 19, I was back at home after a year of university overseas. I had decided to come back to the US but was a bit lost and unsure of myself, my choices, my future plans. My parents had just divorced, I wasn’t surprised but was still thrown, and I spent most of the summer going back and forth to Santa Cruz hanging out with my brother. At some point in the summer he came down with the chicken pox. I took care of him and got it as well.

I took a last minute job as a summer camp counselor for two weeks at Pinnacles National Park. I packed up my Dad’s old army tent (circa 1970s), a camping mattress, canteen, hiking boots, kerosene lantern, trail mix, and probably not much else – threw it in the back of my pick-up, put on short jean shorts and a tank top, grabbed a gallon bottle of water, and set off for adventure, taking the long scenic route on the road less traveled. Carmel Valley Road all the way east.

My little, no A/C, pick-up got great gas mileage (a plus when gas stations were not to be seen for hours), and loved to fly along at a good pace. I rolled down the manual windows, adjusted the radio knobs, and was on my way. Once in the valley, the heat began to bake the earth around me. The air coming in through the windows was hot but laced with the smells of golden grass, oak trees, and wild flowers. The road was empty and I flew along feeling the curves of the road beneath me like surfing a wave.

A teenager on the road – free. My truck was my wings. The radio, my voice. Summer, the promise of possibilities.

This is all pretty rural coming from a self-professed New Yorker. I fit in New York in a way I never fit anywhere else – everyone fits in New York. I am restless and New York offers the World, accessible by subway. But New York also offers a questionable quality of life and massive obstacles to livelihood for those struggling financially. It’s a rough town. I’m taking a break, trying to find my footing.

I am again a bit lost, unsure of myself, my choices, my future plans. Again relying on being home with family, dealing with being thrown by the changes in my life, and recovering from what has felt like a long debilitating illness on an emotional level.

I find myself driving down country roads, rolling down the windows to smell the sweetness of the earth, singing at the top of my lungs, basking in the warmth and quiet. I’m trying to find the feeling of endless possibilities again.

Cloudy with a chance of Anger

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Flipping through the copious beautiful quotes in Yoga Gems for inspiration, I found the perfect reminder for myself of one of the goals of the yogic path.

This is the ironic nature of spiritual realization. As we progress spiritually, we begin to see how we, ourselves, are the primary and ultimate cause of our own sorrows. Paradoxically, this is good news! It means that we can also be the cause of our relief, our release, and our happiness. –

Ron Leifer*

I know this. I believe this. I have experienced this in the past. It sounds so simple but is extremely difficult to implement. Anger is such a powerful force, it clouds everything.

There is injustice in the world. There are hurtful people. Bad things happen. Our power is in our reaction – not allowing that action to break us down into less than who we are. No one causes us to feel anger, we choose to be angry and we can choose not to be angry. This is no easy feat. Anger can feel so good. It’s a drug with a quick high but a long, slow, destructive low. Who it affects the most, who is hurts the most, is ourselves.

Releasing from anger is a deep liberation. Then we can focus. And that focus can lead to great things as well as our own peace. The goal of yoga is peace.

Discerning our reactions to the outside world and how they affect us is the beginning of the path to diffusing those effects. Looking deeper at the root causes of anger takes us into further understanding. Compassion is the key to unlocking the heart and letting go of the chains we have imprisoned ourselves in.

Allowing ourself to let go of the anger doesn’t mean an injustice wasn’t done and it doesn’t mean we disengage from the world – it simply means we are better able to interact with the world – in peace. We can see clearly where disconnects lie, miscommunication, misunderstandings. We can remain objective, be helpful, and remain at peace within ourselves. We can save ourselves and in doing so bring more peace into the world.

*Feuerstein, Georg, Ed. Yoga Gems: A Treasury of Practical and Spiritual Wisdom from Ancient and Modern Masters, Bantam, New York, 2002. p.108

We will be free

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“According to the Yogic system, the entire body changes in a period of twelve years; in other words, you do not have even one cell that was there twelve years ago.”1 (Satchidananda)

That statement kind of blew my mind and I started thinking about the stages of my life in twelve year increments. Was I the same person in each stage?

It does seem like I went through major changes at 12, 24, and 36. I could see each age as the beginning of a new era in my life. At 12 I quit ballet and piano, joined a children’s theatre group, and changed schools to change who I was, who my friends were, and start fresh in a new environment. At 24 I got my first permanent job in NYC, was in my first long term relationship, and felt, to my dismay, that I had really entered the adult world. At 36 I had my son – enough said.

But I still feel essentially like the same person. My core personality hasn’t changed although other aspects have come and gone depending on my life situation, location, job, relationship, or chronic illness and how I worked through them. Yoga helped re-form parts of myself. Travel helped open my eyes to seeing the world and people in new ways.

But that’s all my self – not my Self.

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Swami Satchidananda was talking about understanding the difference between what is permanent (Self) and what is impermanent (self). Who we really are – our soul – is permanent. Our impermanent self is generally how we define ourselves – by our body, job, clothes, names, home, desires, the list goes on endlessly. If we can understand and truly know the difference through vigilant discernment then we will no longer feel unhappiness. Change won’t affect us. There will be no disappointments, no fears, no heartache.

We will be free.

This freedom is the result of yoga practice. Lots and lots and lots of practice. Buckle up, it might take lifetimes…

 

 

1 Satchidanada, Swami, The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali/translation and commentary by Swami Satchidananda, Integral Yoga Publications, Yogaville, 1990, p 118 (Book 2 Sutra 26)

Riding the waves

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Santa Cruz is a beach town, a Northern California college town, a yoga teacher haven. The old hippy vibe never left even though the population has changed over the decades.  Trees are there for the hugging, dogs romp in the surf on their very own beach, drum circles hold the heartbeat, fog blankets the mountains. Strawberries, artichokes, brussel sprouts fan out in neat rows from the highway. Old adobes, ranch houses, and the odd yurt mix it up with modern developments, strip malls, and box stores.

It’s a place of paradox. “Keep Santa Cruz Weird” clashes with Starbucks and American Apparel. SUVs, hybrids, motorcycle gangs, skateboard crews, yuppie stroller squads.

One thing that doesn’t change is the ocean, the waves rolling in and the longing to be on a wave feeling absolutely free. I grew up on that bay and learned a healthy fear of the power of the Pacific, rip tides, undertows, jagged rocks, sudden massive waves, and great white sharks. But finally in my 20s, with a trusted guide who had been surfing Cowell Beach for 50 years, I suited up from head to toe, and paddled out into the deep blue.

I love to swim in the ocean, I have dived into many salty waters (all warmer than this part of the Pacific), and felt that singular kind of isolation looking back at land, fully focused on breath and the movement of the ocean, aware of my body alive and moving in this other body of expanse and power, much stronger than me, much greater than me, relentless in its constant change.

But there was something very different about sitting on a surf board, gently rising and falling, feeling the energy of the ocean beneath me rather than on me. It was incredibly peaceful. I felt a deep stillness and feeling of ease. There was a friendliness out there, away from the world on land, a community of joy.

I tried catching a wave numerous times before I finally felt the exhilarating sensation of being carried. I lost the momentum and the wave. I tried again. And again. And again. Suddenly I was on a wave, one foot planted, one knee grounded into the board and I felt a rush. When I tried to stand, I fell. Eyes stinging from the salt water, I heaved myself up onto the board and paddled back wanting more. Finally I managed to plant both feet, knees deeply bent, arms out, going on feel not technique and the wave moved me. My face was one big goofy grin. I rode that small wave all the way to the beach.

Happiness melted every aching muscle.

I struggled and worked and believed and then I let go and allowed the wave to take me to a place of peace and freedom. The little waves didn’t seem so daunting after that. I would have to work harder to deal with anything bigger. One day I might be able enough to ride any wave I meet.

Yoga doesn’t have to be found in a class or in a book. Nature is ready and willing to show us all we need to know if we just listen and feel and make ourselves fully present in the moment.