Lizzie for Free : a yogi's blog
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Gratitude and the gunas
One of the most challenging aspects of true gratitude is accepting all things in life as precious; without judgement, without control. It’s so easy to fall into the habit of perceiving things in our life as good and bad, extending appreciation only to those things we deem as beneficial to our small, ego-driven selves. When we begin to look at all of life’s manifestations as part of something bigger of which we are interconnected, something we only begin to skim the surface from the vantage point of the “I”, the ego, we develop an understanding for events happening according to a larger plan.
According to the ancient yoga philosophy, all of creation can be boiled down to consciousness and the life force. In the same way that the big bang theory thrust the material world into existence or a sperm and ovum create a new life by merging together, purusha (consciousness) and prakriti (life force) attract to each other and intertwine, spawning all of animate life.
All that is manifest is subject to the three gunas; qualities of the world we can see, feel and sense. These gunas are tamas, ragas and sattva. While each can be understood in a variety of ways, the basic nature of each can be understood as:
Tamas – the mode of destruction. Physical inertia with a tendency towards the past. Tamas is dark, heavy, and stubborn; cool in temperature, pungent in taste. Examples of tamas are expressed in a dead animal; someone who is manipulative, procrastinates or is stuck in the past; food that is starting to rot.
Ragas – the mode of creation. Physical activity tending towards thoughts about the future. Dim, needy and aggressive, ragas is hot in temperature and spicy in taste. Examples of ragas are a spicy curry; someone in need of constant affirmation, with excessive energy or frustrated by the world around them; an angry skin rash.
Sattva – the mode of preservation. Calm and alert, sattva exists in the present, bright and luminous. Sattva is pure and sweet in taste. Examples include a ripe fruit; a compassionate, karma yogi meditating in the present; a flower having just opened into it’s full foliage.
The gunas are woven together like a braid; intertwined into our physical reality, present in all things at all times. As a braid has one strand on top of the other two at any given time, one guna reigns over the others and the dominant guna is constantly changing.
Each guna has a natural lifecycle, not unlike the cyclical nature of seasons or a life that begins as a seed, developing into its full potential before it’s decay and ultimate death. Moment by moment, the evolution in the cycle of life transforms continuously.
As yogis, the paradox is that the sattvic state appears to be desirable, as a goal to attain. However, as soon as the mind attaches to its preferences seeking out one thing while trying to avoid another, we become ragasic with our expectations for the future and tamasic in our tendency towards manipulation. The true sattvic nature desires nothing, becoming sattvic through the process of staying present and detatching from our preferences and aversions, self-serving intentions, expectations and fears. Even the sattvic state morphs into something else as the peaceful body and mind inevitably seek new sources of stimulation.
We so often use these official times of year as superficial points to stop, reflect, and reset our expectations. It can be easy to forget that each day, each hour, each moment is a chance to begin anew. By practicing patience and cultivating awareness of whatever our present state of mind and body, we can begin to live more dynamically, as we listen and respond to our changing needs. Living becomes a practice acknowledging that all phenomena is subject to the gunas – to impermanence and constant change.
True gratitude lies within the knowledge (bhuti) that all of the sensual world is temporary. Rather than forcing ourselves to change at a pace that is self-controlled, we cultivate an appreciation for the knowledge that there is actually very little in life we have control over. The more we can accept all the aspects of our life as transformative, as gifts that we can choose to use as empowerment, the more the gunas can evolve fluidly and the more we can truly be present and grace-filled.
(caveat: of course, consuming products, services and media mindfully, including eating a vegetarian diet will naturally enhance the sattvic state, not that we are seeking that out;-))
The Origins of the Chakra System Part 2: Hatha Yoga and the Nadis
In Part 1 of this post, the ancient story of the Churning of Milk was paraphrased as a mythological explanation from where physical form and movement stem. The chakras exist because of, and give rise to movement, and in doing so embody the elemental forms in the physical anatomical/skeletal structure. To give context and structure to the chakra system, it is helpful to have an understanding of Hatha yoga and the subtle energy channels, or Nadis.
Hatha yoga comes from the words Ha, meaning sun, and Tha, meaning moon, and concerns two important and vital aspects of the physical body – the solar and lunar forces. In sanskrit these are known as ida and pingala; ida representing the moon, and pingala, the sun. Also referred to as Shakti and Shiva, these opposing forces interact with each other, guiding and directing our actions and knowledge base. It is in accordance with these forces that we live, move, think and know.
Ida and pingala are a part of an intricate network of energy channels in the body called Nadis which are not unlike our nervous system. One difference between these two systems is that the nervous system exists in the physical body and can be seen to the naked eye, while the Nadis exist in the subtle body, unseen to the naked eye and based on energy currents, vibration and psychic energy.
It is said there are 72,000 Nadis in the body, but for the purposes of better understanding the chakras, three are of primary importance: the ida, the pingala and the sushumna, the central channel.
Ida is associated with the left side of the body, and linked to the mind, cold, passivity, femininity and the moon. Pingala is on the right side, associated with prana, heat, activity, masculinity and the sun. The sushumna is poised in the middle between ida and pingala. The sushumna plays an important role in the final stages of purification on the path to enlightenment because by purifying the Nadis, mental and pranic forces are able to move up through sushumna aided by the chakras. This may ultimately result in enlightenment.
It is thought that there is a dormant potential energy in all humans referred to as Kundalini, the sleeping serpent coiled up at the base of the spine. Through meditation and other yogic practices, kundalini is awakened, and rises up through the sushumna to the crown chakra, where it resides in utero. In childbirth it is pushed down the sushumna to the muladhara chakra, or root chakra. Through various yoga practices including meditation, chanting, pranayama and asana, various levels of awakening are attained, until the kundalini finally reaches the top of the head, Sahasrara chakra, producing an extremely profound awakening that is referred to by terms such as enlightenment, samadhi and nirvana.
Chakra means wheel and implies movement. Like a wheel spins to bring motion to a vehicle, the chakras are responsible for moving energy through the body to maintain vitality and aid in the purification process. Chakras manifest at the intersections of two or more nadis. Because there are so many nadis, there are literally uncounted numbers of chakras in the subtle body; however, there are seven primary chakras which exist based on the number of times ida and pingala criss-cross at sushumna. Impurities in the nadis, or energy flow, cause blockages of the prana leading to disease in the physical body; a free-flowing body of energy is synonymous with wellbeing, freedom and liberation.
The Hatha yoga practice is focused on balancing the solar and lunar channels in the body to facilite this state arising, and the chakras play an integral role in maintaining the balance of forces due to their wheel-like structure and ability to move energy through the nadis.
What is Chakra Balancing?
Sanskrit word “chakra” means “wheel”. A wheel rolls, turns and, by means of circular movement takes one on a journey. You may find it interesting, as I do, that the word also refers to cyclical phenomenae, such as:
-a circular flight pattern of birds
-a cycle of years
-a winding of a river
-an astronomical circle
This circular, cyclical movement is happening throughout the body and at different speeds; however, we can think of the chakras divided into seven primary energetic centres. These centres are analogous with many things, including: the anatomy of the body; the elements of the earth; emotions; colours; animals; and sound.
When these energy centres are open and wellness flows throughout the body, we are at ease – physically, emotionally and in our relationships. However, when they are blocked through injury, illness or disconnection with others, we are prevented from being our best selves. The chakra system is in place from an early age, so the imbalance can begin within the earliest years of development when our earliest needs for food, shelter and warmth are not met. Imbalances can be formed at anytime and within any of the chakras when energy becomes static and inert.
The goal for a yogi is to keep the energy fluid and balanced, which can be done most directly through diet, energetic movement (such as vinyasa and deeply held asanas), pranayama, sound vibration and meditation.
Sourced from ancient teachings, chakra yoga is perhaps more relevant today than ever, at a time when so many feel disconnected from themselves and the community. By rebalancing the energetic channels in the body your heart will be more open to experiencing joy.
I will be teaching a Jivamukti Chakra Balancing Workshop at Indaba Yoga Studio in Marylebone, London on December 4, 2011. Suitable for all levels except complete beginners.
Practicing yoga with your child
Photo courtesy of teen-yoga.com
Creating a yoga practice with your child no matter what age is a special thing; the mat is a unique space that is creative while also being active, energising, disciplining and calming. During adolescence (the tween/teen years) it can be an even more important shared activity, as it becomes a reference point for discussions about relationships, diet, who we are and how we interact with the world.
At 10+, kids are just starting to work out how they feel about themselves and the world around them. They want to have their independent view on things, which can be a source of inspiration for a parent when channelled in the right way. Adolescents start to see the bigger picture and how they relate to the rest of the world. As yoga is all about inquiry, it is a safe, explorative space for kids to connect to their freedom of expression and questions about the self.
At the same time, guidance and structure are necessary, and the structure of a yoga class can help to build mutual respect. Creating an inviting, non-competitive atmosphere helps to break down boundaries, and infusing laughter and joking into the class is important to lighten everyone up, even while laying the foundation for rules. In a yoga class, discipline come from the teacher rather than the parent, and in this way, the playing field is levelled between parent and child.
The teen years can be difficult on so many levels; the stress of school and social pressure, hormones…discovering who you are in a myriad of relationships. Physical activity and rest are equally important in releasing the everyday tension, and having a shared space to not necessarily talk, but explore playfully together, can be invaluable for the evolution of parent-child relationship. Over time, yoga can help both parents and children to become calmer and more compassionate beings towards each other and others.
Check out my Parents and Teens class on Wednesdays at 4-5pm at Indaba Yoga Studio.
The Yoga Body
Several years ago I was having lunch with a friend discussing our dreams, our goals and our passions. “What I really want to do is practice yoga all the time, and maybe some day even teach yoga”, I said, admitting it out loud for the first time.
“Yea, but don’t you have to be thin to do that?”, he replied.
And such is the way of the mind – to judge, to condition, to expect things to be a certain way based on what we see in the media, read about in books, or rationalize based on experience (or lack thereof). Yogis are thin, some people think, because to practice yoga one has to be flexible, health conscious, active and therefore healthy. On and on go the preconceived ideas about what it takes to be a yoga teacher.
It’s true, that some yoga teachers are svelt, flexible and in pristine physical condition, but that in itself doesn’t make someone evolved in their practice or teaching (though it can certainly help when it comes to practicing asana). While not all yoga teachers have been blessed with a genetic gene pool that makes the practice of yoga easy or natural, the empathy developed from practicing in a body that is not naturally flexible or ‘perfect’ can be a teacher’s great gift to their students; it may even contribute to one’s compassion and ability to teach.
When the asana practice is easy, what can one learn from the practice? How does a human pretzel relate to students who find certain postures challenging or even painful?
The philosophy of yoga says that we have been born into our families and our bodies for a reason based on our samskaras (past karmic imprints). This implies that we are not in complete control of our metabolic makeup, our shape, or even our overall health. Yoga philosophy says that what happened many lifetimes ago may just be germinating karmically in this lifetime, so we should take it in stride, do all that we can to treat others with kindness and compassion, and practice our sadhana. The rebirthing process into a human body is a gift – it’s an opportunity to work out our past karmic seeds and evolve, and perhaps even attain enlightenment in this lifetime.
Many yoga teachers have come to teach due to their love of yoga and the positive changes they have experienced in their own lives as a result of their practice. This implies that they had something that drew them to the practice to begin with, some type of suffering or seeking within. Through the teaching of asana, however, some yogis get sidetracked from their sadhana, trying so hard to fit into the image of what they think they should be as a ‘yogi’ that they become busy with ‘doing yoga’ instead of ‘being’ in their practice. These teachers may look and act the part, but observe more closely and you may become aware: of the ‘vegan teacher’ who is passionate about causing less harm to four-legged beings, yet rude and dispassionate towards human-beings; the ‘sadhu teacher’ who looks and acts the part of a guru yet is so caught up in being a teacher that they don’t know how to be a student; the ‘flexible teacher’ who is so busy with demonstrating the postures to their students that they are practicing the postures inaccurately and actually harming themselves. These observations are not made with the intention to judge, but rather, to remember that things are never what they seem, and at the end of the day, we are all doing the best we can in our human-ness. No one is perfect, there is no such a thing.
I was asked by a complete stranger (who happens to be a yoga teacher) recently if I was pregnant. I explained to her that while I have a son, I’m not currently pregnant. I added that I have a digestive disease that I’ve had since I was three that makes my belly appear bloated. “Yea, you have baby belly alright”, she said, ignoring my previous comment. “Pilates could really help that, and so could some yoga”. I decided not to tell her that I practice pilates twice a week, have been practicing yoga for 15 years. In truth, my ego was a knocked down a couple of notches, but it was a great reminder that we never really know what is going on with people, regardless of what we see on the outside. Not everyone who appears overweight or unhealthy is so because of their diet or their lifestyle, and a yoga teacher who asks a complete stranger if they are pregnant may not know enough to realize that not all people are created with a flat tummy.
My belief is that a yoga body is a body of grace, awareness, energy and confidence. Whether tall or short, svelt or round, a yogi is one who is interested in forging a positive relationship with one’s whole self. This means no longer identifying with the positive and negative aspects of one’s being, but rather, ceasing to view oneself with positive or negative aspects-accepting both in equal measure, in whole-ness. From the study of the yamas and niyamas, a yogis walks with grace and integrity; from the asana and pranayama practice, a yogi has a vibrant cultivation of positive energy. By practicing pratyahara, dharana, and later, dhyana, confidence flows. These are attributes I aspire to in my yoga body. What do you seek from your practice?
Bryony Bird Interviews Me!
(Louis playing and baby-talking throughout in background)
BB: What drew you to your first Yoga class?
LR: I was living in Washington DC and was pretty active physically (running marathons and swimming), but also had an active mind. I felt if I didn’t exercise I might blow a fuse, and sought out yoga to help quiet my thoughts. I was also drawn to the principles of yoga having studied eastern religions and philosophy in university.
BB: What kind of style were you introduced to?
LR: There was a yoga shala down the street that was quirky and authentic. At that time I didn’t know enough to ask what style it was – it was slow classical type of yoga with a lot of meditation. The teachers wore orange and led meditations by instructing the students to ‘empty the mind’. The concept of an empty mind was difficult for me to understand at the time, and despite feeling very good after the classes, I didn’t find myself there on a regular basis.
It was perhaps more of an esoteric type of practice than I was ready for at that time. It was four years later that I went to my first Astanga class which I really took to; it appealed to my need for physicality but my self-competitive nature made it difficult to move beyond the asana practice and into the other limbs of the practice. By means of exploration I came to the Iyengar practice and other methods.
BB: What made you move away from Astanga?
LR: It was not thought through- I moved to Amsterdam in 2000 and was practicing Astanga and Iyengar. I had a shoulder and neck injury that came from stress and not practicing some of the postures correctly, and I found myself re-evaluating why I was practicing yoga and what aspects were becoming more important for me. Eventually I was ready for a practice that more overtly threaded the teachings and philosophy together with the asana practice, and discovered Svaha yoga with Patrick and Gos. That became my entry point into the yoga I practice today.
BB: What kind of style do you teach and practice at this moment?
LR: By definition, I teach the Jivamukti method, and my philosophical understanding of yoga and teaching style is strongly influenced by the founders of the method, Sharon Gannon and David Life. Having said that, we are all constantly evolving, and for me as a teacher and practicioner it’s fundamental to continue to practice different methods and to study with different teachers to continue my own evolution.
BB: How important do you think it is to label yoga classes with a name or a method?
LR: I think labels are helpful to the students to know a little bit about what kind of class they are going into. Yoga methods and teachers vary so dramatically that it can be helpful to the student to have a point of reference. In a Jivamukti class, for example, there are certain types of asanas (eg. side bending, twists, backbend) that must be included in the practice, there is a focus of the month that sets a theme for the class. Along with this, music usually plays a role in the class.
BB: Who are your teachers?
LR: My students are my best teachers of the body and of what it means to be human; then there is my son who teaches me everyday about learning to listen – not just with my ears. My yoga teachers are Sharon and David, Thich Nhat Hanh, Richard Agar Ward, and many other great teachers I take classes with around town. My greatest life teacher has been learning to live with impermanence, especially as it relates to the ever-changing state of the body and mind.
BB: How did you get into Thai Massage and Cranio Sacral Therapy?
LR: Ironically I wanted to spend some time with a friend who happened to be doing a thai massage course, so I decided to go along with her despite having never had a thai massage. I really took to it. At the Thai Yoga Massage training one of the teachers was also a Craniosacral Therapist and I had a session with him that was subtle but powerful. He was nurturing, but managed to stir up some old experiences and emotions. After a couple of weeks I returned home and the same area on my body he had been working on experienced a huge opening. I felt spaciousness and freedom in an area of the body I had never even thought much about. I didn’t understand how it worked but it was something I kept coming back to and I realized something much deeper was going on.
BB: How do you learn therapies- theory vs intuition
LR: Everyone is different and learns differently. For me it’s an organic and intuitive visceral exploration. The therapist’s role is to be able to understand the body and its deep connection with the energy, physicality and emotional/ mental disposition of the client, and the experiences that have contributed to their overall state of being.
BB: How has being a Mother influenced your career decisions?
LR: It has clarified how important practicing and teaching is for me. The first time I left the hospital was to give client a massage and it felt fantastic, it was a great reminder that I have capabilities (other than mothering).
It has helped me to balance things and to prioritize. I can’t place my needs first, or even my client’s needs first anymore. In a way this has improved how I treat and value myself, I have to have integrity not just for me, but also for my son. I have it in my personality to be a ‘yes’ person, and at times in my life I have been miserable but have continued without speaking up just for not wanting to rock the boat- to please others. I’m learning now to create boundaries and to be okay with saying no.
BB: You have your own blog- Do you think it is important to engage with modern technologies when you are teaching ancient healing arts?
LR: Not at all. Some of the best teachers I know don’t even have email. I think if it’s an interesting platform for someone to better understand their ideas and it can serve to provoke others to think, then it’s certainly worthwhile. It can help bring people together and stay connected to ideas. If all the teachers of yoga were luddites then the global satsang would lose some of it’s energy as these electronic mediums are the backbone for global events in the evolving art of yoga to stay afloat.
BB: You are now a Yoga Teacher and Therapist in a new studio in Marylebone. Indaba Yoga. Is it important to be regularly in one place rather than moving around?
LR: Its always been my intention not be a stressed out or burnt out yoga teacher and for that I am very much looking forward to teaching regularly in one place. Ultimately it helps students and clients because the more I know their practice, their minds and bodies, the more it becomes a joint healing process that we share.
Lizzie teaches at Indaba Yoga Studio in Marylebone Wednesdays and Fridays at 10am and 4pm, and Sundays at 10am as well as offering Thai Massage and Craniosacral Therapy by appointment.
Shraddha and the Guru
Guru Brahma
Guru Vishnu
Guru Devo Maheshwara
Guru Sakshat
Param Brahma
Tasmai Sri
Guruve namaha
May I have the good grace to see the teacher in my creators, those helping to preserve my present life, and the lessons learned through calamity, illness, birth and death. May I become aware of those gurus around me all the time which may pass me by, and the teachers in those otherworldly forces I may not see or even understand.
The other day while explaining the meaning of the Guru Chant in class, a student in the front row of class asked gently, “excuse me, do I have to participate in this part of class? I’m Christian…”
I was glad that she asked this question since people coming to a yoga class for the first time, and in particular the Jivamukti class where there tends to be chanting and spiritual discourse, may be intimidated by references to Hindu Dieties, and talk about God, Faith and Spirituality.
Yoga in itself is not a religion. It may certainly co-exist and strengthen one’s spiritual beliefs, however, the yoga practice has no organized hierarchy of persons residing over a specific set of beliefs or rituals that one must follow to be admitted to the organization. The ancient texts of the yoga practice aim to aide the practitioner in understanding and attaining the state of yoga, and many of the western schools of yoga exist to keep these teachings alive through modernised methods. While there are books, schools and studios available to educate and bring structure to one’s practice, it is not necessary to read the texts or even to practice with a school of yoga to be a yogi. In fact, some of the great, enlightened beings have been self-taught or have even been born in that state (see Amma, Anandamayi Ma, Ramana Maharshi, Sai Baba-ji).
There is a sanskrit word shraddha, which translates loosely to faith, or as the great teacher Amma describes it “constant alertness arising from Love”. It is with this faith that we can be open to the teachers as they present themselves to us in all their various forms. This faith enables us to believe in the teacher, as well as the teacher that we all have within us. This faith empowers us to become self-aware and to take responsibilitiy for our actions, particularly how we interact with and affect the planet and all its inhabitants. In this context, yoga is a faith-based spiritual philosophy with limitless paths (sadhana) and unlimited possibilities for everlasting bliss and happiness (samadhi). It is the teachers in our lives – from our parents and ancestors, to those supporting us in our daily lives to those we may not even recognize as teachers at all – who help us to define our individual path and continue to evolve along the way. May we honor these teachers.
Ma, the first teacher
The teachings of yoga honor the Mother as the first true Guru in our lives. Not the Virgin Mary or even the Mother Earth, but one’s actual mother; the one who brought life into a developing fetus, the one whose subtle (and sometimes no-so-subtle) vibrations are heard and felt through the first days and years of life.
A Guru means the one who has removed the darkness, or one’s inability to see the Truth (Ru-remover; Gu-ignorance, darkness, obscurity). The Truth is that we are all connected through our unlimited potential to love and be loved; we are not separate, individual beings, but One. The Guru is the teacher who sees her student completely and transparently, loving the student unconditionally as a holy being.
Traditionally it is the mother who spends the most time with her child through the early years of life. Teaching baby how to eat, sleep, and bathe are paramount; communication, walking and talking fall in place as priorities for survival. However, it may difficult for some to perceive mother as a teacher, particularly if the relationship has been complicated by a history of harmful or abusive behavior. Growing up through the various changes in life is challenging, and often love and hate become intertwined in moments of frustration; anger can emerge as emotions run high.
Yoga philosophy says that nothing is by chance. Past karmas (everything we’ve ever thought, said or done, including in past lives) dictate the family one is born into, whom one’s parents are, where one comes from, and even how a person looks and behaves. Whether or not this is in line with your belief system, resolving past issues with one’s mother can aide in reaching a point of compassion and understanding in the relationship. Through the practices of yoga, we come to appreciate that given one’s samskaras (past karmic grooves or imprints), each and every one of us is doing the best we can in life given our individual circumstances, and this understanding alone can help cultivate loving kindness.
Thich Nhat Hanh says “give up hope of a better past”. By focusing on the present moment honor your mother as your teacher and all the positive things she’s brought into your life.
THE BOX: An Ashtanga Story (by Norman Blair)
THE BOX
BEING INSIDE LOOKING OUTSIDE:
AN ASHTANGA STORY
by Norman Blair
I would like to present this piece in the spirit of compassion, co-operation and communication. My thanks to Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, Sharat Jois and all teachers who have developed this practice and helped me along this path. The purpose of writing is to encourage debate and dialogue amongst practitioners. Some of what is written might be controversial but this is not a rocking of the boat simply for the sake of provocation. If I see an elephant in the room it needs to be said – even if that elephant is Ganesh. This is a heartfelt attempt towards understanding this tradition and the possibilities for transformation.
ONE DAY MANY YEARS AGO
There are endless beginnings: one beginning is a morning in March 1963 when I took my first breath (it was an inhale). Another beginning was a day in 1973 when a young American called David Williams turned up at a house in Mysore to ask its inhabitant – a Brahmin in his late 50s called Sri K. Pattabhi Jois – to teach him yoga. I was 10 years old: I imagine myself happily playing in short trousers without too many worries. David Williams was 23 years old and on a mission not only to find himself but also to discover a source of living long life. He had been inspired by stories of Indian yoga practitioners who did miraculous feats and lived forever and while travelling in India he came across a demonstration of physical prowess by a yogi called Manju Jois. Manju’s father was his teacher – hence the journey to Mysore.
This has been a journey subsequently followed by tens of thousands in search of…well something: something that might be variously described as a place of peace, a well of insights, a way of health. After months of intense study with Pattabhi Jois – which included 2 ½ hours of asana practice in the morning, a brief rest and then a pranayama practice – David Williams returned to the USA where he taught such people as Danny Paradise and David Swenson: the Ashtanga yoga wheels were rolling.
Fast forwards nearly 15 years: Ashtanga yoga is becoming firmly established in the USA. There is growing interest in this athletic and physically demanding form of yoga. It’s 1987 and Richard Freeman – a long established Iyengar yoga practitioner and Sanskrit scholar – meets Pattabhi Jois on one of the now regular tours that he’s making to the west (he first visited the USA in 1975). Now I was 24: an anarchist rebel struggling against the state and on the cusp of the second summer of love when we would find ecstacy teaching the white man how to dance.
Long gone were the short trousers: it was about to be baggy trousers. It was also in 1987 when Derek Ireland and Radha Warrell first went to Mysore: Derek and Radha being among the most important individuals in the introducing of Ashtanga yoga to western Europe. Six years later – 1993 – and I would start regular attendance at a yoga class that subsequently became an Ashtanga practice when the teacher studied with Derek and Radha.
TRAPPED OR TRANSFORMATIVE?
For more than 15 years I have been practicing Ashtanga yoga: first in led classes and since 1999 in the self-practice environment with a certified teacher. This has been a journey: from straining to touch my toes to a practice that has a level of smoothness flowing through the poses. But what I am interested in knowing is if this practice reinforces or reduces neuroses? We are all neurotic to a greater or lesser extent: we all experience differing levels of unease which in the words of Carl Jung are expressed as “restlessness, vague apprehensions, psychological complications”. There is a similarity to the kleshas of yoga philosophy: a translation is “torments of the mind”. A contrast to the kleshas is ‘metta’ (sometimes translated as “gentle”): can our practices lessen the kleshas and increase the metta? Can there be a diminishing of torments and a growing of gentleness? Are we trapped in Ashtanga or can it be transformative?
Richard Freeman wrote “as yoga students and teachers, we tend to become attached to and prejudiced about our own school and methodology… consequently it is not uncommon to simply rest on the superficial levels of the school we consider to be our own”. Might this be true for us Ashtangis? These are questions that puzzle me – perhaps I am looking for answers in writing this piece.
One criticism that comes from those outside Ashtanga is that of its self-declared ancient origins. Pattabhi Jois claimed to discover the original postural sequences on banana leaves (sometimes it was said to be palm leaves) that were a few thousand years old. Conveniently these leaves then promptly crumbled to dust leaving no evidence at the scene. Often when Pattabhi Jois recounted this story it would be with a smile – and as has been documented in books such as ‘Yoga Body’, the origin of the Ashtanga postural sequence is probably more about 19th century physical health movements in Europe than distant yogic texts.
On the basis of this evidence Ashtanga has been described as “fraudulent deception”– which somewhat misses the point. An authorised Ashtanga teacher said “one of the reasons I got into this yoga thing was because I was looking for an alternative to the likes of the creationist Christians…now looking at it, it is as if the whole raison d’etre of practice is based on a similar creationist myth”. But the important point is that for Indian religions this method is a tested way of introducing new ideas into tradition. Rather than Pattabhi Jois being a fraud, in fact he (along with his teacher Krishnamacharya) were original thinkers attempting to adapt and update their tradition. This practice of introducing innovation into tradition existed for example in Tibetan Buddhism (see footnote 1).
THE TURN TO SPIRITUAL PRACTICES
Far from being a fraud, Pattabhi Jois has been a significant figure in the western turn towards spiritual practices. The vehicle of Ashtanga has been a transmission belt for many people to enter practices they might not have considered. The athleticism of Ashtanga has been attractive to those who could dismiss yoga as navel gazing. Plenty of people have come to practices that they otherwise would have not been reached – which is great. Because in this western world (for all its material abundance and relative egalitarian openness) there is loss of meaning, there is breakdown of human community, there is lack of appreciation, there is unsustainable strain placed on environment. Cultures that were more contemplative have been replaced by absorption in distraction: rather than arts of storytelling we have fascination with celebrity and an endless parade of so-called information in the mass media. These are the anxious ages – though anxieties have been part of the human condition since the start of our species.
There is profound dislocation in modern society and not only are we dislocated, this is an unsustainable social structure. We are living out Easter Island (where they cut down all the trees and then civilisation collapsed) on a global scale. Despite the abundance, despite the great social gains of the last 150 years, this is our reality within the materialism of modern world.
That brings us back to the question: does Ashtanga yoga help in resolving such dislocations and this meaninglessness – in bringing us closer to places of insight and peace? For some people definitely yes and for some people probably no: because we are disparate individuals with our own storylines. So for one person Ashtanga can become a meditating in movement which creates ground for stillness and lucidity in mind. For another person Ashtanga is the basis for more striving, the struggling and the straining where we are simply replicating already present patterns in the fixation on postural success.
According to Richard Freeman “if you practice a system unwaveringly, something will remain unaddressed or unresolved and there is likely to be residue from the practice and some aspect of your life that remains unconscious”. We come to the requirement for paths to be plural – what can be problematic is that some people who are drawn to Ashtanga are the ones who might need it least: what could be called the type A success oriented personality.
PERSONALITIES
It’s these personalities – and there are many of us like this – who are easily caught in the ladder of Ashtanga yoga: climbing through the postures so practice just strengthens the wanting mind. One experienced student came back from a week retreat with a certified teacher stating “I was the worst practitioner there” – when the actual reality is that she has a strong practice. Ashtanga can be such a hard taskmaster with its narrative principally written by winners rather than losers. One senior teacher said “that’s why you get such good results” (which some would query). But how many have to be broken on the wheels of rigidity and dogma?
It is these wheels that can cause the failure to point out the obvious (such as jumping straight into chaturanga can damage shoulders, such as turning feet out for drop-backs can damage knees). The acrobatic aspects of practice does mean that the inherently flexible rise up the hierarchy of teachers more rapidly then others. Admired for their circus skills, maybe more essential aspects of teaching – such as personal integrity, ethical foundations, empathetic connection – are not as well developed.
This wanting mind means that we might be less likely to critique the way that these postures are adjusted by teachers: some adjustments are verging on brutal because of that drive to be getting further on through the sequence. There are the nightmare stories of over-enthusiastic teachers struggling to force round pegs of individuality into what could be viewed as the square holes of Ashtanga.
Too many adjustments have been done with too little awareness and rather than the body being a temple, it becomes a battlefield to be bullied into perceived perfect posture. How many authorised teachers have broken people’s knees in postures such as bhekasana or garbha pindasana – and certified teachers breaking femurs in Marichysasana B? And the many examples of everyday Ashtanga teachers causing injury through too much zeal, too much attachment to how a posture should be (and also of course making mistakes – that human fallibility).
CONDUITS FOR CONNECTION
But at the same time adjustments – when done well – are a powerful way of encouraging and enabling practice: showing us what is possible within the body, gently leading towards places where we probably thought that we would never arrive, a genuine conduit for connection. This requires skill and sensitivity to ensure that adjustments are not just a copying of what someone else has done: that the adjusting arises from a place of care and love. Because often this does not happen – at times when being adjusted I have wondered where is the love.
There has been no serious attempt made to study the rate of injuries amongst Ashtanga practitioners – there do seem to be a number of sensitive shoulders and sore backs. And those knee operations that are held up almost like badges of battle honours, the long-term practitioners who experience degrees of discomfort in their bodies. But it has to be noted that this applies to other yoga styles – two teachers (one teaching since 1985 and the other from the early 1990s) told me that as much as there are knee issues with Ashtanga practitioners, there are hip issues with Iyengar practitioners. Both of these teachers trained and taught within the Iyengar tradition before branching out.
There is anecdotal evidence of long-term intense yoga practice wearing out joints – though it could be said that so does life. If it’s all about sitting in padmasana surely something has gone wrong somewhere? And it’s not just about sitting in padmasana – in Ashtanga it’s sitting in padmasana always leading with the right foot. This might have been one of the straws that broke the camel’s back for a third series practitioner – she simply said “I got fed up with putting the right foot in first”.
ASHTANGA AS HEALING
Yet I know several people who have experienced significant healing from conditions such as cancer or chronic fatigue thanks to their Ashtanga practice. There are many examples of sick people getting better because of Ashtanga – practice definitely has the potential to be healing. One reason is that this strong stretching of the physical body can be highly therapeutic as there is releasing of held tension and a breaking down of emotional tightness. It is unquestionable that Ashtanga can be healing: but this does not mean that we cannot question the how of practice and encourage a wider perspective beyond physical postures.
And maybe one reason why it might have gone wrong sometimes is the arrogance that often attaches itself to Ashtanga. Of course arrogance isn’t solely reserved to Ashtangis: other systems and styles can be greatly arrogant. But within Ashtanga there can be an arrogance that accompanies a high level of physical proficiency – yet one of the few certainties in this highly uncertain world is that over time physical proficiency declines: so if there is an attachment to that, then inevitably there is greater suffering.
Two meditation teachers illustrated these difficulties: Tsokyni Rinpoche said “one of the pitfalls when hatha yogis use the body solely is arrogance” (footnote 2). Rigdzin Shikpo wrote: “physical yoga develops both power and feelings of power…the feeling of power that comes from the successful practice of yoga can be used to manipulate others…success in physical yoga can also produce pride…it takes significant effort to accomplish this kind of practice, although it’s nowhere near as difficult as working directly with the mind”.
This attachment to power and physicality could be called “the tantra of Ashtanga” – and it is true that amongst yoga systems, Ashtanga is one of the closest to tantric hatha yoga practices with its emphasis on breath, bandhas, drishti. There is an approach of sacred body which draws inspiration from tantra – but to balance dangers of over-attachment, tantric practitioners would live in charnel grounds to watch the decomposing of bodies: flesh rotting away, falling off bone, being eaten by birds and other animals. Maybe us modern Ashtangis could go to crematoriums and work in hospices as a reminding of the inevitability of physical impermanence: getting ever fitter or being botoxed will not prevent sickness, old age, death.
FLEXIBILITY AND INFLEXIBILITY
As well as this attaching and arrogance there can be inflexibility amongst long-term practitioners, which is ironic considering the levels of physically flexibility. The teacher verbally assaulting a student when they wanted to practice elsewhere – the teacher refusing to let one of their students assist another teacher – the certified Ashtanga teacher who said to a student when she asked if she could use a block: “no, that’s not yoga”.
Yet there are numerous examples of teachers acting with great generosity and kindness, encouraging and enabling their students, assisting other teachers to set up their own classes even when that is in ‘competition’ with them. These teachers being beacons on a path. However there is a tendency amongst some teachers towards controlling – rather than sharing, there is a reaction where behaviour is defensive and sectarian: blind faith might lead to blindness. This calls into question aspects of what we are practicing.
One suggestion for such behaviour is the sheer speed of the practice – holding postures for five breaths is an advanced form and the breath easily becomes shallow. Despite Pattabhi Jois’ instruction – according to Lino Miele: “teaching a long breath…a practice of ten seconds each inhalation, ten seconds each exhalation” – often the breath is much shorter. Research has shown that when shorter breath is combined with vigorous physical movement we go more into the sympathetic nervous system. It’s the sympathetic nervous system that is fight, flight, freeze – and here we become defended and individualised. In the parasympathetic nervous system there is much more ability to connect: that’s a system of tending and befriending, resting and digesting.
This suggestion that practicing Ashtanga could be pushing us into the sympathetic nervous system needs consideration. Fast breathing is demonstrated in Sharat’s audio CD of the primary series: each pose (not including entry and exit) takes about 20 seconds. With the five breaths in each pose this means that there are four seconds per breath which is an inhalation in two seconds and an exhalation in two seconds. The rapidity of this breath along with strong physical movements might be putting us into that fighting flighting freezing nervous system: where rather than openness and inclusivity, abundance and compassion there is control and rigidity.
Because isn’t a point of this practice to encourage openness and inclusivity, abundance and compassion? This isn’t a matter of adept physicality (if it was, then this is just gymnastics) – it is a matter of transforming consciousness so there is an increasing of insight balanced by loving-kindness. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like that within the Ashtanga box.
There is rivalry, there is competitiveness, there is lack of dialogue and defending of empires. Of course this is true of many aspects of life and it has been said that Ashtanga is just a mirror that brings up the existing tendencies. But a practice within Buddhism is that students are encouraged to spend time with teachers from different traditions which might help to undermine such tendencies. This is not so true within Ashtanga with its emphasis on “practice, practice and all is coming”.
SOMETHING’S GOING TO HAPPEN
But what kind of practice? Many Ashtanga practitioners just do the physical practice: that postural sequence. One practitioner told me how as he went through the third series he really thought something was going to happen when he got to the end: but nothing did. He then finished the fourth series – and still nothing happened: maybe that is the lesson in itself. His practice now is the standing sequence several times a week and a sitting practice. When talking about other teachers he said “I need to look inside myself and wonder if there is any animosity towards that person”.
This practitioner’s honesty was significant – in contrast possibly to others who are more in the realm of physicality. Because it is in stillness of sitting that there might be more possibilities for self-reflection and maybe growing of awareness. Ashtanga can help us to be aware and reflective but this ‘movement as meditation’ proposal which is presented by those who are only doing the physical practice could be lacking in validity for many of us.
We entertain ourselves with movement thus keeping the distractions at arms length as we stay addicted to stimulation. In the stillness and simplicity of sitting there are opportunities for observation that are not so present when we are moving. And if we are able to embrace the boredom of meditation it becomes more like equilibrium in which we could be free from that craving for entertainment – and our need to grasp happiness and fight discomfort is gradually relaxed.
As we move from pose to pose there is clearly a requirement for attention (a studying of body and breath) but we can just become fixated in this body and not go as deep within as a stillness practice might perhaps enable. As well as a lack of validity, this breaks one of the traditions that Ashtanga is upholding: the tradition that the physical postures are preparations for sitting and meditation – the sixth and seventh limbs: dharana and dhyana. In all the sweating and the striving of much Ashtanga these limbs seem to be have been marginalised.
I love the Ashtanga practice: I love the power that it gives to me – I love its flow and the concentration required for practicing: yet I feel that there is a lack somewhere. The fascinations with flexibility ignore the fact that we can have highly flexible bodies but tight minds. It’s often forgotten that for nearly all of us this brain is the stiffest muscle. The common failure to encourage practitioners towards other forms such as pranayama and sitting mean that Ashtanga stays as a sequence of physicality. And the intensity of practice lessens the probability that people will look outside the box (this can be a cult characteristic).
MENTAL CLEARING
A number of practitioners have said to me that they do not have the time to meditate. Obviously there are many demands on time: the childcare commitments, the struggle to survive in this world – but it’s about what we prioritise. Pattabhi Jois called meditation “mad attention” and he never taught anyone to sit. The truth is that it is much easier for us to ground ourselves in body instead of this mind that is so like a chimpanzee caught in a cappuccino bar: the busyness and things to do. But Pattabhi Jois also said “this is not physical practice, this is mental clearing”. At some point we have to investigate mind. We need to be reminded that “the purpose of asana is to tune our body in such a way that we can sit for long hours in meditation” (the words of SL Bhyrappa who studied with Pattabhi Jois in the 1970s).
Essentially when the perception is of primacy of the physical practice that means a prioritising of physiques over mind training. Obviously there is very significant overlap and an intimate connection between mind and body: but there are differences in techniques for body and mind. Norman Allen (one of the first westerners to be taught by Pattabhi Jois) was asked “how far do you think the physical practice can take you?” His reply was succinct: “in most cases probably nowhere without taking other steps”.
Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche is the spiritual leader of Shambhala which is a network of Buddhist centres set up by Chogyam Trungpa. He studied with Pattabhi Jois and is an Ashtanga practitioner. He talks of the need to bridge gaps between meditative forms – some of which are called ‘Buddhism’ – and physical forms – some of which are called ‘yoga’. In describing these meditative forms Sakyong Mipham emphasised “to understand what is going on we have to stabilise the situation…we have to slow down and get a feeling of who we are and what we are doing…through the practice of meditation we learn to penetrate the confusion of our minds and our perceptions”.
We have our well-toned Ashtanga physiques but ultimately so what – where’s the liberation from conditioned existence when we can see the rope is actually a rope (far too often we think it is a snake), where we experience insight into phenomena and are connected to compassion?
SNAKES AND ROPES
Both Pattabhi Jois and Chogyam Trungpa would have very probably seen that the rope is a rope. Both came from places of having no students from outside their own cultures (South Indian Brahmin and Tibetan) to being enthusiastically followed by thousands of westerners. Both displayed an approach that has been called the trickster (this is meant in a positive way and comes from the words of Richard Freeman). As they went on there was a making up regulations and on occasion fooling their students to help the waking up process.
Yet as their spheres of influence grew there arose problems. One of those close to Chogyam Trungpa was Reggie Ray – in an interview he said: “He worked with us each individually but later his teachings were converted into this sort of step-by-step process with a somewhat rigid curriculum. We all relied too much on trying to pin everything down mainly because I think our community was so large and we couldn’t think of any other way to do it. I think this was a mistake because beginning in the later 1970s we were running things the only way we knew how which was to fall back on a lot of rules to try to preserve what he had taught”. (See footnote 3).
Having been in this box for a period of time, it is interesting to look back and observe the changes: from not touching my toes to folding flat forwards – from fearing headstand to standing on my head for a long time – from that first inhale to the young boy in short trousers to those baggy trousers and anarchist politics to now. By looking backwards we can understand how much change is present in life. An obvious example of this change was the death of Pattabhi Jois in May 2009 – the successor has been his grandson, Sharat.
INTERESTING TRANSITIONS
The death of the guru can be an interesting transition: the guru often feels free to make it up as they go along (there is freedom in being the guru while the disciples are more rigid). Recently there appears to be a tendency towards corporatisation of Ashtanga into a brand more like Bikram: an increasing strictness of sequence (Pattabhi Jois introduced postures into the practice over the years); growing emphasis on money-making (one practitioner said a two week teacher training in Mysore could have been easily condensed into two days – and 70 people were present each paying £1000 to ensure their placing in the hierarchy); moving towards studios that are centrally controlled.
Is Ashtanga going to become trademarked as a way of preserving control and maintaining income streams? Transformation might be evolving into a business – like Bikram (how many Rolls-Royces, Rolexes and law suits does one man need (see footnote 4)). How can we avoid the corporatising of a practice that promises liberation, the institutionalising of a philosophy that preaches freedom?
A question that has to be asked is whether we are being empowered as individuals – with qualities such as insight, kindness, autonomy – or are we being diminished and controlled? Part of the problem is that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. This is challenging work – but necessary for transformation: being aware, being vigilant, being awake. In many ways it’s much easier to just stretch this body and perhaps partially delude ourselves that we are on a spiritual journey.
DIFFERENT STROKES
Maybe it’s a journey that takes a very long time – BKS Iyengar said “the philosophical teaching came to me only after 1960” (about thirty years into practicing and teaching). But do we have the luxury of that length of time – especially when there are many calls for us to sit down and watch the contents of this mind, especially when we are at this stage of so much speeding up? This doesn’t mean enlightenment in one lifetime. What it does mean is that considering all current circumstances then stuff has to shift: are we shifting quick enough?
There was a Zen teacher in the 13th century – Dogen: when he returned from a long period of retreat, he was asked what he had bought back. His reply was simply “a soft and flexible mind”. That reminds me of a journalist asking the Dalai Lama “when were you happiest?” – the answer was “now”. Obviously both Dogen and the Dalai Lama had gone through very long periods of training but these responses – the soft and flexible mind, the experience of happiness right now – does show what might be possible: a lessening of unease, a greater ability to be present: not so neurotic. A young American – Alan Clements – who undertook a rigorous meditation training in 1970s Burma described his experiences as: “awareness put eyes and ears where there had been none…it enhanced perception and revealed greater nuance…sounds were accentuated…colours became brighter…tastes more subtle and sweeter…smells more fragrant…I fell in love with the simplicity of just being”.
Can Ashtanga help us to get to such places – my answer is “I’m not sure”. It can be a stepping stone, part of paths towards awareness – but too often it becomes too stuck, too rigid, too fixated.
WHAT’S GOING ON
Having examined to some extent this Ashtanga culture it is important to remember that there are flaws and failings within all traditions. The life expectancy of Zen monks in Japan is significantly less than average – another example of the harshness within Zen is when a student was experiencing the appearance of a nervous breakdown, the teacher told her “if you feel you’re dying, please die peacefully”. A long-term teacher encountered the rigidity within orthodoxy when she was informed by a meditation centre that “if you don’t give up walking meditation, give up your body movement that we hear you are doing, your mixing Zen practice in, then you are not belonging to our lineage”.
Some meditators can be distant and dry and disconnected – using the tool of meditation as an avoidance strategy to lessen engagement with living life. And in the Buddha’s own time there were splits within the community one of which (according to old texts) culminated in an assassination plot against him by a senior monk. Striving – and the consequent envy – occurs in meditative experiences as much as Ashtanga experiences. Someone recently told me that “I am jealous of my friends’ having sartori experiences”. I reassured him that he had no need to be envious of me as I had not had such events.
In this writing and thinking (it has taken two years to put together this piece) it is worth remembering words from the 7th century teacher Chandrakirti: “attachment to one’s beliefs and aversions for another’s view – all this is thought”. I am conscious that some of these constructs that have been used are just fleeting mental formations. This is human nature – as much as we breathe and we bend how easily we find division and discord. On occasion this has benefits but at times it is about building brands and defending empires.
What intrigues is how well certain paths serve a purpose in our practicing to be better human beings: a problem is that waves see themselves as separate from the water (and then there is that fear which arises from separation). A purpose of practice is dealing with this unsteadiness that one commentator beautifully described as “the mind is more than capable of seeing a stationary blue car and constructing out of it a six act melodrama”. A purpose of practice is to overcome our mistaken perceptions, to enable us to connect inside and outside so we can discover what many traditions describe as the luminosity of mind where there is insight and peacefulness: a brightening of the inner skies.
Some people get stuck and some people don’t: this vehicle of Ashtanga is a powerful transformative practice but all of us need to look at our practicing with an approach of curiosity. I am just one person attempting to make some sense of what is around me – like a young boy faced by the emperor’s new clothes I have to try to see with clarity. Hopefully this piece will deepen our debates and discussions about the meaning of practice. My own feeling about Ashtanga is great affection and respect – but there is much fixation on the external form. Rather than all the sweating and all the striving, practice as a gentle daily ritual with less attachment to asana could have more possibilities for deeper impact. A question for us as practitioners is – in the words of the religious scholar Huston Smith: are our practices “enhancing awareness, patience and generosity and enabling us to respond creatively to the complexities, distractions and uncertainties of modern times”.
I think that there is a requirement for other flavours on particular paths – you could call it a seasoning of path: because otherwise the path might be too tight where there is a tautness which becomes neurotic. The point is this self being less stuck so that in the words of a poet there is a realisation that “we are a process and an unfolding”. There aren’t any particular answers: it’s more how honest can we be with ourselves and how much can we temper that honesty with kindness. The hope is to keep questioning and to stay as open as we can: to feel our way towards a more easeful existence.
Thanks to all those who have talked to me and helped me along these paths.
Norman Blair June 2011
www.yogawithnorman.co.uk for more writings on practicing yoga and ideas of self-transformation. Norman108@clara.co.uk for any comments/suggestions/feedback.
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FOOTNOTES
1. “Padmakara, with his overwhelming presence and spiritual power, is the central figure and inspiration of the Nyimga tradition. He realised that the Tibetans were not yet ready for many of the profound insights of tantra…and so he magically concealed a vast number of teachings for the future…These hidden teachings are known as ‘terma’, treasures. He prophesied that they would be rediscovered at the appropriate time by certain accomplished practitioners…a person who finds them is called a ‘terton’, ‘revealer of treasures’. The tradition of teachings being concealed until the appropriate time for their propagation is not confined to Tibet, but goes back to India…” (‘Luminous Emptiness’ – Francesca Fremantle).
2. “People start identifying with and then clinging to the body – a transitory, composite impermanent – and so end up suffering in the aging process and having to let go of attachment to a body that they spent so much time cultivating…sincerely take a look at any practice, and notice within yourself if compassion, faith and wisdom are developing from it. If they are, then stay with it. If they’re not, take a look and either change the way you experience the practice or change the practice itself” (Tsokyni Rinpoche).
3. Reggie Ray is an important Buddhist teacher in America. He studied under the guidance of Chogyam Trungpa – after Trungpa’s death in 1987 he became one of the leading teachers in this lineage. In 2005 he separated from the Shambhala organisation and set up Dharma Ocean Foundation. This is from an interview with him in 2010: “What I learned from Chogyam Trungpa was that however esoteric or prestigious or exotic any practice might seem, it was always about the same thing: nothing more than a way to strip oneself down even further to the empty, exposed core of one’s being. It was about being more absolutely and utterly naked as a human being. It was about surrendering more and
more fully to this world, this life, this experience and entering more deeply into it and giving oneself over to it. What I learned from him is that the dharma is not about credentials. It’s not about how many practices you’ve done or how peaceful you can make your mind. It’s not about being in a community where you feel safe or enjoying the cachet of being a ‘Buddhist’. It’s not even about accumulating teachings, empowerments or ‘spiritual accomplishments’. It’s about how naked you’re willing to be with your own life and how much you’re willing to let go of your masks and your armour and live as a completely exposed, undefended and open human person. Which is what he was: he was so human. What he taught us in the very early 1970s, there were a myriad different ways to
meditate, and he showed us what they were… At a certain point Chogyam Trungpa was
asked ‘how are we going to keep all this together?’. And basically he said ‘maybe we should just let it go. Let it fall apart. It’s probably the best thing that could happen. Just let the whole thing go’.”
4. In the words of Bikram: “Before me, there was no money, no business with yoga…From pope to president to prime minister, billionaire, superstar, novelist, sportsman, athlete, hooker, street boy, they say, ‘Bikram, you changed my life, you saved my life’…I have balls like atom bombs, two of them, 100 megatons each…Nobody fucks with me…Bikram yoga is so big – this is a bathroom slipper you buy $2 in Kmart” he says, waving a plastic flip-flop in my face. “But you put ‘Bikram’ on it, it’ll sell for $35 in a second…all the time I have to think about law and justice and courts”. (Interview 2005 ‘Mother Jones’). Yet when Bikram first arrived in America, apparently he was humble and gentle – perhaps this might be a sign of too much power and too little dissent, a lack of peer groups and critiques.
