Photo: The view from the yoga room
This is the world of duality, and yoga practice is not exempt to it. To assess how many people fit into the room at Av. Moliere we are obeying the laws of physics. It is midnight when 11 yoga mats are set and ready for the next day. On a long dining table lies a humble book of Patanjali’s yoga sutras. Written in Sanskrit thousands of years ago, it has been translated and commented by many throughout the ages. Patanjali did not use verbs, which opens possibilities of endless interpretations. Yoga, yogi, yoking, powers, obstacles, illumination, steadiness, falling and beginning again.
How come thousands of years ago some individuals knew about the potential dormant in every being, about consciousness permeating the physical reality?
Who has sent us here to this valley of laughter and tears?
Patanjali does not say, though the sutras clearly define 3 components of kriya yoga (book II) :
Tapas, Svadhyaya, Ishvara Pranidana.
Meaning?
Tapas is the fire or practice that purifies, svadhyaya is self-study and ishvara pranidana is devotion. Patanjali does not say anything about different asanas as we practice them nowadays. The word asana simply means to sit and refers more to the stillness of meditation than to complicated sequences of postures. But the postures are here, in endless variations and ready to be applied, they represent a portal of awareness. Is it hurting? Is it boring? Is it sweet and liberating or full of pain? Observation in practice leads to self-study and through witnessing the ego strategies we glimpse into other parts of the being.
Summer breeze sways the June leaves of the trees in the garden and cools down our sweat. In heat the purification happens, space for new is open. When lying down, tuning to the gentle buzz of tissues, the heartbeat, the humming of the mind, we are closer again to knowing there is more than the 5 senses suggest. Peeling endless onion, walking the road to freedom that is never done and still?
Most of what we do, our motivations, spurs, pulsations, come from the realm of unconscious, they are driven by seeds of fear and pain, says Patanjali. Sanskaras, seeds, or memory of past pain, can be plucked out. Not all of them at once, have patience.
Fire purifies.
This year around the summer solstice, we opt for essential asanas and build them progressively, conscious of each fibre and every motion. Because it is all about movement, in this world of physical laws, everything is in constant flux. The stillness coming with the practice makes us much more aware of subtler and finer vibrations.
Sitting in a comfortable chair in another room dedicated to therapy practice, I look at the flipchart explaining in a simple graphic different parts of our beings. At the very centre is the Self, the joyous, boundless and free essence that we are. All other parts are guardians that want and try to protect the Self. The manager, the fire-fighter, the exiled sufferer. Oh, my, are they not tired often? Of course, they are.
Put down the arms and weapons, a soft voice whispers.
But, but, but who will then protect the Self?
You are tired, guys, your endeavour anyway is futile, drop resistance and acknowledge vulnerability which is the strength.
This is a huge step, just allowing to admit unconscious patterns that have been running on autopilot for ages.
What happens then?
The observer is activated and gently unmasks pulsations. Svadhya becomes a part of the practice. I start to know my guardians, they are not enemies. Their intentions always have been pure. I am innocent and boundless.
What about the third part of kriya yoga? Devotion? To what and whom?
Patanjali does not say. In still moments, though, I feel the void is not empty, I sense I am not alone, I glimpse into interconnected nature of all and everything. With commitment and love, ignorance is dissolved into the divine, the yoga text assures.
But we are part of this duality, and it often hurts and often life gets opaque and confusing?
Yes, it is so. Back to tapa, practice. Unroll the mat and sit on the cushion. In yoking unity happens.
Do not run away from this life, whispers Patanjali into my ear. When embracing people who just got up from their mats, I feel heart to heart connection and I know I am safe. The taste of a strawberry, the gust of wind, the warmth of the sun, the beam of a smile, the smell of an essential oil, and it all begins in a wonderful company under a roof of welcome.
