Om collective studio
The always-lovely OM collective is moving locations, and so will we!
Starting May 4, the Sunday morning integrated practice will take place a few blocks north at the new studio at 515 West Lake Street, on the southeast corner of Lake and Garfield. There’s a parking lot (yay!) and lots of street parking (yay!). Please join us May 4—and every Sunday.
We will not meet for the Sunday morning integrated practice on March 9, 16, and 23.
Please come on March 30 to celebrate the light of spring!
The great Shankaracharya says that everyone is ananda. Being of bliss … ananda, purnam, completeness, bliss, totality of bliss. … All the pleasures of the world are little sparks of the fire of ananda. All the pleasures of the world are just drops in the ocean of ananda, and every drop is trying to experience what it feels like to be the whole ocean. Every drop that is you and I, every drop is trying to feel, trying to see what it would be like to be the whole ocean of that joy and bliss. ~Swami Veda Bharati, “Yoga Nidra Refined Silence“
Join me for two new class series:
Hatha: Combined I and II starting January 4
Meditation III: Mantra, the Key to Deeper Meditation starting January 8
Check out my classes page for details.
By the Ganges just outside of Rishikesh, India.
We travel. We oversleep. We never get to sleep. We get caught up in emergencies. We get caught up in other pleasures. We get tangled in others’ schedules, lives, and choices. We make choices, and sometimes these include the choice not to meditate.
And then we return. We sit; we draw our attention inward; we relax our bodies; we find our breath; we come home.
For many of us, this is the season of returning. We visit home after a year of absence or see friends we haven’t seen in a while. We return to physical spaces and to relationships from which we’ve had time off. Often, especially when we visit family, we lapse back into old patterns, but despite this, we always return home different. We have changed.
Yoga science/philosophy handles this concept of change in a really interesting way. One of the sources of our unhappiness is being caught up in the cycle of causation; we see things arise and perish, come and go, and we believe that this is the basic structure of reality. But yoga philosophy says that this assumption is based on an illusion; not all is impermanent. What’s most interesting is that it is through meditation that we come into contact with this thing that is permanent.
Swami Rama of the Himalayas says this:
There is a source that you cannot see with the mind. At some moment you will learn to leave behind body consciousness, breath consciousness, sense consciousness, mind consciousness—and finally go beyond all of them. At such a moment, you no longer identify yourself with the objects of your mind or the objects of the world. That moment reveals a state of equilibrium, of tranquility. In that state you become the inner witness, not through some internal self-effort, but because that is who you are. (“4 Ways to Improve Your Meditation,” Yoga International)
Meditation is this act of “coming back” to the space of the witness. It is like taking a journey, with that still center the destination. Along the way and as we practice, we have to encounter thoughts and feelings from our unconscious. Swami Rama goes on to say, “Your thoughts are not mere thoughts; they are people—identities within you. You are a world in yourself. You are a universe, and all your thoughts are people.” People. Like your mom. Like the kid who knocked you into the lockers in high school. Like the person you were yesterday.
Just like family members, these thoughts can be huge distractions; they arise and we get lost in memory or imagination. But our past practice helps us. In meditation, we know to allow these thoughts to arise and pass; in meditation, we take the position of the witness; we consciously choose to take note of passing thoughts without engagement or judgement or we turn away, depending on how useful they are to our lives off of our meditation seat. Then, as we go about our days and go on vacation and meet distractions, we remember, and we allow or don’t allow our choices to be influenced by past patterns and choices.
As meditators, we also know—or have experienced the hint of—moving beyond the flow of thoughts and moving into an experience of stillness, of silence. It can be at once an experience of great comfort and great exhilaration. And this can be the great motivator to return to the practice, if we allow it.
For once you have tasted flight, you will walk with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return. ~ Leonardo da Vinci
On Saturday, October 5, those of us gathered in the Meditation Center’s puja room were gifted with the thoughtful, kind, and inspiring presence of Pandit Tejomaya. Travelling to us from his Island of Peace Yoga center on Gabriola Island—in the Salish Sea off the coast of British Columbia, Canada—Pandit-ji came to share his reflections on some core teaching of the Yoga Sutras and on his experience developing what for him has been an intense, years-long practice of the yamas and niyamas.
It’s probably safe to say that none of us thought the workshop would involve marshmallows or pie charts. But Pandit-ji’s graceful discussion of the meaning of yoga and its relationship to things like vrttis, the kleshas, karma, the accumulation of samskaras (rather like piles of minimarshmallows, don’t you think?), and the percentage of the Yoga Sutras devoted to each of Pantanjali’s eight limbs (enter the pie charts) showed us how. All this was to point out that, if we wish to achieve yoga, we’ve got a lot of practice to do, and coming up with practical ways of pursuing the yamas and niyamas is likely part of that.
Pandit Tejomaya’s own practice of the yamas and niyamas, he told us, is grounded in key insights from Swami Veda Bharati and Swami Rama of the Himalayas, including the ideas that progress in yoga involves studying oneself at the level of action, speech, and mind/thought; that this progress takes self-discipline; and that true knowledge comes from direct experience. And the practice itself? Pandit-ji takes one of the yamas or niyamas and makes a commitment to practice it in a particular, concrete way at one level (say, the level of speech) for twenty-one consecutive days. Then he moves on to practice that yama or niyama at another of the three levels (say, the level of action) for twenty-one consecutive days, finally advancing to the third level (mind/thought, for example) for (you guessed it) twenty-one consecutive days. Any mess-up puts him back to day one of whatever level he’s on. Success with one yama or niyama means choosing another, and starting the process from the beginning.
Intimidating? Maybe for some, but totally inspiring for others of us, and his gentle encouragement (and funny examples of his mess-ups) urged us to consider how we might craft similar practices for ourselves. Most of all, his very presence—graceful, serene, sincere—provided the inspiration, showing us, as it did, the end result of the devotion of a true yogi.
Swami Rama Sadhaka Grama ashram in Rishikesh, India.
The trip is a long one. The culture shock can initially be, well, shocking. And you may have to share the road on the way with cows, monkeys, and the occasional elephant. But a pilgrimage to the peace-filled and profoundly nurturing Swami Rama Sadhaka Grama at the foothills of the Himalayas is worth any strain that it might take to get there. I’ve visited twice—each a transformational visit—and recommend its beauty (physical, spiritual, and social) beyond question, whether for a personal retreat or for unique training in hatha, meditation, and the other Yoga sciences as taught by the Himalayan Yoga tradition.
The next teacher training session is in November. For more info, email Maryon at hyt.ttp@gmail.com or read about the Himalayan Yoga Tradition Teacher Training Program here.
And when you have a minute, take a peek at a video of this amazing place.
On Thursday, September 12, join me as I sub for the amazing Ali Certain and offer a gentle hatha class with guided relaxation and seated meditation at the OM collective from 6:30 – 8:00 pm. Bring a meditation cushion if you have one, but come even if you don’t.
Two more weeks are left in Hatha I on Tuesdays from 6:30 – 8:00 pm at the Meditation Center in NE Minneapolis. Drop-ins are welcome for this stimulating yet restorative practice.
Check out the classes page to read about “Meditation III: Mantra, the Key to Deeper Meditation.” Class starts September 30! Feel free to be in touch with any questions.
Typically, I don’t watch much television. But like many people, I find the Olympic Games irresistible. The speed of well-trained minds, the physical grace of strong, practiced bodies, the nearly palpable power of concentration… unathletic me finds it awe inspiring. So I made a trip to Radio Shack, untangled a mess of cords, and plugged and unplugged connectors from boxes until London appeared on the screen. Then Fleur the Cat and I settled in.
Of course, along with the freestyle relays, the beach volleyball matches, the road races, and the skeet shooting come the commercials. I don’t hate commercials; in fact, I admire good ones (and, I must also admit, all too often cry at sappy ones), since part of what I do for a living is write advertising and branding copy. So when I watch, I pay attention. And one commercial running during this summer’s broadcasts kept my attention.
Nike’s “Find Your Greatness” is beautifully filmed, but it was the message that made me search the Internet when the one-minute spot ended. In a nutshell, the gist is this: Somehow, for some reason, we think that greatness is reserved for the gifted, talented, rare few. But greatness doesn’t lie in wait for special people. Greatness is wherever someone is trying to find it.
Greatness is in the trying. It is in the practice. It is in the seeking. This set me to thinking… in my life, trying for what? Practicing for what? Seeking what? And the first answer that popped into my head was this: the experience of wholeness.
It seems so easy for so many of us to see ourselves and to feel ourselves as lacking, as insufficient, as not quite able, or in some way or another as less than. Yoga philosophy promises that at our core, we are always already whole, lacking nothing. But in reality, we just don’t always (if ever) feel it or we just don’t (or won’t) believe it. Nevertheless, yoga science, through things like the eight limbs of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, provides “maps” for those of us willing to put doubt aside and take the chance that yogis across the centuries might just have been right.
Such yogis embraced sadhana to find their greatness. The Sanskrit term sadhana is often used to mean self-effort and the discipline necessary for sticking to a program of spiritual advancement. It is from the verb-root sadh, which means to go straight to the goal, just as Olympic athletes, gathered to compete in the games, go straight for the goal.
The master teacher of a number of my own teachers said this about sadhana:
The process in which the aspirant unfolds, develops, and enlightens himself [sic] is called sadhana. Sadhana is the practice which has the power to carry the seeker (sadhaka) to his objective. The object is to realize the truth of life. We have to bring about our maximum development and arouse and express the power lying dormant within us. It is possible through sadhana alone…. Our goal is to attain absolute peace, an unalloyed happiness or perennial bliss; and this is possible only when we use all circumstances in life, whether good or bad, happy or painful, to promote our sadhana. All circumstances in life cannot be made to suit us, but continuous sadhana makes us feel that the condition which is hostile to us at present, is in fact an opportunity for advancement on the path (Swami Rama, Book of Wisdom: Ishopanishad).
The experience of wholeness (of absolute peace and unalloyed happiness) is possible, so say those great sadhakas who have, through practice, seeking, and trying, found their greatness. And what heartens me is that all aspects of a complex, modern life—the joys and losses, the gifts and griefs—play an integral part.
Feeling whole is not reserved for those with the luxury of taking daily hatha classes or going on three-month-long retreats in sacred places. It is not the privilege of ancient ascetics who sought the silence of meditation caves high in imposing mountains. It is for all of us. My own experience of that wholeness lies in my choosing to live my life, with all it brings me, in a certain way, a way inspired by the wisdom of yoga, a way that is everyday seeking, step by step, and everyday greatness.
A sweet and wise friend, Namita, shared a story with her Facebook pals that went something like this (I paraphrase—and switch up genders, just for fun):
One day, a young Buddhist, on her way home after a long journey, found herself before a wide and mighty river, one that impeded her progress. She spent hours on the bank, trying to figure out how to cross the great barrier.
Feeling hopeless about being able to continue on her journey home, she saw, on the opposite bank of the river, a venerable teacher. She called out, “Oh, wise one. Can you tell me how to get to the other side?” The teacher, thoughtfully considering her answer, called back, “My child, you are on the other side.”
Maybe I find this story so poignant because I just returned home from a two-week-long journey (and very, very nearly missed the return flight). But there’s something else here that strikes home (so to speak). It’s not quite the somewhat clichéd idea that wherever one is, one is already home, but it is close.
I am graced to know a few swamis—great meditators and teachers, each one—who share a common characteristic that I find pretty stunning: they are remarkably emotionally self-supporting. I see this most in their comings and goings. When they arrive from their international travels and teaching, they are filled with happiness and contentment at seeing those of us who welcome them. And when they leave us, they are filled with happiness and contentment in their going.
This has taken some getting used to. After all, one wants a friend, teacher, or loved one to grieve a bit when she leaves, to depart reluctantly, with sadness. But now I find it something to aspire to, since I see it as evidence of a valuable kind of emotional self-sufficiency, a kind of fullness that one feels in a home that is safe, warm, familiar, and welcoming. I, too, want to feel this, wherever I am.
Sometimes the barriers we face are wide and mighty external things like rivers, or wacky airline regulations and requirements, or the emotional reactions of other people. Sometimes they are internal, but no less wide and mighty: fear, doubt, anger, jealousy, laziness, and the like. How does one get home in the face of such obstacles?
For me, the answer is this: I practice. I sit, breathe, meditate, and find that stillness that is not a lack of something, but that is fullness itself, that is the full presence of the ever-wise inner teacher. Then I consciously impress what this feels like into my memory, so that when I venture out into the world again, I can always arrive back home, especially when it seems farthest away.
