tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67574412705103851252024-02-19T07:31:04.815-08:00Smoke Gets in Your (Third) EyeI see the Divine Light in everyone, except on my days off.Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-63696363206397223472011-08-09T14:41:00.000-07:002011-08-09T14:47:31.794-07:00The Shock Absorber School of Meditation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Samatha meditation is the foundation for all other meditations. If you’re a meditator but not familiar with the term <i>samatha</i>, I assure you that you are at least familiar with the technique. <i>Samatha</i> is Sanskrit for “calm abiding”, and the technique asks essentially that you focus easily but steadily on a single thing. Breath, anyone?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCt6C2dDnLXjvXtCDPokq8iKTBL1aYt1A94k7ccdKpnIoDjpq4PIcrnL4MHXE-PjvA17hmt54jiGfnkZhdMwlCs4QseSublNjWNcKruEzzyd7zgl4mlemMd2ZtRuAz1HVzDO7eHnx-EOu/s1600/Kundalini+Experience+43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCt6C2dDnLXjvXtCDPokq8iKTBL1aYt1A94k7ccdKpnIoDjpq4PIcrnL4MHXE-PjvA17hmt54jiGfnkZhdMwlCs4QseSublNjWNcKruEzzyd7zgl4mlemMd2ZtRuAz1HVzDO7eHnx-EOu/s200/Kundalini+Experience+43.jpg" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo courtesy of me.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cultivating samatha is like equipping a car with fantastic shock absorbers. In life, we drive along, la-di-da…aware of, but not <i>aware</i> of surrounding traffic, Katy Perry on the radio, kids squawking in the backseat. We’re musing about, say, what’s for dinner and then BLAMMO! Gigantic pothole. The car lurches and bounces, everybody SCREAMS. Your heart races, you hold your breath, everything happens in slow motion and you are, to use a phrase that I cannot claim credit for, <i>nailed to the present moment</i>.*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then you’re back on course, the kids are fine, nobody’s hurt, the car’s okay. “So, right-o, I’m thinking maybe meatloaf…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s like that, life is, right? You’re just driving along and then the potholes appear, you didn’t even see them coming. The toilet backs up. Scream! Your kid gets mono. Freak out! You get laid off. Holla, and I don’t mean in a good way! Your spouse cheats on you. Holy shit! Your best friend is the other woman. FUCK!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or, it could just be: The house is dirty. Your mom is nagging. No milk in the fridge. Your girlfriends went to lunch without you. Those are potholes, too. We lurch, and in that split second of clarity, before we make a decision about how we’re going to lose it (because oh, yes; by God, I’m going to lose it), we see <i>exactly</i> what’s going on. It is what it is and NOTHING MORE, and certainly not about you (sorry). Then that microsecond passes, our adrenaline spikes, our synapses fire, and we must somehow announce that we are:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>ANGRY!</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;">B)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>AFRAID!</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;">C)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>ASHAMED!</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;">D)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>CONFUSED!</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;">E)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>ALL OF THE ABOVE!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pothole.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We live according to rules, customs, norms and expectations because it makes life more convenient to navigate. That’s not a bad thing. Because we operate within this framework, though, we are subject to having the rug pulled out from underneath us swiftly and ruthlessly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Samatha trains us to navigate these situations with less of an “AAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!” and more of a “<i>Whoa</i>.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What samatha is <i>not</i> is numbness. We aren’t steeling ourselves against hurt or surprise or disappointment. We are in fact moving forward, moving closer, despite the jagged edges of it. We find that, if we can soften, we can begin too move right through those things and be completely wide-eyed and present with them. Because those edges are sharp, it stings a little at first (okay, sometimes a lot, and sometimes not just at first - but stay with me here), that softening and opening. Right inside that, that shell broken open, is the soft guts of <i>bodhichitta</i>, your true nature: compassion, openness, empathy for the suffering of all living things bar none (including yourself; you don’t get to skip yourself – but that is fodder for another post).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yeah, it’s lofty. I practice samatha. Do I feel open, compassionate, empathetic? Sometimes. Maybe more and more, slowly. Sometimes, not so much. I’m still learning the value of disciplined practice and sangha. Oh, and that you get to keep coming back without penalty. That may be the loveliest part, as my friend Liz says: Keep coming back, keep coming back. With practice, your true nature becomes second nature. Ironic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To my friends at Shambhala Dallas, <i>gassho</i>, and thank you. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">* <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">anyone care to guess? if you know me personally, it's not really so hard.</span></i> </span></div></div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-91280187285836589342011-05-15T23:25:00.000-07:002011-05-15T23:27:19.854-07:00Farewell to Kathmandu: A Preface<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Life has re-assumed some sort of linearity. Or, rather, linearity re-imposed itself upon my life the moment I walked into Tribhuvan International Airport in Kathmandu on the afternoon of Saturday, May 14. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Nepal was my home for the past four weeks. Three planes, four stops and thirty hours later: I’m sitting, cleanly and too comfortably, at the kitchen table in my tidy suburban Dallas home. My circadian rhythms will simply have to work it out on their own.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7uy8CA-Nt__UgxnLbwypVw3r0axZj0W7j5DZalhX6k0SP9JHS6VyVUWLjgl9hbYv1qxldI4kCknQwWxcjRvaObIcFEaWcL84E6LgZBec5DTJ4dxv4dvaT9TkHpQc5fex5xbhigOMmx3Q/s1600/2011.04.19+Bodhnath_017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7uy8CA-Nt__UgxnLbwypVw3r0axZj0W7j5DZalhX6k0SP9JHS6VyVUWLjgl9hbYv1qxldI4kCknQwWxcjRvaObIcFEaWcL84E6LgZBec5DTJ4dxv4dvaT9TkHpQc5fex5xbhigOMmx3Q/s320/2011.04.19+Bodhnath_017.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This entry is an inadequate attempt to preface what I hope will be several more devoted my life in the center of the universe with Nepal as my backdrop. Based on past patterns, I could very well just drop the whole project. All I have to go on are scribbled notes inside the covers of books, ticket stubs, addresses written on napkins and my own feeble, fickle memory. I don’t pretend to assume you have any vested interest, dear reader. My hypothesis is that, with any luck, I will have a record for myself of how, for (too) brief but brilliant moments, I found myself able to release my iron grip on fear, breathe and <i>be completely clear about just. this. moment. </i>I was there when it happened. I fought it. I know it’s possible; what a fucking relief! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I want more of that kind of stillness and gentleness and openness, but oh look, there I go <i>grasping</i> again. So silly, so predictable! If I can manage to steal time outside of linearity, expectations, obligations and structure - these things that just have their way with me because I invite them in and hold on to them – well, I have a chance. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So what follows (if it does, because you know, a girl has to reintegrate. Make appointments. Meet expectations. Answer calls and respond to emails. Construct schedules and lists and make sure everybody takes their meds and eats a balanced meal) is my selective accounting of “what I did in Nepal!” (because many of you asked and because, frankly, <i>I</i> find it interesting). I’ll just be right up front about my selectivity. Dear readers, you get the polished (?), mostly palatable version. If you want to know more, want to dig a little deeper; ask me in person: I may or may not oblige.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With compassion, and humor, and lightness; because we really are all on the same ridiculous boat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Om tare</i></span></div></div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-53421607780521717992011-04-17T22:00:00.000-07:002011-04-17T22:05:29.999-07:00Never Gets Old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">April 17, 2011</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">New Delhi, 8:30p</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Cosmopolitan” implies a certain nonchalance and see-it-allness; a sort of <i>cool adultness </i>about things. I am, therefore, decidedly not cosmopolitan. India is a complete amazing freakshow and, after having spent decent chunks of time here, I say with confidence that the freaky just doesn’t let up. I am just as completely awestruck, silly, apologetic and sometimes timid as I was just making my way through Mumbai Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport 11 years ago. Specifically, being pursued by the elderly bathroom attendant as I exited the restroom doors and <i>down the hall</i>, muttering something that didn’t really sound like good energy. Me: completely terrified, utterly fascinated and, well, laughing quite honestly; then my husband concludes: you asked for toilet paper, didn’t you? I was apparently remiss in not tipping Auntie-ji for the favor. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEf4kWyIYWx9sS6AZk3t0bCx0ShWDQHYa1nl-JfQCHzjDN1hFsH6aDe6-7DDlTXZSh5icykrY-W0Kuhq0EIuyOk6Smq-UfF8Q7yoMXmTndy6gSJj20UZhhnH8vepUaLBN45UXJj3ZmQVX/s1600/india+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEf4kWyIYWx9sS6AZk3t0bCx0ShWDQHYa1nl-JfQCHzjDN1hFsH6aDe6-7DDlTXZSh5icykrY-W0Kuhq0EIuyOk6Smq-UfF8Q7yoMXmTndy6gSJj20UZhhnH8vepUaLBN45UXJj3ZmQVX/s320/india+sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>So, define spurious...?</i></span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The newness is unrelenting even when I’ve seen it before, and it still throws me off balance sometimes. The busy roads of monsoon Delhi are a mean place for a kid who looks upsettingly like Arjun, and I still do a double take although I’ve cultivated that look that says “<i>I am unaffected.”</i> But I guess somehow I am, and more and more I can’t call it judgment or dismay, just observation. I like it; it’s like life, how life really should be. You know? Every moment is new, pregnant with possibilities limited only by our feeble little minds.</span></div></div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-38107102855231897392010-01-24T20:41:00.000-08:002010-01-26T12:25:55.666-08:00Open Wide...and Say Aaahhhhhhh<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You know how sometimes, life lets you in on a little joke and everything at that moment seems light and right? Something inside you chuckles and the </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">yumminess</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> of that moment stays for a little bit? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had such a lovely little moment in a yoga class this past week. We were a small, strong and familiar group; so we had some room to play. The challenge was put to us: think for a moment of the balancing </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">asana</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> (pose) you dislike most, then take your time in practicing it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As a rule, I don't </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">dislike</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> any pose or technique. Isn't it true, once we think about it, that "dislike" is often what we label our feelings about something that takes us out of our comfy little headspace? And so it was decided that I would practice </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ardha chandrasana</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> (balancing half-moon); not because I dislike it, but because the thought of it makes me squirm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.yogalifestyle.com/images/PONVKArdhaChandrasana400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.yogalifestyle.com/images/PONVKArdhaChandrasana400.jpg" width="160" /></span></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ardha chandrasana, if you are unfamiliar with the pose, involves the willingness to open up the front body </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">W-I-D-E</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> while standing in a position that is, at best, unfamiliar and at worse, completely unstable. My pose falls somewhere between those two ends of the spectrum.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It is an act (yes, an act: because the beauty of it, for me, lies in the process of getting there, not in the final destination) of movement within stillness, a grounding through the feet tempered by a certain vulnerability at the open heart. Well, that sounds beautiful, but to watch me do it is often to witness a comedy of tragic clumsiness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Left leg lunges forward. Liftoff from the back leg. Unwind sloooowly... reach.... expand... open... open....and cue dying Pac-man music. My standing foot turns in and, in trying to correct it, I set off a physiological chain of events very similar to an earthquake rising up from my one foot balanced (barely) on the floor. The opening up is too much, too vulnerable. My upper hand swoops down to catch me. One more go and...well, it's passable. Blah. Fine. Right side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And here we go. Lunge. Liftoff. Unwind.... reach.... and there, locating a focal point right through the front windows of the studio, my eyes rest on a sign in the storefront window across the street:</span><br />
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</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZVe5JsZLPsBfzvweCEmbf6P6OKiGCgKPMCuPZt6LVPO51YePOsvo1og6AfmTXGi_T7x_5l-fh74T3jy0XoP-8ntgmH34_EX5n2lTi7r-g6ZBN8diSvdq7odFzTtCZekXZGY0DFG17Vn6/s1600-h/open.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZVe5JsZLPsBfzvweCEmbf6P6OKiGCgKPMCuPZt6LVPO51YePOsvo1og6AfmTXGi_T7x_5l-fh74T3jy0XoP-8ntgmH34_EX5n2lTi7r-g6ZBN8diSvdq7odFzTtCZekXZGY0DFG17Vn6/s200/open.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The universe whispered in my ear, and as neon came to life letter-by-letter, I replied with my strongest, lightest, most joyous half-moon.</span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Such a lovely moment. <i>*chuckle*</i></span><br />
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</span>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-6127742860261298592009-11-24T15:10:00.000-08:002009-11-24T15:11:46.163-08:00The Yoga of Irony<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Yoga teachers are interesting paradoxes. While we're busy reassuring others of the perfect, eternal, undefinable Spirit within (and really, truly believing it); our own lives are often wrought with self-denial, self-hate, putting others before ourselves, posturing and a yen for outside validation. If you're looking for a yoga teacher who is a living, breathing incarnation of unconditional self-love and acceptance; you will most likely find eventual disappointment. If you are seeking a partner on your path, someone who every now and then speaks to your own Divine inner teacher, and someone who can use their human-ness to create a framework for self-reflection, you'll find those in abundance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Okay, let's cut through the pontificating (awesome word, BTW). It comes as no surprise to anyone that I (if we must put a formal name to it) deal with </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span id="goog_1259098905486"></span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_depressive_disorder"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">depression</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span id="goog_1259098905487"></span>. What is surprising is that I'm calling it by name and just putting it </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">out there</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. After I'm done advocating self-love (not </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">that</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> kind of self-love, people) and reverence toward your divine self for roughly 75-minute windows, I'm whipping myself. This is what goes on in my head:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You should be a better mother."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You don't deserve S. (my husband)"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"The front lawn looks crazy. Why aren't you working on that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You should be making more money."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You should be thinner."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You shouldn't be eating meat."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"You should be </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">yogi</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">-er."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That kind of bullshit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZ7GNc9rMUN6_0XqHOdYZGC3ca82Ed51R0yLHgtYz2VwBckPFahlmETWskiRcUfwwynk6EfuTBv3VKqVvLpwOJHrjDQ5o1nu36DBefaaLyTBfOnM1mYwn4piWYZEVrb8IYhbbrmS-quo6/s1600/Today+I+hate+everything.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZ7GNc9rMUN6_0XqHOdYZGC3ca82Ed51R0yLHgtYz2VwBckPFahlmETWskiRcUfwwynk6EfuTBv3VKqVvLpwOJHrjDQ5o1nu36DBefaaLyTBfOnM1mYwn4piWYZEVrb8IYhbbrmS-quo6/s200/Today+I+hate+everything.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It's this kind of self-talk, borne of all the usual childhood abuses and genetic predispositions, that lies at the heart of episodes of epic self-hate and the potential dissolution of my marriage. My discontent with self has the unfortunate side-effect of resentment and condescension toward others; what I've tried to position as a sort of tough love or above-it-all-ness. I've set my own personal standards so impossibly high, it's unlikely anyone could meet them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Patanjali wrote that this world, this life, exists solely to recognize and manifest our Divinity. Without this frame of reference, we cannot separate the real from the unreal, the fleeting and the eternal. I have my work cut out for me.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'll be back to read this in another year, I'm sure, with equal parts sympathy and not a little embarrassment. What I'm really trying to do here is quit denying myself. I don't deserve a prize for it, but neither should I constantly second-guess myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My husband and I have decided to see a therapist. I write this with a mixture of relief and a bit of a chuckle. We're gonna do it. We're going to hop on that wagon and be that suburban couple in therapy. I can begin sentences with, "My therapist said...," or "I learned in therapy...". For God's sake, I hope it helps. I don't really think it could make things </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">worse</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. I can see the light! In fact, I see it quite often. I would just like to park my ever-lovin' soul there for good. Or at least long-term.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When S. made the appointment, he was asked, "Is there any physical abuse in the relationship?" He said no. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"That's a good start, then," the good doctor replied. "We can put you both in the same room. We have couples who come in here and, at some point, the wife gets up and whacks her husband upside his head. So at least we don't have that to deal with."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is true.</span>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-34163707392192425252009-11-19T21:43:00.000-08:002009-11-19T21:44:56.535-08:00Untitled, with apologies<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">Chewed the bone down too low<br />
Got fed on tea and sympathy<br />
Blew the sail like the wind<br />
I wish you were my enemy</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;"><br />
I was humble for you<br />
What a fool I've been to have<br />
Laid so low</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">for so long</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;"><br />
Into that void of silence<br />
Where we cry without sound<br />
Where tears roll down<br />
Where tears roll down<br />
<br />
</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">Where my father's violence<br />
Sent my soul underground<br />
Where tears roll down<br />
Where tears roll down</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;"><br />
Drew the blade way too slow<br />
Was shackled by your honesty<br />
Made a mess, I </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">guess I </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">should have known<br />
That life was lust and liberty</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;"><br />
Not a chance mutation</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">or the last temptation<br />
Laid so low</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">for so long </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana; font-size: small;">so low<br />
</span>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-86775462370838737542009-11-12T14:13:00.000-08:002009-11-20T10:44:48.327-08:00Color Me Kapha<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Coming across a photograph of myself with my very good friend D., it occurred to me that everytime I see it, I chuckle and note, "kapha and vata" (referring to the two of us, respectively) in some layer of my mind.</span><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <br />
</div></span></span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">While training for my yoga teacher's 20<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403360985584123314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqZ234Gjjm53Dbs453z7xhmYLX8i2OgNKaVTqW9tJRZCGF3g5HE-l_X6odOPXVMtN9YzRRf22HsH-hAp5ucMXoiPy9C_Ap-KwVC87H016an7-UtjIytkAkTiRwRBM_MVyrdvO0nnzf3HD/s200/De+and+Me.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px;" />0-hour certification, we studied a bit about Ayurveda ("knowledge of life"), the traditional form of medicine prominent in India and slowly gaining a foothold as an alternative form of medicine in the West. Yoga and Ayurveda are complementary and interwoven disciplines, and every serious yogi should have at least a very basic knowledge. So it was that, early on in the program, we were assigned to read texts by two leading practitioners, </span><a href="http://www.ayurveda.com/"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Vasant Lad</span></a><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> and </span><a href="http://www.vedanet.com/"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">David Frawley</span></a><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">. </span><br />
<div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">There is a very simple assessment - every certified yoga teacher is familiar with it - that helps you determine your </span><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">dosha</span></i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">, or constitution. Every body comprises the three doshas - <a href="http://www.holisticonline.com/ayurveda/ayv-vata-characterisitics.htm"><i>vata</i></a> (air), <a href="http://holisticonline.com/ayurveda/ayv-kapha-characteristics.htm"><i>kapha</i></a><i> </i>(earth) and <a href="http://www.holisticonline.com/ayurveda/ayv-pitta-characteristics.htm"><i>pitta</i></a> (fire), and most people manifest one or two primarily. We were assigned to take the assessment and discuss at our next session. I'm not going to bore you with an introductory lesson in ayurveda, but it became clear to just about everyone that you didn't want to be a </span><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">kapha.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> While </span><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">pitta</span></i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> people were fiery and vata's were </span><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">lean</span></i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">, it seemed we all interpreted kapha attributes to point to an underlying truth: </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> You're fat, you're slow, you're lazy.</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> Trust me, nobody wanted to be kapha. I completed the assessment (several times), finagled my way to </span><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">pitta-vata</span></i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> at some point and stuck with it. When the assignments were returned, a message in red ink read, "<i>Oh, I would have thought pitta-kapha</i>!" Hrrumph! </span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">In the nearly two years since that assignment, the truth has made itself abundantly clear. I am the very epitome of <i>kapha</i>, tempered by <i>pitta</i>. Slow to act, slow to react and slow to anger; yet balanced by a certain focus, passion and yen for control. </span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;">So I came across the picture again today. It's a wonderful picture, with an abundance of all the best attributes of <i>kapha </i>and <i>vata</i>. What a beautiful balance.</span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">As a kapha, my traits are more or less:</span></b></i></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333399; font-family: Times;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333399; font-family: Times;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333399; font-family: Times;"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Easygoing, relaxed, slow-paced. </i><span style="color: red;">Agreed!</span></span></span><br />
</td></tr>
<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Affectionate and loving</i>. <span style="color: red;">Not always outwardly so, but...yeah</span>.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Forgiving, compassionate, nonjudgmental nature Stable and reliable; faithful. </i><span style="color: red;">Yup.</span></span></span><br />
</td></tr>
<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Physically strong and with a sturdy, heavier build. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mmmm....yeah....</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Have the most energy of all constitutions, but it is steady and enduring, not explosive. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Steady, that's me.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Slow moving and graceful. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I'll need an outside opinion on this one, but it seems right...</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Slow speech, reflecting a deliberate thought process. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Yup.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Slower to learn, but never forgets; outstanding long-term memory. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So true!</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td valign="baseline" width="42"><i><img alt="bullet" height="15" hspace="13" src="http://holisticonline.com/_themes/nature/nabull1.gif" width="15" /></i><br />
</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Soft hair and skin; tendency to have large "soft" eyes and a low, soft voice. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Maybe one trait I don't manifest...</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Tend toward being overweight; may also suffer from sluggish digestion. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Well, I sure don't run because I like it.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Prone to heavy, oppressive depressions. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> Unfortunately so, but much more balanced since practicing yoga.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>More self-sufficient, need less outward stimulation than do the other types A mild, gentle, and essentially undemanding approach to life. </i><span style="color: red;">True that.</span></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Sexually Kaphas are the slowest to be aroused, but they also have the most endurance. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Um, wait...what? (*blush*)</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Excellent health, strong resistance to disease. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Pretty much.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Slow to anger; strive to maintain harmony and peace in their surroundings. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Yessiree.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Not easily upset and can be a point of stability for others. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So I've been told.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Tend to be possessive and hold on to things, people, money; good savers. Don't like cold, damp weather. <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Make that another trait I don't exhibit - I'm not possessive, not a great saver, and love, love, love rainy weather.</span></span></i></span></span><br />
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</td><td valign="top" width="100%"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><i>Physical problems include colds and congestion, sinus headaches, respiratory problems including asthma and wheezing, hay fever, allergies, and atherosclerosis (hardening of the arteries). </i><span style="color: red;">Uh, I swear this is the last donut. :)</span></span></span><br />
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</div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-67449023923408166292009-09-10T20:44:00.000-07:002010-01-24T19:59:24.346-08:00Logic and Magic coexist in my house<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">This story will tell you much of what you need to know about my children.</span> <br />
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<div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">At 10 years old, N. is my oldest. Handsome, gentle-hearted, slightly socially inept, and earnest to a fault; he is pretty much me at that age. A., on the other hand, is 5 years old and his father's son to be sure - universally adored, wide-eyed and very aware of his capacity to emotionally manipulate people (mostly me).</span><br />
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<div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">A. began his first week at "big-boy school" and happily followed big brother everywhere he could - to the bus, on the bus, at school to the extent he was able, and back 'round again. To say he was excited about kindergarten is an understatement; he could barely talk straight amid the giddy convulsions when I asked about his first day. I had to get the boys out of school early on day 3 and A. wept as he explained to me, "We were about to go to art. I've been waiting <em>forever</em> for art." </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">N., on the other hand, had already concluded by day 3 that fifth grade was going to be utterly boring.</span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Anyhow, on with the story. Toward the end of that first week, the boys are walking back from the bus stop (holding hands even, I nearly exploded with love for those kids, but - ahem! - back to the story). A. is clearly excited about <em>something</em>. As they approach, he shows me his wrist and, on it, four little beads strung on a white elastic string. "It's a friendship bracelet," he beamed, "and it's magic." N. rolls his eyes.</span><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsWFeXOmn4AVFMZKMzu8IS9sNn4rJcedlzwxfttjoDV9SuQWXQqj4TJmkcY_b7kXXiz67-c3Oyni_VDCUTfBssZCbUWemTidzBQ4Dfa6GTXK4ex-0ASW9zyrsfkQmCIWjaYHXOnBHZBAl/s1600-h/charles-darwin-and-the-magic-hat.gif"></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-e2dcEZxQnlH3tRDTk5KiGsX_4RUlUndjXjg05W7XkXphovOjhV4cOugyA1dAhVV1jO87JbGrNBxdW760TabBKvTZZuV69GDpiCln-WxLmioE3oB9nY6OX4S2UwBcfpvKz94mA0D7Hut/s1600-h/charles-darwin-and-the-magic-hat.gif"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380058426891695666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-e2dcEZxQnlH3tRDTk5KiGsX_4RUlUndjXjg05W7XkXphovOjhV4cOugyA1dAhVV1jO87JbGrNBxdW760TabBKvTZZuV69GDpiCln-WxLmioE3oB9nY6OX4S2UwBcfpvKz94mA0D7Hut/s320/charles-darwin-and-the-magic-hat.gif" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 218px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Naturally, I inquire. "What's so magic about it?" He explains, "The beads, they turn colors in the light, see?" He covers the bracelet with a tiny hand to shield it fromt he sunlight. I am under his spell, and am compelled to comply. We "ooh" and "ahh" over the bracelet together on the way to the front door.</span><br />
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<div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">N. can take it no more. He finally turns to A. and announces: "I'm sure there's a very <em>logical</em> explanation for that. A. looks at the bracelet and considers this.</span><br />
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<div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">And just before I am about to tell N. to 'zip it!', A. replies "I know! It's just magical, right?" as if his brother gave him the ultimate endorsement.</span> <br />
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</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">"Yep. Hey, let's go play Pokemon." And that was that.</span><br />
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</div></div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-35966288026060155212009-08-16T20:44:00.000-07:002009-08-17T04:51:24.632-07:00The Skeptical Yogi<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">I am a skeptic. I like my assertions served up with a nice side of supporting facts, graphs, statistics and case studies. In my previous incarnation as a market researcher, I had to be very careful indeed about the statements I derived from the data given to me. Still, my propensity to doubt and demand proof goes back way beyond that, too.<br /><br />This is all very well and, in fact, is probably more the norm than the exception in Western circles. Except now I’m a serious student of yoga, and a teacher sometimes too, so my desire for hard data is often met with frustration. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot, and I don’t think it’s just a yogic phenomenon. It is said that the spiritual believer must simply surrender to his or her faith. In my gut, I must admit that still find that, to a large extent, unsatisfactory.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.marriedtothesea.com/"><img height="231" alt="www.marriedtothesea.com" src="http://www.marriedtothesea.com/100807/faith-based-astronomy.gif" width="275" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I read Paramahansa Yogananda’s <u>Autobiography of a Yogi</u> about two years ago, and from the beginning, Yoganandaji put forth that yoga is a science, that none of this was voodoo or psycho-spiritual weirdness, that levitating and being in two places at once was, quite simply, a matter of applying simple yogic practices. Even Patanjali’s <u>Yoga Sutras</u> can be described as a terse, concise and practical guide to Self-realization – I mean, it’s more practical and easier to read than the user’s manual that came with my new mobile phone, for Shiva’s sake.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span><p><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">I enjoyed <u>Autobiography </u>immensely - was even moved by it - but, alas, remained unconvinced. I needed facts.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">The great thing is, while I don’t get a lot of resolution where I look for it, it often creeps up on me unexpectedly.<br /><br />My father-in-law is a genius of a man. Quiet, unassuming and ready at a moment’s notice to flatten you with his mastery of Vedic knowledge. One day, about two years ago, I posed this question: Do you believe in reincarnation? I expected a scholarly discourse, replete with supporting passages from the scriptures and elsewhere. What I got was far more interesting:<br /><br />“I don’t believe. I don’t not believe. I’m just curious.” He promptly left the breakfast table.<br /><br />Well, shit. This was not helpful. I am a yogi, shouldn’t I believe in the cycle of rebirth? But that simple statement stayed with me. That statement, although devoid of any of evidence I was looking for, somehow rang so true.<br /><br />In another scenario, just a couple weeks ago, I had the great privilege of attending a Healing Karma workshop with the esteemed teacher of a very good friend of mine (who is also my teacher). Healing Karma! By God, I was going to get some answers here. And guess what? I got LOTS of answers. But what I remember most, the assertion that stood out among all others, was this:<br /><br />“There is a difference between faith and belief. Faith is certainty, whereas belief is merely acceptance.”<br /><br />What I have often failed to realize is the power of my faith, this thing that cannot be quantified but of which I am very certain. Much of what I have experienced in my yoga practice (in all of its forms) has fed my certainty that:<br /><br />· I am already perfect.<br />· Love of self is the greatest and most necessary love.<br />· Every single living thing is fundamentally connected and, therefore, worthy of our compassion.<br />· Freedom from suffering is attainable.<br /><br />I’m still a skeptic, but I believe.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-88435903963603569292009-02-19T11:42:00.000-08:002009-02-19T20:33:30.798-08:00The Great Ashram Adventure, Installment II<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jan 4. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tired, sore, dirty.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Sunday morning satsang involves a roughly 1.5 mile walk into the village, over the dam and <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIqDTkKEH8sxJiTlSsJNeNw-KKI5kGtvWvmZjobKmHnBcUUUTDXnblXWgcNLAb3FGM5nsHLEG2usjyj4qVCn5i7LI2IeFgNKB5oD5dJKcmkUkElFfyjkHj4NNnWK8KA-f6BxRm8LLJAk8/s1600-h/Jan+09+Neyyar+Dam.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304600660771124290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 166px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIqDTkKEH8sxJiTlSsJNeNw-KKI5kGtvWvmZjobKmHnBcUUUTDXnblXWgcNLAb3FGM5nsHLEG2usjyj4qVCn5i7LI2IeFgNKB5oD5dJKcmkUkElFfyjkHj4NNnWK8KA-f6BxRm8LLJAk8/s320/Jan+09+Neyyar+Dam.jpg" border="0" /></a>arriving at the lake. We settle in for lakeside meditation, with a beautiful view of the sunrise over the mountains. After a few moments of silence, I hear voices and the unmistakable squeal of children. Peering in the direction of the noise, I notice a man and three of his young children bathing in the lake. It was a cool morning; too cool for a bath, but the kids were playing, swimming, laughing nonetheless. My meditation was shot, I couldn't take my eyes off of this gorgeous scene. Or maybe it became a different sort of meditation. My heart groaned for a moment and thought of Noah and Arj.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">It would soon come to my attention that there were two very young children at the ashram with their parents, and it was pure heartache to hear their voices and watch them romp about. I even wished them gone several times. But it was pure heaven when I could interact with them, touch a little foot, tickle a sweet tummy to produce a smile!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Sunday morning satsang was a fire ritual, a <em>puja</em> dedicated<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1VGEMt1-ThrTbJjQaq093bCWyjPMfqEoA1Z1LblJ8TGZPgXI-Hp-atOPoUHqLBVwpUehe7bG3Kw6wKdeYWmPGpCOM1UO2tbavJWj0Wv00zJatJSPA8xnffz_keae_Agp-C1BBsiSFD2X/s1600-h/IMG_2420.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304609384366209506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 243px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 190px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1VGEMt1-ThrTbJjQaq093bCWyjPMfqEoA1Z1LblJ8TGZPgXI-Hp-atOPoUHqLBVwpUehe7bG3Kw6wKdeYWmPGpCOM1UO2tbavJWj0Wv00zJatJSPA8xnffz_keae_Agp-C1BBsiSFD2X/s320/IMG_2420.JPG" border="0" /></a> to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganesha">Ganesha</a>. Appropriate enough for the official day of initiation. We were settling in, when one of the teaching staff approached the girl next to me, <em>thwacked</em> her outstretched legs and whispered menacingly into her ear. Poor girl explained to me as she meekly tucked her feet cross-legged: "Apparently, it's highly disrespectful to show one's feet in the direction of the altar." I made a mental note; as I wasn't prepared to be made an example of - at least not yet. <em>Om Gam Ganapatiye Namaha...</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">The swamis and teaching staff initiated us at that evening's satsang and bestowed upon us our fine unif<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVawuR3qiBJ8Lrilp1yq2i84t8Fk7qjDy0Dh45q12C3xbyT9cYP8BScGLFY0Z6mbPj60Gw-8Uv7p27vBD7C8NZ7f7Jwsne73T_22yJ1fTcKosVw1fm8O3yUk7gCGDhbR_2coQlYko5F-8/s1600-h/IMG_2419.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304609961265736418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVawuR3qiBJ8Lrilp1yq2i84t8Fk7qjDy0Dh45q12C3xbyT9cYP8BScGLFY0Z6mbPj60Gw-8Uv7p27vBD7C8NZ7f7Jwsne73T_22yJ1fTcKosVw1fm8O3yUk7gCGDhbR_2coQlYko5F-8/s200/IMG_2419.JPG" border="0" /></a>orms ("yellow is the color of learning, white the color of purity!"), our textbooks and a composition book. We were to immediately retreat to the dorms, change into uniforms and return without delay. That may have been the only time during the entire 4 weeks that anyone there was <em>excited</em> about wearing that fine ensemble; but let me not cheapen the moment here - it was a beautiful evening, full of hope, excitement, anticipation. Maybe dread, too, but that's beside the point...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">I've made some fast friends already, as you can imagine in such a pressure-cooker environment. Many are travelers without a concrete plan; it surprised me, I guess. My beautiful <em>amiga</em> Margaret taught in Tibet, trekked/hitchiked across Mongolia, and explored the northern reaches of India before landing here, and this was not entirely atypical. Mary, whom I had brought home with me straight from the airport, had no real plan for going home after graduation; she only knew she wanted to get to the Phillipines at some point. No hurry.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">All of the "TTCers" (as we would become known, to differentiate us from pansy 2-week "vacationers") had arrived and been initiated, and tomorrow would be our first day of regular lectures and asana.</span>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-43154599868189322802009-02-14T13:00:00.000-08:002009-02-14T13:58:45.508-08:00The Great Ashram Adventure, Installment 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7LcKm7TIZPj2ZyXk9aL9I6_M6jDqHDwrBzMYZf8IwJnjW-5IB2n8kx-OVSXyaFz0hzJhHWTcegen5RNT8hGyXXLUucj52yGPzVM720gdTLs28hACI5vtps4sXwJPSi0aAibEeeJ1kJyu/s1600-h/IMG_2476.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302775228670378354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7LcKm7TIZPj2ZyXk9aL9I6_M6jDqHDwrBzMYZf8IwJnjW-5IB2n8kx-OVSXyaFz0hzJhHWTcegen5RNT8hGyXXLUucj52yGPzVM720gdTLs28hACI5vtps4sXwJPSi0aAibEeeJ1kJyu/s320/IMG_2476.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">1 Jan 2009 - </span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Houston, en route. It's starting to sink in, after 2 hours of fitful sleep last night and existing in a sort of surreal stupor for the last 24 hours.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Dubai, en route. 7 hour layover, egad! This airport ranks right on up there with the Singapore airport as one of my favorites, in no small part because they have a Cinnabon with a pimped-out menu. Mini chocobon, anyone? Easily the world's most <em>tamasic</em> food ("impure, causing inertia, laziness, stagnation"), so naturally a common occurence in my own diet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">But mostly, airports are the best place to people-watch. The setting makes me look at people in a different way - where are they going? Why? That dude has an LSAT study guide. That chick is crying. What's their story?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">The Dubai airport makes me feel cosmopolitan and stupidly sheltered at the same time. One of my favorite images is a crowd of men in full, crisp, beautifully white Arab dress making a run on the Dunkin' Donuts. I consider whipping out my camera for that, but think better of it (and now, I'm reconsidering that decision because, I mean, how awesome would that be, recorded for posterity?). Another thing that strikes me are Muslim women. Head to-toe black, with only a flash of eyes and the smallest enticing sliver of fair skin. But the details reveal everything you need to know: a regal sort of walk, the most exquisite embroidery along sleeves and hems...but you have to look carefully, you know, it's all in black..., Prada handbags, flawless pedicures on delicate toes. I feel suddenly like a small thing in an infinite universe, as curious as a child, ready to set out on a great adventure...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">3 Jan 2009 - In Trivandrum, our home in India and my only stop en route to the ashram.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Deboarding the plane, I spy a petite girl carrying nothing but a yoga mat. Surely, this is not a coincidence. </span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Excuse me. Are you headed to Neyyar Dam?" </span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">And this would be the beginning of a friendship that was one of the handful to sustain me over the next four weeks. My brother-in-law met us at the airport to bring Mary and myself home for a decidedly non-vegetarian, non-sattvic meal (to be our last for a while), a quick nap and then off to our next month's home.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">We leave on the 45-minute car ride to Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Dhanwantari Ashram that afternoon. The pictures didn't lie, it's beautiful. But heading to reception, I realize that I'm conspicuous by my....serious amount of luggage. Two full suitcases, to be exact (but seriously, one was a carry-on, okay?). Nonetheless, I'm excited, I feel embraced. I'm given my dorm assignment, bed linens, and mosquito net. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">6pm is a silent dinner consisting of watery sambar (a spicy sort of vegetable soup that, before this little adventure, was one of my favorite foods to both cook <em>and</em> eat. Now, subtract one thing from my already very limited culinary repertoire), chapati, and a simple vegetable salad that left a good bit to be desired. This would vary little over the next month (the menu, but definitely not the noise level - <em>that</em> would change to a decidedly large degree).</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Afterward, satsang at 8pm (meditation, kirtan and aarati), people continue to arrive throughout the night, and it's lights out at 10:30pm. I go to bed a little worn, but heart and mind wide open.</span></div>Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757441270510385125.post-10269109735043383722009-02-13T10:52:00.000-08:002009-02-13T11:13:25.490-08:00A start, and a lurch, and a "let's do this"...Late to the party yet again, I'm joining the millions of folks out there seeking validation through the public musings of their own warped minds. A very funny conversation with a friend several months ago occurs to me that can be distilled down to: "Why would <em>anyone</em> deem their own mundane lives valuable enough to the rest of us that they need to write about it?" Please note, this friend, and most of my others, are bloggers (and mostly good ones). So here I go, officially opening myself up to this phenomenon and hoping that, even if it doesn't improve anyone's life outright, it will at least be entertaining for you, dear reader, and fun for me. Validation would be nice, too...<br /><br />There's certainly no better time than now. I've just returned from a 4-week stay at an ashram in India that begs to be blogged about, and I've no doubt been doing just that in my head. But right now, at the keyboard, I'm at a loss. A 28-day yoga training intensive that was easily the most disciplined and difficult thing I've done in my adult life...how do I write about such an experience without cheapening it? Without losing some part of its meaning and impact? Without succumbing to my need to make everything at least mildly funny?<br /><br />So, then, I will begin posting my notes from worn journal. I hope I can convey to you the same joy, frustration, devastation, resentment, appreciation and love that I experienced during my time away. And with that, my blogging adventure begins...Siromanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01908521873855396284noreply@blogger.com0