Sivananda Retreat

Having the blissful opportunity to attend an all day Yoga immersion is a true luxury these days.  This Saturday, I was able to do just that, getting to experience an "Indian Ashram" only 45 minutes from where I live.  This is thanks to the amazing Laurel and Dan Heffner, who have truly been lights in my life.  They have reconnected me so deeply to my experience of India and the lessons she is still teaching me.

It was five ethereal hours of chanting, meditation, pranayama, asana, theatre (reenactments that I found surprisingly effective) and spiritual study, focused on Swami Sivananda.  I would have gone no matter who we were studying, but the fact that it was Sivananda really made the whole day that much more special.   In fact, the whole day felt like constant explosions of serendipity regarding my Yoga lineage and education, seeming to appear in cosmic neon flashes above my head.   

I first started doing Yoga when I was 16 years old, when a piano teacher of mine handed me a copy of Lilias Folan's Alive with Yoga on VHS. I ended up practicing with that old tape hundreds of times,  watching sweet Lilias in her red striped leotard and thinking to myself that this felt like nothing I had ever experienced. 

Soon after, I purchased my first book on Yoga - The Sivananda Companion to Yoga and it became my go to for everything Yogic.  I read and reread the text, highlighting, making notes and dog-earing the pages.  Many years later, I would go through teacher training at Sri Swami Satchidananda's Ashram in Yogaville, Virginia.   I didn't know much about him at the time, but was drawn to the Integral Yoga philosophy and holistic approach to traditional Yoga.  It was much later that I found out that Satchidananda had been a disciple of Sivananda's.    One of the first serendipitous links of the retreat day was finding out that Lilias Folan also was a disciple of the Sivananda lineage, being taught by Swami Chitananda (Sivananda's direct disciple).

I am used to doing retreats that involve all the elements we were experiencing, but this was my first time really experiencing the reenactment/theatre aspect of traditional Yoga.  At first I wasn't sure what to think, but I soon became caught up in the message and in the power of someone channeling an experience instead of just telling about it.  The teacher in me connected with this immediately and it reminded me, that as a student, this is a very effective way to teach.  Dan made a fantastic Sivananda, both in his spiritedness and his physical appearance, donning the orange robes and shiny head, his dancing and clapping got us all up to join him and joy filled the room.

There were several reenactments, but the one that affected me most was Satchidananda.  My teacher.  I have had such a journey with him and his role in my spiritual life and it was so strange and almost overwhelming to see him embodied in someone else.  While some may say it was just an actor in a wig, I have to admit I felt something stronger when he walked towards the stage in his orange robes.  He looked like him, moved like him.  Since I have heard the real Swami talk a lot, there was a bit of a difference in the way the actor talked, but it didn't take away from the retelling of the speech he gave at Woodstock.  I have heard of this event, even taught students about the speech probably a few hundred times.  But I never got it like I did this day, seeing this Satchidananda in front of me, hearing the speech retold in this cadence, imagining the hippies that he got off drugs and onto Yoga, pranayama, meditation.  And then the led minute of silence.  I imagined how powerfully that silence must have swept across the chaotic youth in the crowds.

Afterwards, I couldn't stop thinking about how people say that if you're drawn to something strongly, it's usually because it's familiar and you were already doing this in another life. I look back to how I started with Yoga at such an early age and have never stopped, how my practice has just continuously grown deeper and wider and fuller and how I have complete faith that this will keep happening for the rest of my life.  I just can't get enough of it - it is a true practice with so much to always learn anew.   I think of how I have never had any desire to do any drugs or to drink alcohol and have been sober my entire life, yet have been surrounded by many close friends and loved ones who have/do.  I think of my obsession with the sixties all through my childhood and teenage years and how I was the weirdo who listened to The Doors and Creedence ("our Dads' music") while my other friends listened to Paula Abdul and Whitney Houston.   Is there something to this?   Normally it would sound kind of kooky, but in this meditative space, in this deeper awareness, it all started to make sense to me.   

Beautiful gifts kept coming throughout the day, probably the most profound to me was the gift of Radha's diary.  The excerpts of Sivanananda's western disciple were my favorite part of the retreat by far.  I could relate to her so closely, being a western woman who traveled to India and wrote about it too.  A woman who doubted herself and tries her best to live this practice.  I loved her authentic voice and realness so much that I can't wait to order this diary for myself and to read all of it!

Why should we only read the Gita, the words of Jesus or the Sutras?  Why not read one woman's diary of an authentic pilgrimage, both inner and outer?  To me, a story like this is just as inspiring.  

I am so grateful to have the opportunity to "plug in" to Yoga retreats a few times throughout the year, but this one really took the cake for me.  It was everything I had hoped for and more and resonated with me on a thousand layers.  I went in that morning feeling like a tired, worn out little bud and left feeling like an opened lotus, clear and connected. To be able to practice with others who feel the same way about Yoga as I do and to learn from teachers like Laurel is such a powerful gift.

"Do real sadhana, my children.  Do real sadhana." - Sivananda

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu

This is one of the first chants I ever learned, at the Ashram back in 2001.  I instantly loved it.  It was just a lovely chant.  Simple, beautiful, flowery sounding.  I loved the way the melody carried softly across your tongue.  It was a sweet, feminine chant and I fell in love with it.

Translated, it means roughly, "May the entire universe be filled with peace and joy, love and light."  Another version, "May my positive actions and thoughts influence the actions and thoughts of others around me."

It is the second chant I have learned on the harmonium and I can't stop playing it.   I can honestly say it is the first real experience with the harmonium where I feel like I "get it."  My voice and the instrument become one and I just bliss out into this devotion and never want to stop!

This week has been a very busy week with work.  I've been working very long hours on campus and by the time I commute home, take care of Bodhi and do all the evening chores and bath time and get her to bed, I am utterly exhausted and mentally wiped.  I know I should do yoga, but the thought of rolling out the mat and trying to move my body around just seems like too much.   So, last night, I told myself, "jeez, just do 5 minutes.  You can do 5 minutes.  Just sit on the mat if you have to."

I rolled it out on the back porch, with just about 15 minutes of light left in the day.   I did one slow sun salutation and then lay on my back on the mat, putting my legs up against the column of our gazebo.  I had never thought to do this before, but lay there in "legs against the wall" pose for about 10 minutes, completely and utterly spent.  

It wasn't a calorie burning Vinyasa flow or a mind blowing, spiritual transformation, but my body had intuitively went into one of the best known restorative poses that exist.  That without thinking, my legs just went there, seems like a kind of somatic magic to me.  It's exactly what I needed. So many times I don't roll out my mat because I think, "Ah, I'm too tired" or "I don't have time."  Why do I forget, even after all these years of practice, that it's okay to just lay in child's pose for awhile or just put my feet up against the wall sometimes?   It's still Yoga.  Even 30 seconds is better than nothing!

Hanuman Happy Birthday

My little baby is ONE year old!  It's so unbelievable.  What a beautiful, strange, exhilarating, exhausting, frightening, joyous, thrilling, phenomenal year it has been.  The best of my life and without question the most transformative.

She dances and loves to look at the world upside down (she does a LOT of baby downward dog).  She giggles and laughs all the time and has a real sense of humor already.  The world and everything in it is completely amazing and amusing to her.   I could not be more grateful or feel more blessed to be celebrating this huge milestone and the magic of this beautiful little being that has come into our world.

Speaking of magic and beautiful beings, I really love Hanuman. He's always been one of my favorites in Hinduism.  Often known as the "Monkey God," he helps out his BFF Rama when Rama's wife Sita is kidnapped.  But, beyond loyalty and devotion, I really like that Hanuman has no idea of how powerful he actually is.  The son of a wind God, he has to be reminded of his magic and strength (by a bear).  And then he uses that power to help those he loves, powerfully leaping across the Indian ocean to find Sita and bringing back medicines for Rama's dying brother.   He may not be overtly the sharpest tool in the shed (there are some funny moments in the Ramayana that point to this), but Hanuman is the one you want having your back.  He is genuine, loyal and I mean, come on...he's a monkey!

And speaking of monkeys, if you continue through Daniel Tucker's lessons, you'll find that in addition to squirrels playing guitar, his wardrobe also includes (drumbeat....) sock monkeys playing guitar!   I think I am as intrigued to keep up with the lessons for his whimsical fashion as I am learning the harmonium! :)  

After a few weeks of learning and practicing all the scales, sarghams, learning the basics, I ventured into the actual kirtan chants last night.  My very first song I chose was Babu Hanuman, from Krishna Das' album. It is so beautiful - the melody speaks of a long standing devotion.

Last night after Bodhi went to sleep, I was able to begin playing this for the first time (about 3 minutes into the video is the section I am learning).  It felt truly exhilarating. I still am shy and unsure about my voice (embracing my non singing voice is a whole other scary, but liberating aspect to this journey) but I am working on it and just trying to let the truth and the light shine through.

Harmonium History - First Lessons

Oh, how I love this instrument! My lifelong love of piano has easily transmitted to this beautiful, compact little Indian gem.  Except one of the first things I've learned in taking my Kirtan lessons is that the harmonium is actually a European instrument and not originally Indian.  It was made as a tiny organ (standing with foot bellows instead of on the floor) in Denmark and Paris, used mostly in churches.  The British brought it with them to India and the Indians loved it so much, they made it their own, putting it on the floor and nixing the foot bellows for hand ones instead.

The harmonium became so popular among folk singers and musicians that trained Indian classical musicians banned the instrument because they felt it wasn't "refined" and sophisticated enough.  This division caused the harmonium to be used prominently in kirtan (worship) and that's why it became one of the main instruments used and associated with yogic chant!   So fascinating!

So far, I am really impressed with Daniel Tucker's lessons.  I had originally wanted to go to Kripalu and take his training, but the timing right now just won't allow that, so his online courses at the Bhakti Breakfast Club are just perfect for me.   Every night after Bodhi goes to sleep, I take a lesson or two.  So far, I've completed three courses, each with several lessons a piece.  I really like Daniel's teaching style (and especially that he wears t-shirts with squirrels playing guitar on them).  He is the kind of teacher I'd want to have locally if I could, so I feel grateful that I found this alternative.

The last thing I must mention - the sharp Ma (what we know as F Sharp) was banned in medieval times because its sound was so menacing, church authorities were certain it was the Devil's note.  Church composers were forbidden from using it in any of their music.  This is why in the history of western music, you don't have a lot of F sharps!   I love it.

And I love the harmonium and getting to know it.  I'm still such a newbie to it, but feel like I'm slowly becoming acquainted with it and can't wait to learn some real Kirtan songs and someday share them with others in my yoga classes.   If you're reading this, I'd like to ask you to think about an instrument you'd like to learn and why.  What's stopping you?

Yogawoman

I just watched Yogawoman - this wonderful documentary by Kate McIntyre.   For some reason, in all my research and reading on Yoga over the last 20 years, I have somehow just now become aware that there are all these great documentaries on Yoga out there!   I watched "Enlighten Up" a couple of years ago with the excitement of a kid on Christmas, so thrilled that an entire movie was filmed about Yoga!  I loved all the interviews with the teachers the most.

This was one of the reasons I loved Yogawoman - the one on ones with well known and respected teachers like Sharon Gannon, Angela Farmer, Seane Corn, Patricia Walden, Sianna Sherman, Nischala Joy Devi, and my favorite, of course, Shiva Rea.   Oh, how I wish I could just have the time and money to go study with ALL of them!

The documentary did a great job of illustrating the power of yoga in a woman's life and how it carries her through all of the stages - puberty, motherhood, menopause, etc.  I loved how they showed women in their 80s and 90s doing yoga, women who were cancer survivors, etc.  One of the most inspiring scenes to me was the teaching in the women's prison.  The way the one woman described how much yoga gave her and how when anyone got upset or angry, they'd do their OMs and feel so much better.  It really moved me, how they could find that power within themselves through Yoga.

Yoga just isn't a tool, it's a whole toolbox - a 5,000 year old, layered, dog-eared, myriad, tapestry of goodies to choose from.  The toolbox never empties, is always replenishing, always full of new ways to understand, be and learn.  There are so many ways to be a Yogi!

Hare Hare Harmonium

The package from India arrived all wrapped in shiny purple paper with tiny flowers, like the gift wrap of a really great seven year old's birthday party.   I set it down in the kitchen and began tearing off the packaging and after about a half hour of cutting through about ten layers of tape, cardboard, styrofoam and protective packaging (I am definitely impressed with the thoroughness and consideration to keep this baby safe on its journey from Delhi to Ohio), I could finally see the top exposed. A wooden rectangle, it looked like a shiny bald head still surrounded by the white styrofoam.  With this reveal, my speed increased - I couldn't wait to get this thing free!  I finally got the last bit of packaging loose and lifted the rectangle shaped instrument up out, a waft of sandalwood hitting my nostrils.  I set it in my lap, in awe of its beauty and potential.  After years of desiring a harmonium and months and months of research, asking fellow harmonium musicians question after question and online comparison shopping, I had finally become the proud owner of my own brand new shiny harmonium!

But I had absolutely no idea where to begin with it.   After I figured out how to open it (which took longer that I'd like to admit), I pressed down the middle C key and pulled in the bellows for the first time.   Urrrrrrrrr......  I smiled so big!  I was so excited! I spent about an hour just getting to know it on my own, playing a few keys and making up a little song, but realized quickly that just because I play piano doesn't mean I can't benefit from some specific instruction on this wondrously different instrument.

It came with a free (an aptly titled) "How to play Harmonium" booklet.  I sat down with the harmonium next to me and looked through it, but since the majority of it is in Sanskrit and it looks like it was printed in 1984, I knew my next step was to find a more modern, accessible instruction.   (Though I did find it very amusing that at the end of the book were several western sheet music pages for what were described as "popular songs."  These included Red Temperton's Baby, Come to Me, The Bangles' Eternal Flame and a random David Lynch song from the Twin Peaks soundtrack. So, I was right on it being made in the 80s.)

I had researched the Bhakti Breakfast Club at Kirtan Central awhile back and watched a few of the introductory videos.   I had first heard of Daniel Tucker through his Kirtan workshops at Kripalu when I was there.  I had thought that perhaps I could attend one weekend intensive, but with the baby and work, I knew that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.   So, here are several courses he teaches all online.  I signed up and am ready to go!   Ever the academic nerd, I can't wait to see what I learn!

Creating Sacred Space

Have I mentioned before how difficult it is to find time for asana practice? And when you do have the rare half hour to yourself, you either fall asleep before you even get the mat rolled out or opt instead for the decadent combo pleasure of ice cream enticing you from the kitchen and RuPaul's Drag Race.  Or maybe that's just me.

More than time, I've found that finding space is of equal issue.  With a tiny cottage of a house, what was once my yoga space/living room/piano room is now all of that with a pack n play, high chair, swing and assorted other baby gear.  And a baby of course.   The most beautiful, perfect Buddha baby that I still am in complete awe of every moment.   A baby that is laughing, clapping, standing, dancing, teething and doing all those first little unique baby things that fill me with a pure joy that makes me believe in the Divine with a fierceness I never would have imagined.

And though it goes without saying that I wouldn't trade all this for the world, sometimes I miss having a space for yoga, that special mojo vibe area for my practice.

Tonight, I knew I needed to find some way to get my mat out. While Daddy watched her and got her ready for bed, I cleared all the patio furniture from our deck, lit some candles and incense and popped in Yoga Shanti with Laurel on the CD player.   Within about 30 seconds, I felt the shift.  You know the one - the one you get when you start really breathing for the first time all day.  The one when you elongate along your mat and sigh, "Hello beautiful body, I forgot all about you today."  This one was special though because within these 30 seconds, I realized I had recreated my sacred space without even intending to.  I hadn't even considered that I could have it anywhere else, but here I had just created an environment conducive to such peace.  The smell of the incense, the sound of the birds and wind through the trees and Laurel's soothing voice and chimes all carried me into my sadhana space.

After my savasana, I rolled the mat back up and put the patio furniture back in its place. It's not permanent (which is perfectly Buddhist, right?) but it is perfect for a Yoga Mama with an 11 month old who more often than not only has a few minutes anyway.    If you're reading this, I encourage you to reflect on ways you can create a little spiritual space for yourself in ways (or spaces) you hadn't considered.   Sometimes just a candle, a fabric, a certain CD or meaningful icon can transform mundane space into something special instantly.   Create your own sacred space however you can!  Om Shanti.

To Guru or Not to Guru?

As I hiked towards the Ashram meditation hall, the unusual sound of a motor vehicle rumbled through the woods.  Into the clearing, a tiny aqua blue Suzuki sidekick sputtered down the dirt road. A russet grandfather’s face turned towards me through the rolled down window.  His enormous palm lifted near his long, gray beard, his slender fingers extraordinarily long. He waved at me enthusiastically and smiled, then honked the little horn, beep beep. It was…the Guru, His Holiness Sri Swami Satchidanada. 

In my early twenties, I loved Yoga with a youthful, unbridled passion.  But I had not thought too much about this Guru business.  Literally a “Dispeller of Darkness,” the Guru shines a kind of spiritual flashlight into the darkness of your emotional world. All I knew was that he was a bearded Indian guy who wore orange robes and had led the people at Woodstock to chant “OM” (which was pretty cool to me at 23). However, it was apparent he was a very powerful and highly venerated figure. Every room had portraits of him, his face wise and serious.  The teachers spoke of him constantly, their face aglow whenever his name was invoked. 

Gurus often came from places of immense poverty in India during the 60s and 70s, with less than a few dollars in their pockets.  Almost overnight, many became spiritual sensations.  Droves of hippie followers began kissing their feet and bowing to them, looking to them as eastern celestial beings of mystic perfection. Too often, the pendulum swing of extreme poverty to complete adoration resulted in corruption and a plummet head first into drug and alcohol abuse and sex scandals, the same kind of tragic fall has happened more times than one can count with spiritual leaders. Was I naïve to think I could just do my Yoga and bypass all the Guru giddiness? Was he a genuine spiritual teacher or was he a charismatic charlatan I needed to be wary of?

A few days later, after cleaning the hall from ceiling to floor, we gathered for our first meeting with Satchidananda. He walked slowly into the room clad in his signature orange robes and long beard and sat on a throne-like wicker chair at the front of the room as our Hatha teacher, Satya, gave him a small glass of tea.  He gave a brief talk, his voice calm, steady, speaking of meditation and how we must see ourselves clearly if we are going to have peace.  After his talk, he bowed in Namaste (hands together in prayer position in front of the body) and left a room full of beaming smiles.  I didn’t know if it was all the smiling, the Guru’s presence, or the fact that the space was so darn clean, but I had to admit, the room felt really good, “charged” as my Pagan friend would say.  We all took our time standing up, wanting to absorb this feeling as long as we could.  I thought, Well, that wasn’t so bad after all.

Then Satya turned to us, “If you’d like to take Prasad, line up over here.”  She held up his half empty tea glass towards the ceiling, then carried the glass gingerly, as if in a procession, back to where a line (now full of about 20 or so people) was eagerly forming.  One by one, Satya poured the tea from the glass into their open, cupped palms.  I watched with a mix of fascination as they slurped up the liquid with fervor. 

I looked around and saw Tori, a snarky New Yorker, whom I had already made friends with earlier in the week.  We shared a common interest in Shiva Rea, travel and sarcasm.  We both stood back, still as statues, watching the tea train in front of us.  She rolled her eyes at me, which made me smile.  At least I wasn’t the only one who was perplexed.

We had several other encounters with the Guru, each more confusing to me than the last.  I still wasn’t sold on the Guru veneration.  During our graduation ceremony, we received our diplomas and each of us had a moment to bow or kneel in front of Swami.  With mixed emotions, I made my way onto the stage, accepting my certificate.  I bowed towards him and thought simply, Thank you for your teachings.  As I stood back up, we locked eyes for a moment and I felt a rush of energy shoot up my spine into my head.  A little dizzy, I made my way off the stage, feeling like I had just been zapped. 

Almost exactly a year after my Ashram stay and teacher certification, Swami Satchidananda “dropped his body” and went into mahasamadhi. In my mind, I could see the Ashram devotees walking around, tears streaming down their faces, hugging each other in solace, having prayer and meditation circles for his journey to the other side.  I felt guilty for not feeling more than I did.

I continued to practice yoga religiously for the next several years.  One afternoon in a spring cleaning feng shui attack, I came across a slim copy of Kailash Journal, a diary Satchidananda kept of his pilgrimage to the sacred Mt. Kailash in Tibet.  I picked it up and read it ferociously, immersing myself in his treacherous eight hundred mile journey (on foot!) into this sacred site, revered by Hindus and Buddhists pilgrims.  Reading his reflections of his extraordinary pilgrimage, the tremendous physical exertion, his vulnerability and strength against the elements, and the sacred experience that was both his journey and destination - this was my first real connection with him, through our mutual love of travel and pilgrimage.

I began bringing this book to my class, sharing it during our section on Pilgrimage and Hindu ritual.  I read passages to my students, finding myself excited to share his journey to Kailash with them.  They would ask questions about him and I would become excited to tell them.  I began reading more and more about him, curious about his life and his yoga practice.   Then I went to India and made a pilgrimage to the Sivananda Ashram in Rishikesh, where Satchidananda studied in his youth. 

A few years later, there was a very dark time when my spouse was going through his own treacherous journey which would eventually (thank God) bring him to sobriety. One particularly hopeless night, I had a dream that I was sitting on a rock ledge over a waterfall.  Hundreds of huge boulders filtered the rushing stream.  As I sat on the ledge, I was overcome with feelings of sadness and helplessness.  In frustration, I began sobbing uncontrollably.  Then, I felt a leathered hand on mine and long fingers gently curled around my own.  I looked up and Satchidananda was sitting next to me, his orange robes flapping in the wind and mist. He smiled at me sweetly, so beatifically and genuinely, it made me giggle in the middle of my sobs.  He bobbled his head Indian style, “Let’s jump” and then looked down at the rocky water.  I looked at him, eyes wide, “What?  We can’t jump down there!”  He smiled again, “Trust me.”  He pointed at my heart, “Trust yourself.”   He squeezed my hand.  I closed my eyes and then felt the sensation of falling, his hand still wrapped around my own. I awoke before we landed.

I was surprised at how moved I was by his presence in my dream.  How real it felt.  How real the feelings of comfort and solace I felt, in a time when I needed it desperately.  Was it really him?  Or perhaps he symbolized the sat guru – the guru within us all – that we have the wisdom and strength ourselves to overcome any obstacles.  Either way, this dream was a game changer in my Yoga practice.  Towards the end of our training at the Ashram, Tori (the New Yorker) had said to me, “You know, I’ve struggled so much with this Guru stuff.  I can’t drink that damn tea.  But, I’ll tell you what…”  She paused and shook her head, “I’ll be damned if I can do yoga without facing his picture.  I just can’t bring myself to do my Sun Salutations with my back to him.” 

Over a decade later, I’ve come to find those words ringing true for me as well.  I cannot turn my back on him.  On my Yoga altar, he stands along with many other images, including Ganesh, Jesus, Buddha, Shiva Rea, Kwan Yin, my great-grandmother, etc.  This picture is not the ubiquitous Integral Yoga head shot that was hung in every room of the Ashram. Instead, I chose the black and white image of him on his Kailash pilgrimage.  In it, he stands at ease, holding a long walking stick that mirrors his lean, lanky, stretched body.  His beard is unruly and still dark in its youth, his turban is wrapped snugly around the crown of his head and his hip sunglasses shield him from the bright sun high in the Himalayas.  He stands with an ease and satisfaction, his face content, looking out over the beauty of the trail. 

It is my absolute favorite picture of him (not only because Gurus just look funny in sunglasses) but because it reminds me that like him, I am a pilgrim too.  I may not drink his tea or cry at the utterance of his name, but I lovingly respect him and what he has done for Yoga. For my Yoga.  I may not agree with all of his ideas, which are steeped in a particular culture, time and perception, but that doesn’t mean I cannot hold his teachings as sacred. 

Much like our own grandparents, our youth comes at the most inopportune time – it is often only years later that many of us appreciate what these story keepers have to offer, their libraries of history and family tradition.  Though Satchidananda is “gone,” he is more present to me now than he was 13 years ago at the Ashram when he was in body, just a few feet from me.

The Guru who rattles around in my head and heart now is not the Guru of the Ashram, not the Guru of leftover tea, not the Guru who may or may not have slept his own devotees (allegations he denied consistently), not the Guru of pomp and accolades.   Instead, my guru is the one who takes my hand when I need it, the one whose voice I hear when I chant, the one who explains the Yoga Sutras to me in a way that I understand and can relate to my own students, the one who spent a childhood eating chapatti in Southern India, running around on knotty knees and bony feet.  My guru is the rugged backpacker, the Woodstock guru, the “Om” leader, the adorable Suzuki sidekick driver and the one who opened the door to my Sadhana.

Satchidananda taught me that the guru is within.   And maybe, just maybe, this guru is as real and powerful as any “living” one.

Kwan Yin's Dance of Motherhood

Happy Buddha (Wesak) Day!  To celebrate, my friend and I went to our bi-weekly Kirtan, which this week was themed with our favorite Buddhist chants and a celebration of Kwan Yin.  I decided to take Bodhi with me, thinking that at 9 months old, she was ready to experience the bhakti devotion her Mama loves so much.  I was naive.  It wasn't that she cried. In fact, she loved it so much, she wanted to proclaim it to everyone with her high pitched vocal squeals and laughs.  For the first couple of times, it was cute and a few people laughed. After a few minutes though, I took her back to the nursery because I didn't want to disturb anyone's meditation.

The next 90 minutes went as such: chase Bodhi around the nursery, pull toy out of her mouth, carry her back into meditation room thinking she would be worn out and quiet, giant squeals of delight upon realization that she had an audience again, back to the nursery, chase around, repeat...  By 8:30, I was completely exhausted, sweaty and disappointed that I had missed most of the Buddha celebration (and worried that my bringing her may have disturbed other practitioners).

I started seeing her familiar signs of imminent bedtime, so I took advantage, sliding her down into my front snugli carrier, popping a born free bottle of pumped milk into her mouth and watching her eyes get heavy.  I sighed, deciding to risk it one more time.  I walked back into a lovely chorus of Pare Gate. As I came into the back of the room, something startled me out of the corner of my eye. Through the doorway of another side room, a mannequin in a bride's dress stood facing the light coming in the window.  The mannequin seemed so real, but was completely unmoving.  It was a little spooky and I stood there a minute, unable to take my eyes off of it as if there was something pulling me into that room.  Then it did start to move, gracefully swaying back and forth.

After my stomach leaping into my throat initially, I realized this mannequin was our Kwan Yin for our evening, a real practitioner. I then felt voyeuristic, realizing that I was watching her prepare for her role and I quickly continued making my way to the front of the room where Bodhi could see the lights and harmonium.  She watched with fascinated eyes as I swayed her back and forth with the melody and she drank her milk contently.   I sang softly into her ear, emphasizing the part of "Para sum gate, Bodhi Svaha" and she looked up at me with an expression that was half surprised and half amused as if we were all singing just for her.

Then Kwan Yin came down the aisle, dressed in her bridal white lace and holding a beautiful lotus candle. She walked slowly and gracefully and then danced her sacred dance.  As we chanted Kwan Yin Pusa, she stood still as a statue (boy, she was very good at this!) and we circumambulated around her.  By this time, Bodhi was asleep against my chest.  Warm and snuggled close, I sighed in relief and for the first time all night, began chanting with full energy, with my entire being and focus.

As I passed by Kwan Yin, I silently thanked her for this moment, these little precious gems of peace that new moms get after so much continuous exhaustion, anxiety and chaos.   I thought of India and that one beautiful woman in her glowing sari that had given me a helping hand when I had been in so much despair.  I thought of all the ways Kwan Yin, and the feminine divine as a whole, in Durga, Saraswati, Kali, Tara, White Buffalo Calf Woman, Mother Theresa, St. Catherine, and most of all, Mary, have accompanied me throughout my spiritual journey.

I looked down to my little sleeping girl with her tiny hand curled around my arm and tears filled my eyes.  Feeling connected to all of these divine mothers, I realized that the dance I was engaging in around Kwan Yin mirrored my dance with motherhood in general.  New, thrilling, overwhelming, and beautiful, it is the greatest dance of my life.

Serving the Goddess

I've been attending a Kirtan/Satsang the last few months and it is invigorating!  Ever since the Ashram, I have missed the energy and connection that comes from an authentic and lively chanting session.   It is absolutely one of my favorite aspects of Yoga and I am so happy to be able to experience it again.

The leaders (a couple) are phenomenal.  Musicians, poets, yogis - they know their stuff and have been doing this since the early 70s in San Francisco.  She has spent a lot of time in India and her experience and life of Yoga weaves through the entire session. 

The last time I attended, she said when her daughter was born, she loved the opportunity to "serve the Goddess" in that form.  This hit me like a golden light beam piercing my heart.  It all came into place.  While I've struggled to "fit in" asana practice, I have felt deeply and strongly that my yoga practice has never been so aware and so in the moment as with taking care of my baby. 

Rocking her to sleep, nursing her in the mornings and at night, I practice my pranayama with her against my chest.  Our daily rituals, which may seem mundane to some, have become a zen practice that I enjoy.  Washing her bottles and bowls, changing her diapers, washing and folding her clothes, tending to her every need, wish and want - it has all become a meditative practice, one I have surprised myself by thriving in.   While I often get distracted during traditional sitting meditation, my working meditation of serving her allows my mind to focus on the task at hand, always with the ultimate goal of her in mind. 

There will be plenty of time to teach her asana and fun animal poses and sounds in the future.  Right now, I am going to take what my Kirtan teacher said to heart and serve this tiny, beautiful goddess that has brought such grace and joy into my life.