red dot little duck

New Years Eve was fairly uneventful. I met up with some people at a place called the Green Hotel for a little while, ventured through the grounds and did a bit of light shopping at the gift shop. The hotel was quite beautiful; an old colonial style place with lots of outdoor seating and well-groomed courtyard. It felt like most New Years Eve’s often do for me… so, I took my leave for home around 7:30 or 8pm. Once there, I got ready for an early practice and settled in for rest.

At midnight, perhaps a little before, the fireworks started. Celebrations all through the city! This continued for at least a couple hours. Even with all the excitement in the air I really wanted sleep. Earplugs were not cutting it. Shit. I was so tired and set to get up at 4:30am. Strange dreams followed me as I drifted in and out of consciousness eventually leaving my mind in a fog as I stumbled down to the Shala.

Practice was a little disappointing. I was tired, bit stomach sick, grumpy. Not so good feeling to start the New Year. Grrrrr… So brilliantly, I decide to head to Chamundi Hill. I hopped a bus to Mysore and then another bus up a long and windy road to one of the most sacred hills in Southern India. Had this idea in my head that I could leave something there. Something to show past is past, let go. Where? How? It was so crowed. Tons of people everywhere! Upon the realization that what I had intended to do was most likely not going to happen I also remembered I had to be back at the Shala by 4pm. Shit! So I walked around a little, snapped a couple photos and started thinking about how to get out of there. Next realization? I don’t know how to get back to a bus. It was chaos up there!

A little overwhelmed at this point, I figure I will just keep walking. It’s hot. I pass a few guys hanging out in their car and they say “at least 20kl” to the bottom. I’m like “OK.” Have no idea how far that is. But I figure I haven’t much choice so I keep going. REALLY don’t want to walk all the way to the bus stand. So I start looking for busses to flag down and there are people hanging off the doors. Not getting on there. Keep walking. And then all of a sudden, this car stops and a nice man pops his head out the window and says, “Can I drop you, Madam?” I’m thinking, “Drop me?” Too funny. After a bit of self-deliberation I hop in the car. Never done that in my life.

There were four men. None of them spoke much English but they started asking me where I’m from and what my name is. “Where do you stay?” “What do you think of India?” and so on. We struggled through some answers and then some of my questions. I listened to them chatting away in Kanada. They were very patient and candid and turned out to be extremely sweet, genuine men. It was refreshing to meet them. So kind to give me a lift, to “drop me” down the hill. We stopped at a garden just down the street from the bus stop and they requested we take some photos. So each one of them got their photo with me. I got the one below.

The one on the left was the driver, a “criminal police” and the one on the right was the kind man to offer me the lift (wish I could remember their names). It totally made my day. Their kindness melted off the rough start and left some lightness. Happy New Year.

Physically, emotionally compromised, I lay down. Rest… sleep. With unsettledness comes diseased feeling. Drifting towards dreamland I see him. Standing nearby; my avatar – strong, steady. My avatar. He takes shape of a mighty brown horse. His appearance: humble and kind yet powerful. When I am confused, he waits with me – patience. When I am sick, he takes watch – protection. When I am broken, he carries me – compassion.

When I awake, I awake in awe. Gratitude… OM Hari OM.

After a recent correspondence with my teacher I have a little something more to say… you see – he has such a beautiful way of saying things, even things that are hard to hear. And it sometimes takes a while for me to hear them…

This conditioning is not simply based on statements or visuals. Not entirely formed by media representations or things I’ve heard. This conditioning is old; it’s been cultivated over years of hiding. What’s happened here is I have continued to believe these things and on a certain level it’s more comfortable to continue to believe them (because I already know what that feels like) rather than to face the pain of what I am hiding from.

What have I been hiding from? The truth of how I see myself.

Things going for me? More than two… Yes, the practice. As the fire begins to burn with renewed vigor, the amount I have learned and continue to learn from its struggles and its triumphs have begun to resurface. This is where the development of awareness comes. Awareness of movement, awareness of breath and most importantly thought patterns. But here are a couple things I left out…

A desire to see myself differently – this is important – thank you David. This desire is going to take something new happening in order to create new beliefs. So I’m on the train.

People I practice with, my family, my friends. Their stories, their support and love; this they put out into the world. That is inspiration – being able to see it as inspiration… that is a gift.

PS – Thank you for your comments; you are beautiful…

It’s not the first time a teacher has mentioned I should trim it down. Perhaps Sharath’s approach was a bit subtler; it was certainly still direct – to the point. Oh man. I know that the intention of this suggestion is not to take me down a notch. Nor is it an implication that I am in some way inadequate. In fact, I believe it is coming from a place of love and caring. They see me struggling, they know that dropping weight would help, so one way or another the conversation comes. Unfortunately, the monsters come too.

I was the first girl in my class to get boobs. I was taller, wider, and at some point a boy named Aaron called me “thunder thighs” on the four square court. Fourth grade – brutal. Still remember what that felt like. It got worse once I started running track. Whoa. Much of my younger years were spent feeling bad about myself. Striving, trying but, never fully believing. During that time, the monsters were born. They are the ones that sit in the back of my brain and wait for the opportunity to remind me of their presence. Throwing stones – a one-two punch. Brutal. It’s conditioning at it’s finest. Lie number one, “Look like this (magazine cover model) and someone will love you and make you happy.” Lie number two, “You can’t do it? You totally suck. Loser.” Lie number three, “Hey Fatty McFatfat.” And so on.

Now I’m here with none of the usual distractions of work, nights out, dinners, drinks… the inner workings of my brain are not as occupied. So they get loud. When they get poked they get louder. Currently… Loud.

I’ve got at least two things going for me. One: the practice. Two: awareness. So I continue. Keeping faith that one day, through practice, I’ll knock those monsters out. Suckas.

Here it is… Christmas. Quite a different experience this year. Wasn’t sure what to expect or even what I wanted to do. Maybe a little dinner here at the house? Perhaps a walk-about in the evening? I mean, who really celebrates Christmas in India? After some deliberation about what to do, Lars and I decided to go out for some evening Dosa – quite good – and afterwards walk to the Ramakrishna Ashram to experience some chanting.

So, after dinner we walk to the Ashram. We get to the hall; everyone is sitting patiently. I turn to Lars and say, “Are we really allowed in here?” All these Indian people look at us like, “really?” Lars assures me it’s all good and motions for me to enter… men on the right, women on the left. I go sit with the women. Glancing around, I try to get a sense for how people are holding themselves. See if there are any special rules. Most are just sitting there, slouched. Such poor posture! So, I’m good. Sitting. Done.

At the front of the room there is a Christmas tree like shrine. Representing images of Jesus and… wait for it… Santa. Yes, Santa Clause, floating in the branches. Twinkling lights. Tinsel and decorations. Offerings of cakes and oils arranged in front of it among several candles brightly burning. So awesome.

The chanting started and the energy was brilliant! Tablas, bells, harmonium and voice. Everyone knew the words. I had no idea what they were saying. They bellowed it out with devotion and love. It was beautiful. Proceedings continued with tithing, blessings, and ceremonial traditions. Then, I heard organ music. I believe one of the men in the front had a keyboard, and the tune of Silent night started echoing off the walls. I couldn’t stop smiling as this man, with his Indian accent, started to sing. Of course, I tear up a bit. Then – Oh Come all Ye Faithfull and Joy to the World and so on… just perfect. At one point in the celebration another man got up and started reading from the bible. I don’t think I have ever seen someone look so bored! Could barely contain the laughter. Lastly, during some more singing, everyone received a piece of sweet bread and some candy. With a bow of gratitude we left and started home.

It was a good feeling in that room and it carried us all the way back to the house. We lit a candle and went to the roof to indulge in our sweets; including a slice of chocolate, Christmas cake we picked up earlier. We laughed, talked about Christmas’ past and enjoyed the last bits of Christmas Eve.

A lot of things go along with the holidays: family, friends, dinners, drinks, games, gifts and hopefully, if we’re lucky, a lot of love and laughter. I feel pretty lucky.

Merry Christmas.

There is no missing it: on the ground, in the ditch, in empty lots. Garbage. If one can afford it, there is a pick up service. People leave small bags hanging from their gates and someone in a little truck comes by to grab it. Very little truck. I don’t know what happens to it after that. (hmmm…)

This is the garbage truck.

If someone doesn’t have a gate they put it outside their door. In which case, it seems, that animals often come by and grab it; tear it open to find goodies inside. Yummm. Another scenario… chuck it into an empty lot or better yet burn it; plastic and all. I have seen dogs eating garbage, cows, birds, pigs and goats eating garbage. I’ve seen people sort through the garbage. Looking for anything useful. A whole different level of dumpster diving. People don’t seem to mind it either. It’s simply part of things.

The other day as I was walking to the Shala, I noticed a couple women cleaning up the street. It was so beautiful to me – to see people cleaning up random garbage – in this place. I don’t know if that was their job or if they were just doing it outside of their homes or what but, they were smiling and talking to each other just picking up garbage. It seems such an endless, impossible task.

That’s just one example of how people can be. Doing things because that is what needs to be done. No problem. You do. So even though I look out at the street and see garbage everywhere… people do care. That’s what is so damn beautiful!! Homes are well taken care of. Large prestigious homes and makeshift shanties constructed of scraps. There’s a morning ritual here. Puja. Women washing off the driveway or entryway to their homes and drawing fresh rangolis (a pattern, usually drawn with chalk on entryways to homes or businesses), watering plants, doing laundry; colorful fabrics out to dry over clotheslines and balconies. Fresh flowers hang above the doorways and sometimes, the sweet sound of drums, bells and chanting echo through the air. Shoes off at the door. Respect.

I get to the Shala nearly fourty-five minutes early so I can be sure to get a spot in the main room. (vs – the changing room or entry way, which happens.) There are at least ten people there already waiting. I sit. The steps fill up quickly. More and more people file into the waiting area just outside the Shala door… we wait. I can hear Sharath counting, “one… two… three…” We wait.

People start to chatter. I get a little anxious as I am more and more surrounded. Am I going to have to shove my way into the door? How close will our mats be? Am I supposed to stop at Supta Kurmasana? (Yes.) Then it comes, resonating through the walls; OM – echoing from inside.

I was stunned at the sheer magnitude of the sound! And in that instant everyone around me stood up, like geysers shooting out of the ground. Soon everyone is pressing up on each other. Squeezing to get in the door – pouring through one at a time. We probably looked like ants escaping a water-doused anthill. Everyone finds a place. We stand at the head of our mats. OM.

Again – the intensity of the vibration, sent chills through my limbs. We begin… “Ekam… Dve…” In unison we move through the Primary Series. One breath. People begin to stop at their respective places/various posses. I, at Supta Kurmasana, sit and breathe. Closing my eyes I listen to the rhythm. Counting… movement… breathing. Often getting lost in my thoughts, trying to break through the wall. Emotions pour through the cracks. Focus – breathe.

Soon Sharath is standing in front of me, “Urdhva Dhanurasana, you do. OK?” Perhaps he saw I was a bit lost inside. “OK.” I do my backbends. Focus. I move through closing and find myself once again standing in Samastithi. Focus – breathe. Closing mantra. Savasana. Since it was the last led class of the day I was able to lay there for a time. Waiting for others to get up and get their stuff together. The first led class in Mysore. Check.

It will never cease to amaze me how this practice can tear one apart in such an intense way and somehow emanate such glorious beauty. Om namah Shivaya.

Above my mat, above the Shala rugs, heart and palms face the chandelier hanging from the ceiling… Savasana. A slight breeze brushing over me cools the beads of perspiration gathered across my limbs. My breath; slow, subtle. Eyes closed.

I can hear the breathing; the breath of the room surrounds me. Its strength swallows me whole, sucking me inside some vast expanse of space… a shadow filled with the lightness of rhythm. No sight, only sound. As if no one is really there. No people, no other bodies. Only Breath. Breathing.