red dot little duck

The idea of attraction. Multiple layers. Possibilities. Our five senses – sight, smell, taste, sound, touch – have the ability to work together, at any one moment, to create such a vibrational intensity that ignorance is no longer a viable option. Whatever that attraction is, it wins. It takes over. Getting caught up in it, allowing the guards to fall away, the essence, sweetness, rawness to permeate, becoming vulnerable to the emotion of it. And that can be really awesome. It has been awesome. I’ve felt it.

The thought of having something you are not “supposed” to have (oh, but you want it – bad) and what that stirs up inside, is fascinating.

As a little girl I was kind of a klepto. I took things, shiny things, pretty things, because when I held them it satisfied something inside of me. Made me feel something I wanted to feel. Usually I got caught and had to return them and that was embarrassing, so I stopped doing that. Introducing the idea of boundaries. I had to earn those things. I couldn’t just take them. I had to choose what I was going to work for. Had to think about what it was I really wanted, thus altering what I found attractive.

We pick and choose what to act upon based on our experiences. Being directed in our attractions, making decisions on how to govern them, via positive or negative feedback we’ve received from past interactions.

Boundaries are kind of a whole thing in itself but in relation to the raw realization of attraction they can create an unfortunate downfall, a stifling rendition to the exceptional inertia of attraction due to a tendency towards rigidity. Fear. Rejection. At the same time they can make what is given into – the vulnerability of opening up and receiving the beauty of it – something profoundly satisfying. (Is this a play of opposites? Possibly.)

Applying this to practice might be obvious. Or, maybe it’s not.

Over time, in developing my relationship to practice, I’ve gone through several different phases of attraction to it. Seeing jump backs and jump throughs, handstands, arm balances. I’ve wanted to be able to do those things. Friggin’ Nakrasana! I’ve gone through the pain of not being able to do those things. Still. Of pushing so hard I stop paying attention to my body alignment, my energy, and land myself in real physical pain. Creating a desire, an attraction to doing less, caring less. In that I’ve had to look at what it is that really attracts me to it in the first place. What attracts me to this beautifully simple yet complex practice of Ashtanga yoga?

In a nutshell…

I’m attracted to the boundaries the practice requires me to develop in order to facilitate its cultivation in my life and I’m attracted to what that means in terms of helping me create a life I love living. A life with color, lightness, comprehension, compassion, empathy and GRIT.

Somehow I feel I’m forgetting something. Like I will walk out the door and realize I forgot my keys as soon as the door latches. Or the inevitable phone call that I left some deed undone or have the middle of the night panic that the stove wasn’t turned off. I feel weird. I already miss people. Pre-flight jitters? Separation anxiety? Come on! It’s two weeks… really.

The reality…?

I can’t wait to see those mountains, to sip a cup of coffee with my mom on her back porch, to see the night sky – clear, bright, crisp –  to tell my Grandmother that I love her, to see both my brothers… at the same time, to kiss my nephews and nieces. I can’t wait to dip my toes in the river, to sit around a campfire – no camping required, to drive – really drive, to practice with old friends and west side ashtanga family. I can’t wait. I can’t wait!

xo

From left to right: One big jar of quarters – or is it? Outside Danger Danger and the epoch fight scene. The one and only Joe Cummings as Vinyl at the Fire.

Last night I dreamt that I shaved half my hair off. Short, crew cut style. I had agreed to do it for a part in a film. To fit the scene – complete the look. I was running around looking for the right clothes. Trying on pants and skirts and throwing on shirt after shirt, desperate for the perfect outfit. Somewhere between a pair of suspenders, a white-ribbed tank-top, flying sharpies and one random torn-up jacket I paused, reached up and felt the half of my head sporting a crew cut finish. Soft. The feel of it… simple, comforting; satisfying yet terrifying. My god! I’m half bald! Soon it was revealed that my part was cut. No longer would I be in the film. I had shaved my head for no apparent reason. I stood there, in front of a giant dressing mirror, staring at a crazily arranged outfit and asymmetric nightmare/revelation of a half shaved head and thought… “I’ll just have to shave the rest off”. So that’s what I did. In the dream that is.

To dream that you are shaving your head indicates a desire to reveal more of yourself. …*

The past few months have been one hell of a ride. The Bhakti Boy Movie. Can’t hardly believe it really. The world in which I “normally” reside completely turned upside down, an alternate universe playing it’s way out in such an incredibly intoxicating way. I had no idea what it was going to be like working on a film. Didn’t know what role I would be playing, what space I would occupy. As it turns out, I dug it. I became props master/acquisitioner, set designer, and really whatever else was needed. Being on location meant some seriously long hours. Long days. Not much time or space to do my practice. That messed with me some. Quite a bit to be honest. Provided a pretty good deal of resistance in the beginning of things but I surely fit it in where I could, when I could. Various times in the day/night. I practiced sun salutations and the standing series in hallways, dirty warehouses and on the sidewalk next to the filming set. It kept me grounded. Hearing “Sound speeds! Quiet on set! Action! Cut!” While my hands pressed into the concrete and my body moved through the tangible familiarity of sun salutations, standing postures and if I got to it some much needed backbends.

It was difficult for me to be separated from my community of yogi’s here in Philly. To not have the time to share sacred space at AYSP with them, but it was also really amazing and revealing to detach from what I felt I needed from it. To know that my practice will carry through with me in what ever capacity I need it to for whatever situation I place myself in. After all, I chose to be where I was. I did enjoy it. And I might even do it again.

If you leave some hair on your head, then it suggests that you are not completely prepared to let others see who you really are. You are still afraid of what people might think.*

The learning curve was huge. Not only in the realm of props, production and working with crazy talented, creative people but with rebalancing my being. It got me thinking about what I desire to accomplish in this life. To share. What is inside of me that I want to express and how I’m going to do that? So many options and avenues to connect with artistic expressiveness. To meet such creative and unique individuals. To develop a taste for revealing that level of self-expression. It shook things up.

Alternatively, shaving your head represents humbleness and humility.*

I look forward to getting back to AYSP tomorrow morning; to stepping inside one of the most powerful rooms I can say I have ever been lucky enough to be involved in. And I am so completely honored to share it with such an amazing group of people, dedicated practitioners, individuals… artists. I’m honored to grow with them as a community who supports not only the insanely beneficial practice of Ashtanga Yoga, but the uniquely expressive pieces of ourselves which exude creativity.

Love and light.

* dreammoods.com

I feel I’m in a crisis of faith. A rough week. Questioning my study, or rather, where it sits at the moment. Questioning what it means to hold this whole entity of ashtanga as sacred. The room as sacred. Teaching as sacred. Mind fucked and disconnected, I go back over the possibilities, the alternatives to practice, the idea of giving up. Jesus. Fortunately, that sounded completely horrible, so… that’s definitely not happening.

Protection. No fearing.

But something still burns inside my being. The kind of fire that scatters my energy around like embers dancing out of an over stoked chimney. An out-cropping that comes around from time to time to shake things up and spin me out. A dive-bomb into doubt. The fear that I don’t add up; won’t amount to anything or that my choices are consistently incorrect. A grasping desire for guidance arises. An intense longing for the steadiness I believe to be required in order to ride it out and reach the center ground unscathed. Or at the very least, not completely insane.

We’ve been talking about this play of opposites. One extreme pitted against the other and the point where they meet creating the center ground. The “junction point.” What a beautiful application for asana, in the body, to attain that glorious kinesthetically aware alignment. The foundation; Sthira, the resolute and changeless. Somehow it seems more frightening, less graspable, when thought of in a deeper sense – the intensity of opposing extremes within the mind – and much more exhausting when thought of as the habitual patterns we play out in our daily lives. The cyclical scene. Frightening because in those two scenarios, the middle ground is not necessarily foundational, or gloriously aligned. At its most simple state, I see this as the shade of gray everyone steps around. The place viewed as death to the exciting, new and surprisingly serendipitous. No one wants that. Complete stability and routinely grounded? Who wants that?

Plenty here to contemplate but does it get me closer to understanding this recent breakdown of faith? Maybe it’s time to examine where I’m doling out my precious supply. Take a look at what it means to have faith. What it means to need something like inspiration, to need hope and to need these things to be provided by something outside of myself. What would it be like to live in a space within where there is no hope, no faith, no need for inspiration? It seems an impossible journey. No way of creating a clean rehabilitation of shraddha. It will never be one thing or one definition. So I’ll find a way to work with it, to create space for it, modify and possibly soften the extremes.

It’s important here to express acknowledgement of the good fortune that’s been presented in my life; the kindness; the guidance; the gift of landing where I am versus where I’ve been and the knowledge that what I know now can never be unknown. Meaning there is no going back. No desire to go back. No intention of bailing, changing horses or “pulling a geographical.”

Going home… ur… uh…

Coming to realize this is no longer my life has proven to be exhausting. It’s not the place for me anymore. After being here and not being here and then returning, I see how things have changed and not changed and how I have changed. Touching base with what this place means to me. Meant to me. What I wanted it to be and what it certainly is not, it’s akin to experiencing a death. A part of me is dying. Has died. I don’t belong here. My home, as defined by a previous me, is no longer here.

In fact… it’s not here, or there. It’s somewhere else. And… where is that exactly?

Home? How is it defined? By my things? A kitchen table, a place to put my kettle? Where do I plant my feet and unpack my boxes? I’m not so certain anymore. The physicality of it all must not be the point. It must be inside me. It must be what I have been taught to look for… the Self. The Self? The light supposedly residing inside of me? It MUST be home. Oh, where is it!? Patience… patience.

As I travel I see certain parts of me fall away and others step to the front to guide the process. I see relationships change and shift, grow stronger or turn distant and disconnected. Seeing this ignites the part of me that craves seclusion. Aloneness. Somehow it comes to this now. Be alone. Is that what it will take to find a place of stillness, self-awareness, true consciousness… home? The Self? This aloneness, how deep do I hold it in order to feel home without having one? And what does it really mean to be alone? Truly?

Half of me sits envious of those who have their houses and apartments and their partners and dogs and nine-to-fives and the other half of me is so entirely relieved that I don’t have ownership over anything but my car, responsible only to my study, my practice, my teaching, my teacher. Thankful. The decision to give up the sweet apartment, steady job and leave my family and friends was not made lightly though unfortunately with some naivety. Some tripping and falling has happened. And I’m sure there is more to come. But thankfully, even painful lessons open doors. I’ve been extremely lucky in the sense of human kindness and support and that tells me I’m in the right place. Doing the right work.

And still, as I sit here, waiting on another plane, I miss those who’ve come close to me, miss the things I’ve seen, the places I’ve been and at the same time I look forward to everything I have yet to do and see. I look forward to shedding the weight of longing and finding what I desire to hold inside. Self. After all, everything I’m looking for is here. It’s all right here. Right?

I am so God damned heart broken. Sitting in the Trivandrum International airport, waiting for a flight to Bangalore, my Indian friends call to say goodbye. “Ok, ok. You OK? Take care. Safe journey. See you soon.” Heart… breaking.

I have learned a lot on this trip about the invisible lines within the culture of Kerala and the culture of Kovalam. About traditions and rules and not rules. I’ve even started to somewhat understand some of them (though I’m not sure how I feel about that).

I’ve learned a few Malayalam words (two), worn a beautiful pink Sari, attended a traditional Indian wedding, sang songs with words I can’t pronounce, learned new rules to an old card game, broke in a pair of flip flops and had many cups of chai. I’ve watched rickshaws get repaired, bricks being delivered and undelivered, crows building nests, children playing in doorways, dogs sleeping on rock piles, women tending their households, men napping in the shade, flowers blooming in the middle of a field of garbage and ocean waves rhythmically caress the waiting shoreline. I’ve contemplated living with the sunrise over palm trees and quarries, enjoyed the sweetness of morning prayers, the smell of sandalwood incense, held a brand new baby girl and experienced true genuine kindness from the people of India.

How could I be so incredibly in love with this place, with my time here, with the people who’ve become my friends and treated me as family and still have this deep inner knowing that I do not belong in it? Heart breaking.

That’s some strong medicine.

I’m so God damned ready to kick some ass. In five weeks I’ve let go of my love affair with primary series, been given eight new asanas, a serious dose of humility and developed a deeper understanding of what I am asking myself to see – to learn – through this practice of ashtanga yoga.

I held a 9pm bedtime (for the most part) and a 5am wake-time. Morning preparations consisted of coffee for Suzanne, tea for me, asana review and a 35-minute walk to the shala. 2.5 hours of asana and pranayama practice. The first four weeks consisted of emotional break downs, complaints about physical limitations and a steady push against my abilities. Finally after some strong words, intense conversation, I remembered… all I have to do, is do it. Move through the practice with rhythm and intelligence. Silence the cowardice dialogue of self-doubt and ridicule, and listen to what I know to be true, that deep inner knowing – intuition. Watch the way my body responds to movement, how it has the ability to adjust into alignment like a melody of finely tuned musical instruments. I know it’s possible. My mind contains the ability to power through mental blocks that pause the growth I desire for myself in all aspects of my life. I’m ready to kick some ass. Some asana ass. Some mental blocking ass.

OK… so it was a scooter. But seriously, in my opinion, seeing India from the back of a bike is totally the best way to go. I mean, the traffic is crazy and the experience – though a little frightening – is entirely thrilling. Completely one of my favorite parts of being here. You can go down small roads, side streets, alleyways, pass huge work trucks, squeeze between cars, rarely get caught in a traffic jam, AND you can see so much life!

Below is a small collection of images I got the other night while riding around with my friend, Saji.

Enjoy! Love and light – Jo

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Lauren, my pal, my buddy, was turning thirty. It’s one of the big ones, you know. While in India, what do you do for one of the big ones? Well, you wash elephants OF COURSE! So we went for an early excursion to an elephant refuge just outside of Kovalam where several rescued elephants spend their days. For sure, washing an elephant is one of the most incredible experiences I have yet witnessed.

Upon arrival we were led towards the water, where the elephants were getting their morning baths. Walking towards the water, I admittedly was a little timid about getting in there with this massive creature. Considering she was the largest animal I had ever come into contact with, I gladly proceeded with caution. Eventually I followed my fearless friends into the water, joining them and the two Indian men diligently working.

Scrubbing her down with a coconut shell, feeling her fill her massive lungs – her rib cage… expand… contract. My hands passing over her thick skin, along her incredibly strong body up to the thin, delicate texture behind her ears. The shear magnituded of power emulating from her passive body while gleefully enjoying her special bath. So magnificent. Powerful. Later on we had the chance to feed some baby elephants fruit and jagary and soon after one of the not so baby elephants got the left over. Mina – with her crazy wirey hair – such a funny feeling giving her water mellon and pineapple – her soft pallet and squishy tongue. Crazy.

After that we went on a little safari… strange, fun …but the best part was the elephants. It was an experience I wont soon forget. Happy birthday, Lauren. This may have beat my bowling/karaoke party after all.

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It’s been nearly three weeks since I arrived in Kovalam and since I haven’t yet written about it here is quick run down of what’s been happenin’…

David’s new friend and shala cat. I’ve named her Frazzle.

One plane, direct flight… brilliant. Caught a ride from the airport with my friend Aji and met his lovely wife Jessica and one of their beautiful daughters, Freya. After a nice drink of cool water, my new friend Papan took me to Lighthouse beach to meet up with Lauren G., one of my east coast homies and yoga besties. Her place, which she was generous enough to share with me for a week, sits just around the corner from our Kovalam Yoga Shala, the Ashtanga Yoga Mandalam. A smooth five minute commute. There’s been only a moderate amount of beach time, but no shortage of sunshine. All the same beach crew is there; the mean fruit-salad lady (seriously… she’s pretty mean), and our beach dudes who hook us up with beach beds and umbrellas and keep an eye on things for us. Found the best Puttu and Thoran, the yummiest Lassy, made a couple trips into Trivandrum for Thali meals, amazing Dosa and random shopping. Been to the tailor for shirt and dress making, fell in love with many pieces of jewelry and felt up many, many pashminas. Spent time visiting with old friends, made some new ones and continue to learn lessons about personal interactions with the rest of the world. There’s been normal power outages and abnormal power outages. Festivals, festivals and more festivals. Many rickshaw rides, several new phone numbers and an unlimited amount of comments and curiosities regarding my tattoos. On top of all that… some serious yoga with some seriously dedicated individuals.

Suzanne’s Ganesha sits at our front door.

After one week of living at Lighthouse beach with the crew, my friend Suzanne Faulkner and I moved (off campus) into a sweet house in my old hood (India style) above Samudra beach. A not as smooth 35 minute commute. But totally worth it. It’s a big beautifully chartreuse house with a couple apartments housing many Indians, and us. We occupy the top left. The two white chicks who continually burn incense and go to bed at 8pm. It’s a brand new apartment, full kitchen, two bedrooms, our own bathrooms and we are completely surrounded by the thick of Indian living. Directly across the street is a straight-up rickshaw workshop. Some major rickshaw repairs going on over there, painting, decals, banging frames back into shape, the drivers hangin’ out, washing their rickshaws, changing the oil, polishing the pleather. Some serious stuff. There is no shortage of rickshaw drivers here. Not at all. “Hello, Madam. Rickshaw?”  I love this place.

Last night there was a rad rain storm. The kind that wake you up in the middle of the night with crazy wind slamming the doors around and leaving one in a rather delirious state. The power is out. Suzanne and I drag ourselves out into the rain, walk up to Kovalam junction and hop in the first rickshaw we can. Normally we would walk, but due to the amazing downpour we thought it would be alright, just this once. Both exhausted due to the 2am wake-up call/wrath of mother nature and three days/2.5 weeks of third series we managed to get ourselves to the shala and onto our mats. An interesting start to the day.

This morning I definitely came to realize the importance of staying present in whatever posture I might be in at any given time. Not thinking ahead to the next one, or how the previous one might have felt, or about having breakfast or not having breakfast or anything except for exactly that posture, with that exact breath, at that exact moment. The importance of being present. This realization, born of the intense questioning of third series, born of the dread I felt for it during my first sun salutation, during trikonasana, during kapotasana, is a majorly important one if I am going to continue to work on third for any significant amount of time. In the words of Suzanne, “This level of dread cannot be maintained. You either have to quit doing third, or quit dreading third. I’ve done both.” I see her powering through third like a rock star at age 51 and have to think, it’s definitely too soon to quit doing third so… I will work on the latter. Here we go.

Now it is once again evening time. The power has once again gone out. The sound of rickshaws sputter to start and speed away, our neighbors dog, Bozo, barks his tiny little head off, men adjust their lungis as they walk by on their way to evening chai, and the crows serenade us as our thoughts turn towards getting ready for bed, thankful for Friday and the Primary series.

Here are some more pictures for your enjoyment!

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Let me start, actually, by saying that I have learned a lot on this trip. 1. Pack light; it’s not really necessary to pack more than two books. 2. DO NOT book a flight that has three stops between you and your destination when you could get there in an hour direct. Seriously. 3. No matter who says the bus from Bangalore isn’t that bad… they’re kinda wrong.

I could tell you blow by blow how my time in Mysore went down (like how the first hotel I stayed in was slightly disturbing in it’s general presentation and that the amount of cigarette smoke infiltrating my room throughout the night caused my eyes to pretty much swell shut by morning) but I wont.

Once I made it into Gokalum I rented a nice room from a woman named Darshana. She told me I could call her Bunny in case I forgot the other and I told her to call me Jo, which she did, often. The following morning I woke to the sound of chanting and symbols chiming as a group of devoted individuals walked by the house at 5am. Their voices floating through the windows prompted me out of bed to start my morning practice. I moved through the sun salutations, said hello to the standing series and so on, all the while knowing that just down the road was KPJAYI, the Shala, where hundreds of students from all over the world were practicing the same sequence from the same lineage at that exact time. This is the place where my teacher’s teacher last taught. Where my teacher became a teacher. Where other teachers became teachers and returned to renew their teaching fire. Their fire for practice. And there I was, in a second floor bedroom, just out the doorway of a pale pink tiled bathroom, on my own, searching for that same thing.

Keeping my mind still enough to breathe, to continue moving was quite a challenge that first day, and the next. But, as the week progressed, even though I didn’t quite get that fire I did find something. Solidity. There’s a powerful thing in that. Solidity. I practiced every morning at the same time with growing steadiness. I felt present in my body and connected to the practice in a way I hadn’t felt previously.

One morning after practice my friend Prasad drove me to Chamundi hill on the back of his scooter and I accompanied him to the temple. As usual, I didn’t really know what to do when I was in there so I mostly watched, followed lead and tried to stay out of the way. Watching him move through, the things he touched, how his eyes moved, where he paused, what was offered and so on. So devotional and faithful. After leaving, we went to the Shiva temple just beyond. Here a man sold me a bracelet (didn’t know I was buying it until it was securely resting on my wrist), we walked through and then sat in an outdoor back section for a bit. It was nice to sit and enjoy the quiet and peaceful space together. After some time, I confessed that I didn’t know what I was doing in there and that I felt kind of silly or in the way. He just looked at me with his soft, kind eyes and said, “Whatever is in your heart you do it. There is nothing you have to do. Nothing you have to give.”

Simple and beautiful. And even though he was talking fairly specifically about the temple and offerings and what to pray for, they are still completely relevant to what was happening inside of me in that little rented room up the street from the shala.

Some images from my brief stay in Mysore. Enjoy.

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