Great Expectations

This is one of those blogs wherein I am attempting to "practice" the art of blogging or writing or inscribing.  There are so many issues arising these days in the Encinitas area surrounding yoga this will probably wind up with my take on some old text that I have absolutely no business in commenting on, and in the process insult someones enlightenment.  Ahem.

So, since I have already played a bit with Pantanjalis's Yoga Sutras I will plunge in and attempt to bravely plow through the second verse that seems to hold out a beautiful carrot before the cart of my ego.  This one verse seems to hold the essence of what a well rounded practice offers.  And that is stilling the whirling of the mind, yogaha cittivritti nirodah (sorry, I don't have the software to put all the squiggles in the right place).  We then begin with great expectations that this yoga stuff will calm us down, give us the "better life" (whatever that is), the better job, unlimited checking, bottomless bank account, the "no-hassle" relationship and etc.  Like, man, give me the stuff.  Space cadet glow, endless bilss and etc. I want that flatline Buddha face.  To be the Buddhadude/ette (as the case may be) or The Bhudd, if you're into that whole brevity thing.  Just don't ask me to change a thing.

Here's the catch.  The first chapter is called Samadhi Pada and is designed for those already well established in practice.  Iyengar puts it succinctly "directed toward those that are already highly evolved to enable them to maintain their advanced state of cultured, matured intelligence and wisdom."  Ahem.  Chapter I is for them that is there bruddah cuz, not them that ain't even in the ball park yet.  That's Chapter 3 (which is where I am and therefore won't comment, TMI!).


So stilling the mindstuff is apparently not what many of us, myself included, expected it to be.  Just sit there, as comfortably as possible, and lo, like a cloud coming up from the desert, choirs of angels, Jesus and Lucifer walking hand in hand down Broadway and all is well in my nice, neat, whitey tighty little world. Or that quasi-orgasmic endorphin release (perchance a flashback) after an incredibly demanding cardio-asana workout with loud music and some yoga-queen spanking all and sundry like a dominatrix on crack. These activities mimic but falls short of actual representation of stillness of body and mind.  The Zen masters say that if you think you got it, you probably don't.  In the Tao te ching it clearly states "The Tao that can be told is not the Tao, the name that can be named is not the universal name." Seems fairly clear to me.  Even in my present state of ruffled waters.

Here are a few practices for your trip up Cold Mountain that have assisted me in my pilgrimage. I set my foundation.  If I am just sitting zazen, I light the candle, check the water bowl, light a stick of incense, bow before the butsudan, sit down, strike the bell three times and then just sit.  The stillness begins in that little, familiar ritual. 

For Yogasana practice it can be as simple as unrolling my mat.  Without tripping to far into the Theory of Special Relativity that action can be enough to recognize the importance of non-action now. Planting my feet I enter Tadasana, Mountain Posture and in that space, I begin my practice.

For an American much of this is hard to swallow.  We are a people that has become the living example of the 'Hungry Ghosts."  Little gnome like creatures with big heads, large gaping mouths full of nasty sharp teeth. The bellies are bloated as bellies do in a famine because the necks are too skinny to allow the passage of all the food being crammed into the cavernous maw.  The legs are stubby and the arms are long with sharp talons to rip and tear.  And they are frantic because they are always famished to the point of the high seas in the Perfect Storm. Sound familiar?

As you curl up your nose in disdain, just look!  The clear reflection that once showed you the billions of stars above your head has just shattered into millions of disconnected thoughts!  Either that or you have gone back in for another plate of spaghetti.

Stilling that mad maelstrom of  thought is nearer to you than your next breath, in that place in between breaths.  It cannot be bought or sold on Craig's List, found on Facebook or Twitter.

 Look!  From the nose of the Great Buddha, a swallow flies out!