In Super Mario Brothers, you can drop your guy down below the surface of the earth, and as you move him right, the path appears to him. But he has to move to see the path; it is not laid out before him as it is above ground.
My practice has been like this for the past couple of mornings. Partly low sleep, partly catching up from a lot of practice on Sunday, partly (I think) in need of a new approach to diet (more on that later). I have been paying close attention to the moment in my practice lately — feeling the fatigue, the soreness, the anticipation of the next asana. In noticing the moment, I am also noticing that my mind tries to see the path to the end of the practice, even to the fear of the drop backs. What I have seen lately is that it is all dark up ahead, and the only way to know what is coming is to move toward it. I have also noticed that it is hard to just rest in the uncertainty, to find the peace in it. And I also see flickers of heavy relief in just giving in to the practice and where it's leading me. I think that this challenge is a good one for me — for all of us, probably.
And, of course, I have a metaphor for it.
I first became acquainted with Springsteen's Tunnel of Love album when my partner and I started dating. He's a wise Bruce fan, and he has a keen sense of pathos; he knows that the way to my heart is through, um, my heart. The story will get me every time. He got me into golf by narrating John Daly's tormented career while I watched Daly win the Buick. He made me care about politics in new ways by making me watch The West Wing. And he made me love Bruce by explaining that the Tunnel of Love album was the product of Springsteen's confusion about his first marriage, his reflections on his life thus far. The record is his exploration of conflict, his articulation of internal fears of choices he'd made. And the confusion bleeds through.
But I'm not to be saddened by this record, my partner tells me, for the exploration through darkness led Bruce to figure some stuff out. I should see the discovery in it, he tells me. And I'm just amazed that Springsteen leaves me awe-struck. Who the hell knew? "Brilliant Disguise" was the song for our first dance at our wedding. [Note: in exchange for his wisdom about Springsteen, I introduced my partner to the brilliance that is 70s and 80s Elton John. I walked down the aisle to "Someone Saved My Life Tonight."]
Practicing Ashtanga is not unlike romance and the long-term relationship; it is very much a tunnel of love. It has conflict, plateaus, times of charged head-over-heels (literally) energy, an uncertain path that seems so...so...certain and then turns again, understanding, and impasses. As with two people in a love affair, the landscape of Ashtanga seems safely familiar; and, as with two people in a love affair, the landscape of Ashtanga is full of unexpected realizations and darkness. I always feel compelled to find an anchor; I want to get comfortable. And sometimes I can, and many times I cannot.
My teacher says that the practice is largely about understanding its contradictions and transcending them. And that's where the work is the hardest and the most powerful, I think. There is a space that is a blend of effort and ease that is soft and light, and the practice can take the practitioner there. But sometimes we ride on faith, and sometimes we just move blindly, feeling all of our senses and thinking all of our thoughts. The breath holds us up, the earth holds us down, the mind tries to let go, and the muscles and bones massage the organs so that the body can last and last as long as it can. The heart in all of this can be tough to find, especially in the middle of the conflict of those forces.
As in love, in those middle-of-night conversations that seem to circle around misunderstanding and worry that the connection is broken, the practice can sometimes feel untethered in a way that feels lonely or confusing, or even sad. As in love, the practice can lift and soothe...last night, for instance, after a vulnerable presentation at work, I wanted my partner, my daughter, and my mat. And this morning, when I went to my mat and moved into the practice, my mind said, "What is this practice we're doing? Remember back when we were seven?" ...And back into the tunnel, where "the house is haunted and the ride gets rough" (Springsteen).
My teacher says that sometimes we have a conviction to practice that we may not even understand. When he talked about this in the workshop last Sunday, I had tears — just the power of that mystery.
Works Cited
Springsteen, Bruce. "Tunnel of Love." Tunnel of Love. Sony, 1987.
This is a great post. I often find myself battling the contradictions this practice presents every day. Sometimes I think if I can get my head out of the equation the physical asana would be much less painful and my spiritual progression much more attainable. It’s a never ending struggle and I can’t help but comeback to the fact that the struggle is made so much more interesting when it’s shared with the community. That's what makes it so sweet. “Come on up for the rising. Come on up, lay your hands in mine” – Bruce Springsteen “The Rising” Columbia 2002
ReplyDeleteCraig, I couldn't agree more. It's one of the most beautiful shared experiences I have had, for sure.
ReplyDeleteGreat, thank you
ReplyDeletemakes me think of something that Jung said...
"holding the tension of contradictions, the answer arises"
So hard it is to be with all that mixuppedness and not try to go at fixing fixing fixing it, just be with it and notice what else arises.
The house is really haunted(Craigji's really is) and the ride is rough.
So interesting. I wonder: what are all these contradictions? Has everyone identified different ones? Only in the past few weeks have I been able to work past one major contradiction that had been bothering me; others still loom. But it sounds like there must be many others. I wish I could have experienced this process while learning Primary, but working 60-80 hours and traveling 3-4 days each week at the time, the way I learned Primary was not ideal. I am starting to make up for it, but it is constantly being revealed to me how much I missed.
ReplyDeleteFrank...one of the many beautiful things that Jill Manning taught me is that Ashtanga is "forward-backward, backward-forward." I think your — indeed, our— revelations will come as the practice progresses, no matter where/how we began. Those Fridays when we do just Primary...man, they are so key, I think. Yes?
ReplyDeleteYes, Rebecca, Fridays are key. That's especially so now that I'm not doing Primary on other days. Unfortunately, I think I slept through two Friday practices just this month; I think my shoulders are so weak that my current practice often leaves me incredibly sore. I feel no different than if I had spent an hour doing flyes at the gym, leaving my muscles well fatigued and in need of rest. I think this will subside over the coming weeks (felt much better this week). Perhaps I eased off knowing the importance of the Friday practice? Maybe my body naturally wants that Friday practice and I'm
ReplyDeleteessentially conserving energy for it? Sort of like learning to conserve energy during Primary when you add "Intermediate" onto it.
I was saying to Alex just recently that I never dreamed I'd ever refer to "just Primary." When I was starting, half-Primary was so tough I was afraid of the whole series; I can't imagine how talking about "just Primary" would have sounded. But after building up to Primary followed by the bulk of 2nd, I now know how refreshing "just Primary" is.
Frank...I like what you say about energy conservation during the practice. And I think you speak to something so powerful about yoga: Guruji's words, "Practice and all is coming." I often remind my yoga students about this...it's hard to see that the body can do so many things. But I think it's a concept that trickles into LOTS of other areas of life, too...it's mystifying. I, like you, am amazed by it.
ReplyDelete