Mysore, Round 2

I got the email a few weeks ago informing me of my spot at KPJAYI this October and, for me, it is bittersweet. The prospect of this trip is occupying my heart and headspace in a different, deeper way, coming as it does at a point in time when my ruminations have more of a soul-searching/meaning-making flavor about them.

Following my first trip in 2012, I returned with a strong sense of purpose about building my life here. The trip extinguished a chronic discontent with “my present life”, wherever I found myself, that plagued most of my adult life until that point.

What was less clear to me was the prospect of returning to the Shala. I knew that I wasn’t going to be on the annual pilgrimage circuit, and I did not appreciate the palpable atmosphere of Sharath-worship while I was there. I respected (and still respect) the institution, the lineage and what he and his mother are doing as asana teachers, but I wasn’t sure about calling him my ‘teacher’ or ‘guru’ as so many people seem to do once they get to Mysore. Not enough time had passed for me to make a claim like that, which I don’t do lightly. Maybe I’m taking things too seriously. In any case, I wasn’t “feelin’ it” and I certainly wasn’t going to let the groundswell of adulation sweep me up without my consent. This ambiguity towards Sharath continued for a while as I continued to practice back home. Beyond being the head of a lineage, I didn’t know where to put him on my spectrum of ‘teachers’ as it applied to my practice.

After a few years, I went on the Yatra last fall that included a week in Uttarkashi. It was my way of dipping my toes back in to the Mysore vibe, to the Sharath-as-teacher proposition while also spending some time exploring the northern cities of India. It was a clarifying experience on many levels. That week in Uttarkashi cleared up any ambiguity I had about his place in my now-smaller-and-precious list of teachers. Thanks to a conversation I had with a non-Ashtangi but very devout Ramana Maharishi follower on the trip, I realized that Sharath and his mother (and like his grandfather) are, simply yoga asana teachers. They are not enlightened beings. They are human, fulfilling their dharma. Everything else is a product of student projections, which are illusory. I came to terms with navigating the projections that sometimes reeked of kool-aid and found some clarity around what Sharath and Saraswati mean to me, in my asana practice. They may not see me everyday, but they are yoga asana teachers at the top of their game and that is enough for me to want to make the trip to study with them. At the end of the week Sharath caught me by surprise by asking when I was coming back to Mysore. I replied, “Maybe next year”. And so it is.

I’m really looking forward to practicing in that room again. I am not interested in: getting poses, becoming BFFs with yoga-lebrities, perfecting asanas, shopping, accumulating FB friends, sightseeing, doing photoshoots, dissecting Sharath’s every word, hustling to get into led classes, coconut stand gossip, filling up my days with classes, tours, chai chit-chat…

All I want to do is to practice in that room. To tap into that energetic stream and let it course through my nervous system, healing, cleansing, shaping, changing me as it goes. Removing what does not serve and creating spaciousness for what needs to take root and grow.

I want to dissolve into the singular vibration of that room’s chants. To disappear into the sea of breaths and learn how to ride my own.

In 2012 I went for 6 weeks. Now I’m going for 8. It won’t be easy.

The countdown begins.

In The Thick Of It

My life in the past few months as it relates to Ashtanga/Mysore goes something like this:

First month – Sick, cold and pining pining pining for India. A lot of sentences begin with “In Mysore….”, and there’s talk of going back “next year”. I must have sounded like a broken record. I book a trip to Sharath’s tour in Encinitas (happening right now) as soon as the tickets are available. Read blogs from yogis in Mysore almost religiously. My heart and body are not in the same place.

Second month – Still pining, but the intensity of the nostalgia gets channelled into new habits. Chanting, pranayama, meditation, asana – trying to cram it all into my morning before 9am and realizing that I’m adding on too much at once. Obviously. Heart still longs for India, but body and mind have found the groove of being back home. Wine and meat start to make the occasional appearance. Working out new dining and sleeping habits with the husband. Adjustments and transitions.

Third month – Nostalgia is practically gone. Mysore feels like a distant memory. Starting to take a critical look at the romance of making the trip and asking myself if I really want to go back as soon as I had previously planned, and whether it would make sense in the context of my responsibilities. New habits are now part of my daily routine thanks to my local yoga community. Life here kicks into full gear and suddenly I’m not thinking about Mysore all the time, or even everyday.

Fourth month – Life is simply beautiful. Feeling immensely grateful for where I am physically, emotionally, spiritually. Thankful for the communities I am a part of, the opportunities I have and the decisions I get to make. For the first time in probably 33 years I actually feel content with my life as it currently stands, with its joys and challenges. I seem to have let go of the expectation that happiness is to be found by “moving somewhere else”. Realizing that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing the work I have to do, and enjoying it all. Realizing also that an annual trip to Mysore is not my path. I’ve come to see that the trip was like an injection of highly potent spiritual compost, to be applied sparingly. The yoga is working and it’s working well. I can’t wait to see what else life has in store.

Photos

For those who are interested, I posted a whole bunch of photos from Mysore on my other blog. Feel free to skip the Intro to Ashtanga Yoga 101 at the beginning and head into the other paragraphs. Actually, feel free to skip the text altogether….what I wrote there is pretty much a sanitized version of what I’ve blogged about here so just enjoy the photos.

And with that, yet another barrier between my online identities has started to chip away. Integration, maybe?

India State Of Mind

Honking. Dust. Swerves. Noise. Shouting. Singing. Chanting. Reverberations. Grounding. Rhythm. Om. Unison. Oneness. Inhalation. Exhalation. Breathing. Prana. Lengthening. Deepening. Digging. Sitting. Observing. Stillness. Openness. Letting go. Tears. Laughter. Doubt. Free breathing with sound. Effort. Tapas. Non-attachment. Hope. Trust. Showing up. Ease. Confidence. Stability. Calm. Kindness. Gentleness. Humor. Hustling. Patience. Peace. Centeredness. Focus. Sensations. Subtleties. Openings. Nervous system. Energy shifts. Dreams. Coincidences. Serendipity. Signs. Shiva. Cave Swami. Ravi Shankar. Providence. Happiness. Connections. Sincerity. Goal-lessness. Compassion. Integrity. Heart. Love.

Localitis

Between one week to the next, it’s all too easy to feel like a veteran in this town, as your social circle slowly disintegrates and makes way for newly-arrived practitioners loaded with all the questions you had when you first arrived. I cross the street without fear for my life now, knowing how to read the traffic and how to anticipate. I have my favorite spot at Sri Durga along 1st Main, a corner seat beside the cooler, the perfect vantage point to observe the life of the street and the breakfasting locals who have a far tighter schedule than I do. I know when to go in order to get my masala dosa fill (not before 8am), and how to moderate my caffeine intake by asking for a “tea half” at Amruth. On days when I’m just not in the mood for socializing, the relative calm of Gokul Chat is another haunt, where I can get endless refills of their delicious sambar along with a big cup of chai.

Everywhere now, my walks are punctuated with nods, smiles and waves: one to Ragu at Guru & Sons, a high five with Apu at the rickshaw stand, a nod at folks whizzing by on their scooters and if he’s there, saying hi to Prakash at the shala gate. If I’m lucky, I get a rickshaw that jolts me out of my wandering mind with a booming HELLO! from its cargo load of 12 school kids stuffed into each nook and crevice. I no longer walk briskly with my head down to avoid eye contact, but instead take the time to acknowledge the pulse of life that runs here. This life, this vibrance, that was too overwhelming a month ago.

A friend commented last weekend that the barriers between the physical and the spiritual worlds are very very thin in India, and this magnifies the effect of any spiritual endeavor undertaken here. Spirituality is part of daily life, which is in itself a part of one’s spirituality. This trip has been an unfolding, from one moment to the next, loaded with one too many incidents that would be written off as “coincidence” back home, but happens here with such frequency that I much prefer to call it destiny. Have I been afflicted with a case of Localitis? Of viewing my foreign surroundings through rose-tinted lenses and fitting everything into a narrative of “meaning” and “destiny”? On the verbal-intellectual level, possibly. But at the level of the heart, things have shifted, and I will need to get home in order to understand what it is that has changed, and how. This much is clear though: Mysore (and India, at large) is not a one-visit destination, especially not if you’re here to delve deeper into your practice. You can come and stay for a month, or three, or six, on your first trip, but the fact is, you have to come back in order for it to all make sense.

So: should a yoga practitioner (with no teaching ambitions*) come to India at all? Hell yes.

If your responsibilities and finances allow for a trip to happen and you’re at all curious about it – then make the trip. For an Ashtangi, practicing at the shala here feels like one is nourishing, weeding and tilling the soil of practice, making it fertile for new seeds to take root and grow. The whole endeavor will be a little puzzling at first, sometimes it is difficult, but that’s just India washing out the edges of the Western mind in order to prepare you for what it has in store.

Ah Localitis. Such sweet sweet fever.

*Because if you are a yoga teacher or have teaching ambitions, India should be a part of your itinerary already. A practice in itself.