Connectedness

It was day 3 that I began my practice. I grabbed Ajay's leg (the teacher I was meant to find here) as he told me to exhale. My back twisted farther, and I felt my ribs and spine lengthen. I gave in. Trust...breathe...trust...breathe...

Ashtanga scares me. The twists, binds, vigor, flow and breath make my body shake and constrict my breath. In this practice, I am weak, vulnerable, anxious. The more I fight it, the more I know it is this that I must practice... for it is here that I also become powerful and serene. Give in, Rebecca. Trust. Let go. You don't have to hold your breath, just send it somewhere else. As I dance with my flow, my eyes swell with tears. My body heated, dripping with sweat that stings my eyes, he comes back for another adjustment. I smile and relax. I just reached a place I'd never gone. My body is strong and healthy. My spirit is vibrant. In this small, unexpected shala, I have found my new teacher and new home. This is not the shala I expected to come study in. Liz and I opted to study with Ajay after meeting him instead of attending the original Ashtanga Institute. Something told me it was right. Though I fight this practice and routine, though my fears and anxieties rear their head and raise their voice, I am finding strength by giving in. When each day is said and done, I leave drenched, exhausted--and more excited than ever to return tomorrow.

Hours after my arrival in Mysore, Liz and I learned that Gurugi (Pattabhi Jois, founder of Ashtanga and the Institute) had passed. We had already decided to switch our practice to Ajay's, but the rest of this post will be dedicated to Guruji (and indirectly, to my friends, family, fellow yogis, teachers, students...).

We walked into the shala, the Guruji's lifeless body on the floor. Surrounded by family and friends, this Brahman was here so that we could honor him. By the dozens, members of the community and yogi's from around the world came to bow to him and cover him with flowers and offerrings of peace and thanks. In those moments, the tears in my eyes swelled not through sadness, but through gratitude. A momentary pause of whether or not I was worthy of participating in this moment passed as the my feeling of connection to him and my yogi family grew. This body, this shell before me once housed the great spirit and mind that passed on the teachings and peace that transformed my life. He brought us this practice, this struggle, this love. Through yoga, I came to know and love myself. I began to see myself--body, mind and spirit--as strong and capable. I honor him for his gift he has given to my teachers, who passed it to me. He made this world better, safer, more loving. To share this space with him, his family and community, I remembered the way in which we are all connected on this earth...and I grew thankful. I found solice in my best friend at my side, and thanks to Guruji for bringing us here together to heal and grow and climb and search...and laugh and love.

Here in India, in those first three days, I found a new home, my best friend, a new family and circle of friends. I found, so quickly, that love does not care about time or length of care. It is just here--so we should take it. We all share this life, potential for peace, happiness, and connections. This world--full of love and beauty--is possible because we all exist in it; every breath and moment contains it, we just have to remember to grab it and feel it. What we do, how we live, and what we extend to others matters. We can never know how far our actions and behaviors reach beyond us, but they always will. Go forth with the awareness that you matter. Your life and smile is meaningful and necessary in this world. It means everything to me. Be kind. Spread peace. Honor your connection with each other and this earth.

Namaste, Guruji.

"Lokah samastah sukino bavantu."
(May all beings everywhere be happy and free."