Does the so-called "yogic journey" necessitate an instagram account? a hashtag? a facebook page?

As i practice into the body of my yoga, does it need to be on display to be loved, to be true, and to be worthwhile? Why do I struggle with my ego each time I see a handstand photo online?

(How can I even write this? So many people who i love finding art in their asana. Do i betray them?)

Do i betray myself if i never shine as bright as them? If I never achieve asana-greatness will I never be a yogi? Am I not trying hard enough?

What does it mean to be a yogi?

Do I need to have long legs, supple hamstrings, and colourful eco-friendly tights?

Is that one rung on the ladder to G-d's golden treehouse? 

If I become a yogic body will i come closer to a yogic mind?

I can't find G-d in that.

But then these days I don't even want to try. I just want to practice being this.

This. Being.

How can I love it more?

I ask. I feel. I navigate emotions like captain ahab. From a pile of bones sitting on a floor. The rising and falling of waves.

I am the white whale.

This isn't even a yogic journey. Because, really, "yogic" doesn't mean anything. It's just a word. It's just the way I'm expressing coming back to myself. But it's nothing really. It's so simple, it's not even good or bad. It's just becoming more right where i am. 

I think on that journey everything becomes more and more like love. Each moment is of utmost importance. In each encounter i meet a soulmate. 

The journey is so vast it includes all of life, yet so simple it becomes narrowed to one task. The practice of peace. 

Asana robs me of peace when it stirs my ego. Asana draws me into peace when it shows me the ever-changing nature of feeling, breath, circumstances. 

When I practice with the intention of peace, Asana is just another way I love myself.

how unmasking our raw trembling and naked selves is a good thing

Recently there was a death in my family that was particularly difficult.

There is something about tragedy, loss and suffering that opens a person up. The rawness and depth of the ache seems to allow access to layers that were previously ignored or otherwise off-limits.

It is beautiful to see someone sharing their pain freely and without ego. That is, without hiding behind limits set by societal norms of how intense is too intense? how deep, too deep? (I once had someone say to me, you know, you're kind of intense)

Some people seem to naturally have more ready access to this level of emotional rawness than others. For some it is right there on their face at any instant or ready to spill out at the word go. 

I am one of those people. I once cried in high school because a much-loved teacher who had departed to another school had a whole box of donuts (his favorite treat to give students) delivered to me during class one day. I remember I wasn't even embarrassed at my display of emotions, I only remember being so surprised with love and gratitude and feeling those feelings so fully.

I cry a lot actually.

I once had a very intuitive friend advise me to think about tears. Tears can actually be a way that we run from our emotions or distract ourselves from what is going on internally. They can be another mask we wear.

This comment stuck with me and I refer back to it sometimes when I feel myself welling up. Just a quick check in, what am I feeling and am I allowing myself to feel it fully? If yes, then the tears are a natural part of the process for me.

My grandmother taught me to cry.

We used to sit together when I was small and listen to her favourite music, Bach, and cry, feeling the beauty of the symphony in our hearts.

I don't remember crying when she died, but these days when I talk to her, I often well up.

So yes, my emotions are always at the surface. I'm not saying this is good or bad, I'm just reveling in the differences between people. I often wish I could be a more "composed" person.

I was in this group of people recently, working on a personal development program together, and we were given this really intense and extremely gratifying exercise. We stood face to face with every other person in the group, one at a time, and had to look directly into their eyes for a period of time. The instructions were to tell them silently, using our eyes only, about our personal journey. Trying to set aside the nerve-wracking experience and general discomfort of the intimacy involved implicit in staring into another's eyes, I set about exposing myself to each of them and opening myself to see what they would share with me.

I was astounded to realize just how much we can share with our eyes. Some people let me right into their souls. They showed me their pain and their triumph and their love. Others were open but hesitant, but as I revealed myself to them they too would open like a flower, the depth behind the mask. And some stayed shut. There was a wall just beyond the surface that they clung to, consciously or unconsciously.

The most profound thing I learned from this exercise is that, as we've been told, we are all one. Regardless of our experiences, our pain our growth, we aren't just the same as one another, we are different faces of the same person. Different perspectives of the same love. 

In our grief and our suffering, in our gratitude, love and joy we are connected. The walls we put up are artificial. They may serve a purpose for us and we can choose to use them. But as soon as we allow it, we can experience oneness.

Try it. Look at the next person you see from the knowledge that he is you and see what happens.

In my life I often feel like I have to tone down my intensity so that I don't scare others away. I wonder what would happen if I let that go. When grief touches us we sometimes glimpse a portal into the realm of oneness. Is this a lesson we can take with us throughout our lives - being just a little more raw, a bit vulnerable, and maybe subsequently more loving?

life is a playground. tag, you're it!

My plan is to play through life!

Play through work. Play through "responsibilities." Play on holidays. Play through the smooth times. Play through trouble. Play through sadness. Play like a child, laughing, trying, flailing and falling, growing silent in concentration, using my mind to solve a problem and sharing. Helping others, everyone is a potential friend, and asking for help. I know I don't know everything.

I never want to strive to "work hard" again. I vow to no longer listen to those who tell me that success in life is achieved by working really really really hard (as though I must suffer difficulty and strain to be worthy of success!). I want to work soft. I want to work gentle. I want to work easy. I want to work playfully.

When something takes me in a flurry of interest, I want to get caught up in it, involved in it. I want to be passionate.

I don't plan to beat myself up for anyone or anything anymore. I don't want to fight. I like to play nice. This is my one beautiful life and I plan to love all of it.

A lofty goal. (at least you can see I'm not without ambition!)

Play is a way of interacting with the world that sees everything and everyone as inherently on my side. We are all friends in a schoolyard. We play different games and in each game we play different roles, but it's always just for fun. Nothing is so serious because this too shall pass.

Have you ever looked at your corporate job and thought, "these guys are taking this game waaaay too seriously"!? They are fighting and being rude. They talk to their mates as though the organizational structure is a real thing. They hurt themselves by getting stressed out and neglecting their health and their loved ones!

Can they not see that life is made of tiny moments of ecstasy? Can they even feel ecstasy any more?

But I don't hate the player nor the game! I say, if you can find a game you want to play, get into it! Enjoy! Sweat! Push your limits! But only for the love of it. Only if you can feel your soul delighting as it pours forth through you into the task. If you wake up at 2:30 am grasping for your phone so you can record the dream-load of ideas that was just gifted to you and email your future self at the office ("oh what did I mean by "create pyramid spreadsheet for Alberta possums" anyway?????").

Yes, do it for the love of it. Else, don't put your attention to it at all.

But my process of play doesn't just extend to the workplace. I am playing while I drive my pick-up truck (yes, that's me singing and smiling with the breeze in my face). I am at play when I hang the washing (getting immense satisfaction from using the least number of pegs on the most number of clothes), and when I cook (talking, of course, to the carrots and eggplant as I chop, "you little guys are going to join the other veggies in a yummy curry now and be loved and enjoyed by us all!").

But play isn't really about turning everything into a game. It is more a quality of being that invokes lightness, curiosity, and good humour. 

Play says, "I am open."

As in, "pass the ball, I am open!" "What do you want to do tonight? I am open!" "What do you think about this first draft? I am open!" "How can we resolve this issue together? I am open."

I am open to receive. I am open to feel. I am open to you. I am open to life in all forms that it shows up.

So waddya say? Wanna play?

Love,

R

why i decided to embrace and love my imperfection

I have been getting in touch with my imperfection.

It has been a heart-opening experience and I highly recommend it. 

I don't know where this belief comes from that says we have to be perfect. We have to be perfect to be lovable. We have to be perfect to be worthy. It's like we have to justify the air we breathe and the space we occupy. Maybe it's from growing up and growing into competition that we learn we have to beat out other people to get the things we want, or even to fulfill our basic needs in life. Can we unlearn this lie in time? Can we know that we are innately deserving?

Like so many people, I have a drive within me to be perfect. For me specifically, the belief that I need to be perfect manifests as trying to always say the right thing, do the right thing and be a "good person." Or even, I hate to say it but I have to be honest, to appear to others as if I am a good person. It's like, if I can just prove to everyone that I am good then they will like me and then I will deserve good things that come to me. (Or, on a darker level, then I can continue to play the innocent victim of the bad things that happen to me.) 

I acknowledge the benefit in continuously trying to improve myself, however when that is attempted through judgment and scolding of myself it is ultimately self destructive.

The consistent self-dialogue that assesses everything I do and say, and judges whether or not I am a good person because of it, is draining. It is very draining. It feels like there is always someone watching me and pointing out my flaws. Ouch.

I reached the point the other week when I made (what I perceived to be) a mistake (one that apparently proved to me once and for all that I am a bad and unworthy person [laughs]) and the negative reaction that I had in my mind completely brought to light this pattern of self-talk within me. I could see how I was judging myself. 

What did I do about it? 

Well, I got very self-absorbed for a couple of days, trying to piece together some sort of acceptable self-image that my ego could hang on to for dear life. It didn't work. Then I finally fell apart. I decided to accept what had happened and I decided to forgive myself. 

Then a great thing happened. I decided to forgive myself for everything.

This overwhelming forgiveness of myself played out as acceptance of every imperfection I could see (and there were many). I noticed something I did poorly and I forgave myself. I noticed a characteristic I have and I forgave it. As I held different aspects up to the light, I realized fully that I am, believe it or not, not perfect, and that that is normal and OK. Woof. What a revelation! (by the way, one that I've had many times before, but always manage to forget, and will likely forget again because, you know, I'm not perfect).

Then another beautiful thing happened. I began to recognize the same imperfection I saw in myself in everyone else. 

We are not these isolated pods that go about our lives in static separation. (who knew?)

As I unveiled my own vulnerability, I was privy to the vulnerability of everyone I encountered. This brought about a feeling of connectedness, community and empathy that was so fulfilling and that I too often miss out on when I am trapped in my internal dialogue.

If we come to our lives from a place of imperfection and acceptance we are open to see, to learn and to experience.

So here's my new practice. Each day and each moment I remember, to shave off any pretense and ground myself in joyful imperfection.

Love,

R

this path is a tight-rope

I have been walking fine lines lately.

Fine lines between security and disaster, honesty and self-importance, coming clean and hiding it all away, stating my truth and giving in to re-activity, being kind and being a doormat.

Equanimity seems continuously just out of my reach. 

I seem to be forever saying things in the wrong way, losing focus, and blurring the boundaries of myself. A wobbly top spinning on its spindle, its balance of motion and weight, all centred and focused on one point - the point of action in the present moment. 

I want to be a good person but feel like I am failing miserably. And this obsession with perfection is what's holding me back from really experiencing myself. 

Despite all the work I have done on myself to clear the crud away there is always more. I think I am stable and that is exactly when something happens and I come apart again. Well, I don't really come apart. My self-image comes apart and then I have to painfully recall that that was all it ever was, an image. 

The real Me is very flawed, and perfect, and whole in its humanness. In my clearer moments I know I will never be perfect and that is perfect. 

When I really know this in my body, like an open wound, I come from a more raw place. But I have to watch myself because the sentiment can easily become an intellectual construct wherein the words are believed and repeated like a nice-sounding aphorism, but if they are not really felt in the body, they become a symbol or shadow of their real meaning. When this happens I believe that I've got it all figured out, and inevitably this is when something (disastrous) happens that shows me I am worshiping a false idol...again. My ego burns up in that moment and I begin again. 

Rumi says, 

Be melting snow
Wash yourself of yourself

Maybe it never ends - this cycle of breaking down and coming home, hardening and breaking down again. And so my path unfolds...

I suck at life sometimes. but I just keep practising. 

And I guess this is why we can never judge another's path. We all ebb and flow towards enlightenment. 

Love,
R

what is my gift?

~ Leonard Cohen

Only from the careful and ongoing deconstruction of our selves can we bring anything true, honest, and helpful to the world and our fellow humans. 

Each time I judge my personality as worthless, uninteresting, friendly, kind, spiritual, smart, special, different, inherently bad or inherently good, I must try to catch myself and remember that I am not a personality. I am not what I think I am presenting to the world. In fact, my very perception of myself as a personality is taking me out of the connection I have with my real (capital) Self.

If I then shed those already threadbare layers of words I have been identifying with, discarding them glibly like a towel tossed in a laundry pile, I can come back to focus. 

The focus is not to make myself into something. That would be a fruitless endeavour. That is, again, in the realm of personality.

The focus is a quality of being. This quality of being is known in my body already. I know it as that which feels good. That which feels right. 

As I focus, I allow that quality of being to grow within me and then allow it to flow from me/through me into what I am doing. 

Therefore the focus is to know what I already am. To ground myself there.

It doesn't matter so much what action arises out of that grounding. Implicit in the action will be my unique gift.

The gift is given through me to the world as the one and only thing of value I can offer. Quite simply, I am all I have to give.

My job in life is to toss aside artifice and give the most of mySelf that I can.

That is what those lines mean to me:

From bitter searching of the heart

we rise to play a greater part.

Love,

R

"I, in humility" write this little note

This is a practice I got into, I don't even know how, during a yoga practice a while back.

It is so easy to get caught up in the chattering of the ego - the voice in my head that tries to convince me to judge myself and other people, to compete, to be perfect, to act a certain way, etc etc. 

I notice this in my yoga practice when I feel a bit wobbly in tree pose or my standing leg is burning through the longest balancing sequence known to God or man! The mind goes "come on, you could do this yesterday!" and "if you can't even do tree pose what kind of yogi are you?"

One day, out of nowhere really, I started to repeat what has become a mantra for me in my yoga practice and now in my life. I find that it quickly brings me back to my centre essentially by returning me to my sense of humour and lightness. 

This mantra goes, "I, in humility"

That's it, there is no ending to the sentence in words. It is given meaning by the action I am doing. For example, "I, in humility" *stand on one leg and look upwards*. "I, in humility" *attempt this unthinkable feat of strength in my burning leg*. 

Or, "I, in humility" *type these words*. "I, in humility" *attempt to communicate with the person I am with*.

When I invite humility into my practice with these words I am reminded that I am human, both strong and flawed. Perfect and vulnerable. Thoughtful and playful. 

I find that the result is usually first that I laugh at myself for taking myself so seriously. Then I am less hard on myself, my mind stops racing, and magically, whatever I'm doing becomes 100% easier and more enjoyable. It's like shrugging my shoulders and saying, "so what, I'm only human."

Why do I bring this up? 

Good question... I am searching for the answer...

I suppose I am bringing it up because in my own journey of personal growth, I am finding that there is a vast difference between sharing your own experience with someone and speaking from a soapbox, advising them of what they should do. I have been on both ends. I have both given and received unsolicited advice.

If I am being really truthful and honest with myself, I know only one thing about you. I know nothing about your history, your spiritual path, your desires, the other people in your life, all of the moving parts and endless dialogues you may or may not be running in your own mind. Even if you've told me, I can't know what it's like to be you.

The one and only thing that I know about you is that you are the same as me.You are a dynamic bundle of energy, growing, shifting, looking around all the time for the next experience, great or small. If I allow myself the pleasure of standing back and looking at (capital) You, what I will see is utter beauty unfolding before my eyes. I will see an incredible capacity to form opinions, make decisions, take action, be wise, exhibit qualities I didn't know you had, be unpredictable, and most of all, be human. 

To give advice from a soap box is to miss seeing that truth and beauty. 

So in my interaction with you I wish to stay in my humility, because only from there can I see the truth of the radiant being you are. 

When I apply the mantra to my interaction with you, "I, in humility" trust and know that you will find all the answers you seek; you will get where you are going; you are ok. The I who is in humility sees things as they are. 

"I, in humility" watch you dazzle the night sky with your shining light. "I, in humility" recognize the light that also shines from within me. "I, in humility" exist in this world as the only thing I know how to be ....me ...not you ...Me.

Love,
R