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Fall 1990

NAMASTE,

It took a few days for my feet to touch the ground after Mr. Iyengar’s visit. How can I tell you what it feels like to come downstairs in the morning and find B.K.S. Iyengar sitting in the living room having coffee? To hear him tell stories about his early days with his teacher, T. Krishnamacharya, and his contact with other famous and not-so-famous yogis? To listen to his comments on the Yoga Sutras and his own unique insights and interpretations? To observe him at close range work on a student with perplexing physical problems? To simply watch him over the course of a day interact with all sorts of people and situations? Looking back now, I find it difficult to convey the flavor of it, but I’ll do the best I can.

Almost anyone who has come into contact with the man, regardless of their opinion of him, will tell you that B.K.S. Iyengar is larger than life. People often remark that they can tell when he has entered a room simply by the force of his presence. Students at the convention in San Diego spoke of being in a pose in class, unable to see the door, and still knowing that he had come into the room. Although I have been around Mr. Iyengar a number of times in the last ten years, each time I see him anew after being away from him for awhile, I always find the sight of him awesome. (awesome – Marked by or inspiring awe. awe – A feeling of reverence and dread mingled with wonder. Webster’s II New Riverside Dictionary. 1984 edition.)

I find Mr. Iyengar so awe-inspiring for several reasons. I suppose the first reason is the absolutely incredible amount of knowledge he has about yoga. Those of you who came to the Sunday evening program in Washington had ample evidence of that. His grasp of the concepts underlying Hatha Yoga and Raja Yoga and his familiarity with the classic texts were evident in his opening talk. And the therapeutic work he did with the students on stage was amazing. Just how amazing is revealed in the fact that Madeleine, who has had ongoing back pain for years has not had any pain since that night. And Kathleen, who has had severe neck pains, ringing in her ears, and whose jaw has popped for ten years whenever she moved it can now move her jaw without a sound and her pains are subsiding.

Another reason for my awe is the depth of devotion Mr. Iyengar has for the practice of yoga and the remarkable integrity with which he has maintained his practice. His early life was extremely difficult, plagued by illness and poverty, and it took tremendous will and effort on his part to even begin doing yoga. Now, after many years of diligent practice, he is hailed in many quarters as a genius, his skills as a healer and his mastery in yoga are internationally recognized, and the Yoga Journal, in a special report entitled “Yoga in America: The First 100 Years”, states, “Probably the name most often associated with yoga in America today is Iyengar.”

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While I certainly find these accomplishments significant and laudable, what I find awesome is the honesty and integrity that have brought him to these heights. In spite of wide criticism for the methods he has developed and disparaging remarks from other yogis about being “just a physical yogi”, he has remained dedicated to his principles and unswerving in his practice when the pressure from his peers and the desire for acceptance must have made it so tempting to give in or give up. As far as I can tell, he has always found his own way and has been true to it, and that seems to be a pretty rare occurrence.

It’s quite something to find someone about whom you feel that way sitting in your living room.

Ever since I got interested in yoga, I’ve enjoyed reading books and hearing stories by and about yoga and yogis. There are, as many of you know, some astonishing tales and amazing people. In his 55 years of yoga Mr. Iyengar has come into contact with more than a few: Paramahansa Yogananda, Indra Devi, Swami Sivananda, Krishnamurti, and many others. It was so delicious for me to sit in the mornings and listen to him describe his adventures and experiences with these people, some of them legendary. He is a wonderful storyteller, animated and amusing, and has a great sense of humor, and it was easy to get caught up and carried away by his childlike enthusiasm.

It’s quite something to hear a legend speak about the legendary.

Because he learned so much of what he knows about yoga through his own exploration and discoveries, Mr. Iyengar’s approach, his concepts and understanding are uniquely his own. This holds true for his comments on the Yoga Sutras, as well as other classic texts. When he talked about the Yoga Sutras, which he did quite often, his interpretation of Patanjali’s words led to insights and nuances that were previously hidden or unconsidered. It’s one thing to have a scholarly or intellectual knowledge of philosophy, to have read the standard translations and commentaries.

It’s quite something else to listen to a man who has devoted 55 years of intense study and practice, who has fully lived the teachings, talk about them.

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Having seen Mr. Iyengar work with various medical cases on stage before, I know from my point of view that sometimes there is an almost magical or miraculous quality to what he does, his denials of being a miracle worker notwithstanding. Sort of a laying on of hands almost. At the Boston Convention in 1987 hundreds of us saw him work with a woman who was deaf. After about fifteen minutes of adjusting her in several poses, she remarked with astonishment that she could hear him talking to her.

I have already mentioned the two women at the Sunday evening program. In Kathleen’s case Mr. Iyengar said that hers was a particularly difficult case and that none of his pupils would be able to work with her. Afterwards she asked him what she should do. He asked me if she could come over to the house the next morning so he could show her what to do and show me how to help her do it. I said of course, of course.

People sometimes see Mr. Iyengar as being impatient, harsh, rough, maybe even cruel. What I see is a man who cares tremendously about people, especially people in pain, and who gives completely of his time and energy to do what he can to relieve their suffering. I have heard him say on more than one occasion that time is short. I think part of his intensity and part of his impatience is the strength of that realization.

He spent an hour the next morning with Kathleen and the rest of us, teaching and healing. This was his small piece of free time in an incredibly arduous schedule, and he gave it up. No fees. No big deal. He just felt like he could help her. And since for ten years she’d been going to people who hadn’t helped her, maybe he was the only one who could. So he did.

For me it was a priceless opportunity to watch how he approached her problem, the questions he asked her, the ways in which he touched her, how he responded to her responses, to have him point out what to look for, to be able to ask about what he was doing, just the whole process.

It’s quite something to observe a true master employ his prodigious skills and talents compassionately and selflessly.

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Perhaps the part I enjoyed most about Mr. Iyengar’s visit, though, was just being around him all day for those two full days. In addition to the feelings about him I have already described, I like the man. And the thing I like most about him is not the stuff he knows or what he can do, but what he is. In this age of PR people, image makers and spin doctors, B.K.S. Iyengar is real. What you see is what you get. I saw this time and again as Mr. Iyengar met people at UDC, at the Indian embassy, at the Botanical Gardens and all the other places we went. The quick wit, the stern gaze, the pride, the humor, the impatience, the enthusiasm, the power, the charm, all the warts, all the beauty: it’s all right out there for you to see.

It’s quite something to be with someone that spontaneous, that alive.

In the first paragraph of this newsletter I said I would try to convey the flavor of being with Mr. Iyengar during his visit. And each time I’ve tried about all I’ve really come up with is that it was quite something. What does “something” mean? It’s a little like saying it was “interesting”. It doesn’t tell you much.

I have a friend who used to teach yoga in North Carolina. On the door of her studio she had a small sign that said,

What can’t be said can’t be said
And can’t be whistled, either.

What I mean by quoting her quote is that I can’t really tell you what it was like for me to have Mr. Iyengar visit. It was too special for words.

       

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