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Summer 1998

NAMASTE,

In the spring newsletter, I wrote about the idea of balance and how it applies to the practice of yoga. My next to last paragraph said, “The idea of mental and emotional equilibrium, which is another definition of the word balance, moves the discussion to another level altogether. Many people I speak with these days talk about being scattered, hurried and tired, of trying to find some balance in their lives. It is this meaning of balance that I am particularly interested in exploring. Since there is very little space left, though, I’ll leave that subject for the next newsletter.”

Well, here we are – the next newsletter. To tell you the truth, when you get right down to it, I’m as scattered, hurried and tired as everyone I talk to. I guess that’s one reason I am interested in this issue. Furthermore, a lot of the people I speak with are yoga teachers and practitioners, and they’re as crazed as I am. How much wisdom will be found in this letter, therefore, is up for grabs.

So what’s happening, anyway? Is there something in the air or the water, or what? Why are so many of us so much on the run? Isn’t yoga supposed to take care of all this stuff?

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Certainly, my practice helps me to cope with the demands I find myself confronted with. While I’m doing postures and breathing and sitting, and for awhile thereafter, I don’t feel harried or hurried. One thing I’ve learned from my practice, though, is that symptoms are not causes. My formal practice serves as an aspirin in this case. Nothing wrong with that, but the real question is: What is the dynamic that has me in this situation in the first place?

No doubt, circumstances occasionally arise that compel us to take on a heavier workload: illness or emergencies in the family or at work or some special project that is truly important. Any of us feels strained at times such as these. Nevertheless, this sense of being so overburdened, pressured, this absence of mental and emotional equilibrium, seems to be chronic, not just a temporary state of affairs, for me and for many others.

One of the comments I often hear relating to this problem, as if it were an explanation or solution, is that there is just not enough time in the day. Too much to do! Perhaps there is too much to do because we want too much. I actually want to do all the things that wind up overwhelming me: to spend time with my family and friends; to study, practice and teach; to guide Unity Woods’ growth and serve the community in that way. Each of these roles—teacher, student, businessman, householder, husband, father, grandfather, friend—takes time and energy, both of which have their limits. Must I then give up one or more of these roles? Not necessarily. What I do have to do, it seems to me, is to find a balance within these different aspects of my life. I have to apportion my time and energy, which means I have to choose how I spend them. And I may have to give up some part of some of them. I may not be able to have it all. (Gasp!)

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It’s not unlike organizing a practice. On any given day, am I practicing to prepare a class, to deepen my twists, to work with an injury, to stimulate my digestive processes, to calm my nervous system? I must limit the scope of my practice in a number of different ways. I can’t do everything in one practice. When I have decided what I’m working on, then I practice with my direction in mind, while at the same time remaining open to what arises in the moment. I am always learning and adjusting as I go. My practice must be guided by what is actually happening as much as by what I want or expect to happen. When I have finished my practice, I then need to observe whether it has helped me to move in the right direction.

As is so often the case, the issues in my practice are the same as in the rest of my life. Just as a pain in my knee tells me not only that my knee is injured, but that there is probably an imbalance somewhere else in my body that is causing or contributing to the injury, so my own hurriedness and anxiety, my own mental and emotional distress, tells me that some imbalance exists elsewhere in my life.

In my life and in my practice, I have specific, short-term issues as well as general, overall considerations. On one level, the question is how to balance the different aspects of my life, like deciding on how to sequence my daily practice. It is essentially an organizational question. I have to manage my time more effectively, do away with frivolous and extraneous things, focus on the essentials. This is a necessary step.

On other levels, however, the question is not how balanced are the various aspects of my life or my practice, but how balanced am I, physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually? It is not simply a matter of organizing my time. I have to ask myself why I am practicing yoga in the first place. Over the years, my reasons have changed as my practice has deepened and grown and my outlook on life has changed. And I must ask myself what the purpose of my life is? What is truly important to me? These bigger questions are crucial. The answers to these questions are the soil from which the seeds of my life sprout, and I can be either conscious or unconscious, proactive or reactive about it.

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Of course, these questions are not only about me: who I am and what I want. My internal balance is to a great extent contingent on my relationship with the world around me. A kerosene lamp comes to mind. If there is a wind, the flame in the lamp will flicker. I can put a glass chimney around the flame to control how much air it receives, and I can adjust the flame by adjusting the wick, but the flame needs air and fuel to burn and give light. Furthermore, the whole point of the light is so that people can see. The lamp does not burn in a vacuum, nor would there be any reason for it to.

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All this seems to make sense to me, stuff worth considering. So how come I’m still running around like a chicken with my head cut off? Maybe the fact that knowing what to do and doing it are two different things.

There is an old story about a man who had a wife, several children, and ran a small business in the nearby village. Because there was so much to do, he was having a very difficult time maintaining his spiritual practices. So he went to his guru and explained the dilemma. He told the guru that he tried to practice an hour a day, but that with all the demands on his time, he was finding it impossible to find that one hour. What should he do, he asked. “Practice two hours,” the guru replied. I guess it’s like my friend and fellow teacher, Shelly Greenberg, says: Whatever the question…the answer is: more yoga.

Relax and enjoy your summer.

       

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