“The end of all our exploring will be to end where we started and know the place for the first time.”
Dear Yogini,
You may have come to yoga by way of asana, the postural practice, as I did, for reasons of sanity; or perhaps, as a way to address health concerns, to meet fitness goals, to gain physical strength and flexibility. Maybe it is that you needed space to breathe, to find release from the stresses of life, to ground yourself in the physical body, to rediscover community. Or maybe, like me, you stumbled into yoga out of sheer necessity because another aspect of your life was falling apart at the seams. And now, some time later, it has come to this: Do I want to be a yoga teacher, or not?
I so appreciate that you have sought me out with your question and trust. Know you are not alone in your quest for resolution. When you are short on time and low on inspiration the vicissitudes of life can feel overwhelming. You might be tempted to jump onto your yoga mat, or crash a class, and just go through the motions. Your mind, meanwhile, is seeking an answer to this question (or another that lies behind it), weaving its tales of worship or woe and all the reasons why you should become a yoga teacher and even better reasons why not to. By showing up for yoga, you plan to derive maximum value from your yoga with a physical practice, soothe the energies of emotions which have run amok, and quell your frazzled or, at best, distracted mind. And it figures, by practice’s end, you have found a solution to a problem that’s not yours and still remain baffled as to what on earth to do with your own quest for a satisfying outcome. You had a decent practice so maybe you can shelve the question for another day. Until it comes up again in your consciousness…
While the only direct experience I can speak to is mine, I do have an understanding of the struggles you face, the anxiety that undermines your best efforts, and your dilemma of whether to teach yoga or remain its faithful student (which you would continue to be regardless of the outcome of your decision). It is not within my purview to resolve anything about your life, but I am here in service of the courage you reveal in daring to show up for it.
I do wonder where the question of whether to teach or not comes from. Meanwhile, I invite you to persevere at your practice with diligence and to pay close attention to the stuff that comes up for you. Challenge yourself when you feel like begging off and keep showing up with your own particular brand of inner resolve so the yoga can guide you to where you want to be. We are our own best teacher. So, place your dilemma at your own feet and bow to your inner guru, dispeller of darkness. Teach yourself to be present for everything that shows up—the good and the bad, the hard and the soft, the strong and the weak, the joys and the sorrows—with humility and as much tenderness in your heart as you can fathom; if you are anything like me, you can be so hard on yourself. In those instances, notice that too.
First things first. You profess to have a dilemma in your heart, a situation in which you cannot decide whether to be a yoga teacher or not. Words, you will find, are of primordial importance to the yogin, avid practitioner of yoga, for they serve to qualify, describe, and discern your most intimate experiences of yourself. Whether you become a yoga teacher or not, the words you use to define your practical contact with a pose or an observation you make in the context of your yoga practice will have import and require more specificity as you make this journey.
The yogic teachings are so rich because they are imbued with the rich cultural heritage of India and the powerful language of yoga that is Sanskrit, which itself bears the meaning ‘perfected’ or ‘refined’ and is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, of all attested human languages. It behooves you then, dearest yogini, to dive into the dilemma your question poses.
If you consider the meaning of dilemma, it seems that ‘dilemma’ cannot be used to refer to something that is merely problematic. At its origin, dilemma referred to a choice between two equally unsatisfactory or unattainable options, or to an argument in which an opponent is given two options to choose from, neither of which is of particular service to the opponent. This is not necessarily your situation, but it could be. Have you never found yourself in conflict with yourself, and therefore in opposition to your best interests? I know I have. It’s the proverbial rock and hard place. Who isn’t in conflict with themselves about something or another? Do you ever wonder where that unsettled feeling of guilt comes from? You got it: Dilemma.
Dilemma would appear to refer to the state of mind that is marked by your uncertainty or doubt. It is not that you are faced with a classical dilemma, that choice between two equally unsuitable or unattainable options, because neither of your outcomes—to be a yoga teacher, or to not be a yoga teacher—is inherently unsuitable or unattainable. The unsuitability or unattainability of the options lies primarily in your mind. This feeling of entrapment—the ‘either/or’—leads you down a path that limits your experience of the infinite possibilities and potential of You.
Travel with me, dear yogini. I do not claim to have mastered the path of yoga. Far from it. It is only that I am walking this mysterious path as my teachers have walked this path before me. I only pass on to you what I have discovered for myself along the way. It is for you to take what serves you in this moment and reject that which does not. If you receive a directive from me that does not make sense to your mind, that confuses or frustrates you, simply take notice. You always have the option to shelve it and revisit it at a more opportune time or discard it outright. If the lesson is important, it will cross your path again, at a time perhaps when you are ready to receive it. Of this, I have no doubt.
On some level, each of us participates in our own ‘hero’s journey’ to remember who we are, what we are, and where we are on this path of life. You may have come to yoga with a slightly obsessive craving for asana—the practice of posture—or maybe you decided to try it out because it is said to help with stress and tension in the body. We tend to be consumers of yoga poses here in the West, but even if we shortchange ourselves with this incomplete form of yoga, it remains a valuable practice. Whether you are a mild practitioner or hardcore in your approach, if you do the yoga long enough, there is a pretty good chance you will see changes in your lifestyle or maybe even in the way you want to, or choose to, live your life; it is almost inevitable because somewhere along the path the yoga deepens our respect for life on every level.
Yoga originates from India and is based in rituals and sacrifice (of the ego). It seeks to explore the ‘subject’ (the mind) as a way of comprehending the outer world (science). While Darshanas are the philosophical and experiential systems of yoga, ways of ‘seeing’ the world, The Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali systematize the wisdom, or psychology, into a single text—the ultimate treatise of yoga that unifies the scattered and ancient Indian ritual practices and teachings of the Vedas. It offers a classical understanding of the mind and freedom from the ego-bound rigidity of the physical body, our energetic-emotional being and the mind. In Indian philosophy, our ‘being-ness’ is associated with neither the body nor the mind, as both can be controlled and exist externally to the innermost Self.
All yoga systems are designed to free the individual from habit patterns of mind, body, and speech to return to atman—the soul—in order to exist beyond the normal human condition. What makes yoga such a powerful practice is that we get to step outside of our habitual environment and relationships, the habitual happenings and doings of each day to see our habitual tendencies for what they are. While our place of practice is typically the mat or the cushion, our ultimate objective is to return to the place of practice that is our very own heart. This bhava, or ‘becoming,’ means that we return with mindful intent to who we already are.
Atha yogānuśāsanam, states the opening aphorism of Patañjali’s manifest, The Yoga Sūtras: Here and now begins the discipline of yoga, of coming back into union with one’s Self—our heroine’s journey.
From this compilation of aphorisms attributed to the sage Patañjali from mid-second century BCE, we know him to have been an ascetic. Ascetics approach the world by turning away from it—the monks, the nuns, the renunciants, the sadhus. The Sanskrit scriptures describe the world as transitioning through cycles of four stages, each transition coinciding with rare planetary alignments. It is said we are in transition from the Kali Yuga—age of strife, discord, quarrel, or contention—to meet the age of truth, or Sat(ya) Yuga, by turning towards the world we live in and a humanity governed by intrinsic goodness. Is it possible that the world we are experiencing today is in fact a manifestation of darkness dissolving as we now begin to see reality—our collective ignorance and intelligence—for what it is?
Your decision to walk the path of yoga, dear yogini, emboldens you to engage with this momentum of consciousness rising that will serve someday soon to supplant the power-driven ego of today’s world. Let us embrace ourselves in this spirit of truth. Persist in your efforts, dear yogini, and you will surely live into what you are looking for.
Sincerely,
Nicole
Dear Yogini,
Your dilemma is what leads the way. I practice yoga because the language of yoga speaks straight to my soul. Do you feel the same? Therefore, I shall speak to you of Patañjali. His manifesto lies at the foundation of all yoga in the West, and the path of yoga described in Chapter II (Book 2) of his Yoga Sūtras is the course we shall follow throughout these pages. Know that it serves as the framework to many ‘Teacher Training’ programs, although too many, in my humble opinion, shortchange the cultural heritage of yoga. The substance of yoga is steeped in its rich history, rituals and tradition, and our practice is powerful because of this.
So please indulge me and hear the story of Patañjali from the Puranas, a vast genre of Indian literature about a wide range of topics, particularly myths and legends, which illustrates only too well that the questions we pose and the dilemmas that embroil us in our mind don’t always have clear-cut answers, or least not ones we might expect. Behind the stories lie fundamental truths, and sometimes, it isn’t until the answer shows up that you realize the true question.
Once upon a time in the land of the Indo-Aryan subcontinent, the holy men and Rishis approached Lord Vishnu, the second god in the Hindu triumvirate (or trinity of gods known as Trimurti) responsible for the upkeep of the world, to tell him that even though he had proffered them the means to cure illnesses through Ayurveda, people still fell ill, and they wanted to understand what to do when sickness—not just physical ailments but such mental and emotional afflictions as anger, lust, greed, jealousy, desire, and pride—were manifested. Was there a formula to rid the beleaguered of their ailments and ease their suffering? Vishnu was lying on the coiled form of the serpent Adishésha with a thousand heads when the Rishis approached him. Upon their request, he gave them Adishésha, the symbol of awareness, who took birth in the world as Maharishi Patañjali.
Patañjali manifested on this earth to give us this knowledge of yoga which came to be known as the yoga sutras. The sage said he was not going to discuss the yoga sutras unless one thousand people gathered together. So, a thousand people gathered south of Vindhya Mountains to listen to him. Patañjali had one other condition: that a screen be placed to separate him from his students and that no one was to lift the screen or leave until he was finished with his teachings. Patañjali transmitted his knowledge to the thousand gathered from behind the curtain that concealed him. Each in attendance absorbed this knowledge, although they could not fathom how it was the Master was making each of them understand without uttering words. With wonderment, each experienced a shock of energy that was hard to contain, yet remained disciplined and attentive. One young enthusiast fell prey to nature’s call and left the room thinking he might leave quietly and return as quietly so that his absence not be noticed. Another became curious and reflected, “I want to see the Master and what he is doing behind this curtain.” He got so curious that he lifted the veil to look, but as he did so, all nine hundred and ninety-nine disciples were burned to ashes.
Patañjali became dejected to see that he had been ready to impart all knowledge to the whole world yet now had no disciples to carry forth the wisdom. In this moment, the one who had discretely left to seek out nature returned and asked forgiveness from Patañjali for his untimely departure. The great Master saw this as both an opportunity to retain at least one disciple to whom he could impart the rest of the yoga sutras and remaining knowledge whilst also teaching an important lesson. So Patañjali declared the young disciple a Brahmarakshasa, or (mythological) ghost, to be hanged on a tree. “To liberate yourself from this curse,” instructed the sage, “you must teach one student the knowledge I have given you.” And with this, Patañjali vanished.
Poor Brahmarakshasa hung from a tree for a thousand years, unable to find a single person to teach. Out of compassion, Patañjali returned disguised as Brahmarakshasa’s one student to relieve the poor figure from the burden of the curse, and for seven days, from the top of the tree where the Brahmarakshasa hanged, he transliterated the sutras onto palm leaves. In a state of exhaustion, the sage set down the leaves near his garments and went to bathe, only to return to find a goat had eaten most of the leaves. Patañjali picked up what was left of the transliterations and walked away.
The story goes that to redeem one disciple, the Master became the disciple of a disciple. There is depth here and more questions than answers: How does the Master convey knowledge to everybody without a single utterance? Why is the young disciple’s absence of import? What is the significance of the veil? What is the message behind the Brahmarakshasa? What is the significance of the goat? What lessons does the story impart for you? It is for the reader to unlock its meaning. And so, I leave you now, dear yogini, with these contemplations.
Sincerely,
Nicole
Dear Yogini,
The story of Patañjali tells us that yoga does not come with all the answers, and that life rarely unfolds according to plan. When I began my practice of yoga, I did so thinking it would somehow serve to mitigate the bad things in life from coming my way; that by engaging in this spiritual exercise of yoga, I could control outcomes and deflect negativity, meanness, and strife. It turns out, the yoga is simply there to help you pick yourself up when you fall and transmute perceived failures into productive feedback.
The gift of yoga is the way in which the persistent practice of it erodes the most steadfast stronghold of moral rectitude, softens, or categorically breaks open the hardest of hearts, and exposes the soft underbelly of uncertainty and fear that drives our loss of touch with reality. At first, you try too hard; you fight with feverish vigor, struggle with stubborn resistance to what is, to arrive at a particular posture, let’s say, all the while striving for some idea of ‘success’ or feeling of ‘accomplishment’ that exists only in your mind. These ideals have the potential to drive you to greater heights—so long as your efforts remain intentional and sincere. They can also undermine your most valiant efforts when misguided and practiced without some degree of wisdom, leading to injury or dejection.
At some point you will see, if you have not yet, that yoga has the capacity to permeate every single layer of neurosis and reveal the objectionable nature of the stories the ego-brain tells. Over time, you will start to hear the voices in your head that do not belong to you and never have, the narratives you’ve adopted because you knew no better, and the dramas of your life that you have participated in that are not your own. Take your time learning this potent practice, for it has the richest of riches to share with you. Do not relinquish your inner resolve, for it will take you to some marvelous places!
Dear Yogini,
I perceive yoga’s ultimate gift to be in that one breath that gives us pause so that we may notice the subtlest moments that are so ordinary and so simple that we miss them all the time: When you witness the first colored tint of sunrise on the horizon or, more evanescent still, the gentle expression on a stranger’s face meant just for you that makes you smile because you are seen in that one split second you chose to lift your gaze from the constant companionship of the device in your hand. Maybe too, you’ve received the tender gift of that transient feeling of arriving in a pose and knowing its perfection in that one instant when ego, intellect and thoughts dissolve and you feel yourself a body of light.
Meanwhile, how do we stop listening to the internal stream of to-dos, how do we hit the pause button on the inner critic, how do we mitigate past hurts so they don’t fragment this precious sphere of life? Are you able, and willing, to silence or step away from the buzz and rings and pings to be in your practice? Yoga is an alchemical practice, a way forward in experiencing yourself honestly, but only if you are wholehearted and tenacious in your willingness to engage the process.
Yoga is a way to get into the nitty gritty where your question abides: To be, or not to be, a yoga teacher? First, you will be directed to evaluate your attitude and practices towards others and then towards yourself. Mostly, though, you will be swayed by the physical realm—the ways in which your body is governed by habits and how it engages with movement, direction, and space. You will discover that there is nothing but distraction upon distraction—discomfort, aches and pains, frustrations at not understanding, irritation at not being able to ‘do,’ and myriad other discontents arising from your body and fomenting in your mind.
Your mind then becomes the object of your curiosity. At first, of course, when you start to perceive the persistent and inciting churnings of your thinking, you might believe yourself to be a little, or a lot, crazy around the edges. You can fall off the wagon here, take the other fork in the road, deviate from your very best intentions, say to yourself, Not today. Not tomorrow. I do not have the patience for this. I’m not [fill-in-the-blank] enough.
Excuses are a dime a dozen and impediments to your practice. I am the Queen of excuses, worst offender. So, yes, I will call you on yours because I am familiar with and can predict pretty much every single one you will come up with. The instant you perceive your excuse, your grievance or your resistance to whatever shows up in your sphere of awareness, whether it be physical, emotional, mental, intellectual, is the moment you begin your practice of yoga, Atha yogānuśāsanam. In my own self-study, I came across another expression of this sutra: “Yoga (union) is the containment of one’s ways of thought. (1)” Learn this very first thread of wisdom from Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras, for it will come up again and again and again because you have chosen this path to answer your question.
The fact that you are engaged in this self-inquiry tells me three things about you:
You already know that the yogic path imparts wisdom beyond measure. I can only extend to you what I know from personal experience to be true of these yogic practices as applied to my own life. I hope to open and connect you to the very real magic of yoga, even though I can tell you that it does not always appear or feel magical in the moment. This means partaking in the hardships and the struggles that come up in the body and the mind, the impossible circumstances and unimaginable obstacles that appear as a function of life, and the complete and utter inevitability and vulnerability of being human.
I don’t know how you came to yoga. It may be that your body weathered injury and you must be patient enough in your practice to seal the wound and make your own way ‘home’. It may be that your life left you shipwrecked and stranded, and your yoga offers you a whole new way of existing in the world. Or you bailed out of necessity or by your own volition on some aspect of your life, leaving behind the known and knowable. Either way, you found yourself gazing out at the vast ocean of uncertainty before you. Maybe it still feels this way to you. As you continue to invite change into your life, there are always those around you who will feel threatened by your boldness and attempt to hold you back. It will feel like resistance until you are able to say, “I love you, and I must let you go.” This is not to dissuade you from your course, dearest yogini; rather it’s to encourage you to stay fierce and focused and true to yourself. No matter the circumstances, the not knowing what comes next is a fearsome and frightening feeling, and you will need all of your inner resolve to guide you.
It takes a remarkable kind of courage to travel this path of self-knowing, especially when you consider what you may be leaving behind. You might dip your toes in the water of yoga, or dive in out of some shade of desperation as I did to salvage myself from a marriage that was consuming too much of me. Sometimes you will have a choice in the matter; and maybe you will feel you have no choice at all. Whether you find yourself in shallow waters or deep you will learn that you already have within you the ability to wade and swim.
Herein rests the enchantment of yoga. It is the hint of the rosebud’s color before its tint is discerned, or the scent of lilac before its fragrance is released into the air. It is the essence of the butterfly while still a caterpillar in the process of metamorphosis before emerging from the sanctum of her cocoon. The magic of yoga is in how it garners our full and undivided attention in the subtlest moments and with the simplest pleasure. You know all this of course. How then does it manifest in practice?
I hope to elucidate for you the wisdom of yoga that has been passed down through the ages as it pertains to your practice and to your life. On the one hand, it is up to the sadhaka, the spiritual aspirant, to follow this path of wisdom as a means to master herself. And on the other, it is the teacher’s mission to shed light upon the path for the student rather than to promote her own self-mastery.
You will discover that your teacher was (and is still) a student like you, just as you will one day impart the teachings of yoga—as a teacher or not—with your own story to tell. You will learn that your teacher’s achievements and successes are not there to be emulated or superseded. Rather, you will come to understand that your teacher’s path has nothing to do with yours other than the fact that both of you are traveling as subjects of the human condition in search of your unique inner brilliance.
Be willing to explore beyond the surface level of platitudes and dive into the deepest, darkest, refracted places but only if it feels safe to do so in the moment. Learn to love yourself unconditionally regardless of anyone else’s opinion of who you are or what you should (or should not) do. Get to know your mind, for a whole world of possibility will open to you as you step into the power of seeing things clearly as they are and reality as it is. Here and now, it is possible for you to experience yoga and realize your individual truth. The place to start is with who you already are, where you are right now, and what you are experiencing in this very moment. I have the benefit of my own experiences to illustrate for you how yoga works in life and thank you for allowing me to serve as your guide on this particular and powerful journey.
Peace and truth.
Warmly,
Nicole