our-yoga

"When I believed that my existence was such a further fact, I seemed imprisoned in myself. My life seemed like a glass tunnel, through which I was moving faster every year, and at the end of which there was darkness. When I changed my view, the walls of my glass tunnel disappeared. I now live in the open air. There is still a difference between my life and the lives of other people. But the difference is less. Other people are closer. I am less concerned about the rest of my own life, and more concerned about the lives of others."

Derek Parfit

Who or what am I? Is there even an "I" in the first place? If there is no "I", how should I live my life? The philosopher Derek Parfit has spent his entire life and career asking and trying to answer these questions.

To get a sense of what Parfit is up to, consider this rather fantastical thought experiment. Suppose a crazy scientist were to begin replacing your cells, one by one, with those of Bruce Lee at the age of thirty (We should also suppose, further, that the scientist has somehow managed to preserve Bruce Lee's body in perfect condition all these years. And really, it doesn't have to be Bruce Lee. Just pick your favorite dead celebrity.).

At the beginning of this cell-replacement procedure, the person who is receiving the cells would clearly be you. After all, you minus one or two of your own cells, and plus one or two cells from Bruce Lee would still be you (I would think). At the end of the procedure, the person who emerges would clearly be Bruce Lee. But is Bruce Lee minus one of his cells (and plus one of yours) still Bruce Lee? What about Bruce Lee minus, say, a hundred of his cells, and plus a hundred of yours? The question here is: At what point during the procedure do you cease to be you and become Bruce Lee? It seems very difficult, if not impossible, to try to pinpoint when exactly in the procedure this change of identity occurs.

Many philosophers throughout history have wrestled with problems of this kind, trying not very successfully to pinpoint the moment of identity change at various points in the procedure. Parfit, however, draws an interesting conclusion from this thought experiment: Perhaps the very fact that we cannot pinpoint any particular moment means that there is really no such thing as personal identity in the first place. There is really no Bruce Lee, and no you! Personal identity is, at most, a convenient fiction that we employ to get through our everyday lives. In our everyday lives, we say that this particular bundle of physical parts and properties and psychological characteristics is you. And that bundle of physical facts and properties and psychological characteristics who "died" in 1973 after the filming of Enter the Dragon is Bruce Lee. But when we try to pinpoint where one bundle ends and another bundle begins, as we did in the thought experiment above, we get stumped. Which suggests, according to Parfit, that there is really no such thing as a distinct person or self called Bruce Lee, or a distinct person or self called [insert your name here].


If there is no enduring further fact that we can point to and identify as our "self", over and above the multitude of physical and psychological facts and properties that we commonly associate with "you", what implications would this have for how we should go about living our lives?

Parfit, for one, finds the discovery that there is no further fact of self or personal identity to be a very liberating one. If there is really no self, then there is also really no such things as "my" life or "my" possessions, beyond their utility as convenient fictions to facilitate everyday life. Perhaps more importantly, the prospect of death will probably be less frightening if there is no "self" or "I" that actually dies. Parfit sees it this way:

"My death will break the more direct relations between my present experience and future experiences, but it will not break various other relations."

Even if there is no "I", various other relations will still persist between "I" and others after my death. People will (hopefully) remember me. They may also be influenced by my writings or thoughts (including, perhaps, those that are found on this blog ;-)), and conduct their lives and take actions in accordance with such influences. In this way, the "I" that never really existed in the first place will, paradoxically, continue to live on via other people's memories, thoughts and actions. Parfit concludes:

"This is all there is to the fact that there will be no one living who will be me. Now that I have seen this, my death seems to me less bad." 

Very interesting, don't you think? I find Parfit's views very fascinating and intriguing, and his arguments very compelling. But there is a part of me that is reluctant to accept the idea that there is really no "I". Well, I don't know. I guess I'm going to take the weekend to mull over all this a little more :-)

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I read with great interest Roseanne's recent post on this thing called a yogasm. As the term suggests, it is supposed to be an orgasmic experience that some people have experienced while doing yoga. Reportedly, a yogasm is something that feels like an orgasm, except it happens during yoga practice, and may be triggered by certain postures and/or actions, such as mula bandha. Since I know nothing about yogasms (and have obviously never had one), I'll start by quoting a few testimonies of people who have reported having them:

(A) “The first time it happened to me I was in Sharon Gannon’s class at Jivamukti, and I was in forward bend,” says Kelly Morris, a yoga instructor with a cult following at the Shala Yoga House in New York City. “I was breathing and concentrating and suddenly, ‘Whoa!’” (From The Daily Beast)

(B) 'In New York City, a woman who chose to remain nameless talked to The Daily Beast about experiencing a yoga orgasm at Pure Yoga, a fancy studio on Manhattan’s Upper East Side owned by the Equinox fitness chain. “I was in lotus pose, focusing on breathing and lifting the muscles of my pelvic floor,” she said. She wasn’t prepared for what happened after her instructor pressed his body against her back and synchronized his breath with hers, lifting her ribs as she inhaled, and pushing down on her thighs as she exhaled. “I was tingling all over!” she gushed.' (From The Daily Beast)

Incidentally, her instructor is a certain Marco Rojas. Apparently, he is a teacher of some repute in New York City. I know nothing about Rojas, or about whether his teaching style has anything to do with being able to bring about orgasmic experiences in practitioners. But if you know something, please share.

(C) Haleigh Forbes relates the following experience, which happened at an Ashtanga class in Utah:

"I walked into the newly opened studio and it was alive. There were 30 people there for the same reason I was, ready to engage our bodies in our passion. It was the perfect non-tense, non-pseudo, mingle of yogi’s. The practice started. Throughout the practice there was laughter, intense focus, audible breathe, sweat, and recognized bliss. The practice ended.... As we all joined together in ‘namaste’, I felt it…YOGASM! I felt hyper. I was in the right place. I was where I needed to be." 

Forbes then goes on to elaborate on the nature of the yogasmic experience:

"You don’t have to be living in Utah or suffering from a lack of studio time in order to experience a yogasm. A yogasm will come in different ways for everyone. Perhaps you just kicked up into handstand for your first time, or you successfully took your first ujjayi breathe. The best part?  You are not born with a predetermined amount of yogasms -- you can have any many as your beautiful self creates."

Well, that last part is pretty cool: One is not born with a predetermined number of yogasms! (Yay!) One can have as many as one's beautiful self can create, or as many as whoever is running the cosmic yogasm machine deigns to bestow upon one, whichever is the case.

This is assuming, of course, that (a) yogasms are real, and not some yoga equivalent of an urban legend, (b) that anybody can achieve a yogasm.

(b) is already starting to seem doubtful: The three experiences quoted above seem to suggest that only women can experience yogasms (what's up with that?). But of course, three is admittedly a very small sample size, so this may not be so.

I am unable to come to any definitive conclusions about yogasms right now. But as with many other things, asking the right questions is usually a step in the right direction. So I'll conclude this rather neither-here-nor-there post with a few questions:

(1) What exactly is a yogasm? Is it something that happens on a purely energetic level, or is there some measurable physiological reaction/symptom that can indicate that one is experiencing a yogasm? Or, to put the question another way, is a yogasm physiologically the same thing as a regular orgasm, except that it is triggered by certain yoga practices?

(2) Is it only women who can experience yogasms? Or are women just somehow more likely to experience yogasms than men? If so, why? Is the reason physiological, energetic, emotional, or all of the above?

(3) Does the practitioner undergo some kind of permanent physical, emotional or spiritual change as a result of experiencing a yogasm? In other words, after one has, uh, yogasmed, is one no longer the same yogi/yogini as before? If so, how is one different?

(4) Is a yogasm something that happens as a result of deliberate practice? Or is it something that can only happen to one by the grace of Shiva/Krishna/whoever's running the cosmic yogasm machine?

(5) Is a yogasm something one should properly strive for in one's practice? Or is it a more or less accidental byproduct of the practice, something that makes no real difference to the overall quality of one's practice? Or worse, is it an unnecessary distraction from the real purpose of the practice?

(6) Is it possible to have a yogasm without knowing that one has had one?... Well, actually, I'm starting to think that this is a pretty dumb question: If one can't have a regular orgasm without knowing that one has had a regular orgasm (even if one does not know that that thing that one has just had is actually called an "orgasm"), how can one have a yogasm without knowing that one has had one? But I'll leave this question up here anyway, in case you have anything to say about it.

Well, I guess I'll leave you with these questions. If you have anything to say about them, I'll love to hear from you. Remember, if you don't feel comfortable revealing your identity, you can always comment anonymously: I don't have to know who you are.

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Meningitis is also a very bad and disturbing disease, mostly it is caused by the viruses or some type of bacteria's but some people may be caused by the certain medications and illnesses which are caused due to some other problems, there are two types of meningitis,

1. Viral meningitis
2. Bacterial meningitis
Bacterial meningitis is rare but it is life threatening if it is not treated well and on time. Whereas Viral meningitis is relatively common and far less serious it often remains undiagnosed because it is similar to the common flu.
If vaccinations are being given on time the meningitis can be treated successfully.

Causes of Meningitis:
1. They are linked with routine illnesses which is caused by any ordinary work.
2. Bacteria and viruses which spoils the skin and other systems of body.
3. It may cause head trauma or other types of local infections in a persons body.

Symptoms of Meningitis:
1. Fever.
2. Fatigue.
3. Headaches.
4. Stiff neck.
5. Illness.
6. Skin rashes.
7. Seizures.
8. Lethargy.
9. Irritability.
10. Eye sensitivity.
11. Photo-phobia.

Treatment of Meningitis:
1. One should see doctor if any of the symptoms found which are given above.
2. The patients should be kept is hospital in order to get proper treatment on time.
3. Intravenous (IV) antibiotics are really helpful in treating this disease.
4. Some diseases and conditions like sweating, fever and vomiting can play a vital role in reducing inflammation of the meninges which totally depends upon meningitis's level.

Hmm... I don't have anything earth-shattering to write about today (when was the last time I did, anyway? :-)). But I did have a very interesting dream last night. So maybe I'll take a cue here from Claudia's post about dream interpretation a couple of days ago, and relate my dream.

So here's the dream (in italics):

I am in Singapore (where I was actually born and grew up in). I am sitting with my fiancee in a McDonald's near a beach. I am eating a Sausage McMuffin and a hash brown, and she is just sitting there, watching me eat. As I am about to finish the last of the McMuffin, I suddenly think to myself, "Wow! I'm actually eating something from McDonald's, and I actually enjoy it! But wait! What am I doing eating this? Aren't I supposed to be vegetarian? And what am I even doing in a McDonald's? I haven't been to a McDonald's in years!"

At this point, my fiancee gets up to go to the bathroom. I finish my McMuffin and somehow fall asleep at the table. While sleeping, I dream that my fiancee has returned from the bathroom (yes, a dream within a dream!). In the dream-within-a-dream, she sits back down in front of me, and says to me, "You seem to be putting on weight." Upon hearing that, I give a start and start looking myself over. And yes, I do seem to be bigger, I think to myself. And then I wake up from the dream-within-a-dream, and find myself back within the original dream. In the original dream, my fiancee "really" returns from the bathroom. I tell her about the dream I just had. I can't remember her reaction, but I think she seems amused. 

And then I woke up (or maybe I simply have no recollection of the rest of the dream). There are a few things that I find interesting about the dream:


(1) Even though I found it strange in the dream that I was in a McDonald's eating a Sausage McMuffin, I did not recall ever finding it strange that I was in Singapore, a place I have not been back to in years. Still less did I find it strange that my fiancee was there too, since she has never been to Singapore in real life.

(2) I do have a certain fear of McDonald's, and of the fat-making potential of McDonald's food. When I lived in Singapore (and in my first couple of years here in the U.S.), I ate so much fast food, it was not even funny. I probably weighed about 30 or 40 pounds more than I do now. A whole bunch of things happened (long story) which eventually led me to give up fast food, give up meat, and adopt a more healthy lifestyle. So the dream mirrors certain things that are going on in my life. I'm not entirely sure what the dream is trying to tell me. But I hope that writing this dream out might be helpful in that regard.

(3) I find the dream-within-a-dream very interesting and intriguing. It's like the movie Inception. I do not know if there is any general significance associated with dreams-within-dreams. If you know something in this area, I'll be happy to hear it.

Well, I'm going to restrict myself to just relating my dream and commenting minimally on it for now. I think I need a bit of time to process this dream. If you have any suggestions on how to interpret this dream, please share. If you don't feel comfortable commenting, you are also welcome to email me.

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If you are a practicing Ashtangi, I send you my moon day greetings. If you aren't a practicing Ashtangi, well, I send you them anyway, since a new moon does not cease to be a new moon just because one doesn't practice Ashtanga. Being an Ashtangi does not a new moon make :-)

Wait, was that last sentence even coherent? I don't know, really; I don't have the time to analyze that now anyway. Perhaps the lower energy level brought about by the new moon has caused me to lose some analyzing power/energy. And perhaps this lower energy level is compounded by the lack of practice today...

Well, a little confession is in order here: Actually, I "cheated" this morning, and did a mini-practice consisting of a couple of hip openers, and three Surya As and three Surya Bs, just because I'm actually teaching my class this evening, and I just can't walk in and teach a class with my body all tight and stiff. Of course, if I were a little more evolved, this wouldn't matter. After all, the teacher is not supposed to do or demonstrate any postures while teaching; he/she is only supposed to use verbal instructions to guide the students through the class, ala Sharath and Guruji. But I always find myself having to demonstrate something at some point during the class; especially in a beginning class, where people may not know what's going on. But perhaps this is just an excuse on my part: I'm sure the best teachers are those who can get even an absolute beginner into whatever posture they need to get into by using only verbal instructions. Some years ago, I remember reading something by Maty Ezraty, in which she says that she never demonstrates anything in her classes, even if her students ask her to, because demonstrating postures puts one at greater risk of injury, no matter how warm one might be.

I have to keep this in mind. In the meantime, I will try my best not to do/demonstrate too much in my classes. Maybe someday I'll get to the point where I can just sit on a bar stool at the front of the class and give out perfectly intelligible instructions from there. In the meantime, well, I'll do my best with what verbal abilities I have.

Maybe I'll throw this out there as a question to all of you yoga teachers in the blogosphere: In your classes, do you demonstrate postures and/or practice along with your students? If so, how much of this do you do? What are your views on demonstrating and practicing along with your students? I'll love to hear what you have to say.

Wow, blogging is such a wonderful thing: I started this post intending only to rant about my low level of energy on new moon days: Look where I am now. I suddenly found new energy just by blogging and thinking through things as I blog ;-) More power to blogging!

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“Every person who has ever achieved anything has been knocked down many times. But all of them picked themselves up and kept going, and that is what I have always tried to do.”

Wangaari Maathai

'Dr. Maathai... conceived of her Green Belt Movement out of compassion and concern for the future of her children and her homeland of Kenya. She applauds the noble, ordinary women who participate in the movement as "foresters without diplomas." Their committed solidarity and steadfast efforts in their communities are not only preventing the desertification of Africa but also raising consciousness of environmental issues in the minds of people the world over. Their service to humanity and the Earth far exceeds that of any national leader. Lawmakers should take note of this fact, recognizing the wisdom, spirit and actions of the people with the respect they deserve. Unfortunately, however, the elite who lead the world's nations--the politicians, the bureaucrats, the academics--tend to look down on such popular movements.'

Buddhist leader and poet Daisaku Ikeda on Wangaari Maathai's life and work


I just learnt earlier today that Wangaari Maathai, the Kenyan environmentalist and scientist who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004, died Sunday from ovarian cancer. She was 71. Here's a description of her life and work, excerpted from the Green Belt Movement's website:

"In the 1970s Professor Maathai became active in a number of environmental and humanitarian organizations in Nairobi, including the National Council of Women of Kenya (NCWK). Through her work representing women academics in the NCWK, she spoke to rural women and learned from them about the deteriorating environmental and social conditions affecting poor, rural Kenyans—especially women. The women told her that they lacked firewood for cooking and heating, that clean water was scarce, and nutritious food was limited.

Professor Maathai suggested to them that planting trees might be an answer. The trees would provide wood for cooking, fodder for livestock, and material for fencing; they would protect watersheds and stabilize the soil, improving agriculture. This was the beginning of the Green Belt Movement (GBM), which was formally established in 1977. GBM has since mobilized hundreds of thousands of women and men to plant more than 47 million trees, restoring degraded environments and improving the quality of life for people in poverty.

As GBM’s work expanded, Professor Maathai realized that behind poverty and environmental destruction were deeper issues of disempowerment, bad governance, and a loss of the values that had enabled communities to sustain their land and livelihoods, and what was best in their cultures. The planting of trees became an entry-point for a larger social, economic, and environmental agenda.

In the 1980s and 1990s the Green Belt Movement joined with other pro-democracy advocates to press for an end to the abuses of the dictatorial regime of then Kenyan president Daniel arap Moi. Professor Maathai initiated campaigns that halted the construction of a skyscraper in Uhuru (“Freedom”) Park in downtown Nairobi, and stopped the grabbing of public land in Karura Forest, just north of the city center. She also helped lead a yearlong vigil with the mothers of political prisoners that resulted in freedom for 51 men held by the government.

As a consequence of these and other advocacy efforts, Professor Maathai and GBM staff and colleagues were repeatedly beaten, jailed, harassed, and publicly vilified by the Moi regime. Professor Maathai’s fearlessness and persistence resulted in her becoming one of the best-known and most respected women in Kenya. Internationally, she also gained recognition for her courageous stand for the rights of people and the environment."

Reading this description of Professor Maathai's life and work, I was really struck by her keen insight that poverty and environmental destruction are indicators of deep human problems such as "disempowerment, bad governance, and a loss of the values that had enabled communities to sustain their land and livelihoods, and what was best in their cultures". But rather than allow herself to be defeated by this observation, she came to the conclusion that if she could get people to work together to reverse the damage done to the environment, they could find a way to empower themselves, stand up to powerful and corrupt authorities, and build a sustainable livelihood for themselves and their families.

We have much to learn from her. Perhaps, in some way, our personal practices can also become "trees" of personal growth, allowing us to cultivate the strength and the insight to work together with others productively, empower ourselves and others, and stand up for what is right and good around us. 

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Today, I taught my first introductory Ashtanga workshop here in Fargo-Moorhead, at the first yoga festival in this area. It was a great success, at least as far as I was concerned.

Ten people attended the workshop. I started by giving a mini speech about what Ashtanga is about, including a couple of minutes dedicated to debunking the myth that Ashtanga is only for fit and flexible people. We then had some fun (well, at least I did) chanting the opening invocation: At first, people were a little self-conscious about mouthing something in Sanskrit whose meaning they do not know. But I encouraged them with a line from Kino: "Don't worry, be crappy!" It worked, and everybody went along with doing the opening chant as best they could. (Thanks, Kino!) I think doing the opening chant really got the class off to a powerful yet meditative rhythm: Following the opening chant, we did the Suryas and the entire standing sequence, and then the first two postures of primary. I ended the class with a modified finishing sequence, and a shortened version of the closing invocation (only chanting "Lokaha Samasthaha Sukhino Bhavanthu").

But to me, the greatest part of the class was being able to give everybody who came a copy of Claudia's book, 21 Things to Know Before Starting an Ashtanga Yoga Practice. As most of you already know, this is a really wonderful book in which Claudia does a really great job of explaining the many aspects of this practice, in a way that is totally accessible to a complete beginner. 

But in order for me to really convey the significance of this, I need to relate a little back-story here. About a month ago, when I learnt that I have been scheduled to teach at this festival, I came up with the idea of inviting Claudia out here to Fargo-Moorhead to promote her book and speak about the Ashtanga practice in general. I broached this idea to the festival organizers, and they were really excited about this, and were very eager to have Claudia here to speak at the festival. I was also very excited, not least because it was Claudia who originally turned me on to blogging: After I moved to Fargo-Moorhead last year, I felt quite alone in my Ashtanga practice, as there is no Ashtanga shala here. This, along with my SI joint injury, caused me to turn to the internet for support and community. After a couple of google searches, one of the first things I stumbled upon was Claudia's blog. I soon found myself reading and commenting on many of her posts. Eventually, I decided: Since I have so much to say about the practice, why not start my own blog? And so I did: I started this blog last October. And before I knew it, I was posting something almost everyday.

So I was really excited about being able to finally meet in person the person who introduced me to the blogosphere. However, as most of you already know, Claudia came down with Lyme disease, and had to cancel her trip here at the last minute. Needless to say, I was quite bummed out (as was she), but I think this is for the best: Lyme disease is not something to mess with, and one needs all the rest and medical attention one can get if one is to effectively work with and eventually recover from this condition. Despite this, however, I really feel that Claudia did much to contribute to the success of our yoga festival here. She very generously sent over 60 copies of her book to the festival, and I could tell that everybody who received a copy today was really excited (I mean, when was the last time you got a book about yoga for free just for attending a class?); I can really sense that some lives are seriously being changed as a result of coming into contact with this book... 

Now this is probably pretty obvious to you by now, but I'm going to say this anyway: I owe much to Claudia. If I had not stumbled upon her blog, my practice (and probably my life in general) would have been a much more lonely path. And I would have just been content with doing my own practice in my own little practice room: It probably would not have occurred to me to summon the courage/thickness of skin to try to teach Ashtanga, as unqualified as I am (actually, it still remains to be seen whether this yoga teaching charlatan's re-emergence into the yoga teaching world is a good thing or a bad thing; but we'll leave this for another post :-)). 

And of course, if I hadn't stumbled upon her blog, you wouldn't even be reading this now. Not that this matters, necessarily: I'm sure you would have found better things to do with your time anyway than to waste a perfectly beautiful fall afternoon reading the rantings of a Chinese Ashtangi living in the upper-midwest :-) 

But I see that I'm starting to go off on one of my totally useless digressions. So I'll sign off here. Once again, thank you for everything, Claudia. Please get well soon. I'm praying that you will soon find the appropriate healing modality that works best for you, and kick this Lyme thing seriously in the ass.

Lokaha Samasthaha Sukhino Bhavanthu.

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Did full primary this morning. Having made the switch (i.e. split) to doing second only and doing primary just once a week for a few weeks now, I now notice some interesting things about primary:

(1) Primary is actually more challenging on the muscular-skeletal level. Well, actually, second is also very challenging on the muscular-skeletal level: All those backbends in second definitely work the muscles of the front-body and the ribcage, and Karandavasana... well, need I say more? :-) But I guess what I'm trying to say is that primary works the gross muscular-skeletal structure more exclusively, especially with all those vinyasas. And I sweat way more in primary than in second. Which might also mean that primary is more challenging on the cardio-vascular level. But the interesting thing is that even though I sweat more in primary and feel my gross muscular-skeletal structure being worked more, I am actually able to maintain a fairly even breath throughout all of primary. Whereas I am always super-winded when I exit Karandavasana in second. So it is possible for something to work your cardio-vascular system less (at least if measured solely in terms of amount of perspiration) and yet demand more on the level of the breath. Interesting, don't you think?

(2) Having done second only for the rest of the week, I have forgotten how much harder it is to go into finishing backbends from primary than from second. In second, one's back is always more or less opened from having done Kapotasana, even if Karandavasana tends to have a shoulder-tightening effect. So the finishing backbends are quite accessible.

The same cannot be said about going into the finishing backbends from primary. Even though I went into the finishing backbends the Kino way today (i.e. do one Setu Bandhasana (Bridge Posture), then one set of three Urdhva Dhanurasanas, then another set of three UDs. During the third UD of the second set, try to walk the hands towards the heels and catch them. And then try to stand up from there.), my shoulders (or mid-back, I'm not entirely sure) still felt very tight. During the third UD of the second set, I walked my hands towards my heels, but my shoulders were so tight that my elbows collapsed to the mat before my hands could touch my heels, and I had to lie back down. I had to do a third set of three UDs. And it was only on the third UD of this third set that I finally managed to touch my hands to my heels and stand up. There is a silver lining to this "cloud", though: As a result of all this hard work, my quads were worked really good.

(3) At the end of practice, I looked at the time. Despite my backbend drama, I still managed to finish the whole thing in less than an hour and a half. It's nice to know that switching to second only has not diminished my stamina in primary :-)    

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“I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature. My own individual, stubborn, uncooperative often self-centered nature that still doubts itself--that, when troubles occur, tries to find something funny, or something nearly funny, about the situation. I've carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I'm not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I've carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry. Still, I guess I have grown attached to it. As you might expect.”

Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Haruki Murakami is one of my favorite writers. I don't quite know how to characterize his writing. All of his novels and short stories feature ordinary people who start out facing seemingly ordinary everyday issues (cat getting lost, a teenage boy running away from home, etc.); issues which quickly metamorphosize into bizarre, surreal situations in which the everyday gets inextricably mixed up with the other-worldly, in which the protaganists (and the reader) are forced to question the very meaning of their everyday existences.

I often feel that Murakami's writing is yogic without the woo; through his writing, he induces the same kind of subtly powerful soul-searching and reflection that yoga practice often brings up. However, he does not pull any punches in doing so. He does not pretend that the universe is anything more than an indifferent spectator of the foibles and flaws of the human condition. Yet through it all, there is a certain compassionate tone that underlies his writing, making what might otherwise be unbearable seem bearable, even funny. My favorite novels by him are The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and Kafka on the Shore. I highly recommend them.

Murakami's work brings up one question for me: Is the universe indifferent to human suffering? What is the yogic perspective on this question? I suspect that many newcomers to yoga are attracted to yoga because yoga, at least as it is presented in the west, often gives one the impression that there is a universe that is inherently compassionate, nurturing and caring; all you have to do is to evoke the appropriate mantras, and maybe light the appropriate kind of incense, turn on the appropriate kind of soft lighting and soothing music in yoga class, and that all-pervading feel-good feeling will wash off onto you and follow you everywhere when you step off the mat and into the world.

Ashtanga practice, of course, is nothing like that. There is no music, and (usually) no incense. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing and those of others (if you practice in a mysore room), accompanied by the incessant chattering of your own chitta vrtti, which tends to get louder and more persistent when you approach postures that you find challenging. All you can smell (if anything) is the smell of your own sweat and that of others (again, if you practice in a mysore room). And there is no teacher to lead the class and tell you that everything is all good and will be okay. You have to listen to your own breath and body, and judge for yourself if anything is not so good or not so okay, and then decide how to respond.

With all of this responsibility placed squarely onto the practitioner, one sometimes wonders where the universe stands in all of this. This is especially so when one is facing difficulties in the practice (injuries or illness, major life changes which bring up strong emotions, etc.). Amid the frustration and sweat and tears, looking up at the clouds (or, in this case, looking up at the ceiling of the practice room) for a glimpse of kindness, one seems to see only one's own frustration reflected back onto oneself. And the only things one can do is to either get off the mat and call it a day, or continue to stare inside of oneself, see all the ugliness that is there in all its full glory, accept it for what it is, and try to work with it as best as one can. In such moments, one cannot help (at least, I cannot help) but wonder: What is the universe doing? Is it just standing around somewhere, spectating with benign indifference at my clumsy attempts to come to terms with myself? If the universe is kind or compassionate, where is this kindness or compassion?

And these moments where one senses the universe's seeming indifference do not end when one gets off the mat. One feels them in everyday life too; in particularly, one feels them especially acutely in those moments where one feels that despite one's best efforts, things seem to be going in the reverse direction: It's as if one's inner computer is offline and disconnected from the rest of the universe, which seems to continue to hum merrily along while one vainly spins one's wheels in the ditch of futility.

Fortunately, most of the time, for most of us, the universe seems to be operating in a state of at least tolerable connectedness to us. It might still be indifferent, for all we know; and we know that there are always problems and issues lurking in the background. But we get by. Seen in this light, perhaps the Ashtanga practice is really a sort of magnifying glass. When one is on the mat, one deliberately places oneself in a situation where one has more opportunities than usual to get offline with the universe; these opportunities most often present themselves in the form of injuries, illness or even challenging postures. The challenge here is whether one can maintain a certain level of composure and equanimity in the face of such "offlineness" and disconnectedness. Will I face these "offline" and disconnected feelings, learn to be with them, or will I simply stand up, get off the mat, and [insert your favorite "comfort activity"]?

Well, there are no easy answers. But on a very, very different note, here's some other news: I will be in Portland, Oregon on the weekend of November 4th to 6th. I will be presenting a philosophy paper on procrastination at a philosophy conference at Lewis and Clark College. There aren't too many jobs in which you can get paid for thinking, writing and speaking about procrastination :-) It's things like this that make me feel that academia is a nice place to be in, despite whatever other issues there might be with it (I'm not going there...). Well, maybe the universe isn't so indifferent to me, after all :-) Anyway, I expect that my schedule will be really packed during the day. But I'm hoping to be able to go to at least one early-morning Ashtanga class while I'm there. So I'm going to start looking online for Ashtanga studios in the area. If any of you out there live in Portland or the surrounding area, and would like to hang out with me/practice with me/tell me about interesting places to practice Ashtanga/tell me about interesting places to eat at/whatever, please get in touch with me. I'll love to hear from you.            

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To see what I mean, first check out this video:

Lately I've been wondering: What really is the point of doing this Ashtanga thing? You know, you get up at stupid o'clock, maybe drug yourself with some coffee (or your personal stimulant of choice, whatever that may be), and then drag your barely conscious body/mind to the mat, put yourself through some funny actions called Surya Namaskars (most of the time, you are namaskaring to a sun that hasn't even risen :-)), and then twist, stretch and bend your body into interesting shapes while most of the rest of the world remains blissfully asleep and ignorant of your labors. If one is lucky, one gets to do this every morning for 20, 30 or even 40 years (excluding moon days and rest days). Then, sooner or later, age catches up, and you will either have to greatly modify, scale back or even abandon the asana practice altogether.

So all this doing, just to have to give everything up in the end? Of course, the official party line tells us that this is kind of the whole point of yoga anyway: There is really no point, when it comes down to it. At least not in any tangible sense. Things come, things go. One can accept it, work with it, and be happy and find peace. Or one can resist it, and create unnecessary suffering for oneself and others.

Fair enough. But what if things are actually not what they seem? What if, unbeknownst to us, there really is a tangible point to all this asana practice? What if this Ashtanga practice is really a process that secretly turns us into... ninjas? As I observed in my previous post on bandhas, there are many similarities between uddiyana bandha and accessing the hara in martial arts. And, as you can see in the video above, being able to activate uddiyana bandha translates into a very useful skill in the ninja world: Perhaps this skill comes in handy when a ninja needs to, you know, infiltrate a house whose floor is planted with sharp iron stakes or nails or something.

What if, unbeknownst to all of us, what we know as the Ashtanga organization (i.e. KPJAYI) is actually a front for training ninjas, and the entire six series of the Ashtanga system is actually a training system that enables the practitioner to progressively develop the relevant ninja powers, while also progressively screening out those candidates/practitioners who don't have what it takes to become ninjas? Well, you know, if you don't make it as a ninja (i.e. if you don't progress beyond, say, third series in this lifetime), then the Ashtanga practice is just a mind/body meditative practice for you. But if you make it to fourth series or beyond, then you secretly get inducted into a secret society of ninjas:


Hmm... could getting certified really mean getting certified as a ninja? Hmm... could Kino actually be a ninja?

But what do I know? These are just the idle musings of an overstimulated brain. Besides, I seriously doubt if I will make it past third series in this lifetime. So I really have no way of knowing, one way or the other.

Well, actually, now I'm getting a little worried: Have I said too much? I hope I don't get ninja-ed tonight...

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