It would be disingenuous of me, as both a practitioner and teacher, to sit on a pedestal and proclaim capital T truth, as though I still don't occasionally fall to my knees in tears, praying for clarity and insight, kindness and release -- loving compassion even in the face of really hard choices and challenges. I do not believe that as yogis, it is our job to hold ourselves above our students, proclaiming Truth, Love, Wisdom and Beauty, without having also dredged up the darker aspects of ourselves, and come out on the other side; we are works in progress.
I try to latch onto universal themes in my work -- speaking to the broader ideas that bind us together in the human experience. In showing up with this willingness to be vulnerable and offer up whatever small insight I may have, I gain SO much from my students, who share their experiences and breakthroughs with me in turn. A true teacher is a student -- tasmai shri.
The thing is, 'fear' is still something many of us seem to contend with (or at least I do), in one form or another. Fear of: failing, succeeding, falling, work, love, loss, pain, hardship...we work so hard on (and off) the mat to dispel these things, to hold them at bay. On the other hand, we often struggle with abundance, in a converse way: acceptance of what is, of the affirmations around us. I am continually amazed at small interactions that happen daily in my life -- a conversation about a journey; a small gift of appreciation; a hug from someone who I may have helped; the way I feel when I close my eyes and drum. All reassurance that my own 'what if's' are being answered. Sometimes grace is obvious, sometimes it is subtler, like a song that makes me cry, or the way a room full of students just breathes all at once, in release. Being moved by nuance.
In buddhism, pain is part of living; suffering a choice. so the goal then, is not to hold these things at bay after all, but to live in and through them. How to accept and choose to NOT suffer as a consequence of some of these fears, is the million dollar question.
I ask myself if this is what or where I'm meant to be. Applying for that oh-so-elusive McJob last week is SO not where I WANT to be, but keeping food on the table is an important consideration for a single mom just trying to provide. So I try to create space around this idea of 'abundance', letting it come, but fear creeps in occasionally, in the form of 'how will I pay that traffic ticket?', or 'will I ever be able to afford that tiny fixer upper?', or even 'what's for dinner?'. Every time i show up to teach, i am reminded that THAT is where I'm meant to be, despite not living a rockstar's life or even the roadie-of-a-rockstar's life, or even the gardner-of-a-roadie-of-a-rockstar's life. You get the idea. Fluctuating between gratitude that at least I found this thing -- this purpose -- and worry that it's not going to sustain us.
So then the question becomes 'How long can I hold out?' In a world of young(er) hipsters leaving for india, thailand, retreats, immersions and other things I cannot presently afford, when i'm merely trying to sustain myself, my kids, and this road I've chosen to tow. 'We are exactly where we are meant to be', frankly pisses me off at times. I thought I'd be more 'comfortable' by now, not in a complacent or entitled kind of way, but in a 'I've earned it' kind of way. And so I keep going, because that's all I know, and for the first time in my life, my work isn't 'work'; it's a gift. It gives to me, and I give to it. Owning my own studio? Teaching larger events? Gaining wider recognition? Sure, that would be great. But then I always come back to what it is that brought me here: my love of connecting with people where they are.
