Category: Blog

(Blog for Yogavivo om yogaens egentlig ikke ret indviklede veje).

Yoga er fuld af mærkelige modsætninger. For eksempel: Det ene øjeblik står man krøllet sammen og sveder i en eller anden underlig stilling, som føles, som den vildeste udfordring, og overvejer om man nogensinde bliver god til det her. Det næste øjeblik får man at vide, at det hele handler om at ”give slip”, droppe ambitionerne og bare ”være med det der er”. Og så siger de at yoga betyder ”enhed” eller ”forening”. Yeah right!

Hvordan går man yogavejen når den tilsyneladende stritter i alle retninger?

Måske skyldes vores navigationsvanskeligheder, at yogatraditionen i virkeligheden blev opfundet af personlighedsspaltede guru-typer, der spiste alt for mange svampe? Det er absolut en mulighed. En anden mulighed er, at yogatraditionen ikke er et filosofisk ståsted, men snarere en bevægelse der altid går på to ”ben”: Med det ene ben går vi efter guldmedaljen, med det andet ben giver vi op.

Gå efter guldmedaljen

Lad os tage den med guldmedaljen først. Hvad fik dig til yoga for første gang? De fleste af os sætter vores ben på en yogamåtte fordi vi længes efter et eller andet ”mere”.Vi vil have vores praksis til at give os noget eller gøre noget. Denne side af yoga ligger lige til højrebenet hos os vesterlændinge. I skolen, på arbejdspladsen og i selvhjælpsbøgerne lærer vi at vi skal sætte os ambitiøse mål, kæmpe for vores drøm, blive en bedre version af os selv, at være helten i vores egen fortælling, gå passioneret efter guldet. I yoga kan ”guldmedaljen” tage mange former. For nogen af os er det noget fysisk: En blød sansefornemmelse i kroppen, afspænding, styrke, smidighed, energi, helse, bedre nattesøvn, en stilling vi gerne vil mestre, et friere og roligere åndedræt. For andre er det mere noget psykologisk eller filosofisk: Mening i tilværelsen, ro i sindet, fred på jord, mindre lidelse, autenticitet, frihed, kærlighed, intimitet. Hvis man er helt oppe på den store spirituelle klinge kan det være man dyrker yoga for at nå en tilstand af spirituel oplysning. (Ja, og så er der os, der primært kommer til yoga for at få en 10 minutters ”morfar” i afspænding efter en lang arbejdsdag.) Uanset hvad det er, du går efter, så står du på yogatraditionens guldmedaljeben, når du på en eller anden måde gerne vil have at du selv og verden omkring dig får noget ud af din praksis. Det er en integreret del af vores menneskelighed at søge og stræbe efter fuld udfoldelse. Det er det, der driver os hen på yogamåtten for første gang og det er også det der får os til at blive hængende på den og brænde passioneret igennem når det bliver udfordrende.

… Og giv op

Og så er der det andet ben. Det med at give op. Det kan måske lyde lidt mærkeligt. Hvad er det fede ved at give op? Vi yogalærere pakker det ofte ind i mere spiselige vendinger, såsom overgivelse, hengivelse eller at give slip. Men implikationen er, at kunne give op. De fleste mennesker oplever på et eller andet tidspunkt i livet hvordan, det at slippe et fast holdepunkt, en drøm eller et projekt netop har været begyndelsen på noget helt nyt og skønnere, som man på ingen måde kunne have forestillet sig mens man holdt fast i det gamle. Det her lærer vi ikke ret meget om i skolen, på arbejdspladsen eller i selvhjælpsbøgerne. Kan du komme i tanke om et menneske der bevidst har lært dig hvordan du bliver god til at give op? Nej vel? Det virker bare ikke sexet. Ikke desto mindre vil jeg gætte på, at det her andet ben – det med at give op, give slip eller overgive sig – i endnu højere grad, er det der får os til at søge yoga. Der er noget i os, der længes så dybt efter at droppe al stræben og give sig hen til livet og nuet. At vide med sikkerhed, at vi er født hele, at vi er ok præcis som vi er. Hvis man kigger på ideen om ”oplysing” så referer den netop til en proces, hvor mennesket giver fuldstændig slip på ideen om, at der overhovedet er en guldmedalje, en gulerod eller noget at ”opnå” i livet. Oplysning er at kigge sig i spejlet en morgen og fatte, helt ind til benet, at du ikke bliver bedre end du er lige nu. En af mine venner (komponisten og zen munken Troy Lennerd) siger det så rammende: ”Folk stræber efter oplysning, som var de olympiske svømmere, der kæmpede om guldmedaljen, men alle dem der faktisk har vundet den olympiade vil kunne fortælle dig, at ”oplysning” i virkeligheden føles mere som at drukne”.

Yoga som gangart

Ok så. Der står man i kriger II og sveder med et ben i hver lejer. Kommer vi overhovedet nogen vegne på den måde kunne man spørge? De to ben i yogaens fundament lader til at være plantet i hver sin galakse! Skal jeg holde fast og kæmpe? Skal jeg give slip og opgive? Og hvem var det lige der kom på den sindssyge ide at gøre begge dele samtidig?

Der er mange bud på hvordan man går yogavejen. Nogen vil hævde at det ene ben er rigtigt og det andet ben er forkert. At vi holder op med at være forvirrede hvis vi vælger det rette ståsted for vores praksis. Jeg tror snarere forvirring skyldes, at vi er opdraget til at tænke I ”enten/eller”.

Yoga tilbyder en anden grundtanke: Enhed.

De to ben i yoga duer ikke til ret meget hvis vi ser bruger dem som adskilte, filosofiske ståsteder. De er snarere en slags gangart. Din praksis er en ubrudt bevægelse der med tiden former netop din yogavej. Nogen gange griber du fat, og nogen gange giver du give slip. Nogen gange giver du alt, hvad vi har i dig, andre gange giver du op. Yoga er (måske) bare det, at være i konstant bevægelse. Lidelse opstår typisk når vores gangart gror fast på det ene ben, når vi føler os fastlåst eller humper i rundt cirkler. Men at gro fast for en tid, er også yogavejen. Du kan ganske enkelt ikke træde ved siden af. Yogavejen har intet autoværn, dit næste skridt ER vejen. Uanset hvilket ben du står på, hvor længe du står der, og hvordan det føles, er du stadig på vej. Den anden fod venter tålmodigt på næste skridt. Efter højre kommer venstre, efter indånding kommer udånding.

Men altså. Man behøver ikke være superguru for at regne ud, at det er noget mere praktisk at gå på to ben end det er, at hinke hele vejen hjem.

“The difference between an enlightened being and one who is not enlightened is that the one who is not enlightened thinks there is a Difference” (Some great zen master)

Before we put 2015´s endless stream of bad news behind us and start fresh, allow me to share something that happened last year which wasn’t all bad.

When planning a yoga retreat in Lesvos this summer several people advised me to cancel. The reasons were obvious. The village next to our retreat (Molyvos) is close to the border of Turkey and therefore among the first points of contact for the refugees crisis in Europe this summer. As the drama unfolded over the next couple of months, the media image of Lesvos changed from the wellness sweet spot I used to depict in yoga marketing to full-scale humanitarian crisis. Going through with a retreat there seemed like an insane thing to do. I mean it was perfectly safe there, nothing like that. But the bad press, the financial risk if nobody comes, the moral dissonance of it all…lots of red flags.

The decision to cancel was a no brainer.

The only problem was: I found myself unable to make that decision. Instead the decision came to do it as a donation project.

Where did that decision come from? We can´t know, really. But if i´m honest, it´s likely that some desire to to be a spiritual hero and feel better about myself was involved. My entry into yoga went through a teenage devotion to Buddhism where i acquired a a deep fascination with the Bodhisattva figure. Bodhisattvas are people who put the liberation of all sentient beings before their own. Rather than going straight to the state of liberation (nirvana) they commit to linger in in this world (samsara). Imagine filling a bottomless well of tears with the snow of loving kindness, one teaspoon at a time. For eons! That´s the Bodhisattva way. To dispel the miseries of the world, lifetime after lifetime until everybody is free. My favorite Bodhisattva was called Avalokitesvara, a being who was said to have been awakened by the cries of the world. The pain of other living beings was what caused “awakening “. At the age of 19 i thought that was über cool stuff ! I imagined awakening as something extrordinary and admirable. Thus, tere are good historical reasons why i have a preference for spiritual heroism (or its more modest cousin; moral commitment).

But honestly I felt nothing like a spiritual hero in 2015. Most of that year, i just opened the paper and cried like a baby. I cried when I heard about the Earthquake in Nepal, I cried over the Copenhagen assassinations, I cried over Danish politics going insane, I cried over lifeless babies on beaches, I cried over bombings in Beirut, the Paris terrorist attacks, climate change. I cried over loved ones that had died from cancer.

Worse still, I was fully aware that my crying did absolutely nothing for the world! (I actually managed to cry over that too if you can believe it!) Twenty years of spiritual practice and this was all I could come up with. A crybaby. If felt like a far cry from the Bodhisattvas I had been idolizing as a teenager.

Luckily I was in for some serious teaching in 2015. That year made it painfully clear to me that yoga is more than waiting for spiritual heroes (or waiting to become one). Opening the TV news continued to give me that throbbing pressure of anger in the throat, the abdominal wrench of guilt, that acid ache before the first tears, that sharp twitch of fear. No relief, just that shitty feeling. And as each sensation was a non-negotiable invitation to experience things as they were. Not as i expected them to be, not as i feared them to be, not as i hoped them to be.

But it felt more uncomfortable to sit in front of the TV screen and watch millions of people having their life destroyed than to go to Lesvos and try to help a a few to have a slightly less fucked up day. Notice the word uncomfortable there. That, i think is one big motor of action for human beings. It just felt bad to experience that roaring river of strong emotions stagnate in the shallow delta of hypnotic passivity.

I tried to make the feeling go away. I turned off the Facebook-drama-queen-machine. Didn’t work. I tried to meditate (BTW never try to meditate, just sit). Well, it didn’t work either. I went into heated political debates. That made it worse! I told myself spiritual bedtime stories to feel better about the state of things. Didn’t work at all.

I still cry like a baby most days when I open the newspaper.

If I have to be honest I can best describe the decision to do that Lesvos retreat as a completely ordinary human reflex: A more or less unconscious move away from discomfort and towards comfort. It just felt bad to cancel so I found a way to go through with it that I could live with.

As it was, I was not the only one in discomfort. Despite my own and everyone else´s pessimistic expectations, yogis from different parts of Europe started signing up for the retreat. Some brought suitcases full blankets and sleeping bags for donation, some brought more cash from home, some gave their afternoons on the retreat to help out in local care initiatives. Apart from delivering the revenue from the teaching job to a local group working in the area, I did little to organize any of this. It happened spontaneously in response to the situation.

Acting on discomfort was not confined to yogic circles either. In Lesvos we met local business owners, families, and ordinary tourists who had spontaneously dropped whatever they were doing to help those in need. Some formed foundations, some canceled their flight home and stayed to help on the beaches, some passersby delivered a single day’s work, some organized collections of clothing and money from their home countries. Most of the people I met or heard of had no prior experience with humanitarian work and no idea what amazing things they were capable of before the disaster reached their backyard. In global perspective, their work were perhaps nothing more than a teaspoon of snow in an ocean of tears, but that recognition didn’t seem to block action.

If anything will remain engraved into my memory from 2015 it is that unflinching response of ordinary people exposed to the suffering of thousands at their doorstep. Last summer in Molyvos, no organizations, government, military or spiritual heroes showed up to save the day. There was just ordinary people responding directly to other ordinary people in need. No hesitation, no questions asked.

When fully exposed to the cries of the world, the next step is a no brainer.

It is my belief that the amazing people I met in Greece did what they did because they were just that: Fully exposed. They chose to do what they did not because they were spiritual people or because they possessed some special heroic nature. They simply woke up in that uncomfortable place on that morning. They simply could not do anything other than respond to the situation exactly as they did. For most of us, this exposure was not available at that time. Action was not allowed to express itself in that particular way. It was not our doorstep (Not yet at least) so we did´n’t feel the impact in the same way they did. For example. I went home again after a week. And cried some more. No shame in that.

Its 2016 now. I´m planning the next lesvos retreat in May. Some people say i should have cancelled. I have no idea how it will go. I also have no idea what is meant by words like Bodhisattva or awakening. I am more clueless than ever when it comes to walking “the spiritual path”. After seeing those people in Lesvos I am beginning to suspect I already met a thousand Bodhisattvas in this lifetime but that I am too busy waiting for a hero in full lotus to actually notice. Apparently still not quite willing to expose myself to what is actually happening.

I can´t know for sure. But i suspect the story of Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara being awakened by the cries of the world is nothing other than a story of you and me being fully exposed to the TV news, to other people, to internal sensation. Or to the one in the mirror.

We all wake up every day.

There are times where our life just flows and we take the corners as if we are on rails. No friction or bumps in the road. And there are times where we get out of a bed with a heavy heart and drag our feet through the day. I think it’s safe to say that 99,9% of us find our first yoga class in response to the latter type of day rather than the former. We come to yoga because we want to feel better. Or because we want something more. And it works. Yoga can help us take our “low” into a “high” so to speak. To lead a life with less friction. That desire propels us forward in the practice. Its cool.

And maybe one day we begin to suspect that there is More than wanting more.

New spaces opening in our practice, the “More” with a capital M, is quite often preceded by an experience of friction returning with a vengeance. Deeply rooted patterns repeating themselves enlessly despite everything we learned, irreparable bumps in the road, problems too big for us to soldier through.

In our practice, we often respond to this new situation with a feeling of disenchantment or even disappointment. Maybe you find yourself in your favorite class with your favorite teacher but you are just not feeling it. Maybe your steady self-practice that used to regulate and keep you strong just falls apart. Maybe you are just too busy, too sad, too tired, too bored, too distracted, too angry, too in love (too whatever!) to practice. Maybe yoga just doesn´t do it for you anymore.

The first couple of times this happens to us, we jump straight to fixing the problem. We get our ass in line and boot camp ourselves back to bliss. We seek out new styles of yoga, new teachers, new techniques until we get the magic back. We read books on how to get our spiritual, shit together. It works for a while. But there is More.  If we keep going, one day we may just wake up and find that nothing works. No way around the friction.

This is a threshold.

Being with the friction and adversaries of life is a golden opportunity to encounter the “More” of your practice. The unexpected, that which you didn’t order on the welness-menu, that which you couldnt possibly have imagined. Bumpy journeys are a chance to commit and go deeper in our relationship with yoga.
We are all painfully aware that nobody surfs through an entire human life touching only the white foam on the top of every wave. Surfing implies going under, getting up, waiting, flying, failing forward. Life is valley and peak, a steady and unruly stream of creative impermanence, impredictability. But even if we know this, it takes a lifetime of practice to fully appreciate it.

So when yoga no longer works as a romantic affair taking you from low to high, get ready for for the big wave of More. For being intimate with the life you are actually living – for better and for worse. Our failure to fix it, our inability to save the day, our “same old shit” haunting us through life is perhaps nothing but an invitation to fully appreciate this life.

Perhaps, the friction of our life is not only an invitation to get our shit together. The experience of friction could also be an invitation to fall apart. To let go of the modern imperative of constantly having to improve, develop, upgrade and win. To become intimate with who and what you are.

It´s quite simple really: A life with less friction just has friction. But can we fully appreciate that fact, are we ready to life our life not missing a heartbeat?

At some point we may become ready for More. To let go of fighting the lows and clinging to the highs. And perhaps then we can surrender to the totality of life. Bumps and all.

Perhaps.

Er yoga selvcentreret? Er det selvoptaget at meditere? En kær veninde skrev for nylig at hendes venner oplever det som selvcentreret at dyrke yoga og meditere. Og på en workshop med Genpo Roshi tidligere på måneden kom spørgsmålet op igen: Hvordan kan vi sidde her og meditere når folk ligger og dør i gummibåde to timers flyvning herfra?

Det er så her jeg typisk kaster mig ud i en brandtale om at yoga er der hvor jeg lærer at handle på det jeg mærker i stedet for bare at slukke for fjernsynet og gå i seng når nyhederne er for nedtur (den brandtale kommer længer nede, bare rolig). Men Genpo tog den lige et spadestik dybere og det fik mig til at tænke.

JA, sagde han. Ja, det er egentlig super selvcentreret at bruge årtier på at meditere og studere selvet. Vi mennesker er i det hele taget enormt selvoptagede. Kig dig lige omkring på dem der IKKE bruger årtier på at meditation og selvrefleksion. Er ”de” så meget mindre selvcentrerede end ”os” der er steget på det spirituelle tog? Kig på planetens tilstand, på den globale ressourcefordeling, hvad siger den om vores selvcentrerethed? Er der nogen af os mennesker der IKKE er selvcentrerede? Selv Moder Theresa fik garanteret et lille kick ud af at hjælpe andre.

Vi kan da sagtens tørre skyldfølelsen over vores nordeuropæiske privilegier af på de ganske få mennesker der har det lidt bedre end os. Vi kan komme af med vores koloniale tømmermænd ved at pege fingre af dem der virker en lille smule mere selvoptagede end os. Vi kan sagtens blive enige om at selvoptagetheden kun findes hos “de andre” og i hvert fald ikke er i os selv.

Vi kan pege fingre af dem der dyrker yoga, af dem der mediterer, af dem der har store biler, af dem der ejer multinationale selskaber. Vi kan pege fingre af alle som IKKE sidder i en gummibåd med deres familie lige nu. Men jeg tror ikke den holder i længden.

Inspireret af Genpo kan vi måske gøre noget andet og tage selvoptagetheden på os. Yes, jeg er egocentreret. Yes! Jeg er så selvoptaget at eg har valgt at blive boende her med mine privilegier. At jeg tager mig råd til at gå til workshop med en zenmunk, tager mig tid til at praktisere yoga. Yes, hovedet på blokken, jeg er så selvcentreret at jeg fortsætter med at leve her og på denne måde i stedet for at rejse til den anden side af jorden og tage mig af mennesker der har det være end mig.

Hands in the air people! Lad os tage vores selvcentrerethed på os og komme videre. Mine 50 kroner om måneden til røde kors, min buddhistiske loving kindness praksis, min dedikation til at undervise i yoga er ikke nok til at købe mig en billet til selvfedmens 7. himmel hvor det kun er de andre den er gal med.

Når vi dropper forsvaret og tager ansvaret på os så behøver vi i det mindste ikke rende rundt og projicere selvoptagetheden ud på andre mennesker. Mennesker vi så kan såre lidt mere med vores bedrevidende beskyldninger. Vi behøver ikke tale nedsættende om folk der tager på meditationsretreats i stedet for at åbne et suppekøkkenfor hjemløse, folk der køber designertøj i stedet for at sende pengene til røde kors, folk der passer deres corporate karriere i stedet for at bygge nye huse i Katmandu dalen, folk der hver eneste dag indånder ilt og udånder CO2 og dermed er med til at sikre endnu en dags katastrofe på planeten. Vi er ikke adskilt fra de folk.

Vi ER de folk.

Det er os selv vi peger fingre af når vi udpeger en gruppe af mennesker som selvcentrerede. Vi peger fingre af de andre fordi vi ikke kan holde ud at se indad og erkende at vi er mindst lige så håbløse som resten af jordens befolkning. Og sådan går vi igennem livet med vores pegefingre.

Mennesker er det eneste dyr der har selvbevidsthed. De eneste dyr der kan være selvcentrerede. Men vi er også det eneste dyr der har evnen til at vågne op til noget større end det. Der findes ikke andre dyr på planeten der kan tænke selvreflekteret ud af selv-boksen eller “droppe selvet” som det så fint hedder. Potentialet ligger der hos os, derfor ligger der også et ansvar hos os mennesker tænker jeg. Vi kan starte med at tage det ansvar på os i stedet for at tørre den af på sidemanden. At stå ved os selv som vi er – ikke den moralske elite vi gerne ville være men bare helt almindelige, selvoptagede mennesker. Vi dyrker hverken yoga fordi vi gerne vil redde verden eller fordi vi gerne vil redde os selv. De to ting kan ikke eksistere adskilt fra hinanden.

For mig er yoga nemlig OGSÅ en af de få aktiviteter der tilbyder mig muligheden for at opleve verden fra et andet sted end min egen navle. Yoga er det der får mig til at vågne op en hver dag. Det der gør at jeg kan mærke hjertet briste når jeg åbner for nyhederne og lytter efter i stedet for at zappe videre til aftenens film. Og der er andre aktiviteter der gør det samme for øvrigt. At arbejde længere tid i naturen, at tage sig af et dyr eller et spædbarn eller en ældre eller en syg f.eks. Og det er ganske rigtigt at yoga starter med at man kigger indad. Men da kun fordi man ret hurtigt opdage at grænsen mellem indenfor og udenfor er ønsketænkning. At ”deres” shit også er ”mit” shit. Studiet af selvet er paradoksalt nok det der giver en afstand til selvet. Når man har kigget “indad” et stykke tid forekommer det at der er enormt meget derinde og at det ligner det der før var udenfor. At selvet bliver til en lille bitte prik i et stort univers, en hat vi kan tage på. Og derfor måske alligevel ikke verdens navle. Selvet er måske ikke den eneste optik jeg kan opleve verden igennem. Og derfor måske ikke så mega vigtigt at vi MÅ forsvare det når folk kalder os selvoptagede.

Så når nogen peget fingre af dig der mediterer eller dyrker yoga så smid hænderne i vejret og sig: det kan der være noget om! Og vær sikker på du MENER det. Tag ansvar for din selvoptagethed, tag den på dig. Så kan vi i det mindste få fred på jord resten af den samtale. Når vi yogier og meditations-freaks bider på krogen og prøve at forsvare os selv vil vi nødvendigvis medvirke til mere af det samme: Selvoptagede, veluddannede overskudsmennesker der diskuterer hvem af dem der er mest selvoptaget. Imens ligger folk og dør i gummibåde to timer herfra.

Så måske kan vi i stedet for at tale om uselviskhed bare gøre det? Du kan starte med demonstrere din uselviske topfede måde at leve på ved at droppe forsvaret af dig selv når nogen kalder dig en egoist. F.eks.:

“Hmm ok måske, det kan du have ret i. Der er åbenbart bare ingen ende på vores selvoptagethed hva? … Og var det en dobbelt latte på minimælk jeg skulle hente til dig eller vil du hellere have soya?”.

End of discussion. Smid håndklædet i ringen. Tab diskussionen. Så kan livet gå videre og vi kan vende vores indignation mod noget mere relevant. Noget der inspirerer til handling måske?

For rigtig mange af os bliver yoga en uopnåelig drøm om at få tid til at komme i et yogacenter flere gange om ugen. Drømmen lever især her efter sommerferien når vi gerne vil “i gang igen”. Og hvis du har en karriere, en kæreste, et barn eller nogle venner du også gerne vil passe så bliver det ofte ved drømmen. Der står yogamåtten i hjørnet og drømmer om et bedre liv “hvis bare jeg havde tid”…

       Oldtidens yogier havde garanteret ikke det problem. De gik jo overhovedet ikke til klasser i et yogacenter. Indtil 1990érne var yogalæreren oftest en person der fungerede som en mentor eller rådgiver for elevens selvstændige praksis. Jeg kunne godt tænke mig at vi kom lidt tilbage til den selvautoritet og power der er i at tage sin egen krop og seriøst og finde en praksisform som kan blive en ubesværet del af hverdagen. Ikke at skulle vente på at en lærer fortæller os hvordan vi skal gøre. Ikke vente til vi får råd og tid til at blive fast gæst på det lokale yogacenters drop ind hold. Ikke at skulle væk fra verden for at finde indre ro men at have roen med os hvor end vi er. 

Jeg vil derfor gerne benytte min første arbejdsdag efter sommerferien til at slå et slag for “gør det selv” yoga. Yoga rykker virkelig når vi opdager at vi kan selv. Det kræver naturligvis at vi er blevet undervist af en yogalærer der har givet os de nødvendige værktøjer til at komme i gang derhjemme. Men det tager ikke ret langt tid at lære nok til at kunne starte en simpel yogapraksis derhjemme. Et par klasser eller workshops med en dygtig underviser og så er du i gang. Vi har rigtig mange dygtige lærere i hele landet efterhånden så hvis du stadig er usikker så gå på jagt efter en der giver dig nogle værktøjer du kan bruge derhjemme. Selvpraksis er fantastisk. Den er fleksibel, den er tilpasset din egen krops behov, den er gratis og den forlader dig aldrig. Over tid kan “gør det selv” yoga blive den rygrad af selvomsorg, overskud og styrke der følger dig gennem livet.

            Når du laver yoga derhjemme føles det helt anderledes end at blive guidet. I begyndelsen er det måske mindre hypnotisk fængslende. Og det er faktisk meget sundt. At være i selskab med sin krop når der ikke sker noget særligt er også en måde at lære dig selv at kende på, en måde at gå dybere. En måde at blive ok med at være den du er lige nu. Og det er mere fleksibelt at lave yoga når det passer dig. Du får mulighed for at mærke efter hvad din krop har brug for netop i dag i stedet for at følge flokken. Og der er en enorm styrke i at kunne drage omsorg for sig selv når det gælder. Dine nærmeste vil kunne mærke det på dig over tid. Mere overskud til at være der for dem der har brug for dig, mere tilid til din egen handlekraft og kropslige intelligens. Ofte er det vores ideer om hvordan yoga skal være der holder os fra at gøre det selv. Så hvis du tænker “kan jeg virkelig lave yoga derhjemme” så er mit bud: Selvfølgelig kan du det! Og husk, 15-20 minutter flere gange om ugen rykker langt mere end 1,5 time i yogacenteret to gange om måneden.

Så lad dette være en udfordring til dig der gerne vil i gang igen efter sommerferien. Drop endelig forbi en af os yogalærere og bliv undervist, inspireret og boostet. Vi glæder os sådan til at se dig igen. Men tag endelig din yoga med hjem. Brug vores undervisning til noget der rækker ud over de 1,5 time i yogacenteret.

At have en selvpraksis betyder ikke at du skal være en disciplineret yoga-soldat der ruller måtten ud HVER DAG i 1,5 time. Mindre kan gøre det. Og yoga er mange andre ting end den fysiske praksis. Her i sommerferien har jeg haft en periode hvor jeg 10 gange hellere ville være fuldtidsmor med mine to teenagere end at lukke mig inde i et rum med min meditationspude (tænk engang, vildt ik?). Jeg insisterer på at det faktisk er en del af min praksis at være en nærværende og kærlig mor til mine børn. OGSÅ selv min trikonasana måske ikke er hvad den har været og ballen har fået en bule efter jeg fyldte 40.

For hvad der er vigtigst for os? Hvad holder vi tættest på hjertet? Er det ikke det yoga handler om?

God fornøjelse

“I had no other way, always presupposing that I couldn´t chose freedom”
(Franz Kafka)
Every now and then, we modern yogis need someone to mess with our heads. Franz Kafka is a man for that job. His short story “Report to an academy” makes beautiful use of our monkey theme to reflect on modern yoga and it´s relationship to the Nature/Culture divide.

Kafka writes in the voice of a young chimpanzee captured in the wild. Our little hero wakes up on a big ship, wounded by gunshot and stuffed in a cage so narrow that he can´t stand up. After days of tortuous misery, he slowly loses the hope of freedom and starts looking for the next best thing: A way out. On the ship apes belong in a cage, so the way out is to stop being an ape. Our hero painfully subjects himself to teachings in how to shake hands, how to smoke a pipe, how to drink form the liquor bottle and, finally, how to speak. Upon his arrival to Europe he subjugates himself to more human teachers and regimens and reaches “the educational level of an average European”. We are introduced to him as he responds to an invitation from The Academy, delivering a report about his “former life led as ape”. The report is a story of becoming human. A one-way ticket to never fully arriving.  He boldly states:

“I felt more comfortable in the world of men and fitted it better; the strong wind that blew after me out of my past began to slacken; today it is only a gentle puff of air that plays around my heels (…) your life as apes, gentlemen, insofar as something of that kind lies behind you, cannot be farther removed from you than mine is from me. Yet everyone on earth feels a tickling at the heels; the small chimpanzee and the great Achilles alike.”

In the eloquent discourse of Kafkas ex-ape, there is no possibility of going back to animal nature. Neither is there any going forwards to pure human accomplishment We are left with the impossible process of becoming human. The tickling at our heels bears witness to the price of taking “the human way out”. Unrestrained, free, animal embodiment is forever lost to us once we enter into the domestication project that life in civilization requires. To Kafka, freedom is purely a monkey business. An irritating tickle reminding us all what we are losing every step of the way.

There are two things I like about this story: First, it portrays human nature not as a mode of existence but as a becoming. Humanness in this story is an irreconcilable process that is never quite nature, never quite culture and never even a mixture of the two. It´s neither this nor that. It´s something else. Something impossible.

Second, I like the distinction Kafka’s ape makes between freedom and a way out.

Both these points tickle my thinking about how we engage in modern yoga and meditation practices. Now there are many approaches to yoga. Some see it as a matter of domesticating something wild. As taming or transcending the animal in us (see Salute to the Monkey Mind part one). Another approach to yoga is seeing the practice as a returning to nature.

I´m sure most of us modern yogis have all subscribed to this yoga magazine in some way. Conciously or unconciously we are drawn to yoga as a practice of uncovering the natural, free animal in us. A s a yoga teacher I have definitely practiced and preached from idealized naturalness repeatedly over the years. Yoga is both practices and marketed as an opportunity to uncover the wilddeness within of rewilding the body. Walking in bare feet, eating raw, going on retreats in forests, mountains or beaches, opening our hips, balancing on our hands, breathing deep in the belly, cooking paleo, going into silence. It tastes like animal freedom.It helps us recover from stress, anxiety and fatigue. It´s undoubtedly nourishing for us to go into the wild and practice. But does a yoga holiday in the wild neccessarily help us with the human predicament of raising children in a polluted city, living a life in shoes or turning off the news with a pit in the stomach?

“Rewilding” – at least in its commercial application – seems to be a rare privilege only accessible for the few. Not all of us have the opportunity to spend our life in silent self-reflection on a white beach drinking kale juice and learning to do a headstand every morning. Most of us are stuck in civilization’s hamster wheel, a cage of very real and often painful relationships to people, to nature, to power, to the body, to ourselves. Going back to nature has paradoxically become a privilege for the privileged. It takes resources to find a way out if the way out is to stop being human. It takes time, money, pain, sweat and diet to keep up the strength and flexibility of a modern yoga-monkey.

How many of us modern yogis have not looked to yoga posture practice for a tension-free, liberated animal-like body? And we are willing to work hard to be able to afford yoga classes, workshops, super food, and yoga holidays in the silent wilderness. We take times away from our loved ones to work on our hanumanasana. And in between the holidays we overuse electronic devices, sleep too little, worry too much, fail to do anything about it and experience the pain of addiction to coffee, sugar, drugs, alcohol and social media. Even the simple silly things like walking in high heels, carrying a bag on one shoulder or holding the belly in leaves a painful imprint in our enculturated human bodies. A pain of civilized restriction producing a dream of animal freedom. A trickle on our heels. A pain that make us long for going somewhere else, doing something else, being someone else. Someone more natural, more animal, more free perhaps?

This is where Kafka blows my mind. Between the lines, Report to an Academy gives us an analytical razor sharp enough to cut through spiritual materialism. (Especially the kind that is dressed up in commercialized naturalness and ape-acrobatics). Let all Instagram Yoga Celebrities pose in peace while we listen to a monkey-powered reflection on human attempts to attain physical freedom like that of the apes: Acrobats in trapeze on the variety stage:

“They swung themselves, they rocked to and fro, they sprang into the air, they floated into each other’s arms, one hung by the hair from the teeth of the other. “And that too is human freedom,” I thought, “self-controlled, movement.” What a mockery of holy Mother Nature! Were the apes to see such a spectacle, no theater walls could stand the shock of their laughter.”

To Kafka’s ape, physical prowess for humans is a far cry from free animal embodiment. In the ape-gaze, modern yoga as seen in impressive handstand videos has nothing to do with freedom and everything to do with wanting a way out.

Yoga will never turn us back into monkeys. (We have a generation of irreversibly injured yoga bodies to prove that). Our species have physical limits that will tickle our heels every step of the way (AND our knees, sacroiliac joints, lower backs, writsts…). Reminding us that we are not the free and unrestrained apes that we aspire to be. I know a yoga teacher who finds it acceptable that his body always hurts somewhere, that is just part of the game, he says. Yoga clearly never succeeds in transcending the animal in us. No amount of yoga can concour the mortal, fleshy vulnerability of our bodies. I know  medieval yogis wrote about super human powers and cheating death. But they are all dead now. We can let that one go i think. The apes laugh their butts off watching us undergo pain and torture on the mat and the cushion to attain that rewilded “free” animal body. Self-controlled movement. Whether we approach yoga as a disciplined mastery over the body (a cultural pursuit) or a practice of freeing a wild, natural body (going back to nature) it remains to Kafka a becoming human: A one-way ticket to never fully arriving. Becoming has no glorified purity at the end of the tunnel. We humans never quite “make it”.

Kafka blows my mind because he has the courage to eschew purity and insist on bastard impossibility. I would like to think that Report to an Academy has more to offer than a steriotypical punch in the face of big bad civilization. We can do more than just crying for a our internal chimpanzee cut in two by the bars separating nature and culture. We can practice yoga in a way where we dont have to spend the rest of our lives dreaming about a body we will never attain. Kafkas ape bears witness to the impossibility of coming to terms with Nature/Culture duality that human existence plunges us into. To Kafka, becoming human is simply an impossible situation! No completion is possible, no purity attainable, no picking and choosing will ever fully satisfy us. We can´t go back and we can´t move forwards.

So what if we could surrender to that?

What a relief! To let go of a way out and instead feel free to be just this. A half-baked ape-human at peace with itself. To surrender willingly to the irreconcilable becoming that is our life. Not quite the unrestrained wild animals we long to be, not really the perfectly cultivated human beings we would be “if only”... Just this. Beautifully incomplete. Immaculate imperfection.

What does this mean to a yogi? I´m not sure yet. It would have to be a collective experiment. I imagine we can practice surrender to the perfect impossibility of human life anywhere. Not just in white beaches or silent meditation halls. Not just in solitary silent retreats but also in engaged action and social life. I can imagine a yoga practice that allows us to explore, love and honor the limitations and capacities of this very body, these very relationships, this very walk on this very earth. On the mat, in meditation, at the computer screen, in high heels, watching the news, crying, worrying, holding the belly in, breathing out, falling in love. Feeling this and allowing what we are feeling to fuel spontaneous action. Allowing for a real time relationship with this impossible world.

Imagine a spiritual practice that doesn’t just make us feel great with ourselves but also intimate with the pain and joy of other beings. Imagine a yoga practice that calls for an unflinching response to what is happening here and now. Imagine no longer having to claw for a way out of reality’s hamster wheel. Imagine walking on earth willingly encountering everything that tickles our human heels. The sound accompanying every step being apes laughing laughing…

Vi ved det godt. Når det er lidt for længe siden vi har kigget vores elskede i øjnene, når vi savner vores børn selv om de sidder lige foran os i indkøbsvognen, når vi igen går hjem fra en fest fuld af samtaler uden samvær, når der mangler noget: Intimitet. Den livsnødvendige melodi der lægger grundtonen i det at være menneske. Følelsen af at høre til, af at være forbundet følger vores medfødte evne til at have intime relationer.

Intimitet ligger naturligt til os.

Som små børn sidder vi jo ikke i klapvognen og tænker på om det nu er ok at kigge i øjnene SÅ længe eller om vi mon vil blive afvist hvis vi vil op til far eller mor. Som små børn tænker vi ikke over hvorvidt det nu også er interessant for damen i bussen at se hvor fin vores bamse er. Vi går bare lige ind i folk med træsko på uden at bekymre os om udfaldet. Ifølge den svenske socialpsykolog Johan Asplund er mennesker født socialt responsive. Vi har en medfødt evne til at mærke den anden og reagere på det som sker i relationen til andre mennesker. Vores evne til at etablere intime relationer kommer således naturligt idet vi vokser op med andre socialt responsive væsner. Bliver vi afvist, afvist græder vi, bliver vi mødt, griner vi. Og som børn giver vi den fuld power i begge ekstremer, også selv om der måske kun er få minutter imellem. Super enkelt. Så hvis man skal tro Asplund, er vi født til at have intime relationer hvor som helst og med hvem som helst. Vi er født til møde os selv og hinanden med åben pande.

Fravær af intimitet er til gengæld ikke noget vi er født med.

Når intimitetens melodi er druknet i støj er det et resultat af indlæring. Asplund kalder det asocial responsløshed. Det kommer ikke naturligt til os mennesker. Heldigvis. Det er noget vi lærer og det kræver en del arbejde at få os derhen hvor vi ikke længere mærker den anden. Men det sker. Vi lærer det når vi systematisk bliver mødt med præfabrikerede dagsordner der intet har med os at gøre, når det sociale bliver abstrakt og uden tilknytning til det der rent faktisk sker imellem os nu og her. Vi lærer især at lukke ned for intimiteten når det gør ondt. De fleste af os møder før eller siden situationer hvor vi får gode grunde til at dreje hovedet væk, lukke øjnene, bide tænderne sammen, holde masken. Når vi møder situationer hvor ikke er ok at kigge SÅ længe i øjnene, hvor det er farligt at vise sin sårbarhed, så lærer vi at sætte skillevægge op til vores indre rum. Nogen af os bliver så dygtige til det, at vi ommøblerer det til en mindre gummicelle.

Asplunds forskning handler om fænomenet udbrændthed. Når socialrådgiveren eller sygeplejersken pludselig slår om og går fra at være en omsorgsperson til at blive kold uempatisk skrankepave. Hvad sker der med os? bliver vi “tømt for følelser”, brænder intimiteten ud? Nej siger Asplund. Vi har slet ikke forstået udbrændthed endnu. Vi tror det er et spørgsmål om at vi har givet for meget, at vores empati og evne til at spejle hinanden kan udtømmes eller drænes. Men for Asplund er det snarere lige omvendt. Udbrændthed er netop et produkt af vores evne til at spejle den anden. Når andre møder os som var vi automater hvorfra man uden videre kan kræve den serviceydelse man lige har brug for i dag, så responderer vi ved at blive automat-agtige. Vores responsivitet spejler den vi bliver mødt med, vi bliver så at sige hvad vi har omkring os. Vi svarer uophørligt igen på den relation vi bliver tilbudt, om så det betyder at vi indlærer en asocial  responsløshed, en tonedøv socialitet. Når vi dag efter dag bliver nødt til at stå i relationer hvor det sociale bliver abstrakt bliver vi responsløse, vi forholder os abstrakt til den anden, den anden bliver et middel for vores mål.

Det gør ondt.Og det gælder ikke bare på de andre men også indadtil, i selvforholdet.

Intimitet med kroppen

Tag nu for eksempel en relation som du har mulighed for at udforske hver gang du er til yoga. Relationen til din egen krop. Hvordan møder du den? Som noget du skal mærke, udforske og respondere på eller som om den var en automat du skal have noget fra? Møder du din krop med præfabrikerede dagsordner omkring hvordan den skal se ud, hvad den skal kunne, hvordan den skal føles at være i? Er der intimitet i den relation du opbygger med din krop når du er på yogamåtten? Kroppen er ligesom du selv født med en evne til at svare igen. Den spejler det den bliver mødt med. Møder du den som en automat bliver den automatiseret. Møder du den med abstrakte idealer bliver din relation til kroppen abstrakt og løsrevet fra din krops kapacitet og behov her og nu. De fleste yogaskader opstår netop ved at vi de-kobler os fra det vi kan mærke i kroppen og kører hen over dens smertegrænse fordi vi har en abstrakt ide om hvor langt vi skal ud i stillingen, eller fordi vi ikke længere er på talefod med den sanselige oplevelse af kroppen. For når vi møder vores egen krop som var den en automat for vores behov så spejler den dig med en lignende responsløshed på det sensoriske niveau. Den bliver gradvist mindre sensitiv og mere følelsesløs, den “taler” ikke længere til dig. Og når den endelig taler med dig er den typisk ret højrøstet: ekstreme sansefornemmelser såsom smerte eller ekstase.  Og når vi først har vænnet os til en responsløs krop kommer vi let til at blive afhængige af ekstreme sansefornemmelser for at føle at vi overhovedet har en krop. Som om alle mellemtonerne forsvinder. Vi mærker kun toppen og bunden af en endeløs rutsjebane hvor vi klamrer os til højderne og flygter væk fra bunden. Intimitetens melodi findes i mellemtonerne. Og når de mangler føler vi os permanent utilfredsstillede, som jagede dyr, som om der mangler noget. Vi ved det godt.

Det interessante ved yoga er således, at det ligesom sociale relationer kan udvikle sig både den ene og den anden retning. Du kan bruge din tid på yogamåtten til at opbygge en mere og mere fintunet responsivitet over for din krop, men du kan også sagtens bruge yoga til at træne dig selv til sensorisk responsløshed. Du kan gå i yoga og genopdage den forbundethed som er din vuggegave, din medfødte natur, men du kan også sagtens bruge yoga til at gøre din relation til kroppen og til de andre mere abstrakt og løsrevet fra de fysiske og virkelige behov den har lige nu og her. Og uanset hvem du er og hvilken yogaform du kaster dig ud i vil du sikkert støde på lidt af begge dele gennem tiden. Din praksis afspejler hvor villig du er til at mærke livet som det er, og det er ikke altid vi er villige eller har kapaciteten til at møde det som sker i os med løftet pande.

Der kan være mange og rigtig gode grunde til at vi kører ud på et spor hvor vi gradvist bliver mere tonedøve for intimitetens melodi. For på et tidspunkt bliver det bare er for pinligt at stortude og stampe i gulvet nede i supermarkedet mens vildfremmede voksne kigger på. Det bliver for ubehageligt at tabe ansigt i skolegården, for smertefuldt at få knust sit hjerte (igen!), for sårbart at sætte grænser der alligevel ikke bliver respekteret, får hårdt at få tingene sagt, for umuligt at få sin nattesøvn når babyen græder, for håbløst at opgive kampen. Og så videre. Men hvis vi skal tro socialpsykologien er responsløshed en indlært forsvarsmekanisme, ikke vores første prioritet. Det er snarere vores sidste udvej. Vi har altid mulighed for at høre alarmklokken ringe når intimiteten går fløjten. Det letteste sted at mærke det er i sansningen af kroppen, men implikationerne er langt bredere end det.

At møde “den anden”

Jeg synes vi skal tage Johan Asplund på ordet. Jeg vælger at antage at både social og sensorisk responsivitet er noget vi er født med, noget der kommer naturligt til os. En slags default. Følelsesløshed, responsløshed skal læres og det tager lang tid og kræver hårdt arbejde. Når jeg får en ex-ballarina på retreat fortæller hun at det har taget mange år at lære at stå i første position med tæerne vendt udad og at det involverede smerte, tvang, hård træning og ømme knæ. Men det tager kun nogle måneder med sensitiv, responsiv yoga før fødderne skifter tilbage i retning af parallel, selv efter mange år. Det går hurtigt og det er lettere fordi det er den måde som fødderne nu engang er harmonisk forbundet med resten af kroppen på. De har en naturlig parathed til at gør det, der forbinder dem med kroppens helhed.

Responsivitet, intimitet, forbundethed ligger lige til højrebenet i den menneskelige natur og den vælder frem igen så snart vi giver slip på det der holder den nede. Når vi slipper bare en lille smule på det der får os til at føle os adskilt, kommer følelsen af forbundethed af sig selv. Du skal ikke gøre noget for at mærke din krop. Din krop mærker hele tiden, nonstop, alt! Det eneste du skal er at slippe dagsordnerne om at du skal mærke noget bestemt, kunne noget bestemt, være noget bestemt. Intimitet og forbundethed kræver ikke andet end at vi holder op med at kæmpe imod. Du kan genfinde intimiteten på din yogamåtte i relationen til din egen krop såvel som i hverdagslivet i relationen til dine medmennesker. Når du i din praksis undersøger hvad din krop gerne vil have i dag, hvad der føles nærende, forbundet og helstøbt så praktiserer du intimitet. Og i alle relationer kan vi mærke hvor rart det er når vi slipper kontrollen lidt og giver plads til at lytte, mærke, stille spørgsmål, lade os påvirke og overraske af den anden. Og reagere på det vi mærker, selv hvis det betyder at vi nogen gange siger nej tak og trækker os væk. Det er dybt tilfredsstillende at have et reelt møde, også selv når det måske kun varer et par minutter.

Intimitet opstår når vi møder nogen der er åbne overfor os og parat til at møde os som vi er. Når der er et fravær af præfabrikerede dagsordner. Intimitet kræver ikke nødvendigvis stor passion, romantisk forelskelse eller konstant selvbekræftelse. Det eneste der kræves er vores medfødte villighed til at respondere på det vi mærker i mødet med den anden. Og i yoga findes ”den anden” altid på begge sider af hudens arbitrære grænse.

When you find the toothpaste in the refrigerator. When you lie awake at 5AM. When the meditation bell rings and you realize you just spent 30 minutes grocery shopping. When your mind goes round and round in circles to the rhythm of whatever rimes with anxiety. Say hello to monkey mind.

Migrating from Buddhist teachings, the concept of monkey mind has today found its way into modern yoga vocabulary. In the popular understanding, monkey mind refers to the incessant, repetitive chatter of your mind, especially (but not exlusively) during meditaton. I´ll leave the Buddhist history of the concept to the scholars. My business here is to reflect on popularity of this metaphor as a cultural phenomenon in modern spiritual practice. As the use of “monkey mind” is beginning to enter colloquial language in yoga studios, meditation circles and even corporate environments across the western world my question, is what does this metaphor do for us? And what can we do with it?

Split

Most of us are conditioned to experience our encounter with monkey mind as quite irritating. It is painful to experience a hyperactive mind. It is painful to be unable to stop. Adding to this is cultural conditioning. Modern yogis live in a world that is increasingly intolerant to waste of time, fuckups, unproductiveness, daydreaming and irrational behavior. We are expected to be focused, efficient, present, goal oriented and above all: In control.

The concept “Monkey Mind” seems to be doing some work here; externalizing that in us, which do not have “spiritual table manners”. Monkey mind is a concept that helps us distance ourselves from the things we are not proud of. It creates a comfortable split between “me” and that part of me which is hard to own. Here is an example:  When our thinking mind has a brilliant thought, we say: That was me! When it has a random, superfluous, repetitive, embarrassing thought, we say: That was monkey mind. (I´m paraphrasing a dharma talk by zen master Genpo Roshi, go here to hear it live). Consequently, modern yoga and meditation practice easily slips into a domestication project: “Taming the monkey mind”. Disciplining that in us that does not comply to the cultural norm. Show that unruly beast in your head that you mean business!

Show who? Who is the real monkey here? You or your thinking mind? Let´s face it. Without our ability to think, we naked apes would not have lasted a minute in the evolutionary history of planet earth. No way we could have pulled off civilization without creative and wild thinking. Without the human mind´s ability to gnaw incessantly at a problem until it’s solved, we would still be living in trees.

So why is it that once we start doing yoga and meditation we suddenly see the thinking process as “not me”, something we need to tame and control, something we need to distance ourselves from. Maybe we have been taught to split our heads in two so we can maintain an illusion of control. Maybe we just can´t bear life in our own skin, maybe the pain is just too much to bear. I have no idea. I do, however have a feeling that separation, domestication and control is not going to deliver the permanent peace that yoga so boldly promisess. On the contrary it may be pushing us further into suffering.

War

My best guess is that if you really do have a monkey in your head, it is likely to behave like any other wild animal. It does not purr and cuddle when met with insensitivity and domination. If yoga and meditation becomes a project of externalizing or demanding docility and obedience from your mind, don´t be surprised if it gets up at 5 in the morning to slap you around while it can. In bed, on the yoga mat, in meditation, when bored, when anxious. Any chance it gets, your monkey will fight for free expression. And we fight back. Sometimes we become loud and irritable “schhhh!. Sometimes we do it with soft bells, smiley voice, endless patience and a hidden agenda of slowly and silently strangeling the monkey in our heads by teaching it how to sit still and be quiet. I´m imagining that to the monkey mind, both strategies feel like a cage, one slightly more manipulative than the other, yet still a cage.

When monkeys feel entrapped and need a way out they can keep a pace and intensity that will drive any human insane! Monkeys are strong, agile and incredibly fast. But that temporary calm of your inner monkey can be a deceptive form of compliance. When the bell rings, when you are trying to go to sleep, when somebody pushes your buttons, monkey mind will take the opportunity to drag you by the heels into your darkest, deepest shadow and have its way with you. Oh that battle ground of Man against monkey mind. Mind against itself. An auto-immune response to spiritual self-improvement. Fighting Monkey Mind is a battle you can’t win.

Unless, of course, you are willing to lose.

Very few people have taught the art of completely losing it. It’s a bold move to give up and leave the battle ground. It takes tremendous trust. I met only two teachers who extend this invitation to me – and really meant it. One, Genpo Roshi, teaches zen, the other, Godfrey Devereux, teaches yoga. In their respective approaches we find some interesting ideas of how to relate with the the monkey mind metaphor in new and productive ways. Both seem to have left the battleground of a split mind at war with itself to step onto a path of becoming intimate with that which we tend to externalize or push away as “not me”.

Intimacy

In zen (Genpo style) Losing it means allowing the splitting mechanism in our head to break down by becoming one with whatever happens. In relation to the problem of monkey mind, this could be done in many ways. If for example you are sitting, sit as monkey mind. Become one with the unruly thinking process. Let me just stress, sitting as is not the same as sitting with monkey mind. Sitting with is akin to witnessing or observing the mind. This is just another split. The observer and the observed. A trip to the zoo.

Sitting as monkey mind is different. It means no separation. No bars between you and the beast in your head. Enter the cage. Become monkey mind. In this version of zen practice it is just a matter of letting go and relaxing into that which is happening here and now. Genpo says:

“There is no barrier to begin with, nor a window to go through. The other shore does not exist. If this shore is not enough, it’s too bad”
(Genpo Roshi, 1994)

You already are monkey mind. Becoming one with it it not going to another shore, its staying here and becoming intimate with what we are. If we are full of confused, repetivite, imaginary chatter that is what we need to become one with. So here we encounter an approach of leavning the domestication project and unleashing the wild thinking process with no agenda of control. Becoming monkey mind means getting intimate with thinking. Honoring and empowering the mind to do its job and become one with thinking (if that´s what is happening at that moment, could be sensation, sound, emotion, action, anything). If 40 minutes of planning in seated meditation is what is going on, let it. You are still sitting. If reconstructed memory, imaginary scenarios, or incessant, insane, repetitive commentary is happening then allow it to run amok. You are already here sitting. There is nowhere else to be than where you are now. This is it. You have always already arrived where you should be. Whatever arises, the zen path of intimacy is to become one with it. Allowing yourself the freedom of having no agenda for what goes through your head. Even the agenda of having no agenda is unneccessary.

In yoga (Godfrey style) the practice of intimacy is primarily a somatic one. Similar to the zen approach yoga does not begin with splitting the observing subject (mind) and the observed object (body).  The path of intimacy in yoga encourages an immersion into activities that are already expressing the unity underlying our ideas of body/mind. Feeling sensation is one such process. Feeling is not the same as observing, labelling, naming, verbalizing or visualizing what is going on in the body. Feeling has no split. It is an invitation to intimacy, to become one with. No bars.

Where was your mind when you were fully engaged in that first kiss from your first love? Doing its job: Enjoying it! Relaxing into the delight, completely gone in kissing. (If it was a really good kiss – that is). For yoga posture practice we could call Godfrey´s strategy: Give the monkey a banana. One implication is practicing pain-free movement. No intense, acey or sharp sensations, no alarm bells ringing in your joints. Yoga posture practice should feel soft and delicious like a good kiss.When your joints are not in any immediate threat or danger the mind does not have to think and work out ways to stop the threat or prevent injury. Neither does it have to disocciate into a dream land far away from the painful sensations that sometimes are our bodies. Hence it can relax into feeling whatever sensations arise  (if you take ahimsa seriously and practice in a way that does not harm your joints) perhaps also enjoying the more and more subtle , elusive, soft sensations. In time we can perhaps practice intimcy with whatever sensations arise, even the ones that are not comfortable. Emotional pain such as fear, anger or grief often have a rythmic sensation-complex to them that can be felt deeply and appreciated for being what they are. But in yoga posture practice, the Godfrey-strategy would be to allow soft delight to draw us in and internalize the mind until we completely lose the battle of distinctions and splits and become one with sensation. Feeling sensations invites a becoming one with, simply because there is nowhere else we would rather like to be than here feeling the sensations that are our body at this moment in time.

So does that solve the monkey mind problem? Godfrey says:

                “It doesn’t mean that the monkey mind runs away. The monkey mind is still there. Having its fun while disturbing no one. Because there is no one there to be disturbed”
(Godfrey Devereux, recorded teaching).

So similar to the “becoming one with” approach of zen, this approach to yoga invites us to feel sensation so intimately that the one who experiences disturbing thoughs dissolves into that which is experienced. From that place it doesn´t matter what that monkey supposedley living in your head is up to. You are the tingling in your fingertips, the delight of your breath, the throbbing of pulses, the spaciousness, tightness, hardness, softness, flow, warmth, coolness, rhythm, sound, thinking.

So in both approaches, as i understand them, monkey mind is not neccessarily a problem in itself. Our relationship to this concept of someone thinking crazy thoughts inside our head is what makes us suffer.  If we do buy into the idea that there is a monkey in our minds then it seems the best thing we can do is become intimate with it. Turning away from it, fighting it, training it, taming it, domesticating it is a declaration of a war you can´t win anyway. Any fight with your mind is only a fight within your mind. (This includes the battle against your own tendency to fight with your mind btw!). The path of intimacy allows you to give up, loose that battle and win something much more satisfying.

When not under attack, monkeys can be quite peaceful creatures. Have you seen a monkey picking its fur or eating? When engaged in something interesting, they just chill out in quiet activity. One of my colleagues once tried to sit still and meditate until the monkey that was sitting in the tree a few meters away had moved. The monkey won. Of course! It was totally relaxed, it had no agenda. It was chilling out as monkey. Not trying to accomplish anything it wasn´t already doing.

The same thing is going on in you when you meditate or practice yoga postures. When you become intimate with what is happening, your mind goes quiet all by itself. No taming, stopping, stilling, cultivating, domesticating necessary.  When a wild monkey is left in peace, it feels safe. When it feels safe it relaxes. When nobody needs its presence or activity, a relaxed monkey may actually use the break to get some rest.

For a more on the teachings of Genpo Roshi go here

For a more on the teachings of Godfrey Devereux go here

Yoga is no longer the exclusive privilege of solitary cave men. Today´s yogis work for money, have relationships and live busy lives. This can spark the apparent dilemma between “my yoga practice” and “dealing with stuff”. You can hear it when we modern yogis talk about practice as that other thing we need to counter balance our life. We use yoga as an anti-dote to stress. We use yoga a bit of non-doing in a week of frantic activity. We use yoga as a bit of “yin” to all that “yang”. (fill in your favorite). Modern yoga seems to be fraught with a bittersweet longing for the cave, the alternative, the other. This is how we practice when life gets a little too hectic: to get a break, to heal and rest. There is nothing wrong with this. It really does get us a long way and we really do need it.

As we move further into our practice things may change. We discover that the cave is just another place in the world, not an antidote, not a separate space outside it. That the same old stuff is going on in here as everywhere else. Because whatever we do, the things happening now are our life, there is no cave to hide in, you are always right in the middle of it. The good news is that you are then also always smack in the middle of your yoga practice. You never left. Disturbing thoughts, pain, difficult relationships, stress, loneliness, joy, love, children, friends, parties, food, email, taxes, work, these are all here as part of your practice. This is the moment where yoga stops being that other thing we do to get a break from a busy life. Where we discover yoga as an invitation to become one with the constant activity of life.

Any yoga posture can extend that invitation to intimacy, to become one with, to needing nothing “other”. Solitary cave men had bodies just like you and me. And becoming one with the body through deeply feeling it, will blur all our neat distinctions between activity and release, holding on and letting go. Feeling the body in dynamic movement, we can encounter a deep inner stillness. Feeling the body in passive stillness, we can encounter subtle pulsations, rhythms and activities. Being still is not other than moving. Moving is not other than stillness. The same logic goes for yoga and that which apparently seems like “not yoga”. Perhaps your practice is no other than your life.

“To be one is always to become with many” (Donna Haraway).

Body

There is no way to be sure. But I read in a book the other day that human genomes can be found in only about 10 percent of the cells that make up my body. The other 90 percent are filled with genomes from other species. No kidding! For every cell in your body there are approximately 10 more microscopic organisms living in you. That composite “thing” that we all like to call “human” is apparently filled to the brim with “other” species. Some microorganisms make you healthy, some make you sick and some are just in for a free ride.

You are not only you. You are also genes you exchange with your pet or your child’s virus infection. You are the plant you ate, the milk that was in your coffee. The pollen you inhaled, the bacteria you ingested while eating a carrot. Our bodies are mixtures, composite organisms. The author of the book, science studies professor Donna Haraway, boldly states: “We have never been human”. It seems that what I call “My body” is only being held together by a temporary and precarious orchestration of immune responses. This precarious balance allows me to feel, move, breathe, experience, speak, think. For a while. How rare and precious and that orchestration is. When I die, those 90% “other” will take advantage of “my” cells in new ways and the “we” will be mixed anew with more species. My body was “we” from the very beginning. Still, if it died today someone would mourn over the loss of this partiular body. It´s never going to exist again in this particular composition.

Speech

Consider the words you’ve just read. I’m not the only one talking here. Not even the language is mine! I was not born a native English speaker. The text above is full to the brim with the words of “others”. It mixed genes with american post-feminists, science studies, french sociology, microbiome theory, a zen master, a couple of yoga teachers, a tibetan lama, classrooms, the QWERTY keyboard, software, engineers, webhosts, electricity, burning coal, windmills. 

We could go on. The orchestration of words you read here is probably less mine than my body is human. I can´t even take credit for 10%. And as you read, this text, it is already decomposing. “My” speech is already cross breeding with “yours” the moment you ingested it with your eyes. It came from elsewhere and you already transformed it with your understanding. Speech is a gigantic, transformational “we” breathing us through and through. Still, you can hold me accountable for my writing. And I’ll agree to that. I’ll take responsibility for what is  being said by me.

Mind

We are taught to think of the mind as a private enclosure. These are “my” thoughts, “my” decisions. Right? But are they only my thoughts? Right now I have a song in my head that was played on the radio this morning. Rhianna. again. I didn´t ask for that! If I try to trace back each of the decisions that run through my head in a day I get lost in the number of shoulders they all stand on. Thought does not seem to arise in isolation, my mind seems to me to be intimately merged with whatever it is in relationship to. Philosopher Michel Serres wrote:

“I think therefore I am anyone. A tree, a river, a number, an ivy, a reason or you, whatever (…) I think therefore I am not. I think, therefore I do not exist. Who am I? A blank domino, a joker that can take any value (…) I am just the plain whore of the thoughts that accost me” (Serres, 1995, p.31).

Serres suggests that thought does not arise from an isolated entity called “I”. They travel through us like a draft wind, they come on to us and mixes us up in new becomings. If your mind decides you want to to have a baby, a hundred million thoughts and decisions that it did not plan or choose will make a pass at you. How to make a baby? Fertility cycles, hormones, suitable partners, what if it fails? If a baby enters your life, you become the thought-whore of diaper commercials and baby food experts. Doctors, statistics, moral values and institutions will chat up your mind and change it. You become the vehicle of a new expression of love that never existed before that particular baby was born. A draft wind blowing through you full force.

In the Victorian age, spiritual thinking was all about “channeling” messages from spirits. Not coincidentally,  this kind of thinking arose alongside the discovery of wireless transmission (later known as radio). Today yoga teaches will talk about “downloading” inspiration for their classes from “consciousness”. Channeling spirits, radio waves, downloading teachings, internet. Thoughts are constantly cross breeding and mixing genes. They are not only mine or yours. Mind is mixed from the beginning. With technology, with babies, with theory, music, relationships, books, nature, time, numbers, spaces, with bare feet on sand, with the taste of lemon. Mind is a wide open big breath blowing through nonstop. A universal composite being with a very particular “me-effect”. “My” mind is inarguably not yours. There is a difference. I take responsibility for the concious decisions it pretends to make.

Enquiry

Where are we going with this? Trace back your body/ speech/mind and all you find is a big warm welcome to paradox. The personal and the impersonal, the universal and the particular are deeply entangled. Or should we say non-separate? Or dare we say empty of a separate existence? Look closely and you find mixtures… mixtures… mixtures all the way down. More enquiry.

We could go on. To the classical question: Who am i?  Or (given that 90% of me may be non-human): “What am i?” Am I a blank domino? A joker? A hollow bone being played like a flute? The witness? God? A carrot? Bacteria? Consciousness? Love? The deeper we go, the more perplexing it gets. What is this body, really? Who is speaking? What is thinking?

What is this???

There is no way to be sure. But I would like to suggest, (for now), that holding those questions fuel that eternal beginning called yoga. And that finding The Answer may be the (dead) end.

Exotic as it was to teach retreats around Europe for 3 months it feels quite lovely come back home. Looking at the kids going off to school this morning I caught myself thinking that things will go back to normal now.
The mind is a funny one.
Back to normal? As if that had ever actually happened! Every time I feel prepared, every time I think I know what to do, every time I think I have it nailed, something unimaginable kicks in. Moreover, reality always seem to surpass the scenarios I manage to conjure up about the future. There is always more.

“Back to normal” is a concept. We use it to repress the fact that we are standing on a tiny blue planet moving through infinite space at an incredible speed with only a thin layer of transparent atmosphere to protect itself from collision. “Back to normal” is a way of repressing the radical fragility of being alive. Life is bursting with new variations; every new cell your body produces is slightly different from the last. By the end of today, most of the electrons making up the molecules in your underwear will have switched place with those making up the molecules of your skin. You are being born again every moment and there is no stopping it. Who am I to say that the tiny life of a Danish yoga teacher life will “go back to normal”? Who am I kidding?

A yoga teacher ought to know better. Yoga is a bit like water. It has no agenda, no preconceived ideas, no pre-planned route, no mold or form. It just encounters whatever is happening and takes shape according to what it runs through. Sometimes white and wild, sometimes it looks so quiet you could think it is standing still. But its movement can’t be blocked.

It is never “just another yoga class” because your body is different now than it was yesterday. All you need to do is take a moment to feel it. It is never the same teaching because the teaching changes like water depending on what it is passing through. Teaching yoga is always the product of an immediate body-to-body relationship, which cannot be pre-planned, cannot be figured out in advance. It can only be felt and responded to.

But even if we know better , we yoga teachers plan and prepare constantly. We buy plane tickets, we study, we practice, we spend a lot of time with our calendar. We have to. You can go to my events calendar page and see the grand scheme laid out for this autumn. It´s kind of a cute neurosis, really. We humans survive by pretending that tomorrow will match our expectations. That the plane will leave the ground, that the planet will still be orbiting around the sun, that we will still be breathing.

But once we actually get there, I guarantee you that it´s never going to be exactly as we imagined. Something new will – nilly willy – add itself to the mix and make a difference. We know this in our hearts, but we pretend to forget because it’s just too much to handle. Instead, we make up the story of “another day in the office”. As if that day ever arrived! If you pay attention, you can see difference seeping in everywhere.

The miracle is not how things change. The miracle is how things occasionally manage to appear stable! When the water runs so smoothly it seems to be standing still. Your life, your personality, your body, your another-day.in-the-office-experience is excactly such a miracle. Yoga is an invitation to explore the depths and currents underlying the miracle of your life.

Kærligheden gror som græs. Videre ud end kernefamiliens glatte stammer skyder dens tynde rodnet i alle retninger. Kærligheden er en ustoppelig mangfoldighed. En knoldet, strittende, ubrydelig livskraft. Åndedræt for åndedræt, år efter år overgror kærligheden en endeløs række af relationelle landskaber. Kærligheden er vild, utrættelig. Når først stiklingerne får fat, bliver alle skel levende. Gradvist glider verden ud i gyldne bølgebevægelser.

Kærligheden virker ved sin egen blide kraft. Den er ikke en handling. Kærlighed er det, der sker når vi opgiver præferencernes møje. Når vi lægger plæneklipper og pincet og mærker bruset gennem millioner af fjerlette aks. Når vi opgiver ævred, når vi mister mælet, så hører vi kærlighedens blide baggrundsstøj. Den bøjer vores hoved, lægger os ned, begraver os under isen, får os helt i frø, bryder igennem os, pudrer os tykke af sne og blomster. At blive kærtegnet af brisen og tage haglene som de kommer er kærlighed.

Bange for smerten gribes vi konstant af trangen til at klamre og kultivere. På de dage ender vi ofte med sammenbidte tænder og armene lige ned langs siden mens næverne knuger en lille håndfuld døde strå. Alt hvad vi ville var at favne den dugvåde eng, at blive et med det bløde og det levende. På de dage føler vi os adskilte. Vi mærker ikke rodnettets vidstrakte åndedræt. Vi tror vi skal gøre os fortjent til at vokse sammen med verden. Vi hiver i græsset.

Hvordan bliver man et med kærligheden? Vi søger, griber, stræber, raser. Vi tænker så det knager og overdøver den uophørlige spiren under vores fødder. Vi ænser ikke den strittende livskraft der konstant bryder igennem selvets anløbne omrids. Vi mærker ikke at kærlighedens tynde rodnet allerede er lungernes fine forgreninger, kapillærernes pulseren, hårets orkan, knoglernes porøse spindelvæv, tårekanalernes friløb.

Mærk. Under huden bøjer nervetrådene sig som sitarstrenge i vinden. De nynner uophørligt sansningens sang: Jeg er kærlighed. Jeg kan ikke rives op med rode. Jeg er for stor, for distribueret, for vidstrakt, for mangfoldig. Jeg er kærligheden. Du kan ikke miste mig, du kan ikke få mig. Du kan ikke blive et med mig. Du er mig.

A story about my first meeting with a spiritual teacher: A Tibetan Lama who handed me an axe instead of teaching me how to meditate. That was actually a much better idea than i was prepared to admit at the time.

Published by Rebelle Society. read in oiginal…

This is it

“Whatever is happening is the path to enlightenment” ~ Pema Chödrön

I was in my early teens when I started to hang enormous quartz crystals around my neck and go overboard into New Age spirituality.

By the time I turned 20, I had divinities hanging on my wall like rock stars, and my house was so saturated with incense smoke that my friends said it was beginning to smell like bacon.

I was in massive pain. My body was a mess, my hair was falling out, I was in and out of the hospital with chronic eczema, and my love life was falling apart. I dealt with it by shaving my head, wrapping a white shawl around myself, and reciting mantras faster than all the monks of a whole monastery, on double espresso.

I found my first real teacher at age 20 in a shamanistic tipi camp. I have no idea how a reincarnated Tibetan lama found his way out in the forest with us New Age types. I heard that years ago he had resigned from the exiled government in India and left monastic life. He landed in Europe, spent his last money on a pair of jeans, and got a job washing dishes in a restaurant.

Back in Tibet, he had never done any manual labor in his life. He would still give Buddhist teachings in the basement of his house though, and in summer he would lead retreats from a primitive tipi in the forest. Very low-key lama.

“Tell me how to meditate,” I begged. He laughed out loud, picked up a chain saw, handed me an axe and said, “Let us cut some wood first.”

I had heard from the others that he was a powerful clairvoyant, but whenever I asked him about my future, he would kindly ask me to help him in the garden. When I wanted to learn how to recite the Heart Sutra in Sanskrit, he asked if I could do the cooking for his next retreat.

I spent most of my free time washing tea cups in his basement, cooking vegetarian food in the forest, and laughing at lame Tibetan jokes over butter tea.

When we eventually had some quiet time, I would never miss the opportunity to ask him for advice. He would listen for a while and then fall asleep! No kidding! Chin dropped right to the chest, and…Bam!

But I was in deep pain and my life made no sense. It just hurt! Nevertheless, I was deeply convinced that I had come to this planet to learn something. That there had to be a spiritual path here for me to walk. This horrible suffering must have been given to me for a reason.

What was my dharma? What was the mission? I had no clue. I wanted to get over these annoying obstacles to my path.

I was sure that my suffering was just burning off bad karma so that later I could rise up and save the world. I wanted to find my path now, and I had no time to spare. So I decided to become a Buddhist.

All my teacher did was give me a simple meditation practice to do each day. But I wanted him to teach me Sanskrit! I got impatient and began to read books about Buddhism on my own. I really thought I got wiser during those years.

I worked out all by myself that I had way too many attachments, that my ego was too big, that I needed to develop more loving-kindness, that I had to find my Buddha nature, that my enemies had Buddha nature too, and that I needed to learn how to love them without compromise.

His sweet response to my new-found spiritual identity was to talk to me about living from ‘the Middle Way’. “Finally, a path!” I thought. “Cool, I totally get it! Just stay in the middle, do not go overboard. Lead a balanced life!”

The Middle Way for me, however, turned out to be an endless array of personal failures. A narrow and dangerous path that I would fall off at any minute. I was either too disciplined, or not disciplined enough. I either loved too naively, or failed to muster real and deep compassion. I was either too self-centered, or too boundaryless. Getting your spiritual shit together in perfect balance seemed almost impossible!

My lama friend smiled at me, poured me another cup of tea, and asked, “How are the kids?”

We remained friends for years. I slowly grew hair, stopped being a Buddhist, and took up Yoga. He did not mind. Once I became a Yoga teacher, I began to silently criticize him. He did not mind. I however, was visibly disappointed when I saw him fall asleep in seated meditation one day.

And why was he spending more time working on his house than sitting on his cushion? And was it really okay that he was drinking beer and eating meat? Is that really the behavior of a reincarnated spiritual leader? My visits became rare as I took my striving to new heights, bending myself backwards on the yoga mat.

It has been 20 years since then. I am not afraid to admit that I have spent quite a few of them banging my head against the wall of spiritual accomplishment. But along the way, I did have the good fortune to meet a brilliant Yoga teacher.

I came to him wanting to learn handstands, he told me to go into Child’s Pose. I wanted to heal my asthma with Pranayama, he told me to let go of manipulating my breath. I wanted to understand Yoga philosophy, he told me to feel sensation.

It all felt annoyingly familiar. So this time I gave it a try.

I may never be able to grasp the full implication of what these two teachers have really done for me. But I can tell that the first laid out the tracks and the second gave me more than one push. I am not sure of what it is, but something is moving.

Looking back to that first meeting with my lama, I think I understand what he was trying to show me when handing me an axe instead of the Heart Sutra. His simple message was not unlike the one my yoga teacher spelled out to me years later: This is it!

Cannot find your path? Have a look in the mirror. You are the path. Not aware of your life’s true purpose? Not sure what your sacred duty on the planet is? It is a no-brainer: This is it! This very life is your dharma. Your next step is it. Mission accomplished.

Being a totally messed up 20-year-old with no life, no hair, and an axe in my hand, was the mission. Being in pain and being sick of it was the mission. Wanting to get over it, learn Sanskrit, meditate, or do wild back-bends, was an expression of my inability to accept that mission. But even that resistance was the mission.

Feeling the pain I was in seemed a bit too much for me to bear at the time, so I had to wrap it in white shawls, paint over it with spiritual symbols, sing mantras, read Sutras, believe in concepts, and do postures. But no matter how I tried to bend my body, control my mind and train my tongue, the pain was still there.

And the pain was an invitation to inquire more deeply. To drop the “I’m okay with it” mantra, to let go of being a spiritual hero, to strip down to the bare facts, to risk the vulnerability of admitting that I had no idea why all this shit was happening to me.

My body and my life falling apart were not expressions of me being stuck in some lower state of consciousness. My illness was not burning off bad karma so I could one day rise up to a more elevated and totally painless mode of existence. Imagining a divine light at the end of the tunnel was preventing me from realizing this was it.

Looking back, I think my lama had fully realized this when he got his bum off the golden cushion, put on those jeans, and started washing dishes. No wonder I saw him spending more time in his garden than in meditation. I bet it is all the same to him.

I am not sure I really get it yet. I am not sure I really got anything out of those 20 years of spiritual practice. Really. There may be nothing to get.

But I do recognize that my view on a spiritual calling has changed. I am no longer desperately looking for a steep and narrow path to enlightenment. I no longer want to get over it and go to a better place. My dharma seems to me today to be just what I am already busy doing. My spiritual duty is to fully face the life I have on my plate here and now.

Not just when it feels great, but also when it hurts like hell. No reservations. Just feeling it as intimately as I am capable of in the moment, and responding from there.

It makes no difference whether I think I am an arrogant, selfish, demanding, useless, deluded idiot, or whether I think I am an enlightened being on a mission to save the planet. It does not make any difference whether I chant mantras or make money, whether I embrace or resist, whether I laugh, love, cry or sigh.

This is still it!

I will be doing exactly what I am doing because there is nowhere else to be but in this very moment and in this very body.

I may be wrong. But I would like to suggest that the Middle Way is no narrow path to tread with neurotic precision to get to a pot of gold at the end.

The Middle Way is probably the broadest and most inclusive experience we humans will ever get our heads around. It is not a balancing act, it is embracing the full spectrum of everything that we are. Deluded and divine, bad and brilliant. Nothing left out, nothing disowned.

Cutting wood, cooking food, having babies, being furious, loving like crazy, being bored or getting a depression is no less spiritual than reciting the Heart Sutra in Sanskrit. Some of it hurts more than others, but it is still your sacred path.

Living from the Middle Way means you cannot possibly go astray. There is no outside to go to, there is no heavenly hierarchy to fall from, there is no test to pass. You did not come here to learn, you came here to give.

What does yoga postures, acupuncture, mindfulness and pizza have in common? At the Copenhagen Business School, scholars and managers met to discuss the role of Mindfulness Meditation in high performing organizations. Revisitng my former role as an academic scholar i presented a historical reflexion of the corporate mindfulness boom.

See the video of the lecture here 

Summary:

“Mind the Gap” is an academic meditation on the recent mindfulness-boom and its entry into corporate enviroments. What actually happens when esoteric practices take the leap across  the east/west gap? Are gaps between tectonic plates  spaces where things get lost or are they spaces where things get created? The presentation compares the global mindfulness boom with three other “indegenous” practices, who in recent history became global transnational phenomena. Looking at the way Transnational Chinese Medicine (TCM), Yoga Posture Practice and Italian pizza(!) spread across the planet, the very idea of a gap between the pure, historical original and a hyped contemporary copy begins to melts down.

In all three cases authenticity seems to be a performative mixture-effect appearing as practices travel across gaps rather than an innocent pre existing state to be corrupted or protected. For yoga and TCM especially, it seems that a mix of estern esoteric authenticity and western scientific credibility  is what has enrsured its global mobilization.

So, what does this mean for our analysis of the present mindfulness boom? Is mindfulneess just excotic food with the edge taken off so the tourist can swallow, but still get a sense of having travelled? Is the transition from buddhist self enquiry into corporate self improvement really just a counterproductive distortion pushing us deeper into suffering? What are the political and ethical implications when modern knowledge workers begin to close their eyes and count to ten?

The presentation draws heavily on scolarly work by Peter Elsass, Mei Zhan, Mark Singleton, Bruno Latour, Marilyn Strathern and my earlier work in the field of science, technology and society. The distinction between self improvement and self enquiry and their respective implications for human suffering is borrowed from Godfrey Devereux.

I yogakredse giver ordet ”Dynamic” ofte associationer til yogaklasser hvor man sveder sig igennem et flow af ret “vilde” yogastillinger i takt med en fælles åndedrætsrytme. Dynamic Yoga føles helt anderledes ubesværet og ligner ikke helt de andre flow-baserede yogaformer. Siden denne undervisningsmetode blev udviklet i de tidlige 1990ére er der kommet et væld af stilarter der hedder noget med dynamic, flow eller vinyasa og de er næsten alle kendetegnet af at være lidt “hårdere” yogaformer der har større fokus på styrke og smidighed. I Dynamic Yoga kræves der virkelig ikke nogen særlig smidig krop for at være med hele vejen igennem. Styrke og smidighed kan blive en sideeffekt af din praksis, men er hverken et krav eller et mål. Så her er lidt information om hvorfor det stadig hedder “Dynamic” og hvad der er unikt ved metoden bag undervisningen.

Hvad er forskellen?

Set udefra er den slående forskel på Dynamic Yoga og andre yogaformer at vi er i bevægelse 70-90% af tiden. Længere ophold i statiske stillinger kommer med tiden når kroppen af sig selv får lyst til at hænge ud, men den største del af praksissen foregår i et kontinuerligt flow der synkroniseres med dit naturlige åndedræts rytme. Gentagelse af simple bevægelser og enkle stillinger de fleste kan være med på er et grundlæggende kendetegn ved denne måde at undervise på.

Set indefra er praksissen præget af et meget intenst nærvær og et fokus på det meditative og forløsende aspekt af yoga. Dynamic Yoga er helt grundlæggende en meditationspraksis men med den forskel at vi mediterer uanset om vi bevæger os på måtten eller sidder stille på puden.

En helt essentiel de af praksissen er at den er baseret på konkrete undersøgelser af ting du selv kan mærke i kroppen. Fraværet af af esoterisk soundtrack i undervisningen er ikke en fornægtelse af yoga som spirituel praksis, det er snarere en insisteren på at yoga altid må være rodfæstet i det du selv kan mærke og tænke dig frem til. Den højeste autoritet i din praksis vil altid være din egen krop og det den kan lære dig. Lærerens rolle er at undervise dig i hvordan du selv undersøger din virkelighed, snarere end at fortælle dig hvad du skal gøre, mærke, tro eller tænke. På den måde er yoga mere en eksperimenterende praksis end en religiøs praksis.

Metoden bag Dynamic Yoga blev udviklet af den britiske yogalærer Godfrey Devereux men i dag kan man finde Dynamic Yoga lærere over hele verden men mest koncentreret i Vesteuropa.

Hvorfor “Dynamic”

Dynamic betyder egentlig bare at bevægelse bliver brugt som et værktøj til læring. Menneskekroppen er utrolig intelligent og har en enorm kapacitet for at lære nye ting. Men kroppen lærer altid på samme måde: Ved at respondere sensitivt på gentagende bevægelser. Den gang du lærte at spise med ske, cykle eller skrive gentog du den samme bevægelse igen og igen og lærte at koble hånd og sansefornemmelse indtil bevægelsen “sad” i dig og du ikke skulle tænke over den længere. På samme måde bruger Dynamic Yoga gentagende små bevægelsessekvenser (ullolaer) til at undervise kroppen sådan at din yogapraksis bliver sikker, behagelig og effektiv. Der er ikke noget teknik du skal forstå, kun bevægelser du skal gentage for at kroppen tavst bliver integreret til en funktionel helhed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFwXS1d1Vyo;w=580

Vi bruger gentagelserne til at undervise eleverne i at aktivere musklerne sådan at de kan støtte alle kropens led så de bliver åbne og frie i yogastillingen. Det er en aktiv og meget fysisk yogapraksis hvor man typisk er i konstant bevægelse men på en måde der føles ”let” i kroppen og helst aldrig skal indebære kamp eller smerte.  Det ser ikke ret sveddryppende ud selv om det mobiliserer og styrker hele muskelapperatet. Du følger dit eget åndedræts naturlige rytme og din opmærksomhed er rodfæstet i den indre sanseoplevelse snarere end på hvad der foregår omkring dig. Så gentagende bevægelser og træning af sensitivitet er to grundlæggende elementer i Dynamic Yoga. Af dem følger et meget meditativt nærvær igennem hele praksissen.

Metoden bag undervisningen er også  “dynamic” fordi den hele tiden er under forandring. Dynamic Yoga anno 2005 så f.eks radikalt anderledes ud end den gør i dag. Undervisningen har ikke faste geometriske retningslinier for hvordan en yogastilling skal se ud. Metoden er sansebaseret snarere end alignmentbaseret. Det vil sige at en dynamic yoga lærers job er at undervise dig i selv at mærke efter og handle i overensstemmelse med det der er godt for din krop lige her og nu.  I Dynamic Yoga er den højeste autoritet altid  elevens egen sanseoplevelse.

Trin for trin

Kernen i metoden er Vinyasa Krama – progressiv instruktion. Du bliver altid guidet trin for trin sådan at kroppen “forstår” hvad den skal gøre hele vejen igennem praksissen. Alle instruktioner du hører fra en Dynamic Yoga lærer har et formål som kommer til udtryk senere i klassen eller senere i forløbet. Hver teknik du introduceres til lægger grunden til den næste sådan at du gradvist lærer at forstå og handle på kroppens medfødte intelligens. Ideen er at hvis du oplever smerte eller kamp i en yogastilling er det fordi din lærer ikke har forberedt dig godt nok. Yoga skal aldrig være en kamp eller en præstation selv om det godt må være en sund udfordring. Din krop kender forskellen og Dynamic Yoga handler om trin for trin at blive mere skarp på at lytte til kroppen.

Man kan derfor ikke rigtig sige at Dynamic Yoga er en stilart eller en yogaform men snarere en yoga metode. Metoden træner trin for trin din evne til at vække muskulaturen,mærke mere subtile sansefornemmelser og integrere kroppens dele til en behagelig fornemmelse af helhed (yoga). På den måde bliver din praksis bliver guidet indefra kroppen snarere end fra ydre autoriteter. Vi opfordrer eleven til at stille spørgsmålstegn ved alt hvad yogalæreren siger og kun tage det til sig som giver mening for deres liv og deres krop her og nu.  Dynamic Yoga er ikke et redskab til selvudvikling eller selvoptimering hvor du stræber efter at opnå et kulturelt bestemt ideal (hvor nobelt og smukt dette end kan være).  Undervisningen inviterer dig til at finde en intimitet med kroppen, sindet og bevidstheden – en praksis i at blive eet med det der sker lige her og nu. Det er ikke et mål i sig selv at forbedre f.eks. styrke, smidighed, koncentrationsevne eller gøre dig glad i låget. (Men det kan meget vel blive en sideeffekt). Der er heller ingen moralske dagsordner for hvordan du bør leve dit liv.

Vores filosofi er at du allerede er fuldstændig perfekt som du er og at yoga er en praksis der tillader dig at få øje på det. Yoga handler ikke handler om at være supermenneske, men om at opdage at det er super at være menneske.

Birgitte Gorm Hansen (Cand.Psych PhD og tidligere senior teacher i Dynamic Yoga)

My latest for rebelle Society. Yoga in india was once a dangerous and subversive practice spitting in the face of power. What happened?

http://www.rebellesociety.com/2013/06/30/the-rebellious-heart-of-yoga/

Wild yogis.

To us modern westerners, the image of yoga posture practice is one of beauty, peace and good health. Yoga looks neat. A little too neat according too some. But not long ago, there was a time where yoga was an act of rebellion. Long before and up through the heyday of the British Empire, the western eye saw asana as a completely unacceptable and dangerous cultural phenomenon. Yoga was a bad ass practice.

Take for example hatha yoga-practicing Nath yogins of Bengal[1]. Born as caste underdogs these men found social mobility and freedom by combining austere asceticism with a powerful military organization. Wearing nothing but guns they pillaged their way forward. Some groups even managed to gain control over North Indian trade routes. Nudity, weapons and pillaging: A triple insult to the colonial rule of Britannia.

Ascetic mercenaries referred to as “yogis” or “jogis” were considered a force to be reckoned with for the British Government in Bengal. It took brute force and a long time to get these yogis to settle in villages and lay down their arms. But trouble persisted. Long after wandering naked and carrying a gun became a criminal offense, fakirs and yogis continued to disturb moral order by making public displays of “backward, uncivilized and dangerous” yoga posture practice[2]. The British were not amused!

So even though we yogis of today may associate our practice with peace, love and health, some of our yogic ancestors were pure guerrilla! Hatha yoga was operating behind the frontier of Victorian values, under the radar of imperial power. Yogis were flexible people on the move, people who could not easily be nailed down and fixated into the commercial circuit. Even if silenced by prohibition, immobilized by property rights and struck down by military power, hatha yoga remained rebellious. Practicing yoga postures was a way to spit in the face of cultural, economic, militant and moral oppression.

What happened?

It could seem that the yoga revolution has come a long way since then. As we all know the British Empire shrunk back into to a few isolated islands while yoga posture practice expanded itself to a global, transnational phenomenon. The modern yoga boom is, to be sure, a living force to be reckoned with. A happy and life-giving practice spreading smiles across the planet. So far so good.

But what happened to the rebellious heart of hatha yoga? Where did it go?

Allow me to get gloomy for a few paragraphs; I promise to restore your faith in yoga revolutions towards the end.

At first glance, things do not look great for a wild yoga rebellion of our time. Try opening a mainstream yoga magazine. Not only is the neat image of modern transnational yoga culture a far cry from that of the untamed Nath yogins. Much worse, it seems that the yoga rebellion has backfired. What was once an opposition to power – the yogic body – is today becoming its instrument.

The body of yoga has become a commodity. In Yoga books, magazines, online and in yoga studios we get exposed to an image of a (predominantly white and female) body that seems to defy both the law of gravity and the flow of time. Gravity and time. Forces to be reckoned with – or maybe not? Today’s economic, cultural and moral elites have deployed new and creative means to fixate that which wants to move, to get that which refuses to fit back in line!

Fixating the yogic body of today into the commercial circuit does not happen with gun and imperial law. We have diet regimens and posture drills that would make trained soldiers cry and we are not afraid to use them in the struggle to keep our bodies in alignment with the dominant cultural ideal. And yoga posture practice has, ironically, become a favorite tool to get our asses in line. Also, yoga posture practice is today predominantly marketed as a tool to make you flexible, beautiful, fit, and forever young.

But the look is no longer enough. It has to come with that extra cool glow of the hip(pie) and bohemian. That is the yoga-body that we are now being taught to desire – and buy – by the aid of the intelligent elite of marketing experts. No guns needed.

And it does not stop with the body. As yoga posture practitioners we get bombarded with values, expert testimony, scientific knowledge and spiritual authority figures that will tell us what is true, good and healthy.

Is the yogic body then, nothing but a mute raw material for consumption? A passive, blank page to be inscribed by shifting moral orders and cultural ideals? A pulp to be shaped by power?

I think not!

Yoga as a force of nature.

Yoga posture practice is still totally bad ass. Far behind the frontiers of commercialization, deep under the skin of all living bodies, the yoga rebellion is still breathing freely. If there is a yoga revolt alive today, it has no brand name, no logo, no sponsor, no PR employee, no merchandize, no charismatic leader and no moral elite.

Leslie Kaminoff has put it beautifully:

Yoga may have been discovered in India and taken up again in the West but it has not been invented by any one culture because “yoga is a force of nature”. Just as no one can claim to have “invented” electricity, no one can claim or own yoga.

I’d like to suggest that as a natural force, the heart of yoga remains rebellious. It does so because it has the power to hook up your mind with the intelligence of your body:

The force of nature which is currently keeping you alive. Right now you are breathing in a rhythm that supplies your body with exactly the volume of oxygen it needs. Right now your heart beats at just the right pace to supply your muscles and organs with blood. Your pupils are exactly the size they need to be so you read these words. Your body knows what it needs and how it can get it and it will protest violently if you go against its decisions. (Try to hold your breath as long as you can and see who wins). The intelligence of your body is a concrete, material force to be reckoned with[3].

You may have to sometimes turn away from clearly feeling the impulses of your body. You temporarily stick your fingers in your ears so as to not hear the silent language of sensation. But the wisdom of your physical body cannot be put out of service as long as you are alive. You will have to use brute force and a long time to get your body to lay down its arms. For your body knows very well how much it would really like to eat, who you really want to kiss, what postures will injure and which will nourish it, how long to work, when to sleep, when to surrender and when to fight. Your body can discriminate unflinchingly between loneliness and low blood sugar. It can clearly tell you the difference between pain and pleasure[4]. If you let it.

Freedom

It is a privilege to be able to practice yoga. Because the physical postures bring the gift of turning up the volume when the forces of nature speak their intransigent body language. Asana allows you to tap directly into the intelligence of your body, a natural force that will not yield until you are dead or at least dying.

If you are sleep-deprived, yoga quickly reveals how tired you actually are. If you have pushed yourself beyond your capacity yoga will allow you to feel and respond to the pain of stress and overexertion. If you have buried unresolved issues in your life don’t be surprised if one day in dog pose, something old and ugly sticks its head out of the ground. If you are being aggressive with yourself or your loved ones a sensitive yoga practice can help you feel more clearly the impacts of your actions. And that refined sensitivity comes off your mat all by itself. Getting intimate with the body – with how you actually feel is the beginning of an organic response that may change things. A revolution coming not from external command, rules, dogma, cultural ideals or regimens, but from the wisdom of your very own body.

To say yes to your body sometimes involves saying no to the things that just are not OK. Maybe we do not need more people telling us what to do? Maybe yogis of today do not need sleeping pills, therapy sessions, diets, cosmetics, surgeons and life coaches? Perhaps the yogic body is still an alternative to becoming a domesticated, docile puppet-body? An alternative to serving the cultural ideals, moral regimes and commercial circuits imposed on us by those in power.

Asana is revolutionary. It is revolutionary because it is a somatic practice – a practice of the body. Its rebellious heart beats behind the front line of rationality, under the radar of cultural elitism. If yoga causes us to eat, sleep, talk, work or love differently it is because the preferences of our bodies have been felt and responded to because it taught us to distinguish between pain and pleasure. When our practice involves listening deeply to the life force within us, yoga allows us to love ourselves exactly as we are. To let go of any need for external authority.

It can come as no surprise, then, that there are still places in the world where teaching yoga can put you in jail. Because within yoga lurks a YES to the life force within you. And thereby also an unflinching NO to those who want to control what you buy, how you look, who you kiss, what you eat, what you vote or how you think.

Modern yoga may look neat and domesticated when pictured in magazines as just another tool for self-improvement. But as a somatic practice of deep self-enquiry it has not lost any of its rebellious potential. Getting intimate with the body may just plug your fingers into the power outlet of an uncontrollable natural force. Remembering the rebellion within yoga is to pay tribute to that which cannot be put in place, that which cannot be tamed, that which no external authority can silence. That force within you that only accepts freedom.

Essay published by Elephant Yoga. Original post here

Yoga makes some big and audacious promises.

According to The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, Yoga is a practice that will stop the chatter of your mind*. I don’t know about your mind but knowing my own I’d say that’s a pretty tall order! Never the less, most of us have found ourselves on the mat buying toilet paper, arguing with our boss or thinking about sex. And most of us have wondered why we keep doing that when we were supposed to be doing yoga! As much as we enjoy the bliss of being fully present, fully aware or mindful in our practice and in our life, we ever so often find ourselves caught up in memories, fantasies, auto-pilot perception or mental sleep walking.

Does yoga really work then, or is it just another false promise?

Desperately wanting the promises of yoga to be true, we quickly resort to the idea that the only reason yoga isn’t working for us is that we are not as dedicated and disciplined as we should be. We easily latch on to the idea all we need is to put more effort into training awareness, control our mind or discipline our bodies.

“If only I could make my mind STOP” we tell ourselves, “If only I could control the impulse to think about my job/lover/bank account/kids/career/butt…”

However, I’d like to suggest that yoga need not be about control. The famous opening of the yoga sutras “yoga chitta vritti nirhodah” has much more interesting implications than “yoga is a technique to tie down constant movements in consciousness.”

Godfrey Devereux puts it nicely when stating, “Awareness is not a dog you can call.”

Yoga, he seems to suggest, is not animal dressage. If awareness is in any way comparable to an animal, I suppose it would be one of those majestic, wild, free animals that go their own way. An animal which sometimes comes near to follow our actions with curiosity but soon after runs off again without warning. An animal which will sometimes nibble at the food we lay out in its territory but which may as well decide to ignore our kind gesture to go hunting in a forest far away.

Now, there are many examples of how people have found great meaning in catching, harnessing and training wild animals. And to be fair, some impressive accomplishments came out of that project. Civilization for example. But if we’re busy doing is yoga—and not a sophisticated version of synchronized dolphin swimming, one might wonder treating ourselves like dogs is really the way forward.

If yoga really does still the chatter of the mind, I think it is because yoga comes from a place within us that is deeply uncivilized.

A place that is deeper than our personal will, our techniques, our projects and ideals. To me, yoga is not a mental boot camp where we train ourselves to become fully aware. Yoga is a practice that allows us to experience the free, wild rhythm of awareness itself.

Sometimes we are fully aware of what we are busy doing, at other times we are completely gone. Sometimes we feed of that which our yoga practice lays out for us and at other times we go off far away to nibble at fantasies, memories and speculations.

Yoga works, yes.

But not because it teaches us how to discipline our minds and bodies. It works because it allows us to encounter a force much more powerful than that of self-control. Within the vacillating waves of perception “something” is experiencing how awareness oscillates between presence and absence, concentration and distraction, delight and suffering.

“Something” is constantly embracing the oscillations independent of our conscious effort, independent of personal will. I am deeply convinced that this “something” is a wild animal that we can inquire into coming face to face with every time we get on our mat. An unbridled creature who does not come when you call because it was already here.

*Freely and boldly translated from “Yoga citta vritti nirhodhah.” A couple of more scholarly translation would be: “Yoga is the cessation of movements in consciousness (Feurstein 1989) “Yoga is the restrictions of the fluctuations in consciousness” (Iyengar 2002),  “Yoga is experienced in that mind which has ceased to identify itself with its vacillating waves of perception” (Stiles, 2002). That´s all fine. However, the only valid interpretation of Patanjali is your own. Look for it on your mat.

Helene Krenchel var til Dynamic Yoga workshop og spurgte efterfølgende hvad jeg tænkte om “No pain no gain” i yoga. Den snak blev til denne lille artikel om forskellen på en nærende yogapraksis og et selvskabt endorfin-kick.

Øget (krops)bevidsthed – Dynamic Yoga

“Jeg tilhører gruppen af yoga freaks, der synes, at asanas skal gøre lidt ondt før, det gør godt. En sweet pain, der gennem undervisningstimen bliver til no pain og dermed en masse gain. Og så stødte jeg for nylig ind i yogaformen Dynamic Yoga, som – jeg havde nær sagt – slog måtten væk under mig. I al sin stilhed, ro og ja… smertefrihed. Hvor bliver den af?, lå jeg og tænkte timen igennem, og vidste ikke præcist hvad jeg efterlyste…. (læs mere)

A blog post for the creatively maladjusted Rebelle Society.  Postulating bodly that yoga is not about controlling your self or the world around you but rather to reveal the absence of any boundary between them.

http://www.rebellesociety.com/2012/10/18/beyondtheboundary/

full text below:

By Birgitte Gorm Hansen.

“You can not always control what goes on outside. But you-can always control what goes on inside.”

These words were printed in white on top of a photo…

The photo of a stunningly beautiful woman standing in the centre of a busy street. With traffic roaring around her she looks directly into my eyes while balancing in a rather impressive yoga posture (ardha baddha padmottanasana).

The picture magnetizes the gaze. The text printed above her head shines in clear, white letters.

“Cool,” said my friend who reading over my shoulder. “Can you teach me that?” Now that question requires a yoga teacher to choose her words carefully.

“Not a chance,” I said.

I cannot teach students to control “what goes on inside” so that they won’t be disturbed by “what goes on outside.” Practicing and teaching yoga has stripped me of any impulse to do so. Let me explain:

Most (not all) people who try yoga decide to come back because the practice gives them a good sensation in the body. A glimpse of something weightless, a relief of some sort. Many students have shared with me their occasional experience of their body as a soft, warm presence in which they can’t really tell left from right, top from bottom, floor from body, inside from outside.

Photo credit: Ditte Capion Damgaard

A common beginning to this is not being able to feel the exact position of your hands when lying in savasana, and sometimes it can feel like the whole of the body loses its boundaries or leak out into a fuzzy, aliveness: A warm softness not similar to the one we experience at the brink of sleep. Some get it when sitting I stillness on their cushion, a few experience it in active posture practice. A gap in the experience of distinguishing between sensations a blurring of sensation not unlike that of drifting down into sleep.

It’s nothing in particular, really. It’s rather the opposite of feeling anything in particular.

Practicing yoga with sensitivity (what I like to call ahimsa), seems to allow the body to go quiet and thereby invites the mind to take a rest from separating sand and distinguishing. If your posture practice creates no hard, noisy, painful sensations it becomes an invitation to soft quietness. Not just in savasansa, meditation or supported chilled out postures. It can happen if you become comfortable in dog pose, trikonasana, tadasana and it can come off the mat with you.

If there is no struggle, meaning that the body has been patiently prepared over time to enter the pose with integrity, yoga posture practice doesn’t feel like anything in particular.

When the body goes quiet, the mind’s ability to distinguish between what is going on “inside” and what is going on “outside” is invited to loosen its grip for a moment. This experience is not difficult or complicated, requires no faith or spiritual ability. Most of us don’t even realize that it’s happening at first. Often people just think it was a moment of sleep and discard it as distraction.

But through the years I’ve come to the conclusion that it is nothing like sleep. Feeling that you’ve been “gone” for a moment even while standing on your feet or sitting on your cushion or lying in savasana is not necessarily a detour. I’d like to suggest it’s a mini-break from inside/outside distinctions.

By this kind of experience, yoga has to me become a journey that reveals the inseparability of my being from everything else.

From my mat I get a peek into a different context, in which my daily experience of things in particular is immersed into wholeness. To be sure, this is not a religious experience or a transcendental state. I’m not becoming whole through yoga. I’m not being united with something divine, I have not entered a Great Beyond. I have not gone beyond the body.

If there is any beyond, it’s going beyond the very notion of a boundary between body and world. The revelation that I am by nature inseparable from everything around me. The recognition that I was born whole and need no completion.

From that perspective, no control is necessary, no guarding of a boundary between “inside” and “outside” is needed. Sometimes it’s just a glimpse, other times it goes on and on, and sometimes I´m not feeling it at all. When it happens it happens spontaneously and cannot be induced or commanded. I just keep going to the mat without looking for anything in particular.

Going back to the photo of the woman in the busy street—I like to think that she magnetizes our gaze because she exudes that state of feeling “nothing in particular”—of wholeness. I’d like to suggest that the peace in her eyes did not come because she learned to forget about the world around her. By contrast, she seems to have forgotten her Self.

Experiencing the world without struggling to defend a boundary around herself, letting life flow through her full force without resistance. That, I hope, is what makes her beautiful. We cannot take our eyes off her in the same way we cannot help but smile when a baby looks us right in the face.

Photo courtesy: Birgitte Gorm Hansen

Because we already know it.

We all carry the infant memory of how it is to live without erecting boundaries, to have zero point zero resistance to reality, to trust life. Because you are born whole, there is basically nothing you need to optimize, nothing you need to defend, nothing extra you need to acquire you to be 100% okay with this very world.

There is no higher power with which you should strive to unite, no better version of yourself that you need to become.

Just the wholeness that is your natural state when the activity of distinguishing and controlling loses its grip a little. The place where your sense, live and act beyond the boundary is always available in the life you live here and now. Some find this presence without ever having set foot on a yoga mat. Others need a consistent practice to enquire into what we most deeply are.

As a teacher of this approach to yoga the answer has to be an unflinching: Not a chance.

I have no impulse to teach yoga as a discipline by which to gain control of what goes on inside and shut out what goes on outside. For me yoga is an enquiry into the possibility that that separateness is only a temporary, practical measure. That the self/other boundary is hand luggage: Good to carry when our survival is at risk but not necessary to defend or control when safe on the mat. I´d like to teach yoga as a dropping into the living ocean of wholeness.

“Uhm… okay,” said my friend after that tirade. “That’s all very interesting. Eh, but I was actually just asking if you could teach me how to get my legs into that ardha baddha-lotus-thing that the girl in the photo is doing. Id really like to be able to balance on my toes like that, It looks über cool! Can you teach me that?”

“Yeah. No problem.”