We gathered Sunday morning for a session with a visiting yoga teacher.
We sat expectantly on our mats, waiting for his words of wisdom, the spiritual nectar that would nourish our souls. He laid out the guidelines for our practice:
- You may be overwhelmed with emotions — crying, laughing, ecstasy — this is normal, don’t be afraid.
- If you need to go to the bathroom, raise your hand so you can be escorted safely — in your spiritual bliss, you might accidentally wander into the street.
After that introduction, I anxiously eyed the doorway on the other side of the yoga room. I felt like I was sitting in a plane waiting to tandem skydive for the first time with the dive instructor — a short middle-aged man with a porn star mustache — strapped to my back. There was no escape; I was trapped here by a sea of eager students sitting at the feet of a master. I quietly repeated my yoga mantra to myself: I invite the uncomfortable into my life.
We lay on our backs and started the breathing practice. The technique involved something like sighing, repeatedly, often audible. With forty people in the room it sounded like a cross between wind whistling through ocean caves — an eerie ghost-like sound — and an island full of penguins calling out to each other during mating season.
I focused on my breath, working toward a steady rhythm. The voices around me settled into the background, but occasionally rose up — moaning, sobbing, giggling — the emotions passing through the room like a wave. At one point, a woman near me grabbed my hand. Instinctively I started to pull away, but I resisted the urge and squeezed her hand gently until she took it back.
As we practiced, the teacher walked around, comforting people, helping them, holding them. My eyes were closed and there was so much noise that I didn’t notice him standing near my head until he pressed his thumb into my forehead, my third eye chakra, known as Ajna, which is associated with visualization and insight. I visualized myself jumping up and running out of the room screaming.
By the end of the session, I was very relaxed. Others were crying. What followed was a debriefing session, the group circle that is common during yoga gatherings. The room was charged with emotional energy, which weighed heavily on my chest like the hot, humid air of an East Coast summer. I listened to the others, some were very broken up by the practice, their emotions exposed and raw. One man talked of understanding the true nature of God, the interconnectedness of life.
Many seemed sincere, genuinely moved, but others spoke as if they were trying to prove that they had an enlightening experience. I sat uncomfortably toward the back, wondering how I could spin my relaxed feeling into a spiritual awakening. Fortunately, I was saved by a woman who nervously raised her hand and asked, “Is it normal to not have any emotion come up during this?” The teacher reassured her that, yes, that was perfectly normal; everyone’s experience is unique.
Still, as I left the studio, walking past the racks of yoga clothes for the hard-bodied and super-flexible, I wondered how many people treat yoga, with its thousands of years of tradition, as another set of designer clothes to be worn around town as evidence of spiritual growth.
For formal occasions, be sure to throw on a few accessories to go with the yoga — mention your chakras over hors d’oeuvres, stand at the open bar with your hands in anjali mudra, and chant om as you leave the party. Mike Myers appropriately demonstrated this in Love Guru with his fictional greeting, Mariska Hargitay.
For some people, yoga is just a way to stay fit and look good in clothes designed for the hard-bodied and super-flexible; there is no spiritual aspect. While it sometimes pains me to see yoga used as just another form of exercise — focusing on only one of the eight limbs, the poses — at least these people are sincere in their attitude.
For others, yoga (often unconsciously) props up the ego, a form of pretense that Chögyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist who founded Naropa University and the Shambhala Buddhist Centers, calls spiritual materialism:
Our vast collections of knowledge and experience are just part of ego’s display, part of the grandiose quality of ego. We display them to the world and, in so doing, reassure ourselves that we exist, safe and secure, as “spiritual” people.
Spiritual materialism is more than a misuse of yoga (as when non-Christians wear crosses as fashion statements); it reinforces the ego, convincing you that your life is improving when in fact you are only pretending. Chogyam Trungpa, who says that “the main point of any spiritual practice is to step out of the bureaucracy of ego,” further illustrates this:
We go through the motions, make the appropriate gestures, but we really do not want to sacrifice any part of our way of life. We become skillful actors, and while playing deaf and dumb to the real meaning of the teachings, we find some comfort in pretending to follow the path.
The path of yoga, however, is not simple and straightforward. There are many ways to practice yoga; each of the eight limbs of yoga can serve as a foundation of a yoga practice. Likewise, there is even disagreement about the exact meaning of the word yoga. What is important is to have an authentic experience with yoga, whatever that means for you. Don’t let your ego convince you that you need to act or be a certain way to fit into the yoga world, or to demonstrate your worth. As Joseph Campbell repeatedly highlights throughout his writings and lectures, the hero is the person who follows his or her own path:
If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.
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Photo: Art Fag City
