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Spiritual seeking by Judith Lasater |
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tada drashtuh sva-rupe'vasthanam Some years ago, I was working at my desk and realized that I had misplaced a bill that was due. While I anxiously searched for it, my then four-year-old daughter came into the room and asked for my attention. I said that I was busy looking for something important and to come back later. In a few minutes she returned and asked quietly, "Have you found yourself yet, Mommy?" I was humbled by her question. Had I found myself or anything else after years of yoga study and spiritual seeking? I had, but the "path" was not what I had imagined at the beginning of my journey in 1970. At the outset, I believed that to be spiritual meant that I had to seek, find, and accomplish something outside of myself that would bring me happiness and fulfillment. For example, I sought the company of well-known gurus and teachers, because I was convinced that they had the answers. I practiced a rigid program of yoga poses, holding them for excruciatingly long periods of time in hopes of self-transformation. And I read every book on yoga and enlightenment that I could find. I thought that I understood what it meant to be a spiritual person until the day when I became angrier than I had ever been in my life because of a disagreement with an employee. I literally saw red. I found out that this is not a metaphor but an actual physiological phenomenon. In that flash, I understood how someone could murder in the heat of the moment. I was shocked by the depth of my anger and retreated to my room, where I sat in despair. After all my years of yoga practice, how could I become so incredibly angry? I felt that I was a failure, and that all of my attempts to reach a higher level of spiritual development were a joke. I could feel my ideas about myself as a spiritual person draining out of me. At exactly the same moment, something else was filling me up. It was a feeling, an understanding, an experience made up of equal parts equanimity and peace. This state lasted for three days, during which I needed almost no food or sleep. I could see clearly that it was not my ideas about spirituality that would bring peace to my life. Whether we seek something called spirituality, holiness, or enlightenment, the route to it is through our humanness, complete with our strengths and our weaknesses, our successes and our failures. You might say that we use ourselves to discover ourselves. In my case, it required a deep letting go of what I thought that enlightenment might be that allowed me the smallest taste of it. Many great teachers have pointed the way, emphasizing that they (and their teachings), in and of themselves, are not the answer. For example, Jesus said, "The kingdom of God is within you" (Luke 17:21). Patanjali addresses this same point in the first book, verse three, of his Yoga Sutra: tada drashtuh sva-rupe'vasthanam, or "Then the seer abides in its essence."(1) This important verse clarifies a core concept of Patanjali's work. He begins with tada, meaning "then" or "when one is in the state of yoga."(2) (It should be noted that Patanjali uses yoga to mean "a state of wholeness" as well as the practices associated with this state.(3) ) And when you are in a state of yoga, or wholeness, you rest in your own true nature. A favorite image I use to explain this verse to my students is that of a sculptor. When carving stone, the sculptor removes everything that is not the statue. She does not add anything to create it, except the willingness to do the work. The art of revealing beauty lies in removing what conceals it. So, too, Patanjali tells us that wholeness exists within us. Our work is to chisel away at everything that is not essence, not Self. Many of us come to yoga because of some difficulty in our lives. For some, it is physical, such as lower back or knee discomfort. For others, it is emotional, such as depression. And for still others, the draw is philosophical, such as feeling that life lacks meaning. Most of us have a combination of reasons. However, often the dawning of yoga is coupled with an outwardly acknowledged or inwardly unexpressed expectation that yoga can solve problems, eliminate pain, and, most important, guarantee us that they will not recur. As I discovered through my experience with anger, nothing could be further from the truth. Although yoga practice certainly can help our aching backs and bolster our spirits, it cannot insulate us from the pain that life inevitably brings, such as losing loved ones, illness, aging, not getting what we want – or even getting what we want. If yoga does not ensure a life without pain, then why do it? I have found that being in "a state of yoga" relieves suffering, specifically the suffering caused by being in separation from my wholeness. Suffering differs from pain. Suffering is caused by the emotional reaction we lay on top of our pain. By becoming aware of our emotions and thoughts about pain, their hold on us can be released and our suffering can be lessened. The avenue to this awareness is through constant attention, remembering that each moment is holy and holds the potential for self-transformation. This awareness is the tada, or "state of yoga," about which Patanjali speaks. From this perspective, spiritual seeking is not what we do outwardly, but what we acknowledge inwardly. To practice yoga in the deepest sense is to commit to developing awareness by observing our lives: our thoughts, our words, and our actions. There are many yoga techniques that can support us along the way, such as yoga poses, breathing practices, and meditation. But these are not ends in themselves, but means to the Self. The real beginning of spiritual practice is evident when we accept responsibility for ourselves, that is, when we acknowledge that ultimately there are no answers outside of ourselves, and no gurus, no teachers, and no philosophies that can solve the problems of our lives. They can only suggest, guide, and inspire. It is our dedication to living with open hearts and our commitment to the day-to-day details of our lives that will transform us. When we are open to the present moment, we shine forth. At these times, we are not on a spiritual path: we are the spiritual path. Abiding Practice We begin with Abiding Practice. If there really are no answers outside of ourselves, then we must learn to turn toward ourselves and be comfortable in doing so. Abiding Practice can remind us that there is nothing we need to be whole that does not already exist within us. It combines a yoga pose with a Mantra for Daily Living. You can select a mantra from those that follow, one from another chapter, or you can create one of your own. Abiding Practice can be done practically anywhere, anytime. Set aside some time each day for practice, even if it is only five minutes. Above all, be kind to yourself. Do what you can: never force anything. To begin, select a quiet space at home or work. Decide how much time you have, and set a timer so you do not have to watch the clock during practice. Choose a soothing yoga pose in which you are comfortable, such as lying in Basic Relaxation Pose (Shavasana) in your yoga practice space or on your bed, or Seated Mountain Pose (Tadasana, variation) at work. Make yourself comfortable. For example, you can place a rolled blanket under your knees and a rolled towel under your neck in Basic Relaxation Pose, or a stack of books under your feet and a rolled towel at your lumbar spine for support in Seated Mountain Pose. Whichever you choose, make sure that your body is placed in a symmetrical position, and that your spine is soft and long. Once in position, close your eyes, allowing them to look downward toward your heart. If you are lying down, cover your eyes with a wash cloth. Relax your jaw and throat. Spend the next few minutes gently observing your breath. When you feel settled, say your Mantra for Daily Living to yourself. Rest in the pose. Most daily activities are goal oriented. In Abiding Practice, there is no objective except to fully experience your own life, free of the distraction caused by thoughts, plans, and even by moving around. We all spend most of our time forgetting to feel, to sense, and to know life – moment by moment. Abiding Practice helps you to experience each moment completely. Instead of trying to fill yourself up, this is the your chance to feel empty, feel still, and feel present. To end practice, follow the rise and fall of the breath as you did at the beginning of the exercise, and repeat your Mantra for Daily Living. When you feel complete, open your eyes and come out of the pose. Stretch and take the time you need to make the transition to your next activity, knowing that all is well within you. Other Practice Suggestions
Mantras for Daily Living
Notes Epigraph: Georg Feuerstein, The Yoga-Sutra of Patanjali: A New Translation
and Commentary (Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions, 1989), 28. Copyright
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