The Path To Bodhichitta

2010-01-23T06:01:00.000-08:00

Completion

You complete me.

I have no doubts that the scriptwriter of Jerry MacGuire has had a finger in many failed relationships all over the world. What is it about us humans that crave completion from outside ourselves? Why do we burden another person with the expectation of filling the void within us that we somehow cannot fill on our own? And why, when relationship after relationship fractures under this impossible duty, do we still not think of turning the mirror towards ourselves?

When I first got together with The Thinker, I was a snarling unhappy knot because he refused to fit the shape that I had carved out for him. He refused to follow the script I had written and neatly side-stepped that gaping black hole within me instead of jumping in to fill it. It took many months before I suddenly realised what I was doing. And it shocked me to see that I had placed the source of my happiness in his hands when the poor man didn't want it. Who would? So I started focusing on creating my own source of joy and though he remains a huge part of it, he is not IT. I'll tell you this much - it's not easy and I still slip up but during the times when it works, it's damn good! For both of us.

Editrixed, who is also in a new relationship, said in a recent email that she likes being with him and all, but "I realized that I'm as happy now as I was just before I met him. It's a bit of a strange realization -- maybe the media likes to play up having a relationship as transforming one's life, but it's still mine as before, except that I have this other person who's a big part of it now. A person who I like spending lots of time with and who makes me happy, but if it all went pete tong tomorrow, I'd still be ok."

With friends like that, who needs Dr. Phil?

Elizabeth Gilbert, in her new book 'Committed', tells the fable of a time when humans had two heads and four legs and four arms. This was the perfect melding of two people literally joined at the hip. Each of us had a perfect partner sewn into our skin and was blissfully happy. We were whole. But this wholeness made us arrogant and Zeus punished us for this by cutting us in half, thereby inflicting on us the sense of not being quite whole.

'For the rest of the time, humans would be born sensing that there was some missing part - a lost half, which we love almost more than we love ourselves - and that this missing part was out there someplace, spinning through the universe in the form of another person. We would also be born believing that if only we searched relentlessly enough, we might someday find that vanished half, that other soul. Through union with the other, we would recomplete our original form, never to experience loneliness again.

This is the singular fantasy of human intimacy: that one plus one will somehow, someday, equal one.'

But fantasies don't belong in the real world and so you keep searching for that one perfect relationship. And more often than not, we wind up hurt and bitter because no one seems to be able to complete us in exactly the way we want.

This is, in part, the essence of yoga. To find that connection and wholeness inside ourselves so we never have to place our happiness in someone else's hands. Or at the mercy of an asana, pranayama or mantra. These are paths to lift the veil of illusions so you can see your thoughts and patterns more clearly. So you can identify the samskaras that has laid down its foundation early in your life and continues to be played again and again, keeping you in that very cycle you are trying to escape. This is the clarity that a committed yoga practice brings.

But even yoga doesn't complete you. It just teaches you how to tap into your own completeness and realise that you were whole all along.

2010-01-20T07:12:00.000-08:00

A New Space

Last Sunday the humidity in the apartment finally got to The Thinker. He unpeeled himself from the couch and said, "Ok, help me move this out."

'This' was a slightly worn round wooden table in the kitchen that multitasked as my culinary work station, dining table and writing desk. It was sturdy and large enough to accommodate a spread of books and ingredients, and the fact that it is wooden made me love it more. The only problem was that the kitchen is one of the warmest rooms in the apartment. Eating and working was usually an unpleasantly sweaty affair. I had tried to drag the table into the living room but couldn't figure out how to dismantle it so that it would fit through the kitchen door. These are the occasions when someone like The Thinker comes in handy.

Within twenty minutes he had the table dismantled in the kitchen and reassembled in the living room. We carried it to the balcony, arranged the chairs around it and sat down to wipe our brows. And that's when we realised what an amazing space we had just created.

I live on the top floor of my apartment block which means I enjoy the freshest air and the best view. Stretching over the horizon right ahead of us was the city skyline. The Thinker and I had spent many evenings sitting on stiff chairs, drinks in hand as we watched day turn into night. Now we were able to do more than that.

Since this spot of redecorating I have eaten breakfast, lunch and dinner outside. I have worked, read, daydreamed and chatted online outside. And today, I looked up from an article I was writing and realised how much happiness this little space is bringing me. This is as close as I have gotten to living outdoors and I am cherishing every minute of it. It even struck me today that this space could very well inspire a meditation practice. Maybe.

Being outdoors is magical. It creates spaciousness and a sense of calm. It's quiet up here which invites reflection and contemplation. And once I've reached my quota of thinking for the day, I watch the rest of the world move along in front of me. Then I settle into my cushion of bliss and thank The Thinker for his flash of inspiration.

And before I go to bed each night, I touch my table gently and dip my head in gratitude for the simple priviledge of being gifted with this space.

2010-01-14T06:36:00.000-08:00

Signposts

"Throw away everything else and put only one God in front of you. Then one day you can throw away that God and put just a light in its place. And then one day you can throw away that light and walk on your own." Rasainthiran Menayah, Lecturer at the Saiva Siddhanta Mandram

Signposts come when you least expect them in the strangest of forms.

2009-12-29T07:06:00.000-08:00

Time

"But it's only been a year," he said.

How do I make him understand that sometimes it's not about the hours, minutes and seconds? Not about days, weeks and months?

It's about the depth of one person's fingerprints on the blueprint of another's life.

Even if he only touched it for a year.

2009-12-28T18:47:00.000-08:00

Space & Starts

It's funny how you never know how much space someone has taken up until they get up and walk away.

It's also funny how you think you've crossed the Finish line only to realise that you're right back at the Start.

2009-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

December 22nd

Day 100 of my sobriety plan.
I have crossed the Finish line.

2009-12-05T19:47:00.000-08:00

Christmas Tree

Oh Christmas tree
Oh Christmas tree
How beautiful and bright
The sight of you at Christmas time
Brings hope and gladness far and wide...

I put my Christmas tree up on Friday. My first tree since I moved into my new pad last November. When the decorations were up and the living room in darkness, I hit the switch. The Thinker clapped his hands softly as the little icicle lights winked and blinked. I gazed at my little tree in rapture.

The tree was lopsided, the glitter from the ornaments was all over the floor and our hands, the star had crumbled to bits while we were trying to assemble it and the ensemble looked a little haphazard.

But it's all mine and I love it!

2009-11-25T05:02:00.000-08:00

One Year

One year ago today, one of my favourite people moved on to another life.

One year ago today, I realised that the hole she left only fit her shape and therefore, would never be filled.

One year ago today, I wished I had just one more day. Said one more word. Felt one more loving smack.

One year after, I stood where she is no longer and silently thanked her for watching over me.

One year after, I talk to her almost everyday.

One year after, I miss her just as much as I did one year ago.

2009-11-21T06:24:00.000-08:00

Taking Risks

During my recent trip to Krabi, I convinced Mentor to give up our seats in the van and take a walk on the beach back to our hotel. She hesitated.

“Its full moon and we have a flashlight,” I pointed out. She agreed.

The resort manager who had brought us to the restaurant was a little harder to convince. Is it safe, was all I wanted to know, since I had promised The Thinker that I would take good care of myself. She reluctantly said yes, and so we walked back.

When I related this anecdote to The Thinker, he said in good-natured exasperation, “Why must you always insist on doing something when someone tells you not to do it?”

It isn’t about being rebellious or stubborn (though my mother would BEG to differ). Nor is it about being arrogant, indifferent or foolhardy. It’s about learning to be fearless.

All my life I’ve had the people who love me tell me not to do this or that. That’s what those who love you are supposed to do. They don’t mean to hold you back, just protect you in the best way they can. But ultimately, the object of your fear is looking straight at you. Not at them. And you have to decide whether you want and need to conquer it.

I think many people misunderstand the concept of risk-taking. They think it’s about throwing caution to the wind and plunging headfirst into the unknown. That works but not all the time. Real risk-taking - to me at least – is giving some thought to the situation at hand and then deciding to go forth without knowing the exact outcome but accepting that it could go either way. This prepares you for whatever awaits at the end of the road. It is also shows respect towards yourself, those who love you and the situation itself.

Editrixed sent me this bit by her favourite columnist Cary Tennis two months ago. It has given me the courage to take some scary risks this year.

Doing the things you are not prepared to do prepares you to do them. That is how you learn. You don't walk in knowing how. You walk in ready to have an experience and be changed by it.

You may not feel ready to do something that is necessary. You do not control the timetable. This is evident when people die, are born, get married, move away, are fired, hired, change their minds: You are not ready for what the changes in the world around you require you to do. Nonetheless, you deal.

Everything may indeed happen for a reason, but we do not have to know what that reason is before acting. If you wait to know the reason, you may never act. You act. Then things become clear. That's more often how it works. Rather than rational certainty, often what you need to act on is a trust in probability, and a trust in inevitability, and your own desire. Trust your own desire. It will often lead you the right way.

2009-11-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

According to Obama

"Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. And it will leave you unfulfilled."

"Faith doesn't mean that you don't have doubts."

"Making your mark on the world is hard. If it were easy, everybody would do it. But it's not. It takes patience, it takes commitment, and it comes with plenty of failure along the way. The real test is not whether you avoid this failure, because you won't. It's whether you let it harden or shame you into inaction, or whether you learn from it; whether you choose to persevere."

2009-11-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

A Letter To Amanpour

When I was 11, I marched into the kitchen where my mother was washing vegetables for dinner and declared, "I want to be a journalist because I want to be a voice for those without one."

My mother rewarded this grand annoucement with, "You just concentrate on studying first."

12 years later, I was a news writer and presenter for a satellite radio station. The art deco in the small newsroom consisted of four TV sets mounted on the walls and tuned to CNN, BBC, Bloomberg and ESPN. One day in the midst of scrambling to meet the hourly deadlines, I shot a hurried glance at the CNN channel and stopped in mid-type. For the next few minutes, I watched a dark-haired woman in her trademark boxy jacket deliver her field report. In that instant, I knew that I had found my role model in Christiane Amanpour.

The radio news station was the closest that I have ever gotten to writing 'serious news'. And it wasn't enough. I wanted to write for major news magazines but knew that I didn't have the right portfolio with which to approach them just yet. Then two weeks ago, the opportunity to contribute to an Asian news magazine appeared. I was both thrilled and terrified! If all worked out, it would be my first proper foray into the world of serious news reporting and I wasn't sure where to turn for guidance in this unfamiliar world. Then a crazy thought popped up; why not ask Amanpour herself? The very idea of it took my breath away, but it made sense. What's the point of having a role model if you can't seek her wisdom?

So last night I wrote an email to her. I explained my situation and asked her three questions (1) What do you read on a daily basis? (2) How do you prepare yourself for interviews and news stories, especially if the subject is unfamiliar and you're on a tight deadline? (3) What do you wish you knew then that you know now?

Within minutes I received an auto-reponse thanking me for my correspondence and assuring me that my email would be read but regretting that they would be unable to provide a personal response.

Worst case scenario, I don't hear from her.
Best case scenario, I do.
Point of the scenario, I asked.

2009-11-06T06:03:00.000-08:00

The Ocean's Gift

Editrixed and I resumed our nightly online chats when I returned from Krabi last night. She demanded to hear everything so she could live vicariously through me, though I didn't understand why since she already leads an amazing life. But I never need much encouragement to talk so I talk I did. At the end of my stories, she asked me if I had any revelations while on holiday. I didn't answer her then because although I had entertained many thoughts while watching the ocean, I couldn't think of any that could be classified as a revelation.

It was only during a shower this evening - because all great ideas emerge from the shower head - that it hit me. I become a stronger person each time I live by the ocean.

I have a surer footing, a clearer mind and a restful spirit. I am glued together better. I feel grounded. More certain of myself. Less inclined to be shaken by the nonsense of the world. I am gentler too. Softer. Kinder. The ocean makes me a better person somehow.

This discovery took me by surprise. But it shouldn't, really. Looking back, I can see all those little moments during which the shift happened.

In Cherating, it was lying on an empty stretch of beach beside The Thinker. It was looking at the stars at night. It was walking hand-in-hand in the ocean as a storm approached. It was eating chocolate in silence on the verandah of our little beach hut and looking out to sea.

In Krabi, it was kayaking alone at dawn on a sparkling sheet of crinkled glass. It was standing at the water's edge in the dead of night with the wind in my hair and salt on my skin. It was enjoying a breakfast of French toast and excellent coffee while watching the waves roll in.

The ocean reminds me of how small I am in the greater scheme of things. It demands that I offer a prayer of thanks and gratitude for the opportunity to witness its magnificence. And then it nudges me to declare my hopes and dreams, and allow the wind to snatch them out of my mouth and fling them to the horizon. It renews my trust and faith and fills me with just that little bit of inner strength.

I have always loved the ocean. And now I love it even more because I finally understand what it does to and for me.

2009-11-06T05:42:00.000-08:00

Happiness Is...

* Living by the ocean
* Reading in bed on a weekday evening with a cup of coffee and a storm brewing
* Hanging out with The Thinker
* Four-hour chats with Editrixed
* Coffee with Mentor and Floozy
* Spending time with Odie, Mumps & Melson aka the family
* Christmas!
* A brilliant piece of journalism
* Roast chicken with gravy, mash and vegetables
* French toast
* Super soft yoga pants that also makes me look skinny ;)
* A clean apartment
* Brothers & Sisters
* An unusual writing assignment
* Being immersed in a creative project and oblivious to the rest of the world
* No writer's block
* A stunning lineup on Classic Rock

2009-11-01T09:39:00.000-08:00

Krabi Calling

I board a plane tomorrow. My first this year. And for the next four days Mentor and I will sip too much orange juice, toast our bodies on hot white sand, read until we're cross-eyed, indulge in girly chatter and melt under delicious Thai massages.

Part of me is looking forward to the escapism, part of me is a little nervous about travelling with someone new. Mentor and I go way back but the longest time we've ever spent together was two hours over our weekend brunches. Unlike me, she takes regular solo trips and revels in her solitude. Solo travel doesn't appeal to me and I'm a talker. It's a perfect match. *grin*

But that aside, I'm eager to get back to my beloved ocean. Eager to stand at the water's edge and cast my gaze out to fine line that divides sea and sky. To feel the sprinkle of salt on my lips and in my hair.

The Thinker gifted me with a trip to the ocean two weeks ago and delighted me by choosing a darling wooden chalet on the ocean front just "so you can live your dream of having a beach house". Leaving that simple little 'house' at the end of the trip tugged at my heartstrings. I wanted more.

So I'm glad to be going 'home' again.

2009-10-31T07:54:00.000-07:00

Trick or Treat?

That's not my Halloween catchcry. It's my shoutout to the universe.

TRICK OR TREAT?

It seems that things are very slowly turning around. There is finally a flicker at the end of the tunnel. An offer to head a portion of a lifestyle magazine, two unexpected writing assignments, a vacancy at the radio station that I've been eyeing and today, a possible opportunity to write for an online news magazine. These are bits and pieces of the half-formed dreams that I have been playing with in my mind. And I don't know what to make of them now that they are taking shape in reality.

The Thinker says my guardian angel is taking very good care of my career department. I like the sound of that and deep down I believe it, but yet I'm cautious. Are these the signs I have been asking for? Or will the carpet be pulled from under my feet again?

Forgive me if I sound cynical. I have my reasons. But if these signs are to be believed, then very exciting times are unfolding ahead.

Tonight ghosts and ghouls roam the city. In just a few hours, November will be munching toast at the breakfast table. Blink a little and the malls will be overflowing with breathtakingly decorated trees, life-sized reindeers and overpriced baubles. Another step closer to the year's grand finale. Another step closer to wiping the slate clean and starting all over again, or continuing to walk on the same path but perhaps with a different rhythm.

At the end of August, Editrixed sent me a link to a post by Cary Tennis, who writes an advice column on Salon.com That particular post was on the subject of embracing change. The last paragraph burrowed itself into my memory.

"It's September. The leaves are turning. The days are shortening. Summer is coming to an end. Let it come to an end. Let the leaves fall.

Answer the door."

2009-10-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

Tonight

Tonight my beloved city glitters behind a curtain of raindrops, bold and breathtaking.

Tonight the blue black sky is punctuated with soft white clouds.

Tonight the breeze is a little cooler, a little gentler, a little lighter.

Tonight my usual cloak of weariness has slipped off my shoulders.

Tonight I think of the people in my life and whisper a prayer of gratitude.

Tonight I think of Nan and miss her a little more.

Tonight I hear a quiet voice telling me that it's going to be ok.

Tonight all dreams are within reach.

Tonight my soul gallops like a wild, spirited horse.

Tonight I sit out in the chilly night wrapped in a silken cocoon of happy solitude.

Tonight there is no other place I would rather be.

2009-10-18T06:08:00.000-07:00

Being Yourself

Picked up the November issue of O magazine yesterday. There was a mini questionnaire that was posed to four writers - Uwem Akpan, Anne Lamott, Mary Karr and Junot Diaz - all of whom contributed to the 'How to Become the Person You Were Meant to Be' section.

Since I have an unnatural fondness for questions, I have my own set of answers.

I look most like myself...
in jeans/pants, a simple top and accessories.

I act most like myself...
when I'm with my family.

I feel most like myself...
with a coffee and a book.

I feel least like myself...
when I have drunk too much and at big parties.

2009-10-10T21:01:00.000-07:00

I Miss...

1. Days filled with sweet sharp joy from dawn to dusk
2. Long nightly chats with Editrixed who is on a two-week traipse through Argentina
3. The Thinker who has reconfigured his shape in my life
4. The Munchkin's buoyancy
5. Mixed berries pavlova at Alexis
7. Being addicted to a TV series
8. The ocean
9. A chilled glass of Chardonnay
10. Laughing until my tummy hurts
11. Ridiculously long coffee sessions with the Magazine Girls
12. Soaking in a tub with a copy of TIME
13. My own cooking
12. Stargazing

2009-10-07T07:33:00.000-07:00

October 8th

1. Day 25. First milestone in my sobriety plan.
2. Day 365. A year since it was you.

2009-10-01T08:57:00.000-07:00

Pocket

There is a little pocket in my heart just for you.

When you dip your hand into it, you'll find whatever you need at that particular moment.

And if you ever feel like climbing inside, that's also fine.

Because I will always carry you around with me.

2009-10-01T05:47:00.000-07:00

A New Friend

I returned home exhausted from another long day at work and from battling intense emotions. A swim was the answer, I decided. So I waited until the sun slipped behind the horizon and the pool lights flickered on.

The pool was empty, the wnd sweeping across its surface. I started swimming. Each slice through the water coazed my mind and muscles to relax. After ten laps, I paused to catch my breath and spotted a father and his son approaching. The father joined his friends at a cafe by the pool and his son rode his little tricycle around the pool.

I continued my laps. After a while, I noticed that each time I lifted my head out of the water, there was a odd whirring sound to my left. Reaching the end of the pool, I looked to for the source of the noise. Nothing. But the little boy was at the same end of the pool as me. I swam back and again, the whirring sound. And once again, the little boy was at the end. A thought struck me. Could it be?

I launched into the water again but this time, I looked to my left. And true enough, the little boy was pedalling alongside. Not ahead or trailing behind, but perfectly alongside. When I reached the end, he turned his bike around and waited in anticipation.

I smiled at him and he furiously pedalled away. Then he stopped and turned around to watch me. I took a three-minute break. He slung his hand over his tricycle's backrest and waited.

When I plunged back into the water again. he immediately resumed position. We moved in a comfortable tandem for the next ten minutes. I laughed as I swam, swallowng a mouthful of water in the process.

When I fnished my swim, I climbed out and waved goodbye. He stared at me unblinkingly and cycled away.

2009-09-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

I Started A Joke

I always thought it would be cancer, you know. Or even brain tumour. Not that I invite any of it, you understand, but I just thought that if anything were to uproot me, it would be something of that nature. And I knew instinctively/arrogantly/ignorantly - call it whatever you want - that I would be absolutely fine.

I would throw a tantrum that the gods would hear from their cushy thrones in the heavens, but then I would get up, examine my bruised knees and just get on with it. I would sing Que Sera Sera or Obladi Oblada. And I would be fine.

But this?

I bet they're all rolling off their thrones in laughter up there.

2009-09-05T21:43:00.000-07:00

My Turn

Last week, an old friend asked me when I was going to start writing my own stuff. When was I going to put all those great ideas onto paper? When was I going to display my passion to the world?

I didn't have an answer.

Come to think of it, I had never really written anything 'just for the heck of it'. Except for this blog perhaps, and even then I still think I take this way too seriously. I've always written for my editors. All my writing had to have a purpose and fun didn't count as a purpose. I think I'm one of the few writers who has a collection of half-hearted, half-empty journals. I could never just write. But I'm much better now. My little orange journal has more than 20 scribbled, cohesive pages.

I suppose I'm afraid really. Afraid that the ideas won't sound as good on paper as they do in my head. And the best writers I know are those who don't write for a living. They are people who write from the heart without the head editing each sentence.

So maybe I should allow myself to write badly. Then that monster will be slayed once and for all. The same way I practiced the headstand. I laboured at it for weeks, approaching it halfway then backing down, unable to swing my body up in case I fell. I finally got tired of this peek-a-boo routine and made a bed of cushions around my mat. Then I told my body that I wanted it to fall. After I got over the terror of crashing down, I had no problems going up again.

I fell. I survived. I got up. Now let's do it again. And again. And again.

2009-09-03T06:59:00.000-07:00

Wisdom From A Parking Ticket Machine

I've been looking over my shoulder for the past week, my thinking cap jammed firmly on my head. Then I look forward and wonder where I am going. Whether I would have a chance to do things differently or were the grooves of my habits carved too deeply to reshape.

I was still chewing on this as I paid for my parking ticket at The Gardens. As I machine swallowed the ringgit bills, I glanced idly at the screen. Then I looked closer. Right at the bottom were the words 'Change Is Possible'.

I have paid for my parking ticket at The Gardens more than ten times. I have probably seen that line more than ten times. But today I read it differently for the first time.

2009-09-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

Through The Years

"When did you know you were growing up?" I asked Mentor.

Her spoonful of Sticky Mango Rice stopped halfway to her mouth, as she thought for a while. "When I was in the UK," she answered, finally popping the spoon into her mouth.

"I was seventeen and that was the first time I saw a woman smoking and Muslims drinking in public. I was so amazed that I wrote home immediately!" She chortled at the memory.

"What did your mother say?" I leaned forward, my own dessert forgotten.

"My mother was so worried that I would attempt to satiate my curiousity by jumping on the bandwagon that she called me immediately after receiving my letter! She very calmly asked me how I felt seeing these unsusual sights. When she was satisfied that I merely found them fascinating and not seductive, she told me that what these people did wasn't wrong but it wasn't right for a Muslim woman. Being able to hold on to my traditional values in a modern society, do my own laundry, pay my own bills and feed myself made me grow up."

I thought about my sojourn to Australia ten years ago. I was a budding young writer on a journalism scholarship. Thanks to my work experience, I was only required to spend nine months there to obtain my degree. Just enough time to flirt with Australia, teeter at the brink of what could have been true love and bade a tearful farewell. I have dreamt of returning but never quite bought that ticket.

Unlike Mentor, however, crossing an ocean didn't help me grow up. Sure, I did my own laundry, paid my own bills and fed myself but I was too scared to leave my little shell to truly explore the world's offerings. I believed that if I didn't subscribe wholeheartedly to my parents' world view, I would be lost in the wilderness forever. And so I put on my self-righteous cloak and effectively robbed myself of the invaluable growing up years.

Today I look back at Australia and the years that followed it, and my heart breaks. I've spent half my adult life judging others for not being like me and the other half, judging myself for not being like others. Neither was paradise. And I have discovered that I am a late bloomer in the EQ department.

My past has suddenly decided to pay me a visit and I've found myself wading through a sea of memories. The big waves are merciless and sometimes I thrash underwater wondering if I'll make it to the surface this time. And then I do but the sting of saltwater is sharp and doesn't wash off easily.

Maybe it's going to be another hard week. Or month. Or year.

2009-09-01T07:46:00.000-07:00

A Great Big Belly Laugh

I am feasting on another Julia Cameron book. She is my favourite author on creativity and The Vein of Gold and The Sound of Paper have helped me though the first half of this year. Now I am reading God Is No Laughing Matter and am chuckling with each turn of the page.

Cameron warns the Very Spiritual People at the very start of this book that 'you may not find the book you hold in your hands very spiritual...but you will find it very sprited.' And from thereon, she proceeds to gently poke fun at every single serious strand of spirituality in a hilarious, thought-provoking collection of short essays.

I'm very sure that many Christians would make a bonfire of every single copy of this book if they could but that's exactly Cameron's point - why so serious? Cameron herself is a believer, having also written two books on the subject - Blessings and Transitions - and paying tribute to God in many of her other books too.

I'm enjoying this book because it reminds me not to take spirituality too seriously. So forget being vegetarian, forget celibacy, forget elaborate prayers, forget transcending pain and anger, forget meditating for 12 hours a day and watching your mind like a TV set, forget being humourless because God is a serious matter, forget believing that God only sets obstacles for us....forget all the man-made rules about spirituality.

The best spiritual path is not one that you create from an combination of underlined sentences in various self-help books, but the very path you are walking on right this very minute.

2009-08-31T07:11:00.000-07:00

Exhaustion

I suppose there are better ways of spending a Monday night than by eating hot baked beans and dry toast alone on a darkened balcony. But tonight I welcome the simplicity, solitude and silence. It has been a hard week.

2009-08-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

More Excerpts From Farhi

It may come as a shock to find out that our personality doens't change very much through all this practice.

Regardless of how mature we are in our spiritual understanding, at any time we can experience a descent. Some people describe this as the dark night of the soul, others a crossing over, others a breakdown. I believe that the intensity of these experiences, especially when they occur well down the road of a spiritual quest, comes from our proximity to rather than our distance from our authentic self. If such experiences can be welcomed as part of one's spiritual work rather than derided and held up as proof of one's spiritual failure, a tremendous internal shift occurs.

Whether we are a beginner or a strongly established Yoga practitioner, there is little variation in the experience of hitting the edge. Even in simple physical terms, this is true. A beginner with the flexibility of an ironing board may bend forward twenty degrees, and there it is, the sensation that says, "That's it, I'm stuck." He feels a tightness, a constriction, an uncomfortable resistance in that moment. The most advanced hatha yogi trying to fold forward also hits that edge and the physical sensation is exactly the same. The beginner looks at the advanced student and believes his adept comrade is having a different and undoubtedly better experience, but in truth they are having the same experience. The only differences are the places where the experience occurs and the choice in the response. The apparent beginner can have an advanced response: listening, accepting, inquiring into the nature of this edge of resistance. The seemingly advanced practitioner can have a beginner's response: refusing, deriding, forcing or injuring. As long as we are tyrannized by an ideal of perfection we will always be at war with ourselves.

How do we know whether our path or action is our dharma? Our dharma is almost always the option we choose last because it is the most challenging.

2009-08-24T07:43:00.000-07:00

Off The Mat, Into The World

Been reading a book that I picked up one year ago in Borders, Singapore. It was meant to be my airport book since I was doing quite a bit of travelling at the time. But my travelling companion turned out to be extremely delightful and the book gradually grew dog-eared in my hand-carry. Last week, looking for a good book to sink my teeth into, I dug it up again and decided to begin from scratch. This time I couldn't put it down.

I had never heard of Donna Farhi before, but I bought Bringing Yoga To Life because I liked what I saw in my quick browse. Later on, PDN mentioned her as one of his favourite reads and now, I understand why.

Farhi doesn't embellish. She writes with a simple grace and truth. There are no attempts to be entertaining and no words that require a dictionary. Her writing is clean and profound. And most importantly, it's real. There are no airy concepts that will excite your inner skeptic. And this is why, you will find yourself putting the book down from page to page as you contemplate her words with no small amount of wonder simply because you realise you have gone through exactly what she has described and only now you understand what it was all about.

My copy of Bringing Yoga To Life is not only more dog-eared, it also bears the scars of fervishly underlined sentences. Here are some of my favourites:

Yoga has less to do with standing on our head than standing on our own two feet and that the physical practices of Yoga remain mechanical gymnastics until transmuted by our intention to clarify the mind and open the heart.

Unfortunately, what we want is what we most fear: we yearn for a larger life but we're not so sure we want the consequences.

Whether we're just beginning a Yoga practice or have had an established practice for many years, the form and content of our practice needs to reflect where we are in our lives. If we hold to an immutable ideal of what a Yoga practice should be and an equally unchanging idea of who we think we ought to be, our time on the mat will become a rote exercise in recapitulating who we were or propagating who we might be. If we do not trust who we are in the present, we will forever create a practice for someone who does not exist.

The tendency with learning anything (good or bad) is that once we have our collection of facts, figures, theories and techniques, we start to see ourselves and others through this lens. We may try to fit the people we meet into the box of tricks and treatments that we have learned rather than deduce moment to moment what is actually happening and what is required of us.

If you're looking for a way to take yoga off the mat and into the real world, Farhi is one teacher whose work you should read.

2009-08-11T06:30:00.000-07:00

I Hope You Never Fear Those Mountains In The Distance

Found this little gem of poetry in The Healer's bookshelf. This nugget jumped off its page.

Mountains and oceans
Seems like there's always another of one or the other
It's crossing your fingers when the map doesn't make sense, when the compass doesn't know truly north from truly lost; and it's up to you - you and your gut and your mettle, and your level of resilience and your wealth of wisdom - to persevere.
To get to the other side.
To hope.

2009-07-26T00:22:00.001-07:00

A Yogi At Heart

Yasmin Ahmad may have never glided up to sirsasna or sat in padmasana, but if you asked T. Krishnamacharya, he would have said that she was certainly a yogi.

She practiced ahimsa by trading violence and hatred for love.

She practiced satya by speaking with intention and telling the truth in the best way possible.

She practiced asteya by not denying herself opportunties to realise her true nature.

She practiced tapas by cultivating an inner aim and direction in life for growth.

She practiced ishvara pranidana by always remembering her religious faith.

Yasmin Ahmad didn't practice for glory or self-gratification, but so the rest of us could learn from it.

2009-07-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

An Afternoon of Ashtanga

As any serious practitioner will know, ashtanga is a demanding and unforgiving practice. Leave the mat for too long - and that means a week - and you can forget about a homecoming party when you return. No sir! Astanga will make you work your limbs off to make up for lost time. So you can imagine how much I dreaded getting back on the mat when I realised it has been nearly two months since I last practiced. Ashtanga, that is. Since returning to Gary's classes, my practice is made up of hatha, vinyasa and yin yoga.

Then three weeks ago, I received an email from two separate friends about an ashtanga workshop by a Malaysian student of Shri K. Pattabhi Jois. Li Ling studied in Mysore and England for fifteen years and would be in Bangsar for a three-hour workshop. Would I be interested? Still bouyant from my last workshop, I said yes.
And that's how I wound up in Yoga2Health on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Li Ling turned out to be a slight woman with an air of calmness about her. I liked her instantly. The workshop began with an introduction to ashtanga and then progressed to Surya Namaskar A. Of the ten of us, only three were ashtanga virgins but impressively kept pace with the rest of us. After a couple of rounds, we moved on to Surya Namaskar B.

Li Ling demonstrated variations for the beginners and told the rest of us to take our practice a little deeper by lenghtening our inhalations and exhalations, as focusing on our bandhas. That was when I realised what I had very conveniently been leaving out of my practice - the holding of bandhas. And with that, my entire practice changed. I fumbled between breath and bandhas as I moved through the sequence. When I held the uddiyana bandha, my breath automatically shorted. When I focused on lenghtening it, the bandhas instantly dissolved. It was hard!

The rest of the three hours alternated between progressing in the primary series and taking a break with theory and philosophy. By the time savasana rolled around, we couldn't lie down fast enough.

Later, we gathered round for Auntie Van's legendary ginger tea and vegetarian sushi and sandwiches. Everyone agreed that the workshop was nothing short of fantastic and by the time we dispersed, we had convinced Li Ling to teach regular classes at Y2H.

In those three short hours, I remembered why I was addicted to ashtanga last year. Once again, I immersed myself in the quiet power of the practice and emerged completely refreshed. And it felt very, very good.

My body hurts today. But I'm relishing this ache. It's ashtanga's way of throwing me a homecoming party.

2009-07-23T09:01:00.000-07:00

Not Too Tight, Not Too Loose

The same way you would tune a violin string, I suppose.

Not too tight, not too loose.

But the only way you will find that balance is when you have allowed yourself to wade into one extreme.

Then you turn around and wade back.

It is true that you must let go to hold on.

And it is hard as hell.

2009-07-17T17:26:00.000-07:00

The Anatomy of Passion

Last weekend, I walked across the KLPAC lawn with a hammering heart for the Functional Anatomy and Yoga Physiology Weekend workshop. It was the first workshop I would be attending since returning from my teacher's training three years ago. Yes, there were many raised eyebrows at this admission.

The Thinker sent me off with these words, "I hope you don't just learn a lot, but also remember why you love this so much."

Studio 5 was a hive of activity. Two women and a man were assembling a skeleton, old friends were catching up and new friends were being made. Outside the huge windows, dusk was beginning to settle. The workshop began within ten minutes with Michelle Lam, a physiotherapist from Hong Kong, passing out the workbooks. I flipped open mine, scanned the contents and felt my heart perform an breakdance of joy. This. Was. It.

Michelle took us through the anatomical terms, then instructed us to pair up and called one person from each pair to the front. Ong, my Pilates partner, had never done yoga before and pleaded for me to go up. We stood in a line and as Michelle called out anatomical instructions, we fumbled to contort our bodies into the pose that she had mind. Only one of us figured out it was Warrior II. The rest of us, yours truly included, were twisted in poses that would have baffled even Iyengar himself. Once the laughter died down, Michelle called up the other partners and whispered the pose into which she wanted themn to guide us. Once again, laughter erupted in the class as people arranged their limbs in the oddest positions.

I left that evening's class almost drunk with happiness. Walking back across the lawn clutching my books, I wished that I was a student all over again.

The next two days were full and grueling. Michelle taught us muscle mapping, the characteristics of the spinal vertebrates, and understanding the knee complex, hip joint, shoulder, pelvic girdle, respiratory and digestive systems. Armed with coloured pens, we drew on each other's bodies, outlining the bones, feeling the structure and studying the movement. By the end of the day our knees, spine and shoulders were a beautiful mess of coloured squiggles.

To help us study asanas anatomically, Michelle asked us to demonstrate a few and then chose two people for each - one who moved easily into the pose and another who struggled. This was when I found out that my Triangle is not as 'pretty' as I thought it was! And neither is my Downward Dog. :(

Lunch on the second day was with four new friends, all of whom said the right words to further fan the growing fire within me. They were encouraging, but wise and their words have lingered until today.

The workshop was intensive and I will probably need a refresher for everything to properly sink in. But for now, I thoroughly loved being taken to a deeper level of understanding yoga. The biggest reward was in Gary's class the next day when I realised that I understood and performed the asanas in a different way. And for now, this is enough.

Because by the time the workshop ended that Sunday evening, I had learnt a lot and remembered exactly why I love this so much.

2009-07-01T06:48:00.000-07:00

Healing Hands

"Mom wants to know if you want to go for a massage." As usual Dad sprung this sentence during a completely irrelevant conversation.

"Huh? What? What massage?"

"Something ayu...ayu...wait, you talk to Mom!"

The phone exchanged hands.

"Do you want to go for an ayurvedic massage?"

"Yes! How do you know what ayurvedic is?"

"What do you mean how do I know? I take ayurvedic medicine."

"You take AYURVEDIC medicine?!"

Mom has an unwavering faith in the mystical powers of all Chinese herbs to heal any ailment. The worst they taste the better they are, she would promise. I would stare miserably at the black liquid defiling my favourite teddy bear mug, take a deep breath, pinch my nose and knock it back. As I struggled not to spew it out, she would beam, "See not so bad right? Here's your chocolate." I was sixteen.

So you understand my incredulity that this Chinese herb supporter now also dabbles in ayurveda. But thanks to her, I found myself in the ayurvedic centre - which incidentally is run by Mom's yoga teacher and ayurvedic doctor - that same weekend.

Pushpa, a tiny lady in a white saree, led me to a small room. There was a wooden platform with a single burner with a pot on it at the foot. A small cupboard was positioned right outside the tiny bathroom. She locked the door behind me and for a very brief moment, it resembled an unimagnative torture chamber. Puspha smiled at me.

"Take off clothes, madam."

Now I have no problem with that as long as it is confined to my upper body. In fact, I had already prepared a short and firm speech about how I would very much like to keep my underwear on, thank you very much. But Pushpa was having none of it.

"All, madam"

"No thank you, I will keep this on."

"No madam, all." She looked confused.

"No, I keep this on."

"No madam! Not good!"

Long story short, she won. Once I was satisfactorily undressed, she fashioned a little loincloth out of a scrap of cloth and tied it around and between my legs. She patted the wooden platform. I sat obediently.

Pushpa poured some sesame oil into the pot, heated it gently and began drizzling it all over me. I felt myself dissolve. Pushpa ran her fingers through my hair, working the oil into the scalp. After a few minutes of bliss, she told me to lie down. More oil and then her hands were gently kneading and rubbing. AS she worked she told me the abridged version of her life story.

Hailing from Tamli Nadu, she studied ayurveda and went on to practice it for five years. Two years ago, she left her family and came to Malaysia. That was the extent of our conversation for she apologetically explained that she couldn't speak very good English and struggled to answer my stream of questions.

We existed in comfortable silence for the next hour, broken only when she laid hands on my shoulders and asked, "Working computer? Very hard."

After that glorious hour was up, she heated up tiny cotton pouches filled with herbs and smacked them all over my body. Absolutely divine.

Then just when I thought the best was over, she motioned to me to follow her into the bathroom. I sat on the small chair and she came in stirring a big bowl of green paste.

"What's that?"

"Green dhal. Take out oil."

I reached out for the bowl but to my amazement, she started spreading all over me. And then proceeded to give me a bath. I felt myself shrinking to three-year-old size and my eyes filled with tears. When she towel-dried my hair after the bath, all of me wanted to crawl into the folds of her saree and fall asleep. For that brief moment, I felt like a child again and I loved it.

The ayurvedic massage has to be one of the best treats I've given myself this year. I floated home half-asleep, tossed work out the window and crumpled into bed. It was a very good night.

2009-06-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

Hello Old Nemesis!

I craved a class this evening. There was only one teensy 'problem'. Gary doesn't teach on Tuesday evenings. The advanced hatha class is led by Jenny, a tiny double-jointed woman whom I had never met but heard enough of to stay away from the class. Until today.

"Oh it's Jenny, is it?" The Healer looked a little concerned. "She likes teaching inversions."

I almost turned the car around.

"Just sit at the back and don't do it if you don't feel like it," she said reassuringly.

The class was packed. To my great relief there was one last spot at the very back. Jenny led us through a standing sequence which was challenging enough on its own without my ego berating me for choosing a class in which I had to sit out a few asanas. Then just when I was getting comfortable and starting to enjoy the pace, Jenny folds her mat into two and smiles, "Ok, we do headstand."

Now, I have not been part of a proper yoga class for close to a year. And since I call the shots during my home practice, I have avoided inversions for as long as...well, a year.

Jenny soared into a headstand and descended just as gracefully. The other students began pulling their mats towards the wall. I hesitated. Then I heard that little voice. Try, it said, that's the only way you'll really know.

So I arranged my limbs and proceeded to go upside down. And suddenly...there I was...upside down. It was one of the rare moments when this asana was almost effortless. Don't get attached, I told myself, just enjoy. And so I savoured the feeling of being in a pose that has long been a nemesis. I knew that I could very well come crashing down the next time and I would have to stop myself from getting attached to that too.

That got me thinking about a current work-related quandry. There will be days when I will soar and stay up there, and there will be days when I just can't get up there. So all I have to do is to honour either experience, detach myself from it and approach the next with openess.

Sounds perfect on paper. :)

2009-06-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

A Journey Of A Thousand Miles...

After a whole year of thinking and talking about it to anyone who would listen, I have finally decided to bite the bullet and take the first step.

2009-06-15T06:39:00.000-07:00

Steer By Starlight

To The Thinker,

This is for you. It is the favourite poem of an African guide that I found in my current bedtime read - Steering By Starlight. I wanted to have this poem framed and gifted to you - and I will - but for now, hold these words in your heart until you have them in your hands.

Live while you are alive...
Learn to be what you are in the seed of your spirit
Learn to free yourself from all things that have molded you
And which limit your secret and undiscovered road...
Never forget that love
Requires that you be
The greatest person you are capable of being,
Self-generating and strong and gentle -
Your own hero and star...
Be grateful for life as you live it,
And may a wonderful light
Always guide you along the unfolding road.

2009-06-15T06:27:00.000-07:00

My Halcyon Weekend

It was one of those weekends. When even the most ordinary of events sparkled with magic dust. The magic of pure unadultered joy that only happens when the external and internal self fold into each other until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

My halcyon weekend gave me a new breath of life.

This weekend I returned to myself.

2009-05-20T07:17:00.000-07:00

Not So Soon, Little Missy!

The funny thing about the universe is that it never lets you escape the lessons you need to learn. No matter how far off the beaten track you wander, it will always gently pull you back on the path and make you scale that damn wall that you have tried so hard to walk around. And until you do, your entire journey will be fraught with wild brambles, raging rivers and deep chasms that never showed up on your map.

I learnt this the hard way. The very hard way.

Eight months ago, my life disintergrated and I was given an opportunity to rearrange the pieces in a different way. To do that, though, I had to take time for inner reflection. Retreat into that quiet place within. But being in that quiet place would also mean hearing my thoughts a little too loudly. That scared me so I decided to pave a path around that wall instead. It worked for a while. Two months later, the wall popped up again with all my demons perched on it, swinging their legs and waving merrily.

Once again the universe invited me to travel within. It's not too late, it said. This time I had every intention of doing so, but after a few weeks, the road evened out again and I conveniently forgot what I wanted - needed - to do.

Four months later, there was that wall again. I hit it hard. And I finally got it - I would be hitting that wall over and over again until I did what I needed to do. There was no escape route on this path. And the demons get bigger each time.

So if you find that, despite your best efforts at moving forward you're still yanked back to the starting line, find that pebble in your shoe. What is it that you don't want to face? That's your key to freedom. For as long as you don't learn that lesson, you will never blossom and you will find yourself always moving in circles.

It's never too late.

2009-05-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

Today My Yoda's Name Was Ike

We were alone in a meeting room that was too big for two and too small for the furious outpourng of story ideas that we feverishly scribbled on the walls. After half an hour, one particular plot stumped us and we paused. With no warning and no apparent reason, Ike looked at me and said, "You know I used to be a terrible drinker when I was younger."

Words failed me. Such skeletons just don't belong in cupboards of people like Ike. The most matured - in years and experience - among us writers, Ike is one of the most grounded, peaceful people I've met. He grinned at my expression.

"I was a heavy drinker for six years when I left home. The minute I set foot on American soil, I forgot my roots. I lived life in the fast lane and went wild on booze. I was either drunk or hungover. Then something happened and I knew it was time to change my life. Within 24-hours, I quit drinking for good and I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since. My friends placed bets on me and I won every single dollar."

My heart was pounding so hard, I actually pressed my hand against it for fear it would leap right out. How could he possibly know?

"You know, a friend of mine had it worse. He was drunk driving and killed three people."

Ike's face became a blur behind the tears that I tried desperately to stop. Ike, bless his heart, continued talking like there wasn't a basketcase sitting in front of him. He told me the rest of his story and it was an amazing one. Then, without missing a beat, he said, "You were crying just now, my dear. Why?"

I told him. He smiled one of the kindest smiles I've seen this week and said the words I never want to forget;

"Don't stop having fun, but never take your finger off your control button. Alcohol was an escapism for me until I really dealt with what I was running away from. It's never too late, my dear. And always remember that the answer is not at the bottom of the glass."

It would have been a poignant moment had Dungeon Master not chosen to walk in right then and declare, "Who wants McDonald's?"

2009-05-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

The Weekend

Not everything can be measured and shaped into words. Not everything should. Some things are meant to be absorbed by the heart, mind and soul, so a garden of happiness can grow within.

Some things are beyond words. Those are the usually the best things. Because if you can put those things into words, it also means that you can put magic into words and we all know that once magic is understood, it is no longer magic.

There are things that defy fear.

There are things like the past weekend.

2009-05-04T06:56:00.000-07:00

Changes

The Healer is trapped in an unexpected vortex of domestic duties, and when we spoke earlier today, she was spinning out of control.

"This is the most difficult thing I've ever done before," she confessed in an exhausted whisper. "How do I cook, clean and take care of twins all at the same time?"

This was the third phone call since Project Runaway and despite the deep breaths I kept tellng her to take, she was still hyperventilating.

"This doesn't affect P at all!" she marvelled. "He carries on his usual routine and just fits this huge change right in. I feel I have to put everything else on hold while I figure this out!"

And then, I had one of those moments where I had no idea what I was saying but the words somehow came out right. I spoke to her in a language she understood.

"So you've got a vinyasa sequence that you could do in your sleep. Now suddenly you have to introduce a new pose into it. It's a difficult pose that you have never done before, and you have no idea where or how to fit it in - or even if it will fit. You don't neglect the entire practice just to figure out that one pose. You look at it and place it where you think it would fit best in the sequence. Then you try it out. If it doesn't work, then you move it to another spot. And you keep moving it until it finally clicks into place. Once that happens you won't know where the sequence begins and ends because everything flows seamlessly into and out of each other."

There was a long silence before she said, "Thank you."

I don't know if she has resumed her hyperventilation but for that moment, she was ok. And that was good enough for both of us.

My moments of spouting stuff like this are few and far between so I figured I had better write this down so I can come back to it if I ever go through my own vortex of change. And of course, hopefully it does others some good too! :)

2009-04-20T06:45:00.000-07:00

On Those Nights

There are nights when they come. Uninvited and unannounced. They sit in a circle around me. They light up cigarettes and cigars, choking the air out of the room. They pour themselves cheap drinks. They take off their shoes and put their feet up, leaving their awful imprints on my furniture. And then, they start telling me stories.

They tell me stories that that I have heard again and again. I tell them to stop. I have written new ones and don't need the old stories anymore. But they insist. They whip out the knife of memories and start carving, all the while chanting remember, remember, remember!

It is usually past midnight when they finally leave, tipping their hats and waving a cheerful farewell. See you soon. I tell them to send a postcard the next time. Don't bother making the trip. They say that's half the fun gone. I crawl into bed and surrender to the exhaustion.

On those nights, I do not open my bedroom window.

2009-04-19T20:15:00.000-07:00

Choices

This morning I woke up and a thought appeared. It flew straight out of the brilliant blue sky, through my open window and landed right on my lap.

I have a choice to love today. I loved yesterday and I may love again tomorrow, but I am able to decide whether I want to do that today. And so The Thinker received this text from me at the grand old time of 8.30am.

Every morning I wake up with a choice to love you. Every morning for the past 6 months I have chosen to fall in love with you all over again. It's a conscious, deliberate choice - not habit or coincidence. So understand that I choose you. That I want you. That I love you.

You always have a choice. Don't waste it.

2009-04-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

Getting A Fix

Sometimes I feel like someone has taken me apart to see what I'm made of, decided that they don't like what they see and walked away without putting me back together again.

These are the times when I wish I had a better pranayama practice.

2009-04-13T07:51:00.000-07:00

From The Oddest Places

One of the pictures on my vision chart is that of Yoda. It is there to remind me that wisdom comes from the strangest places and to be open to accepting it in any shape. Last week, these little pearls bounced straight off the necks of the women in Lipstick Jungle and into my living room.

1. "Who asked you to protect me from my own life?"
2. Never use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled desires.
3. More powerful than I Love You is Thank You and I'm Sorry.
4. One fantastic girlfriend is worth more than an entire Armani collection.
5. It's absolutely fine for a woman to propose.
6. Cling and you lose, release and you set yourself free.
7. Love is about taking turns.
8. "I can't quit the cheerleading team just because you don't like the captain."
9. Nico: Let's move to the country away from the city.
Kirby: It sounds like you're trying to fix something. What's broken?
10. "There's leaving and there's fleeing. What are you running away from?"

2009-03-23T02:36:00.000-07:00

Art Mirrors Life

Three young people were shortlisted for the position of a scriptwriter on our team. They came in for their second interview in nervous excitement, one of them breathlessly confessing that it was the most stressful day of her life. So strong was their need to pursue their dream.

Their first assignment was to write three scenes - an angry one, a romantic one and a comedic one. The work was barely passable but we decided to reserve judgement until the second assignment was completed. In this one, they were given four pictures and asked to select one, and then create a story around it. They then had to pitch their story to us, as if they were pitching to a real producer. And this was when their true selves shone through...unfortunately though, not in the best light.

The first crafted a story around a young girl whose thirst for freedom sucked her into the dark world of prostitution and destroyed her dreams. The story began well enough but the characters lacked depth and motivation. When we pushed her to define them further, she struggled and kept running in circles around her little plot line. Dungeon Master finally said, "Just be in one of them!" And the little lass replied, "I am in one of them!" Aha.

The second candidate's story revolved around an overweight girl who was repeatedly molested by her father which crushed her self-esteem. Again, the story began well but the heroine was flimsy. Dungeon Master asked, "Do you know your heroine? If I ask you what music she enjoys, can you tell me?" Without hesitation, the storyteller said, "Norah Jones" I asked, "What's her favourite food?" "Pasta, tomato-based," came the instant reply. Then we asked her personal questions about her heroine - what does she want in life, is her weigth or her father's abuse the bigger issue, what is she doing to overcome her obstacles in life? Like the first candidate, this one faltered as well, almost to the point of incapacity to speak. Aha.

The third candidate plucked her story straight from the world news and didn't bother adding a new punch or twist. She pitched the story with great passion and the more engaged she grew, the more annoyed I became. When asked why she didn't bother coming up with an orginal piece, she said she was planning to add her own ingredients but didn't have the time. Aha.

Write what you know. And they sure did. They cast themselves in their own stories. And they couldn't write those stories, because they couldn't face the issues they would have had to face and resolve. I can bet my last dollar that those stories will haunt them until they get written, and until then, none of their other stories - nomatter how brilliantly written - will ever be good enough. Either that or their writing will be one dimensional. Every story they write will be subconsciously wrtten for that secret story in their heart, and their writing will not evolve. And neither will they until they confront their beasts.

I thought about it on the drive home and realised that it's the same with a yoga practice. One of the reasons we are continuously attracted to and detest the same pose is because we need it to heal but at the same time, we have to face the imperfections that it reveals within us. Aha.

2009-03-22T03:17:00.000-07:00

Moving To A Position Of Power

I have always wondered why the lightbulb moment that occurs in the life and practice of most yogis have always eluded me. In books and conversations, I hear how yoga has transformed, healed, liberated, empowered, etc someone. Everyone, it seems, except me. Why, I asked slightly resentful, did this lifting-of-the-mist moment keep skating by me?

Then I had brunch with The Anusara Yogi today and she handed me the answer on a silver platter. Or rather, on a spoonful of pea and ham soup.

Work and life had gotten in the way as usual and it had been three months since we last caught up. The conversation glided from work to yoga and before I knew it, I found myself telling her about a battle in which I am embroiled. She listened carefully, without judgement and then told me bluntly how appalled she is that I am allowing someone to treat me in that way.

"You're so beautiful, intelligent and self-aware...how could you let someone bully you like this?" she said in disbelief.

"I have a bosom buddy named Guilt," I replied dryly.

We talked more and she asked me what my next step was. I told her, my voice trailing off when she held up a hand and shook her head vehemently.

"You are still being submissive and giving the other person the upper hand. You are giving in. You need to move into a position of power."

We talked even more and with each ticking minute I gained a greater sense of clarity. Then the conversation swung back to yoga and I bemoaned the fact that my practice has never once seemed to help me in my personal crisises. The Anusara Yogi leaned forward and said very seriously;

"How you achieve alignment on the mat is how you handle issues in life. Anusara Yoga is very precise. You have to be aware of every small part of your body affects your overall alignmen in a pose. I've noticed that there are some students in my class who struggle with the same pose for years, not because of physical limitations, but a lack of body awareness. Lack of awareness on the mat reflects a lack of awareness in life and reluctance to progress on the mat reflects their struggle to move ahead in their personal lives as well."

I found this remarkably intriguing! And then the lightbulb moment came. I, too, have struggled with the same poses for years. My practice always consists of the safe familiar poses so I don't have to face my longtime fear of being upside down. Looking at my life, I tend to do the same. Flirt at the boundaries, but dare not cross them in case I lose my balance and fall.

From tomorrow (it's always tomorrow isn't it!) I will make the necessary changes to my practice and see how it plays out in my personal life.

2009-02-27T06:59:00.000-08:00

Fortress of Solitude

Living alone suits me, I think.

For the past 30 years of my life I have always shared my space with someone else - family, dorm mates, a boyfriend, collegemates, former school mates, strangers - and now, for the first time in my life, I am living alone. And I have grown to love what I once feared.

There's something about unlocking the door and stepping into a space that is steeped in quiet. I stand at my doorway for a split second each time I come home and wait in delicious anticipation for the welcome solitude to rush forth. Lately the days have been long and exhausting, and returning home is like entering a sanctuary. But there are also days when the sanctuary seems too much of a fortress, and I wish that there was another warm body occupying the space.

This solitude allows me to think. I ponder while I cut up vegetables for dinner. I muse as I vaccum and dust. I reflect when I sit on the balcony, a book in one hand and a glass of white in the other. I wonder when I lie in bed looking out at the indigo sky and feeling the cool night breeze on my face. I retreat into myself in this space. And when I emerge, the world always looks like a darn good place! I am meditating without even realising it.

I love living alone for now. My only fear is that I may grow to love it too much if I'm not careful.

2009-02-20T07:23:00.000-08:00

Remembering

The rains came last night. Unannounced and very welcome.

I lay in bed unable to sleep after my midnight conversation. It had been a long day and my eyes stung from fatigue. Yet my mind whirred ahead oblivious to my physical exhaustion. I hit the bedside light and pulled out Julia Cameron. Then I smelt it. The unmistakable heavy humid smell of rain.

The sky slowly turned a pale red and a cool breeze raced through the apartment, chasing away the unforgiving heat. I climbed out of bed, fixed myself a drink and settled on my balcony to watch the storm approach.

As the rain hammered on roofs and roads, I breathed in deeply. Work has been a slave driver and my ritual of reading into the wee hours of the morning on my balcony had been reduced to a memory. As I sat watching nature's beauty unfold, I realised how much I have missed those sacred nights.

2009-01-23T01:15:00.000-08:00

It's A Dark Night Again and I Can't Find My Flashlight

Basically the challenge is to be genuine - to feel our pounding heart or shaking knees or whatever it is - and stick with it. In a nutshell, very few of us ever allow ourselves to be in a situation that doesn't have at least a teensy-weensy little exit, a place where we can get out if we have to.

So observed Pema Chodron in When Things Fall Apart.

Two days ago, The Thinker painted me a picture. In that picture, I was a person who has always sought out life's highways. Always chosen what was most convenient, rather than what was right for me. The Seer had told me this before, but at a time when I was not ready to hear it. The Thinker was harder on me. He asked the brutal questions to which I didn't yet have answers. And yesterday, I made the decision to abandon the highway and walk (or crawl?) on the road less travelled.

This is the scariest place I have ever been. My heart is pounding, my knees are shaking and I keep falling apart just when I think I've got it together. And it's only the beginning! Sigh. Part of me berates myself for taking on this foolish act of terror-stricken bravery. But the other part says to have faith that only good can come from this. Because although my mind and heart shouts 'No!', the voice within whispers a quiet 'yes'. And I have learnt to listen to that voice.

Don't be fooled into believing that I'm approaching all this with Yoda-like serenity. I feel like Scooby Doo more than anything else.

The Pole Dancer used to say "when you have come to the edge of all light that you know and are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or you will learn to fly."

If I had it my way, there would be a bungee cord attached to my foot so I can pop rght back up. But so be it.

To both The Seer and The Thinker, thank you. You know what I want, what I need and the difference between the two. It hurts and I'm scared to death, but I acknowledge and I accept.

We don't experience the world fully unless we are willing to give something away. Samaya means not holding anything back, not preparing our escape route, not looking for alternatives, not thinking there is ample time to do things later. When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chodron

2009-01-20T05:07:00.000-08:00

One Picture, Two Views

Last night I sat on my living room floor, watching the shadows dance across the timber and letting my eyes travel unseeingly across my beloved city skyline. I lost myself in my thoughts until Sarah McLaughlan sang the last note on her Afterglow album. And very slowly, the answers came. But still, I had to know for sure. So I reached back into my past.

I was looking for validation. I wanted confirmation that the same issues I saw in myself today were the same issues that caused me heartache before. I needed an insight into how my behaviour impacted another so I would know what to do now. What I got instead was a completely different version of my story. A kinder version. A version that I had never seen before.

At that moment, I realised how important a check and balance is in our lives. Because when we're standing too close to the mirror, everything is magnified and we can't help but shrivel in our own eyes. And that is a horrible feeling. Touching base with my past pulled me back from my mirror just far enough for me to understand that I was seeing too much in too little.

I've chosen to write this post in the hope that if any of you are struggling with your version of the truth, you will try checking in with someone else who bore witness to that truth and see if both versions match. You'd be surprised at how the mind is able to play tricks on the heart,and vice versa.

The real truth is a tricky thing, especially when it's about yourself. It's slippery, it's painful, it's baffling. But when you find it, you will know. Because it is also freeing.

2009-01-15T04:49:00.000-08:00

The Aftermath

No, I didn't succumb to that luscious bottle of Chardonnay. *grin*

Instead I told my inner child that Chardonnay has not been summoned to babysit her that night and made her a hot cup of roasted green tea with spices. I told her that there would be no banshee screams and to stop prodding the lion. Then I let her write to express herself frustration, allowed her read on the balcony till way past a decent hour and tucked her into bed with a big hug and a promise that the sun would rise again tomorrow.

Gradually, her angry trantrum wound down into exhausted hiccups and today, she's back on her feet and eager to meet life head-on again.

2009-01-15T01:35:00.000-08:00

The Perfect Storm

Today I write not as a yoga practitioner with insights and breakthroughs, but a woman who is trying to sift through splinters without pricking herself too badly. Today I write as a person who has momentarily abandoned all attempts to transcend the madness that is life.

I have been doing everything ‘right’ these past few weeks. I have opened myself up to my emotions and told myself to ride out its peaks and dips. I have honoured it volatility by offering it an outlet of soft tears. I have diligently unfurled my purple mat each evening, enjoyed monologues with Pema Chodron and made personal breakthroughs of which I am very proud. And after a hard night, I have made myself a soothing cup of tea and encouraged myself to take one more step forward, because I am doing ok. I am Androcles asking the great and hungry lion to have a ‘velvet paw’ and treat me gently.

But what I really want is a big fat bottle of Chardonnay and permission to snap, snap, SNAP my jaws.

I want to allow my inner child to leap out and perform a dance of wrath. A dance that is rich with the fury of tornadoes, the slashes of lightning, the screaming of banshees. A dance so wild with rage, it sears all those who witness it. I want to be Androcles who demands that the lion either fight me or eat me alive. I want to stuff bodhichitta in a box until I am ready to befriend it again.

I am angry. And it feels good to say it aloud. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go make myself a cup of tea.

2009-01-12T23:07:00.000-08:00

The Walk

I finished editing the script at 4.30pm yesterday, and like a puppy, my inner child perked up in barely concealed excitement. A walk in the park loomed on the horizon. I tidied up my writing space and glanced out the window to see dark clouds swirling ahead. Was it wise to be outdoors this evening? The instant I thought that, I felt the heavy stone of disappointment drop in me. A promise is a promise, I decided, and began packing my satchel. In went a thick sketchpad, new colour pencils and Julia Cameron’s The Sound of Paper.

I underestimated the evening traffic, and the extra fifteen minutes of bumper-to-bumper crawling was enough for the rain to catch up. By the time I swung into the parking lot, the fine drizzle had turned into sizeable drops.

“Will you melt?” my school athletic coach used to demand, when we tried using the rain as an excuse to loll around instead of train. I got out my umbrella, hoisted my satchel on my shoulders and began walking.

The park was almost empty except for a few joggers who didn’t see the point of seeking shelter when they were already soaking wet from their run. The familiar scent of damp, heavy sweetness hung in the air and I took a deep breath, remembering the days when Tinselbits and I used to run almost every evening. True, we talked more than we actually ran and I hated her for making me do the stairs, but a bond was formed over the huffing and puffing that has stood the test of time.

For 20 minutes I walked alone, accompanied only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath my feet, the whispering of leaves and the splash of raindrops on the lake. I passed a bench and looked wistfully at it. How I would have loved to sit there and sketch. Then a troop of monkeys scurried behind it and I changed my mind.

The rain grew heavier and my satchel was in danger of getting wet, so I surrendered and looked for appropriate place to shelter. Looking around, I spotted a gazebo-like structure perched on stilts, towering above all the other little gazebos. Perfect.

Settling down at the top, I could see the mountains in the distance and the voices of the trees were louder. For the next hour I read, I sketched and I just sat. I watched the joggers run past, the squirrels chase each other on a tree, the butterfly darting around the flowers and the leaves falling to the ground. For that one hour, I felt that rare sense of connection with myself and the world around me. And it felt really good.

I urge you to take a walk too. Just be with yourself and do the very things you feel are a ‘waste of time’ or ‘childish’. Yesterday, I realised that being a grown up is not much fun and I don’t know why I couldn’t wait to be one when I was a child. We forget the simple pleasures in life. We give so much time to others and starve ourselves on the leftovers of our day. When you spend time with yourself, be it an hour or ten minutes, you walk away knowing yourself just a little better and that makes life just a little easier.

2009-01-12T19:11:00.000-08:00

I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me feel less afraid,
more accessible,
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.
- Dawna Markova

2009-01-12T07:48:00.001-08:00

My First Artist Date

I went on a date with my inner artist last Saturday. In her book, The Vein of Gold, Julia Cameron recommends an hour or longer weekly block of time spent on yourself and only with yourself, doing something festive that releases creative blocks and invokes inspiration. In other words, to romance ourselves.

I cheated a little on this Artist Date because I had been to this place once, though very briefly, and also because I went with The Healer. My cousin, an Anusara Yogi (a style I plan to try this year) introduced me to a place that I have always wished my city had - a new age bookstore.

This Wonderful Life is the creative genius of Tania Leong, an alternative therapist and energy healer. The first time I was there, I spent more time talking to Tania than poking around. She’s a lovely person, so warm and vibrant. I found out that Tania finally heeded her calling and packed her bags for London, which she called home for 5 years as she immersed herself in the new age lifestyle and honed her healing techniques. We chatted for a while and she generously gave me an impromptu card reading lesson. Then it was time to rush off, and I did so with some incense and a promise to return.

So on Saturday, The Healer and I trotted to TWL in high spirits. When we pushed open the glass doors, we saw Tania and three others sitting on the floor in front of the yoga section. Around them were coloured paper, glue, scissors, magazines and other arts and crafts material.

“What are you doing?” we asked in great curiosity.

“Our vision charts!” came the reply. I was instantly intrigued and watched as Tania glued scanned pictures of her angel cards onto her red vision chart and decided how large to make each chakra for the huge angel that represented her. Julia Cameron had suggested the same activity, but I had been putting it off.

I eventually left the little group to their work and began browsing. One shelf held aromatherapy oils, soaps and salt scrubs. Another held an assortment of CDs from yoga and qi gong to meditation and dharma talks. There was a shelf of parenting books, which The Healer planted herself at and shelves where books on angels, general metaphysics and psychology nested. There were racks of incense, posters and stickers, as well as a corner table that housed various oracle cards. Next to the cashier were the crystals and precious stones in odd shapes and even angel-shaped.

I felt completely at home in this little place, and the energy was safe and clear. I spent the first ten minutes touching every item in wonder and feeling my excitement mount. Ever since I stepped into Whatever, a new age bookshop in Singapore, I have longed for one here. A place that doesn’t just sell items, but also acts as a gathering spot for like-minded people.

I enjoyed my little artist date…and of course, the coffee that came after! But it’s a place I will go back to again and again, if nothing more than for a chat with Tania. Did it rejuvenate my creative juices? For sure!

This Wonderful Life is located at M-0-7 Plaza Damas, Jalan Sri Hartamas 1, Sri Hartamas, Kuala Lumpur. 03-6201 1813

2009-01-12T00:39:00.000-08:00

A New Year Dedication

Even at the cusp of the New Year, I still hadn’t decided on my resolutions. Many people I know had already given up on making any form of resolutions that required a continued effort beyond January 2nd. I didn’t want to conform to tradition, neither did I want to begin a new year on a cynical note. So I decided to dedicate the year to a broad area of personal growth instead of pinning it down to fixed ideas and ideals.

My new year is dedicated to openness and creativity.

What does that mean? It means I have vowed to remain open to all experiences without judgement. To accept impermanence as a part of life and learn not to cling to what I desperately want to remain unchanged. My new job as a story liner/senior writer for a miniseries is my first step in that direction. A six month contract and come July
1st, the world is my oyster once again.

It also means poking around in the forgotten nooks and crannies of my heart and mind, without fear of what I may find and with the faith that when I do find it, it will help me understand myself a little better. It means reconnecting with the creative child I left behind in order for me to become a ‘grown up’. It means experimenting with art, words, sounds and movement to tap into my inner creative self that has become so foreign to me.

As it usually happens, the minute I decided this, the path unfolded before me. This time, in the form of Julia Cameron and her book Vein of Gold. This extraordinary book contains teachings on the creative process and imaginative tasks, all designed to draw out your shy creative self. I’m only quarter way through the book and am completely blown away! My soul has come out to play and it is deliriously happy!

In my creative satchel are three tools that Cameron recommends be undertaken and continued for as long as possible:

Morning Pages. These are three pages of writing in LONGHAND each morning about anything and everything on your mind. Cameron says, “Morning pages prioritize our day. They render us present to the moment. They introduce us to an unsuspected strength and agility. They draw to our attention to those areas of our life that need our focus. Both our weaknesses and our strengths will be gently revealed. Problems will be exposed and solutions suggested.”

And why in longhand when we have come such a long way in techno-land? Because, “there is an energy of blood, of truth and knowledge that is deeper than skin. The blood remembers what the mind forgets, and when the blood remembers, it tells the hand. Writing by hand is like walking somewhere instead of whizzing there in car.”

I have begun my Morning Pages in an unassuming red diary gifted to me by my insurance agent. But its simplicity works, because it doesn’t intimidate me into writing something worthy of a Pulitzer. I can relax and the words can flow.

Artist Dates. A weekly date with yourself somewhere that will awaken all your senses. A sacred time of pleasure that nurtures the creative consciousness. And it has to be done solo, so you can hear your inner voice. I have just gone on my first Artist Date, which will be the topic of my next post.

Walks. Oh so easy, and yet so difficult. All of us have been there at one point or the other. But this time don’t think of it as exercise for your body but for your higher consciousness. Walk, take the leash off your mind and let your imagination romp wildly. The answers will come.

Try it. You have nothing to lose and so much to gain. And now I have to stop because I have promised my inner child that if she allows me to finish editing a script this afternoon, I will take her to the park. 

2009-01-11T18:04:00.000-08:00

A Duet Of Bodies

There's something to be said about using someone else's body to guide yours into a pose. And that something is that it feels really really good. I mean, really good!

Partner Yoga was one of the last sessions during On The Mat And Beyond. And it drew the most participants. Families, friends and of course, couples. Theresa formed us into a large circle as part of a five minute warm-up, which had the kids giggling uncontrollably and the adults cracking uncertain smiles. Then she shooed us back to our places and from then on, two became one.

“Partner yoga is about trust, communication and respect,” Theresa told us seriously. As we nodded back in equal seriousness, her face broke into a smile and she clapped her hands. “Let’s begin then!”

The first pose was a shoulder opener. Partners pressed their backs against each other, and took turns to stretch each other’s arms backwards.

“No doughnuts!” Theresa called, walking around. Translation: no sticking your bottoms out and leaving a space between your two backs.

Then she instructed us to sit, one person in butterfly and the other with his feet straight out and pressed against his partner’s shinbones. Clasp each other’s hands at the elbows and take turns moving forward and backwards.

“Match your breathing rhythms,” Theresa said, but that was easier said that done. Aside from counting aloud, we struggled to listen to each other’s breathing pattern.

The third pose was a variation of paschimottanasana. One partner with her legs outstretched, and the other sitting behind her with bent knees and his feet placed on her lower back. As she moves into the pose, he gradually straightens his legs to guide her deeper into it. It was one of my more effortless paschimottanasana! And it felt oddly reassuring to feel the warmth of someone feet on my back.

We laughed and melted into a couple more poses, when Theresa decided to give us a brief taste of her true passion – AcroYoga. For the purists, this is acrobatic yoga and it is fabulous! Imagine this…

Your partner is in downward dog. You stand in front of him, move into downward dog with your heels in front of his fingers, place one foot between both his hands and use it to balance while you put the balls of your other foot on his lower back. Then bring your other foot up alongside it and relish the feeling of being almost airborne. And no, your partner is not supporting your weight. Neither are your wrists bearing the brunt of it. The weight is evenly distributed, hence the delicious feeling of lightness.

The class ended too soon, to disappointed groans and appreciative applause. Later, Theresa told me that she is a dancer and thrives on movement, which makes hatha yoga understandably painful for her. Marrying dance and yoga made perfect sense, and eventually gave birth to AcroYoga.

Partner yoga is two bodies performing a duet, each one listening to the other’s melody and matching it in return. There is no rivalry and no moving to a different beat. There is no carelessness either because taking responsibility for another’s body requires you to smack in the moment. Best of all, there is no ego because it’s not just about you. And at the end, there is gratitude for the compassion and service your partner has gifted to you.

That appetizer of AcroYoga has awakened the daredevil within me, and it is roaring to get out. So now, I have to feed it. Luckily, Theresa will be holding her first AcroYoga workshop on February 22nd. Watch this space for further details!

2009-01-06T01:01:00.000-08:00

To The Very Core

It’s shameful, really. 5 years of yoga and still I’m a mess of sore muscles after Sunday's yoga event - On The Mat & Beyond.

I was meant to co-lead the session for those with excess weight, but since only five people showed up, I decided to participate instead. Unfortunately, none of the other five had any excess to lose, so instead of a gentle practice, Roslin unleashed her trademark core yoga sequence upon us.

Now Roslin is a great teacher and the routine was exactly what my lazybones needed, but boy, was it tough! After the second dhanurasana sequence, my body refused to do anything more than lie flat on the gound for a full ten seconds. I snuck a peek around and was greatly comforted to see that my counterparts were also on the verge of waving the white flag.

Having said that, it was a good class which once again underlined the fact that I really need to build up my core strength. And watching Roslin move through each sequence with such precision and ease was very inspiring to both my inner student and teacher. This is the reason why I keep seeking out new teachers, despite fellow yogis telling me that I should stick to just one.

It felt really good to be part of a group again. I have missed that. And the icing on the cake? Roslin teaches at the same place Gary does!

2008-12-29T21:20:00.000-08:00

Bits & Pieces

Excerpts from books I have recently read that have helped me navigate through this mist. May they hold glitters of insight for you too.

"One reason why you get into trouble like this is that you trust reason too much. Human life is rarely reasonable. You may believe that intelligent, well-meaning people can resolve any conflicts, but taht assumption itself arises out of a cloudy image of how things work. Insight usually means discovering the madness hidden in an apparently reasonable situation.

People are always on the cusp between clarity and fog. Pure unreasonableness lies like a shadow at the edge of all transactions. You may wish things were simpler but they aren't. Your only recourse is to take into account at least a moderate degree of madness in every situation you encounter."
Dark Nights of the Soul, Thomas Moore

Was this always a part of me, buried, waiting? Maybe there is a seed of malfeasance even in the most honest of people - like Patrick - that requires a certain combination of circumstances to bloom. And once it does, it takes over like loosestrife, choking out rational thought, killing compassion.
Perfect Match, Jodi Picoult

"How do you feel,"she said.

"I don't even know."

"Oh, honey."

Across the room, a Syrofoam takeout container sat open like a giant clamshell. I went over and looked inside: the remains of something in a tan sauce, plus a collapsed orange slice and a limp piece of lettuce.

"Guilty," I said. "I feel guilty. What does it say about me that I'd leave? What kind of person does it make me?"

She didn't reply for a moment, and I felt the long span between us, the miles and miles of wire. At last she spoke. "The kind of person you are."

A rush of laughter escaped me. "What?"

"It makes you the kind of person you are. People have this idea that what they do changes who they are. A married man has an affair and he thinks, Now I've become a bad person. As if something had changed."

"Meaning he already was a bad person?"

"Meaning bad isn't the issue. Meaning you do what you do. Not without consequences for other people, of course, sometimes very grave ones. But it's not very helpful to regard your choices as a series of right or wrong moves. They don't define you as much as you define them."

"You're sounding very mystical," I said. "Are you saying it was my destiny to leave?"

"Not at all-you could have just as easily have stayed. But that wouldn't make you a good person any more than leaving makes you a bad one. You are already made, honey. That's what I mean."
The Dive From Clausen's Pier, Ann Packer

2008-12-22T23:13:00.000-08:00

Lost & Found

I found him last night. That man whose gentle words fall upon me like cottonballs. That man who taught me to rest in my own body. That man who makes paschimottanasana feel like savasana. That man whose classes are a beautiful swirl of softness, strength, deeps breaths and honour of the body. That man whom I lost when YogaZone crashed and burned.

When I told The Healer I had found him and that he is a startling 5-minute drive from our homes, she texted back "Let's go! I want some compassion!"

If you share a similar craving, Gary teaches at Impressive Fitness (03-7981 0303) in Danau Desa.

2008-12-19T21:04:00.000-08:00

I Miss...

finding my bliss in a home practice.riding the group energy in a favourite teacher's class.laughing until my stomach hurts.losing myself in a unputdownable book.nan.dancing with my heart and soul.the sound of a key at the front door.a homecooked meal.the ocean.my cats' voices.trusting myself.nights that end too soon.being young and reckless.savannah drys.sunshiny days.trawling food markets in perth.hot tea on a cold night in india.spontaneous supper plans at midnight.a yoga room.

2008-12-13T05:33:00.000-08:00

A Misplaced Spirit

Once again Christmas is upon us. It waits with giddy excitment behind the corner, hinting at its presence through the delicate tinkling of glass balls on the tree, the aroma of indulgent delicacies from an overworked oven, fights over whose turn it is to scrub the porch, and the clattering of china for the guests who will be turning up for the traditional Christmas lunch.

Christmas usually makes me feel like a helium-filled balloon. It's my favourite time of the year and nothing is able to prick my bubble of bliss. I'm the in-house entertainment with my squeals and shrieks over everything Christmassy that pops up in the house, especially when the presents appear under the tree. Chsitmas is usually the happiest time of the year for me. But not this year.

One of my favorite people in the world is in a better place and Christmas just isn't the same without her pot roast, fussing over guests and newly dyed hair. I miss her.

And there's more but it's Christmas and this is not a story for the holidays. But my spirit has scuttled into hiding this year and I can't seem to find it no matter how hard I look.

Yoga teacher, Philip Moffitt, says, "By embracing your mother wound as your yoga, you transform what has been a hindrance in your life into a teacher of the heart."

I struggle to embrace my mother wound because it reminds me of how, at one moment, I became everything I never thought I would be. It made me lose faith in myself, in my being and in my practice. I don't know how to use this wound to be my yoga and a teacher of the heart.

This Christmas is keeping that wound fresh somehow. And it's making me think that perhaps Christmas may no longer live in the lights, scents and tastes for me. Perhaps I will learn the real spirit of Christmas this year. And perhaps then, this wound will finally close.

2008-12-13T04:57:00.000-08:00

On The Mat And Beyond

If like me, you're still mulling over the many ways you could start the new year with a bang, here's another option to add to that merry medley.

Come January 4th, The Bakti Siti Hasmah building in Tmana Tun Dr. Ismail, will play host to a yoga charity event - On The Mat And Beyond: A Healing Practice. Roslin Mohd Daud and Indra Widjanarko, the souls behind this event, have planned special practice sessions for those with special needs. They need volunteers and a host of other essentials, so go to onthematandbeyond.blogspot.com and extend your hand in any way possible.

Namaste!

2008-11-27T06:32:00.000-08:00

Letter From A Devout Muslim

Below is letter to a local daily from The Wise One concerning the recent fatwa over yoga for Muslims. It is moments like these that remind my why I hold her in such high esteem.

The Editor,
Star Online.

Dear Editor,

I am a devout Muslim woman and have been practising yoga for 7 years now. I practice 4 to 5 times a week, in the mornings after my Fajr prayers and doa.

I was attracted to yoga for very much the same reason millions of people in the world are. In 1999, I had been a court going lawyer for 12 years and was suffering tremendous amounts of stress and anxiety. My immune system was very low and I was constantly ill. My sinuses were infected and I had already undergone 2 minor surgeries for sinus related problems. Migraines were a daily occurence. Briefly, I was miserable and angry. I fought with loved ones around me, and when I started fighting with strangers in the street, I realised I needed help.

A visit to a psychiatrist resulted in a Zoloft prescription, which I hated after 1 pill and I promptly abandoned it. I started going to the gym and was a regular for 3 years. However, the gym started to appeal to younger and younger people and I no longer felt comfortable. Then, came Madonna and the Ashtanga Yoga craze. She was beautiful, and I wanted her body.

A Malaysian born Astanga yoga instructor was back in KL for a holiday and was willing to teach a short 3 week introductory course. I fell in love with the system from the first lesson.

There was no mantra, no meditation, no chanting going on. It was sheer breathing and movement and sweat. I did not know it then, but yoga brought tremendous changes in my life subsequently. I have done tremendous research on yoga as I was concerned with its system and impact on my faith and beliefs as a Muslim.

Let me share a little of what I have learnt, and how I have applied it to my life and how it has helped me in my religious faith. First, we must understand that yoga is not a religion. It is a scientific system designed five thousand years ago. Its wisdom is tremendous. But for simplicity's sake, it is enough to state that there are eight limbs to yoga, and they are -
1. Yamas - thou shalt not injunctions (non violence,speaking truth, non stealing, non grasping, self control)
2. Niyamas - thou shalts (purity, contentment, disciplined use of energy, self study and remembering God)
3. Pranayama - the science of breathing - how one's breath affects one's physiological and psychological responses
4. Asana - the physical poses - which makes bodies flexible, lubricate joints, strengthen muscle , cleans out the organs and flushes the toxins
5. Prathyahara - science of withdrawing your senses - ie looking inwards into yourself as a discipline for concentration
6. Dharana - concentration, by way of many different methods such as concentrating on an object such as a small ball, or a lighted candle and some people use mantra repetition (ie concentrating on fixed phrases), or just counting 1,2 3.
7. Dhyana - Meditation - the science of remembering God
8. Samadhi - unification of mind, body and soul . Classically, in the yoga texts it indicates going back to God.

I have often been asked, how as a Muslim, I can bring congruency of the 8 limbs to my own Islamic beliefs. My answer is simple. In Islam, the rules regarding worship (ibadah) is "what is not permitted is prohibited" , and not to be confused with the rules regarding human relations (mua'amalat) which is "what is not prohibited is permissible". Therefore, in Islam, there are only certain prescribed ways of worship of Allah, and nothing else will amount to worship. Any other so called form of worshipping is "shirk" or disbelief. And everything a man does in his life, his conduct, his words, his thoughts are governed by intention (niyat). Anything that I am doubtful of, I will avoid.

Therefore, where the Yamas are concerned I see no contradiction to Islam. Where Niyamas are concerned, the self study and remembering of God I take it as study of the Quran, the Hadith and many numerous scholarly Islamic books. Rememberance of God I practice as dhikr and tassawuf. Pranayama, Asana, Prathyahara and Dharana for me is combined in the Ashtanga teaching system, which is a breath - movement - counting system. One and half hours of this system 5 days a week result in a tough sweaty work out for my body, mind and soul. I am calm by the end of the practice, and have recharged my internal resources to take on the challenge of the day. As for Dhyana or Meditation, contrary to some views, does not result in an "empty mind" for Satan or other sorts of evil to enter. In meditation, I only remember Allah, and Allah alone. There is no place for anything else.

Finally, Samadhi . This I have never experienced, but having read many Sufi books, I believe this is similar to the concept of "Fana'a" or anhilation of one's ego. Since I cannot speak from personal experience, I will only state what I have read. In the holy al-Quran, it is stated that we all come from a place of pre-eternity from whence we made a primordial covenant with God to worship Him and Him alone. When our souls were sent forth into this world, we have forgotten, and our minds, bodies and soul were split into different Ego selves. Fana'a indicates and anhilation of this Ego, and a remembrance of the place of pre-eternity.

As for Mantra? I do not use mantra repetition.

I am a Muslim and am devoted. Yoga has not only allowed me a cheap and efficient method of maintaining my physical and mental wellbeing, it has also deepened my faith, to the point that I have decided that Islam must now pervade my commercial and professional dealings. Towards this end, I am now studying for my doctorate in Islamic Finance. So strong are my beliefs in my religion, arising from the discipline and discoveries that I gained from yoga, that nobody who knows me will dispute or deny my determination and loyalty to Allah and the religion of Islam. I am indebted to yoga, both for my health, my mental state and my deepening love for Islam. In the past few years, I have been to holy Makkah 4 times on Umrah, and Insyallah will proceed for my Hajj soon.

Is it possible for some people to be misled and misguided by yoga? Yes, if they are not mindful or careful enough or do not have sufficient knowledge of Islam. But ask the numerous religious and devout Muslims I know who practice yoga, whether they have ever been confused or misled - they will answer with a laugh. You will never be able to levy a charge against them that their yoga practice has reduced their faith in Islam or that they are shirk. Count amongst these people so many educated Muslims, including my 70 year old mother, who has continued to practice yoga regularly, in order to aid her flexibility so that she can perform her Solat. Further, yoga is so very suitable for a Muslim woman, as she can practice this in the privacy of her home, without financial cost to her.

The Holy Quran states in Verse al-Isra':84-

"Say: Everyone acts according to his own disposition, but your Lord knows best who it is who is best guided on the Way."

I quote al-Ghazali from "The Alchemy of Happiness" -

"Although these matters [referring to earlier discussion] are comparative novelties in Islam and have not been received from the first followers of the Prophet (PBUH), we must remember that all novelties are not forbidden, but only those which directly contravene the Law. For instance, the Tarawih, or night-prayer during the fasting month, was first instituted by the Caliph 'Umar. The Prophet said, "Live with each man according to his habits and disposition," therefore , it is right to fall in with usages that please people,when non-conformity would vex them."(emphasis is mine)

Perhaps, on the basis of "maslahah" (or public good) the authorities that be should do further research into yoga, and perhaps refine their concerns regarding certain aspects which they feel may affect the Aqidah. However, to issue a blanket ban or label of "haram" on a system that is so beneficial to the health and wellbeing of so many Muslims, and a system which is now in use as therapy in cancer, heart disease, diabetes and stroke in hospitals all over the world (eg the John Hopkins Hospital) , is very careless and negligent of Allah's gift of knowledge to humankind.

As for me, without yoga my health and mental well being will deteriorate. If I stop, it will be a great oppression on my human right to preserve this body and mind that Allah has given me. I will continue to practice yoga until I am no longer able to move.

Wallahualam.

2008-11-23T18:54:00.001-08:00

It Isn’t Yours To Own

On Friday night, when the world prepared to slip under its bedcovers, I stepped out on my balcony and opened one of my favourite books - A Lotus Grows In the Mud. When I first chanced upon it at a book sale, I gave it a cursory glance, mainly because it is an autobiography of Goldie Hawn. Shallow and rich with self-glorification, I thought. Yet, I found myself coming back to it and eventually decided that a light read wouldn’t hurt. I stayed up for two nights lost in its pages, my heart alternately swelling and squeezing. By the time I ran my eyes over the last sentence, A Lotus Grows In The Mud had become a guiding light for me. I later lent it to The Healer, who devoured it with the same passion, reading out snippets to her fiancé during their nightly long-distance phone calls.

Now I have picked it up again because I am in need of its wisdom. In the chapter, Altered State, I found it.

“Dr. Gearson also helped me deal with my success. He helped me understand that the adoration or unkind criticism wasn’t mine to own. That it was all about how other people perceived me to be, not how I really was. I needed to take no responsibility other than just being a Rorschach test, an inkblot that others interpreted whichever way they needed to.

The key is to learn to respect and honour the complications of other people’s lives. It allows me not to identify personally with others’ perceptions or to become wrapped up in my own defenses against them. If someone tells me “I love you,” it should carry no weight than if they say “I hate you.” I give them back their joy; I give them back their anger. My truth remains detached from theirs.”

This morning, I had brunch with The Captain and he told me of an abusive text message he had received from an acquaintance who had over-reacted over a misunderstanding. I marvelled at his cool, amusement over the attack.

“Because it doesn’t belong to me,” he said. “He has chosen to react that way, so the anger belongs to him. I have no power or responsibility over it. What I do have control of is my response to him and this is how I choose to respond. It’s easy to deal with such situations when you remember that the other person’s words and actions belong to them and not to you.”

I mulled over his and Goldie’s words on the drive home and wondered how I could apply it to my little conundrum. I have recently amassed a tidy little collection of mistakes for which I am being tongue-lashed. Being someone who has long lived to please, I am taking it hard. How then can I let the words of others belong to them without relinquishing responsibility for my slip-ups? How can I give them back their disdain, anger and disgust even when I am also being judged in my own eyes? How can I let my truth remain detached from theirs while making sure that I am not running from the truth? And how do I become more self-aware, more enlightened and more connected with my own mind in the process?

I have decided to begin at the only logical place right now; acceptance. So I accept that I have made imperfect choices that have caused deep hurt and disappointment. I accept that many people may no longer choose to remain in my sphere, as a result of those choices. I accept that I cannot please myself and other people. I accept the possibility that I could be the naive, self-centred, cruel person that I have been told I am. I accept that my actions will one day come full circle. And I accept responsibility for my actions and the consequences it brings.

This acceptance doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make the pain less searing. Nor does it liberate me completely from the anger-tipped arrows of others. But it has opened a hidden window just a crack and a tiny scoop of their anger has slipped out to make its way back to them.

This is just a start. But least I am somewhere.

2008-11-23T18:53:00.000-08:00

Yoga Ban

So screams the headline on today’s newspaper.

The National Fatwa Council of Malaysia has declared yoga haram for Muslims on the basis that its roots in Hindusim threaten their faith. The Muslim yoga practitioners have separated themselves into two camps – those who have maintained that yoga is just a form of exercise and those who have decided to adhere to the edict.

Those who know me well enough would know my stand on this matter, but it is not my place to question another’s religion, so I will just be content with bits from Thomas Moore’s book Dark Nights of The Soul:

“Religion easily becomes a defense and avoidance. Of course, this is not the real purpose of religion, and the religious traditions of the world, full of beautifully stated wisdom, are your bets source of guidance in the dark. But there is real religion and there is the empty shell of religion. Know the difference. Your life is at stake. You have to use your intelligence every step of the way.”

2008-10-23T03:08:00.000-07:00

Shades of Grey

"Live a little," TN murmured, as I fussed over how far behind schedule we were for the nest day's presentation.

"What do you mean?" I demanded, slightly frazzled and not in the mood for misplaced optimism.

"Live in the moment!" he said empathatically. "When you drive home, take a different route. Roll down the window and breathe in the air outside. Notice the trees. Ignore the traffic. Enjoy the journey or you'll reach your destination with no recollection of how you got there."

"Living a little means living in the moment without being preoccupied with thoughts about the future. The feeling that every fragment of that moment is frozen in one perfect frame. And you're overwhelmed by a feeling of pure happiness. Let tomorrow take care of itself."

"Well, it's hard to live a little right now," I retorted, thinking of the secret pain in my heart.

"No it's not," he said gently. "The trouble with you is that you see things in black and white. But some things can only be experienced in the grey for it to make sense and for you to gain a clearer perspective."

"Where does responsibility come in then?" I demanded. He had touched a tender spot and he knew it.

"Simple - before you commit to doing something, be prepared to take responsibility for the consequences. Then throw youself fully into the moment and live every part of it. No point worrying about the consequences while moving through that moment and not remembering a single part when its over. Then the whole experience would have been a waste."

2008-10-03T17:39:00.000-07:00

Exactly Where You Are Right Now

Swami Abisek Caitanya was back in town last month. The last time I saw him was a year ago, when he made his way down from Rishkesh to PDN's shared studio in Bangsar, to unveil the jewels of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. He so captivated me with his oratory skills, charisma and - I'm almost ashamed to admit this - good looks, that I began asking PDN to bring him back this year too.

"What would you want him to teach if he came back?" PDN asked in June.

"Bhagavad Gita," came my immediate reply.

In August, PDN called to inform me that Swamiji would be holding 12 Bhagavad Gita classes throughout September. My heart broke. I was travelling for business throughout September and scanning my calender, I concluded that I would just about make three classes. That was something at least, I consoled myself.

I was disappointed mainly because I would miss a big chunk of basking in Swamiji's presence, but also because a portion of the Bhagavad Gita addressed karma yoga and I had always wondered what Lord Krishna meant when he told Arjuna, "Better your dharma that the dharma of others." More so, I had also long wondered what my dharma is.

Having not been given - or not recognised - any signposts pointing to my destiny, I had to be content with using my imagination. Deep in my bones I believe that I was born to serve and this gave birth to a whole series of romantic notions that involved tending to victims of a natural disaster, feeding the hungry, sending impoverished children to school...you get the idea. Each time I lost myself in one episode of this mini series, my heart beat a little faster, my stomach felt a little funny and my mouth got a little dry. These little sessions usually took place after my evening chanting, and then I would cast my eyes up to the deep purple sky and implore, "Please, please show me what I was put here to do." I now add, "And when you do please give me the guts to do it!"

I've been asking for a year now and still, no signs. In the meantime, I began saving so that when the call comes, I will be able to quit my job in a heartbeat and throw myself into this wonderfully noble cause. Whatever it is.

On the last day of Swamiji's stay, I finally found a quiet moment with him and asked, "How will I know what my dharma is?"

He smiled - as one does at the ignorant - and replied, "Your dharma is exactly where you are right now."

And with those nine simple words, my castles came roaring down. Swamiji continued smiling, "Your dharma may change in the future but for now, this is where you are meant to be, this is what you're meant to do."

No, no, no, my mind protested. I am not meant to be serving demanding clients, reading strategy management books and delivering corporate training programs. What kind of We-Are-The-World picture was that?! Once the denial passed, the fear set it. What if this is really all that there is? What if I'm meant to be a working girl all my life instead of a Mother Theresa in the making? What if my life was not going to make a difference to other lives in the way I hoped?

And then, a quieter thought - what if I was wasting the opportunity to serve in the present by waiting for a future that may not even exist?

It took me a couple of days to recover from this revelation, but it's gotten easier to accept. Today, though it takes conscious practice, I look at the different ways I am already serving those around me. This includes feeding my cats, hanging out my partner's freshly laundered clothes, making time for coffee with a broken-hearted friend, picking up a friend for yoga class. So many ways I had never noticed before.

So for now, I will be where I am, doing what I'm doing to serve in whatever ways I can right now. And when the seasons change, I will adapt and serve in a different way and touch different lives. For there is still a smidgen of romance left in my dreams. :)

2008-09-14T05:44:00.000-07:00

Where Does Inner Strength Come From?

It's been a while since I paid any attention to this blog and don't I know it! Constant travelling every week since the first week of August has disrupted life as I know it and more than this blog is in disarray.

Where does inner strength come from? Because it sure isn't in any of the places I'm looking!

2008-08-16T06:59:00.000-07:00

Giving & Receiving

Last week, I had late night coffee with a dear friend. Our paths collided only in April this year, but our bond grew at startling speed. PS loves to talk and is a great entertainer, but this time, I took the reins of the conversation with a disturbing issue at work.

The abridged version is that one among us is struggling and we're all at our wits end as to how to haul him on board. PS thoughtfully swirled his skinny latte around before saying;

"Let's say I'm in love with you and you don't feel the same. But to win you over, I buy you a diamond ring, a house, a car and so forth. Would you accept the gifts?"

"Of course not!"

He leaned forward. "Why?"

"Because those gifts come with a certain obligation and expectation and if I know I can't reciprocate, then I shouldn't accept them."

"And would I be a fool for continuing to give you gifts?"

I hesitated. "I guess..."

He leaned closer, looked me straight in the eye and said, "So why then do you keep giving this person so much when he is obviously not reciprocating?"

We're a team, I protested. We should look out for each other.

"You care too much," PS said with his usual directness.

Of course I do. We're a team!

"No, you care TOO MUCH! You're taking responsibility for his success, which is not your job or your business. You're giving him all these gifts to succeed and he doesn't want to do what you're asking of him. So why do you keep giving them? Why do you keep trying to force your expectations on him when he is clearly showing you that he doesn't not want to live up to them?"

Lightbulb moment. I remained silent for a long while. PS was right. I care too much - about the result instead of the action. In karma yoga, we're meant to focus only on doing the right thing and not be attached to the result. After all, karma yoga is about voluntary actions and I am voluntarily dishing out all that help. It's difficult, though, to not expect the fruits of your labour. Then again, perhaps different fruits are flowering instead of the ones I had in mind.

So I will take a step back. Allow him to carve his own path and not feel frustrated when he makes a 'wrong' move that could have been avoided, had he accepted my help. And I will remember that life, like yoga, is easier without the burden of expectations.

2008-08-09T06:28:00.000-07:00

Practice In Action

It was a drizzly Sunday afternoon. I was headed home from a morning meeting, on my way to an eagerly awaited girly tea party.

The lights turned green. I waited for the car ahead of me to move. And that's when it hit me. Literally. From behind. My first ever accident in all my eight years of driving. In my one-month old car.

I pulled over and without thinking, told myself to just breathe. By the time I was face to face with the other guy, I was clear-headed enough to calmly ask what had happened.

He had a stricken look on his face as he explained how new brake pads failed to work. Following his hand gestures, I saw the terrfied young wife and two toddlers in his car. Whatever slivers of annoyance I had disappeared. I kept breathing.

We examined my car. Minor scratches danced across the bottom of the bumper, but unless you looked really hard, you would miss them all together.

We examined his car. The entire bonnet would have to be replaced. I felt a rush of sympathy.

We exchanged cards and I suggested that he replace his brake pads asap. He told me to get my car checked out and he would pay for any respraying work.

It was only when I got back into my car that I realised my hands were shaking. But what really surprised me were two things. The first was how I had instantly and subconsciously turned to my practice for help in dealing with the situation. That realisation warmed me deeply for it proved that my practice is indeed a part of my life.

The second surprise was how my practice had aided me. Pranayama isn't the strongest aspect of my practice and I have been telling myself for years that I really should take it more seriously. With all my years of practice, I felt it was 'shameful' that I only knew kapalabathi and anuloma viloma. Yet, it was the basic abdominal breathing that came to the rescue. And in that, I was reminded that (a) it is what you do with what you know that matters, and (b) never underestimate simplicity.

I always thought I would fall apart in such situations. It was nice to discover otherwise and even nicer to know why!

2008-08-04T06:49:00.000-07:00

The Eight Secrets

I will confess straight up that I am taking the easy way out with this post. The past few weeks have felt watching a movie on fast-forward and I haven't had time to pen a cohesive version of my experiences and observations. But I do have stories to tell,w

A collague recently sent me this snippet. Entitled 'Eight Secrets of Sucess For The Olympics and Beyond', it is an adaptation and expansion of The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.

As I read the article, it struck me that these 'secrets' also apply to one's journey on the path. Here they are with my modifications in italics.

Secret #1
Practice self-awarenss and be aware of everything happening around you and within you, adpating yourself to its constant chnaging and staying always vigilant.

Secret #2
Love the practice you have chosen for yourself today. Keep your attitude always positive, especially when any difficulties are encountered on and off the mat.

Secret #3
Learn from everything you experience and from every teacher and student you meet, remembering there is no 'failure' but only 'feedback' which can be used to constantly improve.

Secret #4
Don't ever take yourself or your practice too seriously and never forget the power of humour to build bridges and heal hurt feelings and misunderstandings.

Secret #5
Speak always with intergrity, saying what you meana nd avoiding gossip about others. Always keep your word to others and therefore be careful about what you promise, ensuring that it is within your own span of control.

Secret #6
Don't take anything personally, especially when it comes from your ego. What others say is a protection of their own reality, their own yogic journey and their own dream, so don't allow yourself to become a victim of negativity or harsh criticism.

Secret #7
Don't make assumptions but find the courage to always ask questions and consistently communicate clearly and respectfully with others, and more importantly, with yourself.

Secret #8
Whatever the circustances - and circumstances will always be changing - always do your level best and you will avoid self-judgment, disappointment and regret.

2008-07-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

Riding The Plateau

Growth in all aspects of my life has suddenly come to a grinding halt. And I am standing on this motionless terrain wondering what it will take to get the winds blowing again.

This year began with my lucky star locked perfectly over my head, showering its golden rain over me. In the boardroom, I climbed mountains that once loomed menacingly but now resemble nothing more than molehills. On the mat, my newly discovered Ashtanga practice took me to places I never knew I had within me. Not to mentioned the muscles and lean structure that seemed to develop overnight! I daresay I felt invincible.

Then, without rhyme or reason, things started slowing down...in fact, at times it even feels like the gears are in reverse. At work, no glass ceilings have shattered recently and it feels like I'm squinting to make my way through a fog. But it's my practice that keeps me wriggling in anxiety.

The Uttanasana B-Chaturanga-Urdhva Mukah Svanasana sequence is becoming increasingly difficult. Where I once used to land with bent elbows, nowadays I jump back and then lower myself. Then, when I get into the asana, my shoulders shoot up to my neck and everything feels clumsy. And pushing upwards is such a struggle, I sometimes collapse in frustration.

I just don't understand how I could possibly go from 10 effortless Sun Salutations to this mess. How could I digress this way? What is it that I'm not seeing? The only comforting thought right now is that perhaps I've hit a plateau.

In geology and earth science, a plateau, also called a high plateau or tableland, is an area of highland, usually consisting of relatively flat terrain. Perhaps that's where I'm travelling right now.

A fellow teacher said, "Sometimes I struggle with an easy pose and I don't understand why. But I just kept practicing and it went away just as suddenly as it appeared. So I guess you just have to keep at it."

I've been diligently practicing for three months and the plateau (if that's what it is!) persists in stretching itself even further out. I'd really like to ride it out but I also need to know that the landscape will change down the road. Preferably very soon down the road!

2008-07-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

Oh What A Week!

Immigration
Road Transport Department
Insurance
Mechanics
Godforsaken places during rush hour traffic

All to be struck off the list within 3 days. This week will feel a month long.

I'm trying to calculate how many Om Mani Padme Hums it will take for me to survive this week.

But I will have a new car by the weekend and a new passport for Bali, so the end justifies the means. I suppose.

2008-07-05T06:53:00.001-07:00

The Yoga Of Sleep

"What a great weather for yoga nidra," I commented, as I walked into Swarupa Yoga, brushing the rain sprinkles off my arms and hair.

PDN eyed me suspiciously. "I hope that doesn't mean you're going to fall asleep during the session."

So of course I did. :(

But - based on the erractic times when I was awake - it was a very good session. Yoga Nidra literally means yogic sleep, though not the slumber we crash into at the end of each day. In yoga nidra, one melts into a peaceful stillness while still retaining awareness of the body and the teacher's guidance. Yoga Point describes it aptly as 'the state on borderline of sleep and wake fullness. It is nothing but Perfect Relaxation'.

I would love to write more on this, but I'm afraid that a lengthier piece will have to wait until I am awake throughout the entire session! Luckily for me, that time will arrive in a fortnight.

2008-07-03T01:22:00.000-07:00

Co-Existence

Curious Cat dropped me a note to ask if I have exchanged hatha yoga for ashtanga and why. I thought I'd answer that in a blog post - saves me the brain power of thinking up another topic! ;)

First things first; no, I have not traded one for the other. I still practice hatha on a regular basis. If I am doing an ashtanga practice, then I wind down with a hatha sequence. And if my body is on strike, then I pamper it with a pure hatha practice. Sometimes - and the ashtanga purists will clutch their hearts in horror at this! - I turn the ashtanga series into a hatha/Iyengar practice by holding the asanas for eight breaths instead of five.

Funny thing is, I had resisted ashtanga for the longest time because it was too high powered. Then, sometime last year, I began yearning for a more strength and stamina-based practice. One night, I attended PDN's dance performance and marvelled at how he didn't look the slightest bit breathless in all the 75 minutes. Backstage, I asked him where his endurance came from and he replied with a smile, "Ashtanga". I was sold even before I did my first chaturanga leap.

For a solid two months, I had a daily Ashtanga practice. And I loved it. It gave me strength, stamina and a meditative practice. It showed me how grace exists within strength. But it is demanding. And after a while, I missed the gentleness of hatha and the unforgiving precision of Iyengar. So I allowed myself to romp freely among all these different styles.

Personally, I don't think it is necessary to commit yourself to a certain style. Yoga is a personal journey and you can't build fences around your practice. The jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none rule doesn't apply here, because you can never truly master your practice. No matter how many years you've been practicing, each time you step on the mat, you learn something new. And you have to be open to receiving that.

So don't feel you have to forsake one style for another. Your journey will only be richer if you explore, discover and understand without struggling to honour boundaries that should never have existed in the first place.

2008-07-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

What Have You Done To My Thighs!

Two months ago, my favourite brown workpants was a struggle to pull on. But since it had always been a little snug, I hung it right at the back of closet and thought nothing of it again.

Last month, one by one my other workpants started going on strike. That's when I took a good hard look in the mirror and realised my thighs have...shall we say, blossomed. They are firmer, stronger and definitely bigger. Then I looked at pictures of Yoga Journal's models and noted that their thighs are pretty healthy too.

So my question for all you Ashtanga practitioners out there is - has Ashtanga changed your size?

2008-06-17T06:11:00.000-07:00

Fickle Desires

At this point of writing, I am sitting in the living room of a one-bedroom villa in Amara Sanctuary Resort. Through the large sliding windows, the jacuzzi in the private plunge pool is bubbling busily and the light from my bedroom on the other side is casting cool golden light into its ripples. There is a lanai at the end of the pool, where I will read and fall asleep tonight, covered only by the inky sky and scattered stars. And when I awake, I will hop, skip and jump over to the outdoor shower or perhaps treat myself to a quick soak in the outdoor bathtub.

I wish I could say that I am on holiday, but it's work and my luxury is being billed to one of my favourite clients.

When I arrived yesterday, I was tired and grumpy. The front desk officer handed me my key and smiled, "You're in Villa 2, ma'am."

Villa 2? Must be a fancy name for their hotel room, I thought. Then, the bell boy drove up in a buggy and we trundled off to my lodgings. He swung open the door and mumbled, "There must be a mistake". For a good hour, I walked about in a daze, unable to believe my hedonistic surroundings and actually feeling guilty about it.

Then I discovered the squashed cigarette butt in the little garden, the tiny specks of dirt in the tub, the confusing light switches, the uncoorperative air-conditionining and a slightly stained coffee cup. And slowly, my discomfort turned into dissatisfaction. Didn't housekeeping know how to clean? Didn't the electrician think before fixing the switches? Why weren't there instructions for the air-conditioning?

I caught myself as I was mentally drafting my feedback for the evaluation form, and I laughed, half-amused and half-ashamed at my audacity. Just a few minutes ago, I was uneasy with the luxury. How quickly my ego adapted, so much so that it felt that it was its duty to seek out and complain about trivialities.

Our expectations and desires just keep stretching. And if we don't pull the reins every now and then, we will one day wake up to find that even infinity is claustrophobic.

2008-06-13T07:17:00.000-07:00

The Hidden Ego

The recent hike in fuel price has triggered a financial anxiety in my little world. Truth is, I didn't even know why I was as worried as a I was. It just felt like all my savings wouldn't be enough to last me through the next week even. I agonized over this issue for many days and when The Elder innocently asked me how I was, the whole drama tumbled out.

"Why don't you go back to teaching?" the Elder asked, when I finally stopped to catch my breath. I stared at her.

"I can't go back to teaching just for the money!" I was almost offended at her suggestion. "That is a terrible reason to teach again!"

The Elder held my stare steadily. "You are such a snob. You think yoga, art and dance are so spritual that no money could ever be attached to it. And that only those who teach for non-monetary reasons are in touch with their spiritual side. What's wrong in spreading the joy of yoga and getting paid for it? As long as you're not charging excessively for a class, there is no harm."

"Nothing!" I sputtered. "But to go back to yoga solely for the income is wrong!"

"Okay," The Elder shrugged and changed the subject.

One week later

I was reading an article on www.yogajournal.com, entitled 'Marketing Yoga The Yogic Way'. In the article, yoga teacher Beryl Bender Birch speaks about some [teachers] who have huge egos about the fact that they don't promote themselves.

"'I'm so spiritual because I don't use any flyers.' That's just as much about ego as the people who make up some bogus resumé. Just as there are spiritual consequences of marketing, there are spiritual consequences of not marketing. The West has added something beautiful to the world of yoga: the concept that the teachings must be moved out into the world. If our intention is to hide from the world and from our own responsibilities, then not marketing our class is as deadly to our spirit as marketing with greedy intent."

I then understood what The Elder meant. And while I still feel uncomfortable about returning to teaching for the sake for a few extra ringgit, I am a little more open to the idea of treating yoga as a professional business in the future.

2008-06-02T23:36:00.000-07:00

In My Space

I texted The Elder today about a sale she's holding in her home for the Devi range of yoga wear. (Those of you who live in Kuala Lumpur and are interested, it's on June 8th from 2-6pm in Bukit Damansara. Drop me a note with your email address and I'll email you the details) Inevitably she asked, "How's your practice coming along? Ready for new asanas?"

My fingers remained poised over my keypad for a long while, as I thought hard about my answer. How is my practice coming along? I still have bad days, though most are pretty good. There is progress in certain areas, though some easy poses have recently become frustratingly and unexplainably challenging. So I told her that.

The next thing I know, she's calling me and offering to come over to my apartment to watch me practice in my space.

"What's the difference?" I asked nervously.

"Well, sometimes the space in which we practice also has an impact on our practice," she said.

REALLY?!

So we set a date for this Thursday evening. I am filled with gratitude at her generosity, but the thought of The Elder in my little yoga room, watching me practice on my old faded mat, is also making me very very nervous!

2008-05-30T05:30:00.000-07:00

Reruns (from Manual of the Warrior of Light)

A warrior of light knows that certain moments repeat themselves.

He often finds himself faced by the same problems and situations, and seeing these difficult situations return, he grows depressed thinking that he is incapable of making any progress in life.

"I've been through all these before," he says to his heart.

"Yes, you've been through all these before," replies his heart. "But you've never been beyond it."

Then the warrior of light realises that these repeated experiences have but one aim: to teach him what he does not want to learn.

2008-05-27T06:48:00.000-07:00

Like Coming Home

I was designing a Yoga For Stress Management program for a client (my 'real' job is that of a corporate trainer) and needed to test-drive certain snippets of it. So I offered three free half-hour yoga classes to another client who had engaged me for a 4-day leadership program.

On the first evening, eight people filed into the room and laid their towels on the carpeted floor. PS, one of the two men, confessed that he had never done anything close to yoga before, but was willing to give it a shot because nothng he had previously tried could help him relax.

I started feeling a little nervous. I hadn't stood in front of a class in more than 6months, and suddenly my carefully put together sequence seemed amateurish. But it was too late for second thoughts now. Swallowing my anxiety, I threw myself into the class and time stretched from 30 minutes to almost an hour. When they were finally in Savasana, I felt an uncontrollable joy well up within me. The words had flowed smoothly out of my mouth as though I had never taken a sabbatical. My eyes and hands remembered the adjustments and I was able to draw inspiration from my students.

It was like coming home again.

PS stayed behind after the rest had filed out and as I approached him, my nervousness returned. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I'm really pissed off with this whole thing."

My heart sank.

"When we lay down at the end and you started talking, for the first time in my life, I felt my entire body relax. Every bit of tension seemed to dissolve. I was in a space I had never been in before and it was great. Then I got really pissed off because I knew that the minute you stopped talking and walked out that door, I wouldn't be able to recreate this amazing feeling."

I stared at him dumbly. Nothing could have prepared me for what he had just told me.

"How do I get what you have?" he asked desperately. "You're so full of peace and light. I would give my life to just experience five minutes of your soul."

His eyes welled up and all I could do was still stare. When I finally shook myself out of my stupor, we talked for almost an hour. The only advice I could offer was that he needed to listen to his inner voice. He agreed but said he didn't know how. Try yoga, I suggested. Stay in the silence of your body and listen. It will speak to you.

As I drove home, I felt immensely humbled at having witnessed the quiet power of yoga once again. Just before the class I had felt my old insecurities and yoga had spoken through PS to tell me that I am reaping its benefits. And yoga had spoken through me to reach out and touch PS in a way that even he couldn't yet understand.

It was like coming home again.

2008-05-21T09:23:00.000-07:00

From The Manual of the Warrior of Light

Every warrior of light has felt afraid of going into battle.

Every warrior of light has, at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.

Every warrior of light has trodden a path that was not his.

Every warrior of light has suffered for the most trivial of reasons.

Every warrior of light has, at least once, believed that he was not a warrior of light.

Every warrior of light has failed in his spiritual duties.

Every warrior of light has said 'yes' when he wanted to say 'no'.

Every warrior of light has hurt someone he loved.

That is why he is a warrior of light, because he has been through all this and yet has never lost hope of being better than he is.

2008-05-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Snippets Of Light

Ever since devouring Like The Flowing River, I have fallen in love with Paulo Coelho's work. But only his nonfiction pieces. And so the next two books that kept me house bound for a whole weekend were The Pilgrimage and The Valkyries. The only book left was Manual of the Warrior of Light.

According to Wikipedia;

"The Manual of the Warrior of Light is a 1997 collection of Paulo Coelho's teachings summed up into one volume. It includes proverbs, extracts from the Tao Te Ching, the Bible, the book of Chuang Tzu, the Talmud and various other sources, and is written in the form of short philosophical passages.

This book is written as if it were an actual handbook for a supposedly Templar or Paladin warrior, the warrior however being a metaphor not for those who serve a certain lord, an ideal or the weak, but for those in pursuit of their dreams and who appreciate the miracle of life. The manual describes the challenges the warrior faces and solutions to the problems, including paradoxes (such as the section "sometimes the Warrior behaves like a rock" is followed directly by "sometimes the Warrior behaves like Water". Rock (stability) and Water (flexibility) are given as opposite metaphors in Taoism).

The book's content was first published in various Brazilian newspapers between 1993 and 1996. It was compiled in 1997, given a prologue and epilogue, and then published under its current title.

As stated in the book's summary, the Manual is for those who strive to meet their destiny and who want to ascend to a higher level of being."

I have been dying to read this book, but for some reason could never quite locate in any bookstore. Then last week, I was in Thiland's international airport and there it was. The one and only copy, snuggled in a corner. It was one of the rare moments when I didn't doze off during the flight home.

I finished half the book before the plane touched down. I would have read more if I didn't have to keep putting the book down to give my overwhelmed emotions some reprieve. Every now and then a little passage would speak directly to me - reassuring, guiding and chiding. Still fresh from my emotional turmoil last year, the words touched me a little deeper than it normally would.

This is one book that will travel with me for a long, long time.

2008-05-01T04:18:00.001-07:00

Crossing Over

So finally...I've hit magnificent 30. And i had the highlights of my twenties welcome me over to their side last night. I have crossed over and it's a glorious place to be.

A still-twentysomething-friend, who will be crossing over later this year, marvelled at how much I was looking forward to entering the next decade. She said, "when it's my turn I'm going hide under the blankets and eat a huge stack of pancakes."

I had a vision of the person I would be when I hit 30 and it's nothing like who I am now. But I like this unplanned version.

And that my fellow yogis, is what alignment is about. ;)

2008-04-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

My Big Little Triumph

I'm going to be very self-indulgent in this post, so please bear with me.

Those of you who have been reading me for a long time would not be a stranger to my fear of inversions. How I can only manage sirsasana (Headstand), and how any attempt at another inversion leaves me in a quivering mess. It is with great admiration and longing that I watch my fellow classmates effortlessly kick upwards in pincha mayurasana, their legs slicing easily through the air and their heels coming to rest lightly on the wall. I've tried it so many times but fear keeps my feet glued to the floor. The times that I do kick up a little, I resemble a foal trying to walk for the first time. So I have resorted to just sticking one leg upwards for The Teacher to pull up and brace against the wall.

Last week, in the privacy of my yoga room, I was suddenly seized by the desire to give it another shot. I set up my mat against the wall, aligned my elbows and lower arms, and looked ahead. Slowly, I walked my feet closer to my arms, order the screaming voice in my head to shut up and kicked as high as I could. It didn't reach the wall, but it was surprisingly better than I had ever done before. So I kept trying, and trying and trying.

After the tenth kick or so, I finally did it And of course the wave of euphoria sent me crashing right down. But I DID IT!!!!!

Those of you with acrobatic prowness in your blood may not understand - like The Seer, who watched me proudly demonstrate and said, "I don't get it. What was the big news?" - but trust me when I say, it's a fantastic high! Pun not intended.

I immediately texted The Teacher, who replied 'Patthabi Jois says, practice practice and all is coming'.

I don't know whether ALL will be coming hereforth, but I'm just thrilled that one has finally arrived!

2008-04-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

The Yoga of Diving

The Sister recently returned from a diving course on one of the stunning islands in the east coast. On our drive home, she regaled me with anecdotes, many of which revolved around a friend who had shown an ugly streak.

Embalmed in bitterness after rough encounters with certain people in her adopted country, the friend unleashed her unhappiness on unsuspecting strangers, who offered a friendly smile or a kind word. The Sister observed in silence until she ran out of patience. In her usual straight-as-an-arrow style, she smacked the manners back into the girl.

"And so the next time you feel yourself getting upset, remember what we were learnt to do if we get entangled in seaweed; stop, think and move away."

Stop. Think. And Move Away.

I thought it was a brilliant mantra - for those underwater and on dry land. Confronted by someone who relentlessly pushes your buttons, you have two options. You could spit out that sarcasm-laced remark that makes you feel smug for all of sixty seconds and like a shmuck for the rest of the night. Or you could Stop, Think and Move Away, and sleep soundly, not under a soft blanket of self-righteousness, but under a rough sheet of humility. The humility that comes with swallowing your pride, in order to do unto others as you would like done unto you.

Stop. Think. And Move Away.

That little mantra goes beyond just removing your physical self from that space. It urges you to disentangle your mind and emotions from it too. To move away from the black haze of anger/fear/sadness that clings to you and keeps you firmly in the exact place and time, from which you're trying your damnest to run away. It liberates you.

Stop. Think. And Move Away.

It could lead you to places you've never been to before.

2008-04-05T00:05:00.000-07:00

The Alchemy of Yoga

I cannot believe we're past the midway of April! Where has the time gone?! And of course, when I realised this, I also realised that I promised another post about my subsequent tete-a-tete with John Scott.

Tea with John Scott, unlike dinner, was a rather subdued affair. But considering that he was at the tail-end of a five-day teacher training workshop, I was grateful that he even agreed to a quick chat.

"I'm getting there," he said with a wry smile, when I asked him if he was tired. "But I get so much back when I teach, that feeling tired is a small price to pay."

I watched him pouring the tea and wondered where to begin with all the questions that were almost bursting out of me. He reached for a chocolate chip cookie and leaned back, his blonde hair catching the last rays of the evening sun.

"When you first started teaching, did you have any insecurities? I blurted out.

"Yes," he replied easily. "But if you hide behind just learning, then you will one day find that you can't absorb anymore because you're too full. So the only way to create space for more learning is to teach."

Then The Elder joined us and the two of them launched into a passionate conversation about the workshop. I watched by the sidelines, struck by the fire in their souls that was reflected in their eyes. Their love for their art was pure and whole.

The rest of the evening went by, the topic of conversation slipped this way and that, and when the sky finally shrugged on its lovely lavendar shawl, I rose to bid adieu.

"I'll see you again someday...perhaps in Still Point," I said, hugging him. (Still Point is John and Lucy's retreat centre in New Zealand)

"Yes," he smiled.

I left The Elder's house, feeling the embers of the conversation glowing within. John Scott had - whether knowingly or not - stoked my fire to return to teaching again soon.

2008-04-02T23:05:00.000-07:00

Dinner With John

“If I arrange for a dinner with John Scott this Sunday at my place, would you come?” The Elder asked.

Would I want to have dinner with the man to whose DVD I practice, and whose book lies open next to my mat? Would I want to eat barbecued chicken across the man to whom The Elder salutes as her guru? Hell, yes!

For the uninitiated, John Scott is among the revered clan of Ashtanga teachers. A prodigy of Pattabhi Jois himself, his presence graces the shelves, screen and lips of every Ashtanga devotee. The first time I saw Ashtanga in motion was courtesy of his DVD, and the poetry he brought to the screen was breathtaking. Even now, I still scrape my jaw off the floor when I watch him flow through the series.

In a nutshell, I couldn’t accept The Elder’s invitation fast enough.

Driving to The Elder’s house, I called my mother who laughed at my girlish excitement. I felt like a teenager meeting my pop idol.

The Elder greeted me at the door with her usual lovely smile. Clutching my bottle of red, I followed her to the patio, where dinner had already started. John turned and smiled, and all I could think of was, “Gee, he looks so much smaller in person.”

Despite two days of teacher training workshops behind him and another three more ahead, John was relaxed and pulsing with mellow energy. The conversation whipped and whirled in all directions and finally came to rest on (what else?) yoga. Without warning, The Elder looked straight at me and said, “Tell John your problem with alignment.”

All eyes turned on me.

“Let’s hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,” she encouraged, as I scrambled to pull my thoughts together.

So I told him. About two minutes into my little speech, his left eyebrow bounced up and down like a yo-yo. He waited for me to finish before standing up and stretching out his arm stiffly.

“Have we met?” he asked. I wasn’t sure what he meant and I said so. He repeated his question, so I stood up and tried to shake his hand. I say tried, because it was funny trying to curl my fingers around his rock-hard hand. Then he relaxed and offered me his hand again.

“Now let’s meet again.”

This time our hands fit into each other’s curved palm snugly. He smiled at me and the light bulb finally flashed.

“Which handshake felt better to you?” he asked.

I conceded that it was the second one but persisted in my argument that alignment is still important, otherwise our bodies would make mockeries of the asanas.

“What is alignment?” John looked at me intently. I thought for a moment.

“Body awareness,” I answered slowly. “It’s knowing what each part of the body is doing at each time.”

“That’s one level,” he agreed. “What else.”

Before I could answer, the voice piped up from the other end of the table, where two teenagers sat.

“Alignment is when all the pieces of the universe are linked to each other. Like a blanket. That’s when everything is in balance. So it’s when we are connected to the world and everything in it.”

John pointed at the teenager. “There’s the yogi,” he grinned.

Then he suddenly grabbed his right foot, pulled it up to his face and stuck his big toe in his mouth. Everyone gasped in shocked delight. Popping its out, he cheerfully announced that the toe in the mouth could be more aligned than the foot behind the head.

“If a screwed up spine is trying to be straight and causing pain in other parts of the body, is that alignment? What feels good for the body? If your asana is perfect but your body is in pain, then that is not alignment. And the breath always comes first in every asana. No point the spine being straight if the breath is ragged. You have to feel that blanket. When your body and breath are connected, then you are aligned.”

I was still thinking about my rounded back in utthita hasta padangusthasana. John probably sensed it because he propped his right heel on the table and held both sides of his foot.

“Watch the masters,” he told us. “They move into forward bends with their backs softly rounded, only then do they glide their body forward and straighten the spine. Many younger practitioners move into forward bends with their upper spine arched like they were moving into a backbend.”

As he spoke, he moved and I saw exactly what he meant. And I realised that arching of the back is exactly what I do to make sure my spine is completely straight…all in the name of alignment. It had always felt right, but as I watched John it looked all wrong.

The conversation danced into the night and pirouetting on different subjects, most of which I wasn’t paying much attention to after John’s little lesson on alignment. The more I watched John talk, the more I understood why The Elder chose him as her guru.

Driving home that night, I felt the high of being around someone who glows from within. And I had every reason to be happy. I was having tea with John in a couple of days.

2008-03-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

A Brush-Your-Teeth-Practice

The Elder and I had our long overdue lunch today. We chatted about this and that and of course, yoga.

She asked about my practice and I unloaded my triumphs and frustrations. I told her how I had finally been able to do the seated sequence in one go, instead of breaking it up into two parts, because the energy it absorbed left me beyond exhaustion. I grumbled about how my navasana resembles not the Titanic but a sinking sampan (a typical Malaysian fishing boat). I fretted over my urdhva dhanurasana , which would sooner earn a spot in The Reject Shop than in William Tell's hand.

The Elder laughed and laughed and laughed. Somehow she finds my yogic maladies more Mr. Bean than MacBeth.

Then I mused over the fact that Ashtanga is still very much under my skin and how a daily practice has woven itseld seamlessly into my life. She nodded and smiled.

"If you want to truly enjoy ashtanga you must have a brush-your-teeth style of practice. One that has become a part of your life. One where the question of whether you should do it or not never arises. Only then will you build flexibility, strength and stamina."

A brush-your-teeth style of practice. I like that!

2008-03-19T08:32:00.000-07:00

Addicted To Love

A very dear friend, who also happens to be a very pregnant yoga teacher, called me today. “I almost gave birth last night. Had my first contraction.”

The announcement was accompanied by giggles. Considering that her belly is only five-months-large, I didn’t see the humour.

She has a very demanding yoga teaching schedule, which at times entails hightailing from one end of the city to the other in snarling traffic. Throw in a couple of Ashtanga classes and you’ve got yourself a recipe for wild bursts of energy. No small surprise then that it’s being channelled into her womb.

“This pregnancy has really changed my classes,” she gushed. “So many students come up to me after class to tell me how much they loved the class and how happy they that I’m going to be a mother.”

Then I heard myself ask a question that surprised even me.

“Are you addicted to that response?”

There was a pause. “Well, it’s always nice to feel loved.”

“Of course. But there’s a subtle difference between gratitude and addiction. Between teaching for the simple joy of yoga and teaching for the standing ovation at the end.”

“I think I push myself because their expectations are so high,” she admitted. “And because they show me so much gratitude.”

And with that, I knew she would slow down in her own time.

But this question should tug at the heart of every student and teacher – why do I practice? Why do I teach?

For the love of yoga?

Or

To feed the ego?

2008-03-17T22:34:00.000-07:00

The Joy of Order

Despite The Teacher’s explanation and reassurance, the non-existent focus on alignment in Ashtanga continue to gnaw at me. So at a recent chai session with The Seer, I voiced my frustration once again.

The Seer looked at me thoughtfully and remarked, “Well, perhaps you like the order that alignment offers.”

The Seer has recently embarked on a Montessori course and is in the midst of understanding how preferences are imprinted on an infant’s mind. One of these preferences is for order. For structure. For a framework that makes sense. For a place for each and each in its place.

It sounds terrible boring, I realise, to know the next move every time and have no room for spontaneity. But I also realise that it is when I know how each line fits together to form a picture that I know which lines to erase, lengthen or reshape.

So yes, I have a deep fondness for the comfort of order that alignment offers in Iyengar which Ashtanga unfortunately lacks. However, I love the power of breath and flow in Ashtanga, of which Iyengar falls short.

In that case, I think I’ll move those lines of tradition a little and place an order for the best of both worlds.

2008-02-22T07:11:00.000-08:00

Island Of Indulgences

So much for waxing lyrical about yoga on the beach. I didn't get round to doing even a spot of asana, save for a spontaneous headstand at a quarter to midnight. The few glasses of wine allowed me to hold the asana for a nanosecond before guiding my body into a horizontal variation. Of course, I blame the pure white, lumpy beach.

So what pulled the brakes on my lofty ambition? In no particular order of importance - a studio no one had ever heard of, a lousy yoga teacher in a five-star hotel, too much good food, too many delicious books, too much glorious sun, lengthy conversations with a long-time-no-see friend and of course, Langkawi's famous duty-free wine. I only polished one bottle off over a span of 3 days, but this body ain't like it was before! That's a story for another day, though.

I returned relaxed, wistful that it had ended so quickly and eager to plant my feet on my mat again. And couple of adventures here and there have propelled me back to journaling again.

Most importantly and unexpectedly, I found myself hooked on Langkawi. Cenang Beach, in particular. It was different than I remembered it to be four years ago. It was as though it grew up. From being a sleepy stretch of beach, it now plays host to throngs of enchanted guests. Its party is light, fun and incredibly laidback, without the hard glint of commercialism that Patong or Kuta has suffered.

That got me thinking...maybe I would like to live there someday.

P/S: I also had my first coffee in 5 weeks at the Breakfast Station. It was like returning to an old lover.

2008-02-15T17:46:00.000-08:00

All My Bags Are Packed

5 gloriously hedonistic days of soaking up golden sunlight, sipping sundowners, devouring saved-up-for-holidays books, practicing yoga to the sound of the waves and losing track of time and day. After 8 straight months of work, this little break is like that spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down.

I have always enjoyed Langkawi. I do not love it the way I do Phi Phi (pre-tsunami), Bali or even Krabi, but I am fond enough of it to return to its charms every now and then.

The last time I was there, I hadn't yet given my heart to yoga. This time, I have already done my research and found a promising little shala tucked amongst nature and paddy fields. It has receieved highly acclaimed reviews online, so I am eager to explore its offerings. The other yoga class is held in a 5-star hotel, in which a friend is part of the spa team. Could be commercial, could be the exact oppostite.

So I'm off and will return with stories (and depending on my dubious photography skills, pictures too)!

2008-02-15T17:06:00.000-08:00

From Here To There

Yet another issue has cropped up in my practicing the seated sequence - the lack of alignment.

In between trying to jump back without crashing and keeping my ragged breath steady, there is no room to check if both my shoulders are parallel or if my back in rounded. In fact, just as I get a sliver of comfort in the asana, it's time get start moving again. Furthermore, ashtanga doesn't offer a platter of modifications for each asana. Can't reach yoru feet in paschimottanasana without rounding your back? Then round it and do it anyway. As a hatha practitioner, this bothered me greatly.

It isn't in my yoga DNA to move through asanas without immersing myself deeply in each one. Alignment is crucial to me and when I was still teaching, I would refuse to allow a student with bad knees to sit in virasana without sitting on a pillow. I am a firm believer that a body should be moulded into an asana rather than forced into it. So as my back rounded, chest caved in and knees popped up in a few of the seated asanas, my dissatisfaction grew.

I called The Teacher for advise and this is what he said:

"You must first understand the philosophy behing ashtanga. It is not to create flow like vinyasa or perfect alignment like iyengar, but to retain heat in the body. If you cannot accept that and find peace in this style, then perhaps it is not for you."

But I have grown to love ashtanga for everything else it offers. Yet sometimes I felt like I was doing the asana for the sake of doing the asana and thus, diluting the essence of yoga. The Teacher disagreed immediately.

"The ultimate aim of yoga is to reach the Truth. Nothing to do with asanas. You cannot document yoga like that. Each style has its own beauty and flaws. But yoga is personal and you must find what works for you. Yes, each style has its guiding principles but it's only meant as that - a guide. Don't confine yourself to something that you know doesn't resonate with you. I am from the iyengar school, yet my personal style is a blend of iyengar-vinyasa. Another teacher I know teaches hatha-ashtanga. The essence of yoga cannot be diluted merely through asana, as asana is only one way towards realising the Truth."

So if I want to move deeper into a pose, I can hold it for 8 breaths instead of 5?

"Yes. Ashtanga purists may dispute this, but if you cannot find a connection between your body and your mind during your practice then you have to do one of two things: find a way to get that connection or try a different style."

That suits me fine. I still practice according to the ashtanga guidelines, but I slow down and take my time moving into challenging asanas so I am a little more aware of my alignment. And during my hatha practice, I spend a little more time refining those asanas so that my body knows exactly how to move into them during my ashtanga practice.

What really got me was The Teacher's reminder that the purpose of yoga is ultimately to realise the Truth and not about which style we're practicing or how perfect our handstand is.

We forget that sometimes.

2008-02-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

A Gut Feeling

Does anyone else have a issue with their belly during the second ashtanga sequence?

When The Elder first taught me the seqence, I was huffing and puffing too much to focus on that soft bit that never seems to go way. But when I practiced in the quiet of my yoga room, that bit of belly was the only thing that stopped my chin from touching my knees. Sure, the hamstrings and back muscles also played a part but all my eyes could see was that litle bit of belly. And the further I got into the sequence, the more unslightly it grew. By the time I reached janu sirsasana c, I was almost in tears. My ego had turned mild dissatisfaction into full-on disgust, and I couldn't continue practicing. I hated the sequence and that bit of belly.

Later that evening, I texted The Elder telling her what had happened. She replied, "I told you ashtanga would bring up strong emotions. Don't worry about it. We'll talk about this over lunch soon ok."

Our busy schedules have kept us from that lunch date, but since then I've tried to move beyond that severe self-criticsm. The last three times I practiced, I breathed into that bit of belly, cajoling it to soften and relax. It's a painfully slow process.

I still don't like the seated sequence for its complete disregard for my physical insecurities. I still get upset with that bit of belly and struggle not to scowl through the rest of the practice. But perhaps the more I practice, the more I'll have to face my least favourite part of my body and the closer I'll get to overcoming the emotional attachment towards it.

If anyone has a similar experience, I'd love to hear it!

2008-02-05T23:32:00.000-08:00

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Two weeks.

Two solid weeks of practicing the same sequence over and over again.

Just two weeks, and my new ashtanga practice had me counting the hours to my first samasthitti of the day. A gob-smacking revelation for someone who has spent all four years of her practice avoiding Mr. Jois' cheoreography.

Seriously, I never thought I would connect so deeply with ashtanga. For years - and I confess this with deep humility - I always viewed it as an inferior practice, in that it focused solely on the body. Being brought up in the hatha way of life, I couldn't stomach that myopic vision. And being a Vata-type, the rigid sequence made me shudder. Two years ago, I took my first public ashtanga class with The Elder and it underlined my dislike for the style.

So why did I do an about-turn two months ago?

My home practice was flagging. I would dutifully turn up on my mat every evening and spend half my practice clawing through magazines and books for inspiration. By the time the hour was up, I felt that I hadn't even scratched the surface of a proper practice. I tried planning my sequence for the day or selecting one from Yoga Journal, but either it didn't fit with my mood or I lost interest half-way.

Ashtanga put a stop to all that. Despite my distaste for routines, I discovered that my body responded better when it knew exactly what was expected of it from the word 'Om'. (I later discovered that the sequence - although flowing - created a form of structure which was needed to keep my dosha in balance.) The ujjayi breathing kept my focus completely on my breath and body. And after watching John Scott's Primary Series DVD, I learnt the meaning of moving in powerful grace.

Each practice rewarded my body with an internal spring-clean. I would begin with my mind still filled with the day's events, but by the time I reached trikonasana, all that I was aware of was my Darth-Vader-breath and my body alignment. That inner quiet was soon followed by a wonderful sense of groundedness. In reaching savasana, I literally felt more alive. The beads of perspiration running down my spine and cooling on my skin, my muscles tingling and my breath softly bellowing a steady rhythm. The physical sensations pave an avenue for me to tap deeper into my mental and emotional sensations. And I have fallen in love with that feeling.

Ashtanga has also instilled a sense of discipline in me, that I once despaired I would never possess. For the first time in a long, long time, I have practiced every single day (bar the new moon, full moon and ladies' holiday). Even better, this disipline has also spilled over into my work life.

It has taken me four years to give ashtanga a chance, and even now I'm sharing only half of what I feel, because certain things have to be experienced to be understood.

But it has been and still is a struggle. I have had days when I'm almost in tears, when I am mad at Pattabhi Jois for making unreasonable demands on my body, when the movements are just too fast too furious...and I will share every single one of those struggles in this blog. Yet, like a repentant lover, I return to ashtanga the next day because I know that beneath its apparent brutality lies a benovelent soul. And also because I believe Pattabhi Jois when he says, "Practice and all will come."