The Power of Humility

Small studio and rural teachers are the lifeblood and the true heart of American yoga.  They are unsung.  They are humble.  Their classes are small.  Their students are not glamorous.  Yet on a weekly basis, they profoundly touch the souls of so many fortunate yogins who are guided by their devotion and humility.

I'm here in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho with Karen Sprute Francovich, who owns Garden Street Yoga.  She is one of those teachers who is like a giant beating heart for her community.  We've been friends for years but I've never taken her class, and I had that good fortune last night.  Never heard of her?  That's because she has a rare quality that is in short supply these days - humility.  She's rarely on Facebook, there aren't even any photos of her on her website, she lists herself at the end of her roster of teachers, she dresses with loveliness and modesty.  She has a beautiful quality of containment that does not veer into any apparent sense of unworthiness.

She is a power, the power of dedicated study and a lifetime's devotion to a path of evolution.  

Karen started her class with a big smile on her face, and a brief exposition of the Tantric viewpoint that we are all made of condensed light.  She described the light in its innate free state like a vast blanket made of light, also known as bliss, and said that we are like crimps or bumps in the blanket that become condensed into being.  She told us that class would be about feeling the places in our bodies that were especially condensed, and to see if we could allow them to soften, so that the bliss there could be released and felt.

Karen's class moved slowly, but deeply.  Slow deep burn.  Slow deep guidance, completely held by her words and presence.  "Anything will melt if you give it enough attention and love," she said.  When we were in a deep hip opening pose, she said, "Feel the edge with compassion, and see if you can melt some of the condensed bliss in there."  At one point, we were in a deep pose, and she gave the option to go deeper.  "But if you go deeper, can you still melt?  Know yourself."  Then she paused a long time.  "And know whether you should go deeper."  "Know yourself" is a profound suggestion in a yoga class, and we were given the time and space to practice it.  She gave us long stretches of silence.  She demonstrated a complex arm balance (Astavakrasana) and said, "Isn't this what your life feels like sometimes?  Too many things going in all directions?"

Her teaching is about leading her students to themselves, not about convincing them of something that she thinks is true.  And that takes the mature restraint to abstain from constantly putting your own agenda forward.

Mountains of gratitude to Karen and all the teachers like her, who make the sacrifice to stay with their communities through all their growth pains, contractions, and expansions.  Their generous lives uplift the consciousness of our world yoga community.

I Heart the Teacher Trainees

  It's getting late and I should be thinking about bed, but instead I'm thinking about the upcoming Teacher Training this weekend.  Rainey and I are 3/4 of the way through a year of intensive work/play/investigation with a stellar group of people.  Some of them want to become yoga teachers, some of them already are yoga teachers, and some of them couldn't care less about teaching yoga.  But the dedication they all bring to this process is astounding.  Month after month they show up with their bright minds, intelligent bodies, and unique views and we investigate the whole spectrum of a life of yoga.  Rainey and I have a big interest in teaching philosophy, so we look at a text every month.  This weekend it will be the Vijnanabhairava Tantra, a stunning offering from the Tantric tradition that articulates 112 different ways to anchor the mind.  For example: "When one meditates on one's own self in the form of unlimited space in all directions, the mind is suspended and Consciousness is revealed as the form of one's own self."

  I love and adore all the teaching I do, but I especially love teaching the Immersions and Teacher Trainings because we can have a conversation about so many aspects of yoga.  It is not just me doing the talking, and it's not just about asana.  I often visualize us all sitting in a forest under a tree in ancient times, tossing back and forth these heady ideas about being, consciousness, and freedom.  What I love is when we get on a roll of creative investigation into some idea and come up with some unique ways of looking at things that none of us could have discovered alone.  That is one of the many gifts of group learning. 

  Another inspiring thing about the teacher trainees is their courage in teaching practice.  Imagine standing up in front of a group of your peers, people who know all the yoga teaching tricks, in a situation where you are told what poses to teach and in what order, and usually with a few small teaching groups going on in the same room.  So it's noisy, distracting, and you're on the spot.  And these amazing people just keep rising to it again and again.  They are having the courage to make mistakes, look unskillful, and forget where they were going.  And that is inspiring, to say the least!  The willingness to take the seat of the student, even when many of these folks are experts in their own fields, shows a lot of humility and wisdom.  And I bow to that, and feel humbled myself by their attention and respect.

  By the time we're done in December, we will have spent over 200 hours together.  Friendships will have been formed that will last a lifetime.  Bodies will have changed, deep understandings will have gelled, and many of these folks will have discovered a life path that will change them forever.

  So, I can't wait to get with these dear souls this weekend, and hear what they have to say about meditating on the void, contemplating consciousness, and becoming one with the Supreme.  Just some light topics for a rainy Seattle weekend.

 

Wild Thing

Her heart was hurting,
And so was mine.
A pup who had been chained outdoors,
A woman in the midst of divorce.

We met at a shelter, concrete floors,
chain link walls.  She was quiet,
But observant.  Hopeless on a leash.
Hungry for freedom, and squirrels, and wanting
Nothing more than to be wild.

I needed comfort, affection, companionship,
She hungered to hunt and kill.
Not the best match,
Yet we found home in each other.

She was spring-loaded, so
Vibrant with life it blazed out of her.
She soared, she bounced, she boinged.
She made me laugh.

She had opinions,
Owned the neighborhood, was loyal to me unto death,
Literally.
Her great yearning heart
Cracked mine back into life.
She flew on ocean beaches, she treed cats,
She slept back to back with me,
Clambered over boulders and rocks,
Never turned away from a challenge.

Why the Great Source gives us these hearts
That can love so deep,
And a reality that includes separation
From what we love,
Is too philosophical for me right now.

What is real today
Is the great weighty presence of her absence,
Her dignity, her silliness, her insistence
On living her life in wild spirit.




(In loving memory of Denise's dog Tori, aka Tori Amos, Tora Bora, Torista, The Tormeister, who passed 9/30/10)

(Photo: Deena Hofstad; Poem: Denise Benitez)