Guru and the Gravity of Love

It was the final week of January 2024, we had just finished led intermediate. And this giant industrial hall becomes a soft space of love and gratitude. There are few classes that I think can challenge the human spirit the way intermediate led can. In 2010, I remember watching a small group (only two rows in the Gokulam shala) of students complete the rigorous and unrelenting rhythm of second series led by Sharath Jois. In 2024, there must be over a hundred of us, breathing through long holds, stretching to mental and emotional capacity. It's an experience that reminds me that I feel incredibly lucky to be alive, that I am so much stronger and more capable than I can possibly imagine. I feel blessed to have survived it. And I am not the only one. Sharathji doesn't get far from the podium where he sits presiding over the class's final moments, students begin to cue so they can touch his feet. This is where he will stand until we're all done thanking him. 

I am still a dozen or so people away and I am already crying. Not delicate tearful crying. I'm crying CRYING, I'm breathing crying, I've lost all command of my feelings-crying. I am overwhelmed by the experience of led, of being in Mysore after a 5-year absence. I am overcome by gratitude that I felt cared for and held in the practice and that I could get back to doing most of what I could do before pregnancy--albeit with some help. I felt the possibility of what practice and life could be like with the right support. And it moved me. 

In my experience, there are 2 main kinds of interactions with my teacher: 1) Awkward and 2) Not so Awkward. And sometimes, there could be a very thin line between the two. I wish I could tell you for sure what conditions result with a positive outcome--not that it matters now--but sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you get unlucky. Sincerity goes a long way in these moments, and I think Sharath appreciated when we understood the weight of the learning was something important for our lives. 

And it was decidedly not awkward crying in front of my teacher, after that last led intermediate, me expressing my pure gratitude for the gift of his teaching. I thanked him. I touched his feet. He looked on kindly, graciously letting me have my moment, just like he did for everyone who came before him that morning. It was not always easy to have time with him, but when it happened, it was expansive.  

When I look back at that moment, I feel so much relief that my last moment with teacher was as honest and as vulnerable as it was. I was both so sad to go but also so grateful to have been there.

In the years that I have been writing this blog, so much has been dedicated to what it means to have found my teacher, what it has meant for my yoga sadhana, or spiritual practice, how my teacher's presence has kept me an honest practitioner and how the practice has shaped me into the person who I am today. I have processed so much of my relationship with ashtanga yoga, with my teacher Sharathji, with Mysore, India and with myself in these pages. It seems unfathomable that I must now inevitably process the gravity of loss and love that I feel with my teacher's passing (last November 11, 2024). 

There was so much I wanted to write about a year ago, during that last trip to Mysore, but I was too overwhelmed by life and by also bringing my son with me for two months of practice; there was no time to write, to sit or feel or let anything settle. As I approached the end of last year, I even felt excited at the next season (which I had decided to sit out) and that maybe I would finally write about my experience between December '23-January '24. Little did I know that the end of the year would be the end of an era.

If we have learned anything, however, over these months is that Sharathji's spirit continues to preside over our practices, over Mysore, over the community he built and the teachings he helped amplify. Realizing Mysore will continue to be a pursuit for the yoga aspirant, I know it will continue to be mine. And the energy of the "guru" continues, the gravity of our Teacher, his love for this practice and his belief in each and every one of us, will continue to tug at us, pulling us into a certain orbit and leading us down the path that is meant for us.  

adventures in assisting continued

I wasn’t keeping track of the time in there anymore, but based on the thinning number of students and the widening gaps of flooring, I knew we were nearing the end of morning classes. My fellow 6:30am shift co-assistants had already left the room and I resigned myself to being there to the end. I stopped looking at the clock above the door after the conference where Sharathji joked about assistants who were more interested in being dismissed than facilitating drop backs. I was horrified, although I have my moments of being exhausted and wanting to go home to rest, I genuinely love being in the room, assisting my teacher.

“Kaz, go home,” I hear in a different, lighter tone from all the other previous dismissals. I look towards him to see one of his epic wide grins, even his eyes are smiling, he’s laughing as he shares with the room, “I forgot.“

Was this different from the other times he had kept me back? At least twice I’ve been in the room till the very end, and over the month my shift seemed to end closer to two and a half to three hours. Was it intentional? Or just more forgetting? Did he think I wanted to get out of there? Or was there a greater purpose for these extraordinarily long shifts? Maybe he wanted me to get stronger, maybe he wanted to break something in me, or maybe nothing.

I feel like all the trips are filled with little moments such as these with Sharathji, slightly discombobulatingly awkward exchanges that are also filled with some strange sweetness. Lessons in disguise that are either incredibly crafted or ridiculously random. However they come about, what’s important is that I’m actually learn something.

For four seasons, I’ve assisted my teacher here in the shala. Except for the first time in 2013—another funny moment when I was asked by him upon registering to assist even though I was not yet authorised—I have requested every other time. Some friends and fellow practitioners have called this crazy or called me a masochist, and there may be some truth in this. But some of my most memorable moments on those trips were less on my mat and more being in the room, learning from my fellow students, and most of all, from my teacher.

My month of assisting is up. In the past, I would have been happy for it to last forever, but right now I look forward to having the opportunity to focus solely on my own practice, to have that extra bit of time to rest, to have breakfast with friends, and to have some leftover energy to enjoy being in India. I also know that it will be bittersweet; I will miss those hours spent in the hot and heady mist of practice, being in the bustle of a room in motion, having my teacher personally direct my energy, learning to speak with my co-assistants with eyes and gestures only, and having the privilege to witness the transformational work that unfolds here every morning. It is amazing to see the room evolve, to see a person change.  

Over the last month, I have stood beside so many folks as they faced their fears, as they found their courage. Some developed more strength, while others cultivated more softness. For some, the struggle is an ongoing process but no matter where one might be in the spectrum, there was this overwhelming feeling of acceptance, grace and gratitude.

I, too, have grown so much in this room, both in my own practice and in the practice of assisting, I remember feeling so uncertain and insecure that first time, I was so unseasoned then, and because I was awkward so were some of my assists, I must admit. It’s important to remember that the shala is a teaching space, teaching and learning is happening here in so many levels. Sharathji isn’t just teaching, he’s learning about us, about our bodies, about our emotions, each person brings a new angle to the practice. We are  learning from him, of course, from the practice, from India, from each other and from ourselves. And we assistants are doing a huge chunk of learning also.    

This shala is a different kind of classroom, there’s a lot of independent work-study, there are no real goals other than to do the work and yet assessments are ongoing, pretty much all the time, it’s a little trial-by-fire pretty much moment to moment. Sharathji is sharp, quick to point out gaps in our attention, issues with our performance, this is how we learn, this is how he keeps students safe also. Sometimes it’s stressful or heartbreaking when you’re called out or you have an awkward moment with another student. Assisting here is like practicing here, buttons will be pushed, barriers will be broken, surrender is still on the agenda.

It is amazing to watch my teacher in action, how he tirelessly gives, how even-minded he remains for pretty much six and a half teaching hours—and usually this is even longer—how present he is throughout the morning, he sees so much, he looks out for those who are struggling, he knows just when it’s time to facilitate depth, he’s able to recognise that precious moment when potential and ability can actually meet and then really holds space for it. It’s really inspiring to be in the room with him. I know some students might think assistants are like barriers between them and their teacher, I think we have to give our teacher more credit than that, he has shooed me off so many people and directed me to others. I believe he chooses when it’s the right time for us and we should trust in that.

Overall, however, I have to say the student culture here this last month has been incredible. It’s been such a good experience; the feeling of acceptance and surrender towards assistants was unparalleled in my small experience. When I first started coming to Mysore, assistants were a new concept and there was a fair bit of resistance. We seem to be finally getting used to this feature. And with less resistance there is more ease in the help given and received—and, thus, in the room at large.

Honestly, there is so much to say about the experience of assisting that it’s been hard to write about it. I’ve been working on this article for a couple of weeks now and it’s been difficult. I think, ultimately, words cannot capture what happens within these shala walls; practicing here, as with assisting here, is to be felt deeply, rather than talked or written about. The lessons take time to gestate and outcomes are often revealed slowly long after leaving this place.

I guess the masochist in me just wants to bring more of this into my mysore space in Egypt—or, maybe, I’d love for all this teaching to just live inside me, to move through my body, through my practice, through my hands and actions. Being in the room is cozying up to all this juicy parampara and assisting here is like learning through osmosis, the room is dripping with the system, it is full of the presence and attention of our teacher, it is a laboratory of opening bodies, breaking shells, pushing boundaries. I always knew the method worked for me, but being in there makes it so clear how it can also work for everybody.

mysore reception

Demon slaying at Chamundi Hill yesterday--pretty much sums up practice 

Before my first trip to India, Mysore was a mythical place, a pantheon where ashtanga superheroes

 were said to practice. Thus my hesitation for making my first trip. I felt that I was not ready--and that feeling lingered, like I could never be ready enough. When I was finally convinced to make the trip with my friend Clara in 2010, we took preparing for it like it were the Olympics. We were "training," getting on the mat every morning for 9 months, putting our whole heart into it. Those beautiful days practice was my soul's purpose

Fast forward to the present day, I am at the led class, practicing to Sharath's precise count in the ladies' changing room and I want to laugh at the idea of ever being ready for Mysore because, for me, at least, there is no such thing. My soul's purpose... well, it's still practice, but practice has evolved and expanded and I feel that I am least prepared now than I have ever been.

And that is totally OK!

This is my fourth trip to India and to KPJAYI. Within the first two days, I had moved into an apartment, rented a scooter, applied for a mobile number, registered and attended class--all possible with a certain amount of collected know-how.  I'm no longer a newbie to Mysore or KPJAYI, but each day I am here only affirms that there is no prescribed preparation, no precise steps to follow.

The truth is I feel physically challenged at the moment. My physical practice has suffered from all of the awesome blessings of the year: all the amazing yet destabilizing travel for work and for family. I saw two sisters get married, one in NY, another in the Philippines. I've spent more time with family and seen more old friends, from so many different segments of my life, this year more than any year since I started practicing ashtanga yoga. All topped off with a three week visit to my home city Manila, during THE maddest season of the year, what I call the "Christmas Cray Cray," an all-out-eat-shop-party extravaganza, where the closest to a moment of peace and quiet might be found as you are sandwiched between cars and buses in holiday traffic/gridlock. Safe to say, I am currently not at my best physical shape.

So here I am, come to Mysore, travel-weary, breathing through back pain (potentially caused by long-haul flights and sleeping on couches), feeling what I can best describe as this incredible sense of acceptance, that no matter what state I am in I am welcome to lay down my mat and practice here. That the practice and the shala and, of course, Sharath, is all-accepting, no matter what your trip is, no matter what your issue, no matter what your state of mind or heart or body so long as you're willing to get on the mat and do your very best.

As I hobble through led primary, I feel such gratitude for being here. Perhaps in the past, Mysore was about advancing in practice. But right now, it is the place to come home to; to unpack my bags, my pains, my ego; to heal and to rebuilt; to remember what I am about and to truly, deeply refine that great sense of soul purpose. 

new year's eve countdown

Gate 109, Terminal 3

At the stroke of midnight, Manila time, I should be flying somewhere above India.

This has somewhat baffled friends and family. Would I not prefer spending at least one more day in Manila to enjoy the fireworks and the parties? Or at least be on the ground when the clocks strike 12. 

Perhaps. It's true, I'll be in a foreign land again, far away from family again. But as I sit here waiting for my flight out of Manila to Bangalore, I know there is no place I would rather be. I also know that I am returning home, because India has been a great home for me. I have grown so much from my time there. It is where I get to return to myself through the deep process that is practice. 

Without planning it, there will also be friends there (even now I don't know exactly who), and some of these friends, well, they're family too--just the kind of family we discover along the way. 

Ganesh emailed that I am the first student to be picked up by his taxi service on the 1st of January 2015. I doubt that I will beat the throng of students at registration, but I feel happy to touch ground in India so soon after the New Year begins because Mysore has always been about bringing in the new for me. It is about accepting change, letting go of what needs letting go of, and, of course, manifesting the new. 

Realizing Mysore continues to be unending journey. The count down starts, this is the beginning of a new chapter in this--my favorite--story. 

new openings

Maybe it's the inspiring airy, light-filled Espacio Vacio, where I practice in the mornings after class, with its high ceilings and wood floors...

Maybe it's Barcelona, the newness of it and the change of pace that it's allowed me...

Maybe it's Cairo with its unfathomable intensity, perhaps this is its parting gift...

Maybe it's the season and my body is simply used to being pushed to its limits right about now were it in Mysore, India--that somehow I've developed an automated response to diving into the deep end this time of year because for the first time in my life of solo self-practice, I feel like I'm really going for it...

Maybe it's a combination of all these factors.... Or maybe it's just finally time...

Whatever the cause, it feels as if something is once again shifting. But in a very different way from what I'm used to. I don't feel exhausted, or pushed or frayed. I'm eating right, I am sleeping enough, I feel loved. I'm not having a hard time of practice. I'm not wracked with internal egoic debates nor am I plagued by the usual issues of fear or self doubt. I don't feel delicate, though admittedly some tears have come recently but they feel largely like an emotional release, a catharsis without much attachment.

Were I a heaving mess, I'd understand it better. I've been through the process where it felt like practice was slowly prying me open. I, likewise, am familiar with the all-the-sudden bam! sneaky sledge-hammer style it can have at times. I am used to being broken, cracked like an egg, having my guts spill out onto the sidewalk. Used to the dirty process of picking up the pieces in order to put myself together again (albeit better than when it all started).

This. This is new. First of all, I feel well. I know that's a strange one to note, but it's definitely notable. More than anything there's this new awareness, a strong sense that something is happening in my body. On the gross level, there's a deep muscle soreness--not so unusual with practice. Beyond that, there's this more subtle feeling that within my body things are being rearranged, the process of which has resulted in both a lovely yet strange new spaciousness in deep down areas I've never felt before and a quivering sensation, like there's a certain weakness in the limbs, as if they don't quite know how to hold themselves. What in the world?!

Whatever this is, I'm excited. It's thrilling to feel changes in the body. Having been in a practice plateau (physically) for sometime, the prospect of an opening in the body makes me want to celebrate, throw a party, send out announcements--instead, a blog entry will do. Moreover, it's amazing to be able to be aware that something within is moving. Staggering, too, to experience it so calmly, so steadily.

What exactly is happening, I can't really say. One thing is certain: shifts will come and I have a feeling this might be the one I've been waiting for and for quite some time.

It's especially reaffirming to feel how deeply the practice works. That the spirit of Mysore, the movements it inspires, is not a fixed experience. It exists wherever one practices, whenever one practices. 

mysore withdrawal

For me, 'tis the season for Mysore. It's not been so very long for me but since 2010, I've spent this time of year in India to study with Sharath at KPJAYI. Until now, that is.

When the season started in Mysore this October, it made me smile to know that the shala life around Gokulam was restarting, that even from afar I felt I could revel in it.

The more time passes, however, the more I feel the shakes for shala practice, for that intense energy that goes into practice, preparing for practice, eating early for practice, pre-practice coffee, post-practice chai...

There's this itch to check on the Ashtanga Mysore Community Facebook page--just to see what's going on--or to stalk friends who I know are there now or are headed that way. Then, there's this deep down feeling of longing that I feel when I see a Mysore shot on Instagram or an update on my newsfeed.

Mysore withdrawal symptoms, all of them, confirming my (healthy! at least on most days) addiction to Mysore, India. (The informal definition in the dictionary for "addict" is "devotee" incidentally, which I think applies well here.)

My body, heart, mind, spirit are having a Pavlovian response to this time of year! I'm not salivating, thank goodness, but am definitely having an interesting reaction to shots of random cows walking the streets, coco stand portraits and especially wide-angle shots of the packed room and expectant faces at conferences. There is a craving for depth of practice with my teacher, the camaraderie of friends who understand similarly the experience of yoga practice in their muscles and their joints and the intensity of the more subtle clenches and the openings that come with it.

And it's not just the practice. Missing Mysore in so many different levels, from the most mundane simple acts that typify a day in the life there, (i.e. morning post-practice chai, Sri Durg Indian breakfast or trip to the Chocolate man for curd) to special Sunday afternoons a capela kirtan in Saraswathipuram leading to conference at the shala with Sharath.

It's interesting now to observe how my attention is drawn to that part of the world, all the way here in Egypt, how connected I continue to feel despite skipping a season, but also how that connection constantly craves for more...how to explain...deepening--which I think is a pretty good kind of addiction. 

a skip season

Guruji's portrait in the shala. 

I would not have thought it possible. Towards the end of my first trip, so certain was I, so gung-ho, so totally obsessed with Mysore, that I was sure I would spend a portion of every year of my life in Mysore, India to practice at the shala--at least until my brittle bones would prevent me from doing so!

And now... as friends and, yes, my yoga family converge in India, I sit during spare in-between-teaching moments reading updates on facebook, viewing photos on instagram, and breathing--I breathe into the space in my heart that tightens because I long for it so: India, the shala, the energy and the practice there, the grace of the teacher, the community in and around Gokulam, the yoga folks, the chocolate, the random livestock wandering around the streets. Oh my goodness, I miss it all!

I've been in Cairo over three weeks now, my coming here has allowed another, my friend and fellow ashtangi Iman Elsherbiny, to go and study with Sharath in KPJAYI. The last three months has been this way, me holding space for others. Before this I was in Japan, subbing for a mysore program in Osaka. After this, I will be doing the same in Barcelona. And the current Mysore season will have come and gone by the time I am done with the commitments that I have made.

I have chosen to skip a season, I have to remind myself. I am the architect of this anomaly.

This was not so methodically planned. I do have a ticket leaving London in the end of December going to back to Asia. My intention was to be in India by the new year, in keeping with my "tradition" of spending the eve at the Shiva temple in Chamundi Hill, giving puja, burning old karmas, making new intentions. But so much has changed since I left South East Asia in early June. And life has challenged me to be flexible off the mat as well.

As the year ends, my puja, my offering is my life. Burning old patterns writ on paper isn't enough anymore. I simply need to stop cycling into them. And the intentions, well, my plate is still full there as I toil over the ones from previous years.

Ultimately, I know it doesn't matter where I celebrate the new year. It doesn't matter where I practice, or where I bow to the teachings of my teacher.

Still, I am missing practice at the shala and Sharath's stealthy hawk-eyed gaze. I can feel my body miss the deep down soreness, the depth of self-discovery, the intensity of moving amongst the breath of 70 some odd students, that indescribable push to the edge. But this time, choosing to teach, rather than to study, also seems right.

While studying regularly with Sharath is important to me as a human being and as a student, I can't help but feel his hand in my learning now, that it is because of his blessing that I am out here. That this is my "off-campus" self-study; it is also a part of my expanding education. And when it's time to return to the mother ship, Mysore will still be there. It will still be the same crazy, pressure cooking home away from home.

Life, I try to remember, is an extension of this practice. That "realizing mysore" is not exclusive to being physically in Mysore the Karnatakan city in Southern India. It is a state of being, a process and a tool for living. We go to Mysore to experience it and when we leave, we don't forget its lessons, which have seeped into our muscle memory, into our bones and into our cellular beings. When we leave, that energy goes with us.

And even though I am missing Mysore very much at the moment, I also know that like the practice, Mysore is always with me. 

landing

It's New Year's Eve today in Mysore. Five days since arriving, and I feel like I am finally landing. In many ways it's been a smooth re-entry back. My room and new home for the month, a beautiful space belonging to a dear friend, was super clean upon arrival. My roommates are friendly and accommodating, despite me coming so early in the morning. Shala registration went without a hitch. Practice started on the 27th, a 4:30 Friday led class. And I was lucky enough to have a 2-day break with moon day and saturday one after the other.

Phone activation went a little topsy turvy when a man wielding a blade whittled down a mirco-SIM card into supposed nano-size, suitable for my new iPhone, which resulted in his professional conclusion, "Sorry, Madam, it will not fit," as he handed me the butchered SIM card. Luckily, a short walk up the road, the local Airtel center was able to issue me a replacement SIM with the same number.

Made great use of my two-dy break. Had a wonderful home-cooked meal prepared by one friend, and joined another for one at 6th Main. I spent one day visiting the new local organic shops. Then the next day sleeping off a fierce fever.

I'd settled in, visited with some friends, gotten sick, and yet didn't entirely feel like I'd arrived properly. All was good. But something was missing. Some spark that I so identify as part of the magic of Mysore, that indescribable feeling of being here, subtle electric excitement. I was starting to think: is this what it's like the third time around? Does the thrill of simply being here wear off the more frequent you visit?

It would make sense, I reasoned with myself. The newness of the place wears off, the novelty goes eventually. That's the trade off when you start to really get to know a place. And I did feel this wonderful sense of homecoming, seeing so many familiar faces, feeling a strong sense of camaraderie. I do enjoy the ease of returning this time around, slipping back as if I was continuing seamlessly a journey that started two years and three months ago.

This morning, when I was in down dog (being a bad lady and thinking of something other than the posture at hand) and I was surveying the shala underneath my body. I was wondering how maybe the next phase of practice was this lack of feeling, that maybe this is a part of non-attachment, but then, what would keep me coming back here? -- I promise, it was a short reverie and not an overly-long downward-facing dog.

Without me knowing, things started to shift. There was no more thinking. I was just practicing. I was just breathing. I was just jumping forward or jumping back, folding forward or bending back. In no time, practice was done. Before I left the shala, I proceeded with what has become such an integral part of my personal practice here in Mysore, I stand at the door, facing the direction of Sharath and bow to him in gratitude and respect as I take my leave. And unless he's in the office or assisting a student in something really complicated, Sharath always takes part in this small exchange, which feels like the sum total of our teacher-student relationship.

And as I gestured in namaste I felt, so suddenly, all the magic that had been missing. I broke out into a huge smile, which Sharath also returned.

Landing now, I know that the magic is still here. It's everywhere and nowhere at once. Its essence exists in each moment of genuine connection, whether it is between a person and a place, between two or more people, or between a student and a teacher.

Mysore Christmas

Last year, I definitely thought i'd hit my limit with two Christmases in a row in Mysore. I missed my family, missed holiday cheer.

And yet here I am on Christmas day at Manila's airport, awaiting the first leg of travel that will end on my friend's doorstep in Gokulam early tomorrow morning.

I guess I am eager to get back, to practice with Sharath, to dig deeper into my own process. I guess what I realize is that I miss Mysore as well, that the depth of practice, the sense of community calls me to another kind of home, where a different kind of family awaits.

So I have split this precious holiday, spending the Eve, a big all night to-do in the Philippines, and the morning of Christmas Day with the family I was born into (also chosen to some extent) while setting off by midday to meet with the family I have consciously chosen, a motley crew of serious but also light hearted yoga practitioners, a humorous and occasionally stern teacher (the father figure to us all), a sweetly smiling though tough loving mama, and all the wonderful characters that make up the magic of Mysore.