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.

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. 

committed

Portable portrait of Guruji (Sri K. Pattabhi Jois), which travels with me.
Makeshift altar at La Zone, Maadi in Cairo, where I am subbing for friend Iman Elsherbiny. 

It's not perfect. But I've stuck to it--out of some deep internal compulsion, out of a great need and desire, out of love. And even though, on occasion, especially as the alarm harps on at crazy o'clock in the morning and there is this small sense of drudgery, that oh-here-we-go-again! feeling, mostly I wake up joyfully knowing that I will be met with both its unpredictable spontaneity and steady consistency. My eyes open and I am happy to breathe with it. The longing does not abate. I know that it is there for me, waiting and welcoming. Mostly, I can't wait to be with it, to spend the hours touching an intimacy like no other.

After seven years, this is the longest relationship I have ever had, this partnership with this mad beautiful ashtanga practice.

I realize that I've never been so committed; that no other part of my life has ever received such attention, such loyalty, such love and devotion. And while that in itself may be flawed, I cannot help but feel gratitude that something has inspired me so, calling me on to act day after day with remarkable presence. Even if the sense of fullness is sometimes fleeting, it has made me look upon each day as filled with the potential for growth. It has inspired me to love in so many levels--to love yoga, to love the practice itself, to love my teachers, and to love my fellow beings. Most of all it has helped me cultivate a profound sense of self love that I hadn't realized was even missing.

A couple of years ago, I wrote an article likening my relationship with the ashtanga practice to dating, that we'd moved beyond flirtation and how we were properly, happily seeing each other. And what a beautiful time that was, how joyful to see our bond blossom.

We've been through a lot more since then, the practice and I. 

There have had some golden moments. The last couple of years have taught us to be easy and comfortable with each other, more forgiving, more patient.  

But there have been difficulties too. Being with practice is not easy. Frustrations at feeling stalled have played on me. Things don't always move forward at the same lightning pace. Being unable to move beyond one posture, for example, made feel as if we'd reached a plateau, that nothing new was coming and I feared the stagnancy of routine. 
  
I phased through moments of doubts. I scrutinized our compatibility. I wondered whether we were truly right for each other, whether it could truly satisfy me, and whether I could truly represent it and be the kind of practitioner/teacher that I felt like I needed to be for it. I feared its rejection, that I wouldn't be good enough. And then there were times that I felt fidgety and nervous and craved for more. I had to ask: could I truly commit? 

And, yet, here we are: wandering the world together, navigating the strange unknown with remarkable strength and flexibility, adapting to different cultures, coping with the stress of work, travel and movement, being mutually supportive but allowing each other the space to be. I could not imagine this life of mine now without it. 

The question of commitment, a non issue at this point, as I survey my life of, well, commitment to practice. The challenges come and go, yet the practice remains, however sweet, however difficult. It would not have stuck around if I hadn't willed it. If I hadn't stepped on to the mat and breathed it into my body day after day.

These days, I feel committed on a whole new level. 

That while the practice continues to be deeply personal, it has also become greater. That by teaching, my relationship with my own practice now extends to others. 

The authorization, the blessing from Sharath Jois to teach, I must admit, has brought a new sense of commitment to it. Fear, as well. Like a marriage, it feels a great deal more official. More serious. There is a greater sense of responsibility and accountability on my part. That comes with its own set of worries. But this, too, we are navigating together. The practice seems to understand my deeply ingrained fear of commitment and makes no demands. It accepts me just as I am. It bends to my need for independence, it allows me to be the autonomous, creative being that I need to be. 

And what I've realized is, that despite the piece of paper, the intricacies of our relationship is up to us, that we create the kind of loving, respectful exchange that works, that allows love to simply flow easily. 

Want to read more about the evolution of this constantly changing relationship to practice? To read the "dating yoga" blog article: http://realizingmysore.blogspot.jp/2011/12/dating-yoga.html