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.

getting ready, round three

With Nataraja's blessing, hoping to dance my way
to Mysore this season!

Application received. Registration confirmed. Tickets bought. Currently, in hot pursuit, for a place to hang my mat. But with the nature of accommodation in Mysore and with two and a half months to go, there's time (Though I would appreciate any leads!).

There's time to prepare, to check in with my yogasana practice that has suffered greatly over the months of travel in the cool European climate--so unlike the tropical heat I am used to.

There's time to examine the 11 months between visits, where life inevitably happens, each factor--whether it's work, love, relationships, self-doubt, doubts about practice itself, etc, etc, etc...--pulls you away from the mat but at the same time posits the areas that need working on.

There's time to make new goals.

Yet, I am hesitant to define clear objectives, which may give rise to desire, ambition, attachment, and eventually disappointment. Plus, the plain truth is that part of the magic of Mysore is that you can hardly ever even begin to imagine what stuff will come up, what new physical pains, what old emotional baggage, what deeply-buried but long forgotten desire will boil up to the surface. Because we all know the practice, the people, the energy of the place, the abandon that we sometimes surrender with will stir things up. Cuz' Mysore can sometimes have a different plan for you, whether you like it or not!

So I guess if I were to make a new goal for this third season in Mysore it would be this: that I stay open to whatever lessons come, that I might have the grace to accept the unknown, that I might be open to change while maintaining my center, remembering always who I am and what is important to me.

Dear Guruji

Dear Guruji,

We've not met. Not in this lifetime. Still, today, I light a candle for you. Your own light has shone brightly in my life. Your teaching, this incredible system, lit a path in what felt was relative darkness. Your work has changed me, my life, from who I thought I was to who I believe I truly must be. For this, I am eternally grateful.

I feel your energy. In Mysore, at the shala. In the mysore rooms in Manila. Up here, at Cohiba in Boracay Island where we practice to the rising sun. Down the ways at The Temple, where I do my best to participate in this wondrous tradition. In rooms all around the world, where this deep rhythmic breath fuels the fluidity of yogasana movement. Oh the lives you have shifted! And mine among them.

I don't pretend to have figured things out. I continue to be a student. Stumbling and learning. Feeling challenged and humbled. Constantly surprised by how little I know, constantly overcome by awe of each and every day that unfolds with this ashtanga practice.

I feel so incredibly blessed to have been given this tool, this key, to living fully, wholly, freely.

Thank you, Guruji.

calling on mysore energy

Mysore is on my mind today. It is most days. How can it not be? Each morning, every practice, that first "Om" followed by "Vande gurunam..." is like a thread connected to India, to Mysore, to the shala where a small remainder of friends/diehards are currently sweating out the hot month under Sharath's quiet but steady gaze. Today, in particular, with Manila friends returning home from their own yoga journey, I am feeling the shala.

Emphasis on "feeling." There is a certain lonesomeness to it, though I'd have to say it's a different sensation from missing the shala outright, which I also admit to wholeheartedly.

It's been 6 weeks or so since I left Mysore. Today, however, with Nature (a friend and Manila teacher I've been subbing for) back from Mysore I feel a sense of recognition. As she briefly recounted her experience practicing there for the first time, I knew exactly what she was feeling, what most of us who love Mysore, who call Sharath our teacher, who consider Gokulam home away from home, universally feel. Ultimately, it's inexplicable. Not to be over-dramatic, but the experience, the time, the tapas is in my blood, it's in my system.

The room exists under my eyelids, where I can see the faded rugs, the condensation forming on walls and windows. Sharath's succinct voice counting in Sanskrit or calling out "One more" echoes within my eardrums. The humidity of the shala is forever on my face, the locker room's cold marble continues to cool my feet despite my rubber mat. The magic of the shala and Sharath's support is stored in the memory of my body.

All these things are present with me, though some days the connection is stronger than others. Teaching is helping, the ability to see the room with distance, as an observer as much as a participant. Somehow, the energy of a room amidst self-practice, hearing the chorus of breath, watching over the softly determined students focused on the practice before them strengthens that direct line to Mysore. I don't even think many of the students consciously realize that they make up a part of this growing web that makes up the ashtanga community.

In a way, it's a blessing to be here in Southeast Asia, the outer edges of this sprawling global yoga community (and, yes, slash "industry").

For most of the students here, mysore is the method of their practice. Few have been to the place, or understand how a Guruji's Lakshmipuram room good for 12 people helped give birth to their practice many decades ago. They are more concerned about what is happening presently on the mat and how it's reflecting in their daily lives than being caught up in what the NY Times magazine is saying about yoga, or what's happening to Anusara's John Friend, or the contraversy around Jois Yoga as illustrated in Vanity Fair--all of which does make me want to launch into some grand yoga debate. However, I think there's something really beautiful and uncomplicated about the students I've been working with this week. Regardless of whether or not they have the memory of Mysore itself imprinted on their system, as they dive into their practice they are tapping into Mysore's magic, the lineage in its purest form, sans politics, just energy.

dear reader

When I first put up this blog in October 2010, it was to chronicle my first trip to Mysore for friends and family. I was on one of my biggest adventures. And I wanted to share it with my loved ones and fellow practitioners in Boracay and around the Philippines who wanted to know what Mysore was like and asked to please send back word.

One of the big surprises of the that first trip was to see how well received this blog became not just among my intimate friends and family in the Philippines and in the US but also with friends in Mysore, who would then share it, until--somehow through the magic of the internet--ashtangis from all over the world seemed to be reading.

I always wanted to write. Ever since I was a kid. After working in media, however, for some 7 years in Manila, I felt burnt out. I'd lost the point of it all in copy-writing about things that didn't resonate with me. So, I looked for something new, which led me to a teaching gig at an international school in the itty bitty island-resort community of Boracay where I taught middle school English and where, in order to deal with the stress of a new job and a new environment, I started to take up yoga.

The rest, as they say, is history. And over the nearly six years that I have been practicing, yoga has blessed me with so many incredible gifts: better self-possession, stronger awareness, renewed optimism, strength and courage to be who I want to be, a diverse and growing crew of beautiful and amazing friends who I would not know were it not for yoga, a healthier lifestyle, and, yes, muscles even!

But one of the greatest gifts of yoga is how it has helped connect me back with my writing. And how, with this blog, it has given me something to write about as well as a gracious audience who is happy to read my observations and ramblings.

I love writing this blog. It has been my friend and confidant. My therapist and sounding board. If you have been reading this from the beginning, I hope that you can see, like I can, how much I have grown with it. How much the practice in Mysore has worked on me. How much more honest I've become with my feelings. And by sharing with you, how much more fulfilled I feel for the experience of this incredible yoga practice, whether I am in Mysore presently or not.

I just want to say, thank you, dear reader, for sharing this journey with me! By reading on, you silently and subtly support my writing practice, which to me is also a form of yoga. Thank you to those who comment and write to me personally, your own words propel mine. This blog has been an important tool for creative healing, for reconnecting back to my first love, the written word. Most of all, I am filled with gratitude to have a gracious audience, many of whom have become friends, to share these beautiful experiences with!


Taking leave, sort of. Though I have left Mysore already. I have a few things that I haven't yet had a chance to write about the trip. Events and thoughts that have to do with Ashtanga/Msyore specifically may find their way here from time to time. For day to day stuff, I will continue to write on my other blog on(e) love.

parcel of practice, connection and a whole lot of self

Guruji in Manila. I like to put out Guruji's photo when I teach.
Here he is watching over my class at Echo Yoga, along Perea.

I hate to admit it, but it took me a while to change my clock. Needless to say it was getting ridiculous, subtracting the two and a half hour time difference between the Philippines and India, plus the additional 15 minutes that accounts for "shala time." Math is not my strong suit. It was impossible setting the alarm. Not very yogic, I know. Not very of the moment.

When I finally did convert to Manila time, the acceptance that I'd really left Mysore was long overdue.

I'll be honest, since I exited from India an entire month and three weeks earlier than scheduled, there's a feeling of loss: the list of Mysore activities still to do, singing lessons and kirtan, friends who I did not get to meet, new depths of connection, self-study and practice that I was preparing to dive deeper into.

All the same, 3 months of study at KPJAYI is also really enough. Enough to dig deep, to unravel and get put together--a few times over, by the time of my departure.

In India, the term for "take home" or "take away" in restaurants, a.k.a. "hotels," is "parcel," which is usually wrapped in newspaper. I feel comforted that I've brought back a hefty parcel home from Mysore. Taking stock now, I am assured that the three months has given me much to munch on:

the practice
In conference, Sharath emphasized how no particular person owns this practice, that it belongs to anyone who really embraces it. And for the last three months I've been locked in a full body bear hug with the practice. Sometimes, it was intense and the practice and I were rolling around the room, wrestling each other; me, refusing to get beat down, the practice trying to subdue me or, rather, my ego. Other times, we were lovingly wrapped around each other, content and existing in total harmony. Over the last year, between the two trips to Mysore, my relationship with the practice has totally evolved and continues to. Today: we are good friends. And I take this very special friendship home with me.

And while there's no way of taking Sharath back in a parcel, his presence in my practice returns home with me too. It's funny to get so little contact and a very minimal amount of feedback and yet feel so much guidance. It remains a mystery to me how it works. I just know it does. I've left feeling like I've been sent off for summer break with a rucksack full of assignments by my teacher. Homework!

connection
One of the gifts of Mysore is the opportunity to connect with so many beautiful like-minded people, who are tapping into the same pool, the source of the ashtanga practice. No matter what background we are hailing from, whatever place we call home, there is a shared commitment to ashtanga and to the lineage. And as the practice churned me, the people who were closest to me became touchstones to the variety of experiences that Mysore inspires, whether it's the complexities of the postures, the emotional uprisings/purgings or personal epiphanies, those precious "aha!" moments that shines a light on some dark corner of the mind.

These connections, whether they are brand new or a couple of trips old, are what makes Mysore special. And when we go home, we are like dots connected around the globe, forming a very tight community, bonded through our love of Mysore and the growing pains we witness/help each other through.

the self
Ultimately, the best connection I ever made in Mysore is with myself. The practice works on so many levels (most of which are upped when practicing in Mysore). Externally, there's the physical body, which stretches and strengthens. There's sweat, lots of it; our body cleanses. Muscles feel soreness and pain as they work towards openness. The practice melts away what is physically extraneous. Internally, it's no different as we release our issues, the tightness in our hearts and minds loosens, removing such incredibly huge yet totally unnecessary obstacles.

For me, I feel like I understand myself better. I have more patience for my foibles, which I see with greater clarity. I am owning up to the things I value and the person that I am, all the sweet and odd and sometimes inconsistent gifts that make me special. I love myself more and in doing so feel more love for the people and the world around me.

taking it home
Realizing all this now not only takes the edge off having to leave Mysore so abruptly but is also enriching my return home. The parcel of practice and the connections with others and with myself is something I can always take with me. It travels light. It packs so nicely into whatever new life space I inhabit.

In truth, I brought home similar lessons from my first trip. But the second time around, my "take home" feels more substantial. I guess that's why people like myself keep on coming back for more. Everything changes and moves, evolves and becomes more refined with this ever dynamic yoga practice.