The New Rule

Believe it or not, this does relate to Mysore, and not just because everything relates to everything.

A friend gave me a Rumi poem, hidden on a sheet of paper folded in half.  He told me to read it later. I put it under the floor mat of my car, because the car is a convertible.  I did not want the wind to blow the poem all over Interstate 40.  So when I got home, I forgot the poem was there.  That night I had a horrible dream.  I'll spare you and me the most embarrassing details, but they involved lust, drunkenness, losing all my money and "position," and otherwise hitting bottom.  In AA terminology, hitting bottom means sinking so low that the only direction left, other than death, is up.  In the dream, I was staggering in the street, penniless, covered in blood, stinking of whiskey, my teeth all knocked out, and my pants falling down.  I saw a policeman and began sobbing, begging him to take me to rehab.  He got on the police radio and started making the arrangements.  He said there was a spare bed at a rehab available, but I would have to share a room with three drug-addicted Viet Nam vets who all had a contagious case of Agent Orange disease.  I was so far down, that I felt tremendously relieved and grateful for the chance. When I woke up from the dream, I shuddered.  I sat up in bed and said to myself, "wow, i've just experienced what it is to fall to the very bottom of the hole."  That morning, I remembered to read the poem.  I went out to the car, pulled the folded paper from under the floor mat, and sat in the car to read it for the first time.  Here's the poem:

THE NEW RULE

It's the old rule that drunks have to argue
and get into fights.
The lover is just as bad:  He falls into a hole.
But down that hole he finds something shining,
worth more than any amount of money or power.

Last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street.
I took it as a sign to start singing,
falling up into the bowl of sky.
The bowl breaks.  Everywhere is falling everywhere.
Nothing else to do.

Here's the new rule:  Break the wineglass,
and fall toward the glassblower's breath.

-Rumi

The words moved me, not only because of the dream.  Lately I've been finding out some things from non-striving, or falling.  Lots of strange events have been happening to me that suggest there is really "nothing else to do" -- that I am "falling" down a path, whether I like it or not, "toward the glassblower's breath."

Here's an example.  Longtime readers of this blog might remember how it all started when I went to India for the first time with Naomi, my ashtanga friend from New York.  We had planned to stay in Mysore for three months, but I stayed for five and came back a year later.  When I came back, Naomi was still in India, teaching Ashtanga to Tibetan monks, traveling throughout South Asia from one holy place to another, and practically becoming a Buddhist nun.  I've since moved to the mountains of Western North Carolina, near Asheville, while keeping my office in Manhattan.  I also quit AA, but that's a much longer story.  Anyway, a few weeks ago, I got a call from Naomi.

It was great to hear from her.  She's recently been managing the Shiva Shala in New York, and I was nearly giddy with news of my own.  One thing I started to tell her was the news that I heard from my building contractor, confirmed by a huge front page story in the local paper, "The Mountaineer."  It was about a yoga-oriented spiritual community being constructed only about 10 minutes by car from my new house.  Called Mount Soma, which you can see in the distance from my living room window, it is being bankrolled by an unusual real estate development company.  They are building 70 eco-friendly homes, a yoga shala, and a meditation center, all based on Indian Vastu principles.   Needless to say, everybody in this economically-depressed, rural farming area is abuzz about all of this.  Because I've got photographs of Ramakrishna, Krishnamacharya, and Guruji in my house, and an om sticker on my car, my contractor wondered if I had something to do with the sudden increase in things Indian coming into Haywood County.  (He's the good ole boy who offered to build me a whiskey still in my basement.)  I laughed at his question about Mount Soma, and told him I had nothing to do with it.  Which I thought was true.

But when I started to tell the news to Naomi, she interrupted by saying, "why do you think I called you?"  Turns out her father is the 700-acre landowner/developer, and it was Naomi, after her long trip to India, who convinced him to make the mountain into a spiritual community.  So out of all the places in the world where Naomi might have landed, she is touching down in the sticks of Haywood County, and will have a cabin a few minutes from my house.  As if that were not a strange enough "coincidence," Naomi has joined AA.  (She gave me permission to blurt that out.) She wants me to take her to all the local meetings.  As Naomi put it, "you're going to be in recovery whether you like it or not. Your karma is bringing me down there, so get used to it!"  Still in a state of shock, I jokingly asked her if she would marry me.  She turned me down.  I guess she doesn't feel like creating a bad, mountain version of "Will and Grace."  Besides, she's dating a model.

Okay, here's another example of how I seem to be falling down a path, regardless of whether I try to follow or not.  Like every year around this time, when I have not been with my ashtanga teachers for months, and when my Winter trip to Mysore seems far away, my daily "self practice" starts to degenerate.  I should go to some classes in Asheville, but with teachers in India like Sharath and Guruji, not to mention Lino, I guess I've become an ashtanga snob.  This is a truly remarkable achievement, when you consider that I am still a beginner who can't even do the full primary series. Call me crazy too, but I don't want to do a one-hour led class at noon in North Carolina with a teacher who probably has  never been to Mysore.  No doubt there are other local classes that are decent or even good, but I have not bothered to investigate, maybe because I am a spoiled ashtanga snob, or maybe because I simply miss Mysore.

However, just when I was despairing of ever recovering the enthusiasm and discipline that once sustained my practice, weird events came to the rescue.  Our firm has been counsel to a movie being filmed in Asheville, and the director and producer were curious about my trips to Mysore.  When I told them more about it, they mistakenly thought I was qualified to teach ashtanga.  I suppose I added to the confusion by mentioning that I would teach them some poses "one of these days."  I said this the way people in L.A. are always saying "we really should do lunch."

But they would not let go of it.  They said they wanted to drive out to my house the following Friday morning, and have an ashtanga class, followed by a veggie lunch that they would bring.  When the day arrived, I was hungover.  The director and producer were a bit late, and by the time I finished showing them the house and the views, it was nearly lunch time.  I asked if they would not mind terribly if we did the yoga another time.  They said no problem, and we had a nice lunch.

But they still would not let go of the ashtanga thing.  They persuaded me to come by the film studio in Asheville the following week.  Feeling like an imposter, I was dreading it.  When I got there, I was surprised to see that in addition to the director and producer, most of the production staff were also there, seated cross-legged on a cleared-out wooden floor, ready to learn ashtanga.  Everybody was a total yoga beginner.  Most did not have mats.  One young couple shared a large, sheepskin rug.  Two other students were wearing jeans.  Another still had his shoes and socks on.

I sat down in front of the group, and told them what David Swenson told me about teaching.  I had taken part in what used to be called a "teacher training" course with David.  One of the would-be teachers had asked him if we could eventually get teaching certificates.  David said, "I don't give out teacher certificates, but I'll be happy to certify you as a student!"  So I told my beginners' ashtanga class that I was a certified student.  I told them one of the translations of "namaste" ("the guru in me bows to the guru in you"), and that everyone who knows anything is a guru, with something to teach, even if they are are not teachers. I told them that I would try to teach them what I know, and that I would not try to teach them what I do not know, which is a lot.  Amazingly, nobody left.

I've been "teaching" this class, Mysore-style, for a month now.  The one who has been learning the most has definitely been me.  None of my eight students has progressed beyond Pavritta Trikonasana, but their wonder and dedication has been contagious.  Before each class, I do a little "show and tell," with things like photos from Mysore, stories about Guruji, stories about what ashtanga has done for me, or even a short film ("Ashtanga, New York").  I seem to whip up enthusiasm, not only in the students, but most of all, in me.  To put it crudely, I am believing my own shit!  Thanks to the class, I am back on the daily mat, doing my own practice at home.  In addition to reminding me of why and how I got hooked on ashtanga in the first place, the class has spurred me on to finish learning the full primary series.  If I don't learn it, there'll be no one to teach it to my class.

So once again, notwithstanding all of my laziness, disease, and self-sabotage, events are conspiring to pull me along the path where I should go.  Even when I fall down into a pit, at the bottom there is always "something shining."  Even when "everywhere is falling everywhere," we all "fall toward the glassblower's breath."  Nothing else to do!

Comments

[Yogamum]

Wow, Russell, it's stories like that that keep me believing in the power of ashtanga. Beautiful. Glad to see you're back.

Yogamum from EZboard

[Joey]

No Russell, you're a spoiled ashtanga snob...plain and simple. Your better off practicing yourself then going to a teacher who has not spent anytime in Mysore.

Like you, I'm still a beginner but we can both distinguish a real ashtanga teacher from a wannabe ashtanga teacher. Anybody can teach the asanas and the sequence but you need to spend a subtantial amount of time in Mysore to understand the true essence of the practice. There is more to the practice than just doing the asanas. Practicing in Mysore with Guruji and family cannot be duplicated anywhere else in the world. That's why we are drawn to this place. It reaches deep into our souls.

I'm obviously an ashtanga snob too...oh well, but I've practiced with too many wannabe ashtanga teachers, it's left a bad taste in my mouth.

On another topic...I wish you were here. It's strange to be here without the old crew. I don't know if I have it in me to start creating new bonds. I feel like an outsider sometimes. I'm going to end up having breakfast at the M alone. I wish you, Phil, Stan and Luke were here. See you soon.

Joey

[Stamatiya]

How wonderful to hear your news, and how wonderful that it's wonderful news. Best of wishes, Stamatiya "Tina" Z

Wow. You are SO full of yourself. You are totally missing the fundamental truth of yoga.

Still a drunk, I see?

[russell]

Hey anonymous. So glad you are still reading my blog. Yes, i am full of myself, and yes, i still drink. Maybe I always will. Thanks for commenting.

[russell]

hi again, anonymous. i'm so full of myself that i forgot to ask you the most important question. what is the fundamental truth of yoga? also, please consider emailing me. i'd love to chat with you, and find out who you are, even if you don't want anyone else to know. by the way, there's nothing for you to be ashamed of, so why be so secretive?

[Eugene]

No need to waste time with Anonymous. Compared to other ashtanga bloggers who lament on "only" doing primary series, you are not so full of yourself, Russell, I can assure you that.
Sometimes it is irresistible to the pleasure of teaching people like Anonymous, who might only did a few asanas and called themselves yogis, a lesson, but we must resist. I consider that a wasted prana.
You will find all kinds of weird birds if the forest is big enough, goes the Chinese saying. No distractions should be caused by the birds.

[blissful yogini]

Well, Russell . . . I did meet you in Mysore and I think you're very sweet (our paths crossed very briefly, but it was memorable).

I think what you're doing is really beautiful.

[Corilee]

Glad you're back! I love to hear your thoughts about life 'n yoga regardless of where in the world you are. The honesty is great. Keep it up, I'll be visiting.

[antonia]

i really enjoyed reading this, especially:

I sat down in front of the group, and told them what David Swenson told me about teaching. I had taken part in what used to be called a "teacher training" course with David. One of the would-be teachers had asked him if we could eventually get teaching certificates. David said, "I don't give out teacher certificates, but I'll be happy to certify you as a student!" So I told my beginners' ashtanga class that I was a certified student. I told them one of the translations of "namaste" ("the guru in me bows to the guru in you"), and that everyone who knows anything is a guru, with something to teach, even if they are are not teachers. I told them that I would try to teach them what I know, and that I would not try to teach them what I do not know, which is a lot. Amazingly, nobody left.

thank you.

[healthy foods]

I fully agree completely.