It All Starts with Showing Up

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to show up for my practice.
What does that mean exactly?


I guess it all started nearly a year ago when I was studying with my teacher John Friend during a week-long Immersion here in San Francisco. At one point during the week, John brought our awareness to how often we left to go the bathroom during the sessions.  I'd heard it before, and didn't disagree with anything he was saying, and yet, the grande latte sitting in my bladder, began to speak out with a vengeance.


"John just doesn't understand how small a female bladder can be and how small the woman's bathroom is--five stalls for 150 women... we have to stagger ourselves.  It's not healthy to hold it in, and how will I do my twists and folds if I don't go?"


Then, once to my mat, determined not to get off my mat FOR ANYTHING, just to prove that I could go the whole session without surrendering to the growing urge, the grande latte really started talking, to which I inwardly replied,


"No way. I'm not going to go in there after he said that. I'm gonna stick it out.  He'll think I'm a horrible person, a bad student, no adhikara; he'll take my Certification away.  I can DO this!"


then


"This is stupid. I can't concentrate on my breath, on my practice, nothing if I don't go. Ardha Matsyendrasana could be a disaster!  John is a good, kind, teacher. He doesn't want me to be miserable. He's not on some sort of a power trip.  Just go. It'll be ok"


So, I snuck off my mat and returned, relieved, a few minutes later, though I felt guilty about it.


Do I think for one second that John wanted me to wet myself to prove my studentship. Absolutely not. He's much too kind and practical for that.  He was in no way trying to exert any sort of insane control thing.  He just wanted to start up the conversation in all of us . . . 


How are we showing up?


I spent a long time musing this over the next few weeks, maybe even months.  I watched my students: the ones who were habitually late, or who habitually left early.  I watched everything. Who was really present--not just on their mat--but in every aspect of who they were.   I did the same in my own practice. Was I showing up and ready to practice or was I just on my mat?  Was I implementing the things John had recommended for me every day or would I try to do a crash course of it right before I saw him again?  Was I really in this thing?  


What does it mean to show up?


I began to feel that each practice begins way way way before it's scheduled start--sometimes as early as coming out of savasana in your previous practice.  To really show up to your practice is what you do in-between.  It's in many ways cumulative.  Everything that I do, between now and then is setting the foundation for where I will begin my next practice, whether it's on my own, or with my teacher. It's as much as about pre-cursors to the practice as it is the practice itself.


The end of October comes, and I find myself in incredible Santa Fe, NM, once again to study with the Main Man.  Having spent a lot of time thinking about this showing up thing, I came up with a plan, not because I had anything to prove to my teacher, but I had a lot to prove to myself.  What was it that was happening in the hours before our start time, that would take away from me being ready to practice at the precise moment he was ready to start?  Going backward through my routines, I came up with one very obvious culprit--I always had that one last coffee or tea--sometimes taking that last gulp as I emerged from my car or even carrying it into the venue me, as if a warm beverage was my mat or a blanket.  Duh! Of course, I have to sneak out to the bathroom.  So, I created an affirming boundary.  Hot beverage of choice finished 2 hours before practice begins. Brilliant.


Next, what do I typically do when I get to the venue? Well, another obvious answer, it's all about socializing with my friends from all over the country.  Community baby!  But wait, had I ever still been chatting away when I felt John walk in the room?  He'll ring the bells and gather us "up close and personal anyway." What if, I created another affirming boundary for myself? On my mat and ready to practice 5 minutes before the scheduled start time. "That's a Bingo!" (475,000 yoga points to anyone who can tell me the movie that's from.)


Everything shifted with that first morning's practice. It was the best practice for me . . . maybe ever.  And the week continued like that.  A major shift had happened.
 I showed up.
I showed up for my practice in a totally new way.
I showed up for MYSELF.


We all have those things that we are doing or not doing that are preventing us from truly stepping in.  In my case, and what I guess is true of most others, it's the little things that we aren't even relating to our mat time that are preventing us from getting the most from our mat time.  We try to get one more thing done before leaving for class; we schedule an appointment too soon after the scheduled finish of class; we have that last cup of coffee... 


This year, I've invited my students to create an affirming boundary around whatever keeps them from fully showing up.  I've invited them by asking them to follow the "On the mat and ready to practice 5 minutes before scheduled start time" (rule).  I'm holding it up on my end, too. Not just in my practice, but in teaching. I'm in the class at least 5 minutes before, I'm starting right on time, and class is complete when it is scheduled to be.  As a result, people are telling me that they are finding so much more meaning in their practice, just as I have found in mine.


Yes, it all starts with showing up.
And showing up starts . . . now.

Crocodiles and Snakes . . . Oh My!

On Monday, I woke from a spectacular dream with a knowing smirk on my face . . . "I get it," I said aloud not only to myself but to the entirety of the Universe, and immediately went right back into its rich imagery and the story it was telling.

I am standing on the bank of a beautiful river whose current is swift. I've just come out of a protective thicket of trees and stand staring at the call of the waters. This goddess of a river seems to be chanting "Dive in, dive in." At this moment, I also hear footsteps behind me, and turning, remember that I was leading a throng of people to this river bank. Looking back, I see dear loved ones, friends, students. They all followed to this place--to this moment.

Standing on a large rock (because, you know, I'm a goddess of the short variety, and, alas my dreamworld didn't change me into a fantastically long-legged goddess), I called out to everyone,

"We've arrived! This is the place I told you about! Jump in!"

As I spoke, I saw a few looks of trust, but mostly, I saw eyes filled with horror. I changed my stance on the rock so that I could see both the throng and the river. Revealing themselves, emerging from the water were many crocodiles and snakes. They were basking, swimming, slithering--doing their reptilian thing.

"No worries. Those guys are no problem! I know these waters. I know these creatures. You can trust me, they won't bother you at all. In fact, they're quite nice." But, try as I might no one budged. No one accepted my invitation to jump in. Looking back and forth from the throng to the river and from the river to the throng, I knew there was only one thing I could do that would get even one of them to dive into the creature-filled current . . .

I had to dive in.
I had to swim with the snakes.
I had to ride the backs of the crocodiles.
I had to let the current carry me and engulf me.

And so . . . off the rock I jumped. Emerging from the water, once again, I called out to my companions, "See, it's fine. We're totally taken care of. Dive in! Dive in! Who is with me?"

Many of those who had come so far with me, through the woods all the way to the river bank decided that they were happy with the journey they had taken, but this was the end of the line. It was absolutely too much to ask to jump into the swift current . . . not to mention the very dangerous demons lurking about. Nope, back into the thicket they turned.

Others, decided that the bank had a beautiful view and began sketching plans to reside there to watch the current, to maybe wait . . . and . . . see . . . you know . . . if I got eaten alive. Then maybe someday later they'd come in for a swim.

But some. Some accepted the invitation. They trusted. They jumped whole-hearted into the current with me. And we frolicked.

Now, I'm sure a Freudian analyst would have much to say about my crocodiles and snakes. But oh, that's so dated. No, they would never understand the rich tapestry of imagery within my dream from the perspective of a yogin hiding in plain site--from the perspective of (watch out! scary word coming!) tantra. Which is exactly why I smiled and smirked upon waking.

My beautiful river, was, of course, the outpouring of Consciousness into the world as Shakti. She is at once always the same and ever-moving. Both essence and flow. She is the paradox of herself. She is sara, the flow of grace; the power of Conciousness; the promise that we will be held even within her swift current.

The wriggling, writhing, slithering snakes are (hush up Freudians! this is my show!) Kundalini Shakti, the unrivaled empowered unfolding of Consciousness into and as every fiber of our being. She who coils and stretches us from within. She who sometimes is so subtle we don't notice her undulations, and who sometimes stirs so wildly that we KNOW she has penetrated into new territories of who we are.

The ancient crocodiles . . . they are kula. They are our chosen community. A community of the heart and of the practice, for the crocodile is born of community. Eggs are laid close together--there is safety in numbers after all. Each future croc alone in its hard little shell waiting, listening. You see, crocodiles have a special little tooth that they use to free them from the boundaries that they have now almost outgrown. The tooth expands the boundaries! They listen until a lone "tap tap tap" begins the process. One begins, but then they all join in the tapping, until they have hatched into community. And! As if this isn't fantastic enough . . . they march right into their waiting mother's mouth and she herself carries them into the river, opens her mouth, and releases them into the currents of Grace.

I'm not standing on the banks any longer. I am taking the plunge. The current is faster than the one I was in before. It's more fun, and sure, probably more dangerous. There are crocodiles and snakes, but they are beneficent--they are my community and my own innate power. I know this is going to be an awesome ride in the currents of Consciousness.

"See, it's fine. We're totally taken care of. Dive in! Dive in! Who is with me?"