The Yoga of Non-Compliance

Yoga for myself and for many other women and men has been instrumental in developing self-confidence, physical fitness and emotional strength. There is no doubt that it works even though most people do not take it seriously.

The essence of the yogic path is to guide the practitioner to an enlightened life; a life that is not ruled by convention, addictions or fear.  When you realize that money, marriage, children, beauty, status, church, etc. do not provide true happiness you continue to search for an answer.  Not everyone is ready to embark on that search, but we don’t need everyone to change the world.

The yogi is a seeker who learns that the source of happiness is within his or her self.  The self they discover is the universal self, not the small egoic self.  There is nothing that can shake, rattle or roll someone who has discovered who they truly are.  They are standing on solid ground.  There is nothing they cannot relate to and they have no need to dominate anyone.  They are secure within themselves and they are not a slave to anything or anyone.  This freedom holds tremendous power and that power can be used for helping others or for personal gain.  If it is used selfishly it will cause great suffering so we need the ethical teachings to create a healthy society.

Yoga’s ethical teachings are the same basic teachings we have heard from Jesus, Buddha, Mohamed and others.  They are a lot like the 12 Steps of AA.  They have to be practiced, and when they are practiced by someone very powerful they can have dramatic effects.  When they are practiced by someone who is not powerful they will make them powerful.  The ethical principles are the most important part of yoga.  Gandhi worked hard to practice the principles of satya “truth” and ahimsa “non-violence”.  By showing the British the truth of their brutality, without resorting to killing them all, India was able to free itself.  The Indian freedom fighters won the battle with their own fear of physical and economical harm when they practiced non-compliance with their subjugation.  They used internal methods to change external reality and we all do that to some degree for better or worse.

Women who have gathered together for acts of non-compliance with their subjugation have brought about tremendous change as well.  African Americans have done the same.  Nowhere in history have people been “given” their rights.  They have always had to meet violence face to face.  We cannot kill everything that threatens us but we don’t have to comply.  The power of a group of non-compliers can go way beyond one’s imagination.

Greed and fundamentalism are aggressive methods of achieving power over others.  They are seductive as well as scary. Most of us comply with greed in subtle or obvious ways.  When it’s “our way or the highway” we are the fundamentalists.  The battle with these forces is within.

Most of us want beauty, love, compassion, harmony, peace and all things good.  It boils down to how willing we are to accept the consequences of being our authentic self.

The ethical principles are practices that bring us into harmony with the truth of who we are and where we are meant to go.  We will never be satisfied with anything else.  In the yogic system we call these ethical principles the Yamas and Niyamas.  You can pick any principle to start with and by practicing it wholeheartedly you will see in yourself the change you want to see in the world (Gandhi’s phrase).  This is a very practical system!

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Expanding Movement, Expanding Community/By, Emily Johnston

In last week’s blog, I talked about the healing experience at the Shantala Kirtan at the Phoenix Studio on Saturday, October 1st. Today, I continue writing about the transformative power of community by visiting the local extension of “Occupy Wall Street,” Occupy Blo-No, that speaks out against profit at the expense of ethics, security and privacy at the expense of joyful community gatherings (such as the Shantala Kirtan).

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In class the other day—an engaging course on “Theories of Sustainable Cultures”—the growing “Occupy Wall Street” movement came up, particularly its recent, close-to-home manifestation of “Occupy Blo-No.” This movement has everything to do with sustainability and yoga as it challenges the rampant economic and sociopolitical greed in the U.S. Like yogis, the protestors advocate simplicity and generosity, connection and peace, honesty and community. Their commitment to these ways of life is visceral, contagious. Their sleeping bags, blankets, and tents heaped together; their piles of donated foods and supplies; are a living, breathing testament to the power of community. They sleep outside on the cold pavement, live day in and day out on public display. Two occupants are slowly waking up at 1 in the afternoon, having stayed awake until 6am talking with each other about all the issues they’re protesting against (see the photographs of signs). But as tired as they are, they are smiling, friendly, eager to talk with passers-by about the movement they’re a part of. Some even chat excitedly about staying at the camp through the winter months—toughing out the cold and becoming all-the-stronger for it.

**Much of today’s story is told through photographs (take by me, Emily Johnston, and with permission from the occupants), so please check them out!

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Yoga and Goddesses, Community and Fear: PART II (a revised title)

In Monday’s blog, I talked about the typical relationship we westerners have with yoga. Many of us view yoga solely as a physical practice—largely unconscious about the ways in which the spirit of yoga weaves itself into and yokes together all aspects of our lives. The yogic path offers far more than physical strength, flexibility and stamina. It is a path comprised of eight limbs or Sādhana. In the spirit of describing a very real, tangible example of yoga’s multi-dimensionality, I began to relay my experience at the Shantala Kirtan at the Phoenix Studio on Saturday, October 1st. Today, I continue that narrative and shift it into the present-tense—as if it continues to play out and inhabit my day-to-day life, as it has…

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Seeing Heather—staring serenity in the face—I have a flash of recognition about that autumn lake. A rustling of leaves when the wind, momentarily, flutters onto the scene. How the lake responds in tiny waves, slipping and folding along the surface. All the while, I am still. As Heather is still amidst the buzz of “hello!”’s and the heat from all these gathering bodies, spirits.

Inside, my blood pressure lowers; a space in my lungs softens. As an over-achieving grad student—who often squeezes her yoga practice into 20-40 minute solitary sessions in her living room, between reading theory and writing papers—I have not experienced the soothing presence of a yogi in-the-moment (let alone a whole room of them) for quite some time. Heather is beautiful, a goddess.

The woman I wind up next to in the audience is beautiful, too. Stunning. Radiant. A body and spirit of peace and of love, she giggles and cuddles with her young daughter. Her dress spreads out like a flame around her lotus-ed legs. A lock of her hair slips from behind her ear as she leans into kiss her daughter’s cheek. Her body sways, gently rocks, as the room around her chants.

This is how the Kirtan works: they (Heather and Benjy) sing, we repeat; they sing, we repeat. Call and response. As Shantala explains on their website: “Kirtan is a celebration of spirit through the chanting of sacred names, carrying the audience into a state of heightened awareness, bliss, and devotion. The audience is invited to participate fully through call-and-response chanting, dance, and meditation.”

I remind myself to turn inward, too—to inhabit my own space of beauty. I close my eyes and repeat what I hear, echoing Heather and Benjy as if our voices are not separate, but one continuous sound that shifts, continuously from the front of the room to the back. Give, and take; give, and take. And for a moment, I connect with that warming and widening space around my ribs that spills into my belly and calms the flittering, fluttering, fluting dance that so-often happens there.

Then, the drums begin.

To be continued…

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Yoga and Community, Women and Fear: PART I

We come to the studio at the usual, weekly time. We move through the Āsanas, spend a few precious moments in Shavasana (corpse pose), then roll our mats back up, check our cell phones for missed calls or texts during class, and head back out the studio door—back to our cars, our families, our responsibilities, our lives. Between classes each week, we may not think about our practice as any­­thing other than exercise or a workout, as time out from the flurry of busy-ness that is our daily routine, as “me time”—a break from work, partners, kids, spouses. But what if yoga offered more? What if we could experience that “something more” on a regular basis—if it became as much a part of our practice as downward-facing dog, proud-warrior pose, or sun salutations?

We forget all too quickly that there are eight luscious limbs along the yogic path, or Sādhana:[1]

  • Yamas—external disciplines that help clarify our relationships with people and objects
  • Niyamas—internal disciplines that govern our process of coming to realization
  • Ᾱsanas—bodily postures that cultivate deep physical steadiness and effortless meditation
  • Prānāyāma—breath-energy regulation that enables sustained observation and relaxation
  • Pratyāhāra—withdrawal of the senses from external objects as they turn inward
  • Dhāranā—concentration upon a single object or field
  • Dhyāna—absorption of all mental formations upon an object/field
  • Samādhi—sustained integration of subject, object and perceiving itself

So how can we even find time to explore these limbs with our already-overwhelming schedules? We already have to-do lists that will not quit; that become longer far more often than they dwindle. I am a doctoral student, a part-time teacher, a volunteer. I am a best-friend, a daughter, a sister. I walk and practice yoga āsanas, daily. I prepare and eat meals of local, organic foods. My life is abundant. It is also precarious, like the quivering surface tension of water in a glass past-full—at any moment, threatening to spill under the slightest movement.

I am searching for ways to live more sustainably, to live abundantly yet also with space to slip, to spill, to dance in ways that don’t create wreckage either in my spirit or in my interactions with others. Yes, my yoga practice helps me pause and surrender to the moment. But perhaps āsanas only play one part in the story.

Last Saturday night, during the Shantala Kirtan at Main Street Yoga’s Washington Street studio, I found myself opening to this possibility. I may not even have gone, but a friend generously offered her to ticket to me when something else came up for her Saturday night. So, around seven o’clock, I stepped into the studio, removed my shoes, and found a space on the floor among a sea of local yogis, all ages represented. They sat cross-legged on their mats, chatting with friends, their faces beaming with anticipation (see Debra Risberg’s photo of the crowd). Clearly, they felt at home.

I, on the other hand, could not quite settle in. I worried about sitting in one place for hour after hour of chanting, of allowing myself to be there when piles of papers and books awaited me back home.

Restless, I got up to find a bolster. Instead, I found Heather Wertheimer (Shantala’s female vocalist and instrumentalist) in a quiet corner—her eyes gently closed, her hands poised in shuni mudra as she sat in lotus position, meditating before the kirtan began. Stillness and calm amidst all that buzz of social energy, and just before she performed for this eager crowd. How often, I wondered, do we pause? How often do we allow ourselves time to turn inward even when there are things left undone; when the world whirls around us; when people and places and things are waiting for us, expecting us, insisting we arrive sooner or stay longer? Not often enough. On my coffee table sits a framed picture of two chairs by a still autumn lake, the trees on the opposite shore, shedding their leaves. Beneath the photo, “Even when some things are left undone, everyone needs to take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.” My Al-Anon sponsor gave this to me several years back. I look at it every day, yet the message still confounds me…

To be continued…


[1] Although several yogic texts define and describe the “Eight Limbs of Yoga,” I use Chip Hartranft’s in The Yoga-Sūtra of Patañjali (2003) in my description here.

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Women, Yoga and Sustainability

This discussion is being developed by:

Emily R. Johnston
PhD Student and Graduate Assistant
Illinois State University
Department of English

and

Debra Risberg, Director
Main Street Yoga
Bloomington, IL

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