“A monk sits cross-legged in the middle of the road, meditating on existence. A powerful insight consumes him: He and the Universe are One. He intuits further that the Universe, being One, would never harm him itself. And as long as he stays connected, he too will never come to harm. During this timeless thought, he feels the ground shaking. He looks up and sees an elephant walking down the very same road on which he sits. He smiles inwardly and continues to meditate. As the animal draws closer, he opens his eyes again. A man is standing on the back of the elephant, waving his arms and yelling, “Get out of the road! Get out of the road!” Completely confident in his realization, he returns to his meditation. The elephant squashes him. As he lies there hemorrhaging to death, he calls out, “How did this happen? I don’t understand.” His Zen master comes out of the ditch, walks over to him, and says, “Didn’t you hear IT tell you to get out of the road?”
Zen parable
More from the book Waking, by Matthew Sanford.
“I was about to commit to the study of yoga and do so with a paralyzed body. The truth that my body possessed memory, that it was also conscious, was as undeniable as the man yelling from the back of the elephant. But I had no idea what this meant for my practice of yoga. How do you interact with a body that you cannot feel directly but is conscious nonetheless?”
“This story of the monk’s mistake was reassuring to me. I did not need to know anything in advance. I just needed to stay open to my experience, to what was obvious. My yoga practice would talk to me like the man on the back of the elephant. I just needed to listen and not prejudge what I was being told.”
“This story also made me feel less alone. The Universe would talk to me when and if it was needed. My task was simple: I only had to listen. If I did, the Universe’s guidance would be obvious, not hidden. I would feel connected, not disconnected. The phrase “back of the elephant” became my reminder to listen to the experience of my life and not deny it.”
“My lifelong commitment to yoga, my practical journey through mind-body integration, begins slowly after surgery. Not only am I sore, but this is also new territory for both Jo and me. During our first meeting postsurgery, I am still unable to do any poses. I just need to tell her about the tunnel I have been in- the hospital, the body memories, the grief. This intimacy is a testament to the strength of our relationship. Although there is already a deep connection between us, we do not know each other that well.”
“We are on the dojo floor – two willing students have helped me down – and Jo is sitting directly in front of me, spine erect, with the soles of her feet pressing against each other. The pose is called baddha konosana, and she sits in it almost the entire time we visit. Teaching without teaching.”
“She listens to my story, says little, and absorbs much. She intuitively knows that I have much to let go of. She knows firsthand the way memory can uncoil from a body. As I tell her about my time in the hospital, I expect vacant eyes of polite disbelief. But instead, she nods, looks down and whispers, “I know.” Jo and I have met each other at the perfect time. My need is obvious. But Jo, too, is in transition. She is in the very early stages of starting what will become the San Diego Yoga Studio. She is ready to strike out on her own and is gaining confidence. She is also ready to take her fourteen years of yogic experience and consciously combine it with her uncanny ability to empathize with and project into another person’s body. In order to teach me, she will have to intuitively connect with what it’s like to be paralyzed. She will have to imagine how yoga might manifest through such a body. Luckily for me, Jo has this rare ability in spades.”
“So begins one of the relationships in my life of which I am most proud. There was no model for us to follow, no example from which to learn. Jo teaches Iyengar Yoga, a highly refined system developed by yoga master Sri B.K.S. Ivengar. After meeting me the first time Jo had called two senior teachers in the Ivengar method for advice. Their recommendations of one or two seated poses and some shoulder and arm stretches were of little help. She had already exhausted their ideas in our first session. She was left to her own devices, to her own creativity, to an uncommon openness that would guide our work together. She didn’t have to be an expert. She knew Iyengar yoga – that was clear. I was her student – that was also clear. But we explored the possibilities of yoga and paralysis together. She made me a partner in a great experiment – the mark of a fabulous teacher.”
“Jo had the patience and the foresight not to force the Iyengar system of yoga onto my body. For instance, she did not worry that I could not do standing poses – the poses that are considered to be the building blocks of the entire system. Instead, Jo had faith in the system’s underlying principles. Iyengar yoga distinguishes itself from the other styles of yoga by its heightened empasis on alignment and precision. I believe the reason for this is profound. When anatomical structures – bones, muscles, ligaments, tendons, skin, and so on – are brought into greater alignment, the mind connects with the body more fluidly and with less effort.”
“This phenomenon is easily experienced. Sit in a chair, slump your shoulders, and let your neck and head jut forward away from the torso. We all know this position - we call it bad posture. Now, sit up straight, life the chest, broaden across the collarbones, and extend out through the top of the head. Notice how presence activates in the inner thighs and down through our feet, especially through your heels. The mind moves without intent, without volition. As the chest lifts and the spine extends, the mind follows the more efficient distribution of gravity and naturally increases its presence in the lower extremities. Iyengar yoga, by emphasizing alignment and precision, maximizes the effortless form of mind-body integration. It is the beginning of realizing an energetic connection between the mind and body.”
“Of course, this realization did not come to me all at once. I had been practicing consistently for about six months. Each morning I would get up, drink some water, and then sit in my blue velvet chair. I would take a few minutes to feel my whole body, to activate a sense of presence through my base by focusing on the weight distribution between my sits bones and imagining a connection between my chest, tailbone and my feet.”
“My actual practice was limited to four poses. I would get down on my blue exercise mat and do each pose three times. Dandasana: legs straight in front, palms pressed into the floor beside the hips, lift the chest. Upavista Konasana (“wide-legs”): Legs far apart as possible, hands grab the legs just below the knees, lift the chest. Baddha konosana: Soles of the feet pressing evenly into each other, interlock the fingers, grab underneath the feet, hold them firmly, lift the chest, and stretch torso up. Siddhasana: one leg bent at the knee, with the foot pressing against the opposite thigh; the other leg bent at the knee and the foot set upon the ankle of the first foot; join the thumbs and forefingers to rest the back of each hand upon each knee palms facing upward. With such a limited repertoire of poses, I was forced to learn from subtle differences between them. I was made to look more deeply into what could easily have become ordinary.”
“Just doing four poses was exciting enough. My body, paralyzed though it was, was taking the shapes of real, bona fide yoga poses. I would sit on the floor, use my arms to move my legs, bring the soles of my feet together, grab underneath them, and lift my chest. The outward result was pleasing. If a snapshot of my version of baddha konasana were held up next to a snapshot of another beginning student’s pose, they would have looked roughly the same. I could do it.”
Matthew
As he shared his experiences, he affirmed mine yet again.
My experience with yoga has merged me with my body, where before I lived a few feet from it. Also, it has given me wonderful insights as I yoga along.
