Yoga is a serious endeavour, but sometimes in all the wrong ways. Ironically, for a practice that ultimately promises freedom from the body — as a jivamuktan, in Sanskrit — there can be an over-focus on the physical. And whilst a rounded practice will undoubtedly deliver a strong, agile, and supple body to the practitioner, this is merely the amuse bouche.
Life is serious enough without having to add yoga to it. My practice therefore shies away from the asceticism or dogma of ‘purism’. In fact, I believe this is anathema to yoga’s very essence as a subjective science of the self. When recognised as a deeply personal practice, it helps us to understand and heal not only our bodies, but our entire self. Thus, as human culture changes, so too must yoga, since its raw material — the human being — emerges differently in each generation.
In today’s globalised and hyperconnected world, we are stimulated and exposed as never before, often making us feel like cameos in a pre-scripted story, rather than protagonists in our own adventure. My belief is that our seriousness — our gravitas — plays the biggest role in spoiling the show. But enough of the dramatic metaphor.
Gravitas /ˈɡravɪtas,ˈɡravɪtɑːs/
[noun]
dignity, seriousness, or solemnity of manner.
Gravitas
Gravity /ˈɡravɪti/
[noun]
PHYSICS the force that attracts a body towards the centre of the earth, or towards any other physical body having mass. extreme importance; seriousness.
Gravity
If you don’t listen to yourself, life sometimes has a rather abrupt way of giving you the wake-up slap.
I first came to yoga following a serious bike accident in late 2018. Having spent Christmas and New Year in the emergency ward, hooked up to intravenous drugs in quantities that Mark Renton would be proud of, I then had to lay flat for the next two months. Nothing to do. No distractions. Just me, myself, and I, which as far as I could discern was a jumble of junk thoughts pinned to a pillow. This was my ‘enforced savasana’, and as someone used to cycling and running hundreds of kilometres a month, I found it hard to bear.
The stillness of my hospital bed became my new viewing platform — not for mountains, seas or lakes, but for the sky of my mind. And goodness was it stormy. Completing what I thought would be a few straightforward minutes of meditation was impossible; within seconds, I was off on a train of thought, wondering about everything from apples to atoms, from sex to socks. With gravity holding me down, I had no choice but to either be swept along by an endless, random, screaming stream of thought, or try to do something about it. I chose the latter, but it wasn’t until my discovery of pranayama — yogic breathwork — that I began to see noticeable results.
For most people, myself included, launching straight into meditation can be as dispiriting as it is boring. Similarly, for athletic types, asana (or yoga ‘flows’) can quickly blur into ‘sport’, with all its associated stresses. My classes therefore put emphasis on the breath as the bridge between the physical and meditative aspects of yoga, allowing us to really feel our bodies rather than just use them.
Zero /ˈzɪərəʊ/
[number]
no quantity or number; nought; the figure 0. #
[verb]
adjust (an instrument) to zero.
set the sights of (a gun) for firing.
Zero
Laid flat in hospital, this was my ground zero as a person. At first, it felt empty, but like the number, it became the starting point for everything else.
The beauty of zero lies in the fact that on its own, it is meaningless, but when put into context, it has great value. Zero is the top and bottom of a scale, a beginning and an end, unchanging whether spinning or at rest, the round seed of all new growth, the enclosure of the sky, or the open cosmos. The breath can teach us all of this, the lungs filling and emptying in their perpetual dance around the zero of equilibrium. Like the eye of the storm, a zero lies hidden within any movement, an island of calm within any disturbance.
I believe there is value to be found in everything, even — perhaps especially — in a number as small as zero, the very symbol of stillness itself. I therefore draw from a wide range of influences, including both Eastern and Western philosophy, sport science, Ayurveda, and my own background in martial arts and endurance sport.
Light1
[noun]
1. the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible.
2. an expression in someone's eyes indicating a particular emotion or mood.
3.a person's opinions, standards, and abilities.
4. understanding of a problem or mystery; enlightenment.
5. [British] (in a crossword puzzle) a blank space to be filled by a letter.
[verb]
1. provide with light or lighting; illuminate.
2. make (something) start burning; ignite.
[adjective]
1. having a considerable or sufficient amount of natural light; not dark.
2. (of a colour) pale.
Light2
[adjective]
1. of little weight; not heavy.
2. relatively low in density, amount, or intensity.
3. (of food or a meal) small in quantity and easy to digest.
4. gentle or delicate.
5. (of entertainment) requiring little mental effort; not profound or serious.
6. not solemn or unhappy; cheerful.
Light
Lear was wrong — something can only come from nothing. Illumination can only occur when the concepts of both light and darkness are understood. Similarly, in life we have to accept both the light and the dark as necessary components of our self-evolution.
Over time, the inertia I felt in hospital became transformative. At my lowest ebb, I’d found something incredibly precious, yet staggeringly simple: a few moments of actual, palpable, peace. Zero. Lightness. My mind’s chatter gradually subsided. Of course it came and went, this light balloon of serenity, but I resolved to make time to try to find it again, every day.
For me, yoga is the discovery, cultivation, and maintenance of this light, airy feeling, whether on or off the mat. It is both a feeling within, and a perspective on the outside world. It is both zero and a value, a path and a goal. It is the lightness of nothing, and the light of clear awareness.
Yoga means always zeroing in on a clearer perspective. Whether through pleasure or pain, life provides the context — and yoga the tools — with which to find that clarity, that ‘0’, that ॐ
Light is in the mind of the beholder.