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 Taking
Refuge
By Sarahjoy Marsh
"The teacher suggested that ultimately the practice of yoga was to train the mind to concentrate."
I
have the great luck of both loving what I do and doing what I
love. I am a yoga teacher by spirit and by trade. My life is filled
with other yoga teachers as friends and mentors, and with the
warm hearts of yoga students. I have permission, in my work, to
go barefoot, to wear yoga tights and tank tops, to breathe deeply,
to take a stretch break, to speak of the things of the heart.
Recently
I went to a teacher’s gathering where we contemplated the
intention behind our teaching. The teacher suggested that ultimately
the practice of yoga was to train the mind to concentrate. Basically,
by giving the mind something to focus on—the little toe or
the hamstring—and then keeping it there, it will learn the
useful art of concentration.
When I took class with this particular philosophy as its foundation, I felt like I was being given a stream of endless tasks to do with my body to bring the pose into balance, and, I presume, the mind to concentration.
Now perhaps your own life is very simple. But in my life, unfortunately, I am already mastering this task of doing endless tasks! The task of thinking, planning, reviewing, controlling. The task of being in charge, of being someone. Honestly, at this point on my yoga path, I am much more interested in surrendering the mind to discover the wisdom inherent in the body.
Reflecting
on all of this, I realized that teaching the art of concentration
has never been my focus as a yoga teacher. With that realization
arose a doubt: perhaps I’m a phony teacher? I was shocked!
“What do you mean you don’t teach your students the
art of concentration?;” “How can you call yourself a
teacher?;” “What are you teaching then?”
Certainly
any yoga practitioner knows that paying attention in your practice
is very valuable. So, too, is developing awareness of what your
body is doing and how it feels doing it. I have been in yoga classes
where, looking back now, I assume the teacher must have been trying
to teach me to concentrate. For try as I might, I never did get
any of those poses right! There was always more tinkering to be
done with this pose or that one. And the teacher, of course, was
always several steps ahead of me. I left feeling that the breadth
of yoga will forever be too deep to plunge into fully. If understanding
was my goal, I was failing.
Certainly
the science of yoga is far more vast than I am able to fully comprehend.
And yet the essence of the experience of yoga is such a strong
and enduring taste, I can spend my lifetime exploring just this
taste. When I practice yoga, what I taste is an utter simplicity
of heart, gratitude for this mysterious existence. Many times
the expression that comes through in my practice is a longing
for being even more immersed in that taste. When I teach, it is
to share this celebration. When I practice yoga, it is to express
this celebration. Some light a candle in prayer. My yoga practice
is the prayer; yoga alights an inner flame of reverence and faith.
But if we are practicing yoga, or lighting a candle, with the hope of getting something from it, then are we really open to the mystery to which we pray? Do we really trust its wisdom? If we are trying to master or concentrate the mind, what are we missing out on in the heart or the body?
What if we allowed the yoga poses to work their magic through our bones and blood? What if we allowed the simple gesture of lighting the candle to be felt deeply in every cell of the body! Imagine the original awe when man discovered fire! What does your body long for? Not just the whole body, but let’s say, the feet? What is their longing? How do your hands cry out in praise? The knees, for what do they sing?
I
understand the value of proper alignment in yoga poses. In fact,
I devote myself to this art. But it is not for the sake of training
the mind. I teach my students to align their bodies as a temple
for the mind to fall into, in surrender. I teach them to align
their bodies so that every part of the body can pray together,
like a symphony, calling out in praise, in quietude, in thanks.
May
our minds be free to hear the wisdom of the body and the longing
of the heart. May we allow ourselves to call out to God, not awaiting
a reply, but making our lives the expression of that calling.
Sarahjoy
Marsh is a founder of The Sanctuary, A Center for Yoga, Dharma
and Healing Arts. She is dedicated to the heart’s awakening
through yoga and meditation. She can be reached at 503-552-9642
(552-YOGA).
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