Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Shambo

Shambo

Sounded like a name for a whale or some other aquatic animal at the aquarium that was the latest display to attract the public. However, he is a Sivananda yoga teacher in Auroville. He also provides physical therapy and AUM (like OM) massage treatments. Shambo had posted a notice that he would be hosting yoga classes on T//Th from 9:30-11am starting next week.

YAHHOOOO!

That would work perfectly with my farm work schedule. I was ecstatic! Finally, the universe was agreeing to my plan of yoga. I was going to stretch and learn, and grow, and become more centered, and gain insights, and provide world peace!

At the first class, I felt so happy. I had found what I was looking for. The class taught meditation, stretch my limbs, and gave my mind seeds to consider. Shambo had said many things that rang true to me during the class. I felt a weight being lifted from me that I didn’t even know I had. I was just bummed that I would be leaving in 5 days, and could not have more.

At the end of the class, the other student -Emma, opened her mouth and said many things that I was feeling. It was enthralling. Then, she asked if there was any way we could have MORE classes with him. I thought I was about to cry, as she was articulating my thoughts and desires.

Shambo agreed and we set up a schedule that would provide me with all the yoga I could squeeze in with the short time remaining. I also set up an AUM massage for Friday, the day before I left.

The massage was amazing. I mean, of course someone rubbing your body, and relaxing you is amazing…but that was not the amazing part.

Shambo explained so many things to me about my body. For instance, he said that my legs were not meant to be always on the go. That my legs were the type that needed to plant roots. That I they would carry me to adventures, yet that they would always bring me home, because they were not restless wanderers. I knew this to be true. I have learned this during my travels, and had just discussed it with Candice the previous night.

Another mystery revealed was the my ankle problems. As many of you know, I have been trying to figure out how to heal the pain in my ankles that I feel on a daily basis, and that has kept be from running for over a year now. When Shambo explained what he felt, it rang true.

He said that my ankle problems come from my knees. That the problem requires rest. That my body is trying to communicate to me that I must rest them, otherwise later they will not even have the strength to tell me to take it easy, and will no longer be able to carry me. That I should realize this , and listening and respond to my body’s effort at communicating with me.

Energetically, problems in these areas typically are a result of problems with communication and relationships.

GULP.

He said it with such kindness and without a trace of judgment. Then he asked if I believed it. I nodded in assent. He asked if I wanted to change anything about my communication, and I again nodded in assent. He gently asked if I wanted to explain.

I told him that I was ashamed of my lack of control, especially when it came to getting angry quickly. He asked me what I did for it. I told him running.

And now?

Tears spilt from my eyes as I nodded my head negatively and choked out the word: nothing.

Shambo shaded in the picture for me. I would get upset, react, feel guilty, and then go for a run to let go of the tension and emotion. Now that I cannot run, I have not found a way to deal with my sparking temperament.

I nodded again.

He carefully talked about meditation and yoga asanas, outlining for me some ways to approach it, to begin to start a practice in order to direct my energy at maintain a constant energy that would not spark and fly off the handle.

A wave of tenderness and peace washed over me.

I have never walked out of a massage feeling confident that I had the tools to solve some of my deepest fears and inadequacies. Yet on that Friday I did. I know most of it, was due to finally allowing myself to open up and receive the lessons I needed to learn.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Treasure

Words. So powerful. I use them to share this story, you use them to understand this story. They can be funny, romantic, cruel, frustrating, etc. I try to use them carefully, and often make mistakes. I say hurtful things purposefully, and then other times, try so hard to say the words that will bring understanding, only to get caught in frustration and doubt.

Last week, after a cerveza, tapa, and “it’s a small world” connection with a newly made friend in Milan, I was making my way to the bus stop on the romantically moonlit streets of Granada, when I came upon a treasure.

It was in front of a library.

I saw a man with one of those reflective vests you see worn by roadside workers , slip between two gate posts around a construction site. He had left the treasure by the gate for me to marvel at, sitting on a push cart amongst what I consider junk, debris, and garbage.

I stood there for a full minute with my mouth open while other passersby looked at what I was staring at. One man, nodded his head in appreciation and agreement while my eyes searched his body for a camera- or some device for recording my find. I did contemplate how I could take it with me. Would it be possible to store it at my friend’s house? I knew though, that it belonged to the man in the vest. It was his. He had found it, he knew it to be a treasure, although he must be in pursuit of another treasure of greater importance to have just left it here in this cart, for anyone to nab, and make off with.

But, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I needed to catch the bus, in order to get back to my friend‘s house. It came on the other side of the bridge, 200 meters away, and -most likely- it was the last bus of the evening. I could chance it, that perhaps another bus would come, yet it would be unwise to get myself stranded in another country, in an unknown city and worry my friend with no easy way to contact her of my predicament.

So I pushed it for another 2 minutes, hoping that the man would come back, hoping I would see a passerby with a camera, and at the minimum get a picture of the moment. Just to make it real. I mean- what was the chance of seeing this here? In front of a library, no less?

No one even walked by. I saw a bus coming, too blind to read the numbers clearly, so I ran.

I got visually clarity just in time to see the backend of the bus pulling away from me, 50 meters away- #171. I was waiting for either 180 or 181. Breath started to return in short gasps, including a sigh of relief.

But now, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I couldn’t go back, couldn’t chance the bus coming and me missing it. So, I strained my eyes across the river to see if perhaps my friend in the reflective vest might possibly be making his way towards me. Then maybe we could talk, he could tell me the story of how and where he came across it, and what he planned to do with it.

Or maybe he’d have a camera.

So in the meantime, I pulled out my book to occupy my brain with words. The images, the feelings, the world they invited you into , and allowed anything at all to exist. As I read on this journey, I often think of the words I will share with you, and how they might affect you-and your world. How important it was to me to have a keyboard, a way to type and save and share my thoughts with others during this singular experience in my life.

It was then that I realized that a reflective vest had just passed me by, pushing a cart with the treasure!
He was now 50 meters away…what do I do?

I ran after him.

Pardon! Pardon? Eh, Senor? Um…tienes un camera? Quisera un photo con….o solo de….una cosa? Come say dice…esto?

I crashed through my Spanish, awkwardly trying to ask he if would take a picture of it, and send it to me. I reached into my pocket, for one of my moo picture cards with my email on printed on it.

Mi correo electronic es aqua, y un photo de mi tambien. Si possiblemente enviar un photo a mi …correo electronico?? Por Favor?

The man laughed. He did not speak English or Spanish. He pointed at the 1950s antique type writer and then me.

Photo?

I nodded by head vigorously. He chuckled again. He took out his cell phone and took my picture. He said the words CD, yet I tried to convince to email me (I have no CD drive) by pointing to my email address on the back of the card.

I posed. He took the photo. We both smiled. And the bus pulled up.

Sitting safely in the last bus of the evening I thought of excitement and freedom that the typewriter signified for me, adding doubly by being in front of a library. The place that hold all those moments of typing, creating and expressing.

From one key at a time, to the keys that open all. Letter to line, page to book, I hope someday mine will be resting in a nook.

Sea Legs


Some things in life just work out super perfectly.

Like eating breakfast to Glee’s rendition of Madonna’s Like a Prayer. I started the song as I was eating my idly and coconut masala. In true Kory fashion, I was in the Visitor’s Center and had earbuds in, and was rockin’ my head, toes and tummy as I slurped and mashed away at my breakfast. Song ends as I put the last deliciously melodic bite in my mouth! Viola! Perfection.

Or like waking up to the sound of the crashing waves. Getting to walk out the door and down the street and into the ocean. Feel refreshed by the water, and strengthened by the sun’s rays.

That is what I did this morning. I have a wonderful capsule mate, Candice of Canada, who has a friend who has the keys to a friends beach house. After a glorious supper of vege pizza, seafood risotto, and chocolate cake we headed to the beach house. I slept under a coconut grass roof and mosquito net, sliding into a restful slumber by the sea.

I awoke at dawn, as typical here, yet it was extraordinary as it was the FIRST time I awoke. I had slept through the entire night and it was sublime.

I headed out to the beach looking forward to being fully immersed in water. The first wave to crash over my head and soak me entirely brought a gush of laughter that could not be contained. I was home. Transformed by the sea to a feeling of comfort and calm that only home offers…and somehow these waters had been home and brought it to me.

I allowed the sea to lift and carry me. Sway me out and then let me slide on a wave back in. I felt this collective force picking me up and guiding me. As I relaxed, it coaxed me back and forth in a gentle lull. I closed my eyes and breathed.

In the bumpy bus ride on the way to visit a farm the other day, I saw a running race that was about to begin. There were about 30 men, and the scene looked antiquated- all the men could have come straight out of the 1940s or there about, with the shirts, shorts, and flat cloth like shoes that they wore. In fact, some had no shoes, and I noticed tape placed strategically on some. The numbers they wore on their shirts were hand written on cloth material. I saw a flag go up, yet had no vantage point to see the runners take their stance. And then the flag went down and I saw the first wave of runners round the corner just as the bus took me out of view. As we drove on, I noticed no markers, or signs to indicate the way.

I thought of races back home. Course all marked out, volunteers posted to provide water and electrolytes, music blaring to pump everyone up. I thought of all the fancy advertising, the shirts, the medals, the goody bags…the entire thing seemed to be filled with such glitz, that somehow made this race feel beautiful. Grounded.

It outlined a simple analogy in my mind. The roads in life are not always clearly marked or even constructed well. Yet we still must navigate our way. Sometimes we carry ridiculous accouterments that we think will make the journey easier, yet only burden us unnecessarily.

After about 15 minutes in the bus, we came to a small clearing with about two cars, and 7-8 people. I thought at first their car had broken down, or perhaps a picnic. Then I saw a water cooler (again..straight out the 40s..car and cooler) balanced on the fender with the hood of the trunk open. These people were there to hand out water and perhaps offer up encouragement. The support team.

Along the road, there will be those that offer help or distractions. Only we can decide for our own self when and if to accept the help or deflect the distractions.
Slam! I was covered and felt the fierce force of the wave crash over me and throw me about. I sputtered and coughed, and tried to wipe the sting from my eyes while ejecting the burn from my nose. I kicked and flayed by legs and arms until my feet found footing in the sinking sand. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my burning eyes looking about.

I had been indulging in my thoughts and lost my awareness for my surroundings. I had let go, yet the sea requires one to hold on to the present, being conscious of what is going on around you, and responding as needed. The waves can either carry or crash you, one must know this before going in and understand their own limits to the sea’s seemingly endless power.

Uh…whoa there girl! Easy on the thoughts and just enjoy the sea-consciously.

There seems to be a lesson in all I immerse myself in here in Incredible India. She has much to teach me. And I have much to learn.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Fish Food

In the land of gurus, yogis, spiritual mysticism and vipassana, one would think that finding a yoga class would not be difficult. Yet I have not been able to, and have found fish food instead.

It all started with a simple request from friends for an ashram in the south of India that I could go and immerse myself in yoga. Six to eight hours a day of stretching, balancing, sweating, twisting, and expanding….

I was first recommended Pondicherry. Then, close to Pondicherry, Auroville- a community of like minded individuals, with integral yoga at the heart of the founder’s teachings. So, I looked it up on the internet, and it all seemed just what I was looking for. Upon arriving in Chennai, I got on a bus to Pondicherry to spend some time at the Sri Audiobindo Ashram.

At the ashram, I found the grounds to be beautiful, however, it was not a the teaching ashram. After spending 2 days in town trying to find a yoga class to attend during the hot months of April and May, I decided it was time to head to Auroville. I booked my ticket and was off in one of Sri Audiobindo’s Autocare cars towards Utopia.

Upon arrival to the area, I skipped the Visitor’s Center and went directly to the canteen. I ordered the ‘healthy meal’ and was in sprout and carrot soup heaven. I chatted with one woman who was also a visitor and she was staying at a rather expensive guest house. The next couple I asked were WWOOFing at Buddha Garden. In exchange for 3 hours of work (6-9am) a day, room and one meal was provided. My heart lifted up and I knew that was the place for me! I could work in the early mornings, and take yoga during the day.

Shortly after setting up my mattress and mosquito net, I learned from the others that most the yoga classes were offered in the morning. Poop. I was starting to feel that I was not destined for yoga in India. Within the next couple of days, I heard about yoga possibilities, yet one thing or another came up and kept me from attending.

Finally on Thursday, I was bound and determined to make it happen. I got on my bicycle and headed in the direction the map indicated. Within 25 minutes I realized I was completely turned around and confused. I started to ask local villagers for directions, yet the Tamil people were unfamiliar with my English written map, and I had no idea where was to get us oriented. After about 15 minutes of harassing a dozen or so people, a kind man explained how to get to where I wanted to go. I headed off and soon I heard a honk behind me, and the same man zipped in front of me on his scooter indicating I should follow. He got me to the next landmark and waved me well.

I then received directions from an Aurovillian who was familiar with the place. Within another 10 minutes, I had arrived. I parked my bike, and walked towards what looked like a big hall, where classes were most likely held. The doors were closed, as the class had most assuredly begun long ago. I felted bummed out, yet decided to at least walk around the grounds, and perhaps find a quiet place to wait and meditate as to allow myself to talk to the teacher afterwards.

I walked and found closed doors, and what appeared to be an empty dormitory. I then saw some open doors ahead. I slipped off my shoes and walked in and found a couple with their feet in the serene looking fish pond. I decided to sit down and join them.

I slipped my feet in the water and immediately my feet were kissed and nibbled by a dozen or so fish. I yanked my feet out and tried not to giggle too loudly. I then slowly lowered in my heels, and for the next couple of minutes tried to control and reign in my ticklish laughter as to maintain the stillness of the space. After a couple of minutes of building up my tolerance, I finally plunged both feet right in.

For the next twenty five minutes I became fish food.

The following morning I was describing the experience to fellow WWOOFer, Pierre while trying to laugh that perhaps the universe had not intended me to do yoga in Auroville.

He paused in our task and look calmly at me and said, “ Yet you are doing yoga. This is true integral yoga.”

And I realized I was. I was stretching, balancing, sweating, twisting, and expanding my mind, heart, body, and experiences while farming, asking, biking, and feeding the fish.