Life is funny.

Less than two hours ago I was on my back putting a wrench to an uncooperative toilet, now I’m sitting perched on a meditation cushion leading a classroom full of yoga students in an ancient Sanskrit chant. If as they say, variety is the spice of life, I may be a bit over-seasoned; though it certainly keeps things interesting.

It’s the closing portion of a regularly scheduled yoga class at Yoga Pura. I’ve just invited the students into a seated meditation posture after a restorative savasana, or corpse pose. Our chant is the final portion of class before closing remarks and announcements.

I thank the students, dismiss the class, and immediately get up to ready the studio for the next class. The air in the room is thick with heat and the first order of business is to turn on the fans, adjust the air conditioning, and open the doors (nothing worse than asphyxiated students, you know). I move to collecting my belongings at the head of the class and as I roll up my mat, I feel a presence hovering behind me. With a glance over my shoulder I see it’s Kirk, an athletic, late twenty-something who has only been in my class a handful of times. He’s one of those guys with a likeable energy, the kind that makes people want to know him.

I scoop up my mat and meditation cushion.

“Hey Kirk.”

“Hi E.” he starts off a bit nervously, almost apologetically, “I was, uh, wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time—if you’re not too busy, I mean.”

“Of course,” I say, “just give me a moment to put my things away. I’ll meet you out on the couch out in the boutique.”

“Cool, thanks.”

He turns and disappears from the studio as I stow my things away in the prop closet. I make a quick stop at the water cooler before joining him in the boutique.

“This okay?” I ask, gesturing to the surroundings. I like to be sensitive to people’s need for privacy and sometimes the couch in the midst of the busy boutique is less than ideal.

He nods. “Oh yeah, this is fine.”

I plop down on the chair next to him. “So what’s up?”

It’s rare that a student as new as Kirk asks to chat, so I’m curious. Despite my efforts to encourage questions and make myself available to students, too often people still believe that their questions are either a bother or, worse yet, a signal to the whole world of a deficiency in understanding. Truth be told, the yogic process works best when it’s a two-way street; a dance between the teacher and students, rather than a one-sided monologue. The student’s questions provide much needed feedback for the teacher. Was the teaching clear? Where is the student’s understanding? How is the student applying the teaching in the practice? These are all important questions that are not easily answered without this all important student-teacher dialogue.

“First, I’d like to apologize.” He begins.

“About what?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.

“Class, last Thursday.” He says,

I search my memory banks straining to remember what he might be apologizing for. All that comes to mind is his eagerness to leave class after our closing chant the week prior.

“You know, for disrupting the class while you were trying to make your announcements. I know it was rude.”

I was right.

It’s a common occurrence really, especially with newer students: near the end of class for some reason rolling up mats, fishing for car keys, and turning on cell phones all become inexplicably irresistible activities. Where this kind of thing is commonplace in gyms and some other studios, at Yoga Pura it’s usually met with a gentle correction. Such was the case last week with Kirk.

“Thanks.” I say, appreciating his sentiment, “though to be honest, my request that you remain quietly seated for the end of class had little to do with manners.”

“I get that, I mean, I’m a middle school teacher, so I know the need to maintain an orderly classroom.”

Kirk has come to the same mistaken conclusion that so many yoga students arrive at: namely, that rules in our practice are intended to keep order. In reality, the so-called rules are not for my convenience; rather they are for the student’s yoga practice, and ultimately their evolution. This confusion is responsible for people leaving their practice in the studio rather than bringing it with them in life. Rules are seen as rules, rather than the opportunities for practice they truly are. Outside the studio, outside the rules is the misguided thought, and it’s one that leaves the practice fading into the rearview mirror as people drive out of the parking lot.

It’s interesting really. You watch a roomful of people spend their hard-earned money to devote themselves wholeheartedly to being mindful, present, and meticulous with their every action, they cultivate an equanimity with the experiences of difficulty and ease, failure and success during their time in class. But then it happens: class ends. In a flash, they’re back to their usual bull-in-a-china-shop selves, unwittingly causing conflict and strife, rather than maintaining the momentum of ease their practice has helped to create—all because of a simple misunderstanding. We take a 90 minute break from being neurotic, but as soon as it’s over, we dive almost immediately right back into our neurosis.

Optimally practiced, yoga is not about escaping our lives, it’s about transforming them. Optimally practiced. The sad truth however is that it is often practiced as an escape, albeit unintentionally. Rather than exploring a different possibility of being, it’s devolved into a stress-busting exercise regimen; helpful, inarguably so, but still a long-shot short of its real transformational potential.

It’s a bit like patronizing a weight-loss clinic whose sole strategy was complimenting you on how slim you look while parading you in front of carnival mirrors designed to make you look slim. Sure, you feel better while you’re there, but once you leave, you’re stuck with your same old self.

“Thanks Kirk. Your apology is most appreciated, it really is. But I have to be honest with you, it’s not really about maintaining order either.”

A perplexed look washes over his face. “Then what?”

“Do you remember the theme of the class?”

“From last Thursday?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it was something about being present, upright I think you called it. And you talked about that tiger quote.”

“Tiger quote?” I play a little dumb. I want to encourage him to connect the dots himself.

“Yeah, the one about catching the mouse with everything you’ve got.”

“When a tiger catches a mouse, she does so with her full effort?”

“Right,” he corrects himself, “full effort.”

I nod. And have to give him credit; he’s obviously been paying attention. The quote Kirk is referring to is an old one I borrowed from the Zen tradition. In the context of last week’s practice, this is an invitation to be wholehearted in all of our efforts, no matter how seemingly trivial. Present and committed to our lives—which are happening only here and now in the eternal moment.

“Okay, on the one hand we have the concept of being present and on the other a quote about a tiger. How do these come together?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, seemingly retreating inward to formulate an answer. Some people tend to shrink from this kind of challenge, but Kirk is obviously not one of them. He wears the detached cool of a seasoned debate champion.

“Well, the way I see it, they are really just two ways of saying the same thing. Being upright means being right here, in this moment without leaning forward into the future or back into the past.”

He pauses and looks to me.

I nod my approval. “And…”

“And the tiger catching the mouse with everything she’s got.”

“Her full effort.” I’m a stickler for precision.

“Right, with her full effort.” He takes another moment, “Well for me, that means that she’s expending all of her energy on the task at hand, not wasting any on what’s come before, or what’s yet to come. It’s another way of saying total presence or total commitment to here and now.

He looks back to me.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“I think so. Yeah.” He says with some finality.

“I do to,” I say cracking a smile. “Very good, young Skywalker.”

He’s pleased—and so am I.

“It appears we understand the lesson.” I say, “And this leads us to the next question: what happened at the end of class?”

“You mean when you asked me to sit still?”

“Yeah, when you were scurrying around collecting your car keys and corralling props?”

“I was getting ready to leave.” He says innocently enough.

“And what was happening in class?”

“You were talking…”

“Ah ha!” I cut him off and raise my finger.

“Ah ha, what?”

“Ah ha, I was talking.” I clarify.

“Yes?”

“And what is the student’s task while the class is in session?”

“Well, I guess to pay attention.”

“With?”

Silence. He looks at me with an expression that betrays his confusion. “I’ve lost you.”

“Let me rephrase that.” I say, “What would the tiger have done?”

He thinks for a moment, “Eaten you?” A wry smile erupting on his face.

We share a laugh.

“I suppose you’ve got a point there, but let’s for the moment assume he’s just eaten another tasty yoga teacher and he’s full.” I again set the stage: “So we’ve just come out of savasana, chanted, and the closing remarks and announcements are being made.”

“Okay then, in that case…” a long silence ensues.

“Remember ‘catching a mouse with her full effort’” I coach.

Again, he retreats inwardly, closing his eyes.

I relax and give him space.

After a few moments he begins mumbling to himself: “If with her full effort is a kind of code for being fully engaged with the task at hand, and she’s sitting in a class while the teacher is speaking…” his eyes flash open and he says with surety, “She’d be listening to the closing remarks, intently—with her full effort.”

“Exactly.”

“And where was your full effort?”

“Well, that’s a good question.” Brow furrowing, “I suppose my full effort wasn’t anywhere: a part of me was looking for my keys, another was listening to you, another was thinking about going to see my girlfriend after class, and another was thinking if maybe I should pick up something at Whole Foods on the way home.”

Again he drops into a pensive silence.

“I think I’m getting it now.” He says, “So you weren’t really enforcing a rule as much as you were encouraging me to stay with the practice?”

“Yessir.” I confirm.

Just then a long-time student and graduate of our Advanced Studies and Teacher Training program plops herself down on the couch next to Kirk. She lands with a bubbly, “What’s up guys?” Mary is her name.

“Hey Mary.” Kirk turns to her for a mini-hug.

“Hi Mar-,” I smile, I have a curious habit of shortening people’s names to one syllable. Not sure why. Let’s just call it preserving prana.

“What are you guys talking about?” she asks.

“Well actually, we still could use a bit of privacy.” I say, wanting to protect Kirk.

“Oh, sorry.” She begins to get up. Kirk stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“No, it’s alright. I’m fine, stay.”

She turns to Kirk with a playful grin, “You get busted?”

Kirk shrugs with a smile.

“More like he’s confessed at this point.” I say.

Kirk chuckles.

Mary grins, “I feel your pain brutha. Welcome to the club.”

She looks at me and back to Kirk.

“What did he get you for: indulging in old habits, comparison, not adhering to the form, anticipation?” She looks to me.

“Indulging in old habits with a secondary charge of anticipation.” I say.

“And intention to commit not adhering to the form.” Kirk adds with a chuckle.

“Well, all I can say is don’t feel like the Lone Ranger.” She says, “It’s something we all go through. But I’ll add it’s worth it: you won’t believe what this place can do for you.”

He nods as a wave of confusion washes across his face. “Can I ask a neophyte question?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sure this sounds stupid, but what difference does it make whether I’m present or scattered?”

I inwardly rejoice. This is not at all a stupid or neophyte question, it is THE question. For without understanding the hows and whys behind the practice, it simply becomes another thing we do because we think we should do it. It’s another hollow belief system.

“The short answer is: to me, none at all.”

“Then why did you correct me?”

“Because my job is to be in service to your interest, not mine. And to you, it matters greatly.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Mary settles back in her seat, comfortably watching the volley.

“In this case, it’s all about integration.” I say.

The integrated state is core to the practice of yoga. It stands in opposition to the kind of disjointed attention we experience when our attention is flitting from one thing to another. Not surprisingly, this distracted state is what we in the ‘industry’ call dis-integration, and it describes the experience that most of us would label as stress. It is the experience of various competing ideas, impulses, and beliefs clashing in a grand struggle for dominance, and one that creates a sense of mental and emotional discord or distress. One part of us wants to be in Fiji, another is worried about how to pay for it, yet another part thinks we shouldn’t be so selfish and instead be visiting a sick friend, all the while the body is here at work with a mountain of tasks that need to be attended to. The fact of the matter is that stress isn’t caused by our circumstances nearly as much as it is by this kind of fractured attention. You might say that our circumstances trigger dis-integration, but it is the dis-integration that is responsible for our dis-ease.

Integration on the other hand is the state in which the body, breath, and the 14 people living in your head are all fully engaged in the same activity. It’s when you are catching the mouse with your full effort. It’s the experience that we all seek through sport, hobbies, and leisure.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean by integration?” Kirk confesses.

“Here, let’s try a little meditative experiment.” I say. “You game?”

“Sure.”

Mary sits up. “Can I play?”

“Of course.”

“Oh yay!”

“Okay, so both of you sit up, close your eyes, and think of the one thing you love to do more than anything else. The thing that you plan your weekends around, that you yearn for when mired in work.”

I give them a moment.

“Got it?” I ask.

He nods.

“Now conjure up the feeling you have when you’re in the peak moments of that activity.”

A slight smile appears on Kirk’s face. A gentle sigh from Mary.

“How does it feel?”

“Good.” Kirk says.

“Yeah,” Mary softly whispers with a nod.

“Describe it, Kirk.”

“It’s quiet…focused…”

“Any concern for what’s piled on your to-do list?”

He shakes his head.

“Any self criticism, judgment of your performance.”

Another shake.

“Any thoughts of the past, regrets, longings.”

“No.”

“Concerns about finances, relationships, career?”

“Nope. Just focus, single-pointedness, and a kind of peace—even in the midst of effort.” His eyes open. “I know that sounds contrary, but that’s what it is. Even in the effort there’s an ease. Does that make sense?”

I smile. “Yes it does.”

Mary opens her eyes and nods in agreement.

“So what was the activity; what were you thinking about.”

“Bowling.” He proclaims proudly.

“Bowling?” I ask, with a more than a tinge of incredulity. “What are you, Homer Simpson?”

“I know. Sounds weird, but I love it.”

“And why do you love it?”

“Well until just now, I couldn’t really tell you.” He says, “but I guess it’s that it brings me to a place of focus or, what did you call it, integrity?”

“Integration.”

“Right, integration.” He nods, “When I’m throwing that ball, there’s a wholeness and purposefulness that wraps around me.”

He looks to Mary, “What were you thinking of.”

“Rock climbing.” She says, her eyes twinkling.

“Now that’s what I expected you to say, Kirk.” I add.

“Careful E, or we’ll have to write you up for expectation.” Mary wags her finger my way.

I smile.

“So now, let me turn your question back on you: what difference does it make whether you’re present or scattered?”

“To you, none at all.” He mocks.

He gets a fist bump from Mary for that one; an eye roll from me.

“But to me, based upon our little experiment here, it’s clear that there’s a night and day difference. Being present and engaged with my full effort, or as you say integrated, I feel whole, happy, more alive.”

“And so why would you want to throw that sense away just because a yoga class is ending?”

“I guess I wouldn’t, but if I am to be brutally honest, I don’t always get that same kind of integrated wholeness from my yoga practice.”

“Good, because it’s not about getting it from yoga class.” I throw another curve ball. It hits him square in the head.

“What?”

And it’s here that we’ve stumbled into another potential booby trap. When students learn that they can get that same sense of fulfillment, or integration, in a yoga class, that’s precisely what they seek to do. So instead of having to be in the bowling alley, on the golf course, or in Fiji to be integrated, they can add the yoga studio to the list of places they can retreat to and find a respite from their dis-integrated lives. It becomes just another place to hide, to escape. And as we’ve seen, this strategy misses the point: the real question is how can we maintain the experience of integration irrespective of circumstance: at work and at home, on vacation and at the DMV, in sickness and in health.

“Your yoga practice is not as much about creating integration in the class, as it is about teaching you how to create integration anywhere.” Mary chimes in.

“Well said, Mar-”

She responds with a seated faux curtsey.

“It took me forever to get that.” She admits—and she’s not alone.

Most of us attribute our happiness to our circumstances: a hike through the mountains makes me happy, being confined to my cubicle at work does not; a good career satisfies me, a dreary job makes me miserable; a cooperative spouse brings me joy, a cantankerous partner, not so much. But a closer look will reveal that our happiness derives from the state of integration much more than it does from the circumstance itself. It’s possible, for example, to be in nature and to have a miserable time because you are preoccupied with all of the things you have to do in the coming week. Likewise, a busy day at the office can be quite fulfilling if we are able to engage each task with our full attention and effort.

The trouble with this confusion is that when we equate a favorable circumstance with happiness, we feel compelled to wrestle with every circumstance that isn’t congruent with our expectations. We give up the prospect of happiness in this moment and go to war with everybody and everything, so we can be happy in some future moment. We’re selling the possibility of happiness now down the river, while creating more conflict and angst in the process.

“Have you ever noticed how some people can remain calm and smiling in the midst of the most challenging of times, while others have everything they could ever want and are up to their earlobes in misery?” I ask.

Kirk nods.

“Ever wonder about that?”

“Not really,” he confesses, “I just thought they were naturally happy people.”

“There’s probably some truth to that, but it might be more helpful to say that they’re naturally able to remain integrated in the face of adversity.”

“That makes sense.”

Mary sits up excitedly, “But here’s the best part,” she’s dying to deliver the punchline, “it can be learned. You can learn to access the integration in the good times and the bad. I’m a living example of that!”

I take up the thread. “This is the thing Kirk, some of the happiest people I’ve ever met were living in dirt-floored squalor in India; and some of the most miserable were living in ocean-side mansions in Malibu. This is not intended as an indictment against Malibu nor an endorsement of India, but rather an illustration that fulfillment and happiness…”

“Or integration…” Mary adds.

“Or integration,” I confirm, “is available regardless of circumstance.”

Mary’s enthusiasm is palpable. She’s leaned forward and her eyes are wide and bright. Those who have been touched most deeply by the benefits of the practice are always its greatest ambassadors.

“So back to class?” Kirk begins.

“Yes.”

“When you asked me to sit still then, you were really…

Mary interrupts “He was really just encouraging you to hone your skill at remaining integrated. It’s not that the announcements were so important, it’s just that he wants to help you develop the ability to remain whole and at ease, or integrated, under all circumstances.”

I shoot her a look.

“Sorry, I just get so excited about this stuff.” She turns to Kirk.

He’s shaking his head, “I’ll tell you that before this moment, I really had no idea about how this stuff works. I mean I felt better after class, but that was about it.”

“And neither did I, for a long time.” Mary offers. “Hell, I thought E was just being a controlling jerk for well over a year. I’ve never met such a nag.” She winks at me. “Little did I know that his nagging would help me to so radically change my life. For the first time in decades, I feel alive, really alive. And the irony is that nothing has really changed: same husband, same kids, same job, same body, but my relationship to all of it is so different. It’s really amazing.”

Kirk sits back in his chair, digesting the conversation.

“So you can see Kirk, the correction wasn’t about enforcing rules, keeping order, or any kind of personal crusade to control others on my part.”

“You sure about the last part?” Mary chides.

I snicker. “In all honesty guys, it’s much easier for me to just let people do what they want. Confronting people is uncomfortable and awkward—and as you can imagine it’s not always appreciated. With that said, years ago I got really clear on why I’m doing what I’m doing. I don’t teach yoga for me, I teach it for the students. It’s a way to give back, but it’s not always easy.”

“I think I’d like to withdraw my apology then.” Kirk says.

“Good…”

“And submit a thank you.”

I smile. “You’re most welcome. And don’t hesitate if you have questions in the future.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Mary jumps up. “Well guys, it’s been fun. But I’ve gotta run down to OfficeMax, the damned computer went on the fritz last night.”

“Did you lose all your data?” Kirk asks.

“No, it’s just the silly mouse.”

Kirk and I look at one another.

“You’re going to go get a mouse?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?” Mary looks confused, having joined the conversation after the tiger and mouse reference.

“Well, make sure to do it with your full effort.” He smiles and winks at me.

“Well played, sir, well played…”

Fist bumps seal the deal.

Many blessings,

E

Copyright 2008, Eric Walrabenstein, all rights reserved.