Sadhana
My mind grew tired with the setting sun. My mind grew tired at the end of sleep. My mind grew tired with the rising sun. My mind grew tired at the end of awakening. My mind grew tired at the end of an hour. My mind grew tired at the end of a minute. My mind grows tired at the end of every second. In the moment the heart beckoned, and by chance the mind reckoned. I heard a Budding Buddy of mine, the Budding Buddy of my mind, tell me that it is time to rise with the sun, and then later fall into peace when the sun sets. I am to remember all that has made me my best before I retire to my rest. These are the happenings of my yoga practice.
Every morning I begin with lethargy awaiting energy, it is an awakening that becomes enlightening! No rush, as it is a rude awakening that at first becomes weakening -- I wish I could sleep in more, what college student wouldn’t want that? Mornings move slow; mornings move with a flow like a river, or a stream, into a much bigger body of water. The day much bigger than me, I awake to become a part of it. My morning practice becomes dedicated to the day and all that it brings me: another chance to live.
Mornings are physical, and I like to get the mind focused, the lungs expanded, the blood pumping, the heart racing, and the body stilled -- I want to feel alive. I begin with pranayama: bhastrika (bellows breath), nadi shodhana (alternate nostril breath), brahmari (humming bee breath), and a few oms (mantra dharana/svadhyaya) to follow. Then my body rises, preparing physically and mentally for the world to turn upside down with inversions: salamba sarvangasana (shoulder stand) and sirasana (headstands). My blood travels through my system by gravitational forces, being pulled down from my toes to the crown of my head. I then attempt to enter my body and mind with a couple of seated positions. I bend backwards and commit to a heart opener -- supta virasana. Once I have completed those, I lay in savasana (corpse pose) for a few still moments (to embrace tapas), then stand up and continue to let those few still moments to drag on.
After a long day of work and play, I find myself wanting to remember all that has made me my best before I retired to rest. I close with an evening meditation towards the end of the day. It is dedicated to whatever has made me, and to having a deeper appreciation to what has been given to me. It is not a physically intensive practice, but it is more so a practice of stillness, a balance to all the action that I have taken throughout the day.
I sit in a darkened space lit only by moonlight that peers through the blinds and a flickering of a candle -- trataka dharana. Shadows dance along the walls and the floor as the fire begins to flirt with the space. The mind becomes in tune with the fire of the candle, and with the fire within. Mindful breathing ensues, but the gaze becomes the center of attention. My gaze becomes fixated on a flame, and then soon after the heart. Once I am with my heart, I fall into a deep state by recognizing and meditating on the blessed moments in life -- dhyana. I remember all that makes me feel anger and contentedness, sorrows and joys, and hate and love that I have. I initially enter this tug-of-war state of mind, trying to go back and forth from bad thoughts to good. Eventually I snap out of this mental turbulence and find myself in a trance, at ease by the sounds and visions of all that makes me laugh and smile. I not only feel these sensations, but I can hear them through the silence of the night. I hear the laughter of my mother, my father, and my lover. I see their smiles, I see myself walking with them, and I continue to go on about the experience along their sides.
As I go on about the meditative experience and perceive these mental visions, I find myself trying to come to an understanding to why these people and feelings matter to me. It is more clear to me why my mother and my lover appear, but my father not so much. I never met him, in fact he died before I had the chance to. Recently I have found myself learning more about him and his side of the family. I have no real attachment to him, yet he came to mind during a few of my practices -- both in the morning and the evening. Everything I know about him are from some stories and photos. It is interesting to think that someone I do not know at all ends up entering my headspace, and becomes a part of the equation to answer the fundamental question, “who am I, where do my qualities come from, why should I care, why do I care?”
I know nothing, I do not have the answers to such proverbial questions! All I know is that I have surrendered to the universe, and in return I can see the Universe smiling back at me. I think it is a bit to early in my practice to have a sort of deep and observant reflection on my progress, so perhaps I will make writing a part of the practice it self. It seems, to me, that writing has gone hand in hand with my yoga. I intended to have any of my practices last at least 10 minutes, but 30 minutes pass, then 45, then 60, and then 90 -- and then all of a sudden I have forgotten who I am and why I am here! Now I am writing too much, and I have began to ramble, so I must digress and end with a quote from yogi Shyamdas, “If you speak about that which is very sacred, it goes, sometimes it’s better to not say anything… Of that divine union, don’t say it to anyone.”