owning it

Right now I am sitting in a beautiful borrowed apartment in Cairo. Over the last few years, I have often sat in the eclectic homes of other people, surrounded by other people's things, other people's lives, simply enjoying it, little comparing my own life to theirs--which I realize is a big shift.

I am content. And happy--happy in a way I don't think I have ever felt. 

Truth is I have little property, mostly clothes and books and personal effects of sentimental value, some I carry with me, most are sitting in my family home in Manila, where I've spent the least amount of time in the last two years. I have a trunk in India, a collection of textiles and modest "India clothes" and a small but strange collection that includes a coffee maker, a salad spinner, a few bits and bobs that allow India to be home when I unpack them.

I don't have a plot of land or a space or a room all my own but wherever I find myself these days, I feel at home because my heart is simply there. I sleep well, and I can sleep practically anywhere, sharing a bed, couch surfing, laying a yoga mat on a floor--this, more than contorting myself into a pretzel-like position makes me feel truly flexible.

I don't have a car or a bicycle, but I have my own two feet and the courage to purchase one way online plane tickets which piece together these dots accross the world map, which is really my path, my life. 

I do feel, more than ever, a strong sense of ownership. I own my life. I own my own heart and soul and that has given me plenty of room to grow, to be at home and at peace almost anywhere this crazy life has taken me. 

I own my principles, my good humor, my own yoga practice. I own my time, the hours I spend on the mat, how much I teach, how much I play; that the idea of fun and joy and responsibility exist simultaneously in so many actions. I own my struggles and my failures, as well as the great victories that come when I surpass such difficulties. I find a deep satisfaction in the little things: taking the hours before practice to drink a coffee or a tea as I write, self-practicing, attending talks, writing a blog post, spending time with friends and family, most of all, spending time with myself, singing to myself, cooking and feeding myself or walking myself down the road to do shopping or taking myself with my own two feet to work, taking that brief moment as I rest after an intense practice to simply say to myself, "hey, you, I'm still here, you are not alone, I love you deeply."

I own my choices. I have decreased the tendency to blame others or the universe for any misfortune, doing my best to take responsibility for my own actions and my own reactions. I choose where to go, where to work, what to eat (sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not so good, sometimes it's chocolate), I choose how to pray. I choose how to live. I choose to be light and to be free and to be happy. 

I have no debts. But I owe a lot--to the strangers, friends and family who continue who to open their hearts and their homes to me; to the teachers and studio owners who entrust me with their spaces, students and visions; to the students who entrust me with their bodies, their emotional well being and their peace of mind, even if it's just for an hour and a half; to the meditation practice that has significantly quieted down my speed-driven brain; to the Ashtanga yoga practice that has taught me how to be in my body, how to balance strength and flexibility, how to be vulnerable and how to "be." I owe a lot to all those who love me unconditionally, who support me, mostly from untold distances. I owe a lot to my teachers and guides and guardian angels, all of whom come just at the right moment. I owe a lot to the great challenges and great challengers who have been among my greatest teachers. I owe a lot to God, which I also call the Universe, which I also call Love, which one day I would like to call Everyone, but, honestly, I think that will take a lot more yoga. And all of this owing actually creates this unbelievable surpluss, abundance. Every moment filled with potential, with opportunity, with openings. 

I am starting to wake up to a world where anything can happen, where there are infinite possibilities. That I can live anywhere, do anything. And I'm surprised because I'm not scared, surprised because for so long living, truly living on the limb actually frightened me to the point of paralysis. I feel excited--perhaps with a healthy amount of anxiety still, but mostly, I feel excited because I am realizing that I am wealthy beyond my imagination. 

a year of love

It has been a while--again. Unlike other lapses in writing, there hasn't been a lack of things to write, nor has there been a lack of inspiration, but rather a simple pull towards the moment. The processing of things, which often manifests in me bouncing back ideas to myself, many times through these blog entries, were seamlessly facilitated by months with my friend and mirror, Amy. Now, however, as I return to the "road" that is my life, to this my singular journey, I cannot help but feel that it is time to also return to the word. Pages need filling. Accounts need to be made. A story needs telling...



Manila, Philippines.

The officer at immigration asks, when did I last leave the Philippines? I realize it only as I answer, June 10, today, a year ago.

I did not mean to be away so long. A year was not a part of my plan, neither was teaching in Japan or Barcelona, nor was the second prolonged trip to Cairo. What I did have was a return ticket from London to Manila for early December 2013, an apartment reserved in Mysore, India for the end of that year till March and the delusion that the journey I was on was a trip made for two.

I am learning to not be so attached to plans, learning to accept that plans change, often for the better if one can manage to cease from resisting it.

Returning to the Philippines, to my place of origin, to where this particular journey started, "brings it all home"... I feel a little like a top, that's been spinning, spinning, spinning, moving, moving, moving. Coming home is like the top coming to a sudden and definite stop. It's startling this strange stillness; it's helping me recognize how much I've been moving, how much movement has been in my life. I am startled and amazed and in awe of it.

How much can happen in a year! How this time last year, life was actually kind of bleak, the ground--all that I thought I knew about my so-called-great-love--being pulled out from underneath me. And how for weeks I lived in a grey despairing cloud, crying on my yoga mat, crying in kirtan, crying in the kitchen, crying to Monte Perdido, the "Lost Mountain" in the Spanish Pyranees. It was a breakdown of epic proportions and I was stewing in it, unable to leave, unwilling to change...at least, that's what it felt like at the time.

The crazy thing now is that while I recall--embarrassingly, all too well--what a heaving mess I was, I don't actually remember exactly what the sadness felt like, not the airless depths of it, though I recall how deeply it effected me. It is already a memory about someone I knew, who kind of resembled me, but wasn't really me or isn't really me now.

The heart is so resilient and wise and efficient; lack of love is actually just space in which true love can enter. One wee failed relationship gave birth to a year of falling in love with places, whole countries, and entire groups of people, with friends and with students, with the yoga practice, with freedom and wanderlust, and, most importantly, with myself.

It has been a year of love. The messiness, the crying, the frustration, the sadness, the excavation and exorcisms of old and new ghosts. The travel, the joy, the excitement and thrill of discovery and recognition, the adventure, the dancing, getting drunk of life, eating, the meeting of soul mates, the simplest acts of living, medicine. All love.

Things may not have gone according to plan, yet I could not have planned it better. I set off a year ago for love. I believed that I was in love then--and perhaps I was. All I know now is that I have returned home more In LOVE than ever before. There is no object to this love, it has no direction. It does not exist as a relationship status, it does not seek definition. It is a state of being, simple and uncomplicated.

cairo calling, the decision

Vigilant armored tank "protecting" the entrance of Maadi Degla,
which was my home for two months. When I first noticed them,
my friend commented that I should feel safe...hmmm...

August-September, 2013. A month before there was a second revolution in Egypt.

It’s all over CNN, BBC, international newspapers. Despite my efforts at being disconnected from most media—I am guilty of falling into the category of person who generally opt out from being negatively influenced by the news by ignoring it altogether—I cannot ignore the current events. My family and friends won’t let me alone. My students in Osaka are worried too. “Are you still going to Egypt?” they all ask repeatedly. And I don’t have the answer.

At this point, I cannot reach my friend Iman Elsherbiny, who invited me to teach her classes from end of October to December while she herself studies with our teacher Sharath Jois in Mysore, India. I worry about her—that is, until I see her beautiful sun-drenched photos in Mar Salam on Instagram.

Still, my mother is unrelenting in her nagging. My friend James, who was supposed to teach with me the first two weeks in Egypt, bows out gracefully. One student in Japan is quick to point out news items, he actually shows me the newspaper. When Iman and I finally talk, I cannot help but ask her, considering the political instability, should we continue with plans or cancel my trip?

I will always remember what Iman, known as Amy to her friends in Egypt, said to me over that Skype conversation in September. She had just arrived in Cairo after teaching in the South for some of the summer. “Babe, I think everything is going to be ok. But I can’t guarantee that things won’t happen. What you can be sure of is this: that, if you come, you will have friends and family here who will take care of you.” (I may be paraphrasing a little here…)

Something about what Amy said, how she said it really helped me settle into the idea of going. It felt right to go to Egypt, to teach in Cairo. The world, I knew, particularly in that region, would be whirling, that was a given. But I also felt that there was this great potential for connection.

What Amy said that day could not have been more spot on. When I left Egypt three days ago, saying goodbye to students and to the people I’d gotten to know (some over a couple of months, some over a couple of days even) was indeed like saying goodbye to dear family and friends.

What I recognize now is this: I’d been falling in love—only with dozens of people at the same time! Through them, through the heart connections we’d made, through the beautiful interactions, the solid sharings, my relationship with Egypt itself has deepened into a great and complicated love. 

And like many great love stories, Egypt doesn’t feel like it has a beginning for me, and it doesn’t feel like it has an end. I can only say that my love for it will always be there, that there will always be some part of me that will long for it, that will be pulled by its energy, that will crave for its musicality, for its warmth, and for its spontaneity.   

There's an Egyptian proverb that says once you drink from the Nile you are destined to return to Cairo. I have a feeling that this is true, that while I have drunk my fill, my thirst for it will not abate. 

***

I have so wanted to write about my time in Cairo and more recently in Aswan and in Sinai.

Some of my observations have come through the yoga practice. This I’ve shared on my work site kazcastilloyoga.com. But the personal stuff, I haven’t really touched on…

It’s been an intense two and a half months. I can only say that living it has been more important than writing it, though am feeling the need now to put it down, to process in this crazy public way that I do. I hope there will be time now to slowly, slowly write, to shine a lovely light on the place and its people, and to personally understand the gift, the experience it has given me. 

So, even though I am in now in Barcelona (I arrived here three days ago and will start teaching tomorrow), more on Cairo to come...

magkaisa, unite, be one

Almost a month ago, we were sharing songs in satsang in Casa Cuadrau in the Spanish Pyranees, easily one of my top places on the planet--even during the most difficult of circumstances. Boris Gueorguiev, an excellent ashtanga teacher from Vienna and just plain sweet man, was leading the evening's singing by inviting participants from different countries to sing a song. Katia sang a song from Mexico, ironically with a Viennese tune, Chin Chin sang a folk song from China, while Roopa sang a bhajan. Me, I'm Filipino-American, but above either nationalities, I'm Chicken!

It's a real issue, my lack of self-confidence when it comes to singing because I actually love to sing. And my time in Casa Cuadrau has definitely highlighted some issues of self-worth and how I get nervous when I'm put on the spot. There's a real fearfulness of being judged, especially when you know that someone in the room is actually judging you. I do recognize though that the fear is in the mind. That I need to work through my own issues: why do I let my fears diminish me, separate me from my ability to simply be?

I did think about it. If I were brave enough what would I share? I didn't grow up in the Philippines. And can barely bumble through the national anthem let alone pull out a repertoire of Filipino folk songs. But there is one Filipino song from my childhood that I remember pretty well and had I known the lyrics to it, I might have had the courage to share. A couple of days ago, I looked it up. 

It's not Shakespeare, especially when translated into English, mind you. It's a little cheesy, and the tune...well, it's in the pop genre of 80's Filipino music--pop, Filipino music, and 80's, a crazy combination. Released during the People Power Revolution in 1986, it greatly inspired the 10-year old me. My mother tells as story of how I went missing after school during this time, and that apparently I had asked the driver to take me to a rally. I didn't actually make it to any of the rallies, but I wore the signature yellow of the time and I had a cassette tape of the song Magkaisa, which means "Unite."

Looking at the lyrics, a good long time between then and now, makes me just smile because it is still so clear why I loved this song. And how at 10, I was surely always meant to go down this path of learning and sharing yoga. How these lyrics of unity, of one-ness, of hope, of faith and of love have always been a part of me. What stirred me at 10, was this taste of it, and what stirs me now is knowing that even when I don't entirely feel it all the time, even when I struggle, the potential is always there, always waiting to be invited, welcomed and embraced.

Isa lang ang ugat na ating pinagmulan

Tayong lahat ay magkakalahi

Sa unos at agos ay huwag padadala

My translation:

There is only one root from where we've come

We are from one seed

No need to get carried away by the storms, by the waves

I love how the world works. I love how such simple things can draw us back to our center. How looking at Pinoy pop song lyric circa 1986 can help me connect with a timeless philosophy and remind me that all is actually well, that the seas of change may be rough going, but there's no need to get carried away, that connection is magic.

Today has actually been one of those magical days. Timing has been really amazing. Just as I was feeling doubtful, I've received some beautiful, heart-full messages and affirmations that sharing my process so openly online is benefitting others as well. Turned on the roaming on my phone to exchange one text message with one of my favorite spiritual advisors Ate (big sister) Lily, also known as the Little Broom, who sent me a beautiful prayer. Connection is magic. 

Today, I also wrote to a friend who found me online yesterday. Someone I knew for a year a long while ago when we were both studying in Warwick, England in the UC education abroad program. And she, too, had a story of transformation. Connection is magic.

Maybe next time someone asks me to share a song, I won't be shy or afraid because connection, the universe keeps on reminding me, is magic. And this magic is precious.

Being one, coming together in love melts separation, doubt and fear, uniting--whether it's internal integration or an external connection--yields a new dawn, a new day. "Bagong umaga, Bagong araw."  



Lyrics of the song in its original Tagalog and in English translation is below. 

Magkaisa

Ngayon ganap ang hirap sa mundo

Unawa ang kailangan ng tao

Ang pagmamahal sa kapwa'y ilaan

Isa lang ang ugat na ating pinagmulan

Tayong lahat ay magkakalahi

Sa unos at agos ay huwag padadala

Panahon na (may pag-asa kang matatanaw)

Ng pagkakaisa (bagong umaga, bagong araw)

Kahit ito (sa atin Siya'y nagmamahal)

Ay hirap at dusa

Magkaisa (may pag-asa kang matatanaw)

At magsama (bagong umaga, bagong araw)

Kapit-kamay (sa atin Siya'y nagmamahal)

Sa bagong pag-asa

Ngayon may pag-asang natatanaw

May bagong araw, bagong umaga

Pagmamahal ng Diyos, isipin mo tuwina

Panahon na (may pag-asa kang matatanaw)

Ng pagkakaisa (bagong umaga, bagong araw)

Kahit ito (sa atin Siya'y nagmamahal)

Ay hirap at dusa

Magkaisa (may pag-asa kang matatanaw)

At magsama (bagong umaga, bagong araw)

Kapit-kamay (sa atin Siya'y nagmamahal)

Sa bagong pag-asa

Magkaisa (may pag-asa kang matatanaw)

At magsama (bagong umaga, bagong araw)

Kapit-kamay (sa atin Siya'y nagmamahal)

Sa bagong pag-asa

To Unite

Now it is evident that the world's suffering

What we need is understanding

Let us give love and compassion to others

We came from only one root

We are all just humans

In the midst of the storm and waves, Don't lose hope

It is time (Hope is just around the corner)

for Unity (A new morning, a new day)

Even if this (He loves each of us)

Is all pain and suffering

Let us Unite (Hope is just around the corner)

And march together (A new morning, a new day)

Lets hold hands (He loves each of us)

In the newly found Hope

Now Hope can be seen

A new day, a new morning

God's everlasting love, Keep in mind always

It is time (Hope is just around the corner)

for Unity (A new morning, a new day)

Even if this (He loves each of us)

Is all pain and suffering

Let us Unite (Hope is just around the corner)

And march together (A new morning, a new day)

Lets hold hands (He loves each of us)

In the newly found Hope

Let us Unite (Hope is just around the corner)

And march together (A new morning, a new day)

Lets hold hands (He loves each of us)

In the newly found Hope

(http://lyricstranslate.com/en/magkaisa-let-us-unite.html)

next level, yoga and video games

Art imitates life. Video game: Space Invaders.

I don't know if it's my own perception of things or not, but it seems that since I started to reap the calming benefits of yoga I've noticed two things:

One: That my responses to stress have undoubtedly gotten better. I'm more cool under pressure. I'm not so easily thrown off my A-game. Though, admittedly, Manila traffic still gets the better of me from time to time.

This in itself is a huge deal. My father once gave me a book called "Who Moved My Cheese?" in response to my inability to cope successfully when things did not go my way, a trait I think he really knows he passed down from his own genetic code.

Two: That the issues and various crisis that arise alongside my growing bright new attitude seem to be increasing in intensity. So, as my ability to maintain calm seems to increase, so does the intensity of stresses that arise, which, ironically, threatens that newly established calm.

This confounds me somewhat. It feels as if I barely have time to enjoy peace of mind before something entirely new and rather weighty--compared to the last crisis--threatens to throw me off balance in fresh new ways. Just when I think I have a handle on things...things go in a direction that once again test me.

It's a little like playing video games, a past-time I never developed much of a liking for. On top of the my poor hand-eye coordination and generally slow response time, I never enjoyed how there was never an end to the drama of it. Always another level, another abyss to vault over, another treasure to find, another monster to wrestle, another ship to gun down, another dot to eat through. Endlessly frustrating way to waste time.

I guess what I am starting to see, though, is what video gamers live on. This "leveling up" is about ascension. You can only go to the next level once you have passed new, more difficult challenges, because that's what helps make us grow. And I guess what I've suspected for some time is true: I am still growing.

Through practicing yoga, not only has my hand-eye coordination has improved, but my entire awareness of my body has definitely deepened. I used to feel a huge disconnect between my mind and my body. Used to! And now, my ability to respond to stress has also progressed. Not lightning-speed, mind you. But I'm definitely sharper than ever before. As for each mounting challenge, though each continue to shake me, I can't help but feel that the force of it seems less and less. I am responding to the issues and problems quicker and more pro-actively. Recovery time is faster than ever.

What amazes my is how the universe knows when you're ready for the next challenge. I've been studying quite a bit of yoga philosophy recently with my dear dear friend James Boag, who has been teaching here in Manila these last 3 weeks (lucky us!) and he's said more than once that we are never given a challenge/lesson that we are not ready for. And this amazes me. Comforts me. Awes me. It makes me feel that we are supposed to grow and learn and ascend. It makes me feel that there is great purpose to living and to meeting life's challenges head on--because, hell, they just keep on coming!

So true. Wall paper from Retroist.com. 

love, light & transformation, bahay kalipay-style

Bahay Kalipay

Rebirth at the House of Happiness.
I am dancing, the goddess
recreating the universe, spilling
over into this new realm of being.
Unafraid and emboldened by LOVE.
I am spinning a new web with
which to catch my dreams,
my silvery thread woven with
the newly discovered sense of
strength, courage, steadiness,
commitment. Commitment to living.
Living with intention, with light.
The full moon shines, then the
Sun rises. A new day.
A new opportunity to offer and pray.
To give thanks, to give love.
To be love.

Mmmm. What to say... So grateful to Bahay Kalipay, to Pi and Daniw especially for offering us the House of Happiness for this last weekend's retreat. So grateful for the open-hearted participants and the wonderful friends (Elaine, Kai, Audi, Alexandra, Claudia, Aya, Daniw...) who joined us in song, movement and satsang. Also, feel incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to share with and be guided by two real stars/bright lights/teachers that I really respect and love.

It's the retreat that nearly didn't happen--several times. And yet, it was abundantly clear as soon as things got started that the Easter-themed yoga offering, which was first conceived over a year ago during my first trip to Bahay Kalipay, was also always meant to happen. As usual, the Universe conspires against us mere mortals for our own betterment.

With only a one-month lead time before the date, we announced Love, Light & Transformation, a collaboration between myself, my dear friend and visiting philosophy teacher James Boag and inner dance healer Pi Villaraza, which was held this last Easter weekend, April 5 to April 8.

However, almost immediately, everything clicked into place. We dove into the themes of Easter: love, forgiveness, sacrifice and rebirth through a variety of modalities. James shared through rich talks based on practical ways of embodying yoga philosophy while I shared poetry that touched on the themes that we were discussing. We both led asana class with the group. And nightly, James led kirtan, elevating the frequency of the retreat, if not the entire property. Pi facilitated one group inner dance and a partner inner dance the following day, both beautifully feeding into the flow of the retreat. And throughout, Daniw, the embodiment of mother divine herself, gave her love through the deliciously prepared raw food, which nourished us every meal.

There was an abundance of love. There was a lot of light being shone in all sorts of dark corners. And in the end, a lot of lightness because of it. I could feel the shifts and transformations happening within the group. It was lovely to see and amazing to be a part of.

I'd like to write more about the experience, but I find that I am still quite in the process of processing it. Instead, I offer two pieces of writing that I wrote and then shared in the last morning of the retreat. They offer the most sincere insight of how special this weekend has been for me. The first is "Bahay Kalipay" above. The second is the untitled piece below:

What is this feeling? Newness? Space?
I feel the mystery of it. And I am a little afraid.
Afraid of its expansiveness. Of how much
it occupies my being. But beyond fear,
I feel curiosity. I cannot overlook its magic.
How shiny and bright and alluring it is.
And beyond curiosity there is awe. Awe
at its sheer simplicity. How great it is.
How whole and full and incredible it is.
What is this feeling?
It is love. Not your ordinary love.
Not your extraordinary love. Love. LOVE.
All encompassing, beating, the pulsating
vibrancy of the universe located in my heart of hearts...

on effort

Star Wars snaps at the Brooklyn Flea.

When I share things, I swear I'm not being preachy, I'm just like everybody else, totally and utterly baffled by the way this crazy world works, our funny quirks and the play between the crazy world and our funny quirks. I'm just processing it all "out loud" so to speak.

A quote that I wanted to share is from the Gita, off of a yoga flyer (the shala yoga house in Brooklyn) I picked up in NY (currently, recycling all bits before going). The second quote is not so ancient but generally the same idea. I love how the wisdom of yoga is everywhere! Hooyah!

On this path effort never goes to waste, and there is no failure. Even a little effort toward spiritual awareness will protect you from the greatest fear.

--Bhagavad Gita 2:40


No. Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.

--Jedi Master Yoda

family yoga, sisterhood

Its my sister Audrey's birthday. We hung out the entire eve, painted each others' nails, drank wine and champagne, watched part of "Meet Me at St. Louis" with Judy Garland, one of our favorite musicals growing up, and waited till midnight. I can't remember the last time I spent it with her.

My mother is here as well. And the fact that the three of us are together is just short of a miracle. I have made some sacrifices choosing to live in Asia for over the past decade. I've missed countless birthdays and holidays. I've lost time with those I love, the daily interaction that color and build relationships.

Its been challenging to return home and spend substantial time enough to realize that there are gaps in our history, that there have been changes in our tastes and in our habits, that we've evolved while the other wasn't looking. Change is good, but jarring to those who failed to notice it.

Having said that, I feel incredibly blessed to have this time now to be able to see the shifts, to be able to bridge certain gaps. Or at least make an effort at it.

I love my sister. She's been a real light in my life. And despite the distance, I always feel her presence and support throughout all my landmark moments, highs and lows. I am astounded by her brain--and have been, in the past, more than a little jealous. She scored much higher on the SAT's when she took them in junior high, at the time I was in high school. I admire her even-mindedness and passion for her beliefs. I respect her work ethic and the choices she's made. I was awed when early in her college life she started to volunteer at the Berkeley Free Clinic, then focusing her energy in HIV-prevention and AIDS education. I wasn't surprised when she got into Columbia for her masters program. I've always been impressed with her style. Not just in fashion, but in person, which I think has always been forward-thinking and brave.

No matter how much she continues to grow as a person, I will always think of her as my little sister. This, however, has its drawbacks, especially since we don't get to interact much in person.

I spent half of my life quite used to my sister being little, following me around, minding what I said (she was that nice, really! even when I wasn't). And now to spend this extended amount of time here, the longest we've spent together in years...

We've both changed, both women now, both willful, both stubborn, both more in touch with our personal needs and both more sensitive to when those needs are being obstructed. So, we've been adjusting to both the old patterns of sisterhood in the context of who we are now, both strong but both really different. We share the same sore beliefs, the same end goals, but our ways our different. We argue the same side of an issue but our delivery is different. We both want peace and sanity. She has her therapy and I have my yoga. Same, same but different.

I have had my moments this trip when I felt the heavy weight of difference. But the "sameness" between us is the key, and the differences are there to help us grow closer as sisters.

To Audrey, I am filled with gratitude for the Thirty-one-derful years you've been keeping me company on this crazy planet. It has been a gift to share so much with you! You are hands down my favorite person in the whole wide world. I love you so much and always will. K

eating, praying, loving

Its happened a few times now that when I explain that I'm taking nearly a 9 month leave from my so-called life in order to travel back to the US, visit what was home, re-acquaint myself with America, nourish myself with the company of old and new friends, and reconnect with family before launching into a 5 month stint in India, 4 months of it to study at a yoga shala in Mysore I get this response: "So, like Eat Pray Love?" or sometimes, "Like Eat Pray Love!"

Having read the book twice already, I can only sheepishly respond, yes, like Eat Pray Love.

Its been referenced so much recently that I decided to pick up the copy of it that was sitting on my mother's shelf. It was the very first copy I ready 4 years ago, upon the recommendation of my mother. I was going through some major changes. I'd made a huge break from an emotionally abusive relationship. I was healing. And I remember getting so much out of Elizabeth Gilbert's account of that year in her life.

I read it a second time between Mysore and Manila, my tumultuous return to said so-called life after my first two and a half month trip to India. I was going through a shift then too. I had started to gain perspective on my life as it was, on what I really wanted and the disparity between the two.

I love to read. I've always had special relationships with the prose and plays that I love. For me, when a piece of literature is good, it speaks to me. I can relate to it's themes in a nearly cellular level. My body understands it and takes it in. It is like air, food, water, and sleep--which is why I can usually forgo these necessities when engrossed in a book. It feeds me. Plus, I was quite a maudlin kid and books were my escape. I lived in the novels that I read. They made life bearable.

And since, three is a magic number, I've decided to read it again. Gilbert points this out in her book, the perfect balance of a three-legged stool is a beautiful thing, the magic of fine engineering.

This time, the energetic and emotional connections have never been more clear and the parallels to my own life's events are a little uncanny. I know there are new shifts now, though I am still trying to understand it. I'm sad. I'm happy. I'm trying to be nice to myself. I'm free. And I don't quite know what to do with it. So, yes. I guess I am eat-pray-love-ing.

Don't get me wrong, I think, ultimately, anyone who is going through serious life changes will relate to this book. And I don't think I'm anymore special than anyone else. And while I am at this weird crossroad, dealing with my own breakups, heartaches, newly acquired nomadic life, and, yes, freedom I don't think any of the tumult of the last year compares the depth of Gilbert's own story. But still, the similarities are interesting. Its just each time I read this book, I feel like I relate to it deeper and deeper, which is a sign of a really good book.

Gilbert has tapped into three universal themes that will create balance in those who dare to embody them: eat, pray and love. They are like this triple threat. Together, they have serious mojo.

This trip has been touched by discord and struggle, which is really forcing me to identify and seek out what nourishes me, whether its good food, beautiful company of the genuine-hearted, support of friends and loved ones. In so many ways, I've also been more conscious of the devotional aspect of my practice too. But recently, I've really started to pray again. I pray to the sun or to god or to my guru. And, well, love...

Love is trickier than I thought. I am trying to understand my heart. I guess that's why I write about it so much. That's the reason for this blog. There's some kinds of love that are easy for me. Those are bountiful. And then there are others that I struggle with also. There's nothing that I want more. There's nothing that I am more afraid of.

So, here I am, reading about a woman on a journey, just as I am a woman on my own journey, quite possibly the most important undertaking of my life thus far. And Gilbert's tale is a lovely companion, a true friend holding up a mirror. And hopefully, I'll have the vision to see what it is that I need to see, a glimpse perhaps of the real me.

family yoga, light vs. dark

I've been sitting on a piece of writing that's been simmering ever since I came out to NY with my dad to visit my sister just this June. I was sacrificing my asana practice in order to spend time with family. (Promise, Deva, the full article is coming! My good friend Deva first encouraged me to write about the idea of family yoga).

And now, I'm back in NY. This time with my mother to visit with my sister. Just as precious. Just as crazy as the time with my dad.

Its been over 3 years since the three of us were together. I expect its going to be beautiful, mad, enlightening, troubling, insane, lovely and all sorts of crazy because that's what family does to a person. They know you better than anyone and at the same time don't know you at all! And that's going to bring up stuff.

Anyhow, we arrived last night. Its going to be...great, really, but interesting. And definitely funny.

We were hanging out on Audrey's couch. The three of us sitting there when my mother turns to me, as if she's seen me for the first time--although I've been staying with her for the last two weeks in Los Angeles.

Mom: Karen, you are so dark!

My sister Audrey and I look at her puzzled, her face is filled with something of a cross between surprise and shock. She recoils a little, perhaps with a tad of repulsion. She's got an unhealthy fear of aging and is constantly in hiding from the sun, which in fairness has worked out for her because she looks incredibly young for her age.

Its always bothered her that I like the beach, loved surfing and then chose to live on an island resort town for the last 5 years. Light skin is generally favored in the Philippines as a sign of beauty and economic prosperity (don't see any fair girls working the fields!). I feel like I've done a fair amount of work to get beyond such inane social norms and to feel confident about my own earthy complexion.

Mom: Your face is as dark as your body!

Me: I hope so!

Mom: Why did you let yourself do that?!

She walks away, her question more of a statement. My sister and I bust out laughing. My mother's hilarious, if not somewhat offensive. Most of the time she's lovely, really. Stuff like this, however, doesn't bother me. Other things, well...But this, I know is part of the package, part of the crazy stuff we have to endure, nay embrace, because we love our family, even if they press our buttons.

grace and swami lakshmanjoo

Where there is love, there is grace.

For the last 3 weeks, I've been praying for grace--grace to be strong enough to withstand disappointment, hurt feelings, and sadness, grace to be greater than my limited ego and expectations, grace to be true to myself, my heart and the values I hold dear.

And throughout these past weeks, it feels like my prayers have been answered in the shape of compassionate friends, fortuitous coincidences/fate throwing me a bone--or rather a sumptuous veggie meal, and magnanimous actions that seem so beyond my capabilities that I have surprised even myself and bewildered some very close to me.

Today, grace took an entirely new shape altogether as I attended my first Havan at the Universal Shaiva Fellowship in Culver City, where we celebrated the mahasamadhi of Swami Lakshmanjoo, a spiritual leader devoted to the teaching of Kashmir Shaivism.

I've been curious about Kashmir Shaivism since Mysore, where I'd caught a taste of Kashmiri chants, so full of ras or flavor. During this last Shivaratri, I was privy to a Kashmiri puja over Skype. And now, since my dear friend, the architect of this introduction and my co-creator of the above distress, is here in LA to attend the festivities, I was able to tag along.

He talks a lot about Kashmiri Shaivism and Swami Lakshmanjoo with such devotion. I was curious and baffled--baffled particularly about how he could feel so connected to a teacher who died 20 years ago today. And as my brain tried to process the key words "self-realized saint," I couldn't help but wonder, what's the big deal?

I can't even begin to illustrate what kind of deal it is because I can barely begin to fathom how I've been feeling since this afternoon. Was it big? Huge. Nay, gigantic! But at the same time so totally subtle, sneakily quiet.

The day was filled with chanting, so different from the style of chanting I'm used to in my own yoga practice--which I also love. There's something totally enthralling about it. Time passed so swiftly.

As the Kali temple priests stoked the fire, we chanted. And as I chanted, I started to mentally throw different ideas into the fire. When my mind was empty, I started to extract emotions for the fire. After I'd excavated my heart, I dug out at my guts and threw that in as well. At some point I imagined throwing my entire being into the fire, me standing there, burning up, hoping I would be like a phoenix renewed by the flames. I wanted to be rid of all excesses, all the unnecessary stuff. But I could still feel the same thoughts, the same feelings lodged into my person.

Then I remembered what George, one of the facilitators at the Havan, said, that this wasn't about us but was about Swamiji. In the end, I just gave myself up because the truth is I don't know how to make things better, I don't know how to manage all this. So, I decided to surrender myself to Swami Lakshmanjoo, surely he would know better than I.

Magic happens when you surrender. This is a favorite theme with me. I've seen it in my own yoga practice. I've seen it in my own life, which has changed so much since I seriously started to surrender to my higher good.

And today was no exception. Without going into details, which are too new-age-y even for me to repeat, I will say this: I totally felt Swami Lakshmanjoo's presence. I felt supported by him. I felt his guidance, which made me feel totally vulnerable. All conflict, which I'd been working so hard to repress, floated up to the surface. And I cried. I cried until I felt better. I'll probably have other tear-filled episodes, but for now I feel relief.

I feel the light hand of grace stroking my hair, letting me be sad, but also letting me know that after I let it go everything will be better. Thus begins my initiation into Kashmir Shaivism.