How did you practice yoga today? Did you sit on your mat this morning in meditation, breathing long and deep, in and out? Did you do 100 rounds of pranayama? Did you practice 3 sun salutations or perhaps a long set of asanas to warm and cleanse the body? Today, I did none of those things, though I intended to. Last night, as I laid down to sleep I made sure my alarm was set as always for 6 am so that I could practice asana and meditation before starting my day. Around 2:30 am when I looked at the clock and realized I’d only slept for 1/2 an hour total so far (the brief time before my three-year old awoke with a series of coughing fits) I turned off the alarm with a sigh. My morning practice would not happen.
So, how did I practice yoga today. I started by acknowledging that I very much would have liked to sleep all day then stood in the shower and breathed long and slow into my belly. As I drove my son and daughter to the doctor, I made myself go slowly enough that I could focus rather than engage in a pointless argument with my son about why he could not have the lollipops from the bank for breakfast. As we waited 30 minutes for the first doctor and one hour for the second, again I breathed long and slow and tried to speak as little as possible. And when the whole day finally broke down for both of my children, from lengthy wait times, lack of proper food (by then, I’d caved on the lollipops), boredom and exhaustion, I slowed myself down enough to notice that I was ready to slip into a conditioned response of breaking down with them. Instead, I just didn’t engage at all, except to again breathe for a moment, fill myself up with compassion for all that these two little people must have been feeling, and take enough time to choose my words and actions slowly and carefully. I discovered that I didn’t really change their behavior at all, but I did change mine, and in that moment this felt very much like an advanced posture, an advanced practice.
In The Heart of Yoga, Desikachar writes of the “things that darken the heart.” He writes that, “one of the reasons many people take up yoga is to change something about themselves: to be able to think more clearly, to feel better, and to be able to act better today than they did yesterday in all areas of life.” He explains the alternate states of being that are “duhkha” and “sukha.” He writes:
Sometimes terms such as ‘suffering,’ ‘troubles,’ or ‘sickness’ are used to explain the meaning of duhkha, but it is best described as a feeling of being restricted. Duhkha is a quality of mind that gives us the feeling of being squeezed. There does not need to be any physical pain to experience a feeling of great duhkha. The level on which duhkha works is the mind. Duhkha is nothing but a certain state of mind in which we experience a limitation of our possibilities to act and understand. Even if we do not have the need to express our feelings in tears, somehow we feel disturbed deep within ourselves, painfully bound and restricted.
When we feel a sense of lightness and openness within, then we are experiencing the opposite of duhkha, a state that is called sukha. The concept of duhkha plays an important part not only in yoga but in every significant philosophy of India. There is duhkha at different times in the life of every human being. We all have the goal of eliminating duhkha. That is what the Buddha taught. That is what the Vedanta strives for. That is what yoga tries to achieve.
He goes on to explain duhkha as a kind of residue left over of resentment or regret from actions. The consequence of acting in a habitual way, a conditioned way, rather than a reflective way is often that we are left with this residue. He writes of the necessity of “Dhyana” or reflection, in order to prevent actions that we may later regret: “No matter what it is or what you feel, before you make an important decision and take action you should give yourself the opportunity to consider the matter with an open mind and a certain degree of objectivity. Dhyana in this respect is a quiet, alert consideration, a meditation. The aim is to free yourself of preconceptions and avoid actions that you may later regret and that may create new troubles (duhkha) for you.” Perhaps the best place to examine the growth of our practice in this way is within the quality of our closest relationships. The lightness that we learn to find so that we can float into crow, might be the same lightness of spirit we bring to a challenging situation with someone we love. Or the quiet, stillness of mind that comes upon us in savasana or bound angle even, may be the same mental quality that keeps us from the knee-jerk response that will leave us feeling regretful.
I crossed the expanse of today by breathing slowly and watching more than reacting. Years of practicing on the mat aided me today as it has so many days, so that I find my heart light, not dark, at days end. And so I know that, yes, I very much did have a morning practice.