In Shree B.K.S. Iyengar's book Light on Life, he describes an antidote to the stresses and anxieties in our lives as the Six Spokes of the Wheel of Peace. These are: discrimination and reasoning, practice and detachment, and faith and courage. I might consider these as the head (thinking), hands (doing) and heart (feeling) of the practice.
He suggests that "yoga is not asking us to refrain from enjoyment. Draw the exquisite fragrance of the flower. Yoga is against bondage. Bondage is being tied to patterns of behavior from which we cannot withdraw... So yoga says keep the freshness, keep the pristine, keep the virginity of sensitivity."
And of course, our pranayama practice rests on the foundation of a stable body that is at ease and alert; and a quiet, tranquil mind.
I know that practicing daily can seem like a chore, and it will be if you get bored. You might benefit from changing the set up you use for Savasana from day to day. Some days I use a horizontal bolster for supine practice, on others folded blankets to support the spine. Begin graciously. Meaning, accept if you get restless or fall asleep. Change to a sitting pose if this persists. You may benefit from following a recording. There are several on my website. And above all, be realistic. Ten minutes, maybe after feed the cat, or before you walk the dog..
This poem, Making Peace, written by Denise Levertov in response to the civil unrest during the Vietnam War in the 1970s, is timeless. There is no accident that Ahimsa is the first and foremost tenant in Buddhism as well as the Yoga Sutras, for humanity appears to build upon a bedrock of power and conquest rather then peace and mutuality. This week, as we collectively acknowledge the anguish surrounding the death of George Floyd and review the trial of Derek Chauvin, I realize how real this poem is for NOW. Levertov asks us to imagine reconfiguring our lives... I suggest that everything is at stake if we are to create a future that we would hope for our children.
Making
Peace
A
voice from the dark called out,
‘The poets must give us
imagination
of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination
of disaster. Peace, not only
the
absence of war.’
But peace,
like a poem,
is
not there ahead of itself,
can’t
be imagined before it is made,
can’t
be known except
in
the words of its making,
grammar
of justice,
syntax
of mutual aid.
A
feeling towards it,
dimly
sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until
we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning
them as we speak.
A
line of peace might appear
if
we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked
its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned
our needs, allowed
long
pauses . . .
A cadence of peace
might balance its weight
on
that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an
energy field more intense than war,
might
pulse then,
stanza
by stanza into the world,
each
act of living
one
of its words, each word
a
vibration of light—facets
of
the forming crystal.
Denise Levertov, “Making Peace” from Breathing the
Water.
