Churning the Waters

This week, I've been practicing quite challenging vinyasa practices through my home studio's online teachings. I was blessed with a free 6 months membership because I can't access the live classes - the timings are wrong, with me on the other side of the world. It's a beautiful gesture, and I'm so grateful. I'm good at my home practice, but it's also really nice to be connected to home in some way and the yoga community there. It also helps me commit to a full hour without getting distracted. I need the fire in my belly, lest I sink into the depths of laziness and depression, which I can tend to do without steely determination to keep my head above water.

Speaking of water, I have also been swimming a lot, in the many rivers around here. The cool waters are a welcome relief to the heat, both of the sun and the fire of my physical asana practice, and what it releases. Yoga has a way of making you pay attention, and that can see some pretty confronting and uncomfortable observations and feelings arise. If you've ever wanted to scream or cry during a yoga practice, or even during intensive physical pressure like a marathon, you'll know what I mean. There's no escaping the self in these moments. It's really not always pretty.

So swimming is a nice relief. Just swim in the cool waters and let it all be. Not 'let it go', but just be one with it all. All the demons, and all the gods, that dwell within.

I think of the churning of the ocean of milk - a Hindu story which describes an ever going struggle between these gods and demons inside us, a story populated by elephants and turtles and snakes. Basically, these demons and gods were churning the waters of this ocean in a huge effort and battle to bring up amrita, an elixir of immortality at the bottom. In the way these Hindu stories go, a mountain (Mount Madura) is used as a churning stick by the Gods, and the demons held the head of a naga (half snake, half man) and with this they churn the waters (think of those dark waters of the self, where all those struggles take place). Poison is even released by a demon, which the God Shiva takes and holds in his throat, turning it blue.

In the churning of the ocean, many beautiful and wondrous treasures were brought up from the murky depths - the moon, a beautiful and fragrant tree, the elephant mount of Indra, the cow of plenty, the goddess of wine, a wish fulfilling tree and celestial dancers, a celestial horse, the Goddess of abundance Lakshmi, Vishnu's conch, mace and magic bow, gems and a physician of the Gods who rose up from the depths with amrita, the supreme treasure of immortality.

I think of this convoluted, crazy story as I swim. My feet don't touch the bottom, and water is not clear - it's a murky brown. Lily pads sit on the surface, tadpoles squirming underneath the huge green leaves. The light trembles on the surface, and the ash trees, heavy laden with keys, droop down to the surface. The surface is pretty - the depths are pretty scary though. I don't like to think of what lies beneath.

The yogic metaphor is this - the mountain is our body, moving through the fire of our practice, the really hard stuff. Yoga is both on and off the mat, so it's not just the sweat of asana, but the difficult things that confront us in life, the things that challenge us and that we stand up to without fear. Vishnu in this story is the preserver of life - he's the committed one, the steadfast one that doesn't give up or let go even when things are tough. And we have to - the gods and demons in the water together bring up the nectar. It's not just one or the other. It's all the parts of ourselves that bring up the precious amrita, the end result of the hard work. Without the churning, without all that effort, there is no reward.

All the treasures that emerge from the water are representative of something. Lakshmi is pretty obvious - who wouldn't want this much loved, beautiful goddess and all her strengths emerge from the churning of the waters? She's the deepest part of ourselves, the beautiful part, not the superficial, skin layer, the one concerned with only physical appearance. She's the true soul, the part of us that is one, that is absolute connection with all, reflecting the beauty of this true self back at us. We can see all the treasures as mirrors - as the demons are defeated, the moon comes from the waters. What is the moon for you? For me, it's sensitivity, gentleness, softness and femininity, imagination. What a wonderful treasure to embrace as it reaches the surface, and the hard parts fall away.

I think of all the hard parts of life as continually churning the water, to see what beauty rises.

As I practice on the yoga mat, I feel into all those parts of me that want to resist, to scream, to cry, to cheat, to run away, to rage. Instead of resisting, it can feel good - a kind of cleansing of the ocean-self. As the fire of my practice burns in my belly, I examine the places my mind goes, my limitations, my fears and the things that prevent me being my best self. It hurts. It's not pretty. Sometimes, I cry.

But without churning the waters, I don't give myself opportunity to get that little bit closer to my true self, and the bliss that comes from those momentary glimpses into oneness.

As I emerge from the cool river, having dived deep into the darkness and muck and experienced my anxiety and my demons down there, I feel a little lighter, leaving the murk behind until the next time I dive in.