Bad weather

There’s no such thing as bad weather, as the saying goes — provided you have the right clothing. I’m thinking of this now very literally as the weather in my little corner of the world has got quite suddenly much colder. Out comes my winter-weight parka with the ridiculously furry hood, my favourite mittens — several different pairs, mostly gifts from family — and thermal socks.

But I’m also thinking a bit more loosely about what ‘bad’ might be in other contexts. I’m feeling ‘bad’ right now. I’m feeling like a bad student and a bad practitioner. Long story short (and I don’t have the heart for the telling of it right now) my teacher of 10 years dropped me quite suddenly by email. I feel as though I must have been a bad student, the worst ever. I mean otherwise, why….? I didn’t even merit a face to face, flesh and bones conversation. And the emotional chaos of this means my practice has fallen apart. Everything feels too full of memories and evokes pain and confusion more than the curiosity, courage and vitality that it used to. Bad student, now bad practitioner.

But on the clothing analogy, I ask myself if the fit between student and teacher wasn’t right. Maybe with this teacher I read the weather wrong or wore the wrong clothes? “It’s not you, it’s him” as my patient husband put it, as he listened again to my introspective despair and confusion.

Now in another part of my yoga life, a different teacher (I still think of them as a teacher but not quite my teacher) is asking me to enquire more deeply into the nature of sadhana/personal practice even at the moment I feel I’ve lost mine. I feel bad about this. And in the practice she’s teaching, I find myself in slight conflict in her adherence to lineage and transmission. This is disciplined in a way I’m just not used to (it’s not how my teacher taught). So I feel on the verge of being a bad student all over again, presenting difficulties and questioning her method, and all the teachers that went before her….

And yet..

Is there a middle ground? A layered outfit to suit all weathers, perhaps 🙂 Can I respect her lineage and the transmission of knowledge in the way she’s been taught AND still make it my own? My sadhana might have other layers within it, ones that make sense to me and create the meaning that I need, even while they are not quite the way she is teaching.

We’re looking at a peace chant at the moment and the ‘translation’ she provided, as is usual in yoga circles, isn’t very close to the Sanskrit. There are lines missed out (the Sanskrit repetition doesn’t make for a beautiful English rendering!) and phrases that are condensed. I got slightly short shrift when I asked about this. She urges us not to get caught up in literal translations or word for word meanings. I understand this to some extent, but it still seems to be missing out on something that’s important to me. Like telling the doctor in a yoga class not to worry so much about anatomy! So I enjoyed a nerdy evening exploring the Sanskrit for myself, making my own translation, and finding that my chanting became slightly more refined as my brain spotted words that were previously hidden in the long lines of sandhi-linked words.

It gave me joy.

And all of a sudden the esoteric prayer-related conversations the study group had been having started to make sense for me, within my own practice. Previously they kind of floated above the mantra, as a general concept but not one I could feel or engage with on my own terms. The idea of prayer is wholly new for me, as it isn’t for most of the group I think. No wonder I sometimes feel a bit lost when god suddenly gets a capital G and conversation about Ishvara gets too close and personal. It feels like asking me to see beyond the visible spectrum.

Now in this peace mantra I see the horses, cows and goats, four footed creatures and two footed creatures, there is the celestial cosmos and the stars, the medicinal herbs and trees, the sun and the moon… This is the world I live in. I see it and feel it everyday. A mantra for peace that includes all these elements — that’s something I could develop my sadhana around, that’s a prayer I might make. Maybe it’s a prayer I already make in other ways in my life, in my kriya yoga we might say?

For me inner peace (maybe eventually cosmic peace) starts still with intellectual peace, aka sorting out my Sanskrit nouns. As I get more comfortable with who I am and understand myself better, I see that this is a need for me. I shouldn’t feel ashamed for wanting to know, whether that fits with this teacher’s lineage or not. In my sadhana I create my own way of knowing and understanding, and all the ‘higher’ things that might arise from that: the soulful, prayerful, surrendering process that creates peace from craving, and love from yearning.

I remind myself (for maybe the billionth time these past months) that I’m not a bad student, I have my own beautifully unique way of learning — and living. I can’t control the weather, but I do get to choose my own clothes.

And because all things currently remind me of my teacher (if I can still call him that), I think of him saying “love the rain” as a simple metaphor for profound acceptance.

And I think of the time he kindly loaned me an umbrella when I left the studio in a downpour.