LITMIR.BIZ

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      Yep, that's Western medicine for you. . . it's just a matter of more research.

      * * * *

      As noted earlier, many of the most important contributors to my life have no rational, thought-out-before-the-fact reason. My gastroenterologist told me that some of his patients gained relief from their symptoms by doing yoga. I didn't know much about being a patient and even less about yoga. But I looked for the local yoga center and started classes, not knowing at all what I would find. I ended up working for this doctor at a different point of my life and I know he did not practice yoga himself. In 1985, yoga was not very prevalent beyond California. And at that time, how many people practiced yoga in a middle-western burg like Cleveland?

      Hm. . . could Grace be in there somewhere?

      My learnings and experiences with yoga were fundamental and pivotal in my Seeking. Yoga gave me incomparable mind and body training that was literally sorely-needed in my uncovery. I was very much a heady, ego-driven person at that time, with very little recognition, love, or care for my body. I was so fearful about not meeting other people's expectations that I would drive myself to a point where my breathing was affected. My breathing became irregular and shallow; this could get so bad that on some workdays, I would "suddenly" be aware that I was woozy and nauseous. (That hurts to write!) So a technology that focused on breath and my body in a pose (asan) was a new challenge and a big source of growth. Even today, I remember to check my breath—is it shallow or deep? How fast? I remember that as I breathe (or don't) my mind and body will follow.

      I was constantly reminded by my teachers that gentleness and mindfulness were the watchwords, not perfection. These were quite different teachings from what I had learned/absorbed from my childhood. Yoga also provided me with my first exposure to and concentrated experiences in meditation. What a mind-stretcher that was for me! The goal in mediation was to have no goal. Merely to be; to let one's thoughts come as they might and then let those thoughts go as easily as if they were mere wisps of air. (Actually, as a recluse who hid from people, music came up more than thoughts. I was plagued by symphonies and Gilbert and Sullivan operettas! I think it took me six months to quiet down the music chatter.)

      And all of this was done not with my ego mind, but with a third party—"the Looker". Today, I can't remember if the Looker was just another part of my mind or a Higher, shared mind. To be totally present and yet hold what came to me lightly. Here was a new paradox—aspect of Grace—from which I still benefit today. Breath/Body/the Looker—here was a new Trinity.

      A concept I still carry and treasure today is ekagrata: "one-pointedness". In a pose requiring balance, I learned to fix my eyes on one spot on a wall in front of me. Practicing this concept magnified my capability to marshal and focus the talents I had naturally, whether they were practical or spiritual. This translated to growing success in fixing my attention on something—including Something.

      * * * *

      I continued to take yoga classes; I practiced daily. And I started breathing, my blood pressure went down, my stomach pains abated, and I enjoyed getting to know my body! I did not share much about my participation in yoga with my family because I was afraid of being labeled (once again) The Strange One. There was also more than a little shame: I was a nominal Jew practicing something based in Hinduism. I know I was exposed to the pantheism of Hinduism. I came from a monotheistic, Western faith. Despite hearing The Voice a number of times, I had only a rudimentary appreciation of a Higher Power and Grace in my life at that point.

      Why didn't I feel profoundly ill at ease with all of this? It seems to me I treated "the Gods thing" in a "Yeah, OK" sort of way and just went on. Perhaps the trust I gained from counseling and more important, that Third Party of hotline allowed me to do things that rationally made no sense when I thought about it—a definition of faith! It seems plausible, anyway. At any rate, I don't remember being asked to worship the Gods, so an integrity issue did not arise. At least not at that point of this experience. . .

      At some point, my teachers told me that the asanas would only take me so far. They encouraged me to take the classes given by A., the master of the yoga association. (Master is a term that has no gender; A. is a woman.) Their content continues to feed me today. I began study of another Good Book—the Bhagavad Gita. I learned about maya and the three gunas which bind me to the unreality of solidity. Aphorisms and parables were shared that affected me; when the right life moment comes up, they come back clearly to me.

      One of my favorites is about the change process: "Poison in the beginning, honey at the end." That aphorism has fit a lot of periods in my life!

      My memory of the yoga association was highly clouded by the sorry state of my self-love at the time. I know I felt acceptance by many; this was a very new and much-needed experience for me. Being gifted intellectually and spiritually, I was able to grasp much of what was presented, even though I was one of the newest students. I apparently made an impression on someone, as I was invited to travel to India during my last year in the association, to study at the ashram (community) of A.'s guru. I was told this was an honor that was not offered to many new students. I am glad that events transpired that took that offer off the table. Here was another deliverance in my life: at that time, I am sure I would not have been prepared to meet the culture shock or handle the mental and physical challenges of that experience.

      I don't recount my invitation with pride but to demonstrate another aspect of the community that I quickly grasped. . . there was a hierarchy. At the top of the pyramid of course, was A. She was the central force in the community and with good reason. I found her story of discovering yoga a cause of wonder; her willingness to follow that vision, an inspiration. Surely she had studied long and devotedly. She was bright, lively, breezy, and funny—as well as sardonic, sarcastic, even withering when asked a question she did not like. She was not deified but she was given the utmost respect. . . hero worship. Beneath her was a small coterie of teachers in her inner circle. They not only carried out the administrative and educational aspects of the association at her (seemingly, sole) direction; it appeared to me that they also had the job of maintaining A. physically, fiscally, and emotionally. (As I came to understand here and when I studied Buddhism, this was an honor and part of a disciple's training. It was not some reason for looking down on the guru.) Following that layer were teachers in the outer circle, supposedly up-and-coming students like myself, and then the students who came and went.

      I don't remember any exclusionary talk; for example: "We in this level of the hierarchy are better than they are." And yet I don't believe that this kind of stratification is helpful when we are One.

      * * * *

      At the beginning of my fourth year of practice, members of the community told me I was ready to take the next step. I needed to ask A. to be my guru. I did so and she accepted that relationship. I was told that she was taking this responsibility on some cosmic level and that our relationship would be deep, devoted, and total. And so I was shocked, humiliated, and hurt at what transpired once I became her disciple…

      I would want to ask A. something in a master class and she would not acknowledge my hand. If she called on me, she seemingly measured the intelligence of my question. If she found it wanting—I would not know when, why, or how—she would actually say something in front of the class like: "That question is so stupid I refuse to answer it!" I did not feel love or support from her—mostly scorn and disdain.

      I went to A. and asked her why she was acting like this towards me. Her response: "You only learn through pain, so I am giving you what you want!" Today, I can see that this tactic might have been A.'s way to get my attention prior to offering me some new lesson. But coming from my past, so fragile, it was the dead wrong way to carry out a loving act. It was all too reminiscent of how my father raised me. A. was right: up to this point, I had learned primarily through pain; more to the point, the avoidance of pain. But wasn't this the time to offer me a radically new lesson—to learn through unconditional love?

      * * * *

      When A. said those words to me, I heard The Voice: "You are through!" I am not positive these words followed, but they are so strong in my mind even today that they must have also been Spoken: "Never again!"

      "Never again are you to

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