India: Yoga Therapy
Its dark outside . . . real dark. The kind of darkness that means the sun is about to show its golden face to the world. The rooster next door is up welcoming the new day and encouraging us all to do the same. I do not want to move, my bed is too warm, my muscles ache, and my feet have no desire to hit the cold tile floor. ‘I do not want to go to Yoga Therapy’ is the only thought circling my mind . . . ‘Other people have missed classes, maybe I should just stay in my cozy box-bed and sleep for an extra hour or two?’ I try to rationalize it, but then I remember the price tag of the journey, my parents gracious gift to me, my husbands sacrifice of sending me away for 6 weeks, and my promise to myself to learn as much as possible. “Get up, Dani” I urge myself to rise, to move my fingers and toes, much like when I come out of a deep savasana. I manage to swing my legs off the side and my feet suddenly feel the reality of the new day. I open my orange curtains… more darkness. Half asleep I stumble myself to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I turn the faucet on and put my hands underneath, searching for the water. HOLY SHIT!!!! The water from the tap is freezing and I am suddenly wide-awake.
My body is beginning to feel the intense work of past days of practice, walking to town and recovering from my cold. Somehow I manage to gather my school bag and yoga mat and make the trek upstairs to the rooftop studio. The wind is strong today, howling at the darkness to leave so that it can rest and let the warm Indian heat take hold. Fortunately I grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around me . . . taking the comforting feeling of my bed with me. I enter into the studio where most of my classmates are seated, and also snuggled up beneath their scarfs, blankets and warm knitted socks. I place my mat down in the front and grab a bolster. I sit myself down gradually and close my eyes.
“Good Morning”, our teacher enters, he too is wrapped head to toe on this cold autumn morning so close the Himalayas. “Good morning.” He greets us again, waking up those who had fallen back asleep. . “Today we will be practicing Yoga Therapy for stress release. We will go through 3 kinds of Laughing Yoga and end with Emotional Release Therapy.” LAUGHING YOGA?!?! I am suddenly filled with delight! My cheeks rise, and all of my teeth are visible, as my smile has taken hold of my entire face! I have watched documentaries about laughing yoga and have always wanted to learn more about it; now I was getting my chance.
We begin . . . Our teacher, Dr. Mahesh G, informs us of some of the benefits of laughter. Here are the main points he educated us on:
1. When you practice asana yoga (physical postures) you use, on average, 200-300 muscles. When you laugh you use upwards of 400 muscles!
2. Thus, 15 minutes of laughing yoga is equivalent to 1-½ hours of an asana practice.
3. The muscles contract, and promote good blood circulation- which is fabulous for your skin, opening the heart chakra, building lung and heart capacity, and creating strong muscular and skeletal systems.
4. Laughing Yoga heals you internally (emotionally) and externally (physically); laughing is a healing therapy and removes energetic blockages, releasing negative energy.
5. Laughing Yoga also cleanses your Aura (cosmic energetic body), helping it to shine brightly.
6. Fake laughter does the same thing as authentic laughter, and often laughing yoga starts with a fake laugh and transforms into genuine joy from the heart.
SIGN ME UP! Everything he was describing I wanted and I was eager to get going!
(It should be noted that YOU SHOULD NOT PERFORM WHAT I AM ABOUT TO DESCRIBE WITHOUT THE GUIDANCE OF A CERTIFIED AND ESTABLISHED YOGA THERAPIST)
Our teacher had us all sit tall with our backs straight. “Watch first, then we will go together.” He took a deep inhale, and as he exhaled the loudest, breathiest laugh came out of him. It was one of those belly laughs like when you hear something so funny all of the air releases from your lungs at once without effort. Like getting the wind knocked out of you in the best way possible. He repeats the action . . . breathes in, belly laugh exhales out. His eyes are wide, the corners of his mouth turn upward, and it genuinely looks like he is laughing at something hysterical. He motions for us all to join in. I inhale, filling my lungs to their maximum capacity, and as I exhale I push all of my air our while forcing an obviously fake laugh. It doesn’t stay that way long. After three breaths, the hilarity of it all hit and I am laughing uncontrollably. The faces of my fellow classmates are awesome, as I’m sure mine is, and I can’t help but lean forward throwing my head into my bolster, and laugh and laugh and laugh. Tears of joy stream down my face and through the laughter I hear my teacher comment on them.
“Tears are good in laughing yoga, you are releasing deep blockages.” Oh crap, not sure if that is a good sign or a bad sign because I cry nearly every time I laugh . . . just ask my family. That’s part of the fun for them watching me laugh, waiting for me to start crying and then gasp for air as a high pitched squeak escapes from me. I really do love to laugh.
10-15 minutes pass, I really don’t know how long it is because time no longer seems to matter, Mahesh G settles us down; I’m still chuckling underneath my breath unable to fully stop. The next exercise is the same sort of breath, however on the exhale you force yourself to stop intermittently and then start up again. He informs us that the first exercise is good for healthy individuals with no major body issues; the second is preferable for those with body trauma like heart and lung problems (to name a few of the examples out of his ginormous list). It doesn’t matter; I am unable to forcibly stop anything. I continue to laugh and laugh, my fellow classmates laughing beside me. Another obscure length of time passes, he informed us to laugh continuously (the third exercise). This is of no problem for me since I am already a champion at this one. More time passes, more happy tears fall, and I am in love with Laughing Yoga. Why couldn’t we start every day like this? It is amazing. I feel my muscles tensing with every joyous belly contraction, and as I begin to settle down a wave of calm starts to surround me. It is absolutely wonderful.
And then he gets serious . . . “Take your blanket and cover your face if you have difficulty expressing sadness in front of people openly. Close your eyes.” What?! Sadness? How could I possibly be sad after all of that laughing? I place my blanket over my head anyways, starting to realize that the actual work was just about to begin. I close my eyes . . .
Emotional Release Therapy was starting and I have no idea what is about to happen. Our teacher informs us to start to think about the deep sadness of our lives. Initially I struggle to find anything wrong. But then Jordan’s face showed itself to me in an instant. Wow! I didn’t realize that this is something that I consider to be my major sadness in life. I have had a year of panic attacks and a lifetime of putting myself down, but this is where my mind goes? Jordan?
He was my high school sweetheart; I honestly thought I was going to marry him when I was 16. He was the kindest person I knew and an old soul in a young mans body. He was calmer than anyone I had ever met before, and marched to the beat of his own drum; often walking around school barefoot, growing out his beard and carrying around his huge water bottle. We loved chatting about philosophy, the possibility of God, the absence of God, variations of Gods (he was a religions major), school, books, the cosmic plan for life, you name it and we would find ourselves lost for hours in conversation. We also loved to get into trouble together, once even sneaking out of our hotel on a school trip in the Netherlands to go to Amsterdam for a night. He was wonderful and we kept our relationship with one another largely a secret other than the obvious friendship we shared; well it was a secret until someone walked in on us making out during a Model United Nations trip in Sacramento our junior year of high school. The secret was out and high school was ending, we both knew that we had our whole lives ahead of us; he was leaving for Reed College in a month and I was quickly loosing myself to grief at the loss of my dream of moving to Italy and the unexpected death of my favorite teacher. We parted ways, but kept one another updated on our lives.
A few months passed and life found a steady rhythm. When I started dating Jon I told Jordan how much I liked him, and to my surprise he let me know that he knew Jon before I did! They had worked together at Starbucks while Jordan was in high school. I gabbed to Jordan on the phone about how amazing Jon was and how much he reminded me of him. Jordan lovingly approved and promised that the next time he was in town he would come to hang out with us both. Jordan also told me what a great match he thought Jon and I would be. Jon was artsy; a singer and I needed that kind of inspiration in my life because I had a tendency to be far too serious. “He will be good for you, just be good to him and don’t break his heart.” Jordan told me, and the next time Jordan came home from school we all did indeed meet up.
Jordan died eight months later. FUCK CANCER! I didn’t even know he had passed away until I got a phone call from a former classmate asking me if I knew when the funeral was. FUNERAL?!?! What do you mean funeral!?! He can’t be gone!!! We have plans! We were going to go to Thailand and back to Amsterdam! Our story wasn’t done yet! NO! NO! NO! But it was true. Jordan had died in the hospital while fighting that fucker of a disease, and the life I thought we would have died with him. All I would have now were the memories, and they weren’t enough.
A few weeks later I attended his funeral, my fifth funeral in 3 months thanks to my brief stint in rehab. I must have looked calm on the outside as I did my best to put on a good face for all of his family members and the classmates I hadn’t seen in close to a year, but on the inside I was screaming. We didn’t tell anyone about our nighttime conversations, I liked it that way … it was just for us. We didn’t tell anyone about the letters we sent to one another while he was in the UK studying for the summer. We didn’t tell anyone about how we talked about the people we were dating and how they changed us. And because we didn’t tell, no one knew what a complete mess I was. Up until the day I found out he died, deep in the back of my mind, I still thought I was going to marry him. That life was over.
At the funeral Jordan’s mom, the sweetest woman to grace the surface of this Earth, passed out rocks to everyone in attendance. The entire church was packed with people, which further showed what an amazing person he was and how many people he impacted during his short time on this planet. “Hold this in your hand and when you miss him, give it a squeeze and know he is there with you.” She told us all. I don’t remember much from his funeral. I remember squeezing that rock (which I still have to this day). I remember people coming up to me saying they were sorry and asking what I’ve been up to since high school. I remember leaving as soon as the funeral was over because I couldn’t stand being there any more, wearing my social mask, hiding the agony I was experiencing.
I flash back into the present: the yoga Ashram . . . everything is coming back to me too strong, and too clearly. I am living this hell of losing him all over again. I am flooded with the image of his face, and the sound of his voice in my ear. I feel his hand touching mine, and his lips pressed on my neck. I can’t stand it. I begin to wail in agony. I can’t help it. I try to stop the noise and my teacher tells us all “do not try to stop what comes naturally, let yourself feel it as much as you did while you were laughing.” How could I ever laugh again?! Someone I truly loved was gone and I never got to say goodbye. I never visited him in the hospital because I thought he would get better. I never saw him at his house because seeing him ill made me want to die along with him. I am in pain, my body begins to convulse and suddenly Jon flashes through my mind.
All of the months leading up to our wedding begin to emerge one by one like a flipbook and I realize why I hated planning it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was still holding onto Jordan. I never realized how much I loved him and how much I still love him to this day. The pain is too great; I think I actually might die right here in India on the floor. Maybe they will toss my body into the Ganges and then Ill never have to feel this miserable again. My teacher is still guiding us, although his voice seems farther away now. He tells us to begin to get angry at our sadness and to hit our bolster (placed in front of each of us). He tells us to express ourselves openly: yell, scream, and cry, whatever we need. I hear my classmates sobbing, some quiet, some a little louder, but nothing seems to matter. I start to beat the pillow and a stream of angry consciousness begins to flow through me with greater force than a Tsunami. I am ANGRY. I hate that I have panic attacks. I hate that I feel like I’m worthless and can’t see the goodness inside me. I can’t believe I wasted my parent’s money by having to go to rehab because I was a fucking idiot who didn’t know how to handle pain. I can’t believe that I have taken Jon’s love for granted for so many years. I HATE THAT I ALMOST RUINED OUR WEDDING. I HATE THAT I MADE MY FATHER CRY WHEN I WAS IN REHAB (something I’ve only ever seen him do once in 27 years). I FUCKING HATE HOW MISERABLE I AM. I beat the bolster harder, and I am growing exhausted. I hit some more! I HATE THAT IM SUCH A FUCKING COWARD. I CANT BELIEVE I ALMOST RUINED MY LIFE. I CANT BELIEVE I PULLED OUT MY HAIR, RESTRICTED MY FOOD, AND PINCHED MYSELF TO DEAL WITH THE PAIN OF LIFE. HATE HATE HATE CANT CANT CANT FUCK FUCK FUCK. I’m growing tired. My arms are heavy. My breath is rapid and short. I can’t do this much longer. I fall onto my bolster, sobbing uncontrollably, snot flooding down, tears flowing with no signs of stopping. (How the hell can this much fluid be coming out of me?! There cant be any more left! But there was…)
My teachers voice is becoming clearer as my sobs turn to gasps. (What did he say?) He repeats himself again . . . “rest your head on your bolster and imagine it is someone you love.” Jon comes into my mind and my heart. I picture myself lying on his chest, my happy place where I have found so much comfort so many times before. The person I envision when I need love and safety. (Wow . . . my love for him is stronger than I realized). My breath is regulating slowly and deeper breaths and coming in and out with more ease and each moment passes slowly. My head is dizzy. My face feels swollen and red and a song begins to play. It’s a man singing in Hindi. It’s beautiful and soft; our teacher translates at the end of each sentence. The man is singing to the Gods asking why sadness has come to him in this life. He begs them to take away his pain. He cannot imagine the sun ever shining again, now that his love has been lost. He is pleading now “please help me”. The singing stops and the music continues... It is soothing, as I imagine myself hugging Jon (the bolster) as he strokes my hair the way he does when I am upset. I am calming down…slowly. The singing continues. The man is starting to realize that sadness is a part of his life. That the emotions he is feeling are a gift. He begins to tell the Gods “please don’t take this sadness away. I do not wish for my eyes to be dry forever.” He explains to them that having no emotions would not be a life not worth living and that he would rather live a life with sadness than with no emotions at all. That having the tears fall is a sign that he is living.
I begin to sob again. I realize what our teacher is doing . . . sadness is as much of a necessary emotion as laughter and joy and fear and anger. I recognize that all of my emotions are tied together, I see the lesson in this, but I am too exhausted and confused to care. I continue to cry, this time it is softer, calmer. The next song begins, this time the voice of a Hindi woman singing about how beautiful life is. That life is calm and sweet, the birds chirp, the sky is clear . . . I don’t hear the song clearly, all I feel is “Jons hand” tucking in the lose hairs behind my ear, like he does while I am falling asleep and doesn’t realize I am still barely awake. I love it when he does that. I imagine him so clearly I can almost feel the bolster move up and down as if his chest were rising with each breath. The song ends. I am calmer. And then… something familiar.
An instrument strikes and I immediately know which song is playing: Snatam Kaur’s ONG NAMO. One of my favorite songs to play in yoga. Her angelic voice begins to put me into a trance and I sing along in my head. This is a 10-minute song, but time has taken on an entirely new feeling; after what feels like 2 seconds it is over. “No” is all I can think; I want the song again. I telepathically plead with my teacher to put it on repeat, but then I realize that the class is not over and one more song is starting up . . . Snatam Kaur’s BY THY GRACE. Another favorite, and a happy compromise to putting the last track on repeat. I sing along quietly as I turn my head on my now tear-soaked bolster. I am coming back into my body, exhausted and foggy. The blanket over my head keeps in the heat and I need to breathe. I remove it and the cool morning air hits the wet skin of my face. “You are safe. You have opened the blockages of your life. Breathe in the air and let yourself be filled with this moment. The present moment is yours… Slowly stand up with your eyes closed.” I begin to rise, steady and unsteady all at once. I let my blanket fall, and make no attempts to catch it. It doesn’t matter, nothing trivial like what I look like, or if my teacher this I'm a weirdo matters. I am numb and feeling everything all at once. “Begin to dance with eyes remaining closed.” My body moves on its own. I make no endeavor to control the movements of my hands, feet, head, torso, arms or legs. They are floating, moving on their own in the most sensational way.
My eyes are still closed and want to open and don’t want to open all at the same time. I have felt this sensation before: after the panic attack that left me in a collapse on the bathroom floor in April. But it’s different this time: I am not alone. The song ends and my teacher’s voice is strong and clear. “With your eyes closed find the person closest to you and embrace them.” I reach out to my left where I know one of my classmates was a few moments ago . . . Was it moments or hours? I have lost all connection with time. We find one another, but it is not one person, it’s TWO who have found me. The three of us begin to hug each other in the most natural way. No talking was needed to position our heads. We begin to squeeze and I feel so loved and safe. I feel their breath rise and fall, and mine begins to organically match theirs. We are one.
“Gently release your partner and blink your eyes open.” I blink my wet eyelashes open and find the most radiant golden sunlight has filled the room. The sun had risen while our eyes were closed. The darkness was gone. I look at our teacher who tenderly tells us about the journey we just took and how often it can/should be done. I am only ½ aware of what he is saying. Before he ends class he asks that anyone who doesn’t feel safe to remain behind. I feel safe, but tingly. I look down at the bolster to find that I have cried a tear puddle the equivalent of Lake Michigan. I grab my blanket and walk downstairs. Its time for tea. I am not hungry, but know that something hot will be nice.
I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a cup. It is warm in my hands on this cold morning. 25 students here for the 200H certification begin to emerge, just getting out of class, and make their way to where I am. I want to be alone . . . I walk outside, somewhere no one would follow with the temperature so frigid. I hold my small metal cup in my hands and stare into the green valley, sunshine illuminating everything. I am not cold even though this temperature on any other day would have me running for the nearest fire. My head is in a fog and yet my eyes see clearer than they have in months. Who knew crying could be so good for your vision? I am calm, and want to talk to Jon. I want to tell him how much I love him and how sorry I was for taking his love for granted. I want to tell him about everything that just happened before it fades, as things that are so energetic often do. I take my cup with me and make my way upstairs to room 309.
What I learned:
The present moment is all we really have, and we can choose what emotions we want to be our focus. But it’s equally important to realize that we should not suppress our emotions; “What we suppress becomes the cause of our stress” Swami Ji told us in mediation class on our first day. I didn’t realize how much I had pushed down inside myself. How much Jordan’s death really affected me these past 6 years. I had made myself believe that I had dealt with those emotions. I’ve spent the past 3 years and thousands of dollars talking with my therapist about Jordan, Jon, stress, etc., but the past 2 hours of Yoga Therapy felt more beneficial than any of it. Why? Because I actually let myself feel. I felt a full range of emotions, not just the pretty ones. I was happy, I was sad, I was mad, I was afraid; I was comforted, I was calm. Everything brought with it something different, something that needed to come out in its own way. I am not just alive . . . that’s passive; I am living. I am an active participant in my life.
I am so glad I didn’t stay in bed.