I have been reading this book, First There is a Mountain. It's about a journalist's inquiry and discovery of yoga's roots, and it's also a memoir about her life and being a yoga practitioner.
I'm particularly interested in it because I'll be doing teacher training in the Iyengar tradition at the Center for Yoga of Seattle, and this book mainly focuses on Elizabeth Kadetsky's journey to Pune, India to study with B.K.S Iyengar. I also like it because it is actually a novel, in the sense that it follows a plot, and has a cast of characters--a nice break from all the non-plot books I've been reading.
The book sheds a few lights on the aspects of yoga I hadn't even thought about: its history, its ties with various Indian political groups, its rivalries.
This is a pretty sobering experience for me, as it forces me to look at yoga in an objective light, or a different perspective from the starry-eyed yoga romance that I have idolized and put on a pedestal, and I'm very glad and grateful for it.
One thing that has stood out for me as I make my way through her interaction with Iyengar is the fact that he, a guru, a master of his domain, still has some skeletons in his closet. He still holds grudges with Sri K. Pattabbi Jois, who popularizes Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, and with whom he studied together, under Sri Tirumalai Krishnamacharya.
This revelation leads me to a bit of a let-down, some reflection, and then ultimately acceptance.
How could a satguru still have such petty feelings? Do those years and years of yoga and meditation not take that away? And if so, what hopes are there for us "mortals", the part-time yogis, the when-I-can-make-it-to-class yogi? It is like finding out that your favorite couple has split. You know those people, the last couple on earth that you think would ever break up, the one who epitomizes a Great Relationship. Then one day you found out they are dunzo, and a corner of your perceived Perfect World has been chipped away.
The book also has me asking a lot of questions about those that practice yoga, those that preach it, and those that do both. This has bothered me for a little while, and I keep pushing it out, or rationalize it (that Elizabeth, she doesn't know what she's talking about).
Then today I come to an acceptance, that it is what it is. Why not just let it be?
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