There are guidelines out there, such as those published by the California
Yoga Teachers Association ( See link here :http://www.anandainfo.com/ethics_code.html),
that outline expected teacher-student, teacher-teacher, professional and
personal standards. They are well researched, specific and detailed.  Whereas, other
organizations and studios rely upon the five Yamas and the five Niyamas,
found in the second chapter of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras , to provide the
philosophical backbone for teacher behavior.  They are wonderful
guideposts, but risk being too open for interpretation.  For example, the
first Yama, Ahimsa, can be translated as “non-harming”.  However, here’s
both the beauty and the stumbling block with this Yama;  the definition of
“harm” is organic and can alter from situation to situation based upon the
people involved and the events as they unfold.  For example, if a scorpion
were to find it’s way onto my yoga mat while practicing outdoors and I
kill it, I could be protecting myself, but simultaneously causing harm to
a living creature.  However,  what if that scorpion had no intention of
stinging me? The true practice of Ahimsa can take years and a lot of
hindsight to flush out.

There’s no denying that the professional standards should be strict, as
they are in most business settings.  But what about ethical behaviors the
extend outside of the studio or classroom?  As a yoga practitioner and
Instructor, I am always greatly disappointed to hear about yogis behaving
badly.  In my mind, my teachers are, and should be, one step ahead of me
(ok, maybe several) on the path to living their yoga.  I hold them to a
very high standard and judge them harshly when they fall. It’s
disappointing to see a teacher share compassion and tolerance in the
classroom and then witness them aggressively lose their cool in traffic on
the way home.  Is that fair?  After all, aren’t they subject to the same
“trial by error” learning process that I allow myself on this path?  Or,
should our teachers be accountable the moment they decide to take the role
of guiding others?  What do you think?

Let’s take a look at  Swami Krishnananda’s view of “chitta-vritti”
(fluctuations of the mind) :

“Yogas chitta-vritti-nirodhah. Tada drashtuh svarupe avasthanam. In two
verses, in two Sutras, Patanjali gives the whole of Yoga. What is Yoga?
Yoga is Chitta-vritti-nirodhah – the restraint of the mind-stuff. What
happens when the mind-stuff is restrained? Tada drashtuh svarupe
avasthanam. The seer establishes himself in his own Self.”

So, if this is true, then once the “seer establishes himself in his own
self” then he/she can begin to see that pure beauty that truly resides
there, a place where language does not define or construct.  I envision
this as a place of still silence, without the labels we give ourselves, or
the sounds that echo feelings about what is happening. It is the
difference between looking at a piece of artwork on a wall and being
inside of it.  It is the difference between being centered in the body and
instructing your arms to move overhead in a Sun Salutation and being both
the center and the arms and feeling the air along your skin as you slice
through it, each muscle as it engages, even the space that is created
between the tops of your shoulders and your ears.  It’s a form of letting
go so that you can embrace so much more.

One of my favorite poems by Red Hawk illustrates this experience of
letting go.  The next time that you are on your mat trying to escape the
little word-sounds narrating your experience, maybe instead think of this
poem, then let everything go.

~Megan Merchant, RYT 200 M.F.A

Buddha in Sunlight

Our old dog lies on the front porch in sunlight.
He moves as the sun moves, follows it
along the porch, rising slowly, never

going further than is necessary
to stay within the warm curve of worship.
He yawns, scratches, sheer minimalist,

conservation of energy. This morning
a rabbit hopped into the yard,
nibbling clover.

He lifted his head, eyed it for a moment,
then lowered his head,
closed his eyes.

This is what Buddha taught:
take no interest
in the arising of thought.

The sun moves off the porch
he descends delicately the way
a nude descends from her bath, and

he finds a place in the grass.
The rabbit nibbles away,
undisturbed.

Let it be, Buddha said
it will settle
itself.

- Red Hawk

I’ve just finished a series of sun salutations, moving inside of my
breath.  Inviting it’s pattern to begin and end each movement as if were a
protective shell. I can feel something start to stir in my arms–each
muscle takes on a light, electric feeling.  My internal rhythm of
heartbeat base starts to fill my ears  and I can feel it accelerate slowly
like a car engine coming to life after being left in the cold.  The events
that happened before class start to dwindle in importance and I am able to
recognize my physical body for what it is.  I have feet.  I have arms.  I
have a sore back and tight hamstrings. I am present in this moment and
listen carefully for the instructor’s next cue.  She asks the class to
step back into downward facing dog for five breaths.  A pose that feels
enough like home that I don’t really have to think about it.  My body
simply finds it.  And then it happens– with my fingers pressed evenly
onto the earth and energy teetering between my hands and feet in the tug
of war that is the pose, my arms begin to shake–rather violently.  This
disruption sends me right back into the spiral of my “thinking mind” and I
begin to judge this experience.  Can anyone else see? Why is this
happening?  I should be strong enough by now that my muscles shouldn’t
shake doing this pose?  How embarrassing!  Arrrggghhhhh.

This is the moment that takes me right out of the experience and into the
crescendo of judgments and expectations.  It is becomes and issue because
I let it take over.  I see it as an imperfection, a stumbling block, a
hinderance and embarrassment.  After all, I am practicing for perfection,
right ?

I hadn’t even realized that, despite everything I know and teach, I was
creating and feeding into my own illusion.  I tell students in every class
that we are not on our mats to perfect, rather to be present to the
experience.  Perfection isn’t a great teacher, but presence is.

I had not been taking my own advice, and I was getting away with it.  My
teachers couldn’t possible see what was happening in my stream of
consciousness ( although I’m pretty sure my physical body was reflecting
it), so there wasn’t anyone outside to call me out on my own misstep.

That’s what books are for.  Good books anyhow.  In a lot of ways, they
tackle and direct internal dialogue and perspective.  And it just so
happened that I stumbled into one ;  Claire Dederer’s book “Poser”.  For
all intents and purposes, it found me. In it, Dederer illuminates that,
“Shaking is a sign that you have awoken the prana body.  Meaning, you’ve
unleashed energy that was previously dormant.  Shaking is a sign of life.
Shaking is a sign of humanity. The energy flowing like crazy through your
nadis, and your subtle body is waking up.  Shaking is a sign that you are
not quite perfect-and therefore you are not dead yet. “

This passage stunned me–to the very core.  It was if she had crawled into
my brain, searched around for the crossed wires and adjusted.  As simple
as that.  Maybe my muscles weren’t tired ( they certainly didn’t feel that
way), maybe I was simply waking up dormant prana.  Or maybe, my body was
relaying a message that my brain had been refusing– you are imperfect and
alive.  You are human, so shake away. Get over it.

I no longer approach downdog that same way.  Now, I invite the small
earthquake to rattle away and instead of tightening mentally and
physically, I smile and enjoy the ride.  What I thought was a weakness,
was really a celebration.  And just in time for the new year.

~Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A.

The other day I had the privilege of going through a box of things that my
parents had saved, including a whole stack of once prized, Memorex mix
tapes.  So, what else to do but dig out my old pink boom box and pop them
in.  I was eager to reconnect with my fourteen year old self and very
surprised by what I discovered.

It wasn’t the musical selections that caught my attention, although I must
say that they were indeed a blast from the past, rather it was the abrupt
song changes that left a majority of tunes sliced in half, or nearly
complete.  Listening closely, I could feel the sense of restlessness as
songs skipped from one to the next and could glean how eager the fourteen
year old version of myself was to jump into each “next moment”.  Was I
really in that much of a hurry to leap into the future ?  Just listening
to the abrupt and rushed soundtrack of my past was enough to make me feel
edgy, untethered.

I know now, thanks in a large part to my yoga practice, that there is a
ridiculous amount of joy and ease to be found in the present moment.  As
Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out,
I smile. Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.”

The breath is the language of the present moment.  Some days it’s harder
to hear–clouded by distractions, to-do lists, judgments and expectations-
but without trying, we could blindly skip right past some of the most
magical moments in life.  We might even miss the ending to a beautiful
song.

So, I invite you try plugging into your breath.  Anytime you feel anxious,
or scattered–simply imagine your that your thoughts are a long orange
electrical cord and your breath, the outlet.  Envision, quite literally,
plugging in.

~Megan Merchant, RYT 200 M.F.A.

People would stare, they would give the kind of inquisitive look that
doesn’t want an explanation, only an answer to the question–should I be
afraid?  Are you a lunatic? Fearful mothers would shield their
children’s eyes.  No one would allow me to sit next to them on public
transportation, hold a door open for me, or even–gasp!- share a friendly
exchange, much less a smile.

I wouldn’t be able to wash my clothing, in fear of losing a reminder. And
when I woke up in the morning, my body stiff and unwilling to bend, I
would have to double up in places like my hips and neck.

I would have them placed around my heart in that very shape, as a reminder
to think and act from that sacred space.

I would have one on each corner of my mouth to force a smile, at least
once during the day.

And I would have to create a special hat, with a hanger growing out of the
brim to dangle a sticky note, much like a carrot, before my eyes, so that
every time I read that word, here, I would remember to be fully present.

It might sound extreme, but I often have nightmares about this very thing,
about what kind of human being I would be without yoga in my life.

What about you?  What would your life be like without yoga?

-Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A

The question of the ages is, if throughout our lives we can learn how to control our bodies and, to some extent, our emotions, why can’t we keep our thoughts from bounding around like a hyperactive primate? What if there was one simple thing you could do each day to slow down that racing mind of yours? A simple word or phrase that could produce a sensation of tranquility you could carry with you everywhere. Well, Eastern philosophers and many Western neuroscientists believe there is such a thing. It’s called a mantram, or mantra, and if given a fighting chance to take root deep in your subconscious, it just might sedate the monkey in your own mind.

~ by Lisa Ross

At the park the other day with my son, I noticed that a group of kids had
formed around a patch of astroturf, with my son in the middle–arms spread
out as wide as two year old arms can reach, feet stubbornly planted.  He
was doing his best to defend a spider that the other kids were trying to
squash.  I laughed at his resolute “No !”, proudly recalling the numerous
times I have explained to him that we practice non-harming and that all
living creatures have a right to exist, just as we do.  Unfortunately, the
other mother at the park subscribed to a more common theory–spiders are
creepy, can bite and if spotted should have a terminal encounter with the
sole of a shoe.  When I protested, she told me there was only one option-
we had to kill it.  As a College English Instructor, I recognized that
this error in logic fell under a category called a “False Dilemma”– when
the author presents an either/or situation (in this case, life or death)
without consideration for alternatives.  So, I provided one–I found a
fast food napkin on the ground, scooped up the spider and moved him to the
grass.  The kids returned to playing and the other mother made sure to
keep her distance from the “crazy, spider loving hippie”.

The practice of Ahimsa, or non-harming, can be confusing at times.  We
live in a dynamic world, where not every decision is a simple as yes/no,
right/wrong.  As explained in the article Yoga Philosophy – Guidelines for
Life,  “The word ahimsa literally means not to injure or show cruelty to
any creature or any person in any way whatsoever. Ahimsa is, however, more
than just lack of violence.  It means kindness, friendliness, and
thoughtful consideration of other people and things.”  At times, there are
as many considerations for “non-harming” as there are verbal cues for
Downward Facing Dog.  However, with both, we must decide which are the
most appropriate for our individual bodies and lives.  It’s our quiet,
reflective time on our yoga mats, or in meditation, that help us to filter
through the thoughts clouding our minds so that we can see and understand
all angles of the situation, and possibly more creative alternatives.
Importantly, the practice of Ahimsa inspires us to respond to situations,
instead of quickly react. In this way, we avoid clinging to those habitual
“False Dilemmas” and instead act with intentional kindness for every
creature we meet along this journey.

Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A.

Sherry Roberts, author of “ Patanjali and his eightfold path of yoga”
explains, ”
The Yoga Sutra is considered the fundamental text on the system of yoga,
and yet you won’t find the description of a single posture or asana in it.
This is a guide for living the right life. Essentially, Patanjali says,
you can’t practice asanas in yoga class, feel the stretch, and then go
home to play with your kids, cook a meal, yell at your employees, and
cheat on your taxes. There is more to yoga than that — yoga can help you
cultivate body, mind, and spiritual awareness. ”

So, how does asana connect to the deeper levels and gifts of the practice
and to the other limbs ?

I’ve been experiencing the “deeper levels of my practice” since day one. I
am thankful for the numerous gifts my yoga practice has graced my everyday
life with–patience, compassion, confidence, and awareness of the
difference between responding vs. reacting.  I am also deeply grateful for
the physical practice.  It has seen me through a difficult pregnancy, even
more challenging recovery, a serious life altering bleeding disorder and
the cumulative stress that daily living creates.  I am more flexible,
have near perfect blood pressure, stronger muscles and greater awareness
of “how my body feels”.  I too love asana.  So much, that at times, I
secretly want to agree with my friend.  It’s true, I have had practices
where the only benefits I can directly see that day, are all physical.
But, then I’ll have a day where I come home after practice and notice how
much more patience I have for my family, or even for myself as a human
being.

And as a human being, I know I am wrong in judging my friend for his
viewpoint.  It is not my place to dictate to others what yoga should, or
should not be. I can only share my experiences and understanding.
As for my friend,  although we share a love for yoga, we are not on the
same journey.  We may be in the same room, on the same colored mats, but
having radically different experiences in the same pose.  And that’s the
multidimensional miracle of the practice, as well as one of it’s greatest
gifts.  I like to think of yoga as a mosaic, the millions of people who
practice it are the individual pieces of glass.  Each a unique shape, each
an unrepeatable shade of their own favorite color.

What do you think ?  Can yoga be a purely physical practice ?

~Megan Merchant, RYT-200, M.F.A

So, how does that relate to yoga ?  Well, what if the next time you came
into your most challenging, or favorite asana and the instructor said,
“Hanumanasana is Hanumanasana is Hanumanasana”?  Period.  In truth, the
pose existed well before you were aware of it and will continue to exist
despite your feelings about it. The relationship that you have developed
with that pose exists only in your head.  It doesn’t matter that you are
only able to move into it with props, or if you can move into the full
extension of the pose– it’s just a pose.  It’s our perspective that adds
the color, or the story, to what we are presently experiencing.  It’s our
perspective that fuels the self talk of  “oh, I hate that pose”, because
it has been a previous struggle,  or “ I am a hanumanasana rock star !”
because it’s easy to move into.

If perspective is an accumulation of all of our past experiences, then
it’s no wonder we have trouble engaging with the present moment.  We’re
too busy looking through those attachments, symbols, classifications and
stories to allow what is unfolding in front of us to, very simply, unfold.
It’s also our perspective that elicits either a smile, or a groan when we
recognize it’s approach, or guides us to move into it the very same way
every time.  It may be our perspective that prevents us from moving deeper
into our entire practice.  Sounds grim, but the encouraging news
is–awareness is half the battle to finding freedom.  And by freedom, I
mean being fully present.

So, the next time that you come onto your mat, instead of summoning an
intention, maybe picture a rose– exactly as it exists.  Allow you mind to
release any stories, or feelings trying to attach to that rose. With your
first breath, let the thorns be thorns, not symbols of potential danger.
With your next full breath, let the petals be petals, without the sensory
experience of touch or smell.  Then, let the color be the exact shade it
is, without naming it.  And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to truly see
something unfold  before you for the very first time.

~Megan Merchant, RYT-200, M.F.A.

I had what I believe was a profound teaching moment recently.  I was teaching an intermediate/advanced yoga class, and I asked the students to step into Tree pose.  As I was watching my students, one in particular caught my eye.  A barrage of conflicting thoughts came to me. While she was completely out of alignment, her pose looked just right.  “Out of alignment” and “just right” can’t possibly exist simultaneously.  Or can they?  As I looked at her, I saw that her bowls were not stacked, her tail bone and chin not tucked, and her arms not vertically above her shoulders in straight, tall lines. Instead, her tailbone arched away from her as her chest was reaching outward, her chin lifted toward the sun, and her arms stretched up in a V formation, like branches reaching toward the sky. She glowed. She radiated. She literally looked like she was about to lift off like a rocket!  It was such a beautifully radiant and serenely happy Tree that I didn’t dare mess with her. The precision-oriented part of my brain dissected what she was doing “wrong”, but it felt so right. After a very brief, internal struggle, I let her be, unperturbed.  In this moment, I felt that the best teacher I could be was one who kept quiet.