Vata* Feet

Door handle at Bayalakuppe, Tibetan settlement near Mysore which is the largest in India after Dharamsala

Must we not first have freedom to discover? There can be no freedom if our action is ever enclosing. Is not the action of the ego, the sense of the 'me' and the 'mine', ever a process of limitation?  - Krishnamurti

On the way to led yoga class this morning, I was weary from the previous night. Straining to sleep in makeshift Asheville sleeping quarters, I had not been graced by even one minute in dreamland. Too cold, bed losing air, snoring bed mate, the litany was lengthy. I had moved the bed, added air to it, put on a hat, laid my jacket over my feet, and jabbed my mate... 
It was 32 F degrees, the heat was blasting at us in the car, and I thought of those chilly Mysore mornings sitting on the pavement outside the Shala.
Discomfort feels different here. 
It can be removed or dealt with easily. I can control stuff here. 
But can I really? Or does it just seem like it? Does the safety of knowing one's surroundings mean less angst in difficult situations? Or in what I perceive as difficult?
Or does safety sometimes act as a veil, a buffer from being aware of a reality I prefer to  avoid?
And as for sleep, I have been surprised to learn that the number of hours I sleep or don't—has little to do with my practice (and therefore my daily activities). I can have 9 hours of sleep and have a lousy practice or get no sleep and have a great practice (or not.) Go figure.
Good or bad, practice is just there. Mind adds limitations to the mix.
Practice is. Life is. Everything is. 
And sleep or not, the sweet under tempo pulses on. 
AND my feet are still cold.

We are trying to find out, are we not, if the process of self-expansion leads to reality or if reality comes into being only when the self ceases.
- Krishnamurti

How to calm the mind—is called yoga.

Everything should be accepted equally. 


*Vata is one of the three body types in Ayurveda - one of its characteristics is cold extremities.


Bird Song

March 3. 2014: somewhere in Canada heading south toward Atlanta

I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in the most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
For here
am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do
I’m feeling very still

--David Bowie, "Space Oddity" 

What is all  this—winter browns and grays, 60 degree temperature drop, the orderliness, the quiet, the snow?

Where are the cooling, not freezing(!) breezes, coconut vendors, tropical fruit, bright colors, disorganization, raucousness, yogis, friends, irritants, and general messiness of India?

Where is my teacher? My classmates?

Where am I?

Body is here, but apparently spirit was in my suitcase lost in Bangalore or London, and unlike my bag, is still missing.  Floating somewhere.

Where is the ground?

Long before dawn, high above the crocus and snowdrops, a cardinal is singing a speculative song.

Ground Control to Major Tom.

True yogis want to go further, to realize yourself—that becomes sadhana.  
--- Sharath, Conference notes March 2, 2014