The Where and How of the Heart

Yoga has given me back some of the autonomy I always feel organised religion takes away from people. It has pointed me towards another path entirely and given me a practical way to improve myself and my life. As my present yoga teacher recently said to me, yoga is a path that gives people the power to change- their bodies, their levels of self-esteem, their control over their mind, the way they live their daily lives and much more. It is a path in which the idea of ‘god’ is much more open to interpretation and much more flexible; a path that suggests that ‘god’ is much, much closer to home; that perhaps ‘god’ is inside every one of us; that we are all part of something infinitely greater than our individual selves and fragile, demanding egos and that we are all connected to one another in ways deeper than we usually recognise. Yoga is also what got me reading about philosophy and what led me towards Buddhist meditation. That and an amazing book by Tiziano Terzani called A Fortune Teller Told Me.
In yoga it is from the heart centre that we lead in many postures. I’ve lost count of the times that a teacher has urged me to ‘open the chest’, ‘expand the heart centre’, ‘lead from the heart ’. Retaining awareness of the heart centre helps to regulate and expand the breath and also aids alignment in the asana. On a more subtle level, opening the heart centre physically has made me very aware of how, over the years, my body has developed in such a way as to protect my heart centre: my shoulders have rounded forward closing down the amount of my chest that is open to the potentially damaging world. It was practising yoga that first illustrated to me the connection between my body and my mind- that emotional experiences are stored in the tissues of the body and that our bodies take on the form of these stored up states.
Back bends feel as though they are almost forcing the heart open. After doing urdhva dhanurasana I can sometimes feel a great emotional release as though old hurts and tensions have been wrung out of the muscles and tendons.

I can also feel literally more open to others, as though the barriers between me and the outside have been lowered. I hear more clearly and respond in a more relaxed way, less fearful, more aware.
Recently when practising the Marichasanas,I have felt huge levels of discomfort- these forward bends and twists constrict the chest and affect the breath, and although they are still tough for me physically, recently I have noticed how challenging they are for me emotionally: distressing memories come into my mind randomly, I get distracted from the flow of my practice by the smallest things and my energy levels suddenly and dramatically drop as soon as I get to this stage in the sequence. This is new in the past seven years of my practice.
Observing the changes in my practice from one day to the next gives me clues to my emotional state: distracted, calm, upset, afraid, joyful. Occasionally I have insights into my more general psychology: one day recently I realised how my perfectionism can stop me from taking risks: Finding the jump back and jump through impossible and frustrating, I really felt like giving the whole thing up in disgust- ‘If I can’t do it properly, then what’s the point?’ This is one of the things I love about this practice- not only do I get a jolly good physical workout every day, I’m also undergoing some interesting psychoanalysis into the bargain.
This yoga has taught me the importance of discipline, respect, acceptance and, to a certain degree, faith -in the practice itself, my teachers, my body. It has helped me to recognise the tricks and habits of my mind and to begin to accept that suffering is a part of life, something we cannot get rid of no matter what we have, where we live or who we marry.
Practising ashtanga vinyasa everyday and sitting in vipassana meditation, I have begun to observe the reality of the present moment. Even with a restless mind, with discipline and awareness, the inner chatter at some point settles down, quietens and allows the watcher to observe the subtler truths of existence: the sound of the breath, the tiny vibrations on the surface of the skin, the arising of emotions, thoughts passing. And what these things all have in common is their impermanence. They arise and at some point, sooner or later, they all pass away. Even the severest of back pain, after sitting on a flat cushion for ten hours, eventually changes. The only thing that remains the same, ever watchful, silent and full of peace is the watcher herself. For reasons I can’t yet explain, noticing this witness phenomenon, I understand that I am not my body or my feelings or my thoughts. And understanding this has changed the way I feel about the world. It has changed the way I approach almost everything. It has allowed me to feel a greater peace and a greater joy than I have felt for years.
Now what I want and need to do is keep practising.
Be Happy!