When there’s nothing left to burn
you have to set yourself on fire.
even these sunnies couldn’t stand the heat
Hi New York.
That heatwave was brutal. I hope this finds you all in the midst of a vacation, or at the very least, enjoying this merciful break from those blistering temperatures. The heat has had me thinking about tapas a lot lately. Not tiny Spanish dishes (although those are good, too), but tapas as explained in the Yoga Sutras: purification through pain, or accepting but not causing pain.
The actual word tapas comes from the Sanskrit verb tap, which means ‘to burn.’ It might bring to mind a particularly long-held Chair Pose (and the burning in your quads) or practicing so many vinyasa that your biceps begin the Quiver of Truth.
I prefer not the think about tapas in terms of physical practice, both for myself and my students. I find that perpetuating the idea that poses must be difficult in order to be satisfying fuels the ego; I’d really rather not watch my students muscle their way through a class because they think “working HARD” is the only way to grow. While many of us move away from physical pain (like touching a burning pothandle or holding a Chair Pose for an extraordinarily long amount of time), there are a great many people who love the idea of pain in practice. I believe it’s why Hot Yoga became so popular (“I just feel like I’m working so much HARDER when I sweat!” No. You’re not. You’re body is sweating more in that hot hot room to cool you off so your body doesn’t reach a dangerous temperature).
Instead of thinking about pain in asana practice, I liken tapas to the neccesary wildfires – controlled burns that jump-start new soil and new life. Impurities (like tree diseases and insect pests) are burned away, and new growth can return in the soil rich with wood ash. It’s the idea of processing something uncomfortable – or maybe even a little bit dangerous – in order to get to a brighter and more fruitful place.
Tapas can also be described as putting yourself in an uncomfortable situation in order to grow. Jaganeth Carrera uses the example of a particularly clumsy person enrolling in a tap dancing class, or someone with a fear of heights riding a tall ferris wheel.
Think about that in terms of your practice. What pose looks terrifying, but doable? What pose makes you feel silly-stupid, and can you acknowledge that feeling and let it go?
Think about it in terms of your life practice. I dislike the term “putting yourself out there” but I think the sentiment applies here. How can you challenge yourself this week? This summer? This year?
When I feel stuck, or complacent, I remind myself that I moved 3000 miles in order to plant seeds for new growth. Living in this City and working like I do is not always easy. But damn, some remarkable things have happened, some of those seeds are finally coming to fruition, and I’m pretty happy with who I’ve become in the process.
How are you like the phoenix?
