The Integrity of the Pose

Recently I wrote about the concept of guru parampara, or a lineage of teachers. Without my teachers in life, I would be nothing, that much I know. Within the interstices of Indra's Web I will be paying homage to these teachers, whether directly or indirectly, who are the ones in my life that have shaped me to be the person that I am today. I am forever grateful for them, even if I have never met them.

 Guru parampara extends into the discipline of Yoga as well. And, this entire Indra's Net would be remiss in its scope if I omitted my Iyengar Yoga teacher, Bekir Algan.

Bekir is a controversial teacher to say the least. He is human, he has his faults. I am not putting him on a pedestal as that would be disrespectful to everything that he taught me. What he did teach me, however, is the most important lesson of my life--the Integrity of the Pose.

Bekir holds a PhD in civil engineering and is of Turkish origin from the town of Ismir, Turkey. He is a persona non grata of Turkey for refusing to join the military, and as far as I know, has not and/or cannot return to the country of his birth, though he still speaks of Turkey daily. Most of his family died while he was in the States, but he was not allowed to return for their funerals. This does not make him a "better" person, but perhaps sheds light on him as a person.

I was a student of Bekir for nearly a decade and became a teacher of Iyengar under him for about half of that time. Although I fell off my practice for several years, I have returned to a daily practice of Yoga at some level and plan to teach once again. I will be taking daily Yoga lessons while in India as well as part of my program there.

There was the phrase, "the Integrity of the Pose" that Bekir had inherited from previous teachers that has since become crucial to well-being of the core of my mind and body. Bekir's own guru parampara is via Gabriella Giubilaro from Florence, Italy and who herself studied directly under B.K.S. Iyengar, the namesake of this type of yoga. There are several strains of yoga: hatha, kripala, bikram, ashtanga, iyengar, and others. This is not a plug for Iyengar, it is just the style that has worked for me best. I respect the adherents of other schools of thought, but Iyengar spoke to me physically, philosophically, spiritually, and because of Bekir.

Iyengar Yoga focuses on precision and uses "props" to help even a beginner get into the most difficult asana, or pose. It requires an extremely high level of participation from the teacher with every student in the class. An uninvolved Iyengar teacher is no teacher at all. In addition, it involves physical contact and is highly demanding on working with partners, something that is a major turn-off for many. Again, to each his or her own. I am not an evangelist. Iyengar is not for everyone.

In a typical Iyengar class with Bekir, someone would cry, someone would have a "breakdown" of emotions, someone might storm out the door, someone would openly criticize Bekir about what an ass he could be (Gabriella made Bekir look like a little puppy dog), or someone would, as Bekir would say with his gap-toothed grin, "see Jesus." There were epiphanies to be sure in his class.

Bekir would also drone on endlessly in class about, well, just about anything...kind of like Socrates and his horses. And, kind of like Socrates and his horses, if Bekir talked one more time about Red Snapper, people wanted to kill him. What many failed to notice is that during Bekir's monologues, our bodies were resetting, forgetting about how hard the pose we had just been in was. He fed off of the class and its energy. Some classes would mostly be talking. People would bitch endlessly about him, though, at any time, you may leave if you wish.

The Integrity of the Pose was when one was in the most difficult part of the pose. What do you do? Some yoga poses are extremely demanding physically, but also mentally. They can make you cry, cry like you have never cried before. You don't know where it comes from, but it comes from a very, very deep core. The Integrity is what you do with that awareness.

There are a few things that usually happen when you are turned upside down for example. People hold their breath. They get angry. They leave the room. They would curse Bekir (or whomever was the teacher). And so on.

Integrity is the "wholeness" of something. The integers that make up the sum. It is who you are.

In a difficult pose, the integrity was how you reacted. Bekir said that you should treat personal relationships like a yoga pose, you come out of them the way that you go into them, with integrity. During the pose, you may be frustrated, hurt, angry, but when you learn to breath, to let the pose become you, then you can regain integrity, breath, and release.

Today would have been the physical anniversary of a marriage that I have been in for a long time, but that time has passed. Had it not been for Bekir, I don't know if I could have maintained the integrity of the pose.

It is how I will be going into the next pose, India, with this in mind.

Namaste, Bekir.

You May Leave if You Wish

There are four traditional varnas, or castes initiated by the Vedic system: brãhmin (priestly), kshatriya (warrior/princely), vaishya (merchant), and the shudra (laborer). Being a religious-based culture, the Aryans were at the behest of the brãhmins and their Vedic religion, which centered around devotions, oblations, and sacrifices to a number of deities.

Siddhartha Gautama was a noble kshatriya, destined to be a great king, greater than his father. However, the prophecy of a mendicant holy man said otherwise, namely that he would be a teacher, which highly disappointed his father's ambitions for his royal offspring. This could not be so.

Siddhartha thus lived a princely life, without sorrow, without suffering, a kept man with all the luxuries of the world at his feet, so long as he remained within the confines of the illustrious palace, which itself was purged of suffering, sickness, and even old age by order of the king. Siddhartha lived a charmed life.

Upon breaking the curfew of bliss imposed upon him by his father, Siddhartha set out to see what was beyond the gates of paradise, disobeying his father, as children often do. Siddhartha saw, in succession, a sick man, a dying man, a corpse being cremated, and a wandering ascetic. Siddhartha left his home, his wealth, a wife and child, knowing that they would all be taken care of, even without him.

Having wandered for many years, gaining recognition of mystical powers of concentration and spiritual awareness, Siddhartha, whose name means "the one who has attained his goal" had not yet attained his goal. He was still hungry, his heart, soul, and mind full of desire. Desire for what? Desire...

In deep, profound meditation, Siddhartha experienced the dissolution of Mãyã, or cosmic illusion, and saw the universe for what it was, he gazed upon the void, and he saw... Upon awakening from this meditation, he soon became known as the Buddha, the "one who has awakened." But to what, and from what?

The Buddha, as with Socrates (who was to come a century later) and Jesus (another four centuries after Socrates), did not write, but he spent the last 45 years of his life fulfilling the prophecy of his destiny, he became a teacher. However, as with many great teachers, he did not want blind devotion, he wanted self-actualization and self-discipline, which could only be done by, you guessed it, your-self.

The deer park at Sarnath and Vulture Peak were to become two well-known classrooms for the teachings of the Buddha, from the Buddha himself. Wary of zealot devotees, the Buddha insisted that his words alone were not enough, you, yourself had to do the hard work.

To reach the state of Enlightenment, it was necessary to do only one thing, to rid yourself of material desire, the hunger for external relief of suffering. Suffering was none other than this thirst, desire to be satiated, because slaking the thirst was transitory, ephemeral. It would come back, with greater longing than before if one had not taken care of one's self, the atman, the soul, first.

To live then, without suffering, to become enlightened, was up to the individual, no deity would help, no deus ex machina, no easier and softer way would work. Right thought, right action, right speech and a deliberate choice of living the Middle Way, devoid of extremes and desires, could open the pathway towards enlightenment, but you have to walk the path alone.

To such a call, many decried, "It's too much to ask. I cannot do this! You, the Buddha, must save me. Tell me an easier way."

To this, the Buddha is said to have responded, "You May Leave if You Wish."