I didn't start out this way..

No, I didn't arrive at the doorstop of Yoga as a former dancer, conditioned with balance and grace, or a gymnast with strength and stamina, I didn't even begin as a naturally flexible person. I arrived bound, wound and gagged. I was in a straight jacket of cultural conditioning and for years my heart had been silently screaming for help. I was in my early twenties and, by that time, fully supplied with self image distortions, anxiety, panic attacks, an eating disorder, and plenty of unresolved childhood/family hang-ups. I did things like eat meat, drink alcohol and wear high heels. I had done some light cigarette smoking since I was old enough to become fascinated with the act of smoking itself.  I couldn't touch my toes or stand on my head with any structure or comfort.  I certainly couldn't meditate. I didn't know my self, so I arrived upset. Lost in this world. 

I grew up an adoptee in a small rural town where outside the bubble of my quiet home, cruelty seemed mainstream and bully's were tolerated, even encouraged.  I endured a strange reality those first couple decades of life, growing up 'privileged' in the midst of a poor farm community with a prison just outside of town.  I knew cruelty, I had seen it.  As a young girl, I witnessed much of what has driven this precious world into the devastation we see all around us today. Farm land abuse, animal abuse, racism, sexism, bullying.  If you were not a member of one of the 6 or so lineages that made up the community, you might as well have been from Mars. 

I watched as my older brother was picked on because he was different and I also watched as the people who should have stood up for him, didn't. He was a self proclaimed nerd, but fortunately also studied fringe martial arts that no one else around would have been caught dead practicing.  I do possess some blessed memories of my brother kicking some of the butts belonging to guys who just wouldn't stop making fun of him.  I felt so powerless.  I had no clue how to awaken these hearts to the sacredness of life and I couldn't understand why everyone was so unpredictable and mean.  Endurance was very much my M.O.  Survival with my soul still intact was what I hoped for.  He and I both created an inner world we very much enjoyed and thrived in, individually and in our own way.  My brother went into books, science fiction and fantasy. I went into my room where my friendships with my pets, my make believe animals and inanimate objects so seemingly full of life all around me, thrived. My brother and I both knew we would make it away from there,  we knew in our hearts that a future of choices lay ahead.  We knew there was a big world out there waiting. And eventually, after college, I moved far away from that little town, but learned quickly that it hadn't left me. Insecurity pushed me toward a breaking point emotionally even though I wasn't there. Having been adopted and not knowing who I was was torturous. I was unable to avoid my self any longer. I realized I couldn't keep running from myself, I wasn't a child any longer, I had to become someone, but who was I?  Literally, I didn't know.  I was an "adult" I knew that. I also knew that the option to uncover my own roots, in more ways than one, was becoming more and more real. 

I was a new mother at 21 and it was startling (terrifying) to feel love of this depth. It changed my perception of living and of what the future meant to me. It changed who I thought I was, and more importantly, who I thought I wasn't.   As he slowly made his big headed, broad shouldered way into the world after 26 hours of labor, my precious newborn son was the first blood relative I had ever laid eyes on.  He stared into my eyes like newborns do to only their mothers and as we looked at each other, I knew this was what it was all about. I knew in that moment that this was it.  This was my reward. This love. This bond. All those years of feeling separate, in that moment, that empty part of me was filled with hope and love.  When he was about 4,  a psychic told me that he and I had spent many lifetimes together and that in a recent lifetime, he had been the parent and I was the child,  forewarning me that he would be a strong one to raise up.  She advised that with my Piscean nature and his Sagittarius strength, I would need to toughen up to do this job right. She was serious and I took her words to heart.  Either way, he was the best thing I had ever done and I thanked God for this ultimate gift of life and love. But the fragile preciousness and responsibility of motherhood was overwhelming, it wasn't easy to adapt to the fullness of this love.  I had spent too much time being afraid of love in my life, all love really. But this love?  I should have been basking in it's glory.  I couldn't have this natural joy, this human experience, sabotaged by fear. I knew I had to be more, for him, if not for myself. 

I've dealt with anxiety since birth.  As I suffered into early adulthood, I knew that if I consulted a medical doctor or a psychiatrist, I would be diagnosed with an anxiety disorder or maybe even some kind of postpartum thing. Something vague and, of course, requiring a prescription. I felt repulsed by the thought of going down the path of the therapeutic model I had studied in college.  I didn't need therapy or western medicine. I needed answers. I needed my Self. And I needed to attend to myself spiritually.  

My life began cut off from my origins. I was four when my mom told me that she and my dad had adopted me, but in my implicit memory, of course, I had always known, since the moment that I wasn't naturally handed to her at my birth. I was shocked. Beyond surreal, the whole thing felt unreal. Blinding shock when she said the words, as maybe one can imagine when you really stop to think about it.  


Instant embarrassment.  (And if you ask why it's because everyone else's mom keeps them and when you find out that your's gave you away it's embarrassing.  It just is.  Even when people feed you the usual schpeal about how you were "chosen" and she did it because she "loved you",  these words do not make sense to the innocent logic of the child. It was an authentic feeling of cold hard truth  That the most sacred relationship in the Universe, Mother and child, could be broken. Severed.  This makes a child question everything. Absolutely everything. 


The news blasted me into a new reality that was hard to wrap my mind around. I was instantly filled with questions that, I learned quickly, would be met with very few answers. Who am I? How could this have happened? Where did I come from? How did I get here? In that moment though, the only question I asked was, "Is your mommy your real mommy?" I was hoping she would say, "No, my mommy isn't my real mommy either!!..and we would laugh and think that was weird together. I thought that if I wasn't alone in this, that if it wasn't as unusual as it sounded and it happened all the time, that maybe it wasn't so bad..? But, she didn't say that, and, even though they always loved me, I felt very alone. I hung onto my adoptive mother very tightly, irrationally afraid of getting lost, or having her disappear without notice. I developed some little phobias, a few compulsions, but managed to keep my behavior under my control, stay on the honor roll and not bother anyone.  No one ever knew how upset I was.  I took refuge in my room, in trees, on my bike and with my guitar and animals.  Those were the days I learned to be alone, to commune with the vastness of life that is present especially when you think you are alone.  It's only when you are alone that you realize how alive everything is.   I learned how to communicate and share love with what seem to be inanimate objects.  My curiosity about my origins only grew and grew to gargantuan proportions over the years of my young life, but to openly wonder about my roots, to attempt a conversation about the matter, seemed to make my family, friends, even my adopted brother,  uncomfortable. I was silenced by the pain on their faces when I expressed the natural interest I could barely contain within me.  

I spent most of my childhood feeling like I was on the verge of blurting out something crazy, something sad, something fearfully truthful. I always knew that if I started to cry about it openly, that I would never be able stop and that thought scared me.  So I decided, unbeknownst to my conscious mind, not to cry about it.  Ever. To not show vulnerability about things that made others uncomfortable.  I internalized it all, at the time believing there was something wrong with me.  My learned ability to maintain silence has surprised even me at times.  For example, it was unplanned for my parents to remain in the room when my son was born, but for some reason they stayed present for most of my labor and then delivery.  They weren't, shall we say, at ease, my dad literally backed into the back corner of the room, watching expressionless, silent.  I experienced the most unspeakable pain during those 26 hours and I did it in complete and utter silence.  I heard other women scream, moan, complain. But I was voiceless, making not a peep during the whole thing. I look back at myself and how I felt then and want to cry rivers for my young self. I do occasionally to let out all that I didn't back then.  Like I said, I was gagged. I was bound by what everyone else around me needed to make them feel safe. I felt horrible making anyone uncomfortable in anyway, so I silenced what would have hurt them or embarrassed them. I squelched my pains and my joys and built within me, shame and insecurity.  But hope always remained.

Both my adoptive parents have traced their family trees. They enjoy genealogy and have traveled abroad to visit the graves sites of ancestors they never knew. When I finally made the move at the age of 24 to seek out my own birth familes and finally make peace within myself by solving the mystery of my past, it was difficult for them to understand. My dad felt betrayed by me and by the adoption system itself. He was infuriated that I had been allowed information and actually called the adoption agency and demanded an explanation. The agency called me to let me know of this reaction, he never told me.  They wanted me to know because he had been threatening toward them.  Remember he's a judge and felt that his authority when it comes to the "law" had been under-minded.  He didn't realize that the law was on my side, the side of disclosure and it was up to ME.  It was shock to them.  They contemplated where they "went wrong" and verbalized that they thought that they had done "enough", loved us enough to make us feel complete. It was so perplexing to me that anyone alive could de-value another's heritage.  They thought I would be satisfied to have their ancestry as my own and in a way I always have. At least I considered myself sort of half and half, both my adoptive and biological ancestry have to both be mine as my history. Despite our love for one another and all the great times we absolutely have had, I couldn't forget or pretend that I didn't know who I was, like everyone else knew who they were and had peoples. Peoples that looked like them, a history, a story to tell.  A tribe of origin.  
So, I set out alone in search of myself, of my past.  And as the universe would have it, I fairly easily found the answers to my cherished questions. I discovered my Native roots on my fathers side and several siblings. I discovered my birth mother's Sarasota roots and the amazing lives they both lived. I have gotten to know them both over the last 10 years. I finally got to learn of the the love and tragic romance between my parents and what lead to my adoption.  This information was like Christmas morning times a hundred thousand.  


I never cared what the story turned out to be for me, just to know was the point entirely. Knowledge was the absolute, ultimate fulfillment.  I learned the whole story, and the mysteries of my past I have reverently, piece by piece, unveiled over the years since.  And in the same way that Yoga taught me to become a bridge between this earthly life and my eternal essence, I now lovingly bridge myself between my two families. We've all come around to a kind of peace and understanding. Nothing ever changed for me in terms of my love for my parents, but my love was questioned due to my curiosity over fundamental knowledge all humans should have a right to know about themselves.  But loves endures always, and understanding continues to unfold. I for one believe that mysteries are meant to be revealed, not to forever remain. We are meant to learn.  We are made to know.

I felt a very similar sense of mystery growing up in the church. I had been raised and educated Catholic. Here again, I seemed to be the one asking the questions that got no answers or at least any answers that made sense to me. And here again, people acted uncomfortable with my questions.  But being the good conformist that I was, I went on ahead and silently learned everything expected of me.  All the subjects, all the religion, all the sacraments, I went through the motions with an innocent and open heart, ready for Jesus, ready for the holy spirit. I learned to play guitar and used my singing voice to lead the weekly childrens mass. I memorized every prayer that the Sisters would have us recite in front of the class, word for word. I prayed, communed, confessed, confirmed,..but kept quietly asking the same questions year after year.  I was haunted by the image of the crucifix, the torture of this blessed man, this savior, constantly hung before our eyes. I couldn't accept the usual answer I was given that "the mysteries of God aren't meant to be understood by you", as Sister Georgiana explained many times. (She and i had an ongoing dead-lock argument between my 3rd and 4th grade years regarding whether or not animals have a soul. She insisted that they do not. With a dead pan expression carved into my memory, she declared this as fact, and acted as if I were foolish to think they did. My childish argument that God must love all his creations and would bless us all, even the waters and lands of the Earth with soul, never phased her.) 

The ways that I was taught and what I was expected to become are fine for some as religion is obviously quite popular. I wish that, as a planet, we were all on the same page somehow. We've lost our way from a healthy collective consciousness.  We are constantly distracted, mostly by our culture and media and having to work so much to pay off debt. I think that religion can have it's place, religious history is quite fascinating, mysterious and prophetic. But I am just an example of a person for whom following one particular ideology wasn't right. As the Dalai Lama says, There are 6 billion people in the world, so there should be 6 billion different religions. That's what I think too.

All of the ways we become cut off from our inner guidance system, whatever way it happens, at whatever age, can lead us into states of disassociation. Into suffering. Since I've made it far enough into adulthood, I'm happy to take a clear, conscious looks back on my life, with cleansed eyes.  Now I understand the metaphor  'The dark night of the soul'.  When I look back on those long shadowy moments and recognize the patterns of my reactions, only then do I finally understand the poetic treasures of these dark times and finally wake up in the light of awareness.  The only redeeming aspect of suffering, past and present, is that it can transform, building inside us an endurance we need for facing the challenges we must in this dimension of the illusion of finality is enough to scare the pants off even the most enlightened amongst us. It can build within us the patience needed to seek and to listen to the answers from the peaceful center within, never mistaking dark imaginins for guidance or prophesy, but allowing the radiance of pure consciousness to burn away fear. We summon courage to honestly confront our shame and wisdom to elevate ourselves to wholeness. To freedom. As we let go of those old emotional habits, no matter how we developed them, we realize how much time we've spent in a prison of repetitious reactions. But when we are grown, and our lives belong to us, there can no longer be excuses, no gates, there is no prison but the one we create. The same one we can free ourselves from. From within the structure that has been built up, we dismantle that which holds us back and we burst forth, beginning again. We are brand new in every moment and when guided by the heart, we may just reach our glorious potential and play an integral role in recreating this whole world.

In order to begin a spiritual journey, it's good to begin with this body we're in. This glorious house the soul waves and resonates through. Terence McKenna said, "The body is the placenta of the soul."  Similarly, Yogi's say the physical body is a projection of the Astral body. Looking at our atomic structure from within the minds eye, we finally realize cosmic intelligence flows through us at the most basic fundamental levels. And we work from there.

I started with a body that was bound and uncomfortable from lack of proper movement, poor diet, and insufficient rest. My body was a dumping ground for all my emotinal/mental junk. Everything piled into my muscles and organs and brain. I had backaches, headaches, occasional inner ear and sinus infections. Tylenol, Ibuprofen, were taken regularly. I didn't sleep or eat well. I ate meat because I didn't think about seriously not doing it until I met someone who was a vegetarian. Yet, I didn't seem that different from most people. Everyone else around me was doing the same things. But I hated the way I felt. I never found an exercise style that didn't bore me to death. Cheerleading and track in high school. Later, jogging, power walking, aerobics, (uh yeah, remember Buns of Steel? I did it more than a few times, and seriously, if I have to do all that, nevermind the steel buns, thanks!!) I counted calories, starved, purged, all to 'stay in shape',  never thrilled about any of it. Of course.

When I first heard the word Yoga, before I knew what it was, I think I knew what it was.  A stirring within me resonated so powerfully in my higher awareness that I got chills and sought my first spiritual teachers. The process of healing and unfolding began in earnst. My first yoga book "The Sivananda Companion" rang a gong inside me of truth and made sense to me like nothing ever had before.  Beautiful words, written so eloquently by this bald Indian Guru with the most gentle smile I had ever seen.  The instructions so clear, so simple. Universal.  I discovered that I had been born with certain habits of mind and body that were unusual to Yogis such as being aware of metaphysical sensations and fluctuations in things like timespace, seeing auras, which started for me around the age of 9. I always practiced Nauli, an advanced method of stomach churning, even as a small child, and never understood why.  I just thought I was weird.

What I learned is that cosmic energy can't stream into and through every corner of you without your consciousness open to it. And really, the consciousness, the higher self, is always open but the business of the make believe ego gets in between your body as an energy center and it's unionization with the higher realms of knowledge.  I learned to practice concentration, to steady my mind in so many different ways; watching the breath, chanting the mantras, visualizing and viewing subliminal symbols, tratak, meditation, prayer, clarifying my vision all just so that the ethereal twin can be found again and the realization that I am already Yoga can be made and reinforced. The sages who organized these plans for realization through careful study and meditation, for the most part, understood the human condition very well. The inspirational body postures, our beloved asana, the sages named after things in the natural in order to access our imaginations, opening our hearts to our fellow being. We understand our world, our wolves, trees and mountains, our serpents, eagles and fish. We understand our warriors, our mermaids and sacred geometry that make up our universe. Through the asana, we pretend, and through that oneness in the body and mind, we become. This is what the ancient set of teachings called Tantra is.

As it says in the glossary of the Yoga Sutras: 'Yoga is a unionization of the individual self with the Divine'. We practice being in this state of Yoga through intuitive movement, breath, concentation and meditation, opening channels. With a healthy glow, a loving heart, a limber body and a brilliant mind, we turn inward to discover the limitless universe where we are no longer separate, we are one family, one being, one love, one luminous soul, and then we turn outward again, able to offer the world the love we found within.

In an attempt to conclude this writing, I'll say there are a lot of so called Yogis out there and a lot of people running around teaching mainly asana, still eating meat, drinking alcohol and calling themselves "Yoga" teachers. I'm not perfect, not by far, but i sure couldn't justify doing those things as a representative of Ahimsa. I am not against self expression or even self deformation in the form of plastic surgery, tattooing, scaring, ear gauging, neck lengthening, we've been doing this symbolic stuff for eons of time.  But the compassion that is taught in Yoga, the compassion toward the essence of the root of life, means not taking life.  My journey with yoga began  before Madonna made it chic, before Oprah started slinging Rodney Yee, before Deepak starting selling I-phones and before business men like our 'friend' Friend, started opening high profit "schools" of alignment sprinkled with just enough spiritual-isms that corporate America feels comfortable with inflated prices, big egos, and the rounds of applause given to underdressed skinny folks performing asana.  (The appaulase for successfully executed asana blows me away. The swamis pay no more attention to those who could do asana well then those that couldn't.)  In America, Yoga has been set up as a selling machine to every "mat" toting, lululemon buying, asana busting man, woman and child who honestly believes that Yoga Journal is where you go to further your "off the mat" education.  


Throw it in the trash and cancel your subscription, it's propaganda. 
The truth of Yoga is in the Sutras and the Pradapika.  In the Upanishads and the Gita.  Its spoken from Sivananda, Vivekananda, Ida Craddock, Krishnamurti, from the Swamis and Swaminis, Rishis and Rishikas of ancient and modern times. It's in the mantras and the prayers. Most of all, its in the silence.  

Yoga does evolve, but in the heart of each practitioner.  Not necessarily because of the culture that surrounds it.  Anyone searching for a teacher training program will always get the same answer from me.  As long as it is done through a non profit organization you'll probably be good.  A month at any of the Sivananda ashrams around the world will change your life or should. The last thing we all need is another thing to have to buy, another ideal to have to aspire to.  

I feel in debt to Yoga. It was, has and will always be a natural state I strive to be in.  Sattva.  The element of clear consciousness in the concept of the 3 Gunas. It's something I will always celebrate and share with others. I think the teachings are worth it.  I don't want to offend anyone, but do feel compelled sometimes to stand up a little for my friend here. My friend Yoga who saved me from my false self, from the poor excuse of a self that I used to think I was.  It enabled me to clear the clutter from my mind, freeing  me up to be happy with a modest income, but rich in health and awareness.  Spiritual living clarifies us, like butter, purified us like water, exposing to us to our own bright shining awareness and a light body that we may have never dreamed we were, but are.  It gave me a venue through which to express my love of nature, of animals and of peace and non violence.  It gave me a chance to heal and grow.  I will always be here for Yoga as it has always been here for me, for us all.  

Peace be with you.
ErinnEarth

Above: Ida Craddock, Yoga Priestess. She's amazing, you should look her up.