[Mysore dispatch] Etched


I have this ring that I wrote about a while back, made by a creative woman with a cool Etsy shop. It’s got three spinning bands and inside is inscribed, “Do your practice and all is coming.” The outside is etched “om shanti.” Before I left Gokulam, I knew I had to take a photo of it with the shala sign reflected behind.

As you know, for all these years, I did not believe it would happen, that I could come to Mysore. But yes, part of me kept some faith.


It will be impossible to not reflect on the trip during the three- or four-hour  drive to Bengaluru International Airport. (Did know, by the way, that the city of Bangalore is actually officially called Bengaluru? It’s been that way since, um, 2007. News to me too, until this trip.) The themes that surfaced initially kept coming up for me: That sense of familiarity — none of this seemed foreign — and an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. My time here was so consistent that way.

Over outstanding (sugarless and jaggery-less) chai at Chakra House yesterday afternoon — the beginning of a series of non-awkward good-byes, thank goodness — a couple friends and I talked about what had emerged for each of us. And here is the thing with ashtanga yoga, for anyone who thinks it’s boring to do the same thing over and over again. Sit in that foyer as you wait for your turn, and watch what is happening externally in a person’s practice. Think you have a clue as to what’s actually going on?

Then talk to different people, or read their blogs, and it underscores how each person’s experience on the mat that day — yes, doing the same poses they just did the day before — has such depth and distinction. The same goes for their entire experience in Mysore. I haven’t had time to read too many blogs, but I did catch Isabella Nitschke’s Mysore summary, and Karen Kelley’s post on her theme. (I need to give a shout-out to Karen, by the way, for doing the vignette-style format on her posts, which I totally started ripping off — and not nearly as well.)


It was a treat to have time to blog daily during the first part of my trip. Once work started rolling, I didn’t get to write as much as I wanted to, so there may still be a few blog posts to come, if I get to writing during the long wait at the airport or during the 17-plus hours I’ll be on a plane. (It took two calendar days to get here, but I will land back home the same calendar day I leave. I touch down Friday, and I’ll be back to work on, gulp, Monday.)

In the meantime, I should note that I did manage to post lots of sets of photos on my Tumblr, if you’re into a ridiculous number of photos of food, temples and quirky area sights.

For now, though, I am saying my last good-byes and packing my bags and joining the many other ashtangis who are also heading home now that it’s the end of the month.


Mariela Cruz wrote about the Mysore rhythm in a December elephant journal piece  in which she writes: “Always go back. Mysore marks you. The Shala stays with you all year long.”

As your final practice date nears, your fellow ashtangis, along with all the local business owners and rickshaw drivers, ask the exact same thing: Are you coming back next year? I’ve been offering a long, convoluted answer about how hard it would be to convince my employers to let me do this again, how my husband and I will be trying again this year to get pregnant, and . . .  and . . .

But I’ve now decided that the easier answer, and the one I’m going with from here on out, is that I will let the universe decide.

If I find myself dwelling on it in months to come, I’ll simply spin those bands on my ring and meditate on change and impermanence. And maybe on faith too.

>>More Mysore dispatches:

 Lingua franca
The language of practice. And of sugar. And of awkward good-byes.

In due time
In the midst of the spicy masala mash of sounds that is India, I’ve been listening to Jack Kornfield’s soothing, raita-like voice read from his A Path with Heart, and I love this part: “Love in the past is simply memory, and love in the future is fantasy.”

Profiles of ashtangis telecommuting from Mysore
Need to work while enrolled at the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in India? These ashtanga yoga practitioners have done it, and they want you to know it can be done. See what tips they share for how to make it work while working from Mysore.

So you helped get an ashtangi to Mysore? Thank you, truly.
So, ashtangi with the “Mysore, Karnataka” Facebook location tag — who helped get you here? Perhaps you can send them a note of thanks if you haven’t done so in a while.

Temple tour to Belur, Halebid, Shravanabelagola
I didn’t come to Mysore, Karnataka to be a tourist. But it was wonderful to be one on this moon day, doing a 208-mile round-trip drive and hitting three ancient temple sites.

Happy Sankranti
Sankranti is one of the few Hindu harvest festivals celebrated in India that’s tied to the solar calendar. And it’s a new year of sorts! What an incredible month. I was in Mysore for the New Year’s Day holiday that I adore so much. Now we have Sankranti, with is promise of auspicious beginnings. And I didn’t realize until after I arrived that the day I fly home will be the Chinese New Year.

Thank you, interwebs and wifi
When I was playing my trip to Mysore, I kind of thought that the ideal way to experience this trip would be to unplug. Man, was I wrong about that one.

Castor oil baths and not (particularly) getting things done
Rest day + castor oil! I think when you’re studying yoga in India, my day so far would have been considered productive. At home, this should have all been done by noon.

And then there were four — led classes, that is
From healing to teaching, from deepening to escaping, everyone here obviously has a unique and personal story about whey they’re here right now. But is there something drawing us, collectively, at the dawn of 2014?

First breakfast, second shower, next electric practice
‘One more, 9 o’clock, small.’

How does Sharath know? And btw, where did my feet walk off to?
Since my first day at KPJAYI, I’ve found myself constantly wondering, “How does Sharath know?”

Pink kurta
One week into my month-long stay here, it seems obvious to me that a big part of coming here is not about the practice at all — it’s about seeing where our areas of density are in our life. It’s easy to spot when a tight shoulder is the obstacle to steady comfort in a pose. For some of us, it’s harder to spot our areas of density in our daily lives.

So familiar and yet . . . so familiar
In Mysore, it helps that even when I don’t know someone, I maybe know someone.

Rain down on me
No small part of what I hope to do in India is find a way to honor life and sit with loss. Back when I planned this trip, the most salient loss was my miscarriage from this summer. Having two friends take their own life in the past 30 days has amplified the grief.

Plugging my 120V self into this 220V space
When Sharath led my hands to my ankles in assisted dropbacks, I could feel my little 120V self had hit full charge.

#gratitude #possibilities
In my reflections today, I decided to try, in the spirit of noting arisings and passings in all things, to see if I can start each new day this year with the type of intention that I start New Year’s Day with each and every year. Toward that end, I’m quite grateful to get to start each day with the ashtanga yoga practice — that makes such a difference in being able to enter the rough and tumble with some equanimity.

Emptying the cup
‘It’s like water in a cup. If a cup is filled with dirty, stale water, it’s useless. Only when the old water is thrown out can the cup become useful. You must empty your minds of opinions — and then you will learn.’

#235, 8th Cross, an eternity and a blink of eye from my first ashtanga practice
This post is for all the home practitioners out there. Mysore is 10.5 hours off from home (9.5 hours without daylight savings). But that’s not the time that really matters, because the time that really matters is shala time, which is set 15 minutes ahead of local time.

Checked baggage for DTW –> CDG –> BLR
What I figuratively and literally packed, or didn’t, for my first journey to India.

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