Calling Ganesha: Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha #365Yoga

Ganesha (Photo credit: bandarji)

Last week, my meditation practice morphed into a mantra practice. I didn't sit with the intention of chanting "So Hum" the whole time I was meditating. It just happened. 

Afterward, it felt like it had been the right thing to do. I repeated it the following day, and the days after that.

Last Saturday, Lisa Devi, during a visit to the Adirondacks, led our New Moon Circle. She welcomed Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god, with the chant "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha." Ganesha is called at the beginnings of things, perfect for the new moon, to clear obstacles from the path ahead.

Yesterday, instead of "So Hum," my chant was "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha." Again, I didn't intend it. It just came out. And, again, it felt right, so I repeated the chant today.

The Sanskrit phrase "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha" means, basically, "Salutations to the remover of obstacles." "Ganapatayei" is another name for the widely-worshipped Ganesha. In addition to removing obstacles, Ganesha is known as a patron of the arts and sciences, and as the deity of intellect and wisdom. 

Why do I feel compelled to ask Ganesha to help me past the obstacles in my life? Perhaps this is part of the letting go I've been doing lately. I'm in the habit of doing too many things, taking on too much, and never asking for help because that felt like weakness. Putting those things that are holding me back into the hands of a deity with four arms and an elephant's head is a small step towards allowing myself some weakness, towards admitting I can't do everything myself. Giving your problems to God, to Ganesha, to the universe, or to whatever your sense of the divine, is the first step in twelve-step programs for good reason. It's very freeing to put obstacles in the hands of a higher power.

I'll send salutations to Ganesha until a new mantra arises or silence returns to my meditation practice. Meanwhile, thanks to Ganesha moving roadblocks from my path.

The Light in You

Image via WikipediaWhat's with the Namaste-ing, anyway?

Yoga teachers like to say "Namaste."  Yoga students like to say "Namaste" in response.  If you're new to yoga, or never gave it any thought, you might have no idea what "Namaste" means or why people keep saying it to you.

Namaste is a big word with a really deep meaning.  Quick-and-dirty translations from Sanskrit would be "the light in me honors the light in you," or "the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you," or "I love you because we are one."  See what I mean about it being a big word?

What is this light, or divinity, thing?  It's your soul, your true self, that is part of a universal oneness and inhabits your body in order to exist in this lifetime.  Some people call it the spark of life.  Other people consider it that which makes people God-like.

It really doesn't matter what you call it.  What's important is that you recognize that whatever it is in you - your soul, your light, your spark - it also exists in everyone else.  "Namaste" acknowledges that we are all the same in having this divine light, and therefore every person is worthy of your respect and love.

The spiritual leader Ram Dass uses a lovely definition of Namaste.

I honor the place in you where the entire Universe resides.  I honor the place of love, of light, of truth, of peace.  I honor the place within you where if you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us.

There is only one of us, at the core.  Therefore, every kindness I do for another I also do for all others, and for myself.  We are connected at a level of existence that my mind cannot grasp, but I have faith that it is there.  I reinforce that faith each time I say "Namaste."

The light in me respects, honors, loves and bows to the light in you. 

The Bloody Heels of Non-Violence

Image via Wikipedia

Today I spent 15 minutes sitting in a tub full of cold water watching dried blood flake off my heel and thinking about ahimsa. No, this is not a obscure yogic ritual. The cold water soak was keeping my feet and ankles from swelling after an 8 mile run on a warm afternoon. The blood was from a blister that gave up around mile 5 and failed to prevent the skin from being rubbed off my heel as blisters are supposed to do. And thinking about yoga's concept of non-violence? Maybe that's just where this yogini's mind goes after a fair amount of blood loss.

Ahimsa is a Sanskrit term from ancient yoga texts which translates as "non-harming" or "non-violence". How broadly the concept should be applied has been, and continues to be, a hotly debated topic among yogis. Some take it to mean that we should not harm any living thing and turn to vegetarian or vegan diets and animal rights activism. For others, it is enough to work on not harming ourselves when we practice yoga, being compassionate and caring about our own bodies in the asanas.

So why was I mulling over the idea of ahimsa while I sat in the cold tub?

The endurance athletes I know (distance runners and triathletes, mostly) tend to take pride in pain and injury. Not that we set out to injure ourselves, but if you follow any of our blogs you are likely to see pictures of road rash, lost toenails, blisters, knee surgery scars, etc. We wear scabs and bruises like badges of honor. They are a sign to our fellows that, in pushing our bodies to their limits, we faced adversity and we were tough enough to walk, or limp, away from it, ready to battle our limits another day.

If I'm beating myself to a pulp on a regular basis, am I violated the principle of ahimsa? Can I be a card-carrying, Yoga Sutra-reading yogini and run until my feet are bleeding? Isn't that harming myself? This is what I was contemplating in the cold tub.

Truth be told, I didn't come up with an answer during my icy soak. Nor have I found the answer since drying off, wrapping my heel in gauze and eating the entire contents of our refrigerator (running makes me hungry). All I know is that, despite the sore muscles and raw skin, running makes me feel good. The ultimate result is that my body gets stronger, my blood pressure gets lower and I have a great sense of accomplishment when, like today, I run further than I have before. Perhaps the means justify a non-harming end?

I'm sure I'll be mulling it over more, right after I contemplate how to get the blood stains out of my sneakers.