The Yamas & Niyamas Page 4

  Living the life that cries to be lived from the depth of our being frees up a lot of energy and vitality. The juices flow. Everyone around us benefits from the aliveness that we feel. On the other hand, suppressing that life, for whatever reason, takes a lot of our life energy just in the managing of the pretending.

  Arthur Samuel Joseph, nationally known voice teacher and author of the book Vocal Power: Harnessing the Power Within, gives his first time students an interesting assignment. He tells them to go home and record themselves reciting a poem and then singing a song. Then he tells them to take off all their clothes and repeat the exercise. Joseph says that when the student returns for their next lesson and presents their homework, Joseph can always tell which recording was done naked because the “naked” version is much more vibrant.

  In all the ways we package ourselves and protect ourselves, or when we choose the safety of belonging over the inner need to grow we also dull ourselves.

  The Need to Belong vs. the Need to Grow

  In the Family Constellation work of Bert Hellinger (therapeutic work dealing with family systems), a unique slant on guilt and innocence is expressed. Hellinger says that as human beings we have both a need to belong to groups and a need to expand and grow. Hellinger says that as long as we stay within the approval of the group, we experience the innocence of belonging. However, when we begin to grow in directions beyond the group, we experience guilt in regards to the group. The truth of our freedom carries the price of guilt.

  I experienced this in my own life when I embraced feminism. At that time, feminism was a refuge for me that gave voice to many of the experiences of my life. It just made sense to me that women were as important as men and that there should be equality between the sexes. My mother was mortified because feminism went against everything she believed in; I couldn’t have done anything more evil in her sight. I found myself feeling guilty in relationship to her and the love I felt for her, and yet I knew that for that time in my life I was following a deep longing in my soul. Although our love for each other remained strong and intact, my choice around feminism remained a painful topic for both my mother and me.

  The groups we belong to are many: our country, our culture, our gender, our class, our age group, our race, our religion, our family of origin, our community, our workplace, and the various organizations that we are members of. All these groups have rules and belief systems, some written, some silently understood, that must be followed for us to be part of the group. These rules and belief systems are necessary, they are what shape the group and give the group its identity. As long as these rules don’t conflict with our inner longing to grow more and more into our full self, there is no problem. However, when a conflict arises between the need to belong and the need to grow, we have to make a choice. We must either sacrifice a part of ourselves to maintain our belonging, or we must risk the approval and support of the group by growing.

  Think of the protestor whose conscience opposes a war her country is engaged in. Following her realness, will she take a stance, even if it means going to jail? Or think of the man who finds himself in a dead-end job that holds no interest or life for him, and yet he has a family to support with kids ready for college. Will he make the switch to a job that excites him but pays a significantly lower salary? Or the young mother who is longing to go back to school but is deeply entrenched in a family and community that demands that mothers stay home and care for their small children. Will she choose the realness of her longing, trusting she can care for her children even more deeply from a place of satisfaction and the excitement of her own life?

  In all of these situations, there is no wrong or right choice. Rather, these situations point out why listening to and acting on our inner voice to change and grow, to move on, to speak truth to ourselves and then act on it, can be so difficult at times. If we pursued any of these stories in more depth, we would see that other factors can easily be pulled in as additional reasons to remain in the status quo, stacking the deck even more in favor of staying the same. I often hear people say, “I just don’t know what to do.” I think more often than not, we do know what to do; the cost of our realness just seems too high at the time.

  Truth rarely seems to ask the easier choice of us. In the moment to moment details of our daily living truth asks us to pay attention and to act correctly the first time.

  Do It Right the First Time

  Yogiraj Achala makes the statement that it is worth the effort to do the task right the first time, because cleanup takes so much time. Think about this for a moment. How much time do you spend having to find someone you were a little harsh with and apologize? Or go back and tell someone you can’t really do what you said you would do? Or maybe you spend your time and energy trying to avoid that person because of your own embarrassment. Can you imagine speaking and acting so correctly that you never have to go back and apologize or make a new agreement? Or how much time do you spend avoiding things you dislike, like writing your will or facing your finances? These are all acts of cheating truth that result in messes we eventually have to clean up.

  And what about those lies you tell yourself? I continuously find myself in trouble because I lie to myself about time. I make promises to myself and others that don’t allow for the reality of interruptions, rest, or play. Then I either have to backtrack on my promises or find myself out of balance keeping up with the too many commitments I have made because of my dishonesty with myself. I also lie to myself when I set lofty goals that are more wishful thinking than anything the reality of my days can incorporate. And then I have to clean up the mess I have made with myself. Not only that, but I have become, once again, a person who cannot trust herself.

  Can you trust yourself? Can you risk telling yourself the truth? Can you keep the promises you make to yourself and to others? We must be willing to take the risk to tell ourselves the truth and grow ourselves into someone who can trust themselves. We will then be able to easily bear others’ trust in us. Being truthful with ourselves makes us trustworthy and frees up all the time we normally spend in guilt and regret from our dishonesty. Truth saves us from having to clean up, and as a bonus, we get to learn something in the process.

  “Doing it right the first time” does not always look the same way. Truth is a dance where the rules and certainties change with the circumstances. This fluidity is what makes truth so interesting.

  Truth is Fluid

  Because of its marriage to nonviolence, truth has a fluidity about it. In one situation truth shows up boldly and courageously, as when we do a tough intervention on a loved one who is faltering under alcoholism. In another situation, truth shows up in a most gentle way, as when we heap praise upon a young child’s diligent artwork. Both of these examples show the different flavor that the practice of truth takes when it is partnered with the love of nonviolence. The compassion of nonviolence keeps truthfulness from being a personal weapon. It asks us to think twice before we walk around mowing people down with our truth, and then wonder where everyone went.

  The fluidity of truth also requires that we clean our lens, and periodically get new glasses with which to observe the world. Our seeing is limited by all the groups that shape us, as well as by our experience. What we believe, whether we are aware of that belief or not, informs everything we do and every choice we make. To be a bold person of truth is to constantly look for what we are not seeing and to expose ourselves to different views than the ones we hold sacred. As Yogiraj Achala reminds us, “What are you not seeing because you are seeing what you are seeing?”

  Carl Jung understood the fluidity of truth when he made the statement that what is true at one time for us, at some point no longer serves us, and eventually becomes a lie. He understood that truth changes over time; what was true when we were two years old is no longer true or even relevant when we are seventeen. In Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Jung writes, “Thoroughly unprepared, we take the step
into the afternoon of life; worse still, we take this step with the false presupposition that our truths and ideals will serve us as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the programme of life’s morning – for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening have become a lie.” The guideline of truthfulness asks us to update our beliefs and values and views in order to stay current with ourselves and our surroundings.

  In India, the fluidity of truth was understood in the practice of what was called the Ashramic Stages. Life was divided into four equal parts, or times in life, in which a certain aspect of living was honored and pursued. In the first period of life, it was time to grow up and, with the support of your parents, learn a skill in which you showed interest and ability. In the second period of life, it was time to use this skill for the good of the community and to receive money in return so you could live and raise a family. In the third period of life, it was time to leave worldly possessions and tasks in pursuit of inner wisdom. And in the last phase of life, it was time to return to the community, guiding and supporting the community with the inner wisdom that had been attained.

  Today’s times may feel more complicated to us, but there is something to learn from these Ashramic Stages. We can use these stages to ask ourselves if we are engaged in the truthful pursuit that is right for this time of our lives and to assess if we have done something significant to mark these rites of passage. Ritual helps us to end and begin again, without carrying the dead weight of what we have left behind. My oldest granddaughter just marked a turning point when she, along with her whole senior class, met the evening before the beginning of their senior year to write their names in chalk on the high school parking lot. It was a significant event that marked the beginning and ending of a phase of life.

  Truth has Weight

  Although truth prefers fluidity to rigidity, it also has real substance to it. There is a thickness or a weight to a person who practices truthfulness. I remember hugging my business partner Ann one day and telling her that she was thick. She looked a little taken aback until I explained that I could feel the depth of her integrity and her boldness to make contact with life however it comes to her. I remember literally being able to feel this thickness to her. I could feel her realness. Like Ann, a person of substance is willing to stay present in life no matter what its initial unpleasantness. They know that staying present with the truth of the moment will add more depth to their lives and grow them up to be creative and responsible versus becoming a person who walks around with a subtle “rescue me” sign.

  When we run from life, try to manage life, or leave our energy scattered here and there, we feel differently than when our whole self shows up with our thoughts, words, and actions congruent and unified. When we are centered in the moment, we can fully meet the ordinariness of life as well as the challenges of life. Dishes are met with the same contact as are arguments as are hugs. There is no need to tame ourselves or hide ourselves. “All of us” shows up to the moment, ready to meet it in truth and integrity, ready to make full contact. Meeting the moment “full on” is like playing a contact sport. We aren’t afraid to play the game with everything we have or to get knocked around a little in the process; it’s all part of the fun.

  There is a profound courage to this kind of willingness to be raw with reality as it is, rather than to run from it or construct a barrier to soften it. When I traveled to Central America in 1988 with the Augsburg College Center for Global Education, I saw first hand this kind of willingness to be raw with reality, no matter how horrible. At that time, El Salvador was a dangerous place to travel as untold thousands were being picked up, tortured, and disposed of in a state park by the El Salvadoran militia. I sat with mothers of the disappeared whose photo albums showed pictures of their dead loved ones displaying myriad signs of torture. And yet I witnessed courage, love, joy, and community like I have never come close to experiencing since. There was something in the fierceness of the way the people met the truth of their lives and risked for the sake of justice. In a place and time of the greatest of personal horrors, they were able to contact life in its fullness. It was a profound time for me.

  I was shocked when I returned to the states from my time in Central America. Everything felt protected and stale to me. It was as if we as a culture have constructed barriers to tame reality. It was as if we as a culture aren’t able to risk telling ourselves the truth. Not long ago, I witnessed the pathos of a situation in which a Pit Bull killed a small dog. A few days later my son was in a pet store and overheard the manager tell one of the new clerks that in order to sell the Pit Bull puppy they had in the store the clerk was to tell customers that the puppy was an American Terrier. This effort to construct barriers to hide truth seems to me like a contagious disease in our country. What are we so afraid of ?

  The Power of Truth

  One of the things that amazed me when I first read Gandhi’s autobiography was his statement about his life being an experiment with truth. I would have expected him to say an experiment in nonviolence, but he didn’t – he said truth. To me, this statement captures the power that living with truth has. A poor, colonized country united in nonviolence gaining its freedom; a dominant country brought to its knees. This was arguably the greatest nonviolent revolution in history, and all because of one man’s experiment with truth.

  It makes me wonder what my life might look like if I were willing to contact truthfulness in every moment.

  Questions for Exploration

  Living with these questions, taking time for reflection, and journaling will give you new insights into your life and the practice of truthfulness. For this month, frame your exploration in the following statement by Mahatma Gandhi:

  I know that in embarking on nonviolence

  I shall be running

  what might be termed

  a mad risk.

  But the victories of truth

  have never been won without risks.

  Week One: This week observe the difference between “nice” and “real.” Notice situations where you were nice. What did this experience invoke in you? What were the results? Notice situations where you were real. What did this experience invoke in you? What were the results? From whom or what do you seek approval? Does this affect whether you act from your “niceness” or your “realness”?

  Week Two: Spend this entire week in self-expression. Make movement towards the external world with your internal hopes and dreams. Act on life-giving opportunities, despite the consequences. Observe what happens in you. Observe how others react. If you find yourself in self-indulgence, ask yourself, “What am I not expressing?”

  Week Three: This week pay attention and go slow enough that you “do it right the first time.” Make this a week where you don’t have to backtrack to apologize or correct mistakes and where you don’t run from any hard tasks that present themselves. Face each moment head on with clarity and courage.

  Week Four: his week, look at ideas and beliefs that once served you and now have become archaic. You may unknowingly be holding on to things that you no longer need. Honor these beliefs because, like a vehicle, they brought you to your current place on your journey. As you let go of what no longer serves you, pay attention to where denial shows up and celebrate your movement toward a clearer, more authentic you! Watch how this exercise frees up your energy for the further emergence of your authentic realness.

  For this month ponder the words of Mahatma Gandhi and the risks he was willing to take in his experiments with truth. How much are you willing to risk for the victories of truth?

  Asteya

  Why steal from your life

  By steeling your will? Instead,

  Be still and love God.

  ~ C.L.

  Nonstealing

  Asteya

  I was recently at a wedding where I had the opport
unity to speak with the priest who was officiating at the service. Trying to make conversation, I asked him if, in all his many years of several hundreds of weddings, he had ever had the experience of a wedding being halted at the last moment. He relayed the following story.

  It seems that the day of the wedding, the bride-to-be discovered that her almost husband had slept with the maid of honor the night before. She didn’t tell anyone about this discovery, but proceeded to prepare for the wedding as normal, walk down the isle, and stand at the altar. The service proceeded up to the point in the ceremony where the Priest asked if there was anyone who objected to the marriage. At this point, the bride spoke, saying, “Yes, I have an objection. I can’t in good faith marry a man who would steal from our future together with his actions of last night.” She then proceeded to walk down the aisle and out of the church, leaving a stunned groom at the altar and a silent crowd in the church pews.

  Like the bride in the story above, the third jewel, Asteya, or nonstealing, calls us to live with integrity and reciprocity. If we are living in fears and lies, our dissatisfaction with ourselves and our lives leads us to look outward, with a tendency to steal what is not rightfully ours. We steal from others, we steal from the earth, we steal from the future, and we steal from ourselves. We steal from our own opportunity to grow ourselves into the person who has a right to have the life they want.