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Honoring Impermanence - September 2005

When we traveled in Israel last December, I was struck by the remnants of once great civilizations, crumbled into dusty layers on top of one another. Byzantine churches, Roman aqueducts and Turkish Temples sifted together, molding the boardwalk for modern life. Far beneath the surface lay the blessed holy ground, where Bible stories come alive –the meadow where David fought Goliath, the hilltop where Abraham placed Isaac on the altar.

Four thousand years of history dwarfed my concept of time and habitual self-importance. As I listened to tales of the conquerors and the conquered, I tried to conceive of where this day, month, or decade would fit into the scope of that enormous time-line. It made me wonder how our individual choices impact the eternal swirl of change that thrusts us inevitably from certainty into chaos.

Impermanence… Disasters like the Tsunami and 9/11 sharpen our acuity, erasing all imprint of solid ground. We suddenly awaken to the basic fragility of our lives. For a time we remember to hold precious each moment shared with friends and family, radically present. Then we forget, return to our stupor, and are then baffled that people we love contract cancer, or leave us, and that our lives like the weather, keep shifting.

I use to think that my yoga practice would somehow make me wise to where these changes wouldn’t break my heart anymore. As if by meditating on the reality of constant change, I would no longer be swallowed up by the tornado when it swept through my life. Instead, I’ve discovered a raw tenderness inside me, one that honors the need to grieve and pout at times in defiance, while also bearing witness to the truth just as it is.

One morning toward the end of our journey, we held a prayer service in a 2,000 year old temple, majestically situated above the Sea of Galilee. There was a crystal blue sky and the arched stone entrance framed the Golan Heights, the Sea and valley below. I could literally feel the minions who had gathered here to pray, year after year: Hard working men and women, who faced plagues, droughts, invading armies and yet somehow, like me, cradled hope in their hearts. As we chanted the Hebrew prayers, their lives and mine melded into one human experience.

This quarter, The Yoga Barn has weathered a season of change. We are saying goodbye to several of our friends: Dr. Steven Hall, Noriko Takei, Karen Newton. We wish them much joy as they journey onward, and I am very appreciative for their contribution to our community over the years. At the same time, we welcome a fresh and dedicated group of new teachers to our staff: Andrea, Joanmarie, Pauline, Lainie and Lynn. Each one of these ladies brings a passion for yoga and enthusiasm for sharing it with others.

I am also choosing to change my relationship to teaching at the studio. I realize it is time for me to step back from weekly classes, and devote more of my energy to Teacher Training, workshops and retreats. I will still be available for private consultation, but will be gradually weaning out of the regular schedule.

It’s easy to believe in the security of routine. Yet, routine can camouflage our stuckness and fear of letting go. Inevitably things will change, and we’ll need to loosen our grip and allow parts of ourselves, like pruned branches, to fall away, and allow for shoots of new growth. It’s always been that way.

In the words of Robert Frost:
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Blessings,

The Yoga Barn, Inc.
Robin Rothenberg, Certified Yoga Instructor
660 NW Gilman Blvd., Suite C6, Issaquah, WA  98027
Studios located in both Issaquah and Fall City
Phone: 425.427.0038  -  Fax: 425.427.0613
E-mail: info@yogabarn.com  -  Web: www.yogabarn.com

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