I read the first few pages of Gandhi’s autobiography. Not gonna lie, it was pretty boring. I mean, cool dude and all, but maybe spice up the first 10 pages a bit to generate some interest. I guess when your story is that you changed the course of history you're not too concerned with making sure there's enough "wow factor" to get the reader hooked though. Regardless, the message from the back cover was worth picking it off the bookshelf - everything true has been said before, we just need to keep repeating it because we’re a bunch humans that forget sometimes.
I recently heard a theory that the fundamental driver of human suffering is the fear of death that is buried in our subconscious. Humans don’t like uncertainty, and certainly the most uncertain aspect of life is what happens after it, so it makes sense that the fear of death is one of the strongest influences on human behavior, even if we are not consciously aware of this fear. This fear manifests itself in a myriad of ways - self-destructive behaviors, harm to others, lying, and feelings of shame and doubt. So how do we overcome a fear that we’re not even conscious of? The first step, is of course, to increase our awareness about it. Enter yoga.
To the non-student, yoga can seem like a number of stretches and breathing exercises and maybe some hippie talk about returning to your child-like bliss. And they would be correct, to a degree. But for the ardent practitioner, the vastness of the practice is understood, even if only a few drops of the ocean of the teachings are currently comprehended. The areas of study within yoga are themselves vast: Philosophy, Spirituality, Lineage, Sanskrit, Anatomy, Postures, Breathing, Chanting, and Meditation. Break each of these down to the richness of teachings and content within them, and suddenly the notion of a yoga class being 60 minutes of stretching seems almost embarrassingly simplistic.
To be a student of yoga is to be a student of life, and that is why when I set-out to write about a headstand, I can start with the subconscious fear of death. When I first began practicing yoga, I would hear teachers talk about how the practice helps us become aware of fear and overcome it. Like the smart, strong, well-polished 30 year old man I was, I quietly rolled my eyes and found solace in knowing that enduring such seemingly vapid wisdom from the flaky young yogini was a small toll to pay for how good the practice made me feel physically and the mental clarity it provided.
And then I started to practice a headstand, or Shirshasana in the Sanskrit language. My body filled with fear as I felt my weight start to tip of over my shoulders while I strenuously lifted one foot off the ground while the other stayed glued to the mat like a sneaker left on freshly laid tar on a hot summer’s day. Lesson one, those flaky teachers knew what they were talking about, fear in this practice is real. Lesson two, life is about experience - we only truly know what we have experienced.
The fear stayed with me for awhile as I continued to practice, lessening a bit with each minor progression in the pose. But soon enough I was past that fear and onto a new stage of fear as I brought both my feet off the ground and knees into my chest, fighting to find balance and the core strength to straighten my legs. And then some more time passed and with the aid of the wall I was up in headstand, the fear of toppling over and snapping my neck minimized by the solid dry wall behind me that was somehow strong enough to keep my 200 lbs from falling, but fragile enough that I could share my neighbor’s WiFi.
And then one day I fell. No wall, no spotter. And it was then that I really began to understand the power of Shirshasana. Learning how to fall is learning how to live. You experience body-shaking fear for a short amount of time, and then you realize you’re fine. Perhaps a bit bruised and worn externally, but fortified to a new strength internally. So you try more and fall more, each time trying with more confidence and falling with less fear, or perhaps trying with less fear and falling with more confidence. And soon enough the fear of falling has somehow transformed into the joy of experiencing. Exit yoga.
If the fear of death resides in our subconscious, then by definition we are not conscious of it. So either we must reach a new state of consciousness to confront this fear, or perhaps we find proxies for it - like the fear of snapping our necks in attempt to rise into Shirshasana. Then each time we conquer a proxy fear, perhaps we get a step closer to transforming the fear of dying into the joy of living.
As I fell today in Shirshasana in the famed Sri K. Paatabhi Jois Shala, I gently rolled forward like I had done numerous times before and felt minimal fear and no shame - only gratitude that I fell so quickly in this experience that now my mind will have the ability to focus on the opportunity of growth in front of me and not the fear of falling. And that lesson is of course nothing new. FDR said it in '32, JFK said it in '61, and your boy STM said it in '18: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."
If Gandhi didn't have anything new to offer, then I sure as hell don't. But that doesn't mean we don't need constant reminders of all the truths we already know.
Healthy Living,
Swan