I am on my way home from teaching a four-day intensive in Portland, Oregon at The Bhaktishop, run by the fabulous Lisa Mae Osborn. In October 2011, I resigned my license to teach Anusara yoga. Lisa Mae invited me to come and teach at her place in the midst of many cancellations for various reasons. And while the years following my resignation were somewhat rough at times, as I struggled to find an authentic balance between my past training and my current offerings, Lisa Mae has stood next to me as a solid companion and friend on the Path. She and I are around the same age and have been “in the ring” teaching yoga for around the same time so we share a long-term perspective about the inner work of teaching in the midst of the ever-changing tides of industry trends.
And while Lisa has always been interested in the intersection of spirituality and politics, that passion has been ignited since the 2016 election and in what we both see as its aftermath. She has spent the last year using her studio-- and platform as a teacher and community leader-- to offer workshops, seminars, and trainings dedicated to inclusivity, diversity and social justice. These topics are highly charged, difficult to work with well, and increasingly necessary in a time when racial tensions are high, equal rights of all kinds are threatened, and every news cycle brings some fresh new hell for us to confront, examine, process, and attempt to integrate into what has become a new normal. Whether or not yoga teachers want to be political, and despite the valid and varied positions regarding the role of the teacher/studio in our current political climate, the cultural backdrop from which people now enter our classes is fraught with upset. That much seems obvious.
So, when discussing a format for my offering this year, Lisa Mae asked if some of the elements to which she has been dedicated since the election might be included in an intensive for yoga teachers. Thus, The Grace of Great Things Teacher Intensive was born.
While I am no social justice educator, nor do I consider myself an activist, I have never been one to shy away from difficult discussions in the right setting. (And, before that sounds like a “right setting” and “wrong setting” or a “good time to talk about oppression” v. a “bad time to talk about oppression” I do believe that some situations are more conducive to communication and dialogue than others. And some suit my temperament better than others. And so “right” is not a value judgement as much as a recognition of what I need as a facilitator to step into sensitive territory.) I asked for all participants to commit to the entire training, accepted no “drop-in-for-asana-only” registrations, and asked for a four-day intensive format where we met for five hours in the middle of each day with breaks throughout.
I had a loose template to work with and centered our writing and discussions around a section in Parker Palmer’s book, The Courage to Teach, called The Grace of Great Things. This section of his book talks about a vision of educational community that gathers around the great things of any subject, makes room for the sacred and secular to inform one another, and honors each participant in the community with respect and reverence for their varied experience, expertise, and humanity.
I found the week difficult. It rained continually and the group didn’t always laugh at my jokes. We had varied asana capacities and differing backgrounds and spheres of influence. The topics brought me into the realm of my own existential considerations of power, corruption, and futility which made me reach for sources of hope, healing, and strength in new ways.
I also found the work exhilarating, meaningful, and deep. One of my favorite things about teaching right now is that I have found some interesting avenues to make use of my many struggles as a person and a teacher. I have an abundance of stories about my varied misunderstandings— as a student, a teacher, a wife, a friend, etc. that illustrate how messy the path can be. I don’t share them because I “need to share” as much as because I hope to level the field a bit, to end the silence of shame that isolates, divides, and cuts us off from our own gifts and offerings. It's kind of weird to say it, but my teaching work became redemptive when I no longer felt it was necessary to have all the answers, to be a shining example of righteousness, health or well-being, or to have the most refined understanding of asana, anatomy, or philosophy on the market.
In writing, it seems obvious to me that as nice as it might sound to gather around The Grace of Great Things, it is only fair that those Great Things exact a price in order for their Grace to be recognized. And while I believe that Grace is Grace because it needn’t be earned, my experience has often been that to step into its flow requires some kind of payment in the form of personal inquiry, risk, trust, and surrender. And, it seems, that the gift of those sacrifices, is always returned ten-thousand fold from my students. To witness and participate in another person’s self-inquiry, risk-taking, courage, and surrender is a Grace like no other.
Some key points emerged as take-aways from my own musings and from the students heart-felt sharing, regarding how yoga teachers create safe space for others in this troubled time. The following list is not an exhaustive enumeration, nor do I have each point fleshed out in some organized plan, but here goes--
More could be said, but that is enough for today.
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"There is a light that shines beyond all things on Earth, beyond us all, beyond the heaven, beyond the highest, the very highest heavens. This is the light that shines in our heart."