Thoughts from Shavasana

“Ahh-ohmmm. Ooo-ohmmm.” The room billowed in and out, like one big heart, vibrating to the varying tones of the yoga students’ ohms.  We were led by a female instructor, a petite woman with clear, olive skin, sporting bright pink striped tights. Her eyes were closed as her voice produced multiple notes at once--or so it seemed. She played some sort of instrument I had never set eyes on before, a mix between an accordion and a piano perhaps. The fingers of one hand pressed keys that were obstructed by the instrument’s wooden box, which she pumped with her other hand. Bringing air in and out, back and forth, she added to the billowing energy that controlled the sacred space.

“Day-ya-na oo-da-nah,” her sweet voice rang, leading the class through rounds of Sanskrit verses.

“Day-ya-na oo-da-nah,” we responded, in a lower tone.

This call-and-response continued for several minutes until the song was finished. Then, one moment of silence until, perfectly on cue, the 8pm bells began to ring from a nearby church.

From one culture to the next, I thought. The nightly sound of the bells, always the most dynamic at 8:00, reminded me that I was in a yoga class in Switzerland. That is yoga’s beauty and power, I thought. It can transcend cultures. It is absent of culture. 

The instructor began to give instructions to the class. I would have been completely lost if it weren’t for her occasional translations into English as well as the many bodies surrounding me performing the same series of poses. I was lost at times, twisted up like a pretzel, leading with my left instead of my right, facing the wrong side of the room.

Funny, because when we were singing in Sanskrit—more foreign to me than Swiss German—I was right there singing along. I wasn’t belting, but I could imitate the sounds and follow along with the tune.

When we reached the end of the class, an hour and a half later (after sweating next to other bodies who were also sweating, and using my legs much more than they appreciated on this “rest day”), we finally lay down in Shavasana. The pink-legged instructor walked around the room, switching off lights so that all was darkness aside from the flickering glow from a few candles below a picture of the Hindu god Krishna.

When meditating—or lying in Shavasna, which is essentially a prone meditation, I try to imagine looking down past my nose and focus on a single color. Black is usually the least distracting. If I am successful, I feel like I am seeing very far into this black space. I can also transform the environment in which I am lying to any environment of my imagination—sounds of water become an ocean wave, or the instructor transforms into Kindness personified.

But as I lay there, none of this happened. I thought of my friend and wonderful dance and yoga instructor, Marie, and how she calls these distracting thoughts that inhibit reaching full meditation the “monkey mind.” “Don’t judge your thoughts, just let them be and let them slip away,” she would tell her classes through her French accent.

But they wouldn’t stop and they wouldn’t slip away. Instead of looking deep into that black space, my vision stopped at my nose. It was a shallow gaze, obstructed by the color white and by the many images that came to me.

How powerful we are, I thought. We lie in the most passive of the poses, Shavasana, yet no one can harm us. How could anyone walk into a room of people, lying peacefully, each one trying to achieve a state of relaxation so deep that one is disconnected from the world? If only our wars were fought like this. Instead of killing one another we would lie on the ground, detach ourselves from the present woes, fights, injustices, differences, prejudices and surrender, all of us becoming one with the forces of a greater universe.

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Throughout my entire time in Switzerland this summer I haven’t been able to see "past my nose." I can't help but wonder if being in a place of constant comfort makes searching for depth more difficult. No one and nothing is pushing me really. Few things bother me. People seem happy and healthy, and from my current vantage point, the world appears a pretty lovely place. 

In the past, I have used meditation as an escape from hardship. During times of stress, deep sadness, escalating anxiety. When I least want to meditate is when I know I need it the most. And when meditating seems like a pretty nice thing to do with fifteen minutes of the day, is when it is least effective. 

Isn't that ironic then, that the more peaceful I am, the more difficult I find it to enter complete meditation--the epitome of finding inner peace?

So, as I exit this class (that normally costs CH30 or about $35--fortunately I was able to get a discount), I wonder if maybe we aren’t meant to pay for expensive yoga classes. Maybe yoga is supposed to be more of a way to approach life-- and that it is most helpful when one's mindset during the practice is in greatest contrast to one's day-to-day mindset. 

So then, there still remains a bigger question. Am I living a life of "happiness as fluff" right now, a term that a friend of mine wrote in an email to me. This travel experience differs so greatly from my time spent in Morocco and Finland, which each involved their own form of hardships. This travel experience is so much more enjoyable. But then again, I didn't go to Morocco to enjoy myself. I went to Morocco to be pushed around, jolted, have my world turned upside-down and right side-up again. And, as evidenced by the fact that I attempted to buy a plane ticket home at least three times, I sure as hell achieved that. I would not be the Rosalie I am now if it weren't for those eleven weeks of toughness and roughness in Al Magrib. 

But surely life doesn't have to be one or the other--"happiness as fluff", or complete suffering--does it? There must be a balancing point somewhere in between. Where people and things are there to give you a little shove, life is a challenge so you aren't able to slip too easily into a predictable routine, but at night you can go to sleep and feel relaxed and look forward to the following day of challenges--as opposed to viewing them with dread or anxiety. 

And, if you are one who likes to practice yoga, when you finish going through all the sweaty, grueling poses and let yourself take a final rest in Shavasana, you are able to see past your nose into a deep infinite space obstructed by no one and nothing. You have done your work in this world, you have tried to make it a better place, and now your gift is the ability to temporarily escape it.