Embodying Soul: A Return to Wholeness
Section 4: Chapters 26 & 27
Dear reader,
What does a soul pack when preparing a trip to the Earth Realm? And do we humans know how to use such gifts as intended?
In chapter 26, Soul Tools, I share the tools my soul packed. And in several of the chapters that follow, I share both my need for these tools and my early attempts at using them.
Enjoy!
Chapter 26: Soul Tools
Even in a setting as magical as the Soul Realm, suitcases do not pack themselves.
So, my soul friend across from me, a steaming mug of peppermint tea at my right hip, a list and a pencil at my left, I tie my long hair into a low ponytail and get to work. An array of potential items sits between us: ancient wisdom tools and commonsense accessories; gems to realign each energy chakra along the spine of the human body; scents and sounds to awaken memories or inner knowledge.
Rasa reaches into the pile to pick out the first item. “What in soulnations?” I ask, noting that this item seems nothing more than a glass comb.
“Look closer,” she instructs, beaming.
I turn the comb over in my hands and brush its sharp, fine teeth against my palm. Its stunning beauty belies its strength. Words etched into its glass handle read “Neti, neti.” I exclaim, “Oh, this comb is not for hair, is it?”
“That is the Comb of Discernment,” Rasa replies, “for use on the hunt for the Great Truth. If there is a crumb of truth within life’s sandboxes of uncertainty, the comb will pick it out. If there is a kernel of wisdom buried under the rocks of convention, the comb will rake it up. Take, look, examine, discriminate. When you place an item — such as a philosophical statement, or a piece of advice — under the discerning teeth of that comb, its true nature, and indeed its intentions, will be revealed. Then you will know whether or not the item is for you.
This makes perfect sense. “Neti, neti,” Sanskrit for “not this, not that,” is a truth-seeking method of trying on and taking off, masking and unmasking until something fits right.
The next item Rasa pulls from the pile is a heavy glass mirror with the phrase “Love Yourself First” encircling the handle in gold lettering.
“Ah, the Mirror of Self-Love!” I exclaim, my eyes igniting as I take it in my hands.
“Exactly. While the effectiveness of the Comb of Discernment cannot be discounted, over time combing through convictions, beliefs, and values can understandably erode one’s sense of self. To maintain health and balance the comb must be paired with the mirror; ambitious truth-seeking must be paired with patient self-love. Stripping away at yourself while not building anything stronger in its place is a dangerous proposition.”
I peer into the mirror, seeing an image of my ego in her mid-thirties, with long, thin bronze eyebrows; high, curved cheekbones; and heart-shaped pink lips — all features familiar from the last time I saw my ego in the boardroom except for her short hair.
“My hair is short! When did that happen?” I ask.
Rasa peeks over my shoulder and explains, “At some point along her spiritual journey your ego makes that choice. I think it suits her well! Any hairstylist in the Earth Realm will tell you that how a woman wears her hair is often a reflection of the changes occurring inside her. In your ego’s case, she is demonstrating both her willingness to be seen in the world and her choice to release the old and embrace the new,” explains Rasa.
I look into the mirror again. My lips curl into a smile, and at first the image in the mirror looks surprised but then smiles back, her eyes growing soft. “She was slim last time I saw her but not this thin! Is she healthy?” I ask.
“She has begun a vegetarian diet and is exercising quite a lot,” Rasa answers. “So her body has changed. As for her health — well, I will tell you that what she hungers for most cannot come from any kind of physical food because what she hungers for most is for someone to look at her the way you are looking at her right now.”
I make silly faces at the woman. She laughs quietly, and as she does she brings a hand up to cover her mouth. I hope one day to encourage her to take her hand down, throw her head back, and laugh freely.
“There are no shortcuts to self-love,” Rasa says, as she watches the two of us play in the mirror. “It takes time, patience, and gentleness to cultivate it within yourself. Like the mirror handle says, you must love yourself first,” Rasa emphasizes.
I wave good-bye to my ego, and thank my soul friend for the gift and the information.
“You are most welcome,” she answers. “Now, one final item.” She pulls from the pile what appears to be a pen.
“This pen is the Pen of Reflection,” she explains. “Although it is often employed in the making of lists and reminders, or even mindless doodles, it transforms into a magical communication tool when used in combination with the human journal, encouraging expression of the heart, the emotions, and the body’s sensations, all in the service of greater self-awareness.”
I spin the pen in my fingers. It is fiery yellow, light and smooth. As with the Comb of Discernment and the Mirror of Self-Love, words encircle the pen. They read: “Who Are You?”
“It is possible — indeed likely — that the writings made by that pen will lead to self-discovery and further growth and evolution,” Rasa adds reverently.
My heart full of gratitude for the unearthly power of these tools, I place them inside my suitcase. Curiosa, knowing full well what this signifies and eager to begin our adventure, tips her head back and lets out a passionate howl.
“Yes,” I answer her, as together we gaze out beyond Overlap toward the Earth Realm. “The time is now.”
Chapter 27: Soaking in Knowledge
One evening after yoga class I asked Curiosa, “What do we have to lose by going all in with yoga, embracing the philosophies, the lifestyle, the breathing practices, the meditations, everything?”
She barked her assent.
“So what if we lose a few outdated belief systems! My mind could use a good purge!”
She howled in agreement.
“Caution be damned! Rules be damned! Good riddance to believe like a child! We’re seeking the Great Truth now! Wait, where did the phrase the Great Truth come from, Curiosa? Those aren’t my words, are they, and yet they’re perfect.”
She poked her nose into my chest.
“Wow, a search for the Great Truth!” I exclaimed, rubbing her head and kissing her wet nose. “Oh, my seeking partner, only you know how many years I’ve longed to trust some ultimate truth. Only you know how I stare at people in church and envy their confidence in the words they read and repeat. Only you know what it would mean for me to find something in which I can wholeheartedly immerse myself, even become a spokesperson for! Yoga must be that path, Curiosa. It feels so right. I don’t feel like I’m learning things in Maryann’s classes, I feel like I’m remembering them.”
Curiosa barked repeatedly as if to underscore my observations.
“If only it hadn’t taken me so long to get started. Why, we could have already had eternal joy, bliss, maybe even enlightenment!” I complained.
My wolf suddenly sat down and cocked her head.
“What’s wrong? You’re good with wholeness and wisdom, but not enlightenment?”
She whined, pawing at the floor.
I sighed, knelt beside her, and explained, “From what I’ve read in my yoga books, enlightenment would offer us a great relief, freeing us from the pains and frustrations of living, making life seem less depressing, complicated, and unfair. Enlightenment is the way to joy. Just imagine the kind of wife and mother I could be — calm, peaceful, and loving, with an abundance of patience and gentleness instead of my quick fuse.”
Showing that while she may have had concerns about my motivations, she wasn’t against the idea entirely, Curiosa grabbed a corner of my rolled-up yoga mat with her teeth, unrolled it by walking backward, then played on the mat in Downward Facing Dog Pose.
With a goal in sight, I couldn’t waste time pondering my wolf’s mixed feelings. I believed I was finally back in control of my own destiny. And, like when running, I might have been coming from behind but knew how to push myself to the front of the pack. The sooner I could get to the finish line, the sooner I could be the calm, sweet, easygoing, type B person I was sure I was.
***
After about six months of yoga classes with Maryann, I joined every style and level of class I could find around Minnesota. I ordered yoga blocks, D-ring straps, wool blankets, and trendy yoga clothing online. When my large order of books on yoga and spirituality arrived on my doorstep, I felt as if I’d landed in my own version of Oz, a spiritual paradise where the Tree of Knowledge was bursting with apples ripe for the picking.
In Vinyasa classes, we moved from one pose to the next on the flow of the breath with notable speed, the teacher guiding us in a mixture of English and Sanskrit: “Inhale Warrior 1, exhale Warrior 2. Inhale straighten the front leg, exhale Trikonasana.”
In Iyengar classes, we were encouraged to use props to attain proper alignment.
In Ashtanga classes, we repeated the same sequence of challenging poses, with or without props.
In Bikram classes, we did the same twenty-six poses each time in a 105-degree room to help us sweat out our impurities, refraining from drinking water except at designated times.
I negotiated with my husband — “You go play golf on Saturday afternoons, and then I can take yoga on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings” — and our life slipped into a new routine. On the days my husband was out of town, I’d hire a babysitter and go to yoga. If he was in town, he would come home, I’d give him a quick update on the girls, and I’d be off to nightly New Age class. Between Todd’s work schedule, my yoga schedule, and a life with toddlers, our marriage began to deteriorate.
Around the house I donned yoga pants and stylish tanks, kicked up into handstands and dropped into backbends at random. I memorized Sanskrit terminology while pushing my girls on the swings in our backyard, and practiced poses in my living room with my television tuned to children’s programming. I dreamt that maybe someday the woman pictured on the Yoga Journal cover would be me and inside the magazine would be an interview in which I spoke, with peace radiating from my eyes, about the transformative path of yoga, explaining how my only regret was that I hadn’t discovered yoga before having kids so I could have been a better mother.
Though most of the classes I was now taking were more akin to expensive aerobics classes than the philosophical deep dives into silence Maryann had provided, these classes stirred up my competitive spirit and gave Curiosa plenty to chew on. She galloped around like a pup while I picked up crumbs of my new power and ideas.
“Who knew I had so much to say?” I declared.
My companion barked as if to reply, “Why has it taken you so long to discover your voice?”
In small ways at first, I tested my reclaimed power. I’d voice my displeasure with the cable company over the phone, or ask for a refill of coffee after I’d paid the bill, or give a full-throated “I was next in line” at a chaotic checkout counter. Once I even left an annual holiday party early for no reason other than wanting to go home, slip into flannel pajamas, and read a good book, reminding myself inwardly, “Don’t say the babysitter called.” And once in a while, in public places I’d laugh out loud with my head thrown back, no hand demurely covering my mouth.
Sometimes people reacted to my new behavior with surprise or respect, some even telling me that it inspired them to speak up for their own needs. Other times people raised eyebrows and clucked tongues in disapproval.
Such disapproval was emphasized by my own emotions.
“Maybe your voice is too big to fit society’s decorum,” Fear would speculate.
“What happened to staying small, humble, accommodating?” Guilt would scold.
So I’d sometimes muffle my budding search for truth under apologies. Often watching my voice grow was like watching a tiny bobber on one of Minnesota’s ten thousand lakes: every now and then there was a nibble, an indication of something living beneath the surface that got me watching and excited for more. But then Fear and Guilt would slice the line.
***
My mind continued to be noisy and chaotic during its renovation period. I tore down walls constructed with beliefs about hard work and stoic endurance originating during my North Dakota upbringing. I yanked out the red, white, and blue rug of the American Dream, as well as beliefs I’d held around a natural mother’s instinct. I removed fallacies of the so-called real world. In their stead, I hung up new curtains — beliefs, themes, and quotes — from the spiritual world and Eastern philosophy. I surrounded myself with quotes about the importance of self-worth, poems about authenticity, and words of wisdom from yogic texts. I tried to direct my mental renovation the same way I would have directed a kitchen renovation, but I soon learned that it was not going to be that easy.
If I could go back in time to talk with this version of myself, I would explain that now, having taken her power and curiosity back, she has a whole lifetime ahead of her to discard powerful ingrained beliefs and assimilate new knowledge at a realistic pace. I would advise her to take it slowly, because transforming too quickly can cause instability and confusion, even an identity crisis.
But at the time I would have been too hungry to listen to any such advice. And once one has been hungry, a world in which we don’t have to scrounge or fight for our next meal feels like a fantasy world since famine could be just around the corner. My choices as I felt them were binary, as was everything else in my life at this time: feed my hunger or be prey to Depression. I had not yet learned about middle paths.
***
“All or nothing girl” was how one of my teachers teasingly referred to me. She was right, but my uncompromising mindset meant I experienced painful disappointment when what I needed personally and what yoga asked of me differed. As one example, my yoga classes regularly stressed the importance of nonjudgment, which, in the microcosm of the yoga class, meant to not compare our pose or progress with that of others, and in the macrocosm of daily life would mean not comparing our inner perceptions of ourselves with the outer presentations of others. I wanted to comply, for I understood the damage — the inability to empathize with oneself or others, for instance — that judgment could induce. But when the teachers said, “Don’t judge,” I heard: “Don’t question, don’t challenge; just believe like a child.” This time, though, rather than being asked to innocently believe in God I was being asked to blindly believe in yoga. I couldn’t do that, because my wolf and I were on the important life-saving mission of Operation Great Truth, which required that I question everything in the world around me, as well as in my own mind, without limitation or restraint.
But I couldn’t turn back either. Maybe even more than wanting to discover the Great Truth, I wanted to belong to the spiritual world in a way I never did to the real world. This meant I needed to become a full-fledged yogini — a woman who practices yoga not as a hobby but as a way of life — from my ponytail to my bare feet, from my diet to my lifestyle, from my commitment to practicing poses daily to a commitment to practicing nonjudgment. So I wore ponytails and walked barefoot. I became a vegetarian and practiced daily. I perused yoga-related websites and signed up for their newsletters, all in an effort to find my voice, power, and place in the spiritual community I saw as my destiny.
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