Embodying Soul: A Return to Wholeness
Section 4: Chapter 29—Heeding a Calling
Dear reader: This chapter could alternatively be called, “The Making of a Yoga Teacher.” For me, it wasn’t entirely a smooth ride, as my powerful companion, Curiosa, refused to let it be one. Looking back, I am very glad for her passion and refusal to simply accept anything as Truth without examining it fully and from every angle.
Enjoy!
After I had studied yoga for about a year, one of my teachers had suggested I look into teaching it. He told me of a weekend training I could take, and offered to let me guest teach at the gym where I was taking his class. Because I’d assumed that there was some magical place in the sky where people went to transform into yoga teachers or that they were chosen at birth, hearing that anyone from anywhere could become a yoga teacher over a weekend at first felt disappointing. However, after my disappointment faded my fingertips began to tingle and my heart lightened. I remembered that I’d always wanted to choose my own adventure, and I saw teaching yoga as an ideal adventure, uniting my love of yoga with my desire to keep growing and learning. I felt I had finally found my purpose.
I began picturing myself at the front of a classroom, sharing yogic wisdom with confidence, giving verbal adjustments with clarity and skill, and gently guiding students into their safest, most comfortable poses. I aimed to be the kind of teacher I preferred, who was unafraid to rub against the grain of what’s popular in favor of authenticity, who encouraged questions and emotions, who didn’t say, “Don’t judge” but instead suggested, “Stay curious about your mind judging.” I couldn’t wait for my teacher training.
***
The start of my yoga teacher training was nothing like how I had envisioned it. The weekend training didn’t teach me much I hadn’t already learned, and I was not only disappointed but angry.
“What the hell kind of lame training is this? This isn’t yoga! This is aerobics! This is a popularity contest, not a spiritual training!” Anger roared.
“Keep your head and hand down!” advised Fear, trying to rein in Anger.
But I blushed and stared at my raised arm, wondering how it got there.
The athletic, thirty-something yoga instructor called on me. “Yes, uh . . . I was just wondering, are we actually certified to teach yoga now?” I stammered. People turned. My heart raced, and my face flushed even more deeply.
“Yes, of course this class certifies you to teach yoga,” the instructor replied, tilting her head.
Dumbfounded, I asked again, “Just to be clear, we can advertise and teach a yoga class next week?”
“You can teach a class tomorrow, if you like,” the instructor verified.
Anger ranted, “But this training is insufficient! It’s too shallow. It’s not right to send people out into the world teaching this rich tradition with so little training!”
After the weekend class was over, I yielded to a letdown similar to one my daughter Cameron experienced when she, thirteen at the time, asked me to make “my” chicken for dinner, referring to the special way I cooked chicken so that it turned out juicy and flavorful.
“Okay!” I told her, excited about her interest. “And you can watch, too, so you can learn!”
That evening she watched as I washed the chicken breasts, placed them in a pan, covered them with water, and added two bouillon cubes, explaining that they had to be a specific brand, then turned the burner on.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it!” I confirmed.
“Oh, I thought there was more to it,” she replied, picking up her phone and walking away.
***
After the weekend yoga training, I upgraded my studies to something with more flavor and texture, choosing to study privately with Maryann. Although Maryann was a yoga teacher, in her heart of hearts she was a philosopher. It was the philosophy of yoga, not its exercise benefits, that had a younger Maryann globe-trotting to learn directly from the best of the best: B. K. S. Iyengar, Angela Farmer, and Beryl Bender, among others. She had studied both Eastern and Western philosophy with passion, but, always left feeling that there was piece missing, in the end had formulated her own unique brand of yoga.
Maryann was critical of the direction yoga classes were taking in the West, feeling — and I agreed — that too much emphasis was being placed on the physical benefits and sensory stimuli, with the use of lights, music, and scents rather than, through silence and stillness, accessing the spiritual dimensions that lie beyond the senses. Yoga, she always reminded her students, is about one thing only: growing more conscious. She explained: “Being conscious, which involves trying to find the meaning of existence, is an arduous path. It costs a lot because it’s worth a lot.”
From today’s perspective, I realize I was given a great gift in having the opportunity to study with a woman who operates comfortably from her own power and who lives her life as she teaches her classes: with authenticity, acknowledging the truth of who she is with a zesty blend of lightheartedness, courage, and willingness to accept her dark side, knowing that darkness loses power when brought under the light. Because of her choice to embody her soul, she inspired me to wonder about embodying mine.
Between Maryann’s philosophical influence and Tara’s compassionate one, I probably needed no other teachers. But things were changing fast in the yoga world at this time, and though Maryann had been studying and teaching for decades she had not filled out the paperwork or paid the fee to sign off on the certificate I would need to teach at most places. So I signed up for the two-hundred-hour Yoga Alliance certified study with a local Minneapolis yoga studio.
Rather than a weekend getaway, this training felt like school. And just like I was back in school I showed up to class on time, turned in all my assignments, and, when asked to give a report with another student, typed up the entire report myself and added her name to the top of the page. But unlike at school I refused to leave Curiosa tied up outside. This meant I raised my hand for clarity as often as I needed to, even if people stared.
“Hey, Curiosa, do you think if I write down sixteen hours in my practice log for today they’d accept it? After all, yoga is supposed to be practiced in every breath, every moment, every interaction, right?” I asked one day.
My wolf chortled. Then I wrote down a reasonable number, figuring the teachers weren’t looking for a smartass. One fruitful year later I prepared to send ripples of change through the yoga world.
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