Certification: Another Hoop or a Hallmark by Jane Pahr

We’re in a circus ring only the lion is holding the whip and it’s me jumping through the hoops: Another prize. Another degree. Another certificate. Accolades. Applause. Approval. Never enough beyond the moment but the striving for each has had value both in learning and opening doors. Nothing of this world lasts, they’re all tucked away in a drawer or lost. Ultimately, all the great practices teach that we must give up the search in order to find that which we are truly seeking, ourselves.

Yoga means union. It has also come to mean the practice of seeking realization of our wholeness. A Yoga teacher half my life I’ve caught glimpses of the divine union which support me though seemingly lost in the striving to be, to do, and to have. Since I live in the world of illusion, it’s hard work seeing the truth that we are already connected in the divine fabric of being which includes everything and everyone. Still, the discovery or rediscovery of that which is eternal, omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient brings with it a deep sigh of contentment making each breath a prayer of gratitude. Besides, it’s fun to play with the edges of what I perceive to be reality and how it affects my perception of the world.

Yoga mind, beginners mind: in introductory courses when people expressed surprise that yoga is or can be more than ‘relaxation’ I joke, “Hard work, no effort.” It’s about both challenging and letting go of expectations or results. Most of us have been taught to use the whip, jump through more hoops, portals of achievement enhancing, affirming and acknowledging hard work as having value in the reward. Yoga teaches a new way of approaching life, free from these externals while acknowledging their existence, we move from self-rejection to acceptance finding the strength to support openness. The ability to adjust and respond through inner awareness produces a body that will change rather than break down. The wildness within is part of our nature not something to be tamed but rather directed accessing the vital energy of our animal nature rather than constantly being at the effect of it. Life is a constant process; in Yoga, we come together so that we may thrive rather than just survive it. Through our practice we’re hallmarked “authentic.”

Two years ago I moved to Italy. Romantic, no? As a vacation, yes , but that old adage, “No matter where you go, there you are” must be taken into consideration.” I moved from Los Angeles, where Yoga is mainstream to Trieste, a small city on the border of Slovenia where it’s still on the fringe. Fortunately, a Yoga practice is portable. With great enthusiasm, I looked forward to the opportunity to grow but of course growth more often than not involves pain, confusion and a myriad of adjustments. The roots of my attachment to the familiar grew far deeper than I realized and changing soil has, as so often happens in nature, caused some things to die while others come to new life.

So, when I received a newsletter defining the current establishment of standards to be a Certified Yoga Teacher, it struck me that I may have to give up yet another identity. Actually the Italian, “Mi ha colpito” seems more apt, something striking you in a way which if not painful certainly causes a start of awakening. One of my teachers used to say the goddess will tickle you with a touch light as a feather. If you don’t pay attention, you get broadsided by a two by four, knocked flat on you ass wondering, “What happened?” When I don’t pay attention, it’s painful.

“Who am I, if I’m not a Yoga teacher?” It’s been said that the source of our sense of separation from the divine is the use of I am, followed by a noun; the attachment to an "identity" one necessarily makes throughout life, redefining our position or role in the various stages of our life. It’s been particularly evident living in a foreign land, “l’americana’, out of the familiar. Aventura Italia began moving here two years ago in great anticipation of my ability to meet and embrace new opportunities. But, as usual, I’m way ahead of myself. Let me go back to the beginning.

Yoga has been an integral part of my life. In my early twenties I spinned into a kind of insanity at the UCLA Dance Department during a series of experiments by Dr. Val Hunt on bioenergetics, muscle energy patterns in trance dance. I was the dancer, spinning easily into altered consiousness, psychic, sensitive and completely spaced out, as we were so fond of saying at the time. Wandering into the Student Store I found BKS Iyengar’s, Light on Yoga, a virtual encyclopedia of yoga asanas and practice. I needed to be grounded, in my body. I finished the Master’s program with documentation of a performance theater piece for my thesis but emerged damaged and confused. Spinning out with the sense of rising above the body was easy, standing on my own two feet and functioning in the world was beyond me. Yoga saved my life.

I began with Tadasana, standing mountain pose. From a life of beating, prodding, starving, vommitting, working, forcing, demanding my body into shape I began to learn to stand still. I began practice with the book but rather than finding the expected relief, a deep reshaping and resizing was necessary in all parts of my life. Suddenly going from wraith to Rubenesque was part of the break down in what I now realize was the body’s calling me home. Heavily bundled in sweat clothes ashamed of layer of fat I’d acquired I joined a gym where I found a Yoga class taught by a gentle lovely mature woman , also named Jane, who had turned to Yoga after arthritis forced her to stop dancing. Her path was one of gentleness. Soon after, two other teachers appeared, Dunja, a crazy, beautiful inspiring, blond Norwegian goddess and Chad Hamrin, stern, wiry, strong, authoritarian yet playful. (Interestingly enough, they both have their stories of breakdown to tell, but those are their stories.) I fell in love with Dunja and worshipped Chad. Little by little my body began yet another transformation but that was not all. One day after class I said to Chad, “I can do the positions but my life is a mess. What should I do?” He replied in that enigmatic way Yoga teachers talk. “Don’t do anything. Do yoga.” I believed him only much later coming to find that doing Yoga is more than twisting your body into a pretzel standing on it’s head. It’s a life long process.

In the beginning as many do, I practiced with a religious fervor. I’m very lucky I didn’t burn out, maybe because I’d already hit bottom having crashed and burned before I began. Stripping off layers of sweat clothes to expose and look at the soft round, hated curves I began to look deeper. The body changed becoming a Yoga body, slim and strong. Soon thereafter I began to teach, called upon with no formal training to sub classes because I looked good doing the poses. Very much an external practice at first, gradually it took root.

I moved to New York after some small success as an actress where I went to work at the New York Health and Racquet Club to earn a living. I taught Yoga there in the late seventies, before it was fashionable to jump and pump, we relaxed and breathed through postures. Working near but not on Broadway was not what I’d hoped and life in New York City was cold so I returned to sunny Los Angeles where I immersed myself in the Center for Yoga. Still a beginner but with a talent for show I began teaching Yoga there. It was my center for almost 20 years. Teaching yoga is a continuous process of learning and maturing. The search for strength, flexibility, control of the body and mind have evolved and I hope deepened into expression, balance, sharing and harmony.

The career of longing to be somebody as an actress began to slip away as I asked myself if I really believed the words I was voicing, “Give up. Let go. Feel or feel where you don’t feel. Trust. Stand still. There’s strength in openness. Breath-in and out, what is yours will come to you. Trust.” Words I need to voice once again.

A full time Yoga teacher, I carted my mat from studio to gym. I dove deeply into my practice and as other dependency was revealed, into recovery as well. My master’s degree from the UCLA Dance Department qualified me to teach in Adult Ed. There, I was presented with another career teaching English as a Second Language. One I might add that I resisted mightily, “I’m a Yoga teacher not a…” until clients and work dropping away forced me to accept and grow once again. Surviving the public school system was directly a result of my Yoga practice. I thrived doing both while sometimes joking, “It’s all Yoga.” I once wrote that we’ve got the “I’m a …disease. I’m a this. I’m a that.” As we identify and define, we often limit and deny. I’m a… had to give way to, “I am.”

I met my husband. We practiced and grew in our community until a deep desire for transformation brought us to Trieste where he was born. Now, once again I’m a ….has to give way. The events of the last couple of years have shaken my identity in more ways than one. “I’m an American. I’m a teacher. I’m a wife. I’m a friend. I’m a singer. I’m a writer.” All of these have had to be questioned as relationships fell away and new ones form. I taught Yoga here the first year at a Martial Arts Studio, in Italian yet, no small feat given my limited ability to communicate at that time: we negotiated. There was basically no money and the environment while lovely was a gym not a Yoga studio. I felt exhausted, ungrounded, stretched too thin as I tried to expand, learn the language, sing, perform, study music and build a new life. With regret, I told the 4 regular students that I wouldn’t be teaching the next year.

Still, when the time came I sent off my renewal check to be a certified Yoga teacher.
I missed teaching Yoga. An acute sense of nostalgia began. While I love my new home, I miss living in a place where it’s easy to go to a class, practice with others when one feels a need and where a yoga teacher is actually compensated rather than fringe. Our profession is growing and thriving in many ways. Teaching had been so much a part of my practice that return to a private practice was surprisingly difficult. Finally, I began to feel the breath of spirit and relax into that omnipresent, yet elusive center of being and experience union, Yoga.

Therefore, when I read that in addition to a certain number of hours of study, class teaching hours are also required, I felt that shock of awareness. Mi ha colpito. Maybe I’m no longer a yoga teacher. I’ll have to give up the right to put the letters after, CYT, after my name. Tears. We’re taught in Yoga that attachment and desire are both obstacles and teachers. I feel far away from enlightenment; being asked once again to give up yet another identity I return to the eternal question, “Who am I?” Perhaps if I continue to seek, practice, listen more, speak less I’ll hear the answer. Yoga. Union. Connection. Breath in, out. We can’t hold onto anything. Breath in. Breath out. Ujjayi, the whisper of spirit. I’m listening.

The universe is humming. The birds are singing. The sun is shining. I have so much to learn but at least I’m learning to listen. It’s a beginning and we must always approach our practice with a beginner’s mind. Perhaps certification isn’t what makes a teacher but being called from within. Please grant me the humility to be still and know…I am.

Om shanti,
Jane

PS. Soon after writing this I received a call asking if I’d like to teach a class, so I begin again. Clearly the form and the role we play keeps changing, only that which is real remains.