Throughout my childhood, bullies would take it upon themselves to show me that it wasn't safe to exist in my body. They laughed and called me names. Each word uttered pushed my consciousness a little further out of my body and into my head where I could construct layer after layer of defenses. By the time I was seven, my body had proven itself to be a liability and I had given up on the idea that it would ever hold any value to me.
Given my rocky history with my fellow ankle-biters, I had a tough time relating to other children so I craved approval from adults. Adults don't compliment you for running and jumping. They don't congratulate you for taking risks. They don't care about how familiar you are with your body, instead, they care about what you know. While other kids went outside for recess, I was in the computer lab. While other kids practiced their rebounds, I practiced becoming invisible. I read books. I did well in school. I honed a sense of humor.
Eventually, you display a behavior long enough that it stops being a behavior and just becomes a part of you. Over the years, my body and I grew distant. I became detached from my senses. I could only taste the strongest foods. I was frequently unsure if I was hungry or nauseous. It became harder and harder to discern physical stimuli. Bit by bit, my wildly active brain was becoming trapped inside an increasingly inert lump of meat.
In my understanding of my body, the only part that mattered was my brain. It carried my thoughts, my memories, my personality. My identity. And then one day, I encountered a single sentence that would go on to wreck everything I thought I knew about myself. I'm going to share it with you, but I have to warn you... If you, like me, have put a lot of stock in being the smartest person in the room at the expense of everything else, it might send you for a loop. Are you ready? Here goes:
I am not my thoughts.
Hold on, go back. Read it again. Better yet, say it out loud.
I am not my thoughts.
That sentence fucked my shit right up. Prior to that moment if you had asked me, all I was, was my thoughts. If I wasn't my thoughts, what the hell am I? Who am I? After a frenzied Google Search to calm my identity crisis, I discovered that most Eastern cultures tend to be a little more integrated than we do. To them, there is no separation between their thoughts and their body. It's all just them.
That idea had never occurred to me, but now that it had, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. This whole essay is predicated on me being self-aware enough to recognize that I was living out of my head, but in that moment, I didn't know any of this yet. All I knew was for the first time in my life I was homesick for my body. My perspective immediately flipped 180 degrees and I realized the truth of the matter:
My body has been a stalwart companion and supported me my entire life.
My body never abandoned me, even after I abandoned it.
My body has always fought on my behalf, even while I berated and dishonored it.
In the history of space and time, billions of years in the making, a simultaneously happenstance and excruciatingly specific mixture of starstuff and genetics came together to form this one of a kind body that no one will ever know any better than I do.
Those epiphanies crushed me. I told my body I was sorry and asked it to forgive me. I told it I was going to try and do better. Be different. I wanted things to change. I wanted to change. I wanted to be there for it. I wanted it to know the love and kindness and gentleness it deserved. I didn't know what that meant, or how I was going to figure it out, but if it would just be patient with me a little longer, I was trying.
It wasn't long after that, that Yoga found its way to me. It wasn't long after that, that I found my way to Renegade. And it wasn't long after that, I learned about Renegade's Path Program and knew that was where I was meant to be.
The Path Program is a two year deep dive into the mysticism of yoga. The subtle energies, the chakras, the sutras, the history of yoga. Early on, I'd listen to the staff have discussions about prana, the energy that flows through our bodies. They talked about how when they were practicing, they could feel the energy build up and release itself. I envied their connection to their bodies. Despite my change in attitude, I often feel as though I've remained dense.
The last two weeks have been especially difficult. My time on the Path has been earmarked with a flurry of activity. Part of this is by design. Joining the Path requires a commitment to doing Yoga five times a week. Fortunately, yoga is more than twisting yourself into bendy shapes, so I've been practicing asanas at home, meditating twice a week, engaging Mula Bandha sporadically throughout my day, and practicing breath control. The Path also assigns some articles and a book and asks us to write responses to it.
Proving that no matter how much I've grown , there's always more work to be done, I still crave approval from my teachers so I also took on an online meditation course, dipped my toes into a Kriya practice, and began receiving daily updates to help me discern my shamanic path.
It was too much. Those last few items were the straws that broke my camel pose's back and suddenly I found myself completely drained and overwhelmed. I felt lost and very aware of the fact that I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time. The staff all inform me that I don't have to know. I just have to show up to the mat. Yoga is 1% theory, 99% practice, they tell me. "All is coming", they say.
In the midst of this existential exhaustion and ennui, I managed to drag myself to the Wednesday night meditation class. I was deeply soul tired. I had lost my gusto. When I got to the meditation room, I crashed on a cushion with a sigh. Most of my prior attempts at meditation had resulted in sudden onset napping. But I've been practicing. I was determined to stay alert and with my breath.
Christina walked us through Iyengar's "Thermometer Breath", a technique where you envision light and energy flowing up and down your spine like a thermometer in time with your breath. After a few deep breaths, I suddenly became aware of something unusual. A wave of warmth beginning in the base of my spine, began to make its way up my back. It reached my shoulders and wrapped around my upper arms. It was gentle and steady; soft and comforting. It was pranic energy blowing through my root and sacral chakras and surrounding my heart. It filled my lungs. I inhaled deeply and willed that energy to work its way into my muscles and into my very bones. For nearly twenty minutes, I was wrapped in a warm cocoon of energy.
When I started the Path, I wanted to experience the sensation of pranic energy just because it seemed mysterious and bad ass. And while those elements certainly remain, it wasn't lost on me that the day I felt this energy wash over me was a day that had been proceeded by nearly two weeks of low energy and second guessing myself. This wasn't a feather to put in my Yogi cap; it was a gift from my body. It recognized and honored the work I've been doing, the effort I had been putting into our relationship.
They say "All is coming." If I'm being honest, I don't know what the "all" means. I have no way of knowing where this is going, or even who I'll be at the end of these two years. But I do know that in the meantime I'm looking forward to continuing to move out of the cold logic of my head and into the warm comfort of my body.
- Paul Clouse
Given my rocky history with my fellow ankle-biters, I had a tough time relating to other children so I craved approval from adults. Adults don't compliment you for running and jumping. They don't congratulate you for taking risks. They don't care about how familiar you are with your body, instead, they care about what you know. While other kids went outside for recess, I was in the computer lab. While other kids practiced their rebounds, I practiced becoming invisible. I read books. I did well in school. I honed a sense of humor.
Eventually, you display a behavior long enough that it stops being a behavior and just becomes a part of you. Over the years, my body and I grew distant. I became detached from my senses. I could only taste the strongest foods. I was frequently unsure if I was hungry or nauseous. It became harder and harder to discern physical stimuli. Bit by bit, my wildly active brain was becoming trapped inside an increasingly inert lump of meat.
In my understanding of my body, the only part that mattered was my brain. It carried my thoughts, my memories, my personality. My identity. And then one day, I encountered a single sentence that would go on to wreck everything I thought I knew about myself. I'm going to share it with you, but I have to warn you... If you, like me, have put a lot of stock in being the smartest person in the room at the expense of everything else, it might send you for a loop. Are you ready? Here goes:
I am not my thoughts.
Hold on, go back. Read it again. Better yet, say it out loud.
I am not my thoughts.
That sentence fucked my shit right up. Prior to that moment if you had asked me, all I was, was my thoughts. If I wasn't my thoughts, what the hell am I? Who am I? After a frenzied Google Search to calm my identity crisis, I discovered that most Eastern cultures tend to be a little more integrated than we do. To them, there is no separation between their thoughts and their body. It's all just them.
That idea had never occurred to me, but now that it had, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. This whole essay is predicated on me being self-aware enough to recognize that I was living out of my head, but in that moment, I didn't know any of this yet. All I knew was for the first time in my life I was homesick for my body. My perspective immediately flipped 180 degrees and I realized the truth of the matter:
My body has been a stalwart companion and supported me my entire life.
My body never abandoned me, even after I abandoned it.
My body has always fought on my behalf, even while I berated and dishonored it.
In the history of space and time, billions of years in the making, a simultaneously happenstance and excruciatingly specific mixture of starstuff and genetics came together to form this one of a kind body that no one will ever know any better than I do.
Those epiphanies crushed me. I told my body I was sorry and asked it to forgive me. I told it I was going to try and do better. Be different. I wanted things to change. I wanted to change. I wanted to be there for it. I wanted it to know the love and kindness and gentleness it deserved. I didn't know what that meant, or how I was going to figure it out, but if it would just be patient with me a little longer, I was trying.
It wasn't long after that, that Yoga found its way to me. It wasn't long after that, that I found my way to Renegade. And it wasn't long after that, I learned about Renegade's Path Program and knew that was where I was meant to be.
The Path Program is a two year deep dive into the mysticism of yoga. The subtle energies, the chakras, the sutras, the history of yoga. Early on, I'd listen to the staff have discussions about prana, the energy that flows through our bodies. They talked about how when they were practicing, they could feel the energy build up and release itself. I envied their connection to their bodies. Despite my change in attitude, I often feel as though I've remained dense.
The last two weeks have been especially difficult. My time on the Path has been earmarked with a flurry of activity. Part of this is by design. Joining the Path requires a commitment to doing Yoga five times a week. Fortunately, yoga is more than twisting yourself into bendy shapes, so I've been practicing asanas at home, meditating twice a week, engaging Mula Bandha sporadically throughout my day, and practicing breath control. The Path also assigns some articles and a book and asks us to write responses to it.
Proving that no matter how much I've grown , there's always more work to be done, I still crave approval from my teachers so I also took on an online meditation course, dipped my toes into a Kriya practice, and began receiving daily updates to help me discern my shamanic path.
It was too much. Those last few items were the straws that broke my camel pose's back and suddenly I found myself completely drained and overwhelmed. I felt lost and very aware of the fact that I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time. The staff all inform me that I don't have to know. I just have to show up to the mat. Yoga is 1% theory, 99% practice, they tell me. "All is coming", they say.
In the midst of this existential exhaustion and ennui, I managed to drag myself to the Wednesday night meditation class. I was deeply soul tired. I had lost my gusto. When I got to the meditation room, I crashed on a cushion with a sigh. Most of my prior attempts at meditation had resulted in sudden onset napping. But I've been practicing. I was determined to stay alert and with my breath.
Christina walked us through Iyengar's "Thermometer Breath", a technique where you envision light and energy flowing up and down your spine like a thermometer in time with your breath. After a few deep breaths, I suddenly became aware of something unusual. A wave of warmth beginning in the base of my spine, began to make its way up my back. It reached my shoulders and wrapped around my upper arms. It was gentle and steady; soft and comforting. It was pranic energy blowing through my root and sacral chakras and surrounding my heart. It filled my lungs. I inhaled deeply and willed that energy to work its way into my muscles and into my very bones. For nearly twenty minutes, I was wrapped in a warm cocoon of energy.
When I started the Path, I wanted to experience the sensation of pranic energy just because it seemed mysterious and bad ass. And while those elements certainly remain, it wasn't lost on me that the day I felt this energy wash over me was a day that had been proceeded by nearly two weeks of low energy and second guessing myself. This wasn't a feather to put in my Yogi cap; it was a gift from my body. It recognized and honored the work I've been doing, the effort I had been putting into our relationship.
They say "All is coming." If I'm being honest, I don't know what the "all" means. I have no way of knowing where this is going, or even who I'll be at the end of these two years. But I do know that in the meantime I'm looking forward to continuing to move out of the cold logic of my head and into the warm comfort of my body.
- Paul Clouse
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