Namaskar - Oct 09

Dristi Santosha
On Contentment
Cat Kabira
When I heard this issue was
focusing on contentment, I had
to laugh. As a teacher and
practitioner of yoga, I thought: when am I
truly content? What does it even mean to
be content?
I don’t know about your mind, but mine is
constantly dissatisfied. No matter where I
am, my mind tells me I should be
elsewhere; no matter how amazing the
moment is, my mind searches for what
could be better or different. My mind is the
ultimate critic.
I think back to the first time I ever got on
the yoga mat. I was 18 years old and
anorexic, starved down to 90 pounds. I was
definitely not content with myself, my body
or my life on this earth. And I remember
my experience that first time on the mat,
although I was self-conscious because I had
no idea where my body parts were and I
wasn’t strong or coordinated enough to do
half of what the teacher was suggesting, I
enjoyed myself. And it wasn’t even the
poses themselves I enjoyed, but the rests in
between, that pause when I could feel the
effects of the pose. I felt magical tingling
sensations I’d never felt before and it was
the first time in a long time I was
appreciating my body. I loved yoga in the
beginning because I was a beginner. I didn’t
have to know how to do the poses, I felt
like I had full permission to fall and all that
mattered to me was that I did my best. I
got on the mat because I could let go of the
rest of my life, turn my mind off and go on
this exploration of delightful sensations
and vibrations in my body.
So it’s funny to me now, as a teacher who
has been practicing for over 12 years, how I
don’t allow myself the freshness, the
presence, or the “beginner’s mind” to occur
as much. I put expectations on myself, on
the duration of my practice, on what I
should be able to do, or how I should feel
on the mat (and off the mat).
Where’s the loving-kindness or compassion
in that? The moment my yoga practice
begins is when I get on the mat and while
my mind wants a deep rockin’ practice, my
body asks me for sleep or a deep yin pose;
and when I step out of the rules and
expectations of myself. Will I get real with
myself and give myself what I need instead
of what I think I need?
Of course, it’s not even the asana that
matters (I constantly remind myself, “Does
the Dalai Lama care how open his
hamstrings are?”) It’s not the asana that
enlightens you. Asana’s the preparation for
meditation – though what is meditation?
It’s that moment we forget ourselves, we
forget that we’re trying to do anything, to
achieve or create anything and instead, we are
in it, spontaneous, and “it,” no separation.
And even if we get these revelations on the
mat or cushion, it’s life outside the retreat
centre that matters.
A few years ago I was painting and so taken
over by the need to express what was in me
that I forgot who was the painter, what was
being painted, I was simply color, color,
color! Or there are the times when I’m
dancing and I close my eyes and I have no
idea what’s coming next and I don’t even
care, all I feel is my foot lifting off the
ground, my toes spreading, and the beat
vibrating through my core.
It’s easy to be present when something is
new and exciting. Think about when you
first fell in love. How present you are, how
remarkable the person is in front of you,
how lovely the sensations are between the
two of you. Or the delight a baby has in
discovering the earth for the first time, the
first walk, the first bite of chocolate, how
amazing a water fountain or a train is.
The practice most of us have now is, how
to be present with what is seemingly
ordinary. That same walk or drive we do
every day. The lover that was once so
magical and is now our husband we wake
up next to everyday. A yoga pose we think
we’ve mastered, such as downward dog. Or
how about ourselves?
I have been scared most of my life to settle,
to commit to one thing, fearing I’ll get
bored or I’ll miss out on all the other
amazing opportunities. One thing I’ve
realized, with relief (and still, sometimes,
fear) is that I am constantly changing. We
are constantly changing. It’s one thing to
think it, but to know it, to feel it is a whole
different experience. My partner is different
every time I see him, and if I place the
expectation that the old him or I is there
instead of the evolving ones, I am limiting
the expression of his and my true selves.
So to be present is to be real with what’s in
front of us, not the memory, not the
expectation, but to see and feel the freshness
of it. And that’s what makes practice on
and off the mat so fun; we don’t know
what’s going to happen. If I were to be real,
I don’t even know who I am. And right
when I think I can define myself, I will
change anyway.
And so to be content with ourselves or with
the moment, is not out of defeat or
resignation, it’s to be real with what is.
Maybe it’s not about having the half-smile
of the Buddha observant of whatever
happens around him, maybe to be content
is to simply be authentic. Think of the
word content, there’s the obvious
definition: to be satisfied, but then think of
it as content, as in, the substance, the depth.
To be content in life isn’t to be satisfied
with what we think we should be satisfied
with or to stay on the superficial experience
of it, to be content is to have the guts to go
deep into the quality of what really is going
on and see it and experience of it for what it
is. How boring could that ever be?
Cat is a yoga instructor
and craniosacral therapist
based in Bali, Indonesia.
catkabira.com
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