Last Saturday night, I traveled to India, but I only had to drive as far as Laguna Niguel to Itay's Shala where I joined my fellow yogis and met India's many deities by listening to and learning about the divine music of this vast land. Sangita Yoga, the yoga of music, is a devotional practice intended to reunite the physical practice of yoga--known as asana--with chanting or, more importantly, the voice of the practitioner. Along with my fellow ashtangis, I was introduced to this vital aspect of yoga by Naren K. Schreiner, director of Sangita Yoga, who believes that our breath, and hence our voice, is a channel for our divinity.
Hatha Yoga is known as the the yoga of postures, or, as I mentioned before, asana. Bhakti Yoga is known as the yoga of devotion, and kirtan, or chanting, is part of this devotional path. According to Naren, the physical and the devotional aspects of yoga were traditionally practiced together. Movement and Music. This makes sense to me. We begin the physical practice of yoga with an invocation. We acknowledge God with a big "G," whoever and whatever that may be for an individual, by calling upon Patanjali--the sage of the Yoga Sutras--and the many gods and goddesses (devas or devis) of the Hindu realm. Throughout our practice, it is the breath we return to again and again. It is the breath that lends momentum to our movement; our breath makes movement possible. "Remember," Itay insists, again and again, "the poses are just a distraction for the breath."
Going to yoga for me is akin to going to church or to temple or to the mosque for others. For me yoga is both a physical and spiritual practice. It is hoped that what we learn to do on the mat will transfer to our actions off the mat, in other words, out there in the world. And because our lives have become more and more realms of distraction, this adage of Itay's applies to much more than the difficulties I might be experiencing in any particular asana. I go to yoga to deal with distraction; I go to yoga to remember how to breathe. If I can breathe, I can welcome more lightness, more movement, more joy into my life and hence the world.
I grew up in the Catholic tradition. I went to Catholic school and received many of the sacraments before I gave up my practice of attending regular Sunday mass. In the Catholic church, we chanted prayers along with the priest and in the call and response fashion of the kirtan. We also raised our voices in song to sing the weekly selections from the hymnals found in our pews. However, I did not always feel the joy, which is unfortunate because I believe Christ's message was as much about experiencing the joy as loving our neighbor. "Look at the birds of the air," Jesus said. Light as a feather, singing with joy.
In Bhakti Yoga, or Naren's Sangita Yoga, the breath or voice is used to give praise (and pray) to the gods, including big "G" God. (Isn't this what the birds are always doing?) Our breath, Naren told us Saturday night, is "the canvas of the ether." Like the ragas, played and chanted with the intention of coloring the mind of the listener with an emotion, an emotion that likewise evokes a time of day, our breath, our unique voice, paints the ether with the color or the passion of our devotion. Poets and writers attempt to do this with words; artists with paint, stone, marble and clay. Maybe music and musicians do create the ultimate art: Out of thin air notes float, and from the breath a song is given voice. From the breath of God, the sound of the universe is eternally heard--Aaaaaaaaauuuuuuuummmmmmmmmm.
Listening to Naren, it is easy to see why he has chosen to play the traditional music of India and sing its ragas and bhajans. In his presence, through his voice, you feel his joy. And how could we not. In the Hindu tradition, there are many deities and different songs for them all, which means there are countless occasions for song and many reasons for prayer. These deities--Krishna, Durga, Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali, Vishu, Ganesh, Hanuman, among others--are all aspects of the Supreme Being, the One. The Hindu tradition, like other religions that are labeled primitive, recognizes and celebrates many gods because, for the Hindus, everything is holy. So, it does take a village. It takes many gods and goddesses and angels and other heavenly hosts to remind us that we are not alone, to remind us what the birds already know: how to use breath to give voice to song; how to use breath to live with joy.
Hatha Yoga is known as the the yoga of postures, or, as I mentioned before, asana. Bhakti Yoga is known as the yoga of devotion, and kirtan, or chanting, is part of this devotional path. According to Naren, the physical and the devotional aspects of yoga were traditionally practiced together. Movement and Music. This makes sense to me. We begin the physical practice of yoga with an invocation. We acknowledge God with a big "G," whoever and whatever that may be for an individual, by calling upon Patanjali--the sage of the Yoga Sutras--and the many gods and goddesses (devas or devis) of the Hindu realm. Throughout our practice, it is the breath we return to again and again. It is the breath that lends momentum to our movement; our breath makes movement possible. "Remember," Itay insists, again and again, "the poses are just a distraction for the breath."
Going to yoga for me is akin to going to church or to temple or to the mosque for others. For me yoga is both a physical and spiritual practice. It is hoped that what we learn to do on the mat will transfer to our actions off the mat, in other words, out there in the world. And because our lives have become more and more realms of distraction, this adage of Itay's applies to much more than the difficulties I might be experiencing in any particular asana. I go to yoga to deal with distraction; I go to yoga to remember how to breathe. If I can breathe, I can welcome more lightness, more movement, more joy into my life and hence the world.
I grew up in the Catholic tradition. I went to Catholic school and received many of the sacraments before I gave up my practice of attending regular Sunday mass. In the Catholic church, we chanted prayers along with the priest and in the call and response fashion of the kirtan. We also raised our voices in song to sing the weekly selections from the hymnals found in our pews. However, I did not always feel the joy, which is unfortunate because I believe Christ's message was as much about experiencing the joy as loving our neighbor. "Look at the birds of the air," Jesus said. Light as a feather, singing with joy.
In Bhakti Yoga, or Naren's Sangita Yoga, the breath or voice is used to give praise (and pray) to the gods, including big "G" God. (Isn't this what the birds are always doing?) Our breath, Naren told us Saturday night, is "the canvas of the ether." Like the ragas, played and chanted with the intention of coloring the mind of the listener with an emotion, an emotion that likewise evokes a time of day, our breath, our unique voice, paints the ether with the color or the passion of our devotion. Poets and writers attempt to do this with words; artists with paint, stone, marble and clay. Maybe music and musicians do create the ultimate art: Out of thin air notes float, and from the breath a song is given voice. From the breath of God, the sound of the universe is eternally heard--Aaaaaaaaauuuuuuuummmmmmmmmm.
Listening to Naren, it is easy to see why he has chosen to play the traditional music of India and sing its ragas and bhajans. In his presence, through his voice, you feel his joy. And how could we not. In the Hindu tradition, there are many deities and different songs for them all, which means there are countless occasions for song and many reasons for prayer. These deities--Krishna, Durga, Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali, Vishu, Ganesh, Hanuman, among others--are all aspects of the Supreme Being, the One. The Hindu tradition, like other religions that are labeled primitive, recognizes and celebrates many gods because, for the Hindus, everything is holy. So, it does take a village. It takes many gods and goddesses and angels and other heavenly hosts to remind us that we are not alone, to remind us what the birds already know: how to use breath to give voice to song; how to use breath to live with joy.
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