Puke on Enlightenment

Puke on Enlightenment

The amber hue marked the entrance to Big Bend Yoga Studio – the most notorious and original yoga studio in St. Louis.   We were stoked – smiling from ear-to-ear in giddy anticipation for that brief moment in time when Spirit soars, Mind releases, and one is able to dance freely in the Field.  

Our beloved teacher – Saul David Raye – was in from California.   Saul does not travel to St. Louis often, so this was a tremendous opportunity.   And, he was leading Kirtan.   Some of you don’t know what that means.   But, to a yogi – it’s the Holy Grail of transcendental connection.   Kirtan is the yoga version of attending a Phish concert on acid while someone is massaging your back and feeding you honey – only it’s not Phish and no one is dropping acid.   Instead, it’s yoga, singing, dancing, poetry, and love.   But, the environment, the words, the music – it is intoxicating and has the potential to abruptly divorce you from your mind and immerse you into Being and love.  

But we have kids.  Most of our friends who are heavily immersed in the yoga community are not Breeders.   It would seem that the path of the Seeker flows more easily without the beautiful encumbrance of children – as most of our yogi friends just don’t “do” the kid thing.   So, we hold the fort of the yoga couple – the spiritual dyad, sacred mirrors to one another – a feat difficult considering that the path to Enlightenment is ultimately a self-centered (purposely so) pursuit.  But, we try.   We balance between who gets to go to what training.   We remind one another to meditate or (in my case), remind one another when not to and just eat brownies instead. 

So, here we are.    The night is upon us.   The humming of the Harmonium is beginning.   The yogis are assembled.   Smiles and open hearts abound.   We give our children (4 and 6 year old girls) the 3^rd version of the “talk” about mommy and daddy’s very special spiritual time and how important it is to “behave.”   We pray that our youngest son (barely a month old) will take solace in his mother – National Geographic style.   After our final yelling at the children in the back who haven’t heard a word of what we were preaching, we pretend we weren’t the parents just yelling at our children, we put on our Zen face, and we stride into the Studio with the warm feeling of hope beckoning.    Maybe tonight will go okay.   Maybe the girls will dance.   Maybe William will sleep.   Maybe… just maybe.   

We sit down.   Saul begins by talking about the state of the world, the universal Field, love, union, and the Path… the songs begin to build, dancing begins… my oldest daughter taps me on the shoulder.  

“Daddy, I feel a little sick in my belly.”

“Oh… are you sure?”

“Daddy, I need to go to the potty.”

“Okay, sweetie, let’s go…”

I tip toe through the crowd of yogis, hand-in-hand with my daughter – and still buzzing with hope and possibility for the night…   And, then it happens.  

She opens her mouth in slow motion and releases a torrent of vomit all over the room.   Trying to cover her mouth, it spills between her fingers like a horrific waterfall of disappointment.   She looks at me with those eyes that say “what is happening to me?” just before releasing her second round.  Then a third.  Then a fourth.    The smell invades quickly.   I look helplessly to my Beloved.   Her eyes are closed and she is in the Flow of the music.   I am here.   Alone.   Immersed in the chunks of my daughter’s vomit, staring at the stains on the yoga studio rug and walls and steeped in the smell of wrongness.  

Inside my head, I curse and lament existence.  And, then, just as quickly, I attend to the cleaning that must be done.  I remind myself that the Brahmin Priests were not allowed to step into their roles as guru until after their children were reared fully.   I remind myself that I am learning service and humility.   I remind myself that my children teach me patience, service, and unconditional love.   I remind myself of this - just as a secretly covet the lives of those freelancing non-breeders and their travels and their dancing and their naps in the middle of the day…  

Of course, we had to leave our teacher and our Kirtan.   I think we got in at least half of one song.  As we climb back into the car amid protests from high-pitched wee folk and to the sound of a hungry 3-week old, I look over at Sheila and our eyes meet.   A wry smile creases her lips and there is a timeless moment of soul gazing and instant understanding – of empathy and surrender.   This is our dharma.   This is our yoga.  

We can chase enlightenment like shooting stars – blanketing ourselves in the warmth of spiritual experience and soulful expression.   But, these ecstatic moments fade like the smell of a new car.   Everything changes, always.   Enlightenment isn’t warm and fuzzy.   It’s the gap.   It’s finding that moment of serenity – the pause of presence.   The Masters were able to hold this space perhaps longer.   For me, my work is to find it while wiping the vomit stains from my knee caps.    And, that ain’t easy.   But, perhaps it’s a better teacher than losing myself in the reverie of chant and sway.  

At least, that’s what we parents tell ourselves.   So – puke on enlightenment.    Perhaps in the aftermath, there will be a glimpse – a tiny crack – in the fabric of circumstance, revealing a space – a gap – a moment of Being in the swarm and swirl of chaos.  

Namaste,
Ryan

Dr. Ryan Pride is the owner of the Moksha Institute, a firm dedicated to improving Wellbeing  - for you or your company.  A profit-for-purpose company, the Moksha Institute applies Ancient Teachings for the Modern Time in order to transform striving into thriving.  For more information, please go to: www.mokshainstitute.com