The Secret Heart of Everything

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” ~ C.G. Jung

“If I do not believe as you believe, it proves that you do not believe as I believe, and that is all that it proves.” ~ Thomas Paine

"What is tolerance? It is the consequence of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly - that is the first law of nature." ~ Voltaire

“In order to have faith in his own path, he does not need to prove that someone else's path is wrong.” ― Paulo Coelho


I recently had the opportunity to offer a refresher on hands on adjustments in yoga class to a relatively newer teacher.

I introduced her to our Samarya concept of the “heart of the pose,” in which we look at any pose or shape and ask ourselves, what is the heart of this? In other words, what is the main thing we think is happening in any given pose, what is the main thing we want to have happen when we offer a particular pose to our students. Thinking this way allows us to consider not just adjustments and “variations” of the pose, but instead, is there something else, that maybe doesn’t even look like the pose that we are offering, that might get at the same heart.

An example of this might be something as familiar as downward dog. If we say the “heart of the pose” is stretching the back, then a person could also do a seated forward fold to stretch the back. If we say it is lengthening the hamstrings, we could offer the option to put one extended leg up on a chair and lean towards it. If we say it is shoulder strength, then perhaps we could also suggest standing near a wall and pushing in with straight arms. The idea is that what we see as the heart of something might not be the same thing someone else sees, and it also allows us to be more creative with what we offer, rather than feeling confined by something that simply looks like a variation of the same shape.

I was very much reminded of this as I explained this idea to my student and asked her to consider a pose she had offered in class, one we call the “standing splits” where someone is standing on one foot, leaning forward, their hands on the ground or on a block, and the other leg raised behind them however high it can go. There had been a student in our class who was not able to do what she was asking, so I wanted her to consider what else she could offer. To me, the answer seemed obvious - the heart of the standing splits is stretching the back of the standing leg - so I was surprised when she immediately said the heart of the pose was the balance. While I have always taught that there are many possible “hearts” to any pose, I must say I had just the briefest moment where I thought, “No, that’s not it. It’s obviously my idea - stretching the back of the leg.”

But, I caught myself and we moved on and she got the idea and did great with her ability to adapt, modify and vary poses based on this concept.


Later that evening, I went out to one of the nearby less populated beaches. The day had been long and full and I was so happy to just be at the beach, quiet, watching the waves.

As I began to walk down the stairs leading to the beach, I could hear music playing, getting louder as I got closer. I saw two people there, blasting their music as they sat, their dogs running happily along the shore.

At first I thought, “Damn, what is wrong with people? Why would you blast music at the beach - obviously the beach is for quietude, reflection, taking in the natural world as it is."

And I caught myself again. That is MY idea of the heart of the beach. Their idea, in that moment anyway, was that the heart of the beach was a place to let everything hang out, for the dogs to play, and for them to connect. It wasn’t long, in fact, before they got up and starting practicing their own poses - handstands, backbends, enjoying their music and the softness of the sand that allowed them to try those tricky poses without getting hurt. And just like in teaching yoga asana, if what I wanted from the heart of the beach was quiet time, but it wasn’t working, then there were plenty of other places for me to go, or ways to experience that.

I started to think about this in so many ways - the weekend before when I had gone with a friend to the river, deep in the jungle, huge palms all around, and (usually) nothing but the sound of nature. Until a group of motorbikes came through, engines loud, kicking up mud. And I had the same thought - this is not what the river is for. But says who? Those folks had also chosen this spot because they also wanted to be in nature, and they wanted to be on their motorbikes, and they wanted to be on muddy, tricky trails. That is how they were finding enjoyment and connection in that moment.

I thought about people camping - same thing. One group wants it to be quiet and inward, another sees it as a place where they can gather with friends, make noise, experience freedom from whatever their daily life might be.

And in the end, in every one of these situations, we all wanted the same thing. Because we all chose the beach, or the river, or camping. That essence of being outside in big open spaces, fed us all, if in different ways.

This is also the heart of non-dualism. There is not only “this” or “that,” there is everything in between, all against a backdrop of a common sense of transcendence, mystery, and expansiveness.  When we think of things in this way, it is an opportunity for us to shift our static sense of right and wrong, good and bad, should and shouldn’t, and, in my own experience the shift leads to a greater sense of ease in our own every day life. Less agitation in the mind, says Patanjali, means a greater ability to know our own true nature. In yoga anyway, that true nature is one of stability, patience, ease and freedom.

Just last week I finished up a month long course on the Bhagavad Gita. In the very first class we asked what it means to live a spiritual life. Is it counted or qualified by how much we meditate, pray, proselytize, “do” yoga? I would say absolutely not.

Then what is it? It is not mistaking these practices, these ideas of right and wrong, as the spiritual life itself. What we decided, at least in our little group, is that spiritual life is every day life. But an every day life in which we see the wholeness and possibility of anything, the way that you and I might see things differently, but that one of us is not necessarily correct, just that we have different ideas about what the heart of something might be, an every day life in which we are able to let go of our ideas of “this vs that,” right vs wrong, and more than anything, one in which we choose, actively,  to see what agitates our mind, often unnecessarily, and then we choose to settle the mind through a more expansive view.

It isn’t always easy, and sometimes, it might not even feel possible. But this is why we do the “other” practices. We don’t do them for their own sake, we do them because they make us different in the world, more at ease, more kind hearted, more generous, more sweet.

And couldn’t we all use a little more of that right now?