Savasana: A Study of Stillness; of Life and Death; a Homecoming
Bear these birth pains.
You are being delivered into ultimate seeing.
Offer no foothold to the maya-mind.
Self is delivering itself to itself
as unborn awareness.
-Mooji
What is it about death that’s so terrifying that we dash out the door sometimes before Savasana even begins? Seemingly running towards and away from life. Always running.
In Savasana the speed of my life slows as the asana sequence comes to a close. Lying on the floor, I align with my breath and a sense of softness and ease. Quiet body, still mind. The practice integrates. To get there it can take an intense yoga session, but sometimes I find it within minutes of meditation, and occasionally in a single breath. My eyes are closed, attention turning inward. My legs are stationary and grounded. I reflect on how the legs and eyes are both vehicles that carry me forward into the future and right now they are out of gas. With them at ease the present moment is more available. Lying quietly I feel subtle energy moving through my body with each heartbeat. I notice when my mind picks up and my body follows: a twitch, a tap, a stretch, a faster pulse, a shift in breath. Witnessing my thoughts, I notice how the heavy ones have a sense of urgency and a period at the end of the sentence. Is that how I think about death? Is that how I live life?
This outlook has an undercurrent of lack; there’s not enough time. It subtly colors my perception and motivations: a grasping for more, the grip on what I have, an aversion to discomfort, a desire for something permanent ‘out there’ to keep me secure. Despite this, I take risks! I love to dive into the deep end, to shake things up. I’m rebellious whole-heartedly. Yet, this deficit energy deviously lingers and surfaces with the day’s first cup of coffee and a need to get ahead. Ahead of what though?
It seems, I’m trying to get ahead of myself. Outside of myself. Because if I can build a comfy external structure I won’t need to feel the discomfort inside. A sense of unease stemming from the belief that I’m not ok as I am. The foundation for this mental construct is built upon cracked ground; that I am broken, that I need to be more to be whole. Yet, as I lay one brick down the previous one crumbles. And so I’ve found, as I lie on the floor in stillness, that being here, now, is my homecoming.
As I melt into the mat, I notice the warmth of the ground as the air blankets my body. Above and below joined by my being. I feel my inside connecting with the outside through the rhythm of my breath. My chest opens to the peace and purification of the inhale and softens to the ease and dissolution of the exhale. Inhale and exhale linked by the pause between the two; a still point, a Savasana. A space of expansive emptiness and pure possibility. Riding the wave of the breath brings me back to the ocean of mindfulness; to my heart-mind. As life and death with each breath cycles through me I meditate on impermanence; the temporary and ever changing nature of thoughts, of my body, of my life, and that period at the end of the sentence softens. I sense a more fluid way to work with discomfort as it arises and fades away, moment by moment and breath by breath. In presence I become intimate with the breath, the watcher of the breath. In union, I am the breath. I am being breathed with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Life is simply happening, internally and externally whether or not ‘I’ am involved in its doing. I lie in surrender as the serene outer landscape yolks with my settling inner nature.
Savasana’s grounding structure is rooted in connection. At the base of my scarcity mindset is the underlying fear that I’m alone; my ego embraces this story of separateness. Of disconnection from society, from nature, from my ancestors, and from my authentic self. Yet division in my mind can not override the embodied wholeness I feel in the embrace of this posture. Its gentle nature is reminiscent of nap time as a child and I think back on whether I felt held there or not. I can lie in stillness, sourced from safety and trust, and nurture my inner 6 year old. In connecting to my childhood roots I also meditate on my ances-tree. I’ve heard it said that traumas passed down through the lineage are imprinted in the subtle body at the root chakra. Unconscious generational patterns mark a home at that energetic level. I once told my teacher that I feel like I have a hand on my back pushing me forward. I imagine it’s the heavy hand of the past imprinted on my present. It’s a traumatic wind, deep and ancestral with its song of struggle and fear, winding its way through my DNA. I reflect on my roots of Russian and Eastern European Jewish dissent. Throughout my life I’ve heard stories of my family’s flight and persecution. Moving from place to place sparked a momentum that continues to pulse through the generations. It’s manifested as an outward, masculine drive that asks to do more, to have more, to be more, in the dream of a secure future driven by the fear of an unstable past.
Mirabai Starr says: “it is in groundlessness that we find our way home”. How do I know my homecoming, my bird song? I listen within. I tend to the earth, the mother; my inner garden. I return harmony to the feminine, embracing embodiment and present in my She-vasana. I connect to the essence of this deeply Yin posture; acceptance. Where can I loosen my grasp on the past and my fantasy of the future and open to simply loving what is, right here and now? To love myself as I am? Can I trust that my soul's intuition will guide me on my path, which is unfolding just as it is meant to? And see that path as grace? If stillness is a total non-resistance to what is, I rest knowing that I’m meant to be here, lying on the floor, instead of worrying about my next errand. Dwelling in a realm of radical unknowing, present in my body for whatever may arise, my heart blossoms open.
My senses relax and attention turns inwards. I scan my body and consciously loosen my jaw, my shoulders, my stomach. My mind, aligning with my body in presence, calms. My heart reminds my mind of a perspective sourced from spaciousness and love. I draw my arms overhead and cup my palms around my elbows, releasing through the lungs and chest in a gesture of receptivity and connection to the wild wisdom passed down through my divine female lineage. These are the hands of my mother, my grandmother, and her mother, holding one another in the way of the warrior: both tender and strong. In their aging lines I trace a trail of perseverance and unfurling devotion, from womb to new worlds. Birthing me from beyond into form I feel their presence now, from beyond through my form. If I wing my arms by my side I imagine I’m wearing a cape from the past, supporting and uplifting me into a fearless future. Unlike the heavy hand on my back this cape flies on the winds of trust and freedom stemming from deep, joyous love.
Aligned in my inner world, I connect to the kindness of my outer world. A world quilted in quiet abundance: it speaks through the sound of rain, the scent of food on the stove, a warm bath. Its radiance arises in spontaneity: in wild rides on my motorcycle, the howl of a crowd, and ecstatic dancing in my kitchen. It grounds in ritual; a weekly call to my parents, teaching yoga, a walk outside. It overflows with generosity and it is simple; when I’m tired I rest, when I’m sick I have medicine, when I’m hungry I have food, and when I’m lonely I have myself. I can take time making that cup of coffee, sensing into the fullness of its flavor and aroma and essence; feeling into each moment with a little more wonder, curiosity, and kindness. Blessed by the garden of earthly delights.
I feel at home in the studio with a deep sense of gratitude for the practitioners around me. Lying on the floor I sense the arch of my spine like a bridge linking mind to matter; cultivating soul into culture; connecting heart to my sisters and brothers. The curves of my side body smile at my yogi neighbors and I wish to draw my arms, an extension of my heart, out to them and to the Sangha. Being held by the earth and equally grounded by gravity, we can unite in that sense of shared safety and support for each other. Community is connected to our root chakra; our sense of place (geographically and socially) as well as our right to be. Fundamentally, Savasana is one of the most accessible and inclusive postures in yoga holding all of us equally; neutral. It is the universal asana at the end of all sequences, and the unifying posture at the end of all life; Corpse Pose.
This posture is, as with death, a transition, not an end. It's a type of bardo bridging my practice from the studio into the outside world. As the final posture of the sequence I also think of it as a beginning posture that births me into a clearer, more harmonious, and aligned way of being off the mat. Shavasana ushers slowness, simplicity, and peace into my everyday life and I can find its presence one breath at a time. Tich Nacht Han says peace is in every breath.
This posture is the fertile soil for seeds to grow into a foundation for trust; for a deep resonance with my inner wisdom and innate power. A coming home to my Truest Self. I feel embraced by the ground below me; a ground of basic goodness, interconnected with the earth and all of her abundance, joined with community; part of it and not apart from it, experiencing life and knowing that I am also its source.
On my mat, I breathe, in love.
“In the garden of my heart may flowers of peace blossom beautifully”
-Tich Nacht Han
