Whilst all this is true what has intrigued me most over the past couple of weeks is how limits can be both physical and mental. And, when you are listening and observing with honesty, one is an indicator of the other.

One of my yoga teachers taught me that you can understand a person’s current mental limit by their “Aum”. This seems strange given that making a sound with your voice is a physical act. Chanting Aum requires you try to create a smooth clear reed-like sound that trails away in one clear note. To achieve this you need to understand the capacity of your lungs: a physical limit.

However, reciting Aum is also about finding your mental limits. As soon as your mind wavers, which it does all the time, or your ego steps onto the stage and you think your “Aum” sounds pretty good, the clarity diminishes: it warbles and wavers. If you’re someone who’s apt to push yourself too far – mentally or physically – you’re often left slightly breathless and struggling to heave your next breath down into your lungs to begin the next recitation.

Yoga doesn’t provide us with the only example: at University I’d try valiantly to study long into the night. Ignoring half-closed eyelids and lethargy I’d open my books and promise myself that I wouldn’t go to sleep until I’d completed some mammoth mathetical calculation about the arcane nature of fluid dynamics.

If I’d been listening to my body I’d have recognised that it was simply letting me know that my brain had shut down hours ago. I’d consistently fail to complete these computations. Four years I ignored the fact that my body was reflecting a real mental limit. Why I didn’t change my behaviour and get up early in the morning I’ll never know!

Sometimes we see the physical limit before we experience the mental one. At other times this is reversed. Either way we have a duty of care to honour and acknowledge our limits and to not push beyond them. The truth is if we keep on pushing ourselves beyond our limits we live a life that isn’t aligned with who we really are.

On the other hand, when we acknowledge our limits we can respond from a place of internal strength regardless of the situation we find ourselves. And that is a place of power, resiliance and inner peace.

I’d like to acknowledge the wonderful emails I’ve received from people about this topic. Thank you for helping my reflections about limits expand and grow.

Over the last few weeks I’ve had to face some new limits. As my pregnancy draws to an end I’ve found I get tired more easily, I don’t move as freely and, on the flip side, I need to eat more frequently. If I didn’t listen to all these messages where would I end up? Hungry, sleep deprived and packed full of pulled muscles. Not a good example of a yogic lifestyle. Instead I’ve listened to my body’s messages and learnt to take things easy, ask for help and say, “Stop”, “Enough” and “No”.

The best way I’ve found to learn about my limits is on the yoga mat. It’s a safe non-judgemental space for me to observe my body and mind. Each time I practice an asana I listen to the messages coming from my mind and body. I watch for internal cues that inform me when I need to release the pose: sometimes it’s a physical limit other times it’s a mental one.

It’s taken me years to tune into the truth of the messages my mind and body gives me. Even now my ego sometimes runs the show over-riding the subtle cues and letting me believe that it’s OK to push through and do things the same way they were done last time.

But there is always a limit.  Slowly my awareness of my limits has developed. The beauty of yoga, for me, is that as awareness developed in one part of my life it transferred itself into other aspects of my life: as my on the mat awareness developed I was increasingly able to acknowledge and work with my limits in other aspects of my life. And in the very recent past this has been indispensable.

Image courtesy of MarkyBon

I’ve been reading about Karma Yoga again. This precept of Karma Yoga sounded a bit uncaring and callous. Was the Bhagavad Gita telling me that I could walk through the rest of my life never helping another person?

No.

But it was warning me to know my limits: to clearly understand the boundaries of what’s mine and what’s not mine. This way I can learn to help in the right way, at the right time. The question I have to ask myself is: when is it my work to help another person, and when is it my job to stay uninvolved and let that other person learn their own lessons? What a delicate balance.

Two stereotypes came to mind: the boss that cannot delegate and the parent that finishes their child’s homework. In both cases their ego believes that they can do a better job. Possibly that is true. At the very least, they’re more likely to have knowledge and experiences that can help them to complete the task faster. But is it their job? And does is really help the other person?

I decided I was pretty good at not assuming this kind of role, but I do overstep the boundary in another way. My justification for “helping” was different. I do other people’s work as a procrastination method for not doing my own. It’s so much easier to help, even do, someone else’s jobs than to buckle down and face what I am meant to do. Besides helping other people often gives me that warm inner glow of feeling needed.

Doing my work, rather than someone else’s, is usually a lot more challenging. It can often take me out of my comfort zone and press my buttons. It makes me work hard and reassess my ideas and beliefs about myself, about the projects that I’m doing, perhaps even about life itself. In this process I grow and I learn.

So, what I’ve taken from this quote is that whilst sometimes my work may include helping another person achieve their goals, doing their work for them holds two people back: me and them. When you do the work of someone else you may give them a temporary sense of freedom from responsibility and receive a warm fuzzy feeling inside but you’re limiting their growth.

Equally when we begin to tackle our work we’re likely to find the path littered with struggles and turns that we didn’t expect but it is at these very points we’re often most likely to undergo periods of change, development and improved understanding of ourselves. And that, I remind myself, is what yoga is all about.

Image by Trey Ratcliff

Doing more may seem to run counter to many spiritual philosophies – doesn’t yoga advocate retreating to the Himalayas and meditating in a cave? Yes. And, no. The Bhagavad Gita, one of the great spiritual texts of India, recognises that the path of a hermit is not for everyone. In fact it has always only been for a select few.

For most of us Karma Yoga, the yoga of action, is the path by which we can learn most about ourselves and the world around us. And if we perfect this practice we too can achieve lasting happiness. Karma Yoga says that as humans we are bound to act: it is impossible for us to sit and do absolutely nothing. Have you ever tried it? Even if you’re very good at sitting still can you stop your mind from thinking? And even if your mind manages to take a temporary holiday can you stop yourself breathing?

So, in life, we are compelled to act. How then should we go about acting and doing? Over six poetic chapters the Bhagavad Gita guides us in this lifelong experiment to achieve eternal happiness. To help my quest I’ve distilled the teachings into three bite-sized chunks to get me started:

1. Accept your work

Make peace with what you are doing. Sometimes you may love what you’re doing, other times you may dislike it intensely. Either way approach it with the same calm mind. In both cases there is always something you can learn about yourself.

2. Be conscious and mindful

Be completely present in the task that you are doing. Don’t try to accomplish three things at once whilst also planning your attack on another five. Take one step at a time. I’ve noticed if I stay focused on one task at a time my body remains free from tension and my mind stays light and calm. The funny thing is, not only do I stay relaxed I’ve noticed that my productivity is actually higher.

3. This is not about your ego.

Karma Yoga is not about you, how well you did something, or whether people notice what you’ve achieved. It’s is about quietly and simply getting on with what you know you must do and dedicating the outcome to others. It’s about recognising that your actions affect those around you so whatever it is you’re doing try to make that affect a positive one.

Image by Pink Sherbet Photography

I’m not advocating a complete shut down of my mind rather a gentle, and perhaps temporary, refocusing.  To help this new direction take shape I’ve taken up a new past time. Instead of pouring through scientific research papers about the benefits of various yogic practices, diligently transcribing Sanskrit or studying the psychological benefits of Indian philosophy I’ve begun to look at yoga picture books.

Not the kind of book that shows lithe bodies contorted artistically into yoga asana. Photo books about great yogis spiced up with a few of their anecdotes, Chicken-Soup-for-the-Soul style. These kind of books used to either bore me or frustrate me. Now they fascinate me for their beauteous simplicity.

The other day I opened one such book to the timeless image of a yogi sitting completely relaxed, eyes closed as they felt the first light of sun rising over the Himalayas striking both their face and the waters of the Ganges simultaneously. When I closed my eyes I could feel myself being transported there, as if I was sitting on that rock. And I felt peaceful. A peace that I hadn’t been able to achieve with all my thinking.

The next page I turned to had this quote:

“Simplicity of life is the true secret of happiness.

[The] unhampered experience of joy, which lies within, comes out of simplicity.

Due to many things, due to many desires, modern man has unfortunately missed this.

Man has the key to happiness in simplicity.” Swami Chidananda.

My thinking has been making my life more complicated. I’d forgotten the simple peace that comes in being still and observing nature, whether that is a sunrise over the Ganges, or one over the misty ranges of the Blue Mountains that begin at the edge of my backyard. As a result I’ve decided to heed the advice of both doctors and yogis: I’m now taking it slow on the thinking and instead I’m trying to simply start being.

Image by jeminichronicles at flickr

But we all know that humans don’t just think and rationalise, they feel. Separating our thoughts from our emotions is virtually impossible: as adults we are very adept at rationalising our feelings, or on the other hand adding layers of emotion to our analytical thinking.

Yoga recognises that both our intellect and our emotions affect our actions. In fact our actions are the result of an intimate dance between intellect and feelings. This triad of intellect, emotion and action form the three fundamental types of yoga: jnana yoga – the yoga of knowledge; bhakti yoga – the yoga of emotion and devotion; and karma yoga – the yoga of action.

Just as we can’t determine how well a person is going to fare in life just by their IQ, a yogi cannot rely solely upon one form of yoga if they hope to reach their ultimate goal of pure happiness. While we were in India we sat with a jnana yogi and someone asked them, “can you think to much?” The rather elliptical response was “too much of anything is not a good thing”. Sage advice.

Although every yogi has a preferred yoga style they also take the support of the other two strands as well. So you will find jnana yogis practicing ritual prayers of devotion or karma yogis taking time out from their work with the underprivileged to study the scriptures.

But how does this relate to our lives? How can we balance the interplay between our thinking, our feelings and our actions? Of course the answer will be different for each one of us. However, here are some ideas to get you started.

• When you’re working selflessly for a cause you believe in, that is a form of Karma yoga.
• Spending a minute before each meal thanking all those that prepared it is a form of Bhatki yoga.
• And as I said last week seeking out stories from different cultures and applying their meaning to your life is a form of Jnana yoga.

Image by David Stott

As I readjusted to life at home the other evening I took a walk through my garden just after sunset. On the path ahead I saw a long something stretched across it. Snake. We live right next to the bush and a couple of months ago we found the skin of a large python on our verandah. I froze, took a deep steadying breath and summed up my situation. What should I do, edge away, stand quietly, stamp my feet on the ground? My mind whirled through possibilities. Five seconds later my eyes adjusted to the dimming light and I discovered the reality of what was before me: a small smooth branch.

Our mind is very good at rapidly piecing together a story with only scraps of information. But is doesn’t always come up with the truth. And, even when our eyes have seen accurately, or our ears have heard perfectly, our mind can still get it wrong. In other words our mind is very good at deceiving us.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Learning to work with your mind and to understand its foibles allows you to discern the truth, to understand reality and to become truly happy.

In India there is a branch of yoga called jnana yoga (pronounced n-yah-na) devoted to discovering the truth by delving into the depths of the mind. Practitioners of this form of yoga are not required to arch into cobra pose, fold forward and press their head on their knees or hold a one-footed balance with their arms and legs interlaced around each other. The only pose you’ll find these yogis in, is serenely sitting with their legs folded beneath them.

They spend their days contemplating the teachings of the great spiritual texts of India. Reflecting how this knowledge is relevant to their life: how might their mind be leading them astray? Slowly, bit by bit as they meditate and reflect they begin to perceive how their judgements, upbringing and memories, their thought processes and senses are keeping them unhappy and separate from their true nature.

Whilst we may not have the inclination to spend hours each day meditation and years studying our mind, we can learn more about ourselves by spending just a few minutes each day observing our mind and reflecting upon our actions. Here’s three easy things that can help you navigate the storms of your mind, live in the present moment and begin to see things as they really are:

1. Before going to bed take 5 minutes and reflect on all your interactions with people throughout the day. Don’t judge, just observe.
2. Learn to transition. When you finish something take a few conscious breaths. Observe the sense of relaxation that comes as you exhale. Allow this to guide your behaviour as you begin your next activity.
3. Seek out stories that shed light on human nature and different ways of behaving. Every culture has stories to guide us –Zen koans, the parables of Jesus, Sufi poetry, can all challenge our thinking and serve to guide us in our quest for happiness and the nature of reality.

Image by FriskoDude on Flickr.

This duality is fundamental to yogic thought. These opposites are the extreme boundaries of life’s potential experiences. However, yoga does not encourage us  to run headlong into them. They are life’s guiderails, there for us when all else fails to help us steer a course back towards the centre of the road. And in that centre lies balance – a balance that can only exist because there are equal amounts of left and right on each side.

Yoga provides us a vast array of techniques, asana and meditation are but two, to use in our quest for the middle ground. But there are no exact answers of where that point of balance lies. Like the rules that each of us write in our own Rule Book of Life, each of us creates our own understanding of balance.

And, that’s what life is about – its our personal experiment of trying to find the middle path. The best thing is, if we don’t get it right the first time, just like Goldilocks we can try, and try again; until the porridge, the chair, or the bed, become just right.

Image courtesy of Thomas Gibbard

Now pipe down at the back – this article is not about swearing. Rather, it’s about how our use of language can affect our physical and mental states. Think about the following words: should, must, need and try. How often do we use these words in our day?

They seem like pretty innocuous words – you won’t catch any high school teachers reprimanding wayward students for using these words in a classroom. But think about the sentiment attached to these words: I must finish this before I do that, I should be doing this, I need to complete that, I’ll try and get to it by this afternoon.

With each of these statements we put ourselves under obligations and time pressures, sometimes necessary, sometimes not. Either way, have you even noticed your physical and mental response to these statements?

The “I should be” statement leaves part of our mind busy and means that we often find it very difficult to relax. As these time pressures pile up so do the tensions in our bodies – perhaps centred in the shoulders, the neck, the stomach: we’re all different.

Recognising that we can’t put our lives on hold, and that there’ll always be things that we need to attend to, what can we do to avoid our sense of obligation running riot with our need to look after ourselves?

One of the best things is to give yourself permission to relax. Whether it be taking a brief stroll outside the office to breathe some fresh air or spending the day gardening, its amazing how spending time away from all those tasks you “should be doing” allows your mind to return to them with fresh purpose and renewed vigour.

So add a new item to your mental to-do list: relax.

Regular readers will note that things have been a little ghostly around here the past few weeks. Transcontinental travel, it turns out, doesn’t bring out the blogger in me; I’m quite happy absorbing a sunset, or watching the wind whip grains of sand across a dune, without feeling compelled to race back to the computer and write about it. In three weeks my laptop might have come out of its bag twice.

Nevertheless, travelling through the great empty spaces of Australia always helps me tap into that great well of unexplored thought, particularly in terms of our culture and how we relate to the environment in which we live. I’ll return to this in future posts.

Since returning from our long drive back and forth across the continent, I’ve discovered an excellent new spectator sport. Each summer the enormous old angophora tree in our neighbour’s yard slowly sheds its bark. Last summer it was over in a fortnight’s flurry of hot dry winds and scorching sunshine, as though the old tree couldn’t wait to be free of its clothes.

This year it’s an entirely different story: large sheaves of rust-red bark waver in the breeze for days on end, steadily absorbing the drizzling rain. Every now and then a sodden section works its way loose and sails towards the ground. Yet most of it still clings to the trunk and branches, not yet ready to reveal the luscious creamy skin hiding beneath.

Two different summers, two different paths, but the tree’s goal remains the same – a new, smoother, shinier body.

At this time of year many of us make commitments to transform unwanted aspects of ourselves. Early in January we take the time to plan our attack – how am I going to achieve this goal? We then pursue the plan with more or less dogged determination, reassuring ourselves that if we stick to the plan our goal will be achieved. Be it physical, behavioural or mental change we seek, we’re eager to see the results of our resolutions quickly.

But life takes us on different paths, and achieving the transformation we seek often requires a fresh look at the road map, revising the path we take to get there. Our path to transformation is rarely the carefully delineated straight line we draw for ourselves. Rather we need to allow our external environment – the people and places and events that occur around us – to guide us.

Just as the tree is bound to the dictates of the climate, depending on the right amounts of wind, rain and sun to strip away its ragged old clothes, we can’t achieve change in isolation from those personalities and  forces that surround us.

So how should we respond to these swirling, and sometimes conflicting messages?  The answer, I suppose, is to be like the tree: flexible enough to bend with the wind, working to change our own minds and control our own behaviour; strong and resilient enough to remain rooted in the soil and not topple over at the first sign of resistance; and patient enough to trust that our change will be assured if we remain focused on that smoother, shinier, slightly more perfect heart that lies within, waiting to be revealed.

Image courtesy of David Stott