I do not hear - I listen. I awaken; so does the universe, because no such thing as the sound of only one hand clapping exists; all things arise in mutual relationship. Living in a world of quiet harmony and peaceful equanimity, I often find myself in the living room of my apartment overlooking Laurel Canyon shortly after the Los Angeles sun rises through a haze of smog and fumes. I sit in a half-lotus position on a blue mat, dressed loosely in yoga whites. This morning kicks-off with ten repetitions of Pranayama breathing. Inhaling beautiful, golden-white energy deep into my lungs slowly, slowly, ... I hold and release. The movement is precise; my chin drops into a center cleft between the clavicle bones while mastoid muscles on both sides of my neck melt into the upper trapezoids, and I have mastered expanding the floating ribs without raising or tightening my shoulders. Upon its release, I hold my breath, bottoming out before inhaling again.
A few feet away sits a plastic bottle of mineral water. The clear liquid is purity inspected, fortified using thirty-six essential minerals and vitamins and contains "green tea;" that's New Age yoga-speak for caffeine - enough G-force raging through the circulatory system keeps one buzzing and meditating for seven days and nights, eyeballs plastered against the wall, hair follicles standing on end - but not mine. After thirty years of koan, meditation, and green tea, well, green tea is murder on hair. I might drink coffee or soda pop or eat a sugar donut, however, I am a knowledgeable shaman, a disciplined yogi if you like - the vehicle is pure and I don't wish to risk feeding baser instincts. The mineral water is called Yo-Go! It awakens this shaman, ears popping, and focuses the senses on such koan as One Hand Clapping, and I also find it useful for cleaning tough lime deposits off shower walls.
"Help, somebody! Help in three-ten!"
After holding each inhalation and exhalation for an extended length of time and polishing off a bottle of Yo-Go!, I channel my spirit guides. Our business together is esoteric, very spiritual. My special field of Eastern practice is subtle energy healing and we are in the process of saving the world. I am in the process of knocking back my second bottle of Yo-Go! and my consciousness is expanding nicely. It is divine in the midst of the mundane. I now contain enough New Age rocket fuel coursing through my vascular system to blast-off for yet unexplored dimensions. I feel the urge to leap up and rip - gracefully - into my first of a series of eighteen asanas (yoga postures).
Momentarily I rise from the mat, yawn, and step to my window overlooking a private courtyard of lush, overgrown banana palms, and next to those a row of potted plants burgeoning under the shade of the palms' rubbery leaves. The sun begins its daily arc from east to west. All is right with the world and I smile to myself ... "Help in-" and slam the window.
This happens: only a muffled noise, a desperate plea in the distance of an otherwise beautiful universe. Taking it to the blue mat, I assume a Mountain posture, standing feet together, buttocks tightly protecting the sacral nerve center, hands at my sides, shoulders back and relaxed with my stomach just a touch forward. This places the center of gravity over my hips. I am organic - growing out of God's aspect called the earth, a piece of the planet. I am a mountain. The Sanskrit word for mountain is tada. I repeat the word, tada, several times. However, bursting full of Yo-Go!, purity inspected, and fortified using thirty-six essential minerals and vitamins, and containing green tea, the word escapes more like a preparatory drum roll - tuh duh! - and I feel my feet will fly into a crotch grabbing, Michael Jackson dance.
Immediately I jump to the Extended Triangle posture: feet spread, arms outstretched like airplane wings and I am now bending to my right until the hand on the end of my straight right arm rests behind my heel. My left arm is reaching above my head and I stare at it. I must meet the position, that is, maintain the position until yoga and I are one. 'Yoga' means 'to unite'. Nothing exists - no thing exists. The universe is empty of 'selfness' - 'thingness'. In a void of dynamic change filled only with relationship, momentary position is everything - I do not look - I see the Great Void, through which Brahman creates itself as numerous aspects of mundane fingers pointing to the divine. Existence is transcendently integrated because each aspect transcends itself to become the whole, and the whole's virtue to become itself is present in each aspect. In the end, the mundane and the divine are one.
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