Nicole Grant - Yoginis Dilemma: To Be or Not to Be a Yoga Teacher

To Be, or Not to Be,
a Yoga Teacher

NICOLE A. GRANT

CERTIFIED YOGA THERAPIST

NEW YORK

LONDONNASHVILLEMELBOURNEVANCOUVER

Yoginis Dilemma

To Be, or Not to Be, a Yoga Teacher

2020 NICOLE A. GRANT

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in New York, New York, by Morgan James Publishing in partnership with Difference Press. Morgan James is a trademark of Morgan James, LLC. www.MorganJamesPublishing.com

ISBN 978-1-64279-774-9 paperback

ISBN 978-1-64279-775-6 eBook

ISBN 978-1-64279-776-3 audio

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019914194

Cover Design by:

Megan Whitney

Interior Design by:

Bonnie Bushman

The Whole Caboodle Graphic Design

Morgan James is a proud partner of Habitat for Humanity Peninsula and Greater Williamsburg. Partners in building since 2006.

Get involved today! Visit
www.MorganJamesBuilds.com

To my father,

Who shone the light on basic human decency.

Yoginis,

There are four sources of life energy, or prana:

Breathingso breathe, in and out, wide and deep.

Foodeat to nourish your body and soul.

Environmentnurture it.

And True Self, the gift of Youhow will you manifest this in the world?

To bring the essence of You into Action in the world is Teaching Yoga.

Herein unfolds the path

I believe I found yoga, or yoga found me, because of the person my father was in the world and who I wanted to be in his image. When he passed away, there was so little room in my life to grieve. And so it was that a little over two years after his passing, at thirty-six, I found myself trekking in the Himalayas. The draw was the Valley of Flowers, a rare high-altitude Indian valley that, at 11,500 ft (3,505 m), has long been acknowledged by renowned mountaineers and botanists as one of the worlds most richly diverse natural botanical gardens.

It was a leap of utter faith but the call to meet myself in a spiritual setting as far away from my grief was that great. There was a brief overnight in Rishikesh, located in the foothills of this Himalayan mountain range in northern India. Rishikesh is known as the Gateway to the Garhwal Himalayas because of its scenic seat on the Ganges River where it flows down from the mountains. While Rishikesh is a magnet for spiritual seekers and is, now more than ever, the Yoga Capital of the World, the sheer congestion of humanity overwhelmed me so completely.

And so, I found myself on my first steep climb stretching to 14 km from Gauri Kund to Kedarnath, a small, stone village nestled within the awesome majesty of the surrounding mountains and pastures, at a height of 11,755 ft (3,583 m) above sea level. Kedarnath Temple, one of Hinduisms holiest shrines dedicated to Lord Shiva, (one of the Hindu trinity of gods) stood out in the otherwise barren and unattractive township. Seven years later, it would survive bearing the brunt of natures fury in the massive flash floods of 2013 that swept through Uttarakhand. Back in August of 2006, it was here that I suffered my first ever panic attack. I was halfway around the world, in thin air, having left my children behind with my mother and their father, freaking out that I would succumb to altitude sickness or get bitten by a rat that one of my co-trekkers had come across in her bunk, or, worse yet, die in a landslide. Landslides are a common occurrence in this area, more so with the building of dams in this violently active geologic zone. In the midst of panic, I heard the sound of my own voice soothing me, Breathe in, breathe out. Count your breath NicoleSlower, louder, make it longer, deeper, breathe in-one-breathe out, breathe in-two-breathe out

I made it to the next morning, rather worse for wear, and through the next days. Then on to Badrinath and Badrinath Temple, another Hindu temple, this one dedicated to another god of the Hindu trinity, Vishnu, the Perseverer, my kind of guy. There, in the dark of night, in the middle of nowhere, I heard the spine-chilling rumble of my first Himalayan landslide. I held my breath and prayed, Please let me see my children again. Please. Please. I will live my life according to my own truth . Please let me hold my family. It is astounding what truths reveal themselves in ones awareness when death comes calling. I had to acknowledge it wasnt just my father I was grieving, but the failings of my marriage too. I was in relationship to someone who wasnt the person I thought he was; or perhaps, he simply wasnt the person I wanted him to be. You werent there for me when my father died, when I needed you most. You hurt my heart with your deceptions. I dont know how to trust you anymore . As the mountain shuddered and heaved, I curled up into a very small ball, praying for my life, praying to be with my loved ones, praying to find myself, in truth, again.

These mountains taught me what letting go (of the things I was holding onto) feels like and what faith is. I learned to surrender to these rhythms of nature beyond my control, for the simple fact I had no choice but to do so. These experiences paved for me a different, more authentic way of being in the world. I found my feet as the morning mist spilled out in front of me, navigating the rocky and alternating ascendant and descendant paths and river crossing to the spectacular Valley of Flowers. Known as Bhyundar, the valley is a womb-filled basket of flowers, abound with Purple Asters, rose-petalled lady slipper Cypripedium, pink geraniums, dwarf irises and indigo-colored Nomocharis, white and red potentillas and so many more, each species blooming and flowering according to their own calendar.

This trek was a respite from the fearsome travels by bus along the one-lane Himalayan mountain roads. As we were transported from one destination to another, we would stop sometimes for hours at a stretch while a landslide here or there was cleared away. I would gaze out at the distant Nanda Devi and then zoom in on a bird sitting on a phone wire to stay focused in the moment. I was sitting on the side of the bus that overlooked the deep gorge of nothingness beyond the missing roads edge; looking down was not an option.

I dont care for heights. And yet, trek the Himalayas I did. I believe it is this journey I took to the farthest reaches of my world that brought me right up against my greatest fears but also showed me how to dig deep for strength I did not know I had. I had not intended to make the noble trek to one last spiritual destinationHemkund Sahib, a clear water lake at 14,300 feetbut something within me felt compelled to make this pilgrimage of the Sikhs. You cannot stay overnight here due to the too-rapid exposure to low amounts of oxygen at high elevation. I cannot say if it was a mild symptom of acute mountain sickness or an adrenaline rush from the dauntingly steep climb or maybe this confrontation with the great unknown, but during my sojourn of thirty minutes at the far side of the lake amongst the stark beauty and bounty of brahma kamal, large, white, lotus-like flowers, I felt the soft tug of heartstrings and the warm embrace of my departed father. With the gentle echo of voices of Sikh men dipping in the frigid waters wafting through an impenetrable curtain of fog, I laid my fathers spirit to rest.