Tag Archives: Ahimsa

An Elegy For the Ants in my Car

I am murdering a colony of teeny tiny ants in my car.

I’m not sure how it started. We always have ants around the house (it is Florida)- but I’m surprised that I managed to bring in enough to start a whole civilization. It was probably beneficial that there must be enough Nature Valley granola bar crumbs under the driver’s seat to feed them for a year. (Why can’t Nature Valley get a handle on the crumbliness of their granola bars? But I digress).

For a little while it was not a big deal. I was willing to let the little guys crawl around the car. Occasionally one would climb on me and I would manage to not be too bothered by it. They don’t bite, or sting, or do anything except walk around, so although I wasn’t really thinking the whole thing through too clearly, I hoped we could manage some kind of peaceful co-existence.

Then, sometime in the last week, there was some sort of population explosion (I think it was around the time a Kong dog toy with some dog biscuit crumbs in it entered the car… long story). Suddenly, I had enough ants in my car (let’s call it “Antopia”) to populate the cars of most of my acquaintances. I could no longer ignore the fact that this was a problem. At some point, someone else was going to need to sit in my car with me, and it seemed a bit much to ask that they tolerate my pest problem in the name of non-violence.

…and frankly, the situation was becoming a bit of a nuisance. While I was still (mostly) willing to turn the other cheek, I occasionally found myself squashing one, almost idly, almost instinctually. No, I am not proud.

What the #%$ do you do in a situation like this? These poor ants didn’t have a choice about where they made their home- if anything, the fault was mine. I provided them with shelter and food, allowing them to blossom. Now, I was unwilling to tolerate their presence and so, they had to die.

It’s a ridiculous situation, but it’s been unpleasantly enlightening. When I inspect my earlier feelings on the ant situation, I realize that I had sort of hoped they’d die on their own, as it would be convenient for me not to have to murder them. My husband suggested that I clean out the car, which would (cue the ominous music) “take care of the problem.” At first glance, this seemed like a good idea. But wait: it’s still killing the ants, isn’t it? Whether I Windex them into oblivion or starve them by removing the Nature Valley crumb hoard, they’re going to die.

I came to the conclusion that I must face the task honestly. Before I drove to class this morning, I put some ant killer on cardboard and left it in a little cubbyhole under the radio. That tiny dab of clear poison glistened and winked at me all the way to St Lucie West, as though to say (in a smooth, oily voice), “Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got the situation under control.”

By the time my classes ended, and I returned to my car, the ants had discovered the poison and were forming mad lines to transport it back to their (condo? hive? lair?) living quarters.

I feel lousy. Yeah, it’s just ants. But HARMLESS ants. And a brilliantly big metaphor for the difficulties of really living a non-violent life. It was easy to hope they’d die alone. It would have been easier to look the other way as I vacuumed the car (which, don’t worry, I’ll do anyway). Life, and compassionate choices, are a lot harder when they are crawling all over your car.

I’m not a total sappy idiot. I know one can’t live a completely innocent life, devoid of harm to others. We have to find a line that we are willing to draw for ourselves, and sometimes it’s pretty arbitrary. The decisions that we make are often contradictory, and confusing. Maybe you buy organic to be kinder to the earth- but what about the local farmer whose business is suffering? You eat vegan, but the clothes you wear are manufactured in a third-world country by underpaid laborers in poor condition. I’m not starting a fight, or even a discussion, really- just saying, it’s damn HARD to make kind decisions day to day.

And some days, the decisions make me sad. Some days, the best thing you can do is face the decision head on and say, at least I didn’t look away from it. I lived with the ants, I killed the ants, and soon, I vacuum up dead ants.

Thanks for reading, friends.

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Dynamic Peacefulness: Ahimsa

One of the fun bonuses of class planning is that by theming my classes, I have the opportunity to expand my own knowledge and awareness. I’m really excited about my latest cycle of themes- the Yamas, or “Restraints” of Yoga.

The Yamas, or Moral Restraints, comprise the first of the eight-limbed path of yoga (see more about the path here). This week, we’re starting with ahimsa, the first of the restraints. Ahimsa is “non-violence.”

Of course this is open to interpretation. Ahimsa might mean not murdering people, so most of us are okay on that count. But does it mean non-violence to all sentient beings? In that case, perhaps you’ve decided to avoid meat, or products that cause harm to animals. For you, the non-violence may take the form of avoiding gossip, or purchasing fair-trade coffee. You may let ahimsa decide where you spend your money, cast your vote, or invest your 401k.

How big can your ahimsa be? Where do you draw the line? I think it can almost never be big enough. It’s not just non-violence: it is the opposite of violence. It is kindness, generosity, compassion, open-hearted love. Here, read this definition:

“Ahimsa is a dynamic peacefulness that is prepared to meet all situations with a loving openness. It is the state of living free from fear.” -Alistair Shearer

Yes! Ahimsa goes beyond the neutrality of “non-violence” to suggest that we actively live in a way that embodies peace, love, and kindness. It reaches out and embraces others. It is living love.

Sounds pretty good, right? So why aren’t we doing it?

If you’re like me, maybe that’s a little scary. You’ve cultivated a careful shell to protect yourself from the outside world. You can remember 1,000 times that you were hurt by others, or by extending a kindness, and you may even feel that “no good deed goes unpunished.”

This is where the first limb of yoga (yamas) works so beautifully with the third limb of yoga- the asana practice, or the work that we do on the mat. There is a powerful, invisible connection between your physical body and the soul. Every time you learned a negative lesson, the body stored it away, an emotional pain stored in the physical body.

Through the postures, whether a slow and dreamy yin practice, or a hot and sweaty vinyasa flow, the body begins to open. It unlearns life’s sad lessons. The inner, vulnerable, bright and beautiful self is revealed. Now you can build again- learning a new openness in the shoulders, so your heart can shine brightly. You can lift the corners of your lips, and laugh a little more easily. You can move more lightly and easily in the hips and the back as you lose some of the stored tension there.

And as the body opens, the heart opens too.

You’ll find yourself more willing to talk to and share with others- more understanding of their pains- more tolerant of their needs. You’ll find that ahimsa becomes the way you want to live. The way you have to live.

Am I living love? Do I exhibit a dynamic peacefulness?* Not so much!  In fact, I often find myself in the judge’s seat, criticizing my own behavior or a perceived lack of ahimsa. This is where it’s time to turn ahimsa inward and lay off the judgement. Kindness and compassion aren’t just for others, but must be practiced internally as well.

What does ahimsa mean to you? How do you practice ahimsa?

*Typing this thought made me LOL actually 🙂 

A Sad Tale of Ahimsa and Janu Sirsasana C (Or, Your Yoga Teacher is Kind of a Hypocrite)

Janu Sirsasana C- photo from http://www.sensational-yoga-poses.com

So recently I’ve been playing a bit with the Ashtanga Primary Series. It’s more like a flirtation- I’m not ready to commit to a serious Ashtanga practice.

To mix metaphors, you could even say I’m just dipping my toe in the water.

My incredibly crippled, feeble little pinkie toe.

The one that I mashed mercilessly into the ground two days in a row in an attempt to do Janu Sirsasana C.*

You see, in this version of Janu Sirsasana (“Head to Knee” pose) your bent leg is contorted so that the the sole of your foot is pressing into your opposite thigh; the heel is up in the air and your toes are pressed into the ground. It requires openness in the hip and Achilles tendon that I, apparently, do not possess. Right, ouch…

I did this posture on Saturday during my practice, and it was pretty painful. When it came time to practice again on Sunday, as we finished Janu Sirsasana B, I thought “Oh God, this isn’t going to be good.” Ignoring that wise little voice, I muscled my way into the posture- both sides- and then limped through a sad little vinyasa after to the next posture. I believe that I actually whimpered.

The next day, my pinkie toes were killing me. I could still wiggle them, but not in a happy way. I had to tell someone about my silly toe problem. I sought out a sympathetic friend.  “You’re not going to believe the ridiculous injury I gave myself this weekend,” I said, and described the series of events that led up to the mangling of my toes.

My (beloved, honest, good) friend said to me, “Wait. Isn’t this what yoga is about? Not doing this kind of thing? Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Well… yeah.”  And then I paused, and really thought about it. Yeah, I knew. I knew it was a bad idea to deliberately, manually, stub my toe. I knew that I was not practicing ahimsa– the yogic law of non-violence. But, as so often happens in a practice, I let my ego win over my good yogic sense. And until my friend called me out, I hadn’t truly internalized the lesson. I was violating the yogic law of satya– truthfulness- as well!

So, what should you take away from this? Your yoga teacher is a hypocrite? Hopefully not. Maybe, she knows whereof she speaks? Sounds better. Let’s go with that.

Seriously, I think what really struck me is that no matter how far I think I’ve come, the practice continues to teach me. I’d gotten complacent with myself (“Sure, ahimsa, right, I’m good, I don’t need to worry about that”) and I’d forgotten how to hear my own voice. Thankfully I could still hear my friend’s, reminding me (kindly) to practice what I preach.

I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to do next week when I get to Janu Sirsasana C- but it’s going to be a lot gentler.

*Ironically, this link suggests that if you aren’t comfortably able to do this posture, that you instead work up to it by doing a pose called-  wait for it- “Toe Breaker.” Oh, okay. That sounds reasonable!