Yoga: The Fountain Of Youth

by: Jane Pahr
Recently I’ve had the strange experience of being told I’m an inspiration, ‘doing Yoga as I do ‘at my age’. Mostly I just feel like ‘me’, not my age. Yoga is and has been so much a part of my life’s journey , including all the changes and challenges of being in a body. I’m stronger than ever finding that it’s easy to do challenging poses when rather than moving through resistance, you move from the inner core.

I’ve been teaching yoga over half my life. What and how I teach has changed, transformed and come back to basics.

“Inversion reverses the aging process” I joke teaching an Introduction to Yoga Class. “Of course, that doesn't mean you won't get lines on your face. Sorry.” Yoga keeps the body supple, the nervous system functioning and the mind growing as practice deepens and changes over the years. Having started with a flexible body, strength was the first edge of awareness. Then came learning to soften within the strength giving up some of the hyper-flexibility that made for a good show but not much awareness. A flexible body can often mask a rigid mind with an appearance of openness. I still love back bends but as so many before me have noted, it now takes longer to move into urdva dhanurasana, wheel, and I've less interest in jumping from pose to pose even though it can be fun sometimes. Yoga is hard work without effort. Effort is always ego and gets in the way, trying to get it right rather than just doing the pose, being in the moment. I must admit, that there was a certain subtle edge of ego when I spoke of Yoga keeping us young. With my small stature and freckled pixie face Id always looked far younger than I was. However, there comes a time when even pixies with their long lives begin to age.

Fifty-five and feeling in my prime except that I now must wear glasses to read , a few days ago I passed the mirror with those glasses. Eek! a network of lines seems to have appeared overnight. Not that I handn’t noticed them coming, just that I chose not to read that particular book. I fought the battle with anti-wrinkle cremes but never could quite bring myself to buy the most expensive ones or do more than smear some on my face and neck sporadically. I love the outdoors too much to stay out of the sun and though I try to remember sunscreen, well, I don't always use it. Perhaps it's a sense of invincibility, knowing the effects of exposure but ignoring them as though they were true for others but not me. Perhaps, I'd become accustomed to looking but not seeing. I'm reminded of a story. A woman sits in meditation. A smile appears on her serene face as she feels herself young and free, her spirit soaring. Then she opens her eyes, looks in the mirror. "Who is that old woman?” she asks. "Surely not me." Solution. Throw away the mirror before like Medusa you loose your head fascinated by the reflection forgetting the reality that confronts you Easy to say, hard to do. We see ourselves reflected in so many ways and all practically all the images of beauty for women are young We chose which images to pay attention to?

I'm surprised and a little embarrassed by the amount of emotion surrounding this issue of my face. Tears of betrayal? Vanity? Fear? The body is holding up pretty well and, as of yet, only a few gray hairs but the identification with the face as identity goes deeper than this shallow reflection. It seems to have something to do with a more profound sense of self-acceptance, moving away from the surface into the center. We talk of growing old gracefully but sometimes it's a bumpy ride.

A few years ago I went to Manhattan to visit a close friend after my mother had died. Her passing had been a right of passing and I was exhausted. While there, I also arranged to see another old friend going to his apartment for dinner and to meet his son. His wife, with whom Id had little contact, came home from her work in the theater late. I was surprised by her beauty and told him so the next day when we met for coffee searching for that old sense of intimacy. "Yes, well and she knows it." he replied. "Do you know what she asked? She asked how old you were. I told her, our age." I waited expecting that old comment about looking younger as he went on. "Really", she said. "She looks much older." I was crushed, wondering why my "friend" had chosen to tell me this. Now, let us be honest here, this friend was an ex-lover and his wife did not take all that kindly to our continued friendship, not to mention that their relationship was in difficulty and he was angry. Even knowing this it hurt, a lot. We parted soon thereafter and I've never seen him since. My wise friend with whom I was staying said, "Oh, for Christ sake. You're grieving." I felt the relief and then remembered how beautiful my mother had been as her body melted away to reveal a glow of spirit, a beauty Id never seen. "She hid it really well," my friend said. We began to laugh, as women do, recognizing our Karmic kinship Oh well, the battle's over. I'm no longer a girl; it's time to grow up.

I'm reminded of another story, "The Portrait of Dorian Grey" by Oscar Wilde, where a man never ages until one day the portrait is discovered hidden in his attic. He'd made a bargain with the devil, which once exposed was null; he began to crack and disintegrate. I wonder if this clinging to youth is a bargain with the devil. And what this has to do with yoga other than the fact that I've practiced and taught for many years? Darned if I know. Guess it's just the human part showing. But isn't that what yoga is all about at some level, coming to terms with our humanity, our aging, dying daily to be reborn, renewed, reawakening to find not some far off paradise but the joy of existence here and now in and through this body of energy, light and matter. So, if what we see is an optical illusion, and matter really isn't real what the heck if it changes form, cracks or sags as long as the fountain is still flowing?

I used to think that teaching Yoga meant to be a model for others to look up to. Now, I feel that it's sharing the struggle as well as the joy of life. Admitting my vanity, laughing and then, well maybe a new meditation of looking directly at that which disturbs, rather than hiding in ignorance. I seldom use mirrors in Yoga practice but they can be helpful in alignment, so maybe I’ll go take another look at my image seen through a new pair of glasses. I'll let you know what happens.. If I feel a laugh bubbling up from inside, I'll know it's okay. If I cry, that’s okay too. If I just observe, it's all Yoga.. Breathe in breathe out, every breath's a prayer. I am here; will I cease to exist when this body does? Am I so attached to my desire that I'll never feel fulfilled? If I look and truly see, what will I find?

Vanda Scaravelli has become a beacon in the yoga world; her image is one of mature serenity. Frank White started Yoga in his sixties has now become a beacon to a new generation. He used to come bouncing into the Intro to Yoga class. A little eighty year old man, shaved head, face a map of battles won and lost whose energy belied the wrinkles, he'd announce, "She was my first teacher. When I came, I couldn't bend farther than this, "shoulders hunch as his hands hover about mid thigh in a painful-looking demonstration of caving in then he dropped into an effortless Uttanasana, forward fold, jumped back to Chatturunga, a kind of push-up then sprang back up and said with a wave and a grin, “Have fun”.

Both Vanda and Frank, and maybe you and I, illustrate becoming more flexible rather than rigid with age, giving up that grandiosity of youth while glorying in the experience of life and laughing more at one's own foibles. Showing up not showing off. Not taking yourself too seriously. I remember once meeting Patabi Jois. Going to spend an evening with him and his assistant, Chuck, I was surprised to find them watching a video of Terminator 2. I screamed while he burst into the same delighted laughter each time the violence on the screen erupted that I'd heard in class. My yoga training had been primarily Iyengar-based with its aura of seriousness, and for many of us control, as though getting the position right all else will follow. There are so many things I cannot control and must accept, doing what I can.

When once counseled to “do yoga” I increased my asana practice. Though I Iater came to understand that this meant more than the physical act of doing the poses, it's not a bad place to start dealing with what I can see, touch and fell. Probably saved my life, doing yoga. Now it is my life, my practice. Though, I have this image of life as a gentle unfolding, sometimes it's a violent confronting of my belief system, once again showing me I have one which stands in the way of my experience of union.

We all come forth from that deep pool of being into form and at a certain point return to the pool. Death is said to be the great teacher, the only thing we can be sure of. Evolution as an image not literal but figurative shows that the form keeps changing but life continues. Notice that asanas imitate animals and forms so that we re-experience that evolution to grow, and grow-up? George Feuerstein calls it "Spiritual Alchemy: The Philosophy and Practice of Hatha Yoga". He also calls it the "walking the razor's edge."

The “Yoga alla mode’ world is becoming a business rather than an art. I admit to some moments of envy as I see pictures splashed across the pages of Yoga Journal and read articles full of quotes from mudra to sutra written by those born about the time I began practicing yoga. Oh, there are a few from my generation but we're fading in the new fad or at the very least, less visible. I wonder what will happen as they grow older? How many generations have asked the same question? They say wisdom comes not to the young or to those who cling to the ways of the past and beauty is, in fact, in the eyes of the beholder. To be a fountain in whose pool others are reflected there is perhaps less need of Narcissus and more Persephone, Shakti, Devi, Kali: you tell me. Lao Tse says, "The nameless cannot be named by that which has a name." So, I search for the end to this while continually finding a new beginning.

Yoga mind, beginner's mind will keep the fountain flowing. The same few years ago that I referred to in the beginning of this I moved to Italy and became "senora". It still shocks me every time I hear, "Senora." But really, would I want to be a Senorina forever? Faccio fattica! Meglio essere quello che chi sei. Ti auguro una buona prattica! Impossible to translate accurately, something like... What a lot of work holding on and missing the present. Better to be who you are and enjoy your practice! So I'll end by saying that for me, it's all practice. I don't think I'll ever get it right but as I play and enjoy myself may the all that stands in the way of life be released into living expression. I've found that it has been the things I've given up rather than those acquired which brought me peace, including my youth.

Om Shanti. Namaste.