In my late days of dieting and early days of teaching yoga, I had a neighbor who was studying nutrition and who was also a very early yoga student of mine. I was still doing the Emily-from-Devil-Wears-Prada thing, “Well, I don't eat anything and when I feel like I'm about to faint I eat a cube of cheese.” She must have sensed something was a little unhealthy and loaned me a book, called One Bowl: A Guide to Eating for Body and Spirit, by DonGerrard. It tells the story of a businessman who, over the course of many business lunches and dinners and trips, had gained a bunch of weight. Somehow (I forget), he decided that he would only eat from one particular bowl. There were other rules, too, but let’s just call those ‘being mindful’. He could put whatever he wanted in the bowl and fill it up as many times as he wanted.
In the beginning, there were lots of bowls of chocolate cake
and ice cream, and yet he still saw some positive results. At least, I don’t
think he was gaining any more weight like that. And then, the deeper hunger started to become more
important, that of being satisfied in body, soul, and psyche. Different foods began to ‘sing’ to
him. The practice was the vehicle
for the lesson to listen and respond to what the body wants and needs, to
wanting and getting enough.
Yatha tatha. “Just so much, so much so.” In some teacher training mentoring
group that same year, a wise man named Harrison offered this phrase. For me, this was really the beginning
of learning about having enough. I
am sure he was referring to the fine art of how much to talk during class or
something that had to do with applying technique to our practice, but it’s one
of those moments that stuck on me.
I had been buying too much and eating too little. Working, ahem, not at all (but getting
paid more than I ever had or have since).
And working out with no great efficiency. Energy didn’t match desires. Quantities were off.
I had a deep mistrust that I could monitor and manage the right amount
of anything.
Thankfully, I can say that over the years of practice and
the practice of teaching and the practice of living as a teacher, I have
learned to trust that I can do enough, that I will have enough, be enough, and
not too much, and not too little.
That antsy feeling I get when I haven’t done much work or been very
creative lately? It just means I’m
hungry, and that I will soon go through the process of nourishment and
satisfaction. In fact, to
reference One Bowl again, the author
writes of hunger being just the first note of a whole “symphony of inner
sensations associated with my natural digestive processes.” Whatever that note is, I can say that
past experience gives me the faith to trust in following the song through to
its final resonance.
