During the month of February, the word “Bhakti” has been on the lips, minds and in the hearts of all entering our doors at The Laughing Lotus temple of Love. Take a moment to reflect on the word “Devotion.” Who or what comes up for you? What sensations arise within you? Experience the essence of devotion physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. What happens?
Translated literally, Bhakti means “portion” or “share” from the root word bhaj, which means “to partake in.” Bhakti Yoga has nine forms that guide one on the path of devotion. From kirtanam, which is an act of singing and chanting the lord’s name, to padasevanam, which is an act of selfless service (seva) at the feet (pada) of the lord. Then there’s my personal favorite, “sakhyam,” an act of developing a friendship with your chosen higher power. Who doesn’t want to be buddies with the divine? It probably makes life a lot easier and hopefully more mystical.
There are many different ways and resources to enter into the space of the divine. For example, I often take a jaunt out into nature when I feel I need to connect to my own divine consciousness. In San Francisco, this might mean heading to “Hippy Hill” on a Sunday to hear the psychadelic drum circle inspire folks of all kinds to dance their minds, bodies, and spirits free. Another way is to allow yourself intimacy (into-me-you-see), through personal meditation and getting to know the divine source of life emanating from your heart-source. You can chant the blessings of the Beloved through Kirtan, or head to 16th and Mission to hear it sung through a tinny loudspeaker, or recited as poetry in the late evening hours.
Recently, I’ve taken on a mantra sadhana (daily spiritual practice) from the root to the crown. I’m spending 40 days with a deity and the words that invoke their essence. This has allowed for a familiarity with each chakra, how the words translate into sound, experiences, and life itself. I began with Ganesha when I decided to quit a job that was supporting me very well monetarily (the security in my root chakra), yet was spiritually draining. Gannesha is the deity of both removing and placing obstacles.
As my journey moved to the second chakra, I began chanting to Lakshmi, Goddess of abundance. My intention was to create abundance in work opportunities, with teaching yoga and reiki specifically. By the end of the 40 days, I had four classes and numerous clients requesting the healing energy of reiki and animal spirit work. Now I’m onto the third chakra, and it’s been more challenging than the first two. There’s a lot to work on in this area of power, belief and will. I’ve had to restart twice because my devotion to change and meeting challenge has become difficult, and it’s in these times when Bhakti, my participation in the will of the divine, is the toughest and sweetest.
The bottom line is: God, Goddess, The Great Unknown is accessible and a participant in all that is life and death. When we connect with our breath, slow ourselves to the pace where we can acknowledge the light and darkness in others and ourselves, and come into the space of stillness where creation is fertile, we’ll be participating in the fullness of this incarnation, our way to express the divine.
Andrew, aka Prancing Pine, loves teaching and practicing at Laughing Lotus. He has felt it as a home and place of deep healing since first stepping through the doors and seeing Amma’s smiling face. He loves working with his animal spirit guides, rocking out in the woods, and creating healing vibrations through his music and work as a Reiki Master Teacher.
Catch a Lotus Yin class with Andrew on Tuesday or Thursday from 4-5:15pm.
How I Learned To Hang My Hat On My Heart
I was sitting in a favorite neighborhood coffee shop, when my new 84-year old buddy, Nate, asked what I did for a living. Until recently, this question weighed heavily on my heart. For most of my life, I based my self worth on my job; I once believed that what I did for work was my identity. Today, thanks to my daily yoga and sitting meditation practice, my perspective is different, regardless of where I hang my hat. My identity and self worth are no longer intrinsically tied to anything outside of me. So, with pleasure, I told Nate that I am a yoga teacher, and I found peace in offering what is true for me in this moment.
The elusive moment—where we are meant to live, and this sacred space is where we find the highly coveted, happily ever after. The present moment is all we really have, and yet, more often than not, we push it away—reaching for another now, a better now, one that matches our ideal version of who we are in the world. We are receiving messages all the time, but we are either moving too fast to receive them, or we are trying to manipulate the situation to fit our expectations. When we let go of how it is supposed to look and feel, we are able to see with renewed clarity that each moment is full of opportunity and wisdom. Discovering the gift of now has taught me to be myself, knowing that underneath my resume is a radiant gem. Today, I have the great fortune of teaching others how to connect with this truth.
I made the shift from looking outward for fulfillment to diving inward by finding community where others walk the talk. I have immense gratitude for the teachers and members of The San Francisco Shambhala Center and Laughing Lotus Yoga Center. Practicing with these communities has enriched my life exponentially, sewing seeds of compassion, and inviting me to create space to feel through life’s winding roads. These centers have helped me gain a sense of clarity around being true to the creative inspiration emanating from within, relaxing into the cadence of integrity and that is peace.
Yoga and sitting meditation have been tremendously powerful catalysts in shifting my perspective. I am growing into a new human, one who is capable of engaging in life without pushing away the uncomfortable parts. Although the early stages of this process were terrifying, with practice and time, I continue to gain trust in myself, and my experience. Yoga and meditation help me to come clean, washing away the stories running through my monkey mind of the past and future, in order to arrive with curiosity into the present moment. Now it feels safe to slow down and listen to the messages my heart whispers.
In fact, if we slow down enough to experience the true now, we write the story rather than play out an old script. Learning to stay present and accept whatever arises is a dance that entails courage, and it takes dedicated practice. This is simple, but not easy. Yoga and meditation are the bedrock of my daily sadhana (practice). These ancient practices allow me to let go of a fixed idea of me and allow for a fluid expression to take shape and transform like the blowing breeze. Sounds pretty, right? Well getting here meant pulling the rug out from under me.
A yogi once told me that practicing yoga is like “making love to yourself.” To echo the words of Beck, a modern musical genius, ‘hell yes!’ I say, let’s practice letting the love flow together. That is where the real magic happens—in community. My direct experience has illustrated time and time again that when we include others, we can go deeper than if we were alone. Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot to be said for sinking into the proverbial mud and tasting it with your bones. Our shadow is the doorway, and I have intense respect and reverence for the experience of getting intimate with the dark caverns of the ego. Going into those dark places has helped me move through the shadow into a much brighter and peaceful space.
Peace is an experience we all long for, and although we do not have a rubric for measuring the felt experience, ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby. I think we can all attest that in our fondest memories, we do not always recall an exact conversation, instead, we remember the evocative sensation of the experience. Would you agree that the sweet taste of unconditional love delivers a warm wave of safety? Feelings are in the present and connecting to the juicy ones helps to cultivate more of the ones we want. This is how we create a life worth living, fully being in all the moments and practicing coming back to them.
As a little girl in New Jersey, I loved to dance and sing, learn and love and now I get to do this everyday when I teach. My practice has taught me to receive the gift of wholeness over and over again with each inhale and exhale. Sharing this with others awakens that same joy I knew back then. So, what do I do? I teach love.
With great honor, I am helping bridge Laughing Lotus Yoga Center and the San Francisco Shambhala Center with the intention of lighting the way for others to find their own internal center, that radiant gem. On November 7, we will have a launch party at The Shambhala Center to celebrate this new partnership. The Shambhala Center will offer regular donation based Lotus Flow yoga classes. Join us at the Center where we can practice being in the moment together, and inspire all beings to be at peace in their true self.
Jaime has been a member of the San Francisco Shambhala center since 2013, and is an intuitive energy healer with a passion for live music and service. She teaches community classes at Laughing Lotus and is one of the celebrated yoga teachers at The San Francisco Shambala Center.
Love, Lost and Found: A Special Guest Blog By Sean Johnson
Up until I was 12 years old, I loved to sing – there was nothing that made my body hum and my spirit soar like singing. I sang throughout my childhood, composing dramatic spontaneous soundtracks to my toy soldiers’ battles, Hot Wheels car races, and Lego construction projects. Intensely shy, it was so difficult to even talk and buy a donut from a cashier, but for some reason I could stand in front of a packed theatre audience and belt out songs. I felt so free singing, and it lifted my mood, coloring a duller world with each turning note of song.
When I was 12, the school chorus teacher recruited me for a special Christmas concert. She heard that I was in the New Orleans Symphony Children’s Chorus and wanted me to sing the lead solo part, the summit of the evening. I practiced at home, rehearsed with my peers at school and everything seemed on course. Posters were plastered all over the school that announced: “Christmas concert featuring Sean Johnson of The New Orleans Symphony Children’s Chorus.” That evening, hundreds of kids and their parents gathered in the auditorium. I was introduced with a big round of applause. I walked up on stage and smiled. The chorus teacher raised her baton, and I began to sing.
Suddenly, I couldn’t control my voice. Shrill, high-pitched sounds, totally out of tune, leapt randomly, like wild, frightened fish from my throat. I sounded like a cartoon character, crowing “HAH-LEY-LOOOOOO-YAHHHHH!” My voice quivered and broke, unrecognizable. Shocked, I looked out at the chorus teacher as I sang the last verse. She was horrified. She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. I cried myself to sleep that night. My spirit sank.
The kids teased and taunted me for days. I was so embarrassed that I quit the Symphony Children’s Chorus. Soon after, I realized that an unexpected guest had arrived at that ripe moment on stage. It was puberty, and my voice was shifting with all the other alien physical changes. But, in my adolescent mind, the damage was already done. I was filled with shame. I stopped singing. I put my voice in a cage and threw away the key.
A decade passed and none of my friends during that period knew that I once called myself a singer, that there was a time when I loved singing more than anything. As a young adult, thinking back on this incident from childhood, it seemed ridiculous that it would still hold power over me, nevertheless it did. I longed to sing, to feel my body buzz again with that freedom. But, I had buried my singing voice under the rubble of fear.
One day, in college, I enrolled in an Irish Studies course. My professor, Seán Williams, offered to teach a few of the students these beautiful, highly ornamented, sean-nos (old-style) Irish songs, sung in free time, acapella, that she had learned from Joe Heaney, one of the greatest Irish singers in this song form. I learned that these songs were significant in Irish history, cherished during an era of oppression when the British rulers commonly burnt all the musical instruments in the villages in an effort to extinguish Irish culture and identity. But, the people still had the most primary musical instrument — their voices. They would gather, often in secret at night, around the hearth, and sing these songs, many of them laments.
In the sean-nos singing tradition the singer typically closes his or her eyes, or even turns their back to their audience. The song transports the singer and the listeners, stirring their hearts to a great depth of feeling. Each song, no matter the roughness or quality of the singer’s voice, is regarded as a treasured gift to the community.
When I heard these beautiful songs, they awakened a hunger in my heart to sing again. After the first lesson, I went home, locked the door to my room and dimmed the lights. I reached into the cobwebs for my voice, which like a wounded bird had been held hostage for a decade by my own childhood shame. I closed my eyes in that moment, and sang into the scars. My body disappeared. My ancestors were waiting for me inside these songs. It was rough at first, but gradually, with practice, patience, time, and guidance, my voice rose from the ashes, and I was soaring, once again.
The Sufi poet Rumi wrote, “Birds make great sky circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall. And falling they’re given wings.”
Not long after, I was introduced to Sufi chanting, yoga mantra chanting, and kirtan. I relished new forms of prayerfully joining with others to sing from the inner space of the heart. That was nearly 20 years ago, and to this day, I feel most alive and most awake when I’m singing.
I share this story with you to give you the courage to free your voice from the cage of fear, and to find your own unique way to express the depths of your heart. Life is too short and too precious to hold back. Sing your song!
Sean Johnson and The Wild Lotus Band, our favorite Kirtan wallahs, are coming back to Laughing Lotus to celebrate our seventh year in San Francisco! Join us for our birthday bash/Dia De Los Muertos party on Saturday, Nov. 1st (register here)!
Laughing Lotus Yoga Center San Francisco 