In between.

I woke up this morning (as I often do) in the place I can only refer to as "in between."  I wish I knew if the yogis -- or mystics of any kind -- have a name for this space of being.  These moments, waking up and not fully impeded by my conscious self, are some of the times when I feel most connected with the Other voice: the one that is not fully mine, but comes into being by way of me.  I get clear messages about myself, questions I've been pondering, or information about the nature of the world -- or thought, or being -- that I seem not to have access to as readily in my waking moments.

Is this making sense or do I need to be medicated?

So, having just registered for my first training workshop on my path to becoming a certified doula (!), I listened to the audio downloads that were made available to me last night.  That, and starting YTT this summer, I of course was full of a subtle and exciting sense of, THIS IS WHO I AM.

I found myself in the car on my way home talking to myself (I do this a lot, too), introducing myself as a yoga teacher, doula and photographer: these are the things I want to represent in life, because I'm proud of them, and in my years post-college doing (mostly) work I don't want to do, it's thrilling to feel like I'm on a path of self-actualization, having given myself permission to do and be just what my spirit is calling for.

But also, as I am keenly aware, the Universe has a way of putting you in your place.  One of my teachers, Lisa, says that the Universe gives us just what we need each and every day, and sometimes that finds you crying, confused and exploring all the neurotic facets of self.

Oh.  Just me then?

A couple of months ago, after reflecting on how much yoga practice means to me (and also at the height of having my relationship with my current studio threatened by personal conflict at the studio), it occurred to me that, if I'm not careful to remain neutral enough in my approach to yoga, the Universe is likely to teach me that I don't need it -- or at least to be attached to it -- by way of making yoga inaccessible to me.  Here, I began imagining physical injury which would make me, for instance, incapable of doing a forward fold.

I'm sure you can imagine the panic this evoked in me.  No forward folds?!?!?  DON'T TALK LIKE THAT.

So I took a moment, and explored that possible reality, and then after a pause, decided that that eventuality would be okay.... and then I let it go.

So after my self-talk last night (the whole introducing myself to myself as a yoga teacher, doula, etc), my "in between" voice this morning didn't exactly speak, but it gave me a clear message: Tread lightly.

It's one thing to "be" a yoga teacher, but it is another thing to teach yoga, and further, another thing entirely to not "be" a yoga teacher, much less anything else.  Here, I mean to imply that we can get lost in our images of ourselves, our definitions of self, and our definitions of others and the world we inhabit.  These things become the way we relate to ourselves and other people, which rarely invoke a feeling of all-inclusiveness.  My experience, in fact, is that these perceptions of self and other do more to isolate us and provide proof of the illusion that we are separate from one another.

One of my practices lately -- per a brilliant talk I listened to by Erich Schiffman -- has been to say audibly to myself, "Brother" or "Sister" when I find myself noticing a feeling that is distinctly not one of love or recognition toward another person.

Also, having recently picked up a favorite book that I read about 6 years ago (Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart, by Mark Epstein), it's noted that Buddhist psychology is built around the idea that the Western ideology of "self" is inherently flawed; that is, the Western perspective that to build self confidence -- thus finding happiness -- is by identifying who we are, what we believe/stand for/represent, etc.  But in the Buddhist perspective, it is by relinquishing these constructions of mind and self that we find not only happiness, but freedom.

This is what my Other voice was saying to me this morning in the in between, between the dream state and waking: Don't be a yoga teacher.  Don't be anything.  To put effort toward being is to lose the essence of being, is to lose the experience of experiencing.

You are it.  We are always it.  Right now.