A Beautiful Inner Support System

by Nina

Ladder by Marie Lossky
(@Marie.Lossky on Instagram)

“Sometimes we don’t fully appreciate the progress or importance of our practices, but there will be a time when our practices show up and show their strength and depth. So practicing both in the times that are easeful and in the times that are not creates this beautiful inner support system that is there for us when things get really rough.” —Jill Satterfield  

The interview Recovering from Heart Surgery that I did with Jill Satterfield recently got me thinking. There were definitely some gems of wisdom in there! And in particular the beautiful quote above got me thinking.

Although our equanimity practices are very effective for supporting us present, allowing us let go of regrets about the past and worries about the future, and to face challenges in the here and now with a sense of balance, practicing regularly will also help prepare you for challenges you may face in the future. So even though it can be tempting to use your equanimity practices on an as-needed basis, we recommend you practice regularly even during “easeful” times. You’ll then have those practices available as a “beautiful inner support system” whenever you need them. (See 7 Ways to Cultivate Equanimity with Yoga.) 

In Jill’s case, she is a long-time practitioner of both Buddhist meditation and yoga. She practices pretty much daily, with meditation, asana, and pranayama all playing a part. And she saw all those practices show their strength for her when she endured a couple of years of uncertainty after being diagnosed with a heart defect and being told she would “know” when the time was right for surgery, and then going through the surgery itself. She says they helped her because after many years of being mindful of her thoughts, emotions, and the sensations in her body, she developed a keen sense of what could be beneficial and when something was too much or too soon. She also said, 

“Having meditated for 30 years, my meditation practice showed up the most as far as supporting me in the post surgery stage. I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t anxious, I wasn’t angry, I was surprisingly okay with the reality of my situation. My mind, and the training of my mind—of being in the present —not far-flung into the unknown future of fear and anxiety, really was a great blessing. I was at ease with what was happening and that was great considering it went on for two years.”  

That to me is the very essence of equanimity.

(For more info on Jill, see vajrayoga.com)

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Recovering from Heart Surgery: Interview with Jill Satterfield

by Nina

Golden Hour by Marie Lossky (@Marie.Lossky on Instagram)

As some of you may recall, one of our regular contributors, Jill Satterfield (see Happy News!), needed heart surgery this year. When I visited her after her operation, she told me a little story about how doctors were “blown away” by the rapidity of her recovery, which she attributed to her pranayama practice, among other things. I was so impressed by her story—a perfect case of using yoga as adjunct to western medicine—that when she was completely recovered and back to working full time again, I asked her if I could interview her about the experience. 

Nina: Tell us a bit about yourself and what your practice was like, especially your pranayama practice, before you developed heart problems. 

Jill: My practice varies depending on what’s going on in my life—this has always been the case, but especially so over the years. My work life has gotten busier, and my personal life has encountered more of what happens as we get older—loss of parents, illness of friends, more awareness of suffering, and in my case, more resolve to prevent or soothe it whenever I can. 

In stressful times my practice gets quieter, softer, and more still. In active energetic times my practice reflects that. I practice pretty much daily, with meditation, asana and pranayama each being more or less the focal point for that particular period, but usually all three have a part. 

Pranayama has always been really interesting to me because our breath is such a wise and seasoned reflection of what is going on for us mentally, emotionally, and physically. I pay good attention to my breath all the time because of that, and, in particular, when I tune into a particular session of pranayama I am listening more than telling. In other words, I listen to what my breath and body are doing naturally first, and rarely if ever push past any limitations that I might sense at that particular time. I am sensitive to prana—life force, energy, and the subtle energetic body of which prana is a factor—and I do my best to work with it tenderly.  

Nina: What kind of heart problems were you suffering from and what kind of surgery did you have?

Jill: I had surgery to repair my mitral valve. It was discovered that a virus had attacked the valve and burned it away. They also found a hole between two of the hearts chambers. So, needless to say, the symptoms were not subtle. My heart didn’t beat properly, was working so hard all of the time—my energy was low, my brain wasn’t as clear, and my muscles were always sore. I didn’t feel normal, or rested, or ready to tackle much of anything really. I never knew if I would need to sit down, lie down, or if I would be relatively okay.  

Nina: How did you use your practice to prepare for your surgery? 

Jill: As far as asana, I mainly practiced restoratives because honestly that’s all I could do, and also that’s what felt the most supportive. I stretched, but as I say I was always sore, so it wasn’t pleasant. I knew to keep it up though, and very glad that I did. 

I practiced very, very subtle breathing all around my heart. I also practiced longer slower breathing to try to calm the heartbeats, but that never really worked. Honestly, at a certain point, because my heart was trying so hard to support my system, it never really quieted down or could rest—I felt for it and it made me love and appreciate my dear heart even more! 

Having meditated for 30 years, my meditation practice showed up the most as far as supporting me in the post surgery stage. I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t anxious, I wasn’t angry, I was surprisingly okay with the reality of my situation. My mind, and the training of my mind—of being in the present —not far-flung into the unknown future of fear and anxiety, really was a great blessing. I was at ease with what was happening and that was great considering it went on for two years.  

Nina: After your surgery, how did you use your practice for healing?  

Jill: Once I was out of the ICU and in a room to myself, I asked to have the door closed at all times. I asked not to have any visitors so that I could rest and really focus on my healing. As I lay in bed all connected to tubes and drips, I would simply be still, and follow and feel my breath for great lengths of time day and night. In the times that the door had to be open or it became loud out in the hall, I listened to sound as my support for meditation. I also visualized different images, something I did a lot of after my last surgery over 25 years ago. It is more of a subtle body practice that I find very helpful in facilitating healing.  

Nina: What did the medical experts say about your ability to recover and to what you attribute that?

Jill: My doctors were pretty blown away by the rapidity of my recovery once I left the ICU. And once I got home it was even faster. I attribute it to resting, meditating, eating well and being mentally at ease. As far as the pranayama goes, I definitely felt the years of getting to know my inner edge—how to “hear” my capacity and distinguish the physical feeling of this is enough from the often-confused mental/emotional sense of this is enough. In other words, from listening and being mindful of my thoughts, emotions, and the sensations in my body for so many years, I had developed a keen sense of what could be beneficial and when something was too much or too soon. I trust myself, and this was hard won! 

I am so very grateful for this awareness and trust for I truly believe it enabled me to know exactly what to do for myself, and especially given the trauma of the surgery, I had complete relaxation around practicing right afterwards. My capacity to deepen and retain breath was beneficial on both gross and subtle levels, and the trust enabled me to relax and even have a sense of joy and play as well.  

Nina: Is there anything else you’d like to tell our readers?  

Jill: Sometimes we don’t fully appreciate the progress or importance of our practices, but there will be a time when our practices show up and show their strength and depth. So practicing both in the times that are easeful and in the times that are not creates this beautiful inner support system that is there for us when things get really rough. 

Also, listening to ourselves—body, heart and mind—is probably one of the most valuable supports we have in taking great care of ourselves. Imposing a practice because it is in a book or because someone else says to do something isn’t always the best way to go because the book can’t ask you questions, and the system isn’t taking your particular circumstances into account. We can prescribe best practices for ourselves over time, and in the meantime it is really important to get outside support.

Support comes in many forms—from being kind to ourselves and also equally from our teachers and spiritual friends. I can’t stress the importance of asking for help, and being able to receive it! Find a teacher if you don’t have one, reach out to your friends, and be tender and thoughtful to yourself in whatever practices you are doing, or however you are just “being.” 

Remember illness, loss, tragedies of all kinds happen to everyone, and just as we would reach out to others to help them, others want to help us. Learning to receive from others and learning how to deeply listen to our own body and heart/mind might just be best practices there are.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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Mindfulness of Sensation

by Jill Satterfield

Seanna Browder by Melina Meza

The non-verbal language of our body is sensation. Our body communicates discomfort, fear, anxiety, depression, embarrassment, happiness, love—all through an orchestral variety of sensations.

Becoming familiar with the sensations in our body is a way to become more intimate with ourselves, by seeing sensations as a reflection of our mind and heart. Sensations can be the bridge of communication between body and heart-mind, and being mindful of sensations not only keeps the mind in the present (the body is always in the present moment) but offers a much needed respite to the overly worked and depended upon thinking mind. 

The body will sense and “say” through its language of sensations what the mind is about to think, what the heart is just about to feel. The body warns us that something big is building, and being in the body, and staying present with its current sensation is a skillful way to cut off a strong reaction or loss of emotional control. Staying with sensations—breathing into what we feel—staves off many unwanted reactions and gives us time to have a thoughtful pause, and then a response.

This short introduction to mindfulness of sensations will give you a start to noticing them without judgment, to treating the body with more kindness, and to seeing things as they are without the colored glasses of attachment or aversion.



If you're interested in learning more about embodied mindfulness, I'll be offering another Embodied Mind 200 hour teacher training at Zazen in San Francisco this fall and winter 2015/2016. See vajrayoga.com for further information.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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Guided Meditations: New Feature on the Blog

by Nina

Today I just wanted to let you know that I've just added a new page to the blog, which contains Jill Satterfield's guided meditations. We're excited that she'll be recording some new ones. She'll be coming by the Yoga for Healthy Aging studio tomorrow so you can look forward to seeing some new ones in the weeks to come.

For now, check out the new page here: Guided Meditations.

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Checking-In: A Guided Meditation by Jill Satterfield

by Jill

Tulip Closeup by Melina Meza

It’s not often enough that we check in with ourselves and ask ourselves how we are or notice how we are feeling physically, emotionally and mentally. But this is precisely what we need to do more of. This fruitful self-reflection (svadhyaya) and taking of our own pulse so to speak allows for more conversation between body, mind and heart. It offer the self knowledge we need to take better care of ourselves, and decide how we might best practice according to how we are feeling that particular moment or day. We need to see things as they are, in the present moment, to know what to do about what we see and make skillful choices.

So today I’m offering you a video of a short, guided meditation that you can practice at the beginning of your asana session. 

You can also practice this meditation after your asana session. If we check in again at the end of our practice, we can know exactly what that particular practice offered us in terms of benefits to body, heart and mind. We embody the practice by recognizing its benefits. In this way we are experimenting all the time to see what works best—practice these postures, this breath technique, this focus for our meditation—and notice each time what each practice has to offer and why we might wish to do it again and for what reasons.

Self- inquiry is an integral component of any spiritual practice (see The Power of Svadhyaya, Part 1). Checking in is a simple start to self-inquiry and self-care. Kindness and wisdom will naturally blossom from this practice over time.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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The Kindness Practice

by Jill Satterfield

Ripening Fruit by Melina Meza

Here's what I have come to know as a fairly universal contemporary problem: many of us are a bit too tough on ourselves. We criticize our looks, our thoughts and emotions, our progress on the spiritual path, our practice quantity and quality. And the fact is that this is not helpful. But if we add tenderness and kindness to our outlook, vocabulary, thoughts and emotions, we can loosen the unhealthy grip of the overactive critic and relax into our lives and being a little bit more.

Just to inspire and remind you: One of the goals of practice, besides alleviating suffering, is to be in the present moment. When you bring yourself into your body, you are in the present. When you absorb the natural beauty of the sky, you are in the present. When you hug someone you love, you can be in the present. There is plenty of beauty in the present—anchor yourself in that.

1.33 By cultivating attitudes of friendliness toward the happy, compassion for the unhappy, delight in the virtuous, and disregard toward the wicked, the mind-stuff retains its undisturbed calmness. —translation from The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali by Sri Swami Satchidananda

Jack Kornfield says, “Buddhist texts describe compassion as the quivering of the heart in the face of pain, as the capacity to see our struggles with ‘kindly eyes.’” These kindly eyes allow for some faltering, some forgetting, some mistakes, and gently remind us to start again.

Gripping onto thoughts, feelings or anywhere in the body just causes discomfort and resistance. What we resist will persist. If we can soften around displeasure, discomfort, and the occasional raw mistake, we can flow a bit more into the movement of life. Movement implies softness; nothing moves very far in constricted areas or very easily through tight places. 

Of course there's a distinction between too tight and too loose, which was famously brought to light by the Buddha in the story of the sitar player. The musician asked him, “Should I maintain tight controls on my mind during meditation or should I let it flow?” The Buddha asked, “How do you tune your instrument?” The sitar play said, “If I tune the strings too tightly, they break. If they are too loose, no sound comes out.” “Just so,” replied the Buddha, “you should hold your mind in meditation.” If we are too loose with ourselves, we won't practice or even attempt to be mindful—that would require too much effort. On the other hand, if we are too tight with ourselves, we create tension and guilt, and will probably eventually give up on practicing.

If we see only love and light, it’s the same issue, so we need to be aware of spiritual bypassing and denial for sure. But, especially as we mature, in years and in practice, acceptance and the choice to not increase suffering but actively decrease suffering is preferable. As Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein wonderfully puts it "Life is painful. Suffering is optional."

Remember that a practice has room for creativity. Play around from time to time and see what the results are. Rigidity in form is not always the answer; some of us need a little freedom to experiment to find out which technique works for us, depending on our current situation, mood, state of health, age, and so on. So a creative practice might include walking in the woods or by the beach, or reading some poetry to inspire the next session of meditation or asana. Practicing restoratives for an hour has become one of my favorite ways to meditate in my body. 

Tenderness. Kindness. Creativity. Spiritual friends and teachers, the ingredients of a great life being lived as it is offered, not too loose or tight, but being with what is—kindly.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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Attached to My Face

by Jill Satterfield

Even with over 20 years of meditation practice, I recently re-discovered just how attached I am to my face. Yes, the pun is that we are all attached to our faces—they are part of our heads. However, what the pun insinuates but doesn't explore is just how emotionally attached I am to my face. Some recent surgery showed me the hidden extent of it.

As I attempt to faithfully see everything as practice, being self reflective, looking over and over at my mind and its habits, I kind of got around seeing this particular fondness for my face as an attachment. I see an aging face for sure—which requires some getting used to—but it has been a surprise to discover what I thought was a simple, unassuming, and perfectly normal preference was underneath a definite attachment in disguise. 

This most recent crack in my human veneer came in the form of more surgery (I’ve lived through at least 21 so far), this time in my mouth, which left me at least (hopefully) temporarily, looking like someone else. When a friend suggested it was worse looking to me than anyone else, I laughed (carefully covering my mouth). When someone suggested no one would notice or care, I couldn't help but say that I didn't think they might not feel that way if it were their face! 

Almost everyone has a body part or physical area of their body that they like the best—hair, hands, legs—and mine was always my smile. I have one of those big, wide, bright smiles. The unsettling part of liking my teeth and smile is that I’ve long had a fear of falling and breaking my teeth. When I was young, a friend of mine fell while ice-skating and her tooth went through her lip and broke. The thought of that turned my stomach. When I learned to ski I was petrified of falling down the slope at high velocity and landing on my face breaking my teeth. So while I skied a little, I didn’t pursue it with any vigor.

About 10 years ago I had a root canal—this was after having only had a single cavity my whole life. A few weeks before I felt anything erupting, I had a prophetic dream  that my tooth was a green mushy aloe plant, which after the pain of the infection, made perfect sense as an image. It was shocking to have work done in my mouth, but at least my smile didn’t suffer. 

Fast-forward 12 years. I was in France when the root of the tooth on which I had the root canal snapped. I had taken a bite of celery and pop. A dentist pulled the tooth and put it temporarily back in with a short pin. I could barely breathe thinking it would come out. And, of course it did, after I moved to Paris. And, of course it had to be the one dinner and day of being a tourist with a friend visiting from New York.

I located a dentist who spoke decent English, and had a replacement tooth made. Suffice it to say that it was not comfortable or aesthetically pleasing, but, I rationalized, I was in Paris, didn’t know more than two or three people, so who would care? You know the reputation of the French and their teeth, and I was there to have the experience, and to write, so most of my time was spent writing alone, with a few hours each day going to museums or wandering solitarily around the city.

Even though no one else cared for a moment about my appearance, I continued to examine my feelings about it—what I was willing to expose, what I wanted to be private and secret—and I got to seeing just how attached I was/am to my face. I was living the example of avidya (delusion), thinking I was my face. I was a prime example of raga, having attachment to my looks, and also dvesa, having an aversion to how I looked. I was the walking textbook for what some of the Yoga Sutras cautioned against!

A couple of months later, I moved to London. There I found a cosmetic dentist who had the nicest office I had ever seen, with beautiful young women in white serving tea off of Haviland porcelain teacups with silver spoons on the side. He put an implant in my mouth and I was ecstatic when, after the swelling went down I looked like myself again, finally! I enjoyed London tremendously, especially feeling myself again and being able to speak the language. When it was time to go home, I returned to New York with renewed vigor and the excitement of being back.

Not more than a month later, the implant became infected and had to be extracted. I was devastated. I worked at being with what was—which was anger, sadness, and blame. Although I knew I had a choice as to how I was feeling, I was caught in a tangle and really having difficulty letting go. In Buddhism this is called upadana, which means clinging. I was indeed clinging to how I used to look.

With old age and sickness close on my coat tails, I realized that I had better relax about this a little. I knew that if I didn’t, I would be suffering non-stop from here on out. I really don't want to suffer any more than is absolutely necessary! There's what's called optional suffering in Buddhism, and I saw how I was adding to that pile.

I had a temporary tooth made; it not only looked temporary, but it sang of “being made.” I tried to hide it, and my smile got smaller. Even though I still used my smile, I rarely let the extent of my entire mouth widen in public, and only to a select few friends would I smile normally, or only when it was dark. 

I continued to travel and to teach about awareness, about suffering, about meeting what is, and I honestly kept living my messages to the best I was able. I knew in my heart that with time, I would accept what was going on physically more and more, and I did. Slowly.

I moved to California and began to settle in. I was ready to address the possible recovery of my smile with yet another dental surgeon. I developed faith in her, and the time had come to try again, repair the damage, and move on.

The surgery was five hours instead of the planned two, and afterward, I was ill, weakened, swollen, in pain. I hid in my home and read novels, many of them. I took pain meds, slept and barely ate, and didn’t leave my house. This went on for a month. The healing was so slow that my mouth wasn’t ready to accept a (new) temporary tooth—the proteins put into my jaw to re-build bone and the re-arranging of gum left my mouth and face incredibly swollen and painful. Now though, it was show time: I was to go on a retreat and I still had no (front) tooth. I weighed it out, I didn’t want to let anyone I didn’t know see the gap in my mouth, but I also didn’t want to miss the precious opportunity to be on silent retreat, which had always renewed me and has been a refuge.

I went to the retreat. I rarely opened my mouth. There were a couple of times we were asked to speak, and I either didn’t or put my hand over my mouth. During the meditation periods especially, I walked directly into my prideful fire. I was roasting in it; it was burning me and I only had tears to quench the heat. I faced my face and my pride over and over and over again. Sometimes with sorrow, other times with self -pity, and occasionally with anger. But I knew enough about practice to keep doing it no matter what. I didn’t run from my internal pain, even though I metaphorically ran from looking at anyone else to avoid being looked back at. I wanted to disappear physically, but to appear mentally and emotionally.

We all have our little pockets of shadow. Most everyone has a bit of something that hasn't been aired out, and spiritual practice is about finding those crevasses and filling them up with the light of awareness—no matter how slowly, or when, in your lifetime. Working with what is means just that, and life certainly does pitch some fastballs. Not all catches are graceful, but practice shows us that we have a choice about how we feel about things, and that we can pick up and try again.

I don't wish these kinds of lessons on anyone, but for me there have been gems in each one of these small traumas, and at this point I know no matter how difficult something might be, or how much I initially think I can't take it, I do and can, and will. The Yoga Sutras says:

“ II.33 Upon being harassed by negative thoughts, one should cultivate counteracting thoughts.” —translated by Edwin Bryant

(See Cultivating the Opposite for info on pratipaksha bhavanam or cultivating counteracting thoughts.)

And so I re-focus and re-adjust. I'm about to go out now, face forward, smiling inwardly. I've decided that although I still very much care about how I look, it won't prevent me from doing what I want and what is important. This has been about my face, but it is really about what has surfaced in front of my face and facing many unpleasant things. And I've been shown that there is a life that I still want to live in front of me. Optional suffering excluded.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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Spiritual Sanity

by Jill Satterfield

Floating by Melina Meza

Sometimes I think I know something; but more often than not these days, I think I don’t. In fact, I’m finding great ease in not knowing, which is the total opposite of what I used to think. I remember as a child thinking that when I was an adult I would have opinions, but at that point I didn’t have them yet because I was still a kid. I remember working on developing opinions, and it paid off. I felt like I had grown up when I could say something wasn’t good to do, or that this type of clothing was better. I even went so far as to mimic my family’s values about where the best places to live were and what the most honorable vocations were. But now I have way too many opinions and I’m happily letting more and more of them go!

By watching my mind for so many years now, I’ve befriended impermanence and change. Stability in anything except awareness has gone off the wish list, which has made my life more full of ease. This is the sanity and ease of not knowing: being comfortable—not always liking, but being comfortable—with change.

Meeting moments with some sort of fresh and open view is like living on a boogie board—our mental and emotional muscles get more accustomed to being still within movement and know to expect change. We settle less into complacency and dullness, and stay more wakeful and bright. Freedom comes with the ability to not get hooked and pulled in a million directions at the (associatively patterned) whims of our minds. Freedom comes with the ability to be in the present and with not knowing or assuming or deciding what will come next, but riding the proverbial waves of natural moment-to-moment change.

Kindness towards the mind that loves stability and constancy comes from a heart that is already inherently resilient. And our hearts can be coaxed back to being open to change as the way things are. This is where mind, heart, and body are a fantastic team—each supporting each other as different instruments in the same orchestra. A little louder here, softer over there, not so fast here to develop increased harmony and communication. These components of our whole being can support each other at various times and in many ways. We start with just noticing the “I know” mind that might set off the nervous body pattern, which can scare the heart into hiding.

Spiritual sanity is knowing that we don’t always know and then taking a seat in the wisdom of not knowing—even if that looks lame in some people’s eyes. Not claiming to be an expert or guru might not be the best marketing tool or way to brand oneself but it is what can keep us healthy and honest. I’m all for being sane, open, and more childlike in my non-opinions when I can be. My brand may suffer (if I had one) but I sure won’t.

As an experiment in mindfulness try noticing your opinions about yourself as they arise. For instance when you think about yourself, how do you categorize yourself? Gender? Financial status? Race? Vegetarian? Liberal or conservative? Once you notice your definitions of yourself, watch how you respond when you deliberately bring up the opposite. For example, how you relate to someone who eats meat if you are a strict vegetarian or how do you feel about the Tea Party if you are a liberal? Does a fire in your belly flame up? These are rather simplistic examples, but are some that we might just be on autopilot about. The point, really, is to notice what we have previously unnoticed so that we can begin to make choices about what opinions and views we keep and why, and what we let go of because they block a potentially open and unencumbered view.

Opinions, perspectives, and view points are all really useful in our relative existence if we can have them and hold them so lightly that they might be gone at any moment. Entering into every moment with an open mind might not be totally possible for those of us not yet enlightened, but we can do our best to be lightened in our suffering load. Spiritual maturity then becomes holding less and less, and being open to much, much more.

When you demand nothing of the world, nor of God, when you want nothing, seek nothing, expect nothing, then the supreme state will come to you uninvited and unexpected. —Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj 

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

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When Red Flags Should Be Raised: Yoga Snake Oil

by Jill Satterfield

Ochre and Red on Red by Mark Rothko*

As yoga grows in popularity, it also breeds abundant misconceptions and snake oil claims. The love and light aspect of many teachers and classes has gone increasingly haywire and has reached unfortunate proportions, leading many into despair and not for good reasons. After hearing so many promises of just three weeks to this or a weekend for that, anyone can think they’ve been pushed out of the human category by not responding as claimed. But when a yoga teacher says something will be a quick fix, our red flags should automatically go up because everything worthwhile takes time to be absorbed and digested.

When I was in my 20’s I was stricken with chronic pain. My gut felt like it had a burning hot knife in it that was twisting and searing all the time. I went from one doctor to another for over 13 years, endured 12 minor and two major surgeries. I also attended countless yoga classes and practiced on my own every day, often for a couple of hours.

And I was the person in class who wept into her forward-bended legs when the teacher I had at the time said this pose will heal this, and this pose will heal that, but only if we did them faithfully every day, for x amount of minutes each time. I was practicing these postures, but I was still in pain, my intestines weren’t functioning, and I was not at all well. Why were these postures not working for me? What was wrong with me? I was haunted by these questions for many years.

In hindsight, I see the error of my questions, not the error of my practice. There was nothing inherently wrong with me, but there was a lot wrong with the teacher’s pronouncements and claims. Nothing cures everyone, and yoga postures are not the be and end all, in spite of what many people enthusiastically think. Old age, sickness and death eventually befalls every one of us, and yoga poses will not change that. 

There are many styles and schools of yoga practice, which is great as we can choose what suits our body and minds the best. Even so, there isn’t just one way to practice, experience or pursue anything, and if we are told that there is, we should look for the closest exit. 

How to choose then, what to listen to, follow or engage in? The Buddha suggested that we not follow his or anyone’s advice unless we have directly experienced its sanity and truth for ourselves. I think this is a sensible rule to abide by. If you are told that any pose will fix or change something and it doesn’t, do not think it is you! And, question the source—what is the benefit in saying something is going to help everyone or that there is the only way to do something? Whoever utters these grand pronouncements needs to experience an injury or illness, or just to spend a little more time on the planet. It is humbling to be in pain, to have your body not behave or look as you would like, and as for aging, well, let’s just say it is very leveling.

Personalizing a yoga practice should begin with deeply listening to your body, noticing how it is feeling that particular moment or day. Turn towards your heart, ask yourself how you are feeling emotionally that day, and check in to your mind to notice its state at that time. By checking in, you automatically begin to set up a union of body, mind and heart. You begin a dialogue, and the more you listen, hear and quietly reflect and experiment, the more your wisdom will flow. Here's a short video by me that you can use to learn to check in:

All this isn’t to say that we don’t need teachers—we most definitely do. But choose your teacher wisely by trying his or her suggestions, and if they work for you, build on them by experimenting at home by yourself and conferring with your teacher when there are questions.

Fortunately, I eventually healed, beyond medical expectations. I did this by meditating deeply in my body, listening, checking in, trying things slowly, practicing over and over, not rushing or pushing or striving and by being very, very kind to myself.

Nothing is wrong with us, any of us. And we can all find beautiful, wise, and compassionate teachers and practices—especially when we walk away from those that don’t help us to feel our best.

Jill Satterfield is the founder of Vajra Yoga + Meditation, a synthesis of yoga and Buddhism that combines meditation, yoga and contemplative practices. Named “one of the 4 leading yoga and Buddhist teachers in the country” by Shambhala Sun Magazine, Jill has instigated mindful and creative educational programs for over 28 years.

She is also the founder and Director of the School for Compassionate Action: Meditation, Yoga and Educational Support for Communities in Need, a not-for-profit that trains teachers, psychologists and health care providers to integrate mind and body practices into their professions. SCA also provides classes to people in chronic pain, with illness, those suffering from PTSD, and at-risk youth. Jill teaches workshops internationally, is a faculty member of Spirit Rock Meditation Center’s Mindfulness for Yoga Training  and the Somatic Training in Marin, California, and is a guest teacher for many other training programs. To find out more about Jill, visit her website vajrayoga.com.

Subscribe to YOGA FOR HEALTHY AGING by Email ° Follow Yoga for Healthy Aging on Facebook 

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