It was harder than I expected, but always as informative, inspiring, and empowering as usual. After class, I walk out of there feeling hopeful, purposeful, and intuitive to people, things, and the environment around me. I know it's not just allocated to my studio, but it is the practice and the spiritual discipline that defines yoga that allows me this feeling. For those of you yogis out there, you will know that yoga always ends in savasana, or corpse pose. It is a time to lay and reflect on the parts of your body that have been engaged and activated during your practice. A scan of your chakras, to understand and absorb what you have done in that time that you chose to focus on your body, as well as what you have done when you have not focused on your body during your day. It is also a time to just, release.
Tonight during our savasana after my short-form ashtanga class, just as I was sliding into corpse-esque release, a song came on the playlist for the night that sounded like a few buddhist monks chanting Psalm 23, and later the Lord's Prayer. For any of you that have known me for the past few years, you will know that my connection to the God that Christian's claim as "theirs" has not been so pleasant. My violet-crown chakra (if you will) is being under-used. You see, last May I was fired from SpringHill Camps, a non-profit Christian camp organization, on the basis of my being openly gay. For some reason, just saying that in itself doesn't lend itself to the pain I felt. SpringHill Camps was my place to develop my spiritual awareness. It was this place that jump-started one of my favorite qualities about myself - my ability to connect with others on a level deeper than the skin, and the ability to connect with a being greater than myself in a way that makes me feel better connected to my environment and my own self. It was the reason I decided to go to the college that I now attend (Hope College), because I was hoping to find a similar environment there: one that would empower me spiritually as well as intellectually. It would be an understatement to say that I was disappointed in what I found at Hope, but I remained hopeful (no pun intended) that I just hadn't found "it" there yet, and I needed to give it another chance.
By my sophomore year at Hope, I had come out as gay to my close friends and to my family and had been dating the same woman I am currently dating for a few months. I always had a little hesitation to explore the reconciliation between faith and sexuality, but I did find a reconciliation that also supported spiritual beliefs that I have held since I can remember. It was this reconciliation that made me feel comfortable in my own skin, even if I wasn't comfortable at Hope. At Hope, the disappointment came from the lack of a community that truly sought out spiritual truth, rather than simply "Christian" truth. I had a very hard time finding people who were willing to discuss anything but Jesus and what the more right-leaning Church preaches as "good, holy, and righteous." I wanted spiritual diversity, mutual understanding and inclusivity, the passion for social justice, and the willingness to learn from those who are different, even those who are oppressed. And I found, none of that. Actually, one could argue that Hope, as well as much of West Michigan, is the furthest from that.*
All that to say, when SpringHill Camps administrators forced me into a room to discuss how we were to handle "difficult topics" with our teenage campers, proceeded to tell us "if you can't agree that one can 'pray' away or change their homosexuality, please don't say anything", then force me to come out, tell my coming out story to them, explain my acceptance of my sexuality, tell them that yes, I was dating someone openly, and proceed to "redistribute me to another camp site where I won't be a potential threat to campers" (but don't put any other co-workers in awkward situations, please!); it pretty much destroyed most of what I had connected to God, at least the one that Christians claim as "theirs" (even though, I'm pretty sure (s)he doesn't "belong" to anyone one type of people), and it especially tarnished my view of Christians. I spent the next year pretty frustrated at my place in life, still at Hope, a place I felt I didn't fit into anymore (and never really did). Also a place that in the past couple years quite openly declared that they didn't feel comfortable with me being there, at least openly and with the ability to speak. (For info on this, Google search "Hope College, Homosexuality Statement/Policy" and click any of the links that come up.)
Anyways, back to yoga and the chanting monks. Because of my quickness to frustration/irritation at most things associated with Christianity (I do admit, not my best quality) I was immediately distracted by the ever-famous Psalm 23 being pronounced during my savasana. My thoughts were along the line of, "Okay, this guy has studied Indian Philosophy for years, has been to India studying in an ashram, yoga itself is a Hindu practice of inclusive spirituality and wellness, and he's playing PSALM 23 and the Lord's Prayer?! What the hell, why aren't they chanting from the Bhagavad Gita or something less...Christian?" I was kind of tense for a few minutes about this, and then I softened up when I recognized that the monks were changing the more Western-recognized pronoun "He" in the verses to "She." (Actually, I loved that).
When it hit me that I could actually appreciate the psalm, and the monks, and the she; the only way I can describe how I felt is that I felt as if I had realized that I had lost a profound piece of myself and was wondering how I had let it go. I somehow let my irritation and frustration from Hope and SpringHill and seemingly constant misunderstanding between "LGBTQ" and "Christianity" take over more of my spiritual self than the beliefs that I love and wish to integrate into my daily understanding. Still in a sort of, stunned, state, the teacher asked us to stretch and "awaken to ourselves" from the savasana and come to a comfortable seated position in order to dedicate our practice. He asked us, as in the beginning of class, to sit and simply feel the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual activity of our bodies. To appreciate the time and effort we had just put into them, and dedicate what we will choose to get out of our practice afterwards. Dedicate the practice to something meaningful, purposeful that we hope to embody as a part of our daily practice. I dedicated my practice today, to this:
"I dedicate this practice to the more positive pursuit and understanding of my spirit and that of (s)he who is greater than I. The recognition of the way humanity distorts this vision, but the conscious effort to not let the world's distortion become my own."
Namaste, readers.
*postscript: Well, to be honest, I did find one thing (a class, Intro to World Religions) and an amazing professor who I will always cherish (shout out, Boyd H. Wilson) who was the one who truly led me (I, to this day, call him Guru) in my reconciliation of all these things I was seeking. I continue to go to his office when I need some release from Hope and it's lack of those things I so crave in a community, or to just bounce ideas off of him. He always affirms my intuition about the campus community and their lack of spiritual diversity and acceptance of it, but he also always reminds me that at least they take faith as a serious matter that they want to integrate into their lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment