The Sanskrit word granthi means knot, and in the Bhagavad Gita, granthi is referred to as doubt, and freedom from doubt can be achieved by taking refuge in a higher power. This higher power is whatever that resonates with us, the God of our choice, or nature, or the Universe, or the collective consciousness, or whatever it is that may be bigger than our ego attachments. Most if not all of us have doubts. We question whether we are worthy enough, lovable enough, capable enough, or good enough. These doubts are not always expressed, because there is a culture of shame surrounding admitting our perceived inadequacies. And so, we may feel trapped in this cycle of having to put on a brave mask while tucking our insecurities into a small corner of our secret selves. What happens with doubts unacknowledged and unresolved is that they slowly gnaw at us, limiting our potential and preventing us from seeing that we could be fully enlightened beings. As yogis, we are keen on experimenting with our bodies and minds to find what gives us freedom and happiness. I invite you to take this three-part experiment with me. Just for today, whenever doubts come up at the level of thought, acknowledge them, observe them, then let go of them. You may catch yourself thinking along the lines of: Who am I to know what I am doing? Who am I to deserve love? Who am I to deserve happiness? When that happens, surrender that doubt to a higher power. Trust that you do not have to hold on to it. And just for today, whenever you notice doubts included in your speech, acknowledge them, observe them, then let go of them. You may notice how it has become a habit to say: But I can't, or I'm not sure, or Maybe someone else. When that happens, know that it is a habit you learned which you are capable of unlearning through conscious and persistent effort. And just for today, whenever doubts are the prime reason for the actions or inactions you take, acknowledge them, observe them, then let go of them. You may observe yourself doing any of these things: hesitating to try something new, worrying about what others think, not doing something out of fear of failure. Doubt is a knot and we can untie this knot if we choose to surrender to someone or something bigger than us. Look deep within. Take a moment to assess if there is a persistent knot of doubt ruling your life and preventing you from experiencing freedom. Then ask yourself: What would happen if I let go of this doubt? How will my life change? How will my perception of the world change? Believe that you can be free if you choose to be, and that love and happiness and freedom are yours for the taking.
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There was this self-help seminar where the facilitator was illustrating a point on how we tend to see ourselves as the victim. They asked for a volunteer, and they taped this person against the wall with packaging tape, and the tapes had words written on them, like abandonment issues, low self-image, fear of change etc. After some time the volunteer called the attention of the facilitator. The facilitator thought the volunteer was going to say he's had enough and does not want to be a victim anymore. Instead, the volunteer meekly said "Excuse me, this tape right here is falling out, can you tape it back?" Some of us may have that tendency to choose to stay as victims-- even when we feel all knotted up inside-- because it is what we know and it is what is familiar to us. The focus of the month in Jivamukti is "Untying the Knots that Bind Us". These knots are called granthi in Sanskrit, and there are 3 of them. The brahma granthi is the knot of fear, fear of death, insecurity about basic needs, money worries, doubts about one's survival. The vishnu granthi is the knot of power and ego and control and manipulation. The rudra granthi is the knot of seeing ourselves as separate and somehow better than others. The mere enumeration of these knots sounds academic. But in yoga we want to be practical. So what are these knots in practical day-to-day situations? If we are constantly worried about where our next meal will come from, we are tying that knot. If we have more than enough money and yet we accumulate things out of fear and insecurity and greed, we are tying that knot. If we eat animals because our ego thinks it is acceptable to hurt others for our own pleasure, we are tying that knot. If we blame those around us and demand them to change while thinking there is nothing about ourselves that we need to be accountable for, we are tying that knot. If we see those who are different from us because of gender, race, religion, orientation, species etc as lesser, we are tying that knot. In this lifetime, there are many things resulting from a lack of awareness that make us tie those knots. But the more important question is: How do we untie those knots that bind us? First, we begin to see ourselves as worthy of untying those knots that bind us. Visualize yourself as an enlightened being. What would that seem like? How would that feel? What would change and what would stay the same? We are all worthy and capable of being enlightened, happy, and free from the knots that bind us. Then we have to believe that we can be free. We have to let go of the lies that tell us otherwise. We have to be brave enough to release the smallness of the ego self we are attached to. We have to be humble enough to do the hard work that is necessary. We can work through these knots one at a time, granthi by granthi. Use mula bandha, contracting the pelvic muscles, to pierce through the knot of fear. Affirm your safety in this world, that you are safe and secure in this world and you have everything you need. Engage the uddhiyana bandha, pulling the abdomen in to hold the air in and up, to untie the knot of ego. See that you are free to be yourself as others are free to be themselves. There is no need to control or manipulate or put down others to lift ourselves up. Apply the jalandhara bandha, pulling the chest towards the chin, to cut through the knot of separation. Even as we perceive others as different from us, this difference is by no means a hierarchy. We may be different, but we are equals. To untie the knots that bind us means that we do the uncomfortable work of breaking free from what we know and are familiar with and are used to. We release our victim stories. We detach from the personal drama that calls attention to us. We let go of our self-centeredness. To be truly free, we become unafraid of calling it out to those around us and to this world that we live in that we have had enough, that we refuse with absolute conviction to remain victims of our own self-created defeats. We choose to be free. We choose to be happy. We choose to untie the knots that bind us. My dog Scrappy was not always called Scrappy. His first name was actually Fluffy, because he was then a small fluff of a ball the size of my bedroom slipper. He had this name for about 24 hours, give or take. Within that 24 hours, it became apparent that he was born to be Scrappy. He had very strong boundaries-- that meant he was very protective of his food and I couldn't go near it; he knew exactly what he wanted and was not afraid to express it and he stood by it. He really was a Scrappy. He was about 3 months old when I got him, and today he is about 10 years and 7 months old. But he is not going to grow older, because he is about to take his final walk home. I am plagued with doubt and guilt and shame. I had read articles, given it a lot of thought, spoke to those whom I feel would know better. They all agreed it was time to set aside my own attachment and set him free from suffering. Still, it is not easy. Who am I to make such a decision? Who am I to be so sure that this is the best thing I can do in this situation? What makes it more difficult is that Scrappy has always been a fighter. We've been through a lot and came through the other side. A month into being in my life, he got sick with distemper. The vet had already managed my expectations then, but I made sure he took all his medicines and ate all his meals, and somehow, he pulled through. He has also had eye surgery, ear surgery, and recovered from a slipped disc in this one lifetime. Every single time, he did better than expected, and this is why it is hard for me to accept that it is indeed time to let him go. He is Scrappy, my Scrappy, it is part of who he is to always pull through. But I also cannot deny facts. His health had started to decline beginning the middle of last year. Today he can no longer stand. He cannot get to his food and water or go to the toilet on his own. I see it, he experiences it, the x-rays and tests prove it. Early this week he stayed up awake almost all night barking and whining and trembling in pain. The pain medications he is on are helping. But this is also the best it could get and it is only going to get worse. I choose to write these words now because I want to express all the love in the world that I feel for him while he is still in it. I want to thank him for the 10 years and 7 months that he kept me company, and to apologize for my many shortcomings. We had great times. He is truly a girl's best friend. He has made many an appearance in my dharma talks because he taught me so much about life and loving. When he was just a few months old and we still lived in Beijing, I took him everywhere, to parks and to the frozen lake and even to bars at night. I took him to a party or two. And he was always the star of the night. We celebrated his first "birthday" with party hats and ice cream cake, though I had to convince my boyfriend at that time to go along with it. The same reluctant-to-celebrate boyfriend had lost Scrappy for a few days while I was away, and so to this day, what happened in those few days are a complete mystery. For all we know, it could be the wildest days of his life-- sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I'd like to think of it that way. When my family visited us in Beijing, we fed him multiple times because we each thought he hasn't been fed. He ended up pooping a memorable heap that was the source of much laughter at that time. He went to obedience school and even though he did not learn to be obedient, he did actually graduate. As if to prove his point, he was the only dog who couldn't sit still long enough to look at the camera when their group picture was taken. I am embarrassed to confess that I took a bite of his graduation muffin before I realized it was meant for him. We all make mistakes and Scrappy loves me in spite of it. Because I got Scrappy when I was in Beijing and I've always known I will not be staying in Beijing, it was without question that Scrappy has to move and leave his Peking roots at some point. Coming to Manila, we were on the same flight but he had to be on cargo instead of the passengers area. The few hours of separation worried me. I wasn't sure how he would deal with the air pressure with his flat snout. So when I saw him come out of the conveyor belt in his crate, it was with a huge sigh of relief. He was alive and well and not shipped mistakenly to some other place. Because I suppose it doesn't happen everyday in Manila that dogs come out of the baggage conveyor belt, he was the star of the show at that time. His celebrity status also included being on the front cover of a magazine. Despite his earlier struggle in obedience school, when it came right to the photo shoot of my condominium unit, he effortlessly managed to pose as the photographer wanted him to. I think it's not because he has celebrity aspirations, but that he was home and he knew this is where he belonged. He used to wake me up every morning, usually by 5am, and we'd go take a long walk that would last two hours. He was a master of pee conservation, because it is an art to make sure he has enough for all of the trees and posts we happen to walk past by. One time, a few other dogs were in a ruckus but he merely looked at them, disinterested, and went on marking his territory, tree by tree, post by post. A man who often frequents the park found it amusing, that while the younger hence more immature dogs were busy, the older and wiser Scrappy chose to acquire property. We often joked with each other that he is the true owner of Ayala Triangle Park, and every time he pees on a tree, he is actually counting money. Another time, my vegan friends and I had this brilliant idea that not only were we going to have a potluck, but that we were going to bring our dogs so that even our dogs could be friends. Though that turned out to be a funny situation for my friends because their dogs started having an orgy, Scrappy remained in the sidelines and was unaffected. He just seemed like an independent thinker. He did not conform. He did not have to party with others. He was just doing his own thing, being his own person. Scrappy is one of the most intelligent dogs I know and he was difficult to trick. One day, I was pacing around the perimeter of a round table and I noticed he was following me. I walked a little bit faster, then he walked a little bit faster. When I ran, he didn't run. He merely turned around to meet me from the other end. Another time, I thought it may be fun to trick him with a laser pointer. The first time I pointed the light against the wall, he ran after it like I had hoped and predicted. It didn't take long, though, for him to figure out that the light had a source, and he connected the light to the pointer that was in my hand, and that was the end of the game. He hated baths, and for some reason, he could tell if I was just picking him up for affection or picking him up because it's bath time. And so, for a time, I had to cook up a different way to trick him-- and I have to be creative-- because he always remembers the last one. If I could sum up Scrappy's favorite things in life, it would be walking and eating and greeting me by the door. When I lived at my parents' house after I moved back to Manila, he would always get excited when he hears the sound of my car pulling up the driveway. His enthusiasm would be uncontrollable. It was then a surprise when one time I did not hear a single peep from him when I was walking up the stairs. The story, as told by my mom, was that he did hear my car pulling up the driveway. His ears perked up and he was looking at the door where he usually greeted me, but that day he had a dilemma. My mom was cooking spaghetti sauce and he was enthralled by the smell. So he looked at the door, the pot, the door, the pot, the door, the pot. The agony was real to have to choose between two things he loved, but food inevitably won. And that was the one day he did not greet me at the door at my parents' house. No grudges on my part, but all love for the fluffy little guy, for he and I share the love of food. Walking ranks really high in his list of joys. It broke my heart when his legs started to give away, falling from his walks first, until he walked less and less, until he could no longer hold his legs up to stand. I took him out for a walk-- his final walk-- this morning. Or rather, I walked and I carried him in my arms. I stopped by the trees and posts he used to like to smell and pee on. We sat under the tree on the ground. We stopped by our old building and said goodbye to the guard dog Tabasco. We stopped by his favorite rock-- well, his favorite rock to pee on a few steps away from that building. I think the walk was more for me than for him, a ritual, a gesture, a walk down memory lane before I let him go. One final walk and one final good memory and one final goodbye. When I think back to the time we were separated but on the same flight to Manila, my fear was that I may not be able to see him again. I have that fear today, magnified many times. I cannot imagine a world without Scrappy. I cannot imagine not having his hair on my clothes and people asking me if I have a dog. I cannot imagine home without Scrappy. He is my dog, my friend, my life. We moved 7 times together, and all were home no matter how long or short we stayed and no matter whether it was just the two of us or there were others. It was home because it was effortless and he belonged to each one of those places and he belonged to a big space in my heart. Scrappy, I love you. This flight we are taking-- it will just be like the flight we took together last time. We won't see each other for a while, but we will be together. You will be on the cargo, I will be in the passengers area. We will be apart and yet together, going to the same place at the same time. This flight will land, and I will eagerly wait for you, and I will see you emerging from the conveyer belt. You will greet me when you see me, you'll wag your tail, bark your bark, and you'll walk-- no, run-- again in delight. This flight is temporary, we will see each other on the other side. Just this Tuesday, I had lost my cat Rumi to a tumor. It was very sudden and unexpected. It still feels unreal that no more than a month ago, he seemed perfectly happy, a cat doing normal cat things like playing with boxes and paper bags and toilet rolls, waking me up by pawing my nose, and perking up from whatever he was doing when he hears the sound of a tin can opening. Before Rumi, I did not know how to deal with a cat. I never imagined I would live with one. One time, I saw a cat with a large portion of his skin flapping over from what looked like a burn. As sorry as I felt for that cat, I waited for a random stranger to help me pick him up and take him to the closest vet. I was able to find a home for this cat and I hope he is well taken care of. Like I said, I was not really a cat person. I was only starting to warm up to cats when I would take my dog Scrappy out for walks, and every so often, a cat would be unafraid of both Scrappy and me and let me pet him or her. Still, I didn't really see myself with a cat in my home. What would I feed a carnivore when I am so strongly attached to my vegan choices? One Saturday morning, I met a small scrawny kitten and he was meowing non-stop at the park. There was something about someone so new to the world that spoke to me. He was not like the older cats who have somehow learned to survive the streets and the city and sadly the apathy of people. He was a kitten; and so, he still didn't have a stubborn perception of the world. It was not an easy decision for practical reasons. Can I bear buying meat for this cat? Will I get into even more trouble in my building? How much do I have to spend to keep this cat happy and healthy? I sat with this decision for maybe 30 minutes, maybe an hour, I cannot quite remember anymore. But when I picked him up, I just wanted to protect this little guy. He was so small in my arms, so light, so fragile. I took him home. He became Rumi. Because I was never really around cats, there were many things that were unfamiliar to me. Tiny as he was, I was admittedly a little afraid of his sharp teeth and claws. When he would come close to my face those first few days, I felt myself freezing a little bit, scared that he will for no good reason scratch my precious face or pull my eye out. Like I said, I was not a cat person. Of course, he did none of that. He did not bite nor scratch, not for a while anyway, not until he learned to play. One time, I was watching a movie on my portable DVD player when I heard a strange sound. I flipped over this DVD player, thinking that some part may have come loose, creating that unfamiliar sound. I saw Rumi and noticed it was coming from him. I thought, was Rumi...vibrating? I was completely new to this concept. He was purring. I had to ask a vet to validate that. I don't think there are many extraordinary things I can say about life with Rumi, except that I was mistaken about a lot of common beliefs about cats. He was not low-maintenance. I felt as though I was cleaning up his litter box every other hour. I am probably magnifying the frequency because it was never my favorite chore. His poop stunk big time. But he was also quite sweet and responded to his name Rumi. When I am laying down by my bed, I would call out to him, and he would come out of hiding, walk his sexy catwalk, pass through the lowest cubbyhole of the bookshelf to get to me. It was from seeing Rumi walk that I understood why a catwalk is called a catwalk, and why models walk with one foot in front of the other. They're trying to copy Rumi. Well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say. It all makes sense now. And Rumi, after all, was one sexy man cat. I had taken a video of Rumi grooming himself. Looking good requires maintenance too. It was very cute to watch, but I deleted the video because I thought I see it very often anyway, and I did not know at that time that I wasn't going to get that many opportunities to watch him anymore. I first noticed something unusual in Rumi's eye around Feb 10. In two days, I took him to a vet. The vet prescribed some medicine, though I felt that the examination was not very thorough. After 6 days of the medicine and his eye getting worse, I took him to another vet because I wanted a second opinion. He was confined in the hospital for observation, and an eye enucleation was recommended. I was told it was a standard procedure that posed very little risk. I was shattered that Rumi will lose one eye, but reassured that that was all it was. The surgery itself was successful, but the vet said they saw something suspicious and recommended a biopsy. I took him home and except for one eye lost, he seemed content. His appetite was back, and he was responding to the sound of tin cans once again. It did not last long. After about two days, I came home and saw him on top of a shelf he usually does not go to. Not only that, he was stuck there, and the things that were in that shelf had fallen to the floor. I attributed it to him adjusting to his one-eyed life. He was limping and I thought it was a sprain from the fall. But it did not improve so I took him to the vet again. He had an x-ray. Nothing was fractured nor sprained. The vet recommended confinement in the hospital again. His condition regressed very quickly. His kidney was enlarged and a new lump formed on his right cheek. I was told these would be consistent with the growth of a malignant tumor. I was asked how I felt about letting him rest. I had thought of this previously, of myself and my animal companions, and I knew that if my health has declined to the point of no saving and no quality of life, I would rather go. It is also by this standard that I want to base my decisions on. Still, it was difficult. What if we were wrong? What if he wanted to live? What if his condition improved and we stole that from him? What if? I had waited until the official biopsy results came out because I did not want to have those what ifs. But I also could not wait too long because that would be for my own selfish reasons and add nothing to Rumi's comfort. And so on March 3, a Tuesday afternoon, I changed into all black and made Rumi a playlist to put him to sleep. When I arrived at the vet, I had some time alone with him. I sang Rumi the Maha Mrityunjana mantra for his liberation. I told him repeatedly how much I love him. He must have known he was leaving, because he reached out with both his paws to grab my hand, and I put my face close to him. This time, unlike our early days together, my fear is not that he would scratch me; my fear is that I would not know how to deal with him taking his last breath. I hugged him close. I did not know love for someone I do not even share words with could be this big and deep and shattering. I was angry at many things in that room-- at the insensitivity of the euthanasia form, at the cold stainless table, at text messages, at things random and unrelated. It angered me that the day was so ordinary for a day that to me seemed so bleak. I played the song Lullaby to put him to sleep. He took his last breath and it broke me. How I love Rumi. Before Rumi, I did not know how to deal with a cat. I never knew I could have a cat in my life and just know that he is who he is, an individual, someone uniquely himself. After his surgery, I thought we were going to dress up as pirates this Halloween and be the cutest one-eyed team. I did not know he would be gone so soon. I have been calling out his name. I am still searching for him. I am still waiting for him to paw my nose. I am still looking at the bottom cubbyhole of my bookshelf expecting him to walk towards me in his cat walk. |
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