This is the sixth installment in a series about my trip to the West Bank in May 2015.
At dawn, we prepared for our adventure. Rob, his wife Alice, Sraddha and I now ventured forth by taxi to the border checkpoint of Qalendia between Ramallah and East Jerusalem. Rob was a veteran of these border crossings and knew where to lead us, in what looked more like confusion than danger. There were not the guns and officious looking soldiers as in the past. There was now a wall surrounding Bethlehem. I could not help but think of a Sunday sermon my husband Rev. Max once gave when he said, “The walls we build around us to defend, protect, and keep something out, are the same walls that keep something in. They can become the prison of our own souls.” We crossed over the “no-man’s gap” between one border and the next. Suddenly, we came upon multiple lines of Palestinians waiting to get through the narrow, metal-barred passageways that acted like funnels or chutes. I could not help but think of my home in Texas and the cattle, funneled through chutes into the trains or trucks that transport them to market and their own demise. So this is a checkpoint. Wow! Now I could understand what the yoga students had to go through to get to our classes from Bethlehem, Nablus and other areas and return to their homes each afternoon. No wonder they expressed fatigue and the need for greater strength and patience when standing in the checkpoint lines. As we joined in the lines with the Palestinians from many walks of life, I could not help but notice the changes from 20 years ago. My sorrow deepened as I witnessed a nation of broken peoples, broken dreams and no hope for self-determination and a country of their own. Older men once proud and defiant were clothed in tattered and worn suite coats that, like their families, had once seen better days. Their bodies, once robust with vibrant youth were now shrunken with the ravages of hopelessness. There are so many ways in all cultures of our world today to numb the pains of life. We were told there is now a growing reflection of this hopelessness through alcoholism and drug addiction. Today, I saw so many in these lines, whose light along with their life’s dreams had faded from their eyes. My own pain was so great, I wanted to burst into sobs but I too was now an automaton like in “Metropolis,” shuffling from one foot to the other as I slowly moved in the direction of the metal barred corridor to get to the other side of several turnstiles and Passport Control. Finally, we arrived at the taxis that could take those who could afford the fees to the border of Bethlehem. I was so grateful for this experience of knowing what some Palestinians have to live through each day just to go to work. Unemployment is severe and many did not have a choice when finding a job in another city. There were two foreign looking women in beige flack jackets that were helping to usher people through from the East Jerusalem checkpoints to the other side of Bethlehem. They were with the World Council of Churches. I asked one if they were still standing between the Palestinian people and the Israeli guns as they did 20 years ago during the Intifada. She was forthcoming with information that seemed to say that there had been changes for the better in some areas, but not in others. She shared stories that seemed to substantiate the continuing human rights abuse stories we were hearing from people in the region. The Church Ladies couldn’t stop the abuse, but they were there to serve the needs of the people and after a three-month mission, return home to decompress and share their stories with those willing to listen. We finally arrived at the home of our interpreter and friend. Her home was only 50 feet from the Bethlehem checkpoint, on the other side of the wall. She and her husband had a business of a restaurant and tourist shop also a few feet from the infamous border that now separates Bethlehem and the Arab sector of East Jerusalem. Our hostess’ home was magnificent with a marble courtyard entrance and marble floors throughout, giving a palatial feeling to what seemed like an oasis in the desert. They built the house to face the magnificent view of the Jerusalem hills just one year before the wall went up. Now, they had a view of the wall and beyond the wall of the controversial Israeli settlements that were taking over the hilltops of the West Bank. The home was spacious and well furnished with beautiful woods, and artwork. Our hostess, a yoga teacher in Bethlehem, had arranged for Shraddha and Alice to teach a children’s Yoga class in the Ida Refugee camp in Bethlehem. There were over 30 children, from ages six to ten. Like children everywhere, they were happy and restless, curious and reluctant. Along with our interpreter, they did a masterful job in creating movement, story telling, and then our Bethlehem hostess brought them into stillness and relaxation. Later as we met with the head of the school, he said that this camp held 6,000 refugees. The United Nations Relief Agency supported the camp and I noticed that Israeli militia no longer patrolled its streets day and night as in the past. There were no longer the curfew restrictions, and people seemed to go freely. Yes, these were permanent buildings, not tents. The principal of the school was born in the camp and his children were also born in the camp. The camps had become like neighborhoods, more humble neighborhoods that were attempting to create a better life for the future generations. After the class we attempted to go by the Rapprochement center but they were closed. Apparently this was a holiday. Our hostess took Rob and me back to her home since we had not slept for two nights and were exhausted. Sraddha and Alice were taken to teach a class of Muslim women in the Dheisheh refugee camp which was started in 1949. My memories of Dheisheh were pretty grim. I had an opportunity to change past impressions. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak, so I opted out and fell into a deep sleep. Shraddha and Alice said upon their return that instead of ten women as was initially planned, over 30 women of all different ages from two to 50 years-old arrived. As the women kept flooding in to the room, Alice compared the scene to an American flashmob, where people receive a last minute call and rush to an appointed place. They said the smallest two-year-old Muslim yogini mimicked her mother in every pose. Sraddha said the women were hungry for yoga, even more than the yoga teachers we had just worked with. One woman’s sister had died from cancer one month ago and she asked Sraddha if yoga could help her overcome her unbearable grief. After the class she, along with five other women wanted to become yoga teachers to continue to work with the people in the camp. My eyes are filling with tears and my heart with gratitude as I write this. Twenty-five years ago, my husband and I walked the streets of Dheisheh refugee came when an Israeli soldier pointed his gun at my husband’s chest. My husband only gave back compassion and understanding, and the soldier relaxed his grip when he saw that we were not a threat. He then began to visit with my husband, sharing his personal story. At that time, the camp was under periodic 24-hour curfews. This meant that people could not leave their homes during these curfews to even get food or milk for their children. Dheisheh used to be one of the most futile camps where daily arrests, killings, tear gas use and human rights abuses thrived. For 25 years, I have held the Palestinian people in my heart and now, the demands for yoga here are so great, we are asked to return to Ramallah, Bethlehem, Nablus, Hebron and refugee camps of the West Bank. I wanted to cry with joy. A disempowered people under occupation can empower themselves internally through yoga. Regardless of circumstances around us, through yoga, we can always find peace and self-empowerment within ourselves. The day was ending, the sun was beginning to set. It was time to leave beloved Bethlehem and venture back through two checkpoints into the big city life of Ramallah. The once-thriving city of Bethlehem has been hard hit by the occupation and settlement building. The city was not as clean as it once was. Storefronts, block after block, were closed and shuttered permanently. The Church of Nativity that stands over the birthplace of Jesus was closed, we were told, because it became so badly littered. The city felt tired, listless and hopeless. Just a few tourist spots were open in comparison to what I remembered of the “Christmas City.” During that time, my husband and I were taking dialogue groups to Bethlehem and were teaching the Spiritual Essence of Conflict Resolution on the journey. The Christian community had glimmers of hope for their future. Now, I was told that a smaller percentage of the once thriving Christian community of Bethlehem and Beit Sahour, remained. As we left Bethlehem, the journey back over the border was uneventful but tiring. The next morning at 9 am we were scheduled to teach yoga to eleven men who were psycho-social counselors throughout the West Bank.
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This is the fifth installment in a series about my trip to the West Bank in May 2015. Today was to be a day off, but one of our interpreters arranged for us to tour Bethlehem and while we are there, teach children and women at a refugee camp. The checkpoints from Ramallah to Bethlehem are difficult so it was suggested that we return to Jerusalem and then cross into Bethlehem from there, rather than go directly from Ramallah. This is one of the realities the people of this region must deal with every day. Even though life is difficult, they seem to rise above the challenges of the occupation, with humor, resiliency of spirit, faith, love of their families and of course, yoga! It is the fulfillment of my lifelong dream to see yoga spreading throughout the world. Wherever I have travelled or put on yoga conferences, the yoga community has a common language, and understanding that defies borders, stereotypes, prejudices, and separation. I have believed since the early l960s that Yoga is a way to bring peace to our world. It is not only a state of Union or “Oneness,” but it is the methodology to bring us to that state. The Islamic call to prayer began just before 4 am. I was usually awake to receive its inspiration. Every few hours until 9:30 pm, “the call” served as a continual reminder to pray and remember God as one arises, goes to sleep and goes about their daily lives. How wonderful I thought, even though Yoga is theistic as well as non-theistic, the call to prayer could be seen as “Iswara Pranidhana,” one of the most frequently mentioned practices in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. “The name of Iswara is Om,” Patanjali says in the first chapter. “Meditate and contemplate it’s meaning.” I thought, “How wonderful it would be if in Yoga, we had a continual reminder throughout the day to humble our ego and offer ourselves in prayer to the creator of us all.” What used to be a 15-minute journey from Ramallah to Jerusalem may now take one and a half to two hours. When my husband Max and I were taking groups back and forth from Jerusalem to Bethlehem and other parts of the West Bank, it was so simple. At that time, the time of the first Intifada uprising, the Israeli military had moveable makeshift barriers with barrels for checkpoints. They roamed the streets with their repeating rifles and set up guard towers and weapons stations on Palestinian rooftops. In 1990, my husband and I met one of these soldiers who shared his exceptional story that mesmerized us. His mission was to patrol the streets of Bethlehem. One day, he came across a Palestinian man who simply wanted to grow tomatoes in his front yard to feed his children. The occupation at the time was making it difficult to work or travel more than a few blocks. The Israeli soldier with a gun pointed at the Palestinian man’s chest threatened him with arrest or punishment if he did not rip out whatever he had planted. The man was non-combative and complied with the threat. When the soldier got off duty, he was on his way home to Jerusalem when a thought came to him. He had only viewed a Palestinian from the barrel of his gun. And perhaps the only Israelis they ever saw were in uniforms with guns. The soldier went home and changed out of his uniform and returned to Bethlehem that afternoon, to visit the Palestinian man’s home, wanting to get to know him, not as an enemy, but as a friend. Even though the Palestinian man was not allowed to plant seeds of tomatoes, the two men together planted seeds of trust. They began to dialogue, sharing their cultures, their experiences of the occupation, stories of their children and families. They explored cultural similarities and differences. It was such a rich experience for both that they continued to meet, bringing a growing number of friends to the meetings. The Palestinians were not free to travel so the Israeli soldier would bring his friends to Bethlehem to meet in the Palestine man’s home. They were hungry for this dialogue and when my husband and I were in Jerusalem, the Israeli soldier brought us with him to Bethlehem and included us, and our groups in their dialogues. Now, over the past 27 years this movement has grown into the Palestinian Center for Rapprochement Between Peoples. The brave founders of this organization catalyzed an ideal that now the youth are striving to continue. The work in dialogue and cultural exchanges is ever challenging in creative ways. It is especially difficult at this time since some universities and countries throughout the world are supporting and instituting Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS). Even though Israel sees BDS as anti-peace, the Palestinians and their growing supporters in other countries see it as a peaceful alternative for transforming human rights issues. Even though my original vision was to bring Israeli Yoga teachers to the West Bank, it is not at all possible at this time. I have always found geographical apartheid enhances stereotypes and fosters mental and emotional apartheid. Thinking of the BDF sanctions, I had a flashback of meeting with the Palestinian and Israeli founders of the Rapprochement Center when the Palestinians held one hand up high in the air and the other lower. “You cannot have dialogue when the parties are not on an equal footing. Israel is here,” he waved his upper hand, “and we are here,” he illustrated with his hand that was quite a bit lower. “To have real dialogue, we must become equal to Israel. His hands were now level to one another as he said, “You cannot have dialogue between the warden and the prisoner.” His Israeli counterpart, listened and nodded his head in agreement with his Palestinian friend. That night, a quote from the Mahabharata (The Great Epic of India) popped into my mind: “When one prefers one’s own children to the children of others….war is near.” This is the fourth installment in a series about my trip to the West Bank in May, 2015. Sraddha and I awakened this morning with a groan. Barking dogs kept us awake until almost dawn. Our Ramallah hostess and organizer of our visit said that “since the bombing of Gaza, the dogs have been barking.” It was a hot night and now with only two or three hours sleep, we were facing a hot muggy day. Our taxi was waiting at the front door as usual to take us to the center of town for our final day of teaching. The women dragged into the room, fully garbed on this hot morning. Off came the Abaya, the black over-cloth covering the body and the Hijab that covered every strand of hair on the head. I took one look at them and changed the plans Shraddha and I had worked out the night before. “Let’s start with Savasana, the Corpse Pose.” A senior teacher, the only teacher in Nablus exclaimed with a sigh of relief, “Oh! I said coming through the long lines of checkpoints this morning that maybe Rama would give us Savasana!” Shraddha and I began with the alignment for maximum relaxation in the pose, and then went on to introduce how they could mentally and emotionally stay in Savasana as they practiced forward bends to lengthen the hamstrings and release emotional build up of tension in the calves. Their adjustments of one another were loving and tender. They seemed to have no fear of touching or being touched. Today we did not have a myriad of distractions as we had the day before when they had to be on the alert because a repairman was expected. Throughout these four days, their cell phones would have a rotating cacophonous ring tones, some in Arabic sounds and others in strongly audible melodious sounds. The women would not turn off their phones or apologize for its interruption, but would jump out of whatever posture they were in to take a call. It truly was like they were answering the call of God. Shraddha, Suzanne and I were astonished at first until we realized that in the continuing restrictions in this culture where one did not know what would happen from one day to the next, there could be any kind of danger or emergency. We did not ask them to turn off their phones as we would at home, but rose to a new height of understanding. How I loved these beautiful strong and resourceful human beings! Now, this last day, we put them in backbends over chairs and on the walls for shoulder stand, this time coming away from the wall. Shraddha led them in a long, much-needed Savasana (the corpse pose). Some of the women were already having less tension in their necks, and solar plexus. Their shoulders and spine were straighter and pains were disappearing. They loved the idea that all postures are Savasana, if they do the pose with an extended neck and a relaxed brain and mind, without effort and especially with the breath. One woman said that after only two hours, the swelling of her legs went down. Another young woman said the joint pain she had in the beginning of the week was gone and others remarked about feeling more peaceful, regardless of what was happening around them which included standing at the checkpoints. Shraddha and I had only about ten hours to work with them over four days, but their testimonies, radiant faces and loving goodbyes, said to us that even this small offering of ours was of great importance to them. I almost cried as the women were asking about the meanings of the Sanskrit sounds … and how, even in their strict Islamic culture … they loved chanting the sound of Om. Their voices and projection of the sound principle -- of the absolute -- grew stronger with each class. As I repeated Shanti three times, I explained, the first time it means peace with yourself; the second time, it means peace with your families, friends, co-workers and colleagues, especially peace to those with whom you have had challenges in the past; and third, peace beyond every border or boundary of nations, states and peoples, peace throughout the world. The matriarch of the group asked, “What did you say that Shanti means?” As I said, “it is the ancient Sanskrit word for peace,” she excitedly called out three times in Arabic to the women in the room, “Salaam, Salaam, Salaam.” (In Hebrew, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti would translate as Shalom, Shalom Shalom.) Tomorrow, we move to the Christian community of Bethlehem, from the Hebrew word Beit, which means house or dwelling place and - Salaam - of peace. Who knows what adventures and miracles will unfold in the path that lies before us! That night I couldn’t sleep at all. The winds were howling and I was so eager to get to Bethlehem that a child-like anticipation of the future kept me awake all night. Arabic words kept wafting through the portals of the mind as images of the Palestinian women kept appearing before me. The cells of my body were dancing every which way trying to reconcile the past with the present. This is the third installment about my trip to the Middle East in May, 2015 We’ve been with the women in our classes for three days now. They are all Muslims except for one of our interpreters from Bethlehem who is Christian. The 13 Arab women would arrive each day fully covered in their Hijab, which includes two head coverings and an outer robe. Rob and Alice, who had supplied this Yoga center with blankets, blocks, straps and sticky mats came to the center each morning before we began teaching. The women would stay in their traditional coverings until Rob or any other man would leave. In their culture the only men who could see them without their headdress and robes were their husbands, brothers and sons. As one woman explained…even their cousins could not see them without their full dress. If a man entered the yoga room to deliver food or make repairs, they would either hide in a back room or put on their full dress. Under their Hijab, the women wore tight Yoga pants and long T-shirts. Some had glitters and one woman had a child’s T-shirt that had balloons as faces in bright colors of pink, lime green and yellow. I admired it and the next day she brought me a shirt just like it! I had forgotten. When you admire someone’s possession in that part of the world, it is an unspoken part of the culture to give it to you. I was raised in the Lebanese culture of my father and routinely gave away anything someone admired. Years ago, my English husband had to remind me that in America, this unspoken custom did not apply. When people admired things in our home such as oriental rugs, paintings and chairs, I did not need to give them away! The first of four days of class, the women were a bit reserved. They did not know us, or what were going to do. Most were Yoga teachers who taught in Nablus, Ramallah, and some in the refugee camps in Bethlehem. These teachers work with students who have every health issue imaginable. These areas are some of most acutely stressful in the world. The people never know when an attack from the military would happen, or when a bomb at the front door might explode in the middle of the night causing soldiers to storm the home, forcing men, women and children out into the streets. At times, several sources said that the boys as young as 13 or 14 would be taken to prison where some would be held for four or five years without trial, legal assistance, or communication with their families. One of the members of our group said her son was coming home after 15 years of imprisonment, without trial or being allowed to see or speak with any lawyer or family member. I sighed in futility and with hesitation, asked our translator about the torture methods once used by the military. She replied with sadness, “It is still going on but not as much, because the human-rights organizations have become more active and visible.” I held the sorrow in my heart that defied time. More than two decades ago, my minister husband and I witnessed human-rights transgressions by those who suffered so much before and during World War II. When we tried to speak of this to the Jewish community in the U.S. 20 years ago, thinking they would want to do something to stop it, they closed ranks to discredit the messengers, branding us as “anti-Semitic.” To even question the suffering inflicted on others was considered heretical. If a person was Jewish who questioned the actions of Israel, they were considered to be “self-hating Jews.” In the mid-1990s, I worked with the Israeli Yoga Teachers Association to hold a conference in Jerusalem, the theme of which was “Peace in the Middle East.” The Arabs were not allowed beyond the “checkpoints” and could not attend. However, it was a wonderful conference that brought forth contemporary masters of Yoga from around the world. The Israelis loved it. Indra Devi, Sri T.K.V. Desikacharya, Amrit Desai, Swami Dayananda and other leading Yogis from India and throughout the world were there. After the conference we took a smaller group into the West Bank to spread the message of Yoga to the Arabs who were not allowed to attend the conference. Now, two decades later, the young aspiring Yoga teachers in the West Bank are still not allowed to travel outside the region. Our visit was a time to create balance by focusing on teaching for Palestinians. I gazed with admiration at this group of beautiful women, social workers, psychosocial workers, teachers of children, hospital workers and clinicians, all intent on making lives better for themselves and others. They spoke the five little words that I have heard for 48 years of teaching, “Yoga has changed my life.” Through Yoga, they have found ways to feel free, even with the immense restrictions imposed upon them and their families in the midst of the occupation. Yoga transcends boundaries within us to give a sense of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual expansion in all areas of our life. What a perfect practice for this area of the world. I continued to say, “If we can’t have peace around us…Yoga helps us find the peace within us.” The women seemed grateful to be learning and being in an unfettered environment of communion with one another. In just three days, they have weaved their way into my heart where they will be held long after this trip is over. It was an unusually hot day and now the evening sky is angry with clashing thunder, lightening, the threat of rain and yet … no rain. Now it is time for sleep. This is the second in a series of writings about my trip to the Middle East in May 2015 Al Aqsa Mosque sat on top of the Western wall of the Temple that many centuries ago was the site of the great temple of Judaism. A few yards away from the mosque was the beginning of the Via Dolorosa, the 14 Stations of the Cross where Jesus made his painful journey to his crucifixion. The power in the region is so great that many seers say that there is a portal over Jerusalem as a spiritual center of the world. I have even speculated that it might be an inter-dimensional vortex of the collapse of time where the battle of the Bhagavad Gita continues to be fought between the light and dark forces. The question here is…who is the light and who is the dark? Could it be that this portal is the Yang/Yin that symbolizes the light within the dark and the dark within the light, from individual to global. The day after arrival, our group was whisked away from Jerusalem to the West Bank. The multi-tiered freeways astounded me. They were in better condition than ours in the U.S. Again I struggled to transcend comparisons. We passed by walls and fences of barbed wire that looked like internment camps. That’s Bethlehem, our Palestinian driver pointed out with dispassion. Oh God I thought, here it goes again, another comparison. My memory of Bethlehem never looked like this. We arrived at the checkpoint expecting to be held up for one or two hours, but our van was waved through without even stopping. We were all pleasantly surprised and even shocked! We entered the town of Ramallah where we were to teach the next morning. Again, my surprise was evident. The old small buildings built with Jerusalem stone were gone. In their place were gleaming white high-rise apartment buildings spreading across the hills and mountaintops. And, Israeli settlements dotted the skyline here as in West and East Jerusalem. These were the “settlements” that were built, despite several rounds of “Middle East peace talks” when it was agreed that no more settlements would be built. There is a biblical statement that says, “He who controls the mountain tops … controls the valleys beneath.” They were the monumental gestures of a conqueror who had vanquished a marginalized foe. Three in our group were staying at a very modern Palestinian Bed and Breakfast. Sraddha and I were staying with the first woman we communicated with at the beginning of this project, one and a half years ago. It is always a feeling of success when one’s vision manifests on the physical plane. Her apartment was beautiful and spacious with white tile and marble floors, white walls, white Egyptian cotton and white floor-to-ceiling drapes that billowed with the breezes from the balcony doors. The view from the deck stretched to Tel Aviv and on a clear day, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea. A nearby Islamic Minaret belted out its Arabic prayers five times a day in the call to prayer. This is the first is a series of articles about my trip to the West Bank in May 2015 Throughout my years of travel all over the world, I have been asked many times, “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose to live?” Without missing a heartbeat I always replied, “Jerusalem.” After many visits in the l990s, I had not returned for nineteen years. The reason for this was that my inner journey was greater than the outer journey. In our work in dialogue and conflict resolution the emphasis is on keeping the balance. But after several years of working in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, the West Bank and Gaza, I felt I had failed. I had to withdraw from a conflict that was the most difficult in the world, and central to the Mideast issues. I had to withdraw to heal my own heart from the perceived injustice that I witnessed each day there. And yet, it was one of the best-kept secrets in the world. How my heart ached for the people in the Israeli occupied territories. How my heart ached for the fear, terror, anger and rage of the people on both sides of the “Green Line.” However, over the years, the color green dissolved into varying shades of grey, as borders frayed, bleeding into one another seeking new lines of demarcation. They fluctuated and changed with what the U.N. called illegal settlement building on Palestinian land. [Source Wikipedia: “Green Line” refers to the demarcation lines set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between the armies of Israel and those of its neighbors (Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon and Syria) after the 1948 Arab–Israeli War. The name derives from the green ink used to draw the line on the map while the armistice talks were going on. From Israel's perspective, the territories "beyond" the Green Line came to be designated as East Jerusalem, the West Bank, Gaza Strip, Golan Heights and Sinai Peninsula. The Green Line became especially significant in Israel after Israel captured these territories in the Six-Day War in 1967, when Israeli maps contained the Green Line. These territories have since 1967 often been referred to as Israeli occupied territories.] My teachings in conflict resolution and Citizen Diplomacy about holding the balance between two or more parties in conflict were challenged. I had pondered for years, “How can one hold the balance in an unbalanced situation?” Now, I was returning after two decades, this time to teach yoga teachers in the West Bank of Ramallah, Nablus and Bethlehem, and possibly Gaza. Sraddha Hartung, founder of 7 Centers Yoga Arts (www.7centers.com) in Sedona, Arizona was partnering and travelling with me just as we did more than ten years before in Afghanistan. Somehow, we both seemed drawn to war zones, finding a center of peace internally and externally in the eye of a storm. Rob Schware of the Give Back Yoga Foundation (www.givebackyoga.org), of Boulder, CO, had established our hosting connection in the West Bank. The Foundation is using Yoga in working with our Military Veterans for what is now commonly diagnosed as PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Rob’s wife, Alice Trembour traveled with us, along with a teacher who is on their board of directors, Suzanne Manafort who works directly with the returning Veterans of war in their healing. The Give Back Yoga Foundation and Seven Centers Yoga Arts are both models of Yoga, in that they both believe that the methodology of classical Yoga (including Asana, breathing and meditation) is a tangible tool for transforming human consciousness. Their vision is in alignment with the great Masters and Rishis who have given humanity a vast gift of the practices and philosophy that have been passed down for thousands of years. I relate Yoga to the tenants of Citizen Diplomacy. “A Citizen Diplomat is one who transcends his or her own boundaries of separation, and diversity, in the remembrance of the ‘Oneness’ of all Beings and the belief in Human Unity.” The Give Back Yoga Foundation and Seven Centers Yoga Arts also recognize the fundamental unity of all nations, states and peoples. As Rob said, “A foundation supports the underlying connectedness among all Beings, communities, nations and relations.” “Give Back Yoga” had sponsored the Yoga center in Ramallah by helping them acquire Yoga mats, blocks, blankets, belts and other Yoga props and by supporting their formation. The West Bank founders named their studio Farashe, which means butterfly. What a beautiful concept I thought, remembering theories of chaos and interconnection, “When a butterfly flutters its wings on one side of the planet, the ripple affect can impact the entire planet.” What a perfect name for the chronic tensions that the people in the West Bank and Gaza live under, at times seeing no hope! Perhaps their wings will flutter, changing their lives and who knows, perhaps the world. The Farashe vision is: “Yoga is a catalyst for transformation and growth within ourselves, families, communities and world.” How wonderful that we are all in alignment, I thought as the airplane found it’s destination in Tel Aviv. Our arrival in Tel Aviv was uneventful. After passing passport control, we glided through customs, with no one questioning us or checking our luggage. I was shocked. The new airport was magnificent! Huge fountains and ceilings stretched skyward inviting huge beams of light into the space. The off-white marble floors gave an imposing, palatial feeling as we entered into Israel. It was obvious that, over the years, they were attracting more tourists into the region. I could not help but remember the old airport that was small, built of plain grey cinder blocks, with two turnstiles. In those days it was a little dirty and extremely confusing when we jostled our way between Jewish travelers and Arabs with long flowing kaftans. The changes in the airport were the first of many that I was about to observe. Our car was waiting to take the four of us to the YMCA in Jerusalem. I envied the members of our party who were visiting this area for the first time or even the second time. They would not have the painful experience of comparing the past to the present. My memory was racing as we were whisked from Tel Aviv on beautifully maintained freeways, sometimes double-tiered. There were no freeways 19 years ago. We had travelled the road from Tel Aviv “Up to Jerusalem”, which was the ancient road of Emmeus, where Jesus appeared to his disciples in his transcendent form after he had been crucified. How I missed the old simple road. As we approached the beloved city that gave birth to the world’s three major religions, it was difficult to recognize Jerusalem. Huge high-rise buildings hid the golden Dome of The Rock that was once the second mecca of Islamic pilgrimages. The old city, that once stood on a hill and was visible for miles around, like the Golden Dome, was a symbol of hope and faith for the traveler making their holy pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Now the Mosque too was buried in a sea of white monolithic high-rises that stood as gleaming symbols of the conquerors’ claim on a land that had changed hands many times throughout the centuries. The Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives could now be seen as a little green patch in this sea of white citadels. How my heart ached for the past, while viewing the changes of the present. We arrived from our long, overnight flight before noon and longed for a place to lay our head. The Moroccan arches in the lobby of the YMCA were a colorful reminder of the rich heritage of the Arabs who once occupied this land. The hotel was over l00 years old and seemed to preserve the past within its hallowed walls. Their food was wonderful in dishes that reflected the Jewish as well as Arab cultures. After a swim in the basement pool, I retired for much-needed sleep, with the old memories of Jerusalem drifting through my dreams. East Jerusalem was once exclusively the Arab territories while West Jerusalem belonged to the Israelis. Now the lines are blurred as West Jerusalem is absorbing East Jerusalem like a lion devouring its prey. The Muslim call to prayer that once filled the Jerusalem days and nights was replaced with silence. One thing that had not changed was the Jerusalem twilight that turned the sky the color of a blue lotus. The twilight slipped into night, while the evening breeze wrapped itself around me like a cloak of violet velvet. Yes, I could live here even now, in a sea of gleaming white stone and cement. Yoga is her life. Rama Jyoti Vernon, a practitioner since the age of 15 and a teacher for over five decades, is known as one of America's yoga pioneers. After gaining a deep understanding of the yoga philosophy, and practicing meditation and breathing techniques for years, she learned the asanas. Vernon was one of BKS Iyengar's first students. Since then, Vernon has taught locally and internationally. Her continuous work, deep knowledge and wisdom of the practice has led her to impact many souls all over the world. Click Here for Complete Story and Q&A
Dear Ones- It was such a joy to have all of you at the Retreat - what a wonderful group! What beautiful work you are all doing for yourselves and in the world. Thank you for being with us. Exciting news! We have already scheduled the retreat for next year. March 17 - 20, 2016. We will be in the same location, so mark your calendars. More information to follow in the next month as we begin to set up registration for the program. -Rama "Yoga: The Practice of Myth & Sacred Geometry"
Rama Jyoti's Opening to her recently published Asana book reminds us of the blessings we receive from Ganesa: Gaṇeśa is the remover of obstacles, both spiritual and material. He is a protector, evident by the rattle that is heard before his darśana, or revelation. The rattle is to chase away the evil spirits that symbolize hindrances on the spiritual path. In one hand, Gaṇeśa holds a bowl of rice and in the other, the Vedas. This symbolizes that one needs material fulfillment as well as spiritual nourishment. It is believed that when one is hungry, the mind cannot soar to loftier heights and becomes consumed with survival at the most basic level. Perhaps this may explain why Gaṇeśa is said to dwell in the first chakra, Mūlādhāra, guarding the chamber of the Inner Self, just as he is known to be the guard of his mother Pārvatī's chamber. Gaṇeśa's huge ears symbolize the ability to hear all things, the ability to listen, and to listen compassionately. His small eyes symbolize shutting off the outside world to look within. His long trunk, which brings nourishment from the ground into his mouth, symbolizes discrimination, for it takes more time for food to reach his lips, allowing time for evaluation or re-evaluation of the action. Gaṇeśa represents a vast universal energy, an energy that we can bring into all of our lives and our yoga practice. ~ Rama Jyoti Vernon |
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