NEWSLETTER

True Confessions of a Rude and Harried Root Chakra
by  Patricia Sweeney

In the beginning flow of Linda's yoga class, my root chakra panicked, "I have to go home."

Earlier that day, I'd been to the California College of Ayurveda Clinic, Diego's restaurant, Longs, and the DMV. When I got to the bank to perform a simple procedure, I couldn't. I didn't have the bag with the proof that I was responsible for my father's affairs. I could have sworn that I'd put that green zipper bag, with irreplaceable papers and monumentally important forms for my dad's estate in my backpack, but I couldn't find it. It must be at home, I tried to assure myself calmly. I could either go home and satisfy my curiosity or go to yoga. Yoga won, I thought.

In Thread the Needle Pose, my rear end was waving like a ungrounded flag in a windstorm. Muladhara wanted to go home. There was no flow through Svadisthana, the sacral chakra in the lower back. Manipura was a belly full of butterflies. My arms and heart were failing to move gracefully into the second side of the yoga pose. Anahata, the heart chakra, had no compassion. Visdhudha, at the throat, was constricted. It couldn't talk, at least not coherently. Ajna, between the eyes, was threatening a headache. Sahasrara, the thousand petals of white light at the crown of the head, was hosting a black out.

My intention was to slip out of class and make a couple quick phone calls on my new cell phone. I would rejoin the class 3 asanas later. If I just knew that my dad's green bag was safe and sound, I could relax and absorb the benefits of the yoga class, so I grabbed my backpack and snuck out to the arbor of jasmine. Bill was there, focused in a zen like fashion on his gardening project. "Do you know how to use that thing?,” he asked gently from the ladder. "No," I blurted, fumbling for magnifying glasses so I could read the miniscule numbers on the phone. "I would have called you if I knew how to use it. We cancelled the greenhouse. We don't know what we're doing. We might be moving. We can't landscape."

The phone at my home was ringing. The cats can't answer. The resident teenager was hooked up to hip hop on headphones. She wouldn't have heard an ambulance go by, let alone a phone ring. Finally, after God knows how many attempts to dial and get through mazes of automated messages, I got the receptionist at the clinic. "Is my bag there?,” I wanted to scream. In front of a yoga studio that seemed insane, so I took 3 breaths and faked serenity. Jessica kindly looked in one place. No luck. I'd have to check the rest.

Angst and urgency were driving my urban assault vehicle. They were ready to cut off cars at the exit and people in the middle of a sentence, all for the sake of being what I thought was responsible. Then something happened. I shifted gears, not up, but down. I noticed the trees. I was cruising through the woods with a handful of trucks and a blue Prius. A wave of gratitude washed over me. I wasn't sitting in traffic, sucking up fumes and other people's tension. Sierra Spring breezes blew through my hair. The pure newness of nature was everywhere. Surrounded in the rolling splendor of the rolling foothills, the planet and I were one.

Calmer now, I began to retrace my steps. The restaurant had switched shifts. “Your waiter will be back on Sunday,” the manager informed me, as we searched for the bag in a pile of lost sunglasses and sweaters. For some reason the cordial cashier needed to tell me about the starts of lettuce, squash, strawberries, and tomatoes in her garden. An empathetic soul shared tales of his aunt who lost her purse on a bus in Madrid and found it in Thailand. Flames of frustration were igniting with each long winded process of getting to, "No, your bag isn't here. I hope you find it." On the verge of flunking this test in being polite and patient, about to hyperventilate, I took a breath and pushed it down, way down through the fire in my belly, into the damp, rich earth at the base, muladhara. With the final "No, it isn't here," it was time to go home to my last hope. I trudged across the parking lot trying to count steps like Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Buddhist monk at Plum Village in France, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out. . .

The 6.7 minute ride through the roller coaster canyon of Highway 49 was taking forever, at least long enough to visualize joyous reunions with the green zipper bag at my desk, on the dining room table, next to the couch in the living room, in the garden, in the refrigerator. This was getting crazy. I might leave it in the garden but not the refrigerator. Or would I? I met a man last summer who set a box of Saran Wrap on fire in the oven. Guys in white coats took him away. He wasn't very mindful. Nor was I, or I wouldn't have lost my dad's green bag with all the important stuff. I was just about to go to that place in my mind that makes up all the excuses and explanations, when the wind picked up and waved the branches of a Madrone right in my face. It helped me remember, I'm driving. I'm driving through an emerald forest. I'm a country yogini forest dweller. How lucky am I. I could go straight to the banks of the Yuba and wait for the full moon to do 1/2 moon asanas if I wanted, but there was that mission of finding my dad's bag.

I decided in those next few minutes that I could handle whatever came my way. I was still hoping to see the green bag again, but if I didn't find it, I trusted things would be okay. It would be a grand pain in the rear, or shall we say muladhara, if I had to hunt down duplicates for all those papers, but what mattered most now was my reaction to the situation. I just needed to unzip my own bag, my bag of yoga-ayurveda tricks and look more fully inside.

Yoga and Ayurveda (I yur vay duh), sister sciences from India, date back 5,000 years. They share the same bag of tricks. Yoga is the union of body, breath, and spirit. When this union is whacked out by every day stress, or what you just ate, the temperature, not getting enough sleep, or major illness, you can bring back balance with Ayurveda life skills. Ayurveda deepens the practice of yoga by designing individualized programs that address the unique constitution and conditions of an individual. However, Ayurveda isn't just for yoga aficionados. One of the beauties of this age old medical practice, is that it has something for everyone.

Welcoming the sick, the tired, the young, the old, the hungry, the healthy, and the spiritual seekers of all nations, religions, and colors, Ayurveda stands out like the Statue of Liberty in alternative health care. Ayurveda is the journey of remembering your own true nature as spirit rather than ego. It unlocks the mystery of your unique constitution and hands you the key. It works if you do.

The yoga-ayurveda bag of tricks can go everywhere. Ayurveda life style principles can be as simple as remembering to breathe in times of stress or trading ice water for hot water with lemon in a restaurant to improve digestion. It can also be as elaborate as a 14 day rejuvenating cleanse with luxurious 4 handed massages, herbal oil to soothe the forehead, and time to relax in a lavender scented steam tent. The virtues of yoga asanas can be experienced in a long line at the post office. You may be tempted to alter impatience by breaking into Adho Mukha Vrksasana, the Downward Facing Dog, but Tadasana, the Mountain pose works just fine in a more civilized fashion. Chanting Om Namah Shivaya takes the edge off in Sacramento traffic jams. If I literally carry a bag of tricks, it might include herbs, like jatamamsi to help me sleep, or a Nasya, a pleasant sesame oil infused with Brahmi, Rose, and Shank pushpi to improve my memory, calm my nerves, fill my heart with compassion, and encourage clarity.

Ayurveda is in the business of developing pure potential. It helps people be the best they can be, regardless of their current condition(s). By treating the body, mind, and spirit, ayurveda prepares people to live and die more fully. After experiencing some of the therapies and taking some classes, I wanted to learn more. Today, I'm proud to offer my services as Clinical Ayurveda Specialist Intern at the California College of Ayurveda in Grass Valley, CA. I get to blend my skills as a yoga teacher, massage therapist, and Certified Nutrition Consultant in my ayurveda practice and work with a staff that clinically addresses the whole person, not just symptoms. Together, my supervisor, Jai Dev Singh, and I, explore the root causes of dis-ease by applying the elemental principles of ayurvedic pathology to symptoms and then we design individual protocols that include yoga, diet, life style, herbs, meditation, mantra, detoxification, and massage, color and aroma therapies to guide patients back to balance.

Getting closer to my house, I remember that I could do this for myself. I have the skills to bring myself back into balance. I can at least hum “lam” for the sake of my root chakra while I unload the car.

Entering the house, I greet 3 cats and the girl with headphones. My message on the phone is still flashing red, the color of muladhara. Glancing at my desk, I relive the panic. Then I see it, the green bag, across the room, next to a plant on the dining room table. I'm so grateful it's here and not in the refrigerator. This calls for straight shots of wheat grass, the color of the heart chakra, all around. This calls for some gratitude.

Thank you to all my yoga and ayurveda teachers for generously sharing your tricks. Thanks to all the yoginis, both city and country, for aligning your chakras so you can pass on peace. Thanks to the spirit of my father and looking for his mighty green bag, I learned that my own bag runneth over with the virtues of yoga and ayurveda. Like the beauty of the Yuba River, it is ever flowing.

Patricia Sweeney, Clinical Ayurveda Specialist Intern,
California College of Ayurveda 530-274-9100 
As a Clinical Ayurveda Specialist Intern, Patricia designs healthcare protocols that address body, mind, and spirit. This includes working with the chakras through diet, yoga asanas, pranayama, mantras, color, aroma, and massage therapies.

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