To be a yogi?

There's no question that it's hard trying to be a yogi in the modern world. But to an extent that is true of any modern religious devotee. We are blessed and cursed to live at a time when religion is a forbidden topic, either through fear of ridicule or fear of offence. We are taught by our society to keep our personal views hidden, unless they are strictly conventional, libertarian or conservative societal norms. We can worship, but only on a Sunday (or Friday, or Saturday or...?) The rest of the time we are expected to be good citizens, on a sliding scale where good constantly shifts towards some indeterminate definition that our current civilisation accepts. No wonder it's hard trying to be spiritual!

The problem is compounded by the fact that, if you are brave or stupid enough to pin your flag of God to the mast in a non-orthodox manner, you risk being thrown into the pit of disdain along with all the other holistic, weirdo wackos and quickly dismissed and forgotten.

Sahaja Yogis learn this lesson early on, I think. From the moment we first mention it to our friends and family, often to face uncomprehending confusion, we learn what it is to be thought of as [insert your favourite label of derision here]. Of course it's all part of the test, but it's a tough place to be, misunderstood or worse. All the more so when we know inside that we're not extra-ordinary so much as super-ordinary. Not befuddled as much as just plain lucky.

So we struggle to balance our outward 'conventionality' with an inner turmoil. For let's not beat around the bush here, folks, trying to improve oneself through such a powerful spiritual practice as this one is kind of like sticking your head in a dishwasher on full cycle. Actually not just your head, your whole mishapen, lumpen, crinkly body. Twice.

We talk about our practice in simple terms, but in reality what we are trying to describe is beyond description. Not because we're extra-special, 'too high level for you' type people, but because there are no real definitive terms in which to discuss a real relationship with God. Hey, so everyone who has an ounce of devotion in them will claim some connection with the Almighty in one way or another - through prayer, introspection on mountaintops, through transcendant experience. But the uniqueness of the Sahaja Yogi, is that this conversation is both two way, and more importantly perhaps, accompanied by real physical interaction in the form of sensations on the subtle system and within the environment.

It is this latter part which perhaps can cause so many people to fall at the first hurdle of our particular yoga - how to explain to someone who is just starting out that the sensations they may feel are real? Or more crucially, that the sensations they are NOT feeling will be along soon, if they're patient and diligent? The problem is that once we cross this particular line, we begin to look suspiciously kooky. No matter how well mannered we appear on the outside, believing that we can 'chat' to the substance of the universe at will is just plain nuts. Isn't it?

And so, inevitably, we are labelled and dismissed by those for whom reality must be solid, visual and ever so rational. It's a shame, of course, but the greatest sadness is that we find it so difficult to explain the truth without digging ourselves even further into our pit of gooey looking kookidom. How can we explain that reality is nothing more than vibrations when we don't have a Doctorate in Quantum Physics? Or even a certificate in theology?

And so, as typical yogis we retreat to the cliches, we revert to the easy, simple answers; non-contentious, non-challenging. The platitudes, smiles, waves. The shake of the hand as we show you the door, knowing what you're walking away from is the most important thing that has ever crossed the threshold of your existence. We wave goodbye with a tiny tear of despair inside, trying desperately to wish it all better - wish you all better - so that you'll return with determination to join the party.

Yes it's hard being a yogi. But hey, it's the only game in town worth playing. That's the real fact of the matter.