The first time, I'm ashamed to admit, that I ever heard the word "fontanelle" was when Edwina McDunnough in the film Raising Arizona says in her special drawl, "Now mind his li'l fontanelle!" I had only ever heard that little, vulnerable spot on a baby's head called a soft spot. But most things anatomical tend to have a more official name, and in this case the soft spot is officially known as the fontanelle. It seems Edwina McDunnough noughs more than her name implies!
Edwina McDunnough from Raising Arizona
But it wasn't until a few months ago that I learned that the word fontanelle is actually a French word that means "little fountain" or "little spring". Where is the correlation here? What does a baby's soft spot have to do with a fountain or spring? At this same time I was studying the nature of kundalini energy and discovering the winding path it travels up the chakras. This led me to Sahaja Yoga Meditation, founded by Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi. It was in reading her words that revealed to me for the first time the profound correlation between this seemingly inane label "fontanelle" and the experience of kundalini awakening. In her own words:
"Self-Realization is the awakening of the Kundalini through the central channel, as it pierces the six chakras above the sacrum bone and emerges at the top of the head (at the fontanel area) as a gentle "fountain" of coolness. (The word fontanel means "little fountain" which indicates again the ancient knowledge about this phenomenon of Self-Realization.)"
She even points out that it was the ancient Greeks who gave the sacrum its name, which means "sacred or holy bone"and is the medical term still used today. How beautiful that some truths weren't lost, only forgotten. The truth is often staring us in the face--or we're sitting on it, literally. Kundalini resides in the sacred triangular bone called the sacrum and achieves self-realization upon piercing through the fontanelle as a gentle fountain. Hmm. I have to hand it to the French and the ancient Greeks. Did they know the truth?
The group was small and most of us seemingly new to the whole experience, as evidenced by our coy reserve and inability to effectively sing along. But the few that were by all appearances "regulars" made the experience meaningful for the entire group. freeing our inhibitions and setting the tone. It's one thing to enjoy kirtan as an observer or listener and an entirely different thing to experience kirtan as an active participant. The experience comes to life when you feel the words and music burst out of your own mouth, even if, like me, you're half mumbling half singing the foreign tasting sanskrit words--no one cares how well you sing or how well you pronounce the words!
At the Radha Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork kirtan is an integral part of their Sunday worship service. Imagine you are there with me as the wallah (or kirtan leader) and other musicians are sitting cross-legged on a beautiful rug surrounded by their exotic instruments: the mridanga hand drums, the bell metal kartals and the harmonium, in this instance. The wallah, playing different instruments throughout the service, begins to play and chant then invites the congregation to join in, until everyone in the room is rocking back and forth, swaying, up and dancing and most certainly lending their voices to the chant.
Kirtan then....
...and now.
Each sacred chant seems to begin slow and steady and builds in intensity and speed, finishing with a thrilling "crash" of the kartals, or "thump" on the mridanga. After a chant or two, the wallah opens the Bhagavad Gita and shares personal insights on their sacred Hindu text. "Consider the image of the person attempting to drive a carriage led by five wild horses," he explains, "These five horses represent our senses--taste, smell, sight, sound, and touch. Until we can tame and yoke those senses, we will always be out of control." And how can we learn to control those senses? This wallah mentions yoga, namely kirtan, which he calls "true yoga", to tame the horses and gain control of the carriage, to gain control of our mortal life journey. He says, "You can't be thinking about your hunger, your lust, your anger when you are caught up in the sacred chanting."
Many believe that kirtan is the essence of yoga. Yoga means "to yoke". What are we trying to yoke? Five wild horses! We are striving to yoke the mind, body and spirit, not just to one another, but to God. Or could it be that a fully-yoked mind, body and spirit actually is God? Or are we possibly just making room for God to enter? Or are we finding that God was within us all along? Yes. Yes. And yes. God is within and without. He is cellular and cosmic. He is flesh and spirit.
Here is an example of a kirtan experience that rose up in the youtube world, because in case I forgot to mention it, above all else, kirtan is just really, really fun!
Something lovely about the Bodhi Flow is that we take the time to revisit child's pose in every tier, though admittedly in the fourth tier we approach it from a slightly different angle. Dropping back and rolling the spine along the mat, our legs pull into our chests and for just a brief moment, there it is, a fetal-like position--child's pose. Leading a class today, halfway into tier three I heard myself say the words "Let's pull back into child's pose and take several full, restorative breaths." Perhaps why I heard (like, really heard) my own words so clearly was because I had said that same phrase each time we went into that pose without realizing it. How interesting, I thought, that I feel a need to say this aloud every time we visit this pose. Part of leading a yoga class, in my experience, is learning to trust what your own body is telling you, then letting that guide the movement for the class. My body really wanted those moments of restoration apparently. What is it about child's pose that invites the restorative breath, I silently wondered as we pushed back into downward facing dog.
Almost as soon as I asked the question awareness flooded over me. I've been revisiting some semblance of child's pose all of my life yearning for restoration, and long before I was ever practicing yoga. Just as there are tiers of the Bodhi Flow, there are certainly tiers or stages of life, all of which brings a different focus.
Intentions and focus of the Bodhi Flow tiers look like this:
Tier One- Warms the Body
Tier Two- Opens Flexibility
Tier Three- Builds Strength and Stamina
Tier Four- Reduces Tension and Balances Breath
I'm beginning to see how the intentions and focus of my own life change and evolve as I age. It's a marvel how much childhood varies from young-adulthood, and how adulthood varies from the elderly years. Yet, throughout it all, when we take the time to pull back, take some deep restorative breaths, and revisit "childhood"--that's when we find true restoration, isn't it?
It was dusk and I worried that maybe I'd not have enough time to fully experience it. But I'd been here once before and made similar excuses. Why was I so hesitant? I was so full of all the things this experience "should" be and all the things this labyrinth "ought" to do for me that there wouldn't be much room for the experience to just be what it was going to be. Am I going to blog about this? Won't taking pictures negate the sacredness? Will openly writing about it tarnish the spiritual nature? On and on and on went my analytical wanderings. I had confessed to Syl, my yogi mentor that created this mystical labyrinth in her backyard, my tendency to over-analyze. I told her I wanted to be free to walk the labyrinth without expectation. She chuckled and said something like, "No need to worry about that, the labyrinth is designed to challenge that very thing. You'll want to go one way and it'll take you exactly the opposite. Just don't fight it. It's not a maze where you have to choose a path. Trust where it takes you." So here at the entrance, I removed my shoes and did my yoga: Inhale, let it gather up all those "shoulds" and "oughts" and "have to-s", exhale. My walking prayer began.
There's something to be said about trust. I would find myself so close to the center, separated only by one little row of stones. The tall grass was tickling my skin as I brushed by it, closer than I'd ever been, until the path turned. One might think, I'm going the wrong way. Trust. No, this is good. Sometimes you have to have your back on the target, you know what I mean? Then, I'm walking along the perimeter, feeling so far away from it all. One sharp turn. I'm there. What? How can that be? Just moments ago I was...over there...I was...alone, drifting. So far, and yet so close.
Standing in the center, wanting to lift off the ground, I think I did. I didn't know that holding so much could feel so light.
It was time to step out. I stood at the exit, which had only moments before been the entrance. Now it was my turn to chuckle. You mean I have to come out the way I just came in? The answer settled upon me, "The path is the same, but you're different." So is the path really the same anymore? Hello paradox.
I was smiling and happy, taking my time with each step, winding my way out. First I was singing in my head. Soon I was humming. Then all at once I was singing out loud and proud:
"It's by far the hardest thing I've ever done
To be so in love with you and so alone
Follow me where I go, what I do, who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down all the way and all around
Take my hand and say you'll follow me"
Where was this coming from? Why now, John? The words just kept coming:
"It's long been on my mind you know it's been a long, long time
I'll try to find the way that I can make you understand
The way I feel about you and just how much I need you
To be there where I can talk to you when there's no one else around
Follow me where I go what I do, who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down all the way and all around
Take my hand and say you'll follow me"
And by this point, I said aloud, "I hear you!":
You see, I'd like to share my life with you and show you things I've seen
Places that I'm going to places where I've been
To have you there beside me and never be alone
And all the time that you're with me then we will be at home
Follow me where I go what I do, who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down all the way...
Take my hand and I will follow you"
--John Denver, "Follow Me"
It was a mediocre experience. It was a sublime, ineffable experience. I suppose I'm leaning on Dickens a bit there. I mean to say that the act of walking the labyrinth in and of itself is a very simple, seemingly mindless activity (if you're willing to turn down the analyze slide bar). Yet, within that simple act, something truly miraculous opens up within you. I don't mean to ascribe too much "power" to the labyrinth itself. I don't see it as a magical panacea that absolves all worldly strife and takes you in a straight shot to nirvana. But in another sense, it's like this magical panacea that absolves all worldly strife and takes you in a straight shot to nirvana...at least for a little while. You get to taste it. And return to it as often as you'd like. It's as magical and mystical as prayer is, for the labyrinth is truly a walking prayer wheel. Prayer in and of itself is powerful, but match that with pure intention and that's when you achieve the sublime and ineffable.
