On the August full moon, some Indians, especially in the North, celebrate Rakhi Day, which John Friend sweetly writes about here.
On Rakhi Day, traditionally, sisters tie a rakhi, which is a string bracelet, around a brother’s wrist, in hopes of binding him to her in protection throughout the year.
I don’t have a brother so, instead, today I metaphorically tie a rakhi to tether me to my loved ones, and to remind me of those ties that bind me to my yoga community, my students, my peers, the handful of friends who are closer than any sister could be, and especially to my teacher.
In a culture of false gurus, my teacher has never done anything but teach me with the softest of hearts. He’s bestowed endless generosity, patience and love, even when I’ve been at my brattiest and haven’t deserved it. The only thing he’s ever done with the power I’ve repeatedly tried to dump in his lap, when I’ve despaired of ever being wise enough to find my own answers, has been to offer an ear, and then kindly, but insistently, put the power I tried to give him squarely back into my own hands.
Over the years I have confided the darkest and yuckiest parts of myself, and the things about which I am least proud. Instead of judgement, he’s given me kindness and understanding, while encouraging me to rise to be my best. That kind of acceptance provides a sense of protection so powerful it’s magic. Not the Hogwarts kind of magic but a better kind: the real kind.
Being accepted as I truly am provides the sense of security that has allowed me, slowly but surely, to dismantle some of the armor I have, in the past, attempted to protect myself with. It’s been awfully heavy to have to lug around.
In community, I am already protected, so I don’t need those old walls for self-protection as much as I used to.
They never really worked all that well anyway.
Happy Rakhi Day to the ones who protect us and to those we’d protect with our last breath.
Yoga teacher Bernie Birney writes inspiring yoga writing here and you can read more about her here
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