Note: Yoga master BKS Iyengar, founder of the Iyengar style of yoga that made the ancient Indian philosophical system accessible to people all over the world, and known as “Guruji” to millions of practitioners, died last Aug. 20 of renal failure in Pune, India, at the age of 96.
Iyengar yoga was brought to the Philippines with the opening of the Iyengar Yoga Center Manila in 2004, headed by certified senior Iyengar yoga teacher Rina Ortiz, the first Filipino to study with BKS Iyengar.
This article first appeared in 2010 in Yoga Rahasya Volume 17 No. 3, the journal on Iyengar yoga published by the Light on Yoga Research Trust, which spreads the teachings of BKS Iyengar worldwide. The author, a student of Ortiz’s, has attended classes led by BKS Iyengar in Pune. The article is excerpted here as a tribute to a beloved teacher and a great man.
It was a ladies’ class at the Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute in Pune, and BKS Iyengar’s granddaughter Abhi was explaining how to open the chest in Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward Dog).
Then, as he has been wont to do, Guruji rose from his practice by the tressler near the props, and instead of merely barking directions from where he stood, walked over to the platform and promptly took over the class.
Stating that “I teach yoga for all,” regardless of religion, he proceeded to show on Abhi how the intersection of the solid, horizontal collarbones and the vertically rising spine and trunk in Adho Mukha Svanasana took the form of the Holy Cross, the universal symbol of Christianity. Later, in Sirsasana (Headstand), we were told, the intersection of that same cross marks the location of the heart, from which, in essence, one must properly do the pose.
The analogy was something I never expected to hear in my yoga class. But then again, I have come to realize that learning at Guruji’s feet is an exercise in the unexpected, in what my fellow Filipino Iyengar students and I have come to refer to as “light bulb moments.”
The reference to the Cross was especially significant for us, as the Philippines is a predominantly Catholic country. Most Filipinos are born and raised Catholic, and the Cross is an omnipresent symbol of our faith. The image adorns our homes, hangs around our necks, and is drawn on our foreheads in blessing by priests and elders.
On such a cross, we believe, our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified, as he chose to suffer and die to free us from our sins and give all Christians a chance at eternal life.
Nonviolence
In yogic terms, I like to think of it as the human incarnation of our God taking on the violence of the world upon Himself, so that His followers may have the freedom to live by ahimsa (nonviolence) in their own earthly lives.
For more conventional Catholics, yoga may seem inconsistent with this faith. After all, while we believe in one God, here we are confronted with a polytheistic system that recognizes many gods, answering a variety of needs and prayers.
To borrow a term used by early Christians, and which I cringe at using in this day and age, yoga may even be perceived as a mystical, dark subject subscribed to by “pagans.”
Indeed, in my country, we sometimes find ourselves explaining to students before class that the Sanskrit invocation to Lord Patanjali that begins every Iyengar yoga class is not a purely religious ritual, or a pledging of their unsuspecting souls to some fearsome deity.
For some Filipinos who have been practicing yoga, however, the dissonance has ceased to exist. I like to think my God is more tolerant and understanding than some strict theologians would want us to believe. I have faith that I will not be struck by a vengeful bolt of lightning if I happen to encounter Him in the clarity of an asana (yoga pose), or in the depths of pranayama (breathwork), just as I would in the middle of Holy Mass, or while praying the Holy Rosary to His mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary.
There is so much more universality in our beliefs than we think; love is love in any language or creed, and a good human being is a good human being no matter who or what he or she professes to.
The fact is, yoga has filled many of our lives with love—love for the subject, love for our teacher, love for others, and a tempered love of ourselves that has changed us unequivocally and absolutely. It has blessed us with healthier bodies, peaceful minds and open hearts. And it is a love that does not demand to know where you come from and who you pray to.
Things get even more complicated when a Catholic is presented with the idea of a guru. The guru/sisya relationship is not common in my country. We may have mentors in school or at work, an elder guardian, or even a spiritual director who guides us in our study of the teachings of Jesus Christ, but the system is nowhere near as institutionalized as studying with a guru is in India.
Exotic-looking
When I began studying yoga, family and friends would be intimidated by my pictures of Guruji, whether as a younger man doing incredible asana, or as he is today, with his white mane and piercing gaze.
They ask if this exotic-looking creature levitates, or glows, or can go without food, water and sleep for days on end.
The West, which has influenced Filipino culture greatly, has somehow painted for us the picture of a guru as a mythical being, detached from the realities of life, too distant to touch, whom you can only meet in some fabled realm of advanced consciousness.
How do I explain to people that my guru is a man, but a truly remarkable one? That he is a father, husband, grandfather, brother and friend as well as a teacher? That he lost his wife, endured illness and injury, and underwent untold suffering to stay true to his work, long before yoga was discovered and celebrated by the world?
The first time we ever saw him in the flesh in Pune, he just happened to saunter by while we were registering for classes, and even said “Thank you” when we fell in a nervous tizzy at his feet.
I have never been a privileged recipient of one of his wondrous whacks of wisdom on my body during a pose (although he has whacked my teacher, and her teachers, as well, of course, lucky them).
Still, I have held his hand in greeting, knelt beside him as he gave me advice on my practice, and stood close enough to see the twinkle in his eye.
No, I try to tell Filipinos who ask—my guru does not float on some higher plane. Rather, he comes down to the earth where we are, takes our hands (and feet and knees and shoulder blades and ribs), and carries us all, stern and compassionate at the same time, to that higher plane along with him.
“Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace,” wrote the great Catholic saint, Francis of Assisi. Catholics believe that God can work His miracles through the people we meet on our life’s journeys, all of whom cross our paths for a reason.
I believe that God made my guru, and sent him into this world on a sublime mission. That mission somehow included touching us, a small group of followers in the only Catholic country in Southeast Asia, all of us working hard to remain faithful to his teachings.
Through Guruji, we have been blessed and transformed. To paraphrase Guruji once more, in his teachings we have found discipline and precision. This precision has shown us the truth, and that truth has brought us closer to God.