Emptiness
Let’s talk a bit about emptiness. As a primarily wind-based person—Vata—I take this state of existence for granted. If I have anything excessive in my system, or in a closet, I get a bit uncomfortable. When I started studying yoga, I learned that emptiness was the state we are always seeking—in the mind and body. In Tantra, there are many exercises we can undertake to ‘remove the head’ (Tantric terminology, not mine).
Years later, during Ayurveda training, I heard physicians emphasise the importance of keeping all organs and channels of the body empty—its natural condition.
Whenever I get a hint of a new writing or video about “what nature’s rhythms reveal about your inner cycles,” or something similar, I tuck in for a trip down the rabbit hole. I quickly end up disappointed—flopped on the green grass next to the divot in the soil where there should have been a cavernous opening into the great mystery beyond.
Most attempts at explaining humanity’s inherent identity as sprung of the environment stop at the threshold of observation and appreciation: “nature is beautiful and inspiring,” “we can learn a lot about ourselves by watching the bees,” and “our interconnectedness is obvious.” But to many, it’s not so obvious—as evidenced by the immense destruction we witness daily, both around us and globally.
I think the reason why there is so little writing at the intersection of Nature and human consciousness is the same reason that, when scientists glimpse the edge of the universe and pursue it hoping for “the ultimate explanation,” the edge just gets further away—more complex, more indefinable. Maybe we’re not supposed to know everything.
Helping humans identify with the environment as part of Self is the work of the ashram to which I’m committed and (in my opinion) the foundation of all yoga: reuniting humans and their inner cycles with Nature and her cycles. (Nature with a capital N, as in God… she is a tree.)
It’s also the theme of my upcoming manuscript, Yogecology: Spirit in the Soil. Trees are indeed lovely—and without them, we’re in big trouble. But also true: we are made of the same components as the trees (and everything else in the environment). Physicists have been trying for decades to teach us that when we stand next to a tree (or anything), our molecules exchange with the molecules of the tree. We literally are the trees. We are anything we are near and focus on.
Gorakhnath (the 9th-century father of Hatha Yoga) was careful to tell his followers to spend time with healthy people who “laugh, play, and meditate” every day. He commanded this because, if you do those three things regularly, you are empty. Laughing and playing empty the lungs and brain and inspire metabolism to empty the cells, while meditating empties the mind.
Do you see the pattern?
Empty = healthy.
This is why some people who are depressed are motivated to lock themselves in a dark bedroom alone—so they don’t spread the malaise. It’s why animals who are dying leave the house and find a far-off place for their final moments—so they don’t bring the dark side to the living family. And conversely, it’s why people who are empty and joyful want to find a party—so they can share it.
To discover how you feel about emptiness, consider your attachments. What things, people, thoughts, and memories are you connected to? And what would happen to your mind and body if you didn’t have them any longer?
How would you change?
