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Religons and philosophies, however different, tend to look at morality in much the same way--similar lists of "Don't kill, don't lie, love your neighbor" crop up everywhere (and that's certainly good). But one virtue that I've encountered mostly in yoga and other Asian-origin ways of thinking is this one:
"Rejoice in the virtues and accomplishments of others."
At first that seemed odd to me. I'm used to trying (unsuccessfully, quite often) not to covet what others have--but to actually be glad that someone else can do something I can't? I didn't see it.
Gradually, gradually, though I began to notice that I could make a little headway with it. It started with my kids, of course, but it's hard to separate them from yourself. Later I began to actually feel good about the friend who is able to be honest even when it's so much easier to lie, the store clerk who chases me into the rain with a nickel refund, my sister losing twenty-five pouds and still looking half her age, my nephew publishing his writing. Still grit my teeth at some things, though--and usually it's the ones I started with, the people who can do those yoga poses I can't do.
But today in class a woman who's only a few years younger than me, and not in noticeably better shape, managed to do a killer pose, Parsva Bakasana (aka Twisted Crow). I've struggled for a long time with even the non-twisted version, and so has she, I think, from various classes we've shared. Just getting one foot up seemed impossible--and then up she went.
I was surprised to find how delighted I was to see her do it! Almost better than doing it myself.
I guess Old Crows can learn new tricks--or if not the tricks of the body, at least the ones of the heart.
"Rejoice in the virtues and accomplishments of others."
At first that seemed odd to me. I'm used to trying (unsuccessfully, quite often) not to covet what others have--but to actually be glad that someone else can do something I can't? I didn't see it.
Gradually, gradually, though I began to notice that I could make a little headway with it. It started with my kids, of course, but it's hard to separate them from yourself. Later I began to actually feel good about the friend who is able to be honest even when it's so much easier to lie, the store clerk who chases me into the rain with a nickel refund, my sister losing twenty-five pouds and still looking half her age, my nephew publishing his writing. Still grit my teeth at some things, though--and usually it's the ones I started with, the people who can do those yoga poses I can't do.
But today in class a woman who's only a few years younger than me, and not in noticeably better shape, managed to do a killer pose, Parsva Bakasana (aka Twisted Crow). I've struggled for a long time with even the non-twisted version, and so has she, I think, from various classes we've shared. Just getting one foot up seemed impossible--and then up she went.
I was surprised to find how delighted I was to see her do it! Almost better than doing it myself.
I guess Old Crows can learn new tricks--or if not the tricks of the body, at least the ones of the heart.
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That is such a beautiful way to say it. I was just thinking about that, about being content with what is, right now.
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I always enjoy teaching Swift's "Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift," (http://etext.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/SwiDeat.html) in which he forces us all to consider how much more easily we envy others' successes and rejoice others' difficulties--even our loved ones'.
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Namaste to your love for animals and friends. I rejoice in you.
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A sure sign of a mature and generous soul, a true friend. Being happy in this way is a freeing and uplifting way to live life.
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We all feel it sometimes--that's why we pay to watch performers--but somehow it's harder to feel for the people on the mat next to us.