Tikkun

“I’m here, and I’m on the mend, my friend.” ~ On the Mend, Foo Fighters

For almost a year, I’d put off getting my elbow checked out. I was afraid that if I did, I’d be told to stop practicing yoga. But what had started out as a dull ache had turned into a sharp pain, and so I set up the appointment.

I was diagnosed with tennis elbow, which for me these days is writer’s elbow. Who knew that writing could hurt? But apparently I had some microscopic tears that only rest could heal.

Why I needed someone to tell me that part of me was hurt and needed rest, I really couldn’t say. But my plan to dismiss the ache hadn’t turned out so great. Of course I was glad for the X-ray and to know that nothing was broken. Still, it wasn’t lost on me that I’d ignored this signal from my body.

Stopping my practice was a very big deal. Yoga gets me out and about, and the schedule shapes my week. Plus, I remembered another injury from before that had been tough to wait out. Back then, I was certain my practice would leave me if I were to leave it first, but in the end it proved loyal. When I got back to the mat it had been there, waiting for me.  

  

Having certainty is no small thing. On the contrary, it’s everything. If I’d been more certain, I probably would have addressed my elbow sooner and not been scheduled for physical therapy. In fact, if I were to look back over the years, I probably would have addressed a lot of things sooner. But certainty is not without its challenges. I can get stuck when I have big doubts, which fills me with anxiety, and that messes with the signals that my body sends to me. 

Last winter, when I was out of town, I attended classes on Kabbalah, the tradition of ancient Jewish mysticism. I learned all sorts of things about the meaning of life and about how when we have doubts, we should seek the light. When I returned home, I continued the classes online, but I’d long since fallen behind. Luckily for me, the topics I’d missed were on certainty, and so a decision to catch up now seemed to be timely.     

“Certainty is the way to fix your Tikkun,” the Kabbalah instructor says. “It’s what you apply in the tough times to correct the darkness.”

Tikkun is the Hebrew word for correction, and the Kabbalists identify it as the purpose of our lives. And they don’t believe that doubt is a bad thing. We’re here, they say, in order to correct things in our souls, and our doubts are simply the signals for what needs fixing. According to Kabbalah, we are supposed to do this through certainty.

That's not to say that we need to be certain of knowing exactly what to do, because sometimes we just don’t know. All that’s called for is the certainty that one day we will.  

If this is true, then it means that it’s okay if we can’t fix a problem right away. We can allow ourselves the time to rest and mend, so that we can be calm enough to let the answers in. And this, I think, makes for a compassionate plan, especially when we find ourselves having to begin again.

And so I did my best to remember all that and to view my break as a finite amount of time. I was certain that it would begin and it would end, and that after that my elbow would mend. This made everything so much easier. I watched movies and caught up on television. I went on walks and out to dinner. And I even got the chance to catch up on my sleep.

In the end I was away from the practice for two months, until one day while traveling I realized that my elbow was better! It was finally time to come back.

I awoke early and walked to a familiar studio just around the corner from where I was staying. The streets were empty and the sun was barely up. It was my favorite time of day. I checked in and put my belongings in a locker. I’ve always gotten a little confused with the locks at this studio, and, as usual, I accidentally scrambled the combination. When I entered the practice room, I knew that I’d need some help at the end if I were to see my things again.  

I rolled out my mat in front of the mirrors in the big empty space. The heat felt good, and so did my mat! I sat for a while and then braided my hair, tying it up in a ponytail. And that’s when I looked around and noticed that I was still the only one there! Someone popped her head inside the door, and I asked where everyone was.

“The class is in the other room,” she said gently.

A rookie mistake on my part, but I told myself that it was okay as I gathered up my mat. I was giving myself a pass on my first day back, figuring I needed to be as gentle on myself as the practice I was hoping to have. I followed her out the door and into the other room, where everyone except for me had already known to be!

I have to admit that, even while studying the topic of certainty, it was hard to keep all of my doubts at bay. But the practice was indeed gentle, and my elbow was feeling okay. And so I made plans with myself to come back again the very next day.

And this time I set my locker combination correctly, and I chose the correct room, too. I settled in among the others and braided my hair, tying it up in a ponytail. And then I laid back on my mat to wait for the class to begin.

But still I was bothered by a niggling doubt. It’s hard to admit, but before I came back I had started to wonder whether I still belonged on my mat. I sat up and checked my reflection in the mirror. Why was I questioning my loyalty? And what were those puckers on the sides of my top? Uncertain and without answers, I dismissed such questions and made myself lie down again.

And then the instructor walked in and it was time to begin, and right away the practice started to work. The flow was more rigorous than the day before, and I relished every stretch and every fold and each release after every hold. The poses awakened all of my muscle memory, and I moved with what I can only describe as an inner certainty.  

And this is why I always come back, for certainty is a gift, and the practice is precious because of it. When I practice, the movement smooths out all of my puckers of doubt, even those that had appeared with my shirt inside out!

And this gives me the chance to heal my Tikkun, because for the moment my questions are gone. And then at the end I get to lie down again, and I’m certain I’m where I belong. 

Anne is the author of Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.

Certainty

Sometimes, you just know what you know.

I’ve always had a bit of a sixth sense, but that doesn’t mean I can see the future or always pave what I think might be a good path. 

This heightened intuition is a knowing that is difficult to describe. The best I can do is to say that if a truth could be touched, it would feel like this. This might sound vague, but the feeling is anything but. 

When I am practicing yoga, I can experience a sensation similar to this sixth sense. In a pose or after a practice, a calmness comes at me, and I feel centered and light and surprised.  

It is like the feeling I get when an old favorite song comes on the radio. O, I know this! 

I was at yoga the other night, and the instructor was all excited about the new funky music playing. I approved as I had just added Stevie Wonder to my personal Pandora playlist, and Stevie and his friends had been serenading me at home. 

I was in handstand, killing time after practice while awaiting some instruction on backbends. I moved my mat near the wall and pressed into my hands, lifting first one leg and then the other. Usually, it takes a few tries, but this time, right away my legs found their hang, and I was easily upside down.  

Instead of feeling my weight in my hands, though, I felt no weight at all. A calmness came at me, and I felt centered and light and surprised.

 I felt such certainty in that moment, upside down. 

How is it that such clarity and certainty are never the result of a conscious effort?  

It’s not like I sit down and decide to come up with an answer to something that I don’t even know is on my mind. It just happens out of the blue, in the same sudden way as easily landing that handstand.

The only conclusion I’ve been able to come to is that when I am clear of concerns, an openness is created. I get a filled up feeling, and that’s when the answers come. 

It’s when I know what I know. It's the time to write. It's the time to paint. It's the time to draw. 

The instructor came over to help me drop to a backbend from standing. We were giving it three tries after every practice. Stevie Wonder blasted through the sound system, and I got that feeling. I placed my hands at my heart, told the instructor that Stevie had followed me here from home and dropped back with more certainty than ever before. 

Of course, it goes without saying that these times of certainty can be counterbalanced by bouts of uncertainty, where I wonder if I am headed in the best direction or if tilting back is even a good idea at all. 

It’s the wondering that gets in the way, the over thinking that closes the open space where the answers come in.

Before yoga, I had never exercised, and I can’t believe I missed out on all those years of using this method to make sense of myself. A lot of confusion gets worked out on my mat. The practice clears away the chaos by moving me out of my head and into my body.  

I arrive home to shower, not at all surprised to turn on my music and find Stevie still with me, finishing the exact same song that took me back at yoga. 

The shower has also been the source of several epiphanies. I guess hot, hard water pressing down on me does the same thing as my yoga practice. Standing there, I’ve definitely had a calmness come at me. A realization occurs, I feel centered, light and surprised, and I am certain of a new truth. 

Kabbalah, the study of Jewish mysticism, teaches about something called the Certainty Principle. It exists where we can’t see, and it’s supposed to help in facing difficult situations. According to Yehuda Berg, author of The Power of Kabbalah, the principle goes like this: "When challenges appear overwhelming, inject Certainty. The Light is always there.”  

There is a lot of study behind the Kabbalistic principles, but a down and dirty broad stroke would be to say there is a lot we don’t know, and don’t need to know, in order to believe that what’s happening is as it should be.  

Something is always certain, though I’m not always sure what.  

It doesn’t escape me that being certain takes some kind of faith. And, even so, I have to admit that I often reach those rare times of utmost certainty only after traveling through some confusion.

Keeping up my yoga practice helps me keep the faith.  

And that helps me be open for the centeredness, lightness and surprise for those times like when I reach to reference Berg’s book and somehow open right to the page on Certainty.