The Ashes of the Buddha are Golden

Tuesday I went to a fantastic yoga class at Flow Yoga Studio. Probably the best I’ve ever been to; my muscles felt like they were being wrung out! Dripping with sweat, I was hardly able to keep my hands from slipping on the mat while in down-dog.

As I understand it, Flow is one of DC’s premier yoga studios, and offers advanced classes. Its clientele: well let’s just say it’s next door to Whole Foods. But nonetheless, I left impressed.

Here’s the tricky thing about Yoga studios. There really aren’t that many Hindu’s and Buddhists who take Flow classes in DC. Americans have been pretty successful at separating the physical, stress-relieving benefits of the practice from its spiritual significance. But its inevitable that the more advanced the Yoga class is, the more one is likely to run into the historical and spiritual tradition from which it comes. I have mixed feelings about that and I’ve had some mixed experiences with it too.

I’ll admit that I actually like that calm, monotone, flowing voice most instructors use, but more than once, I’ve refused to go back to a studio because of the seemingly superficial and silly attempt to momentarily emphasize the spirituality or eastern origins. That and the strange little bodhisattva statues we throw our feet towards in plow position, oblivious of the horrific significance this involves.

Tuesday, however, was the first time I had been to a class that involved actual chanting. In some language “derived from the Sanskrit” we were to chant what apparently translates into “The ashes of the Buddha are golden. The inner-eye is golden.”

First and primary thought: “Hmmm…I’m not Buddhist.”
(Secondary thought: “Did someone burn Buddha, why does he have ashes?”)

Interestingly enough, the instructor didn’t seem to be pretending to be Buddhist either as she explained what she thought this chant meant. So I couldn’t really judge her as a phony, but felt puzzled at her nonchalant attitude towards monastic chanting. To her, the phrase meant gold was pouring out of us on to every person we came into contact with and each person was bathed in golden abundance and true prosperity.

***

Do I chant and risk blasphemy, spiritual harm or worst of all becoming an ignorant yuppie and byproduct of the globalization generation?

OR

Do I refuse to repeat a phrase that has little meaning to me in a language I don’t even know the name of, and risk surrender to small mindedness derived from fear of the unknown and the misconception that the Divine can only speak to me on my terms?

Here is my confusion:
I believe Whitman is right, that the time has come where we are all our own priests. We are each responsible for our own spiritual path, an authentic search for the Beyond. So desperate should we be for Life that we must insist upon searching it out, wherever the path may take us.

But can that path be a hybrid of religions jumped into and out of at whatever point we encounter, even if it’s a $16.00 Wednesday night Yoga class next to Whole Foods?

On the one hand, I’m certain God, Good, spirituality and Love cannot be confined into a flat organized religion and we should take whatever ounce of truth we can find, despite the source. After all, some of my most significant religious experiences have not been in a church and some of my most beloved spiritual guides would scoff at my tidy theology, and tell me God is much more alive than I’ve presumed and much more unique to each person than I could understand.

On the other hand, however, I can’t throw out 2000+ years of historical traditions and chalk up their differences to lack of simultaneous access to a great Baptist church AND a fantastic yoga class. These people were wayfarers too.

Spanish poet, Antonio Machado says:

Wayfarer, the only way is your footsteps, there is no other.
Wayfarer, there is no way; you make the way by walking.

Interesting language in light of a Jew I know who claims He is the only way.

So…if I accept Buddha's ashes are golden, have i become my own priest or just lost my way?