Namaste

I recently started a yoga practice. By all means, please take a moment and imagine clueless beginner yogi me: chubby and only mildly coordinated, still regaining full use of my left foot after crushing it earlier this year, trying to find inner peace (and not fall over) in a house full of curious cats and dogs. You probably underestimate the hilarity. I have had dogs gradually melt across my mat and a cat grapple my calf while I sought the proper balance in Warrior One. I have had retired service dogs decide I am clearly in need of help. It’s been a show.

But it’s been good. I’m coaxing my body to remember the suppleness of long ago ballet lessons and the centered strength of fearlessly running down curbs. It’s bringing me back to a connection with my body that’s too easy to lose in my busy modern life. It’s true self care.

Before I started practicing yoga, the short list of things I knew about it included the word “namaste.” It’s not surprising; it’s so evident in yoga of all kinds that in many circles it has become a shorthand for New Age pretension. At first I felt self conscious saying it, and sometimes still do, but that feeling begins to fall away as I form a deeper connection to just what namaste is. It’s a greeting at times, a benediction at others, but more than that, it is a philosophy that anchors the spiritual roots of yoga and branches out to brush against every other part of life.

The philosophy of namaste means “the divine in me bows to the divine in you.” It’s a process of recognizing that the same universal energy exists in all of us. It’s about looking at other people and seeing the soul instead of the body. It’s a quest to find light in everyone around you. It’s a beautiful way to approach the world.

I think that namaste should come naturally to those of us standing on the “animal people” end of the pet owner spectrum. It’s just another interpretation of that moment when we look into an animal’s eyes and see a soul looking back where so many others see “just an animal.” It echoes the empathy we have for our dogs’ internal lives and they have for ours. It recognizes the spark of connection that draws us so close to our chosen family. To be honest, I think it can be easier to embrace namaste with animals than with humans--there are so many fewer words to get in the way, fewer expectations, less ego. Dogs simply are themselves, and they encourage the same in us. They are as eager to find genuine connection as we are, and far less afraid.

The connection is joy; quick and bright. The love is natural, almost effortless, but deeper consideration of namaste brings a responsibility to light. If we can see the soul in our dogs, feel it, we have to respect it. Namaste calls for us to bow to the divine in others, to humble the self to allow compassion, empathy, the reverence that is inseparable from true love. Dogs are not objects; they are not automatons; they are not extensions of us or expressions of our ambitions. They are their own souls, complete in themselves, and if we claim to love them we must allow them that.

I seek to always respect the soul in my dogs. For me, that means meeting their fear with support, their frustration with compassion, their joy with enthusiasm, and their devotion with gratitude. I don’t try to master them, because who am I to hold any soul but my own? I can’t step away from them, because I promised them they would not be alone when I took them into my family. I stand beside them, our hearts and minds growing ever closer as we find a balance that allows both souls to live together, bending where needed to balance and respect each other.

It’s kind of like yoga.

Yoga’s a lot like love.