Monday, March 17, 2014

An ode to Grandpa Garlock via Patanjali's Yoga Sutras

As part of my curriculum for yoga teacher training through Holistic Yoga Therapy Institute, I am required to read the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali.  I am then further required to journal each week about a Sutra that impacted my life in that seven day span, culminating in a one page article on the Sutra that MOST impacted my life over the course of the training.

Book One, Verse 22 of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras reads:
The time necessary for success further depends on whether the practice is mild, medium, or intense.

In other words (mine), if the practice is intense, then the time necessary for success should be/will be shorter.  On one level, I agree with this.  However, according to Malcolm Gladwell, author of Outliers: The Story of Success, it takes 10,000 hours to successfully master any skill.  And 10,000 hours is 10,000 hours regardless if it takes 5 years of practice or 10 years of practice to achieve.

As the granddaughter of a farmer, who was rarely seen without his hoe in hand, I believe in hard work.  I do not believe in short cuts and I do not believe in half efforts.  My grandfather would definitely have been classified a "master" hoer, having spent thousands of hours in the fields.  My yoga journey has just begun, but like my Grandpa, I plan to cultivate my garden every day.

Below is an excerpt from an essay I wrote several years ago about my beloved Grandpa Garlock:
Born and raised a farmer’s son, farming was all he knew.  Before the rooster even had a chance to crow reveille, my Grandpa was in the fields, hoe in hand.  Gently bent over row upon row of blossoming seedlings, he patiently and tenderly cultivated each plant as if the vegetables being born were his own offspring.
Like Michelangelo’s, David, my Grandfather’s hands were his most dominant feature--too largely proportioned to the rest of his body.  While David’s unusually large hands were used to symbolize strength and power, my grandpa’s swollen, callused hands represented the hours and hours of love and dedication he gave to his farm day after day from sun up to sun down.

When the last sliver of light escaped over the horizon, Grandpa rested.  Twenty minutes after the The Lawrence Welk Show would begin; he could be heard rhythmically snoring to the soothing sounds of the big band--until the next day, when he’d start all over again.

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