We hear about certain concepts repeatedly in yoga classes, but it’s funny how an idea from the rotation can jump out once in a while. You might have read this same thing on several occasions in the texts, or you’ve heard your teacher talk about this same thing 50 times, and maybe you nod your head each time. Makes sense. Then, the stars align, and you can hear what they’re trying to say. It's like you've just tuned in to the right station to really pick up whatever is being put down.

The network

Last week in Yin Yoga training, we were talking about fascia. Fascia is a fine network of tissue that connects everything in your body to everything else. You have fascia running every which way throughout your body. It’s putting the top of your head in touch with what’s happening in your feet. It’s one of the reasons why the way you sit affects the way you breathe.

Hearing all this business about the body being connected like this made me think about the concepts of interconnectedness and non-discrimination. (For a teaching on non-discrimination from a Buddhist’s perspective, see Thich Nhat Hanh’s teaching, Equanimity: The Wisdom of non-discrimination.)

We are the ones that have named and separated and compartmentalized systems within the body, and we do the same with the world around us. It makes things easier for our brains to process, and it makes it possible for us to communicate. The Yoga Sutras seem to suggest this as well:

“While pure consciousness can hold any and all possible perceptions, even the most subtle and discriminating aspect of the mind cannot support multiple perceptions at once. If the mind were able to perceive all things at once, memory and cognition would become confused and overwhelmed.” (YS, 4.21, transl. Finger and Newton).

Delineations clarify our relationships with the world around us, but the illusion of separateness also causes suffering.

What it looks like on the ground

In the spring, I planted some bare-root strawberries. Of the ten that I placed in the ground, eight of them took hold, and over the course of the spring and summer, they filled an entire garden bed. The plants were so happy with our arrangement that they sent runners (baby plants attached by a stem) over the sides of the bed so that they could take root in the yard. You can only imagine how disappointed I was when I went out to check my garden earlier this week, and I saw this.

What you’re looking at is a raised garden bed with some decent-looking leeks and a bunch of naked stems that used to be strawberry plants. At night, the deer came through my garden and devoured anything that tastes good to deer. (In the garden that’s pretty much any plant that isn’t an allium or an herb.)

All year long, I fawn over these deer. (See what I did there? I’m not even sorry.) They mostly leave the stuff I grow alone because food elsewhere is so abundant and because I keep everything covered at the height of the growing season.

In recent weeks, production has slowed. The Autumnal Equinox may not happen until September 22, but if you’re watching the land like I do, it’s clear that fall is already here in my neck of the woods. This change brings about a need for me to reset everything and take out the plants that have already lived their lives. I uncover a bunch of my spaces in the process.

At the same time, the animals around me can also feel this change. They’re consuming at an alarming rate because they need to build up some reserves before the harsh winter. This is why my deer friends decided to have a buffet.

I was annoyed. Even though I approach plants and animals as relatives, I got all up in my ego for a minute about how I give these deer a safe place to be. (Nevermind that I’m in their backyard.) I don’t bother them, and I always leave some peach and apple skins from my own breakfast preparations in the woods at the far edge of my property. (Deer LOVE peaches and apples.) Being so bent out of shape was an ugly feeling, but hey, I’m human.

Then it clicked

Later that day, a doe and a fawn made their way through the yard in broad daylight. They ate a few flowers and trimmed away at uncovered vines. There was no malice in the chomping. In a flash, they were not deer at all. That was a mother trying to feed her baby. That was a young one trying to grow up. They were doing just what mothers and babies all over the place are always trying to do.

I looked at their smooth back noses, enormous eyes, and constantly alert and comically huge ears, and I just couldn’t be mad. They are not my enemy, and they never were. The ugly feeling vanished. It was replaced by a sense of wonder that they decided to stop by. These were welcome guests.

So whether it’s the fascia in our bodies or the other beings with whom we share our space, I got the message loud and clear. It's a lot more fun to appreciate that the deer and I both need the land than it is to get mad at them over an arrangement that only I can understand.

We can’t do this life in a bubble. Nothing properly exists in isolation. How something appears has to do with the mind of the perceiver. (That's in the Yoga Sutras too. See YS 4.15.) I’m going to keep working to understand having healthy boundaries and knowing when to put aside separateness. Maybe it’s something you can think about too.

In other news, I’ve decided that I’m going to call the mama deer “Strawberry” and the little fawn is “Shortcake.” They are so cute. From now on, I’ll strategically take down my fences so that they can eat the plants I’d otherwise toss. I’ll keep the things I don’t want them to eat covered. The deer pictures in this message were from today while I was writing this to you.

Take care, my friends.