Standing in a 105 degree room in shorts and a jog bra, sweat stings my eyes, my heart pounds in my chest, and I feel dizzy. I hear teacher’s instructions  as though through a distortion filter— familiar yet strange, non-sensical, and yet also providing a tether to the moment, my body, and the pose as the only task-at-hand beyond staying in this seemingly god-forsaken, stifling room.

And it happens. Sometime  between balancing stick pose and the dreaded standing separate leg stretching pose-- I slip underneath the heat.

I don’t physically slip, mind you, although slipping is always a distinct possibility in a hot yoga class. Instead, my  attention falls underneath the heat into a pool of silence, stillness, and moment-to-moment awareness.  As I am enveloped in this cool expanse of my own consciousness, I think, “Oh, I get what this hot yoga thing is all about. I get it. I am underneath the heat.”

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Many years and many hot yoga classes have passed since the experience I am describing, which I think of as an initiation of sorts. Repeatedly,  I have touched the cool lake that lives underneath the heat. Of course, I have suffered through the heat, dizziness, nausea, and what can only be  called rage more times than I can count. But  the underneath-the-heat experience stays with me as a touchstone for what is possible—not just in the hot room—but in the many moments of excruciating discomfort that life brings.

And, truth be told, this moment in the hot room is how I experience  my faith a lot of the time.

To be clear,  the room was hot AF. Quite possibly, what felt like a moment of expanded consciousness might simply have been low blood sugar, dehydration, the onset of heat exhaustion, or worse. And, it may go without saying but I am going to say it anyway— if you hate hot yoga and feel disdain for those of us who like it, you might as well stop reading now.  And please, no mean-spirited comments below because  as a working metaphor of faith, my hot yoga experience is quite apropos.

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The room remained hot AF.  That did not change. The instructor kept on with the dialogue, which as many of you know, might better be described as a monologue that consists of poor grammar, bizarre images,  and mandates to forward bend into an asian pork snack. Again, the outer circumstances did not change.  I certainly was not becoming more hydrated or better-equipped to cope as my time in class unfolded. And yet, I found the cool lake underneath the heat.

There are times in life that the heat stays on,  the outer situation continues to annoy and disturb the rational mind, and  we become weak, tired, and less-equipped to cope. In these instances,  prayer rarely fixes the outer world. And, since hot yoga is my working metaphor today,  then I must remind us all that  faith in the  cool lake underneath the heat doesn’t always mean I can find my way there, since many classes are marked by nausea, dizziness, etc, as discussed above.

And yet, I know there is a cool lake. And many times— on and off my mat or cushion— as my mind roils and my emotions churn, I can feel the presence of what is underneath, above, beyond and through that very discomfort.  That presence, or Presence itself, is what I have faith in.

I was raised in the Christian tradition where I was taught  that “nothing can separate us from the Love of God.” My guru’s guru, Yogi Ramsuratkumar said, “There is only God.” In Anusara yoga we chanted in reverence to Shiva, an ever-present Light that exists unbound to circumstance. In the vinyasa traditions, we remain connected to the breath,  to a singularity of consciousness  as the forms change. In hot yoga, we follow the instructions, breathe,  and stay in the room. In the alignment  traditions, we observe the ways the shapes and actions repeat, we attend to  the pose, to ourselves in the pose,  and learn to know the one who is paying attention in the first place. On the cushion we watch the breath, repeat the mantra, allow the mind to move, or perhaps practice cessation, depending on the form.

And so on.

The point is, everywhere I look in this world I call yoga, I am being reminded of, and instructed in,  the process of living with faith. Not the faith of empty promises, quick fixes,  or placating assurances, but a  faith in presence, in a living force that lives underneath the heat, stays steady in change, and offers me occasional moments of refuge, solace, and Remembrance.

And look, I know for many, asana is exercise and they are more interested in bones, muscles, and the majesty of movement than they are philosophy or metaphysics.  That is okay with me. I have no need for people tor elate to the practice. in the same ways that I do.  Anyone who knows me knows that I think of practice  in community as shared inquiry, not  as shared answers. I enjoy sharing the inquiry and have plenty of faith in the diversity of  the ways we each  answer life’s questions.  And , I wish for each of us moments in the cool lake I call faith, in the assurance of Presence, and in the experience of what lives deeper than the surface of life.

All right, more soon. I have an asana date with my sister.