Greek Yoga

The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus – who was not a progressive by today’s standards – famously said, “No man ever enters the same river twice, for it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.” 

For our purposes, we’ll update this phrase to the more accurate, “No person ever enters the same river twice, for it is not the same river and they are not the same person,” since all human beings, regardless of identity, gender or otherwise, share a constant with Heraclitus’s river: change. 

The concept of flux was fundamental to Heraclitus’s thinking, and in addition to his famed river quote, he’s credited with having said, “There is nothing permanent but change,” “Change alone is unchanging,” “The sun is new each day,” and “Everything flows, nothing stands still,” all of which are illustrated by this metaphor of moving water and a person who is decidedly not-the-same from one moment to the next. 

To go to the literal: if you were on the banks of a river right now and jumped in, then immediately got out and re-entered the river once more, it would be “the same river” in perception only, not reality. Most obviously, the flow of the stream would see you in different water with each entry, regardless of the speed with which you got in and out and back in again; the physical banks of the river would look to be in the same place, holding the same dimensions, but however subtly, erosion would have occurred, with sediment being transported and deposited from one place to the next, thus, a moment-to-moment change to the physical container of the water; and while invisible to the naked eye, evaporation and condensation would also be in process, so not only would the water itself be “not-the-same” from one swim to the next, it would also be in the process of changing forms from liquid to gas as part of the cyclical hydrologic movement happening throughout the atmosphere.

To go further, so far as you, the human being, goes, the version that swam second would literally be older than the first, even if only separated by a few seconds: in that time, the earth would have turned slightly on its axis, and it would be in a new position in its orbit, meaning that personal and cosmic changes – even if they seem undetectable – would have taken place; likewise, as established in earlier blogs, the breath is in constant motion in every other moment of life, including this hypothetical swim, with new oxygen entering the lungs every three of four seconds; in the background while all of this is happening, the heart would also be beating, the blood would be flowing, the cells would be moving, and even though everything on the surface would appear to be the same, millions of processes would in and around the body would be in motion, never pausing, never still nor stagnant.

Quite literally, nothing would be the same from one moment to the next: not the person, not the river, not the atmospheric conditions, not even the space in which the earth itself was suspended, since the universe is ever and always expanding at levels and dimensions we can’t grasp with our feeble minds. Of course, all of this is easier to explain than to live by, since we, as organisms, lack the ability to perceive all the change that’s happening moment to moment. Instead, we only come to realize it with specific markers – a birthday, a changing season, a gray hair, or an old song that we haven’t heard in forever – which are the moments when we’re best able to to contextualize all that’s shifted or altered in our lives over time.

Ultimately, however, we fail to realize that change doesn’t come in tidal waves, but rather, as a slow, constant drip filling a bucket we don’t often bother to check.

This is what Heraclitus (who lived 3,600 miles from India roughly 2,500 years before the advent of LuluLemon) was getting at, and while not a traditional yogi, he deeply understood the concept of “Beginner’s Mind,” which we often hear about on our mats: this is the intention to approach each practice as if it is the first time, bringing a spirit of openness and curiosity, regardless of one’s level of experience. Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki said, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind there are few,” and regardless of our perceived expertise, the most most fruitful thing we can do as practitioners is abandon what we think we know in favor of being available for any new discoveries, understandings, or insights that may arise.

Again, this is easier said than done, but if we are, in fact, new in each moment, why can’t we treat the practice with consistent freshness? Even if we attend class day after day, the practice itself is not the same: it’s not happening at the same time, not taking place under the same conditions, not even occurring at the same position in the universe — and above all else, the person taking part is not the same, so why would we assume that experience would be?

In fact, every seven to ten years (with some variation), every cell in the body is regenerated and replaced – meaning if someone took their first yoga class in 2016, there is literally no cellular material that was at that first practice that remains today; it is fundamentally a different body, and therefore, a fundamentally different practice.

When we remind ourselves of this, every time we come to our mat is new — a new practice, a new adventure, a new expedition, and a journey into a new space where there is more freedom than we ever thought possible: understood in this way, we are, as Alan Watts said, “under no obligation to be the person [we] were five minutes ago,” and that is deeply liberating.

To feel that more deeply, roll out your same old mat like you’ve done a thousand times before.

But, now, look at it like a river.

Then, jump in.