#127 The Third Step is Cake

On Fear of Letting Go, Boundaries, Divine Conversations & Choosing Yourself (One Slice at a Time)

The Five Kleshas are the causes of suffering in yoga philosophy. This week, they were the theme of my Yoga Sutra Recovery group, and this month, the focus of my online yoga membership.

Abhinivesha is often translated as “fear of death,” but lately I’ve been using a slightly different phrasing: “fear of the loss of life as we know it.” It’s not just our own death or the death of others that frightens us - it’s the fear of change. Of losing people, places, jobs, identities, routines. That fear is what keeps people stuck in the wrong marriages, the wrong jobs, the wrong countries… clinging tightly to the known out of terror for what’s on the other side of letting go.

This morning, while teaching a Yoga Sutra Recovery class (the next one starts in October), I introduced the Kleshas - the five veils of suffering. At the root of all of them is Avidyā: spiritual ignorance or disconnection from our essence. I was explaining how Avidya is really losing sight of our higher power. Losing connection from our spirit.

When we lose connection from our higher power, we might fear losing life as we know it. But when we are connected to our higher power, we know that we are protected by God, and we’re ok to let go. We can hold on tightly, and let go lightly.

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In Indonesia, people call your mobile device your “HP” - short for “hand phone.” Someone joked to me recently, “Your HP is always with you,” but they meant “higher power,” not “hand phone”! I laughed - because truly, your phone should not be your higher power (lol) - but in today’s world, so many of us treat it that way.

And yet, sometimes, your Higher Power does come through your hand phone. It happened to me yesterday morning. I was in savasana during a yoga class, planning to head to an AA meeting right after, when I heard my phone vibrating in my bag to the side. I ignored it at first. But I had this strong feeling - that’s your sister. So I left the class, and I checked my phone, and it was.

I left the class and took the call, walking down the street as we talked. I missed the meeting. But I spent forty minutes on the phone with my sister, who told me how proud she was of me for making courageous choices and setting boundaries. I told her the truth: I made the choice not for me, but for my yoga career.

I explained to her that when I teach yoga, I’m in conversation with the divine. And when that line gets fuzzy - when I can’t feel God - that’s how I know something is off. I can’t teach a meaningful yoga class. I can’t lead a meaningful retreat. And I definitely can’t hold the space for healing.

There’s only been one other time in my life where this has felt really strong for me - when I was married back in 2017. I felt very off in general, all the time, but it was whenever I came time to teach yoga that I knew I needed to end the marriage. I would try to tap into the present moment and channel my higher power to teach my class, and instead, I’d just hear my HP trying to wake me up and get me to get out of a bad situation. So I either had to quit teaching yoga or leave the guy.

But I said to my sister, one day, I hope I don’t make a decision like this just for my teaching yoga. I want to make it for myself. Not just because I can’t teach yoga otherwise - but because I deserve better. That’s what loving yourself really is: choosing yourself first. Every spiritual teacher in my life is hammering this home to me right now - my therapist Savi, my psychic Dan, my friend Mim, my shamanic healer/counsellor Liron.

Since I was already late for the meeting, I decided to skip it, and head to a cafe for breakfast. And that’s when I bumped into someone I know and admire - a man I’ve always seen as cool and spiritual. He was sitting outside a cafe when I walked up and heard the tail end of him saying, “he’s totally senile!”. He turned bright red when he saw me - clearly embarrassed that I’d walked up at that exact moment. I slipped past, pretending I hadn’t heard.

But inside, I was judging him. I sat down at the table, ordered my breakfast, I was thinking to myself: Wow, that guy is totally different in real life then in the context in which I know him. No one is who they say they are anymore! I was judging him for that one sentence I’d heard. Assuming the worst. Until he came inside, found me, and gave me the context - he was angry about the war in the Middle East, and reacting to someone bringing up Trump’s recent bombing of Iran. Suddenly, the moment made sense to me, and I was no longer judging him for what I overheard.

That’s what happens when we step out of avidya. I was in avidya, so I was judging him. When I’m out of avidya, I stop projecting my fears onto others. I stop drawing lines between “me” and “them.” I start giving people the benefit of the doubt.

Then he asked me how I was doing. My eyes filled with tears. He came and joined me as I ate breakfast, and he gave me a big hug. I told him the story of what’s been going on.

He nodded and said,

“Yeah… I’ve been there too. That moment when you realize the line you swore you’d never cross - your own boundary - is already miles behind you.

And it’s terrifying to walk away without knowing what comes next. But that’s what it means to choose yourself. That’s real courage.

And I think we should order cake for breakfast to celebrate.”

So we did. It was 9:30 a.m. He got two forks. We held hands and prayed before we ate.
He said a lot of beautiful things that I can’t remember. How I think he ended the prayer was something like this:

“We pray for those who are sick, and hungry, and hurting, and struggling. May they find safety and peace.”

And as he said that, I thought of people who have harmed me. And I felt it - I could love them. Not blindly, not unconditionally, not without boundaries. But I could hold space for their wounded inner child. I could pray for them, and also remind myself: their healing is not my responsibility.

This is what happens when we step out of avidya. We can just hold eachother in compassion.

My healer Liron said something profound the other day. She said she hates how people talk about setting boundaries as the first step.

“Boundaries are the last step,” she said.
“The first step is awareness. The inner child has to realize what she’s doing. What she’s tolerating. She has to realize that she deserves better. That’s the beginning. Then comes the boundary.”

So I think step one is awareness. Step two is boundaries. And after that?

The third step is cake.

And you deserve to eat it, too.