Bury My Pride at Wounded Knee

Make medicine from suffering.  That's a Zen koan that pretty much describes the best and worst of my life these days.  Almost two months ago I injured my left knee from over-extending myself during yoga practice. I've torn a ligament on the inside of my knee, and now I can't do some of my favourite asanas (poses), which involve, of course, the knee.  I can't sit cross-legged on the floor - my default resting/meditation position - let alone sit in the iconic lotus pose.  And that really bugs me, because my ego has been hurt as much as my knee, if not more so.

I have a certain amount of natural flexibility, and since I began to practise yoga almost five years ago, it's become a point of too much pride for me.  I enjoy bending into shapes that many people of my vintage can't. Some of my feelings about small accomplishments in my practice are very unyogi-like, because they're about my ego, and not my well-being.  That's why I'm suffering.  Aye me.
Using the word "suffering" to describe my situation is a typical hyperbole of mine, but it's because my hurt knee is constantly on my mind and in my face. Apart from feeling various degrees of discomfort and pain in ordinary, everyday activities, it has completely altered my yoga practice.  To describe it from an egotistical point of view, I'm just not as good as I was before my injury.  I'm lopsided and out of balance, because I'm able to do numerous poses reasonably well on one side, but look like a weeping, grimacing, aging, and aching novice when I attempt to do them on the side of my bum knee.
My injury has brought me to my knees, and I truly wish I meant that in the literal sense.  This is one of those times I'm sorry a good metaphor doesn't mean more than that, because I enjoy kneeling, both in and out of yoga practice.  I have a small altar in my bedroom, where I like to kneel and pray.  And once a month I attend satsang (Sanskrit for "sacred gathering") to participate in some kirtan (call and response chanting), another place I'm unable to kneel, even though I normally do.  It's ironic that the few moments I spend kneeling in the aforementioned circumstances are the only times when I feel genuine humility.  The Universe certainly has a wicked sense of humour. 

Louise Hay, author of You Can Heal Your Life, says that knee problems and injuries may indicate issues with ego and pride.  I can't speak for everyone, but in my case it's an uncannily accurate assessment of my situation.  I'm pursuing a course in yoga teacher training, and have met some very interesting and committed people.  Although I don't know anyone very well yet, the two women I've had a chance to speak with on more than just a polite and passing level have both suffered far more serious knee injuries than me.  I've listened to their stories and realise how I lucky I am, because both women required surgery, which I don't, thank Goddess.  (I should also mention that neither women seem to have inflated egos.  As far as I can tell, both lovely ladies are modest and unassuming.  They got their respective injuries from falling off a bike and downhill skiing.  I'm pretty sure they weren't showing off.) 
Once again, Fate has sent me a couple of messengers in the guise of two of fellow yogis. Who else would I first get to know at Yoga U. but the very people who could help me heal?  But the lessons from my other favourite school, Universe U., don't stop there.  A few weeks ago I went to the local Y for some hydrotherapy, which included a whirlpool bath, sauna, and a swim in the pool.  I knew the buffering effects of warm water on slow, gentle frog kicks would be good for my knee.  I've visited the Y a number of times over the past few years, but this was the first time the life guard at the pool was wearing a large knee brace.  I kid you not.  It was a hell of a way to tell me that swimming was the right kind of exercise for my injury.

Up until a few days ago I wasn't really healing my knee. Thanks to misplaced pride I thought I'd "push through" the pain.  I was in denial.  I didn't want to admit that my injury was as bad as it is and did far more than my knee could bear, making it worse.  I wanted to be able to do lotus again, and I wanted to do it now.  Any sort of knee injury takes a while to heal, but I egotistically thought that I could be an exception to the rule.  I've been childish, impatient, and stubborn, and made my knee worse than it was than when I first injured it.  Pride goeth before a fall.
Okay.  So I've learned a hard lesson, and realise that my injury was no accident.  Christine, my Yoga U. teacher - a smart yogi and a wise woman - keeps reminding me that yoga is even more a mental discipline than a physical one.  I knew that already, but as usual, I had to hurt myself so that I could heal myself.  This is a pattern I'd really like to release.  Sheesh.  
Whatever the cause of our suffering, Zen teaches us that it is an opportunity to awaken spiritually.
- Timothy Freke 
I've had a profound lesson in humility.  It's taught me to let go of what I think I should be, or would like to be.  Now I'm concentrating on being a doctor instead of a patient.  My new mantra is Yogi, heal thyself. 
- G. P.