Back On the Mat

Yoga. Jiu-jitsu. Ayahuasca.

What’s the obvious, innocuous thing that connects them?

A mat.

The yogi's rubber runner. Tatami in the dojo. Your seat in ceremony.

Devastating in its simplicity. Profound in its depths. The places I've gone on a mat—staring down a sparring partner, flowing deep in ashtanga, surfing the still silence of meditation, or under the effects of a powerful entheogenic ceremony—are remarkable. Realizing how many pivotal moments have been on a mat is shocking.

The mat is sacred space.

Infused with ritual, tradition, meaning, lineage, wonderful and terrifying possibility. Your mat ushers you into full contact with reality. Total presence. 

You might die on the mat. Literally, or metaphorically. You could injure yourself irreparably. You might be stepping into the hardest night of your life. Equally, you might realize your greatest achievement, be filled with divine rapture for the first time, or experience earthshaking revelation.

Anything is possible on the mat. Deep breath.

The mat commands respect. The martial artist clips his nails, pulls his hair back, dons the kimono, and acknowledges his sparring partner. The women arrive gracefully in flowing white dresses to ceremony; all the men have cleaned up for once. The yogi lights incense. Everyone sets an intention.

Everyone brings their best self to the mat. Unfortunately not a very common occurrence anymore.

Your mat is a symbolic center, a timeless meeting between the ancient past and the emerging future.

You stand at the edge of recorded history, taking a leap of faith into the unknown, casting votes for the future with blood, sweat, and tears. This is where you face your demons, come home to yourself, and to borrow from the Zen poet Bashō, “seek what the ancients sought.”

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The only way out is through. The person who steps on the mat is never the same as the person who walks off of it. 

This is the devastating, frightening, and inspiring realization of transformation:

The mat never lies. Nor does it judge. The mat asks for nothing more—and nothing less—than your best. It's humbling. You can’t bullsh*t yourself on the mat. Your mat is a Holy Mirror, reflecting the complexity, beauty, and instability inside of you.

Your mat is the beginning and the end of these great traditions. The vehicle and the destination. The path and the practice.

Your mat beckons, “I will support you, but I will not do it for you.” It holds the container, but will not do the work. The mat is the greatest ally of any true Student of the Way.

Your mat is where true transformation happens. Your psychedelic-infused God realization means nothing without integration. Your mat is where bio-psycho-spiritual embodied integration happens. It's where you learn to control your mind, watch your breath, sharpen your skills, build your strength—where you bring your values to bear in practice, not just in theory.

Shi Heng Yi—35th Grandmaster of Shaolin Temple Europe—has one of my all-time favourite quotes: 

“There are only two mistakes on the path of self-mastery: not starting, and not going all the way.”

Knowing this, the Warrior trains. The student shows up. The yogi practices. Humble. Curious. Intimidated. Excited. Deep breath.

For he has arrived at his destination, and his origin point. A place of worship, of struggle, of victory, humanity, legend, and lineage. A place to reconnect, release, perform, evolve, transcend, and be tested.

The mat is always there, waiting with bated breath to see who decided to show up today. 

Let's get back on the mat,
EB.