Shattered-- that's how I feel. I somehow made it to the dressing room to do my finishing poses. I slapped down my mat and reclined. My eyes open, my eyes closed, the room spinning. I wonder if this is how a broken piece of glass feels. It is the same thing, only now in a different form. My back is split open like a nut shell like a orange peel, like a pomegranate, like an exoskeleton. Yes, that's it, I feel like a lobster. The room is still spinning. What happened in there?
Some people say that the pain will come and go. Some say that it will increase over time. Some that it will decrease. This pain is an indication of change. I'm changing. Growing pains. But is this really pain? It feels more like a train stopping abruptly. Or like when the ocean pulls you under. Or a deck of cards being shuffled. I'm not in pain, I'm just overwhelmed, I'm just trying really hard, I'm really just changing. There are no words for any of it, just confusion and experience and then already almost a month has past and I don't know what exactly I have been doing this whole time. I know time is passing because tomorrow is supta vajrasana.
Showing posts with label practice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label practice. Show all posts
What day is this?
It's shala time! / my first day back at AYRI
My brain is having a hard time putting together cohesive thoughts and what does come out are bursts of jittery fragmented ideas with no transitions from one concept to the other. I think this is jet lag.
I went back and forth a bit yesterday--do I register or do I not? I decided to leave it up to the fates. If I got my pin number for my debit card right, I would go on and register, if I got it wrong, I wouldn't. I grabbed my bag and walked down the road to the shala passing through the day-long tree cutting project in its first stages (by the end of the day, it was all gone and in the process was complete chaos). Heavy limbs were falling, people were gathered around yelling "watch out!" and I was tip toeing over branches and leaves as a heavy limb fell a few feet behind me.
There is a man that always hangs out in front of the shala. You go to him and tell him what you need and he generally points you in the right direction with a grin. "Can I register?" He wags his head and motions for me to follow him inside the shala (which is also where Pattabhi Jois -- Guruji -- and his family live). "I need to get money first." He wags again and sits down. I walk around the corned to the State Bank etc. to try my luck at numbers. I'm rolling over the possible combinations. You see, I thought I had the pin written down, but threw it away in one of the mass purges last week which obviously wasn't the brightest moment in my career. I thought I new it, but the more I thought about it, was that 2 a 6?, the 8 a 0?, the 1 a 7?, and so on. I think about things visually and as I pictured the code scrawled on that paper, the numbers morphed form one to the other. I enter the atm room, shove the card in a few times, pound in the password too many times and get my card blocked. Great.
At this point, I'm pretty much set on practicing the following morning (Sunday) and so walk back to the shala and tell shala man that I broke my card and so don't have money but can I still register please? He makes a face that says it all and then tells me to go ask Sharath. I climb the infamous shala stairs, past clusters of havaianas to which I add my own and step into the waiting room/vestibule of the shala. The door to the shala is open and I step inside onto the massive area rugs. As I peek into the office, I see that there are many people gathered and decide that I better wait my turn. I pace in the waiting room for what seems like years until the other students come out and I head in.
First, I see Guruji who is sitting in the chair behind the desk wearing a skull cap. Sharath is standing next to him and offers me a seat. This is when I start spewing sentences and stumbling over my words like a drug addict in withdrawal. He tells me to come back the next day at 4:45am to register with the money. Now I really need to get the money.
I call the bank, I call everyone, I lose hope, it works out (thanks Kim), I get the cash, and then hit the hay at about 7pm and wake up this morning at 3:30am for practice/registration.
It is very quiet and very dark outside except for the occasional creak of a gate or slapping of a yoga student's flip flops on the way to class. It is important to realize before anything else that the clocks in the shala are about 15 minutes in advance, this is also known as "shala time". You walk through the dark alongside silent faces to the front gate and then you wait. By now it is 4:30am. By a quarter till, shala man opens the gates and the usually quietly composed and serene yoga students push each other like fiends up the stairs and squeeze through the doors to get a space. One might assume that there is a spot for everyone, however, not all spots are created equal.
The bum spots:
1. By an open window -- breeze and mosquito central
2. Next to a wall -- you have to move and re orientate yourself during some of the postures or risk running into the wall
3. By the bathroom -- the ceiling is low and some people can't extend their arms over their heads
4. In the dressing room and waiting room -- breezy, mosquitoes, and you're not really a part of the group
5. The hump -- the shala floors are made of marble (or is it granite?) and are covered with massive multi-colored area rugs. At the places where the mats layer one another, a hump is formed. When it is really crowded, your mat might be moved on top of this making practice very awkward, lopsided, and uncomfortable
My spot today? Next to Nuno (of Portugal) and Lea (Ashtanga Canarias) on the far left side of the room. I practiced here a bit last year and I guess that as far as spots go it was great!
After putting my mat down, I went straight to the office to register. I was relieved that Sharath didn't laugh in my face and say that he meant 4:45 in the afternoon. I sat down, filled out the application and promised to bring my photo and passport tomorrow. I gave him the shala fees (27, 530 rupees which is a huge stack of bills) and he filled out a registration card with my name, date, expiration, and mysore practice time of 7am. Nice! I flipped over the application to sign my agreement that I would not practice asana or pranayama with any other teachers in Mysore, stop when the teachers tell me, and there was one more stipulation but I don't remember what it was. Then, I gathered all my courage and asked Sharath about the poses from last year and how "it" works. One week of primary was his answer. So today I had the led class, then Monday through Thursday will be mysore style where I will practice primary series. On Friday and Sunday, I will go to the led first series class and then Monday I will practice mysore doing my full primary practice plus the second series postures I got last year up until Dhanurasana before I end with back bending and finishing poses.
Practice was electric. I was shaky, stiff, and slightly disoriented from the jet lag and days off from yoga. I sweat so much from all the traveling and from working so hard. Sharath teaches like no one else. Muscles become used and blatantly obvious in ways that I can never manage to create on my own. The hard moments were in utthita hasta padangustasana, navasana, sirsasana, and of course uthplutih. But I was proud of myself and how far I've come from last year. There is always a struggle, but at least I could keep up (twitching and all).
After practice, everyone heads outside for a coconut and then I headed home for a rest. I still am so excited that I am actually here!
I went back and forth a bit yesterday--do I register or do I not? I decided to leave it up to the fates. If I got my pin number for my debit card right, I would go on and register, if I got it wrong, I wouldn't. I grabbed my bag and walked down the road to the shala passing through the day-long tree cutting project in its first stages (by the end of the day, it was all gone and in the process was complete chaos). Heavy limbs were falling, people were gathered around yelling "watch out!" and I was tip toeing over branches and leaves as a heavy limb fell a few feet behind me.
There is a man that always hangs out in front of the shala. You go to him and tell him what you need and he generally points you in the right direction with a grin. "Can I register?" He wags his head and motions for me to follow him inside the shala (which is also where Pattabhi Jois -- Guruji -- and his family live). "I need to get money first." He wags again and sits down. I walk around the corned to the State Bank etc. to try my luck at numbers. I'm rolling over the possible combinations. You see, I thought I had the pin written down, but threw it away in one of the mass purges last week which obviously wasn't the brightest moment in my career. I thought I new it, but the more I thought about it, was that 2 a 6?, the 8 a 0?, the 1 a 7?, and so on. I think about things visually and as I pictured the code scrawled on that paper, the numbers morphed form one to the other. I enter the atm room, shove the card in a few times, pound in the password too many times and get my card blocked. Great.
At this point, I'm pretty much set on practicing the following morning (Sunday) and so walk back to the shala and tell shala man that I broke my card and so don't have money but can I still register please? He makes a face that says it all and then tells me to go ask Sharath. I climb the infamous shala stairs, past clusters of havaianas to which I add my own and step into the waiting room/vestibule of the shala. The door to the shala is open and I step inside onto the massive area rugs. As I peek into the office, I see that there are many people gathered and decide that I better wait my turn. I pace in the waiting room for what seems like years until the other students come out and I head in.
First, I see Guruji who is sitting in the chair behind the desk wearing a skull cap. Sharath is standing next to him and offers me a seat. This is when I start spewing sentences and stumbling over my words like a drug addict in withdrawal. He tells me to come back the next day at 4:45am to register with the money. Now I really need to get the money.
I call the bank, I call everyone, I lose hope, it works out (thanks Kim), I get the cash, and then hit the hay at about 7pm and wake up this morning at 3:30am for practice/registration.
It is very quiet and very dark outside except for the occasional creak of a gate or slapping of a yoga student's flip flops on the way to class. It is important to realize before anything else that the clocks in the shala are about 15 minutes in advance, this is also known as "shala time". You walk through the dark alongside silent faces to the front gate and then you wait. By now it is 4:30am. By a quarter till, shala man opens the gates and the usually quietly composed and serene yoga students push each other like fiends up the stairs and squeeze through the doors to get a space. One might assume that there is a spot for everyone, however, not all spots are created equal.
The bum spots:
1. By an open window -- breeze and mosquito central
2. Next to a wall -- you have to move and re orientate yourself during some of the postures or risk running into the wall
3. By the bathroom -- the ceiling is low and some people can't extend their arms over their heads
4. In the dressing room and waiting room -- breezy, mosquitoes, and you're not really a part of the group
5. The hump -- the shala floors are made of marble (or is it granite?) and are covered with massive multi-colored area rugs. At the places where the mats layer one another, a hump is formed. When it is really crowded, your mat might be moved on top of this making practice very awkward, lopsided, and uncomfortable
My spot today? Next to Nuno (of Portugal) and Lea (Ashtanga Canarias) on the far left side of the room. I practiced here a bit last year and I guess that as far as spots go it was great!
After putting my mat down, I went straight to the office to register. I was relieved that Sharath didn't laugh in my face and say that he meant 4:45 in the afternoon. I sat down, filled out the application and promised to bring my photo and passport tomorrow. I gave him the shala fees (27, 530 rupees which is a huge stack of bills) and he filled out a registration card with my name, date, expiration, and mysore practice time of 7am. Nice! I flipped over the application to sign my agreement that I would not practice asana or pranayama with any other teachers in Mysore, stop when the teachers tell me, and there was one more stipulation but I don't remember what it was. Then, I gathered all my courage and asked Sharath about the poses from last year and how "it" works. One week of primary was his answer. So today I had the led class, then Monday through Thursday will be mysore style where I will practice primary series. On Friday and Sunday, I will go to the led first series class and then Monday I will practice mysore doing my full primary practice plus the second series postures I got last year up until Dhanurasana before I end with back bending and finishing poses.
Practice was electric. I was shaky, stiff, and slightly disoriented from the jet lag and days off from yoga. I sweat so much from all the traveling and from working so hard. Sharath teaches like no one else. Muscles become used and blatantly obvious in ways that I can never manage to create on my own. The hard moments were in utthita hasta padangustasana, navasana, sirsasana, and of course uthplutih. But I was proud of myself and how far I've come from last year. There is always a struggle, but at least I could keep up (twitching and all).
After practice, everyone heads outside for a coconut and then I headed home for a rest. I still am so excited that I am actually here!
Green Eggs
About 24 hours and $5.50 later I am sitting in a local coffee shop feeling really good about being in New York. It's that warm fuzzy tickle behind my sternum that makes me smile a little. Looking back, it's the same feeling I had walking across the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time and deciding that yes, this was where I wanted to be.
I break out the laptop and sip tea and here come my eggs and they are scrambled. But I hate scrambled eggs! But I didn't say anything. And I didn't get angry. The thought came up for a second and then it was gone and I took a bite and I liked them.
Before noon, the streets are still soft and if you have a chance to walk them and are able to look around, you notice all the many lives unfolding around you. A woman pushes a stroller. A bike passes by. People doing tai chi. Homeless kids laughing and passing a cigarette. Even the guy who turned suddenly stomping on my foot made me smile. I looked up and saw a man with his head out an apartment window. AC water dripped onto my head like sweet summer rain. Isn't it funny how you have to trick yourself into doing things differently and when you do, you're always surprised at how amazing it looks from the new angle.
"I'm barely helping you at all." Ha. Yeah right. It's a nice sentiment though. All those little details that you forgot you gave yourself permission to slide are now center stage when the visiting teachers come to town. Day one they watch you and take notes. Day two you get feedback and nod your head yeah yeah yeah. Day three you do. You do! You sadistic #&%#ers, #%&@ you! Day four you realize that maybe you aren't seeing yourself clearly (duh).
I've never watched myself practice. How can I be objective? How can I see the possibility? I can feel the kinks. It's so quickly that weeds overrun the flowerbed. We don't even notice they are there. And the gardener comes around and pulls and pulls and pulls.
Today I finally let out a sigh and said "okay". And I wasn't just saying it. Inside, my body said let's be open to the possibility. And now everything looks translucent.
Next post: A look at Ashtanga Yoga Immersions...
I break out the laptop and sip tea and here come my eggs and they are scrambled. But I hate scrambled eggs! But I didn't say anything. And I didn't get angry. The thought came up for a second and then it was gone and I took a bite and I liked them.
Before noon, the streets are still soft and if you have a chance to walk them and are able to look around, you notice all the many lives unfolding around you. A woman pushes a stroller. A bike passes by. People doing tai chi. Homeless kids laughing and passing a cigarette. Even the guy who turned suddenly stomping on my foot made me smile. I looked up and saw a man with his head out an apartment window. AC water dripped onto my head like sweet summer rain. Isn't it funny how you have to trick yourself into doing things differently and when you do, you're always surprised at how amazing it looks from the new angle.
"I'm barely helping you at all." Ha. Yeah right. It's a nice sentiment though. All those little details that you forgot you gave yourself permission to slide are now center stage when the visiting teachers come to town. Day one they watch you and take notes. Day two you get feedback and nod your head yeah yeah yeah. Day three you do. You do! You sadistic #&%#ers, #%&@ you! Day four you realize that maybe you aren't seeing yourself clearly (duh).
I've never watched myself practice. How can I be objective? How can I see the possibility? I can feel the kinks. It's so quickly that weeds overrun the flowerbed. We don't even notice they are there. And the gardener comes around and pulls and pulls and pulls.
Today I finally let out a sigh and said "okay". And I wasn't just saying it. Inside, my body said let's be open to the possibility. And now everything looks translucent.
Next post: A look at Ashtanga Yoga Immersions...
On Second thought...
Fuck this yoga shit.
(Don't mind her, this blogger is just working through some stuff in practice.)
(Don't mind her, this blogger is just working through some stuff in practice.)
Ashtanga for life?
The long, drawn out, musings blog. But hey, it's a Sunday!
Is ashtanga really a life-long practice? Does it actually make people healthier? Why does it seem that everyone gets injured at some point, and how many long-term practitioners are still practicing ashtanga yoga as taught in Mysore?
Okay Jason, this one is for you.
Ashtanga yoga is "advertised" as a life-long practice. Let us first consider exactly what constitutes as the life-long practice. The Yoga Sutras say that "practice" does not refer only to asana, but to the "effort toward steadiness of mind". So although I might say that I'm going to "do my practice", I am probably referring to "doing my asana practice". Asana (poses) are only one segment of the complete ashtanga yoga system, so really, I am always trying to practice an effort toward steadiness of mind. I don't go into "yoga mode" for one hour and a half while I throw myself around on a cotton rug and then go outside to yell obscenities at each asshole who crosses my path. And what if I broke my arm? What would I do then?
But if it isn't about the asanas, then how about that quote that people love: "99% practice 1% theory"? What does this really mean? 99% doing vinyasas, 1% reading philosophy? 99% muscle, 1% brain? I think it's more like 99% moving toward stillness, 1% gathering more information on how to do that. (Although one could even argue that "gathering" is effort as well. I think the real point here is that one has to actually be actively DOING this stuff rather than just sitting around thinking about how maybe one day it will come knocking on the front door.)
So if our definition of practice includes much more than asana, then it is easy to imagine people practicing well into their nineties. Might Guruji be practicing asana right now in Mysore had he not gone through his tragic loss of a son? Who can say? Would Krishnamacharya have him doing asana to help his health problems? Maybe. We see many photos and videos of Krishnamacharya practicing asana and pranayama into very old age. But for whatever reason, as far as I know, Guruji does not currently practice asana. What his daily practice consists of I cannot say. Ask him when you're in Mysore...
Does ashtanga make people healthier? If we talk only about the asanas, we find that each asana has therapeutic benefits for the body and mind from helping to remove "bad fat" to massaging the liver to aiding constipation or urinary tract problems. The vinyasa method and ujjayi pranayama each have benefits as well. Additionally, the lifestyle surrounding ashtanga yoga asana practice and ashtanga yoga practice in general promotes healthy life choices. However, like anything else in life, it is about balance, and with a little bit of effort, we can easily overdo it.
The more I think about it, the more it becomes obvious that this system is only harmful if we make it that way and we tend to make it that way when we get really involved with the ego. For example, why would someone carry on an unhealthy form of extreme dieting unless they felt that it would make their practice better? (I want to "get" karandavasana so I'm doing macrobiotic fast number 7.) Isn't it possible to make gradual changes that are healthy or even to be patient and not obsess about progress? When does effort toward stillness become unhealthy or even dangerous?
So is ashtanga yoga a yoga of injuries and pain? We can break pain and injuries associated with ashtanga yoga into a few different categories. The first type of pain is associated with an injury that was already an injury before the asana and as we push ourselves into something (because we feel we have to accomplish it) the pain of the preexisting injury doesn't go away. The second kind of pain comes when we go deeper into something and discover a misalignment that was already there and as we work through it (because we want to perfect the asana) it causes us pain. The third kind of pain happens when we push hard to get into an asana and get injured because we weren't doing it properly or weren't prepared to practice it. The fourth kind of pain comes from faking the ability to practice a posture and getting injured when a teacher calls the bluff and adjusts us deeper or allows us to continue with what we are doing.
(This argument is tricky because on the one hand, without the fire of the ego that wants to find the stillness, we would be lying on our mats doing nothing, but on the other hand, blindly following the ego into uncharted territory and trusting the drive to be the best can lead us straight off a cliff.)
But maybe it is literally supposed to be a 6 day a week asana practice. Do all the old school luminaries still practice? If the previous discussion of pain and injuries holds true, then the only way to be able to sustain is to pull back and practice with humility and patience--which probably none of us really does. But we're trying though :)
The point? I think we just don't get it yet. As much as we say it, we can't figure out how to practice without thinking about the asanas. A trip to Mysore doesn't help. You'll hear me singing the "it's not about the poses" mantra soon, but even so, I think that students get injured in Mysore because they are pushing hard to get poses. It is what it is.
No one is forcing anyone to do anything. No one tells you that you have to do something if you don't want to. There are smart ways to work with and through pain and injury and there are really stupid ways to do it too. The question is not whether ashtanga yoga is a lifelong practice but whether or not we are up to the challenge.
Is ashtanga really a life-long practice? Does it actually make people healthier? Why does it seem that everyone gets injured at some point, and how many long-term practitioners are still practicing ashtanga yoga as taught in Mysore?
Okay Jason, this one is for you.
Ashtanga yoga is "advertised" as a life-long practice. Let us first consider exactly what constitutes as the life-long practice. The Yoga Sutras say that "practice" does not refer only to asana, but to the "effort toward steadiness of mind". So although I might say that I'm going to "do my practice", I am probably referring to "doing my asana practice". Asana (poses) are only one segment of the complete ashtanga yoga system, so really, I am always trying to practice an effort toward steadiness of mind. I don't go into "yoga mode" for one hour and a half while I throw myself around on a cotton rug and then go outside to yell obscenities at each asshole who crosses my path. And what if I broke my arm? What would I do then?
But if it isn't about the asanas, then how about that quote that people love: "99% practice 1% theory"? What does this really mean? 99% doing vinyasas, 1% reading philosophy? 99% muscle, 1% brain? I think it's more like 99% moving toward stillness, 1% gathering more information on how to do that. (Although one could even argue that "gathering" is effort as well. I think the real point here is that one has to actually be actively DOING this stuff rather than just sitting around thinking about how maybe one day it will come knocking on the front door.)
So if our definition of practice includes much more than asana, then it is easy to imagine people practicing well into their nineties. Might Guruji be practicing asana right now in Mysore had he not gone through his tragic loss of a son? Who can say? Would Krishnamacharya have him doing asana to help his health problems? Maybe. We see many photos and videos of Krishnamacharya practicing asana and pranayama into very old age. But for whatever reason, as far as I know, Guruji does not currently practice asana. What his daily practice consists of I cannot say. Ask him when you're in Mysore...
Does ashtanga make people healthier? If we talk only about the asanas, we find that each asana has therapeutic benefits for the body and mind from helping to remove "bad fat" to massaging the liver to aiding constipation or urinary tract problems. The vinyasa method and ujjayi pranayama each have benefits as well. Additionally, the lifestyle surrounding ashtanga yoga asana practice and ashtanga yoga practice in general promotes healthy life choices. However, like anything else in life, it is about balance, and with a little bit of effort, we can easily overdo it.
The more I think about it, the more it becomes obvious that this system is only harmful if we make it that way and we tend to make it that way when we get really involved with the ego. For example, why would someone carry on an unhealthy form of extreme dieting unless they felt that it would make their practice better? (I want to "get" karandavasana so I'm doing macrobiotic fast number 7.) Isn't it possible to make gradual changes that are healthy or even to be patient and not obsess about progress? When does effort toward stillness become unhealthy or even dangerous?
So is ashtanga yoga a yoga of injuries and pain? We can break pain and injuries associated with ashtanga yoga into a few different categories. The first type of pain is associated with an injury that was already an injury before the asana and as we push ourselves into something (because we feel we have to accomplish it) the pain of the preexisting injury doesn't go away. The second kind of pain comes when we go deeper into something and discover a misalignment that was already there and as we work through it (because we want to perfect the asana) it causes us pain. The third kind of pain happens when we push hard to get into an asana and get injured because we weren't doing it properly or weren't prepared to practice it. The fourth kind of pain comes from faking the ability to practice a posture and getting injured when a teacher calls the bluff and adjusts us deeper or allows us to continue with what we are doing.
(This argument is tricky because on the one hand, without the fire of the ego that wants to find the stillness, we would be lying on our mats doing nothing, but on the other hand, blindly following the ego into uncharted territory and trusting the drive to be the best can lead us straight off a cliff.)
But maybe it is literally supposed to be a 6 day a week asana practice. Do all the old school luminaries still practice? If the previous discussion of pain and injuries holds true, then the only way to be able to sustain is to pull back and practice with humility and patience--which probably none of us really does. But we're trying though :)
The point? I think we just don't get it yet. As much as we say it, we can't figure out how to practice without thinking about the asanas. A trip to Mysore doesn't help. You'll hear me singing the "it's not about the poses" mantra soon, but even so, I think that students get injured in Mysore because they are pushing hard to get poses. It is what it is.
No one is forcing anyone to do anything. No one tells you that you have to do something if you don't want to. There are smart ways to work with and through pain and injury and there are really stupid ways to do it too. The question is not whether ashtanga yoga is a lifelong practice but whether or not we are up to the challenge.
"Ah ha!" Moments and Guess What? I Love Gymnastics
A few months back, I was busy pondering the difference between my back bends and what they could be. To review, my Iyengar friend Cory Washburn suggested that I "mull over" the concept of opening the back of my knee in drop backs. And mull I have in the hopes of obtaining more control and possibly that ever so lovely moment of suspension before delicately resting my hands to the floor and of course, coming up with no clear indication to the onlooker that that was what was about to occur: it was yoga magic. I knew that this would change a few things and require a shift in mind and body, but the idea of a "pain"-free and healthy back bend (productive back bending, really) kept me optimistic. I also knew that an indicator that I was if fact opening the back of my knee was being sore in my hamstrings and possibly belly instead of my quads and low back.
Almost two months later, I'm coming up from knee grabbing with legs straight and my butt on fire, my salambasana flying, lagu vajrasana a guarantee, and mayurasana becoming increasingly accessible. So there we have it--ah hah!
I don't remember what exactly compelled me to look up gymnastics on the internet, but somehow there I was googling away. Maybe it was the swimming trials on TV and I thought that watching gymnastics trials might be a great way to spend a rainy afternoon... Anyway, one thing leads to another and I'm watching youtube videos of elite gymnastics training. What I found particularly interesting was the number of tears, heartbreak, and toil behind the scenes movies that were listed. So it is hard. I get it. I love that people make videos of it. My favorite was a clip of this tiny girl maybe 8 years old in a supta padangustasana type position with her coach sitting on her extended leg while he pushed her raised leg with two hands into her face. She alternated between pushing her leg away and arms to the sides in exasperation, all in a fit of tears and agony. Wow.
I got to thinking about the similarities between the tears and toil in ashtanga practice and gymnastics and then between the two practices (and dedication to anything, really). There is quite a bit of hard work, frustration, and dumb and numb persistence involved. I know that even mentioning gymnastics on an ashtanga blog is controversial. Let's just get that out of the way.
Why would it be controversial? Well in case you're new, here's the rundown:
1. Because the origins of the hatha practice of ashtanga yoga are a bit vague. There, I said it. The original text that the practice is based on called the Yoga Korunta was eaten by ants, disintegrated, burned, vanished, etc. Some people say that it was a mix of yoga stretches, gymnastics, and wrestling exercises. Ashtanga people don't like this interpretation at all because it implies that the practice is very much based on practices that could be considered superficial in that they are based in the physical rather than the mental.
2. Because maybe people might think that I was a gymnast up until yesterday and so obviously this makes ashtanga yoga so easy for me and there is no merit in anything I do or say because I didn't have any tears or toil. I admit, I did gymnastics for a couple of years as a kid with Olympic dreams...REALLY big dreams. However, when I started yoga, I couldn't touch my toes. Now dancers are a whole other story...jk
3. Because if I'm entertained by gymnastics then I must hold a lot of merit in the physical aspect of practice and therefore am an asana-obsessed ego maniac. This one is true. ha.)
Now back to the gymnastics. I'm fascinated by the whole thing. The coaches, the grueling training, how strange it is to glamorize prepubescent girls, the eating disorders, the drama, the psychology, the voyeurism, just all of it. But most of all, I find it incredibly interesting that gymnastics is largely a kids' sport that destroys their bodies, while ashtanga yoga is extremely physically demanding, yet can be maintained for a lifetime and actually makes the body healthier. Where is the line drawn? Obviously, there is much more to this crazy ashtanga stuff than the poses.
Almost two months later, I'm coming up from knee grabbing with legs straight and my butt on fire, my salambasana flying, lagu vajrasana a guarantee, and mayurasana becoming increasingly accessible. So there we have it--ah hah!
I don't remember what exactly compelled me to look up gymnastics on the internet, but somehow there I was googling away. Maybe it was the swimming trials on TV and I thought that watching gymnastics trials might be a great way to spend a rainy afternoon... Anyway, one thing leads to another and I'm watching youtube videos of elite gymnastics training. What I found particularly interesting was the number of tears, heartbreak, and toil behind the scenes movies that were listed. So it is hard. I get it. I love that people make videos of it. My favorite was a clip of this tiny girl maybe 8 years old in a supta padangustasana type position with her coach sitting on her extended leg while he pushed her raised leg with two hands into her face. She alternated between pushing her leg away and arms to the sides in exasperation, all in a fit of tears and agony. Wow.
I got to thinking about the similarities between the tears and toil in ashtanga practice and gymnastics and then between the two practices (and dedication to anything, really). There is quite a bit of hard work, frustration, and dumb and numb persistence involved. I know that even mentioning gymnastics on an ashtanga blog is controversial. Let's just get that out of the way.
Why would it be controversial? Well in case you're new, here's the rundown:
1. Because the origins of the hatha practice of ashtanga yoga are a bit vague. There, I said it. The original text that the practice is based on called the Yoga Korunta was eaten by ants, disintegrated, burned, vanished, etc. Some people say that it was a mix of yoga stretches, gymnastics, and wrestling exercises. Ashtanga people don't like this interpretation at all because it implies that the practice is very much based on practices that could be considered superficial in that they are based in the physical rather than the mental.
2. Because maybe people might think that I was a gymnast up until yesterday and so obviously this makes ashtanga yoga so easy for me and there is no merit in anything I do or say because I didn't have any tears or toil. I admit, I did gymnastics for a couple of years as a kid with Olympic dreams...REALLY big dreams. However, when I started yoga, I couldn't touch my toes. Now dancers are a whole other story...jk
3. Because if I'm entertained by gymnastics then I must hold a lot of merit in the physical aspect of practice and therefore am an asana-obsessed ego maniac. This one is true. ha.)
Now back to the gymnastics. I'm fascinated by the whole thing. The coaches, the grueling training, how strange it is to glamorize prepubescent girls, the eating disorders, the drama, the psychology, the voyeurism, just all of it. But most of all, I find it incredibly interesting that gymnastics is largely a kids' sport that destroys their bodies, while ashtanga yoga is extremely physically demanding, yet can be maintained for a lifetime and actually makes the body healthier. Where is the line drawn? Obviously, there is much more to this crazy ashtanga stuff than the poses.
Hump day and related poses/Primary Series is like a treadmill set at "hills"
Thinking back to yesterday's practice and my body caught in a thick downpour of sweat, I try to recall what it was like to be a "beginner". I think it felt (physically) a lot like it feels right now. Some days I leave practice feeling like I took a nice nap or a warm shower; on other days, I feel like I fell off my bike, wrestled a bear, picked up a couch, or came down with the flu. When I was slowly working my way through primary, I remember feeling so tired that I couldn't even fathom coming in to practice -- the idea of rolling out my mat was already like practicing full primary. I fell on my face a lot. I did a lot of pep talks. My breathing was irregular. My bandhas were transient tenants. Overall, it was like visiting a country where I have never been, a language I could not speak, food I have never seen, with only one sort of friend to show me around -- sometimes.
Slowly, I learned how to pace myself, how to smooth out the kinks. I worked up the courage to challenge myself to do a bit more than just show up (which is already like 80% of the practice for a college student). Things started to make sense and integrate into my body and mind. But even as the storm began to pass, even as I began to converse with the locals (in horrible grammar and accent, of course), I had certain "mantras" going through my mind. During the Sun Salutes at the beginning, it was "Crap! Three more, one more, etc." After that hill was climbed, it was "Here it comes--utthita hasta--here it comes!" And could I time it perfectly so someone will hold my leg? After that, I was coasting, arms spread to the sides, sea breeze in my face -- until I realized that navasana was only a few poses away. Then it became an effort to slow down my breathing and enjoy the forward bends (five breaths is never enough).
Navasana always comes, regardless of how much one tries to avoid it. Bent legs, sweating, wrinkled and pained expressions abound. And then bhujapidasana, kurmasana, with relief finally coming in garbha pindasana. From there again, it is coasting until back bending, sirsasana, and of course, uthplutih.
I was always fascinated by this pacing in primary series, how it is not a steady incline or decline, but a series of "highs" and "lows" punctuated by the "really hard shit" in the middle (navasana, bhujapidasana, kurmasana, and to some extent garbha pindasana). Now when I mean "hard", I mean that these postures demand a combination of strength and flexibility, and one's ability to "perform" them after doing a lot of things that take a lot of effort and also doing them every day, consistently. Yes, there are many challenging moments in the first series, but this cluster of poses can either make or break you, they take no prisoners, there is no faking it, you either have it or you don't. The thing is, you might peek your head up over these "hump poses" that split primary in two for a moment and see what asanas follow and think "I can do those! Those are easy! Why can't I just to them?" This is the magical moment where you either push through and figure it out, give up, or stay where you are for a long time.
I am finding that second series is much like this. Once I was used to primary and became "proficient", or whatever, the sweating stopped. The poses of second series which I began to practice were fun. I left practice every day energized and feeling like I could do even more. It was sweet while it lasted. Soon enough I came to realize that there were "hump poses" in second series as well--tittibhasana, pincha mayurasana, karandavasana, mayurasana, nakrasana. Although I am practicing up until mayurasana, I know nakrasana will take some mental strength, but over this fence, the grass looks fairly green. I wonder if eventually it will feel how primary feels now: like an old friend. That will be the day. For now, I am covered in sweat, slowly peddling up a mountain.
Slowly, I learned how to pace myself, how to smooth out the kinks. I worked up the courage to challenge myself to do a bit more than just show up (which is already like 80% of the practice for a college student). Things started to make sense and integrate into my body and mind. But even as the storm began to pass, even as I began to converse with the locals (in horrible grammar and accent, of course), I had certain "mantras" going through my mind. During the Sun Salutes at the beginning, it was "Crap! Three more, one more, etc." After that hill was climbed, it was "Here it comes--utthita hasta--here it comes!" And could I time it perfectly so someone will hold my leg? After that, I was coasting, arms spread to the sides, sea breeze in my face -- until I realized that navasana was only a few poses away. Then it became an effort to slow down my breathing and enjoy the forward bends (five breaths is never enough).
Navasana always comes, regardless of how much one tries to avoid it. Bent legs, sweating, wrinkled and pained expressions abound. And then bhujapidasana, kurmasana, with relief finally coming in garbha pindasana. From there again, it is coasting until back bending, sirsasana, and of course, uthplutih.
I was always fascinated by this pacing in primary series, how it is not a steady incline or decline, but a series of "highs" and "lows" punctuated by the "really hard shit" in the middle (navasana, bhujapidasana, kurmasana, and to some extent garbha pindasana). Now when I mean "hard", I mean that these postures demand a combination of strength and flexibility, and one's ability to "perform" them after doing a lot of things that take a lot of effort and also doing them every day, consistently. Yes, there are many challenging moments in the first series, but this cluster of poses can either make or break you, they take no prisoners, there is no faking it, you either have it or you don't. The thing is, you might peek your head up over these "hump poses" that split primary in two for a moment and see what asanas follow and think "I can do those! Those are easy! Why can't I just to them?" This is the magical moment where you either push through and figure it out, give up, or stay where you are for a long time.
I am finding that second series is much like this. Once I was used to primary and became "proficient", or whatever, the sweating stopped. The poses of second series which I began to practice were fun. I left practice every day energized and feeling like I could do even more. It was sweet while it lasted. Soon enough I came to realize that there were "hump poses" in second series as well--tittibhasana, pincha mayurasana, karandavasana, mayurasana, nakrasana. Although I am practicing up until mayurasana, I know nakrasana will take some mental strength, but over this fence, the grass looks fairly green. I wonder if eventually it will feel how primary feels now: like an old friend. That will be the day. For now, I am covered in sweat, slowly peddling up a mountain.
Life's little lessons
Why on earth would I care whether or not my students waited for my count before moving into upward dog from chaturanga?
I ponder this question in the fallout of the collision between the "yoga class world" and the "real world".
You see, substitute teaching is the worst, regardless of what subject you teach. When I explain my distaste to a doe-eyed and bushy-tailed potential sympathizer, I am always met with confusion. I know, I know, it's just yoga. How bad can it be? You tell people what to do, they listen because they want to learn what you are teaching and then we all have a nice savasana and herbal tea at the end. I admit, some days are like this. And some days, they really aren't.
Without exhausting the subject, let's just say that substitute teaching a led ashtanga class can be a nightmare. The worst scenario? A one-hour lunch hour class through navasana (half primary). Why? The class is scheduled at this time to cater to people who work, meaning that people are in "go mode" and you can expect random drop-ins from people with little to no experience with yoga, and definitely not ashtanga.
But it is a "led" class so isn't that better than the self-led "Mysore"? Wouldn't that be good for beginners to hear what to do? Maybe in a perfect world. But this is a class I'm subbing which means that regulars will expect to be led through navasana and the newbies will have no extraneous explanations of what they are supposed to do. Good luck.
Now remember again that I am subbing, so already the students are suspicious. Add onto that the fact that I don't fuck around. Chatvari means chatvari. And now we are back to the original question of why do I care and why does it matter?
This got me thinking of my Japanese sculpture teacher back in art school. He walked up to Eric, nodded his head in approval, then raised his hand and proceeded to beat the clay bust with a mallet. He encouraged us all to do the same with our "masterpieces". "You want to fire this piece of shit?" He asked the girl he fondly referred to as "Miss Piggy". Yes, he was mean. Yes, he was right.
Beginners are the best students. They are totally receptive to what you have to say. You can instantly see the changes in body and mind as they come in quick bursts of intelligence. They are humble. They still can laugh.
Advanced students are the best students. They are totally receptive to what you have to say. You can see them as they work to integrate the verbal and physical cues into their practice with the intelligence that comes with experience. They are humble. They remember to laugh.
It is everyone in between who is hit or miss. They are like rebellious teenagers who know everything and will never die. They refuse to slow down for the beginners, they insist on spying and trying what the advanced students are up to, and they firmly believe that everyone in class should have the exact same pace as their breath.
As a teacher, this means a whole lot of pulling the breaks, holding back, curfews, and the moment where you have to decide if it is worth it.
Option 1: Just don't look. Convenient, less exhausting, but hard to do if you care.
Option 2: Calling them on it. But you have to be willing to stand your ground. Stand your ground? In a yoga class? Yep. Sometimes it means saying to a student that if they aren't here to take the class I'm teaching, they need to leave.
This sucks, feels horrible, turns my face pink, makes my ears steam, and generally is not fun. But--it is these students who usually come back. Afterwards, I'm exhausted and upset, they are coming up to me saying "great class!"
Sometimes when I go in to teach class, it feels like we have stepped into an alternate universe and there are no longer people, just samskaras flying around. Ultimately this is my practice too and the most difficult students and classes are the best teachers.
Sudoku saves the day
"I am just so frustrated that sometimes I want to cry"
Nope, those weren't my words this time, but a student of mine. I reassured them that this is normal, that this comes up, that I experience this, and in fact, experienced it just a few days ago. This practice is about so much more than the physical. It is a daily therapy session. (This is why the more I think about this line...
"Today, the style [ashtanga] appeals to Western devotees whose priority is a high-energy workout rather than an inner journey."
...From the April 23rd article in Time by Madhur Singh, I get so annoyed at how some people just don't get it at all. If I was in this for the bikini body, I'd save a lot of time and energy by just getting a gym membership. I'm sorry, but what a jerk.)
And now, here I sit, almost ten hours later, feeling the same way as my student from this morning. I feel frustrated, but mostly inadequate, or even unheard or unrecognized. These are all pretty silly things to be feeling, but the practice is bringing them up. Mostly the inadequacy one. That is a hard one to admit. I'm not really sure what to do with these feelings. I have been able to step back and hold them in my hands, but now I don't know if I should toss them and run, hide them behind my back, pour them over my head, or put them in a jar. So far, I've been hiding them behind my back, but the thing is when you do that, you know that they are there burning a hole in your pocket.
I can't help but think that perhaps they are tied to something else going on like the planning for India and feeling a mixture of excited and scared. I don't know. I just feel confused and kind of useless and worn out.
Maybe its control issues. I feel like I am losing control of a lot of things in my life right now and the one thing I had a bit of a grasp on was practice, all neat and folded in a tidy little drawer. But now with such intense work on those last few poses, I feel like I end with rough edges and the "high note" is frazzled.
So there's that. There's not knowing what will happen with my relationship when I go away. There's feeling like I'm making the wrong decision. There's fear of the unknown and messing up. There's fucking George Bush on TV today acting like an asshole. I mean he looked so nervous and was so unprepared that I just felt bad for him and disgusted with us for not doing something about it, but ultimately helpless because there is nothing to do.
And then there is sudoku. A ray of hope. I always thought these things were so stupid. Then I tried to understand how to do them and just couldn't be bothered. And then I sat down and tried to do one and kept messing up one after the other. And then, this week, I completed one. And now I can do them. They are challenging, but not impossible. You just need patience...Is a moonday coming up or what?
How NOT to do karandavasana and other lessons learned when going from pc to mac
I don't know that I was born a pc person. We've had a couple of old macs in the past. But it just turned out that I always seemed to have pcs around. So, I got to know them well enough. I knew the little shortcuts and some better-than-average problem solving techniques. I feel comfortable turning on a pc, knowing that I can figure them out. I understand their language, or at least I understand my own limitations within that language.
I just got a mac. Knowing how confident I am with pcs, I didn't give the conversion much thought. It would be easy. And it was... sort of. We said "hi" to each other and exchanged a few simple courtesies like "where are you from", etc. But once we tried to carry on a deeper conversation, I quickly realized that we weren't understanding each other too well. It's kind of like speaking to someone who speaks your language, only with an accent that makes it nearly impossible to understand them when they get comfortable and begin speaking faster like they do with their friends.
So how does this relate to yoga, and in particular, karandavasana? Well, you see, I have an ipod and for whatever reason, they make it really difficult to transfer your library from one computer to another. Now this is something I've always accepted. But now that I have a new computer and I'm recycling the old one, I feel like this is completely unjust and that their must be a way. Many failed attempts later, I've got it! I figured it out! Useful tool: "How to transfer itunes library to new computer".
This pc to mac transition has been challenging. One thing after another has been like this. But just as the ipod should be able to transfer info from one place to another--a conduit for information, if you will--the lessons from life and yoga seem to reflect the other. I think I am saying that I'm an ipod.
Anyway--
So, just as I'm learning about and facing this new challenge of mac "usership", I am also learning about and facing this new challenge of karandavasana (or new pose) "usership". For example, day one of mac, I couldn't figure out how to connect to the internet, flipped out, and then waited patiently for help. Day one of karandavasana, I couldn't figure out to connect with bandha, breath, drishti, flipped over, and then waited reluctantly for help. I feel like the ability to recognize a limitation, walk away when required, and patiently work toward a solution, are all skills and attributes learned from yoga practice and learning any new skill. I feel like the ability to learn something new, tackle the unknown, and keep an open mind are all being cultivated when learning a new skill (such as using a mac) and from yoga practice.
The point-
Nothing is impossible. It might take time, but there is always a free software program out there that will give you what you need to figure it out to make it work. But first, you kind of have to figure out what doesn't work.
How not to do karandavasana
1. Loose your tristana (bandhas, breathing, drishti)
2. Think
3. Kick like a weakling, weenie
4. Kick like a maniac
5. Give up
6. Cross your legs loosely
7. Stick out your ribs when going down (although this is okay for some people--but this is my list!)
8. Give up
9. Stick out your ribs when coming up
10. Give up
11. Noodle legs
12. Give up
No one was born doing padmasana or any other pose, for that matter, straight out of their mother. No one was born mac or pc. Time, patience, practice, we can all be multiple computer ipods.
Cry Baby
"It's okay to cry."
The words echo for a moment. Tears well up in my eyes. In the dressing room later, I think about how I can't really remember ever being told this before but want to believe that I have.
In our interview this month, Guy mentioned how practice is usually physical therapy or emotional therapy. Today, holding my shoulder, holding my tears, I remember "emotional therapy".
"This is your pose," he says.
I guess I never did really have that exorcism. In Mysore last year, I really thought my back bends were going to shit. I knew that issues were coming up and I was working through them, but I really thought that I had worked through them. I went from happily grabbing my ankles last June to struggling in October (oh Saraswati!). But it has been up from there. Literally. I'm up my legs again, but not without a great amount of struggle.
In the Danny Paradise workshop last night, he talked about how for ashtanga practitioners, they experience the effects of old age earlier, but then are unaffected later in life. You live a vibrant joyous life and then you die. Just like that. So, a certain amount of physical discomfort (this is different from "ouch" pain) can be expected.
The feelings that come up for me in ankle grabbing are intense. Physically, I 've got very strong sensations coming from my right shoulder. But it isn't pain. More like stepping on spilled soda in a movie theatre--gummy and sticky.
Once I'm there holding my legs, drawing my elbows toward one another, expanding my chest, and straightening my legs, I experience a mixture of exhilaration and panic. It feels like I have a bird in my chest flying in a cage (which is my ribs) with no place to get out. All I can think is "my shoulder."
Mentally, I find myself both dreading and looking forward to back bending which of course, is very confusing. The constant devil on this shoulder and angel on that can be tiring. I find myself surrounded by feelings of disappointment, feeling trapped, frustration. This is all after the forearm stands pincha mayurasana and karandavasana. I don't want to say there is drama around all these poses, but I guess there is (since I'm writing about them and all).
Last year I remember very clearly that it was right after back bending that I was overcome with these really intense feelings of "I can't" like the ones you get when you are super upset as a kid. I really felt like a child in fact. I was really upset. I went to my mat for finishing and got so upset that I just got up and left. Second series sure does a number on the nerves. Although these feelings I experienced today might look the same to what I experienced last year I now realise that actually I've grown a lot. When the emotions came up this time instead of walking out (like the devil on my shoulder told me too), I focused on my finishing poses. I did it, I didn't die. I made it through. This feels like growth to me.
Okay, now Danny Paradise. Maybe tomorrow. For now, enjoy some videos!
Danny Jumps Through at Om Factory NYC (last night)
Youtube video: "Ashtanga Yoga -- River of the Soul"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vB055-M6QwA
Danny reminds me of Gene Wilder.
The words echo for a moment. Tears well up in my eyes. In the dressing room later, I think about how I can't really remember ever being told this before but want to believe that I have.
In our interview this month, Guy mentioned how practice is usually physical therapy or emotional therapy. Today, holding my shoulder, holding my tears, I remember "emotional therapy".
"This is your pose," he says.
I guess I never did really have that exorcism. In Mysore last year, I really thought my back bends were going to shit. I knew that issues were coming up and I was working through them, but I really thought that I had worked through them. I went from happily grabbing my ankles last June to struggling in October (oh Saraswati!). But it has been up from there. Literally. I'm up my legs again, but not without a great amount of struggle.
In the Danny Paradise workshop last night, he talked about how for ashtanga practitioners, they experience the effects of old age earlier, but then are unaffected later in life. You live a vibrant joyous life and then you die. Just like that. So, a certain amount of physical discomfort (this is different from "ouch" pain) can be expected.
The feelings that come up for me in ankle grabbing are intense. Physically, I 've got very strong sensations coming from my right shoulder. But it isn't pain. More like stepping on spilled soda in a movie theatre--gummy and sticky.
Once I'm there holding my legs, drawing my elbows toward one another, expanding my chest, and straightening my legs, I experience a mixture of exhilaration and panic. It feels like I have a bird in my chest flying in a cage (which is my ribs) with no place to get out. All I can think is "my shoulder."
Mentally, I find myself both dreading and looking forward to back bending which of course, is very confusing. The constant devil on this shoulder and angel on that can be tiring. I find myself surrounded by feelings of disappointment, feeling trapped, frustration. This is all after the forearm stands pincha mayurasana and karandavasana. I don't want to say there is drama around all these poses, but I guess there is (since I'm writing about them and all).
Last year I remember very clearly that it was right after back bending that I was overcome with these really intense feelings of "I can't" like the ones you get when you are super upset as a kid. I really felt like a child in fact. I was really upset. I went to my mat for finishing and got so upset that I just got up and left. Second series sure does a number on the nerves. Although these feelings I experienced today might look the same to what I experienced last year I now realise that actually I've grown a lot. When the emotions came up this time instead of walking out (like the devil on my shoulder told me too), I focused on my finishing poses. I did it, I didn't die. I made it through. This feels like growth to me.
Okay, now Danny Paradise. Maybe tomorrow. For now, enjoy some videos!
Danny Jumps Through at Om Factory NYC (last night)
Youtube video: "Ashtanga Yoga -- River of the Soul"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vB055-M6QwA
Danny reminds me of Gene Wilder.
Yoga Bitches (and how not to become one)
In many ways, New York City is the best place to practice yoga and not because of the teachers (though they are in abundance). Its because this place can just throw so much at you! Some days (like today) I can step back for a second and just laugh at how wound up and crazy this little world is. I suppose it is easier to put these things into perspective when it is approaching 80 degrees outside and you know that you'll be saying goodbye soon.
So, while I am here, I hope to enjoy myself, spend time with friends and family, and share what I can about yoga. Going over this list when I find myself feeling frustrated or trapped has been helpful. So, why write about it now? Because there is always a part of me that gets really frustrated and wants to just say "you know what? fuck this and fuck you." Hey, I'm only human. But the part of me that is growing more and more is the part that says, "this is why we practice, this is why this is so important".
So, while I am here, I hope to enjoy myself, spend time with friends and family, and share what I can about yoga. Going over this list when I find myself feeling frustrated or trapped has been helpful. So, why write about it now? Because there is always a part of me that gets really frustrated and wants to just say "you know what? fuck this and fuck you." Hey, I'm only human. But the part of me that is growing more and more is the part that says, "this is why we practice, this is why this is so important".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBQpQyQrGMQ
Ok, so how not to become a yoga bitch. In the Satchidananda translation of the Yoga Sutras, he talks about how you should be selfish in keeping your mind at peace. Is it possible that we can overdo it? What I find interesting about the ashtanga yoga practice (in the lineage of KPJ), is that there is an emphasis on it being a householder's yoga, meaning, it is yoga for people that live in society, rather than in caves. For anyone that has been on a yoga retreat, you know how easy it is to get in the "zen" mode. When there are fewer distractions and you are immersed in an environment that emphasizes this way of life, it is easier to fall into step. Not so easy being mindful when you are stuck in traffic, when your dog pisses on the sofa, when you get the shaft at work, etc., etc. So, this yoga is for us to use to figure out how to function as happy, healthy individuals in this world, in this society, in this city.
(Admittedly, it is not easy to renounce everything and go and live in a cave and vipassana isn't a walk in the park either...)
So, the point is to become functioning citizens rather that elitist pricks, right? Is it possible? Maybe not in every situation, but I'd like to hope that yoga is putting more out there that is good rather than bad.
I think it has. I want to believe that here in the west, it is still in its beginning. We're still working on perfecting asana and the rest will come, slowly, slowly.
Recently read: Remember me? Chick lit. Cute.
Recently viewed: Lars and the Real Girl. fab!
Practice, practice, practice
In the wake of yesterday's interview with Guy (for the May issue of Living Mysore Magazine, I am grasping for some firm ground. The conclusion?
No too tight, not too loose.
Obsess and don't obsess. Find the middle ground.
What keeps speaking to me is this question, "why are we doing this yoga?" The answer keeps coming as "to transform".
Example. My body is physically changing. It is adapting to the new challenges of my practice, it is getting stronger, lighter, and the shape is slowly shifting.
Example. My mind is changing. Thinking of the physical aspects of practice, there is no one day that I am performing. I am not practicing and practicing these postures so that one day I can show them off. I can't just fast so that the next day I "feel light" and then can do a certain posture. The choices I make for what I put into my body are long-term habit changes. Every day is the performance, everyday is the practice. Everything has to change.
Example. But why does it have to change? Am I obsessing over asana? Kind of, but not really. I am obsessing over cultivating mindfulness in my thoughts and actions. It is watching myself as I move through the world the entire 22 hours until the next asana session. The whole day is "doing yoga".
On this entire physical/mental shift fostered by the asana practice, it is interesting how one would think that "oh everything is perfect and now I will just work on this one thing", when actually this one thing effects everything else. I remember when I did this workshop with this Ayurvedic teacher that was all about Mind Body Centering and she was talking about how when you get an organ removed, that sickness and pain that was there is still there because the issue was never solved. How could it still linger even when the physical organ was gone? It is simple. Everything in the body is connected to everything else. When an organ is removed, the body doesn't think, "okay, the right kidney is gone, oh well." In this same way, getting a new posture changes your entire practice and then changes your entire life. Everything is different, everything is connected.
Excited about this Danny Paradise workshop coming up at Om Factory next week. It is always interesting to hear different points of view. Also hyped about Mysore, so I dug up this info to inspire!
Ashtanga Yoga in Mysore, India
General Mysore Info:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=At_JswBti28
http://www.livingmysore.com/
Ajay
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWuquyM5VXg
http://www.sthalam8.com/index.php?sub_page=ajay
Sheshadari
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=574KxzmIH3E
http://mandala.ashtanga.org/index.php/sheshadri
BNS Iyengar
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClWOwVHvLQU
http://ashtanga.org/lineage/bns_iyengar.shtml
Sharath/Guruji/Saraswati
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3-8Te30H6k
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKQw0-IlJiY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3mzQ83Gk8A
http://www.ayri.org/
No too tight, not too loose.
Obsess and don't obsess. Find the middle ground.
What keeps speaking to me is this question, "why are we doing this yoga?" The answer keeps coming as "to transform".
Example. My body is physically changing. It is adapting to the new challenges of my practice, it is getting stronger, lighter, and the shape is slowly shifting.
Example. My mind is changing. Thinking of the physical aspects of practice, there is no one day that I am performing. I am not practicing and practicing these postures so that one day I can show them off. I can't just fast so that the next day I "feel light" and then can do a certain posture. The choices I make for what I put into my body are long-term habit changes. Every day is the performance, everyday is the practice. Everything has to change.
Example. But why does it have to change? Am I obsessing over asana? Kind of, but not really. I am obsessing over cultivating mindfulness in my thoughts and actions. It is watching myself as I move through the world the entire 22 hours until the next asana session. The whole day is "doing yoga".
On this entire physical/mental shift fostered by the asana practice, it is interesting how one would think that "oh everything is perfect and now I will just work on this one thing", when actually this one thing effects everything else. I remember when I did this workshop with this Ayurvedic teacher that was all about Mind Body Centering and she was talking about how when you get an organ removed, that sickness and pain that was there is still there because the issue was never solved. How could it still linger even when the physical organ was gone? It is simple. Everything in the body is connected to everything else. When an organ is removed, the body doesn't think, "okay, the right kidney is gone, oh well." In this same way, getting a new posture changes your entire practice and then changes your entire life. Everything is different, everything is connected.
Excited about this Danny Paradise workshop coming up at Om Factory next week. It is always interesting to hear different points of view. Also hyped about Mysore, so I dug up this info to inspire!
Ashtanga Yoga in Mysore, India
General Mysore Info:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=At_JswBti28
http://www.livingmysore.com/
Ajay
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWuquyM5VXg
http://www.sthalam8.com/index.php?sub_page=ajay
Sheshadari
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=574KxzmIH3E
http://mandala.ashtanga.org/index.php/sheshadri
BNS Iyengar
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClWOwVHvLQU
http://ashtanga.org/lineage/bns_iyengar.shtml
Sharath/Guruji/Saraswati
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3-8Te30H6k
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKQw0-IlJiY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3mzQ83Gk8A
http://www.ayri.org/
Another keyword search: which leg first in krounchasana?
That one is easy! Jump through from downdog with the right leg bent and left leg up like in triangmukha eka pada paschimottanasana. Then do a vinyasa and jump through with the left leg bent and right leg up. Pretty much its always right leg first. There are a few exceptions though. For instance, you twist to the left side first in pasasana. Why does it say to twist to the right first in David Swenson's book? *Shrug*
Feed me!
Some days you go through your practice and everything is like clockwork, other days, it is an out of body experience. The human body is so interesting in that it is never the same, always changing, and through ashtanga practice (as we are doing the same thing everyday) one can really feel and see the difference from one day to the next.
I have noticed a change the last couple of days. I'm still dreading certain poses when they come up, but once I'm there, I notice that the panic mode turns off and I can actually get a bit deeper than I had imagined. It reminds me of being a kid how I yelled and screamed to not take a bath, but then once I got it in it was so warm and nice! In other parts of my practice, I'm noticing soreness from my body shape changing as I learn to use muscles differently. And with all these changes, primary feels very different.
Besides the shifts caused by daily practice, a woman's cycle, day of the week, and energy level, there are the shifts caused by food. Since moving from "veganism" to "vegetarianism" in October, I've noticed some changes. I can't tell if I have more energy, but I am definitely stronger than I was before, but that could be just because I've decided to challenge myself a bit more. I feel like I was lighter (pounds wise) before, but I feel more toned now.
Besides the shifts caused by daily practice, a woman's cycle, day of the week, and energy level, there are the shifts caused by food. Since moving from "veganism" to "vegetarianism" in October, I've noticed some changes. I can't tell if I have more energy, but I am definitely stronger than I was before, but that could be just because I've decided to challenge myself a bit more. I feel like I was lighter (pounds wise) before, but I feel more toned now.
What I have really noticed is how the timing of meals effects my practice as well as the amount of bread I eat. This weekend I went to a wedding and practice yesterday and today has suffered for it. And now that the days are longer and brighter, I don't seem to have much of an appetite and find myself eating out of habit. Bleh.
Sore wrists from all the press handstand stuff on Friday and from my extra playtime during self practice yesterday. My bf assisted me in karandavasana. That was funny.
From Ashtanga Yoga Sangha on Food and Practice:
"Diet, how and when you eat is probably the most important factor for yoga practice.
Food suggestions from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika
http://aysnyc.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=31&Itemid=165
Bitter, sour and salty tastes, unripe vegetables, fermented/rotting and oily foods, intoxicating liquors, fish, meat, yoghurt, chick peas, oil-cake, asafoetida (hinga), garlic, onion, etc., should not be eaten. Food heated again, dry, having too much salt, sour, indigestable grains, and vegetables that cause burning sensation, should not be eaten. Wheat, rice, barley, corn, milk, ghee, natural sugar, butter, honey, dried ginger, snake gourd, the five vegetables (5 leafy greens mentioned in GS), mung beans, pure water, these are very beneficial to those who practice Yoga. A yogi or yogini should eat tonics (things giving strength), well sweetened, made with ghee, milk butter, etc., which may increase humors of the body, according to his or her desire. "
"Diet, how and when you eat is probably the most important factor for yoga practice.
Food suggestions from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika
http://aysnyc.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=31&Itemid=165
Bitter, sour and salty tastes, unripe vegetables, fermented/rotting and oily foods, intoxicating liquors, fish, meat, yoghurt, chick peas, oil-cake, asafoetida (hinga), garlic, onion, etc., should not be eaten. Food heated again, dry, having too much salt, sour, indigestable grains, and vegetables that cause burning sensation, should not be eaten. Wheat, rice, barley, corn, milk, ghee, natural sugar, butter, honey, dried ginger, snake gourd, the five vegetables (5 leafy greens mentioned in GS), mung beans, pure water, these are very beneficial to those who practice Yoga. A yogi or yogini should eat tonics (things giving strength), well sweetened, made with ghee, milk butter, etc., which may increase humors of the body, according to his or her desire. "
A Journey
I'm watching my fellow back bender/friend/former student trying to figure out how to stand up. She's so close and although I've never done it (tried to help/talk to another student during class) before, I got her attention and motioned for her to try something. She did it and then stood up. She probably felt good, but I felt bad.
I really learned something in that moment and it was more than just to act like a student when you are a student. I learned that there is a method to this madness. She was so close, it was obvious. Standing up was as close as an answer stolen from the tip of your tongue. I stole her chance to figure it out.
This got me thinking about this journey we are on. If all the answers were just handed to us, we would not have the journey, or, at least, not to the extent that one experiences after working hard for something for a long time and finally "getting it". But it is all a balance. It is a little bit of putting in the effort, a little bit of training wheels, and a whole lot of courage, patience, and persistence. Practice, practice, practice.
What was the point, really of what I did? No point. It wasn't really a big deal either, except that it got me thinking about these other things which are important. I think of my own practice and how good it feels to figure something out. How good it feels to complete a crossword puzzle. I don't want the answers, I don't want the cliff's notes, well, not all the time at least! I want the chance to try my hardest, to see if my inner knowledge (or whatever) can find the answer.
It is kind of like going to India. No one really offers to help you figure it out. They all know it is about the journey and figuring it out along the way...
I really learned something in that moment and it was more than just to act like a student when you are a student. I learned that there is a method to this madness. She was so close, it was obvious. Standing up was as close as an answer stolen from the tip of your tongue. I stole her chance to figure it out.
This got me thinking about this journey we are on. If all the answers were just handed to us, we would not have the journey, or, at least, not to the extent that one experiences after working hard for something for a long time and finally "getting it". But it is all a balance. It is a little bit of putting in the effort, a little bit of training wheels, and a whole lot of courage, patience, and persistence. Practice, practice, practice.
What was the point, really of what I did? No point. It wasn't really a big deal either, except that it got me thinking about these other things which are important. I think of my own practice and how good it feels to figure something out. How good it feels to complete a crossword puzzle. I don't want the answers, I don't want the cliff's notes, well, not all the time at least! I want the chance to try my hardest, to see if my inner knowledge (or whatever) can find the answer.
It is kind of like going to India. No one really offers to help you figure it out. They all know it is about the journey and figuring it out along the way...
Constant "asana-ing"
Yesterday's Post:
I'm locking up my bike after riding home from a class with no students and I'm thinking, "what the hell am I doing?" Am I really one of those crazy, hippie, new age weirdos that walks away from "rational" life choices, straight into the chaos of an open-ended trip to who knows what end? Part of me keeps saying that I am testing the limits. I am seeing how far I can get from ...
Didn't finish it. Day turned out to be too busy. Anyway, on to today!
I'm sitting on my heels, breathing after karandavasana.
I'm locking up my bike after riding home from a class with no students and I'm thinking, "what the hell am I doing?" Am I really one of those crazy, hippie, new age weirdos that walks away from "rational" life choices, straight into the chaos of an open-ended trip to who knows what end? Part of me keeps saying that I am testing the limits. I am seeing how far I can get from ...
Didn't finish it. Day turned out to be too busy. Anyway, on to today!
I'm sitting on my heels, breathing after karandavasana.
"Am I doing any of it?" I ask.
"Yes, you're the one wobbling," I laugh.
I have to change everything, think of everything in terms of getting light, learning to fly, karandavasana. It has given me a new perspective on practice and how to approach the asanas for sure. When you're thinking of kurmasana, you think about how everything can open your hips. When you're thinking about ustrasana, you're thinking about getting into your upward dogs. When you're thinking about karandavasana, you're thinking about how to keep your mind in your pelvis and to keep it light.
Just some musings, because, well, I think that's what I do!
Currently reading: Into the Wild
Earlier today: slept through the opera, Satyagraha.
"Yes, you're the one wobbling," I laugh.
I have to change everything, think of everything in terms of getting light, learning to fly, karandavasana. It has given me a new perspective on practice and how to approach the asanas for sure. When you're thinking of kurmasana, you think about how everything can open your hips. When you're thinking about ustrasana, you're thinking about getting into your upward dogs. When you're thinking about karandavasana, you're thinking about how to keep your mind in your pelvis and to keep it light.
Just some musings, because, well, I think that's what I do!
Currently reading: Into the Wild
Earlier today: slept through the opera, Satyagraha.
Yoga Is Life
I'm talking with my career counselor. "What would you be doing if you won the lottery and could just do whatever you wanted?"
My answer: "What I'm doing now, except, I'd have money."
I have to smile. I have to laugh.
I teared, yes teared while watching this preview when they showed the clip of the world map heading to Mysore. Tomorrow is a moonday. That has to be the reason...
Tracy just started her "tour of duty" in the Peace Corps. Yoga Is Life.
My answer: "What I'm doing now, except, I'd have money."
I have to smile. I have to laugh.
I teared, yes teared while watching this preview when they showed the clip of the world map heading to Mysore. Tomorrow is a moonday. That has to be the reason...
Tracy just started her "tour of duty" in the Peace Corps. Yoga Is Life.
The work
So what is "the work"? I think it depends a bit on the perspective. In the previous post, I was referring to certain incidents that made my role as a teacher particularly challenging. I'm thinking about:
-teaching a class at a certain level that it is advertised as and the students aren't willing to practice at that level. Let's say it was a basics class, but the students who came were more advanced and refused to listen to instructions for a basic level class. In a basics class, much of the learning is visual, so a beginner will look to someone who looks like they know what they are doing and will copy them, no matter if it corresponds with the verbal instructions given by the instructor. This isn't specifically what happened, but it was similar, and anyway, this has happened before.
The point isn't to control the class and have a power trip. It is that the lesson that is trying to be conveyed will not be clear and will be of less benefit to all of the students. In this case, doing the work would mean humbling oneself and taking the class that is being taught or being honest with oneself and choosing to attend a more appropriate class rather than disrupting other students and disrespecting the instructor.
Now I realize that this is not the intention of the student. I know. I've been that student. You're at class and you want to get your practice in. You remember something you learned in another class, last week, or something that might feel good and you do it because it is your time to do yoga. And then up comes the teacher (maybe) and you're like "what a jerk!". I know, I've totally been there!
-Failing to inform instructor beforehand of injuries and concerns. Might not seem like a big deal, but can be really difficult as a teacher. The work here would be being honest about physical limitations (letting go of ego), but also trusting the instructor to do their job. Oh, and listening to the teacher's advice on how to approach practice with these in consideration.
Okay, so upon further thought, I think that most other things I could mention fall into these main categories of "doing the work":
1. Listening to your teacher
this means that you have an open dialogue with your instructor about what is going on with you and trusting them to give you well-informed feedback. They have seen so many bodies over the course of their careers that it is probable that they know what they are talking about. Both of the above example fall under this category.
2. Practicing like you mean it
2. Practicing like you mean it
example: if you saw my back bending video, you saw me fidgeting around, thinking about how I felt tight, how it was cold, how I was hungry, how I was tired, etc. Did I need to to that? No. I let myself do it. I gave myself permission to give up. So doing the work here is pushing your edge. It also means practicing wholeheartedly and consistently. That's when you really see results.
Hey, none of us are perfect, that's why they call it practice! We all have to work at doing the work.
I think everything falls into those two categories, but I'll have to think about it. This is such an overwhelming topic. It deserves much more than what I've worked through here. Any thoughts?
Live to practice or practice to live
I missed and missed practice at the shala this morning. It wasn't my fault, but was probably for the best. Spent half an hour waiting on a train platform to get there and when it was clear that the train was either not coming or I was going to be way too late, I walked home.
I haven't had coffee in years. I hadn't had a deuce since Monday. I decided that instead of farting up the shala, I'd get a coffee and take matters into my own hands. It worked. And now I get a nice practice at home with music in the background. And why not? Was today the day I'd get karandavasana? Maybe. Should that matter? Nope. Do I live to practice or practice to live?
Teaching yoga. Oh, teaching yoga. So great, so fun, so rewarding. So hard, so challenging, so annoying. Yesterday, I taught way too much, was way too tired, had a hard emotional weekend, was angrily constipated and snapped at a student. I felt and still feel horrible.
Teaching yoga is hard and it isn't just "teaching" yoga. What is it that students want and what on earth are they coming for? To sweat? To lose weight? For spiritual peace? To stretch? To do crazy shit? It could be none or all of those reasons and more and somehow as the teacher you're supposed to cater to all of this or none of this. It shouldn't matter, you should be able to teach what you feel is best for the students. But that isn't always the case. Numbers count and you've got to pay your rent. I've found that most people want a cushy, nice teacher, who will help boost their ego in a not so obvious way. Hey, I'm probably that student too to some extent, or at least have been at one point or another. Very few really want to do the real work. This isn't to say that people don't come to class with good intentions, they do. It is that it is hard to develop and things that are hard aren't always fun.
In a recent post, Steve Dwelley talks about fundamentalists in yoga and Guy responds:
"A lot of times we are confronted in life with our likes and dislikes, laziness, apathy, greed etc…. in yoga practice too! If every time as a practitioner we say: “today I dont feel like doing any forward bends, only backbends, or today I feel like breathing through my mouth” and the teacher says: “fine, whatever”, then the student will never develop a true and healthy practice.
I haven't had coffee in years. I hadn't had a deuce since Monday. I decided that instead of farting up the shala, I'd get a coffee and take matters into my own hands. It worked. And now I get a nice practice at home with music in the background. And why not? Was today the day I'd get karandavasana? Maybe. Should that matter? Nope. Do I live to practice or practice to live?
Teaching yoga. Oh, teaching yoga. So great, so fun, so rewarding. So hard, so challenging, so annoying. Yesterday, I taught way too much, was way too tired, had a hard emotional weekend, was angrily constipated and snapped at a student. I felt and still feel horrible.
Teaching yoga is hard and it isn't just "teaching" yoga. What is it that students want and what on earth are they coming for? To sweat? To lose weight? For spiritual peace? To stretch? To do crazy shit? It could be none or all of those reasons and more and somehow as the teacher you're supposed to cater to all of this or none of this. It shouldn't matter, you should be able to teach what you feel is best for the students. But that isn't always the case. Numbers count and you've got to pay your rent. I've found that most people want a cushy, nice teacher, who will help boost their ego in a not so obvious way. Hey, I'm probably that student too to some extent, or at least have been at one point or another. Very few really want to do the real work. This isn't to say that people don't come to class with good intentions, they do. It is that it is hard to develop and things that are hard aren't always fun.
In a recent post, Steve Dwelley talks about fundamentalists in yoga and Guy responds:
"A lot of times we are confronted in life with our likes and dislikes, laziness, apathy, greed etc…. in yoga practice too! If every time as a practitioner we say: “today I dont feel like doing any forward bends, only backbends, or today I feel like breathing through my mouth” and the teacher says: “fine, whatever”, then the student will never develop a true and healthy practice.
Part of going into yoga is over coming our subjective likes and dislikes and going through a process of dissolving the ego. For this strong and consistent discipline is required. If the practice is changing daily it cannot act as a reference point for Self knowledge, if the teacher also changes his or her tune daily, he or she can also not act as such a reference point."
Some days the classes are small and the students give me angry little faces. It takes it all out of me. Other days, everything clicks and we are all better for it. I try to detach myself from these ups and downs and try to stay true to the fact that I am giving my best and always doing all I can to look out for the students. I'm human like everyone else and get attached to these fluctuations. It is hard. Its a practice.
Tittibhasana -- Day 4
It is only Tuesday. Wow. I am so sore. Everything is tired. Each step is like I've walked all day. I just want to sleep and do nothing. I wonder how people are able to get into ashtanga without getting really into it. I mean, some days, it takes it all out of me. In Mysore, you practice, you eat, you rest. In "real" life, you practice, you eat, and you do everything that everyone else does too. I wonder how many people out there are able to maintain whatever their "normal" lives were prior to the jump into ashtanga. Does everyone gradually move towards a lifestyle that revolves around practice? It could also be what you do for a living. People that work with their hands are probably more tired in general than people who work in office settings, no?
Three more days of practice this week. I don't know the last time I've counted down like this. I think part of it is practice and part of it is the waking up so early. But what other choice is there? Early morning wake up is great once in a while. When the sun is shining on your face its great. I love the idea of it and the idea of myself being an early bird. The reality? :(
People who practice other styles have got nothing on us (except perhaps non attachment...). Try doing a pose one day. It feels good in the body, you feel the sensation, maybe you are sore, etc. The second day you revisit the pose you find something new. You crawl out past the places you've already discovered and you seek out the limits of the shape. Day three, you convince yourself you are a pro at the pose. You come to it like you knew it was coming. Your body is ready for the signal to settle into what it knows. But try doing it again and again and again. And keep doing it. That's a whole different story. You start finding walls, both mental and physical. You are tired and you are sore. Sometimes you want to give up. But the difference is for us (I think) the poses slowly become a part of us until you get to a point where you can climb in and have a seat. You can look around and settle in. Stira sukham asanam? Hmmm.
Three more days of practice this week. I don't know the last time I've counted down like this. I think part of it is practice and part of it is the waking up so early. But what other choice is there? Early morning wake up is great once in a while. When the sun is shining on your face its great. I love the idea of it and the idea of myself being an early bird. The reality? :(
People who practice other styles have got nothing on us (except perhaps non attachment...). Try doing a pose one day. It feels good in the body, you feel the sensation, maybe you are sore, etc. The second day you revisit the pose you find something new. You crawl out past the places you've already discovered and you seek out the limits of the shape. Day three, you convince yourself you are a pro at the pose. You come to it like you knew it was coming. Your body is ready for the signal to settle into what it knows. But try doing it again and again and again. And keep doing it. That's a whole different story. You start finding walls, both mental and physical. You are tired and you are sore. Sometimes you want to give up. But the difference is for us (I think) the poses slowly become a part of us until you get to a point where you can climb in and have a seat. You can look around and settle in. Stira sukham asanam? Hmmm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
We aren’t finished here
It has been a long road. I recently published all of my blogs onto one platform. Since 2007 I have had 29 blogs. That’s close to 80...
-
Maybe it is like ladies' holiday, you take the first three days off to rest. Or maybe you just keep practicing and sweat it out. Persona...
-
Okay, now, while I don't think yoga should be learned from pictures, I do know that this is how I started my practice. I hunted these p...
-
Reading this or any blog could be constituted as a distraction. Just thought you ought to be made aware of this. I thought I might as well ...
-
I've been asked this so many times. How the #%&! do you jump through? ? Well... Magic. My long monkey arms. I don't eat meat. I...
-
"You are enlightened until you think that you aren't." -David Williams (Photo from David's website http://www.ashtangayog... -
Why on earth would I care whether or not my students waited for my count before moving into upward dog from chaturanga? I ponder this ques...
-
In the winter, the balmy, sticky, cold, and rainy days make me scared to go to practice. I feel like an old hinge and a rusty bike chain al...
-
Sometimes there is a formula for when you get a pose. You sense it coming, look up at the right time, know the teacher is talking to you, a...
-
I don't know that I was born a pc person. We've had a couple of old macs in the past. But it just turned out that I always seemed ...
-
So what is "the work"? I think it depends a bit on the perspective. In the previous post, I was referring to certain incidents tha...