Road trip recap

Yesterday, we loaded up a van (thanks for organizing that guys!) and went on a road trip. The first stop was 30 Km South of Mysore at a small town named Somnathpur (see picture on left from travelblog.org). I had no idea where we were going, and neither did one of my friends, who ended up taking a road trip to temples she had already visited a month ago. On our way, she mentioned how road trips are very different here in India because you never get on an open road. Its true. In the states, you drive through town and then suddenly its only open road in front of you and you think, "Wow, here we go!" In India, you are driving slowly down roads, through ride fields, through back allies in obscure towns. I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could find there way to the same places we were going because there were so many unmarked ally ways that seemed to make up a substantial number of roads we travelled. The roads aren't always paved, are often muddy, and include many passersby and obstructions with a heart beat or many heart beats if you get caught in a heard of goats. I noticed on the windshield that there was a sticker that declared that this vehicle was adjusted to not go faster than 60. Really, it could not go faster than 60. Not that there was much of an opportunity with the cows and the muddy holes.

Somnathpur is the name of the very small town that people travel to in order to see the Keshava Temple. When we saw a sign that marked the entrance, my temple-veteran companion said, "we took a rickshaw here and back." The rest of us stared at her in horror. When she added that there were three of them crammed in the back, she had to scrape us off the floor from the impact of her words. Immediately after we got out of the bus, our bodies stretching into mangled standing positions from sitting for so long, we were surrounded by children asking for money and selling souvenirs. I didn't buy anything and felt terrible about it.

Entrance to the temples was 2 rupees for Indians, and the equivalent of $2 US dollars for everyone else. In their conversion, this equalled 100 rupees. (I read that the rupee has fallen again to 40:1 US, when I got here it was 38:1). Inside the gates was a large manicured lawn and a very large stone wall that looked like the outside of a fortress. I could see people going inside, so I followed. Shoes off at the steps. Give ticket to man holding out hand. Walk inside.

Temples are like volcanoes. They can be active, dormant, or extinct. An extinct temple is a temple you see that is completely abandoned. You have to look closely, however, because even if a building has gone to pieces, if there is still someone performing pujas, the temple is still active. An active temple is one in full use. People are coming and going, incense burning, music, etc. Dormant. That's a tricky one. I'll have to think about it. The temples we saw yesterday were extinct because for whatever reason, no one performs pujas there. People visit purely to see the architecture as it is in very good condition. Maybe a dormant temple is one that looks like it could still be used, but isn't at the moment.

A friend commented that the place did feel a bit empty and didn't hold the same sense of the spiritual for her that other active temples had. For me, monuments whether natural or man made almost always have a sense of the spiritual, if not because of the immense size of the undertaking, then for the intention behind it. Although, when we were sitting on a ledge surrounding the main temple, basking in its beauty, someone commented that the smell that everyone was complaining of was indeed urine coming from the puja rooms lining the ledge.

The next stop (not counting snack and pee stops) were the waterfalls. Yeah, I have no idea what they are called. We stood on a ledge, dodging monkeys, taking photos, eating strange side-of-the-road snacks, laughing at the signs, and staring at the waterfalls. They were beautiful but so far away. It seemed odd to have driven so far only to visit something that we couldn't actually interact with, only look at. If I couldn't touch it, was it even really there? Some journeys are like that.

I'm browsing the Rough Guide to South India, and in the Highlights section for Karnataka, it says that Mysore is the "sandalwood city". Guidebooks always talk about the sandalwood. I remember that once at an ashram in New York, I met someone who wouldn't stop about the sandalwood incense and that it was the best there and its all she uses and you can only get it there... I imagined Mysore overflowing with sandalwood. I imagined from day to night I'd be covered with the stuff and that after returning from New York, I'd carry the scent with me for at least 2 months, at least. I've seen some sandalwood, yes. I've seen some.

I had a new spot in led practice today with Saraswati, in the back by the women's dressing room. I realize this doesn't matter at all to the average reader, but to a veteran or current "Mysorian" you know what a big deal it is to try a new spot in the room. You see, every spot has its own energy. By the doors, there are people walking in and out which is quite distracting. OR maybe you're by a window and get a draft. Maybe you're where the carpets overlap and that is not fun. I try to avoid places with too much movement around them like breezes, or people, or doorways because I find they have too much "vata" which can be really distracting.

Since Sharath's last day, despite the few prophecies that he may return, he hasn't made any appearances in class. Nor has Guruji.

Looking over edges

Earlier this week I was standing on a balcony with two other people waiting for a table at a certain recommended punjabi restaurant when we turned to hear a real racket coming up the road. We all three leaned over the railing to get a better look. My companions scrambled for their cameras, hoping to capture a piece of the action. As the sound grew closer, we could see that it was a parade with many men in front pounding on instruments. We saw that some men toward the middle were carrying a large altar. My friends were very excited, craning to get a good picture of what they thought was Ganesh (the elephant-god who removes obstacles). (The photo on the left is from a Ganesh Festival in Mumbai that I found on google). Men from the crowd were pointing up at us and shouting something, I couldn't make out what. But something did seem strange, and I realized my feeling was right when I saw that it was not Ganesha at all that they were carrying, it was a dead man.

"Its a fucking dead man!" I said.

"what?"

"huh?"

"Its a fucking dead man!" I said again. Their cameras lowered. One of them really began to freak out.

"I've never seen a dead body before!" He shouted as I tried to shrug off his chin that was now resting on my shoulder as he tried to hide from the grey, sinking figure and the condemnation of an angry crowd.

"Its okay," the other girl said. I think she just kept repeating this.

As we watched, the old man sat under a canopy of flowers. He was covered from head to toe with garlands with only his sunken face peaking out from beneath.

Today we had the day off (its Saturday). We decided (slowly and unreliably until the last second) to pile into a van and drive to some waterfalls somewhere. From behind the window, at this safe distance, I feel like I'm watching life go by like a viewer in a cinema.

I thought about how there are so many things I can't tell you about what its like to be here. Its not just that I don't have the words to describe it; its that there aren't enough words. Sometimes you have to paint a picture, even if it means not everyone will understand the work. So much of being here is more than seeing and trying new things or interacting with new people. So much of it is an indescribable journey through what it means to be alive and in this world. My teacher used to say that in our yoga practice it is good to get right to the edge, right to your edge, and to keep pushing until you get there. This place is like that. Always confronting you with edges.

There are moments that freeze in time, moments when for just a second, you can see your body and realize that there is so much more. A man squatted on a small dirt hill in the middle of a bright green rice field overlooking more rice fields. He just sat there watching the sun and wind dance and flicker over the tips of green green blades of grass. Things can be so simple, so obvious, but we fail to see them.

In the Yoga Sutras translation by Satchidananda, he tells a simple story that I hope I get mostly right. I think that there is this guy who is trying to achieve enlightenment but he's having a hard time. So the God that is helping him suggests that he chant "Mara Mara" because he is standing in front of a tree (mara means tree). So he does. And before he knows it, "mara" transfoms in to "rama".

Empty product and full emptiness

The product of zero numbers is one.

I've got 17 more days left here in Mysore, that's roughly two weeks. I think that maybe, just maybe I've figured out what I'm doing out here. Without asking it, this is THE question on most days.

What am I doing here?

Starting easy, I'm sitting in front of a laptop (my house mate's) (she's sleeping and didn't go to practice...) at the living room coffee table. I can hear animals outside. It is exactly 7am and practice has been over for a half hour. I didn't have a coconut. I can't be bothered by it really. Its cold outside and I'd rather be sitting in the comfort of my house.

We can now leave the present moment and move to the practice. Led with Saraswati this morning. She gives the longest leds out of the bunch. My shoulders, neck, upper back, and belly are quite sore. Very grumpy in the morning before class. Tried not to be too obvious that I was annoyed that people were taking up two spots where normally one would go. Little things can be annoyingly BIG things that early in the morning.

On to the future. I had this fleeting feeling that I was ready to go home this morning. Right when its all coming to a head and I feel like I'm finally getting to the root of all this.

So back to the question. What is all this? I told some people I was coming out here to study yoga, to practice yoga, to go to India. I told my boyfriend and others it was to learn how to be alone ( this was after my bf said he wouldn't be joining). I told myself I had to go and that's it.

What am I doing here?

Learning that I'm on the right path and that its okay to question and think about where we are on it. Learning how to be with myself in this world with no distractions. (I feel like I've got a crush on a girl that hardly looks at me and I keep driving by her house hoping one day she will run out.) Saying goodbye to all the things I've collected in life that do not really bring me happiness but that I gathered anyway because I felt that I had ought to.

Can that really be all? Is it as simple as that?

Or how about just, "I'm here to practice."

The distractions are less and less everyday. There are no trips to palaces, classes, courses, amazing exotic new dinners, crazy new mishaps, ridiculous misunderstandings, or out of the ordinary undertakings. I've slowly been emptying out my toy chest, and now there is nothing left. My hand digs deep, gliding along the sides, skimming the floor. Wait there is something! No, its just lint. I guess it is just me in here. (Sits down, back to trunk, arms crossed over knees, looks around. Realizes how incredibly large the space she is sitting in is and how small she is compared to it.)

Zero is nothing, null, nil, nada, naught.

Zero is a number.

Zero is a placeholder.

In sanskrit, zero comes from "sunya"( शून्य ), meaning void or empty. "Sunyata" can be translated as "emptiness" or "voidness. According to Wikipedia:

"Śūnyatā signifies that everything one encounters in life is empty of absolute identity, permanence, or 'self'. This is because everything is inter-related and mutually - never wholly self-sufficient or independent. All things are in a state of constant flux where energy and information are forever flowing throughout the natural world giving rise to and themselves undergoing major transformations with the passage of time. This teaching never connotes nihilism - nihilism is, in fact, a belief or point of view that the Buddha explicitly taught was incorrect - a delusion, just as the view of is a delusion. In the English language the word emptiness suggests the absence of spiritual meaning or a personal feeling of alienation, but in Buddhism the emptiness of phenomena enables liberation from the limitations of form in the cycle of uncontrolled rebirth."

In tarot cards, zero is represented as the fool. According to Wikipedia, some of the frequent interpretations are:

Beginning, Inconsequence, Innocence, Freedom
Spontaneity, Originality, Happiness, Non-criticism
No attachment, Initiative, Adventure, Irresponsibility
Inexperience, Immaturity, Optimism, Boldness
Carpe Diem, Creative Chaos, New Beginnings, Foolhardiness

"The Fool is the spirit in search of experience. Many symbols of the Instituted Mysteries are summarized in this card, which reverses, under high warrants, all the confusions that have preceded it.

The Fool represents the mystical cleverness bereft of reason within us.

The number 0 is a perfect significator for the Fool, which can become anything when he reaches his destination. Zero plus anything equals the same thing. Zero times anything equals zero."

Tarot cards aren't just used for "divining the future" or getting a quick $5 from a tourist, there is also a game of Tarot, which is often referred to as, "french tarot". From my understanding, it is a card game that you can bet on like poker or blackjack. In this game, the fool has a very interesting role, as "Playing the Fool momentarily exempts the player from the rules of the game".

"Another issue surrounding The Fool is his definition. Who is calling him The Fool?

The archetypal potency of the Fool as zero embodies the enhanced potential and summation of all Major and Minor Arcana: as is denoted by 'fool', the near English homonym of 'full'. The Fool is the period, the pregnant pause."

Back in the saddle again

Its funny how from one day to the next my complete outlook on life and mood in general can completely change. A couple of days ago, I was ready to rip some one's eyes out at the breakfast table (don't worry I didn't) and today I feel like the world is my oyster and we should all just love each other, etc. Is this what happens when I don't practice? Maybe. Does a child stop crying when you give it what it wants? Most of the time. Does a junkie look "happy" when they finally get their fix? I'd say so.

When we are really in the thick of that nasty little emotional cloud of negativity and sadness, there really is nothing else. And then I pick up the yoga sutras and the whole thing is like "wake up!" and I say "well, but..." and the sutras say, "just wake up!" and I reply, "hold on, but..." and the sutras say, "WAKE UP!" and I say, "I heard you, but just listen for a second..." and so on. I can be looking at logic, see it, internalize it, and not feel a shift at all. It is so silly. It is like watching yourself perform on a stage and you think to yourself, "I can't believe she messed that up! We practiced that so many times!" Or perhaps, "No don't worry about messing up, just carry on, no just carry on like it didn't happen...come on!" Or maybe, "I know you forgot your lines just look up and read the cue cards!"

And then, just like that, I wake up, go to practice, and the beast is gone. Or maybe just sleeping.

How about some updates from Mysore?

The weather feels like monsoon finally. When I first arrived, I admit there were some occasional showers, but really it was just humid to the point where your towel and clothing never seemed to dry and clung on to this icky mold smell. Then there were a few weeks of dry, clear, sunny skies when I went to the pool a lot and got a really beautiful tan, if I do say so. Since then it has gotten a bit colder, greyer, cloudier, and rainier. We started with afternoon showers around maybe 3ish. They didn't last very long. Then we had late evening/early morning showers. Now the rain has been fierce from about 4-6pm. But even with all this rain, the clothes are drying just fine. The rain doesn't last very long. I don't have an umbrella, or rain shoes, or anything of the sort. I have a TV and a couple of books, and I sit here in my house and wait for the rain to stop just like everyone else!

Practice in the shala has been wonderful with Saraswati. Before Sharath left, people said that she gives a lot of poses and that probably everyone would be doing third series in a month, but that Sharath would take them all away come January. Actually, I've found that she hasn't given many people poses, and the people she did give them to were definitely ready for them. The doors still open around 4:30, but maybe 1 person still goes and waits at the gate. Most everyone else trickles in until about 5 after. There is no waiting at the door at all during class. There is room for everyone and often there are spaces open the entire class. Many of the long term people have left to Goa, Thailand, to travel India, or home. A few have stayed. A new batch of people have arrived who seem to be staying a few months and will be practicing just with Saraswati. Yes, there are way too many women in the shala.

You know there aren't that many students at the shala when Tina stops making her famous millet bread. Yes folks, the worst has happened! Tina has broken our hearts and discontinued the Millet Toast until more people come. And now I can leave Mysore.

Some thoughts from the sidelines

I took a break from the world the last few days. A friend here calls it "caving", back home, I used to call it "going into the bunny hole", because a friend of mine that reminded me of a bunny used to scurry away to hibernate.

The first month in Mysore is all about getting frustrated, feeling uncomfortable, being excited, seeing the sites, spending rupees, eating food, meeting people, getting sick, and learning the head wobble.

The second month in Mysore is all about feeling settled, getting poses, slowing down, relaxing more, becoming a "regular" at local establishments, and settling into a routine.

The third month in Mysore is all about getting tired of saying "goodbye" and "hello" to people coming and going to or from Mysore, getting bored by the same restaurants that you frequent, being sad when that same restaurant is closed because of a holiday, being surprised to end up somewhere new, feeling rooted where you are, officially having a spot for your mat at the shala, not wanting to admit that you know how many days until you go home, not wanting to go home, and feeling reluctant to spend rupees on things hiked up to what you know and have seen is an inflated tourist price.

The buzz in my ears from my senses being overloaded by all that is India has slowly decreased over the last few months. I hadn't noticed this change until recently when I looked back with enough distance to notice that it was buzzing in the first place. But now that the noise has diminished to a quiet rumble, I've crawled out from beneath my pillow to see what the world looks like.

A useful tool when we are learning to meditate is instead of trying to focus on clearing the mind of all thoughts, you focus on one thing. For example, as a Catholic, when you are praying, you can use a rosary to keep your attention steady.

So what do we do when there is no longer something to focus on. How do you play soccer when the purpose is not to score a goal or win a point?

In practice, when you're not trying to show your practice to anyone (including yourself?), what do you focus on? Take into mind that when showing your practice, you are paying careful attention to technique. What then do you focus on? You've been running toward the beach, and then the water touches your toes and you stare across the vast stretch of sky and ocean. Your eyes jump from ship to swimmer, to bird. But when the waves have slowed and in that slow moment, there is nothing to focus on, how long can you stay in that state before the next distraction comes?

Here in Mysore, the social fire has cooled, the culture is now the norm, the weather has dulled, what then? Eat food. Watch TV and badly copied movies. Read books.

Yoga Sutra Satchidananda translation, of course:

Yoga Sutra 1.30:Vyadhi, styana, samsaya, pramada, alasya, avirati, bhrantidarsana, alabdhabhumikatva, anavasthitatvani, chittavikshepah, te antarayah.

Disease, dullness, doubt, carelessness, laziness, sensuality, false perception, failure to reach firm ground, and slipping from the ground gained--these distractions of the mind-stuff are the obstacles.

Yoga Sutra 1.31:Duhkha,daurmanasya, angamejayatva, svasa, prasvasa, vikshepa, sahabhuvah.

Accompaniments to the mental distractions include distress, despair, trembling of the body, and disturbed breathing.

Yoga Sutra 1.32: Tat pratisedha artham eka tattva abhyasah

The practice of concentration on a single subject [or the use of one technique] is the best way to prevent the obstacles and their accompaniments.

Its back to practice at the shala tomorrow from my 3 day holiday, although in many ways, the practice is never on holiday...

Sometimes I read the sutras or hear something of the sort and think, "the next time that happens, that will be how I react." Or, "Next time will be different." I remember this line in a Pema Chodron book about how a student told her how much she meant to call her, or to see her, but didn't feel it was the right time because she was falling to pieces. Pema Chodron just replied, "Who cares! Come as you are...everything will always be in pieces, so come now!" In this way, its like she's saying to stop worrying so much about the details or about stressing out about being the perfect practitioner. A person could go crazy obsessing about doing right by everything is out there. (I really was a vegan, organic, macrobiotic. It sucked.)

After being here is Mysore, I feel more and more that being here and studying at the shala and really giving my all to practice is the best thing for me. I dabbled in this or that activity just like many of the other shala students here in Mysore, but I admit that I can't be bothered to go to chanting, sanskrit, or music lessons. I'm not interested in a road trip, a transcendental meditation, or a massage course. I don't want to learn how to cook a sambar or to sing. I'm here to practice ashtanga at the shala and that's it. Its funny how simplicity can be so overwhelming.

In that same Satchidananda translation of the sutras he says, "Yoga practice is like an obstacle race; many obstructions are purposely put on the way for us to pass through. They are there to make us understand and express our own capacities. We all have that strength but we don't seem to know it...Once you put an obstacle to the flow by constructing a dam, then you can see its strength in the form of tremendous electrical power."

Good practice or bad? Its just practice.

It is hard being a yoga teacher. A fellow yoga teacher back in New York (you know who you are) said "being a professional is doing something even when you don't feel like doing it". Post-practice, walking up the road toward my front gate, my body pulsating, feeling each bone and muscle in my legs working together to place each foot, avoiding the mud, sensing the effort of my core muscles to keep myself standing, the dull ache in my shoulders, I thought about what it means to practice.

In many ways, we feel like we had a "good" practice when we felt good. The poses came easily, we accomplished something we have been working on, or the practice looked good. On days when we are distracted, bored, forget poses, stiff, tight, tired, etc., we say our practice was "hard" or "bad". In most of the activities in life that we use the word "practice", there is an insinuation that we will be doing this to prepare for something. For instance, in dance, we practice for a recital or performance. In sports, we practice in order to play well at a game. On a foreign language exam, we have to practice and study in order to retain the information.

In most of these activities, there is a difference between the preparation for an act and the act itself. For instance, if you saw a ballerina doing warm ups, she probably wouldn't tell you she was dancing (even if it looked like it), instead she was doing warm-ups to prepare for the dance. In this way, the act, performance, or fruition of the practice appears to demand a certain amount of mastery or perfection of a technique. In ashtanga yoga, one moves sequentially from one pose to the next. It is necessary to "master" one pose before the instructor teaches the student the next posture. However, the "mastered" poses are still being "practiced" by the student.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, "practice" is defined as "the actual application of a plan or method, as opposed to the theories relating to it. 2 the customary way of doing something. 5 the action or process of practising something so as to become proficient in it.

Sometimes when you play an instrument, you are just playing. It isn't practice or performance, is it?

In A Long Way to the Floor (which I finished and recommend to everyone, it is very sweet), David talks about how he went to a workshop where the instructor commented on how the students were "showing" him their practice instead of "doing" their practice.

Sometimes when I put my mat down to practice, if I am completely honest with myself, I am showing my practice to my teacher, another student, someone watching, or to myself. When Sharath was in the room, many times I had this feeling. He is watching. Everyone had this feeling. We don't always get obsessed with it, but sometimes we do. Like when we notice he is watching us in our last pose and think, "maybe he will give me another one today." Conversely, we might be wondering, "Is my teacher watching me? Because I am not advancing, and they don't seem to know that I usually can grab my ankles in back bending..." Since, Saraswati has been the main teacher, the vibe has changed. First of all, the students who are here right now are different than those who came while Sharath was teaching. They are a bit more laid back. There are less students, so there is no longer the 4:30 queue for the 5 am class. Sharath isn't here to give us poses, so we know where we are now, is where we are going to be until he returns. And for some reason, everyone seems to feel very relaxed with Saraswati, like they can undo their top button.

Example: During the first class that she led, on the third back bend, she said, "walk inside your hands!" Which means, "walk your hands closer to your feet." We all know what that means. We all walk when Sharath or Guruji says it. But she said it a few times and then, "No one is walking their hands!" The entire room burst into laughter.

When you have absolutely no reason to go to practice except to practice, it is very very hard to practice. Strange right? I would have thought that the absence of thoughts, of pressure, would make my practice soft, beautiful, easy, I don't know. But that isn't really what it is about. It is about getting everything very quiet, and then looking around inside to see what you find. It is not easy at all, and actually, no one said it would be. In practice today, I thought about how ridiculous it was that I was awake at this hour, I thought about how my shoulders ached from Saraswati's slow chaturangas, I thought about how I was thinking and how I wished it would stop. Was it a "bad" practice? No. You can be doing all the technical aspects of the physical side of ashtanga yoga and still feel unsettled. Perhaps what we are really doing is exploring and investigating our selves physically, mentally, and spiritually.

*I'd love to get in on the labeling of things as "good" and "bad" and the mind and all that. Let's save that for another post. But for now, let's say that my practice this morning was "good" because I did practice. At the same time, I shouldn't be attached to this label and really the fact is that I practice. End of story. No judgements, right John?

This morning I had a very interesting "expedition". We began by practicing this sequence of asanas or postures called the primary series of ashtanga yoga. These acted as a catalyst that propelled my "self' into an internal journey. I explored the outskirts of an enormous cave. There were many jokesters and clowns and sad little demons blocking the entrance. They held out their hands and begged me for attention. "My shoulder hurts!" Cried one. "I am tired!" called another. I was distracted for a while by the jesters. I felt obligated to help them. How could I not? They were so pitiful looking and I have a lot of compassion, perhaps sometimes a little to much. For a moment, I looked up and saw that the jesters were busy fighting over the attention I gave them. The path to the cave was clear. The jesters sensed my distraction and followed my gaze to the entrance of the cave. We looked back at each other, we knew each other's thoughts. And we ran. I ran for the cave, dodging the leaping clowns as they tried desperately to grab at my clothes and my feet. The entrance got closer and closer, just a few more steps to go, I was almost there...

"Nava, inhale head up. Samastitih!"

"Yoga is 99% practice and 1% theory" --Pattabhi Jois (Guruji)

Pain, The Anatomy of

The ceiling was white. A fluorescent light glowed eerily. Rain pummeled the window and the terrace outside.

"AH! Ha ha ha ha... Oh my god!" I yelped giddily. I stared up at the ceiling and then into the eyes of a young Indian woman wielding a rectangular piece of paper.

"Pain." She nodded with a smile. I turned to look at the other woman.

"Hair very thick, much pain..." She agreed with a look that said she felt for me...maybe.

"OOOHHH!" I stared back to the fluorescent light. "Much pain." With each rip, I floated up to the light, up to the ceiling, and then back down again for the radiating pain of the next clump of hair to be ripped out without remorse.

Pain. Two women simultaneously ripping hair from your body is a good time to meditate on the subject. I was getting a bikini and full leg wax. With each rip, I explored what it meant to feel pain. It started with the knowledge that the pain was coming. Then the tension before the rip. Then you feel the hair being pulled from the roots with one quick (or slow, tedious) yank. The skin flies back. The sensation begins. The women slap the area. More hot wax overlaps and burns the last area they waxed. And then again. And again. And again.

No matter where the pain is happening, it manifests to a few different areas. A dull ache in the shoulders. A searing behind the ears. A pressure in the jaw, wedged under the tongue. I keep asking myself "does this really hurt?" And finally, "come on relax! No one has ever died from a bikini wax..."

According to Wikipedia:

"Pain is an unpleasant sensation. It is defined by the International Association for the Study of Pain (IASP) as “an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage”. Nociception (sometimes also called nociperception) is a measurable physiological event of a type usually associated with pain. Scientifically, pain (a subjective experience) is separate and distinct from nociception, the system which carries information about inflammation, damage or near-damage in tissue, to the spinal cord and brain. Nociception frequently occurs without pain being felt and can convey information without conscious awareness. Conversely, but less frequently, a sensation of pain can exist in the absence of nociception. Pain is part of the body's defense system: it triggers mental problem-solving strategies that seek to end the painful experience, and it promotes learning, making repetition of the painful situation less likely. The nociceptive system transmits signals that usually trigger the sensation of pain, it is a critical component of the body's ability to react to damaging stimuli and it is part of a rapid-warning relay instructing the central nervous system to initiate reactions for minimizing injury."

In A Long Way to the Floor, the author tells a story of how our "fight or flight" instinct comes into play during practice. Something brings us "pain" and then we begin to breathe fast, our bodies tense, and we squirm to get out of the pose as quickly as possible. But when we can relax, the pose is like a warm bath.

But what is pain? As I lied there, I could decide what to do with the sensation. Fight, or flight? I had to choose "neither". I had to find a way to step out of the instinct. I was paying these women to do this to me. I had to relax. I wouldn't die. But what is pain?

The ceiling was white. The florescent light was...fluorescent. The pain had a color. Down from bellow the navel, the pain had a long way to travel up my brain. Was the color I just felt purple with silver? Was it green with pale pink? My body and mind were lost in a boat in the ocean.

If this excruciating pain was something that I was willing to sit through, why did I panic in situations that didn't bring the same kind of pain? Like in back bends or hamstring stretches? My house mate and I talked about this for a while. She said pain is something that you are taught how to handle as a child. When something happens to you, you react to how your parents teach you to react. When you fall, you don't scream until a few seconds after the fact. As a child, you waited until your parents screamed, "OOOOhhhh!" and then you opened your mouth and yelled. Or, they smiled at you and said, "you're okay!" and you nodded and said, "I'm okay."

According to the Mayo Clinic's website,

"how you interpret pain messages and tolerate pain can be affected by your:
Emotional and psychological state
Memories of past pain experiences
Upbringing
Attitude
Expectations
Beliefs and values
Age
Sex
Social and cultural influences"

We're dealing with a lot of pain here as students in Mysore. There is the physical pain from asanas, sore muscles, injuries, or stomach problems. There is also the emotional pain from missing family, friends, or significant others. The pain of being lonely.

Pain isn't just one sensation. It has many different feels, from a dull pulse, to a cold sliding sensation. In practice, what pain should we stay with, what pain should we shy away from? In uthplutih, I was in so much "pain" that I was convinced I could not stay up more than 10 breaths. Now, I've realized that it is actually being really uncomfortable with working hard that kept me giving up.

Other times, the "pain" is debilitating. A while back, I went to drop back, and I could feel a small rock stuck in my back. All the muscles seized. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. But even this pain wasn't so much a "hurt" as it was paralyzing. But it was so paralyzing that I felt it intensely in everything I did for a month.

The job was three quarters done when I said, "okay, its good...Next time we finish." Did it hurt too much. No. But I think my brain had had enough of trying to relax into the pain. I had no more energy left with which to do it. One of the women leaves to get more strips. The other continues with the one she has left. As she waits for the wax to cool on my leg, she looks at me and says, "Today is festival. You are my puja!" We both laugh, and she rips the strip taking hundreds of hair from the outside of my calf with it.

They had finished the waxing. I lookeed down the runway to see to women threading the tiny stray hairs using thread between their fingers and teeth. "Madam, " they motioned down. "Is okay?"

The reflective post

Yesterday, I looked at my day planner (imagine), and realized that I have just 25 days left here in Mysore (including today). It is hard for me to imagine coming here for just a month. When I think back at my time here and where I am at now, I feel like it is just not enough time to soak up all of this. Even now I feel like it could all still just be beginning.

I made a list of all things I wanted to do and see before I left. Without this, it could be fairly easy for me to wake up tomorrow and realize its time to go to the airport. I'd like to float somewhere in between.

Despite the happy send-off of a particularly sound night's sleep, practice was completely ridiculous. I was all over the place. It was great. I kept thinking and telling myself not to think, fidgeting, farting (I'm so sorry Petra). It was such a mess. I wore a new pair of pants that kept slipping down my backside. I tried to put my hair in pigtails. It was okay in front of the mirror, but in class, it was a whole other game. (You're probably thinking "who could mess up pigtails?" but that is another story). My rug was sliding around and crumpling up. And it was taking forEVER. I kept thinking "how long is this going to take? Am I going slower than usual?" I was getting antsy. Then, i realized that I was waiting for something--back bends.

No breakthroughs, funny stories, or insights.

"Right side good. You do left side wrong." Saraswati really felt it today and so did I. She let me go for it a second time, but it was the same story. Hovering in the half back bend, my right hand catches really high TECK (that's the sound of grabbing). Then my left hand pathetically writhes in the air. Saraswati grabs it and pulls. I move both hands down to my ankles and readjust my feet so they are parallel. Then she moves my right hand into that notch behind my knee. The left hand next-- "UNNNGGHHHH". Breathe breathe breathe breathe don't panic, relax breathe and inhale stand hello Saraswati smile smile sit fold and squish "aaaaahhhhh"...

Then off to the dressing room to get eaten by mosquitoes and do finishing postures.

You might remember my first class in July. My struggle with headstand and uthplutih? (Picture on right of students in uthplutih at Guruji's 2002 San Francisco tour. You might not be able to tell, but they are balancing on their hands with their knees and seats are off the floor.) Well, I am amazed at the "progress". Headstand has actually become a calming place to look forward to. My arms are still burning, of course, but I can do it for much longer than before. And then there is uthplutih. always a challenge, but I am facing it. 22 breaths every day. Like my teacher once said, "I look up to my third eye, think about God, and the kundalini is like woooosh." She stays there for 40 very slow breaths. I think about a meat hook pulling up my pelvis. I think about breathing from my pelvic floor. I think about how there is no reason to come down and that the sensations I feel aren't really negative. I look up to my third eye and to the ceiling and imagine shooting up, up. Today was really hard, but when I came down, my head was swarming with heat and I was felt amazing.

I picked up this book at Tina's today called It's a long way to the floor by David Byck. I don't remember where I heard about it, but recently it was recommended to me. I thought with all this attention I'm paying to the experience of being here, it would be a really interesting to see what he experienced and maybe compare notes.

Other updates:

I've got 25 items on my "to do before I die list". This has been incredibly therapeutic. With it, I feel encouraged to be honest with myself about what I really want in life and the things that I am afraid to try for. I feel now that my path is very clear, and that in many ways, I've always been on it.

Last week, Petra and I pulled out the "Angel Cards", which are similar to tarot cards, but much more soft, sweet, and feminine. (Petra says I need to embrace my feminine side, so this is a step on that direction. So is talking about my feelings and practicing with Saraswati and with the influx of female students at the shala. Shakti power!)

I was very skeptical about the cards, but they were dead on and very comforting. I asked what my life purpose was. The cards told me that it was time to heal worry and fear, to relax and feel safe. They said I was currently learning how to be peaceful and have tranquility in life. Right now is the time to gather information and concentrate on being a student, and that by staying on this path, my life's purpose will be revealed. Wow.

It is not really the same as having someone read your cards in front of you, but, you can get your cards read online for free by clicking here.

Tomorrow there is no practice because there is a festival, I don't remember who it is for. We also have Saturday off, and its back to led on Sunday. I'm off to pay Shala fees today, and there is talk of some craziness tonight, but it could be a good night for more L Word and Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I have succumbed.

An exorcism of my very own

Practice was so sweet today. My intention was to practice as if I were making sweet yoga love to myself, and it was great. In every pose, in every movement, in every breath and drishti I asked myself, "am I being a good lover? What else can I do to make myself really enjoy this?" And so, being as attentive as possible, I took my time and paid attention to all the details. There was no rush, just me, myself, and I. I had come to this breakthrough as I moved through standing postures. My drishti caught the view of some guy's sweat-covered, hairy white leg and I thought, "why am I letting that (imagine a close up of the wet hairy leg) into my experience?" So I mamde the commitment to try to not just take the practice inward (which is what I already do), but to try to make it a gift for myself. It changed everything.

Backbending was playful today. I did three half wheels, three full wheels, three 1/2 way drop backs, 3 drop backs, and then I waited for Saraawati. There were quite a few other people waiting, and so I thought, "why not do some more? this is supposed to be fun, right?" So I kept doing drop backs and halfways until she made her way to me. By the time we did drop backs together, I felt like I was able to step back from the original shock and sensation of the first back bends. I was able to quietly observe what was happening. I could feel all the tightness running up the left side of my body.

half wheel

full wheel

drop backs

ankle grabbing

Last night I had decided that I was going to Kumar to work out whatever was stuck inside me. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I was really looking for was permission to explore whatever it is that is in there. I didn't have my own transomatic therapy session last night, but I did realize that I need to create the space and time to do it sometime soon.

I am going to have an exorcism.

I'm not sure what to do, but I was thinking low lights, candles, something to set the mmood. Then maybe force myself to start crying. I might keep a notebook to draw or write, but I think I also need to give myself permission to speak, if need be. (The poor demon has got to go somewhere). Then maybe I'll start with thinking back before I was born, when my parents first met, and just cry about it. And then think slowly about my existence from there, again cryiong about it. I'd like to think of it as an deep emotional massage.

I did something like this unintentionally a few years ago. After High School, I travelled in Europe for a while by myself. One night in a hostel I just started to cry. I was thinking about how all the people around me were the age that my parents were when they got married and had me. And I realized that they were and are just people like me. I took out my notebook and wrote a letter to my dad telling him all thhe things I was mad at him for over the years, but also that I forgave him as a person because althoughh I could never condone his actions, I could have compassion for another human being. For me, that was enough to finally have peace and be able to cultivate a relationship without anger or hate. (My parents had a nasty divorce when I was young and my relationship wioth my father was not fun.)

I can remember now how incredible it felt to lift that weight off me. I wonder what I can dig up now...I might just go to Kummar. We'll see.

Rachel and I were talking about drop backs as an eploration of our inner selves (sometimes I have moments of deep insight and clarity...cometimes.) Dropping back tends to be a little easier for people. Its about being able to go backwards, to look back and face your life's path thus far. ITs about seeing where youa re and facing how you got there. Staning up is really hard. It comes and goes. Standing up is about confidence and letting go. Its about moving forward from where you are. Its a leap. As we rab our ankles, we close the circuit, creating a circle. We hover in that state of both backwards and forwrds without clinging to either. (At first, we find it difficult to straighten our legs, so we are still a bit stuck in the going back part.) Then come the tick tocks, where we are able to play and dance with that cosmic cycle.

I'm working out the kinks on the left side of my body. Sometimes we are able to hide things inside, but eventually we hit a pose that exposes them, and this is it. Today I saw the little demon, and I said, "you're coming out!"

And really, there is an uncanny resemblence between all those backbends you saw above and the lady in this video. (You have to watch this! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uibyXiMhU8

"The power of christ compels you!"

*Disclaimer: there is something wrong with my blogger program right now, so I know there are a bunch of typos and formatting issues, sorry!

Note to self: learn to live

I didn't know what the world trade center was when the planes hit them in 2001. I was sitting at a computer in high school doing a math program while listening to either Pink Floyd "Dark side of the moon" or DJ Shadow "Preemptive strike" ( which is incredibly ironic now that I think about it). All the classrooms had a TV so that we could watch a Pepsi-sponsored news program every morning. On this particular day, one of the other students was up on a chair flipping through static until she had come upon news coverage on the crashes. She was shouting "a plane hit a building!" I took off my headphones, looked at the screen, put the head phones back on and thought, "fuck, this is not going to be good for anyone."

It was such a scary time in the US. Not because of the fear of terrorists, but because of the violent reaction against "foreigners" in the US. Everyone was talking about revenge without even thinking at all about what actually happened. First it was "terrorists", then "Osama bin Laden", then "Sadam Hussein". It all happened so fast, and I just remember how completely helpless I felt against this incredible ignorant anger that was driving the masses so intensely during that time.

I didn't know anyone who passed away. I grew up in the Southwest US, in a city in the middle of the desert. Its easy to stay in that little bubble, and many people never come out. You can read the local newspaper, but the "world" section is maybe a page long and it only has the information that the powers that be want you to know. (Its a red state). You really have to go that extra mile to see and understand the world. Most people really can't be bothered.

When I moved to New York, I met so many people whose lives were touched by that day. Its very difficult to imagine the kind of fear that they experienced.

What you begin to learn is that life is always both happy and sad, pleasant and painful. And maybe in places like India the contrast between things is so strong, that you can't help that it can get in your bones.

Today in Mysore we went to the Muslim Quarter. We were sitting in an herbal remedy shop smelling oils and watching a woman making incense. One of the men who worked there said, "this is a very sad day for people." At first I didn't catch what he was talking about, but then I realized that this man sitting in the back of this tiny dilapidated shop, in the middle of the Muslim quarter, with a tattered shirt and hands that have seen years of manual labor was talking about 9/11. He explained sadly that 3 young men from Mysore were killed in the attacks. He went further saying where they worked, what they were doing, and what floor they were on.

When you sit in a shop, they usually send someone to go get you chai, you don't have to ask for it. It comes in these small shot glasses that are either metal or glass. I didn't want mine, and was happily surprised when they gave it to the woman making incense. The incense "factory" is this old woman sitting on the floor, hand rolling thousands of sticks of incense per day. I was there around 2 o'clock, and they showed me the massive pile she had already finished.

Guruji and his family were visiting New York City in 2001 to teach workshops when the planes hit the twin towers. I wonder how many people were at those workshops instead of at work that day.

This morning at breakfast someone said "hey, does anyone want a puppy?" I said "no thanks, not again." I overheard them talking about how there was a little newborn puppy walking down the street outside with the umbilical chord hanging from its belly.

Some things that you see are so haunting you don't know what to do with the image. It stays with you like a dull, acrid smell. Its like a tickle. It doesn't feel good, it actually hurts, but you don't know how to react so you laugh.

Yesterday I volunteered at a local high school. The volunteer teacher I was assisting explained to me that the students attending the school were those who had dropped out of their original school and were somehow tracked down and recruited to this one. They still have to pay though. (When I told someone what area the school was in, they said that that was "real India", unlike Gokulum which is like the Beverly Hills of Mysore). Waiting in the main teacher's office, I sat on a bench and stared at the ceiling. It was made of corrugated cement. I wondered how they got it up there. The walls had been painted, but were now cracked and peeling and I think they were a shade of pale green or maybe they were pink. There were stacks of paper every where that looked one hundred years old. It was very hot. In the corner was a very old metal fan that wasn't on. There were pictures of men on the wall, one of them was Gandhi. There was one window where two young boys had cupped their hands over their eyes to see in through the netting and bars. They waved at us and were grinning while they shouted "hello!"

We were divided up and walked to the classrooms we were assigned. This was the first time I felt like I was in a third world country. Here I was, the stereotypical westerner standing in a dilapidated classroom teaching English to a group of enthusiastic 13 year olds in matching blue uniforms as the shouted "your name?!" and "your country?!"

You never hear babies crying. A friend said that they saw a family of beggars, a man, a woman, a couple of kids, and a baby on someone's back. The family looked very sad and had their hands out, ready to receive whatever people had to give. The baby was laughing and smiling.

"This baby has nothing, and it is so happy!" my friend recalled. "No toys, no nothing. And still, it is so happy..."

Yoga is not just going inside. Sometimes we crawl up inside ourselves. We walk up the stairs to the top floor and stay there all day examining the contents of each room, briefly looking outside for a moment. But this is not yoga. As hard as it is, we have to get up, descend the stairs, brace ourselves, and walk through that front door where the world is waiting. What makes our lives meaningful are those small moments that we share with each other, and these may never come again. Anything could happen at any moment. If there is one thing that is good about pain its that it teaches us in a simple and direct way that we are here, we are alive, and we are so lucky for all of it.

This is for all those who lost their lives that day, all those who didn't pass but still lost their lives, and those who need a reminder to wake up because we are here to live.

I am and I can

As I began my back bends, in the back of my mind, I knew that I didn't want to do ankle grabbing. "I" could have been my body, it could have been my mind. Who knows? I usually enjoy the exhilaration of back bends, but this past week has been very difficult. I waited for a long time for Saraswati to help me with drop backs. She is on it though. There is probably 70+ students in there, and she is jumping from one person to another without skipping a beat. I don't mind waiting for drop backs. Today I had these sick head rushes that I've had at different points in my life and I had forgotten about them until today. It was nice to just be able to stand there, shuffle my feet, hold my head, and scream from the inside.

I waited for a long time. Part of me wanted to say "forget it" and sit down to start finishing. But another part of me said, "just wait. Just keep waiting. You'll be okay." When she came over, I said, "please no ankles today, my back hurts." (I said "hurts" because it gets the point across quickly even though that wasn't really the problem.) Saraswati smiled and nodded and latched her hands firmly onto my hips. One, two, three times back half way.

"I think it will be okay, actually," I said. She already knew. I went back the fourth time and took my breathed. When I stood up, I wanted so badly to give her a hug, but I didn't. I think she probably would have been okay with it though. In the past, Guruji would give you a hug for a little while after deep back bends. I swear she lingered a little longer than usual in the paschimottonasana stretch (which helps counterbalance the back bend).

Later as I thought about these few moments on the mat, I realized that this whole trip has been a slow, steady process of learning, painfully at times, to let go. And here, practicing like this, the relentless demand on my body and on my mind, there is nothing left for me to do but surrender. I'm slowly letting go of the need to absolutely control what I eat. I'm okay with eating with my hands. I don't freak out when ants are the place mat my plate is resting on. I'm brushing my teeth with tap water. I'm okay sitting on a wet toilet seat (this is huge). But in other ways too, I'm learning how to be softer and be easier with myself. In many ways, life has been like this. A gradual process of unpeeling layers, getting closer and closer to my true nature. I don't know what that is, but I feel on one hand I'm closer than I can ever remember, and on the other, part of me is ready to believe that maybe I am already that.

It seems strange to say that. That I don't know my true nature, or that I can't recognize it sometimes. Maybe you don't go through that. Maybe you've never thought about it, maybe you have. Maybe you've figured it out. Maybe no one ever will. But I feel that many painful moments I have come when I lose that vision of myself. In many ways my friend, Rachel, is exploring this in a book she's working on. (Check out her blog: http://www.embodiedmovement.blogspot.com/.)

Often I notice how I forget that I am here inhabiting physical space. John says that small children think from their bellies (when they have an earache and a doctor asks them where it hurts, they will often rub their bellies). In this way, I think that whatever I'm going through emotionally is hanging our in my stomach.

The stomach is the location of the 3rd chakra (pictured), which is associated with how we feel about ourselves. (This site has a lot of really useful info on this!) It is also where we store the energy we need to take charge of our lives. One damages the third chakra by harboring anger (even if we don't know its there), or by wishing "our lives were different without taking any action to change circumstances". An underdeveloped third chakra can manifest itself in having "a fear of life, in general". (It might not seem like it, being as I'm in India, but it took a lot for me to get here. I never thought of myself as fearing life, but the more I think about the way I usually do things, the more I realize that I have a giant condom over my body. I feel like slowly this has been less and less, but it is still there.) A malfunctioning third chakra can show up in mid-body obesity (that has always been an issue, relatively speaking), intestinal disorders, and liver problems.

Okay, so what to do if your third chakra is out of whack?

Realize that you are where you need to be.

Be your own best friend.

realize that nothing is permanent, that you are not stuck.

Realize that dammit, you are not fat, so stop asking!

Do the things that you really want to do.

take the necessary actions to make our dreams come true.

Realize that I am here, alive, and healthy, surrounded by good people, with food, and a place to sleep. But really really really realize it.

Truly let go of anger and the comfort in being sad.

Laugh.

Back in New York, earlier this year, I had a small breakdown in class. I had just come up from grabbing my ankles when I was filled to the brim with an overwhelming feeling of, "I can't". I'm not sure if you remember what this feels like when you are a small child. I didn't until that day. It is absolutely paralyzing. You are so frustrated you want to scream, you want to cry, you want to rip off the soles of your feet and scratch holes into your cheeks. I was filled with an intense, childlike feeling of, "I can't". I waddled to the back of the room , threw down my mat, lied down and fought back tears. I laid there for a few moments, then sat up and walked out. Just like that.

I probably was under the impression that that moment was in the past, that I had gone through it and that it was gone. But based on this last week, and today's resistance in particular, I think that this is not the case. It is so strange feeling like I have no control over a thought like this. Maybe it needs to just come out and I should sit in my room and cry about it and let the frustration happen so that it is out once and for all. Maybe.

And here we are, back at the same realization that keeps on coming up:

Yoga is the cessation of the thinking mind. Then the seer abides in his own true nature.

(yoga sutras, book 1, numbers 2 & 3)

Its a beautiful day outside. I think I'm going to go volunteer at the school. I'm not sure what they do. I think they teach english. I think it would be good to get out of my head, and into the world...

Tomorrow is a moonday, so there will be no classes held.

For Eric, who I miss terribly:

Led with Saraswati

This morning took the prize for the hardest, most painful wake up, thus far. I think I read somewhere in a kundalini book that three months is as long as it takes to form a habit. In other words, three months is enough time to make lasting changes to oneself. (Maybe that's not the exact number, but maybe it is.) People say that you get used to waking up at 3:30am, that its not so bad. I don't know. I've been doing this for almost a month now and I feel like it is not getting any easier, even with th magic goop. The first couple of weeks you are going on pure adrenaline. Now the adrenaline is gone and the real test begins.

Everything was an excuse to not leave the house.

I'm tired.

I deserve a day off.

I don't hear my roommate awake.

I can't take a shit.

Etc.

These excuses continued as I locked the front door. They followed me as I closed the gate. "Please give us Saraswati today". Down the block they were humming in my ear. I was very late today (4:50) and was surprised to see that there was a crowd of students waiting at the Shala gates. "Maybe they'll cancel class." I knelt down and buried my face between my knees falling into a quick momentary sleep. The lights turned on, the keys turned in the door, the students stood up, the gates opened, and we all shuffled inside.

Saraswati was right on time. She led the opening chant (which I've never heard from her before and was very cool) and began sun salutations. I was amazed by how much her style of teaching the led class reflected her presence as a person. The pace was smooth and even. I reflected on this even as I fought back the little voice in my head telling me it was okay to pull up my mat and go back home to sleep. I just kept telling myself to just breathe and just practice and tried not to think about the fact that it is normal for people to be sleeping at that time. The led class was 1 hour 35 minutes, which is quite longer than usual. It was hard, but really really good.

In case you read this and find yourself in India trying to figure out when to go and eat, please remember the following:

If you want lunch, you've got to go eat before 3:30. If not, the full menu isn't served until after 7:30. The only exception is Anu's, they serve dinner at 5pm. You can still go to a restaurant during that time, but they only serve greasy snacks. Last night we wanted a proper meal and were almost in tears when we couldn't get it. Dramatic, I know.

Tuesday we have off for the moon day. I also think this may be Saraswati's birthday, but I'm not sure. We will also have Friday off for a festival day ( for the Indians, not us). Some people balk when they find out that you're supposed to take Saturdays, moondays, and three days for your period to rest. But when you're practicing intensely 6 days a week (and waking up at 3:30am), you will be as thankful as I feel right now!

In the sun I feel as one

Last night my house mate and I watched a surfing movie called "Step into liquid". I remembered back when I ran away to Europe and how I planned my destinations based on the weather. Its very funny to me that I ended up in New York, the city of perpetual overcast skies and cold winter weather. I really go months without seeing the sun. I always told myself I'd buy some of those anti-winter depression lights, but was too depressed to leave the house to get them...

Other things that can make me really happy on a dark winter day locked up in my apartment in New York: loud loud music (I didn't bring my ipod), Eric (he's in New York), talking with my old friend Rae (time difference makes this difficult). Looks like I'm assed out with only my self to deal with. That was kind of the point though, wasn't it? Eliminating distractions? Learning to be with myself comfortably? Learning to be alone?

I went to bed last night seriously considering hopping a plane to a beach and learning how to surf. (I decided to add that to my list of things to do before I die, by the way.) This morning I slept in (what a relief). A friend came over an made french toast, which we greedily devoured. She also brought the sun with her! I went outside to see if it was true, and indeed, it was a pool day!

I spent a few hours alternating between dipping in the pool and sleeping on a chair. There weren't that many yoga students there, but there was an Indian family, which was unusual. Shortly after we got in the pool, we were asked by the staff to tie back out hair. I didn't mind, but I asked when this policy was put into place. The guy said "today". But then he made up some convoluted story about someone being in the hospital from eating hair that they got in their mouth from swimming in the pool. I'm serious, he said this. I told him that that was complete bullshit and that if they wanted us to tie back our hair they should just say so. Apparently you aren't supposed to let your hair down here. I didn't really know this, and so it may explain the special attention I get on occasion. I think the Indian family were a bit disgusted with our hair being all mermaid in the pool. It is so funny. Bikinis are okay, but you have to put your hair back.

I found myself missing Eric terribly as I sat by the pool today. Less people, less distractions, more time to think about these things. This morning as I sat in our living room watching bbc, my house mate came and sat down. She grabbed the bag of homemade chocolate from up the block.

"Chocolate for breakfast?" I asked.

"I don't know...I miss my boyfriend." she said. I know. I've been eating an unreal amount of chocolate over the last week. That has got to stop.

I though I'd mention here that there are other ashtanga teachers here in Mysore that people study with. Last night, we went to a kirtan at Ajay's, and it reminded me that many people might not know about this.

The other ashtanga teachers of mysore

Sheshadri: He is known for his really crazy adjustments. He does adjustment trainings for teachers, which are supposed to be really good. There is a little cafe at his shala where they make really nice soup.

BNS Iyengar: Old-school teacher. Also teaches pranayama and philospohy to students.

Ajay: Young teacher (he's in his 20s I think). Does amazing adjustment trainings I hear. People really love him.

I've heard that tomorrow's led class will be Sharath's last for the season...

Miracle goop in all the glory (Yesterday's post)

Today was possibly the last class with Sharath until January (you don't really know what will happen from day to day though). All the students were told to go to the 5am class. I arrived at 10 till and there were plenty of spaces still. It is nice not having a feeling of panic when the alarm goes off in the morning. At the same time, that feeling of panic was getting me out the door, unlike now, when the combination of dreary weather and whatever have made me the queen of snooze.


I rolled to my side and grabbed the jar of Chyawanprash from the nightstand. Opening the top, I stuck my finger into the jar, wiping up some of the spicy brown goop. Everyone here has a jar of the stuff. I didn't see the need for it, but people here swear by it. (A friend once told me that they went to start their practice and were like "fuck! I forgot the Chyawanprash!" This same person also said they don't go to practice unless they take a shit first...) Everyone says it helps you breathe deeper and gives you a kick in your practice. I'm not one to jump on trends, so I didn't care about it. But then, I saw a mention about how it is good for asthma and thought, I'm going to try this, so I went to Nilgriris and bought it. And, you know, I really feel a difference.

Chyawanprash is brown with the consistency of jam, but thicker. It is kind of sweet, but infused with many different very strong spice flavors that can be a bit overwhelming. You have a spoonful every day and that's it. The jar says that it is packed with vitamin C and that it promotes over all well being, helps fight colds, helps you fly, see through people, that sort of thing.


But I've been trying a lot of new things lately.



If you can be bothered, there are lots of things you can do here in Mysore to fill your days. I was going to Jayashree, as you already know, for chanting. There is also a sanskrit and yoga sutra class held here at the Shala. You can take music lessons (you can tell when there is someone new because sometimes you'll hear that same beginner's scale by someone learning the flute with Ravi). You can take cooking classes. Anu holds them once in a while, as does Tina. Over at Rishi's and Shailah's they'll teach them if you book. You can take classical Indian dance called Odissi (pictured) or painting classes. You can work on your health and go to every different type of doctor you can find. (A friend just got back from the homeopathic doctor and had a full visit for 75 rupees.) You can work on your inner being with meditation classes at Kumar's. ( he does Osho meditations and transomatic therapy. more on that later).You can live at the salon and get something new everyday. You can get every type of massage or body work that you want. Or, you can take a course to learn how to perform traditional thai massage yourself. And this brings us to today, where I am a guinea pig for Enzo's traditional thai massage training.



A traditional thai massage is made up of a sequence of manipulations that are performed on the patient. In this training, they are slowly going through the sequence. Today, they had just finished the belly and were going to begin on the back, which was actually just what I needed with all the drama from yesterday. Enzo is really funny. He has a reputation for being an intense guy, but he just seemed really focused today. Anyway, he's working on my back and at a certain point says "look at this. She is so flexible. Its disgusting!" This type of massage is often described as yoga for lazy people. They don't really massage muscles like you would expect in a deep tissue massage (although your muscles will get attention), instead, they take you through different postures to help open your energy channels. (That's not the greatest explanation, I know, so do us all a favor and check the link above or go out and get one!) So, as he took me through back bends like you see above, I was of course, really open. I mean, I do this stuff every day!


I said they worked on an area that I really needed, and I got it. After Enzo demonstrated the sequence once, he went through it again so they could see if they missed anything. Then, two of the students also performed the sequence. Afterwards, I was in another place.


Somehow, Enzo got on the topic of how we store emotions in our bodies. (Coincidence?) He was saying how we all go through things at one point or other that we don't fully deal with and so we put it in a drawer somewhere inside ourselves. Sometimes we open the drawer later on, sometimes not. Sometimes, body work brings it out. He told us how he had a couple of violent reactions from people he was performing massages on from the release of a stored memory or emotion that was too intense for them to deal with.


Later today, Rachel went to a transomatic therapy session with Kumar. When I fist got to India, I remember hearing about people going to these and having crazy psychedelic experiences. Basically, Kumar puts you into a trance-like state and you go on a journey together exploring what the source is for a pain you have in your body or another issue you've got going on. Always the skeptic, I was unconvinced by the whole thing. Then again, you'll never see me at a therapist either. However, being as Rachel is doing some serious research into this sort of thing, she had to go. She told me that she was also skeptical, but that her first session was pretty incredible. And tonight, she had a session that she wasn't supposed to speak after.

Thinking, thinking

Sharath: "Too much thinking" (taps temple)

Me: "What?"

Sharaht: "Back bends easy no thinking."

Me: "huh!"

Sharath: "Now take ankles"

Me: "huuuuhn!"

Really works, too...

This is an excerpt by Charles Benson from Mysore Style Photographs by Graeme Montgomery

Thinking, thinking, always thinking. My entire practice was us here *points to head*. Its funny how we do not see ourselves how we really are. For instance, physically, I don't really know what I look like or how I take up space. I run into walls sometimes. In practice today I kept telling myself "this is so hard" and "I feel so weak". And in the next breath something inside me said "you are crazy. You do this everyday. you are very strong. You are here doing it. This is all in your mind. Just breathe. Just breathe."

This little check in held me off for a while, until back bending. Things can often run, but can't hide. Back bends are very honest. Everything was fine until ankle grabbing. I just gave up. Sharath took me to my calves and was inching my hands up to my knees, he was pushing my elbows toward each other, but I was struggling. My feet were turned out very far, my knees were bent. And then I just let go and stood up. I gave up. "Bad day" I told him as I sat down to get squished.

Now that I think about it, I was thinking through the entire practice. Not thoughts about how I looked or about people around me. No, these were thoughts deep inside my muscles and bones. Who am I ? Where am I going? What am I doing? What am I going to do? etc. All these thoughts were swimming in my body and when I went into the ultimate back bend, there wasn't enough space to stretch because all the thoughts were floating around making the skin over my front body tight.

I've heard of this posture also being called chakrasana. A chakra is an energy center.. You have a few of them running up your spine. Each one is associated with different aspects of your being. Sometimes you are really open and your chakras are really clear, but usually, you have some sort of issue in one or another (we're only human, right?). So you could imagine that in this back bend, all the chakras are opening up like huge pours. But imagine that the chakras are clogged and that was me today feeling them getting squeezed. But these are very difficult pimples. the kind that look like they are ready, but you couldn't get them just yet. Maybe tomorrow.

I pulled up my mat and weaved through the other students who were practicing. I opened the door to the women's dressing room, which was completely dark. I rolled out my mat, rolled out my body and felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I wasn't in physical pain. Well, if we are human, than we are physical, and so I suppose that technically, all pain is physical pain, but this was not a pain that I would go to a chiropractor for. The feeling that you get in your throat when you're about to cry is what I felt in my back. A dull ache filled with water that you know you must release.

I wouldn't recommend ashtanga yoga to anyone. It is hard, it is painful. (I once read that David Swenson would never tell anyone to practice ashtanga, but that if people came for it, he would teach it. I didn't understand that until today.) It isn't about asanas or getting the perfect body. What happens is that you are given a pipe cleaner and a bunch of fun looking poses. So you do the poses and when you're not looking, the pipe cleaner goes about cleaning out any baggage you have stored in your body and in your mind. Sometimes you notice a little but don't really mind, sometimes you don't notice at all. But then there are those times that you wake up and realize that the poses were just a trick and now you are completely vulnerable and stuck in a posture and the pipe cleaner gets to reach all those places you don't ever want to face. Its like when you go to the doctor and they tell you to look the other way but you know the bastard is trying to give you a shot in the arm. Sometimes this practice is like volunteering for a bad trip on LSD.

Practice is really easy when you're not thinking. It is really easy on days when you are happy. On days you are not, those are the days when you need it the most. I think Sharath knows this. I think he can see what we are going through by the way we are inhabiting our bodies. That is the magic of ashtanga. You are doing the same thing every day, but every day your body is so completely different. Sharath has been back bending me almost every day for 2 months. He had to feel the massive change this week in my body.

You've seen those commercials about depression. There is that one "cymbalta" commercial where they talk about how depression hurts. "Depression hurts, cymbalta can help". It is true. Our bodies store different emotions.

Many yoga teachers tell students that we store memories in our hips. But we store other things in other places. Int that Ashtanga Yoga: Practice and Philosophy book I told you about a couple days ago, Maehle says that anger is stored in the hamstrings, extreme stiffness is because of mental rigidity, extreme flexibility is an inability to take a position in life and to set boundaries, and emotional pain is stored in the heart. (Symbol of heart chakra on right). The more you get into ashtanga, the more you'll hear about people crying in back bends. Maehle says that the emotional pain stored there leads to the crying. I thought of this as I sat on my mat with the dull ache of crying in my throat.

Maele writes:

"Since our body is our vehicle and the storehouse of our past, we want to practice asana to the point where it serves us well, while releasing and letting go of the past that is stored in it."

Sharath is right. Thinking makes back bending hard. Some days it is easy to let go of our thoughts. Other days I feel like I'm being dragged behind a carriage led by 12 horses. So what to do? "Practice, practice, all is coming."

I've got to meditate, so tie up the cat

Through every vinyasa today I had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. Hovering in bhujapidasana with my chin on the floor, my bandhas lifting, my hands planted, my chest expanding, swet dripping down my nose, I could hear one voice in my head saying "ooooh my shoulder" and "I'm tired" and then the next moment, another voice saying "no, I love this! This is great! Rock and Roll!" And then somewhere I just got sick of it and was like "just shut up, will ya!?" And then it all stopped and I was just practicing.

Sharath has a running joke with me about the quality of my mat. I bought a cheap pvc mat while I was here. I didn't bring mine from home because I couldn't be bothered to carry it ( I like to pack light). Also, people said you could buy anything here and I don't like to get too attached to things like the spot I practice in, a yoga outfit, or a mat. I bought a mat when I got here at Sudha's on the Shala road for 300 ruppees, I think.

Its like this story I read about the monks who had a cat and no one could meditate because the cat would be jumping all over everyone. So every day, before meditation, someone would go out and tie up the cat and then they would go meditate. It went like this for years, until one day, the cat died and the monks realize they can't meditate because tying up the cat had become part of the ritual of meditating.

So I got to back bending, did my drop backs, did the ankle grabbing. As I went to sit down, Sharath said, "I'm saving money...to buy you a new mat!" Every few days he says something like this. But I don't know where he expects me to buy a new mat here. He had pointed to the mat belonging to the girl next to me and said, "like that." But, really, where are you going to buy a Manduka mat in mysore?

I was riding on the back of a friend's bike closing my eyes and enjoying the motions of the ride and the wind on my face when she stopped short and said, "fucking Indians don't know how to drive!" In that moment, I realized how used to India I have become. On the car ride from Bangalore to Mysore when I first arrived, I was so in awe of everything. Even though I wanted to sleep, I couldn't. I wanted to remember every street sign, every face, every color and smell. Today I looked around on the bike and tried to separate things that I saw that were different from life back home and things that were the same. I saw the billboards, the quality of the images, the wording. The people by the side of the road, a woman braiding her daughter's hair on the corner. The rickshaws, the smell of exhaust. The fear I had the first time I sat on the back of a bike.

Driving in India is very unique. You don't look back, you just drive. You have to be 100% mindful to watch what's happening in front of you, but you never look back. You honk your horn to let everyone know you're coming or passing by, or that you see them. Or you honk your horn because it feels really good to scream. You don't get mad when someone honks at you or passes you or cuts you off. It just means that that is their pace and this is yours and you're just doing it.

I miss vegetables. Leafy greens. Broccoli.