David Williams New York Ashtanga Yoga Workshop*

"You are enlightened until you think that you aren't."
-David Williams

(Photo from David's website http://www.ashtangayogi.com/)

Last night I attended the first night of David Williams' workshop entitled, "Ashtanga Yoga for the rest of your life" at Yoga Sutra NYC.

As people scrambled for floor space and David climbed up on to the makeshift stage/altar/podium, he overheard someone in the crowd mentioning chakrasana. "Did I hear chakrasana?" he asks. As he shifts the pillow behind him, he says under his breath with a smile (just loud enough for everyone to hear) that he wouldn't be teaching chakrasana or setubandhasana this weekend because he "doesn't want to take the chance of even one person getting injured". He emphasizes that when he was taught these asanas, he was personally and individually watched by Guruji (imagine!) who having seen him practice for some time, thought these would be safe. (As many of us have seen in classes, many people do these moves wrong and occasionally badly injure their necks.) He then adds that he felt that it would be irresponsible for him to have a group of 60 people of all ages and all conditions, most of whom he has never seen practice before, try this. And this is what the workshop is all about--doing yoga for the rest of your life. He jokes, "I'm 58 years old and hoping to live to 108...We are all just one injury away from ending our yoga." So, David asks, if yoga helps us live happy, long lives, then why would we want to get injured if that will prevent and discourage us from practicing?

I was surprised by how open, candid, direct, specific, and humorous David was. He was a far cry from the "conservative ashtangi" stereotype, but at the same time, has been a daily practitioner of ashtanga yoga and has stayed true to Guruji's original teachings. This got me thinking about why we are practicing and why ashtanga has at times such an ill-fitting reputation...

Below, please find some of my notes from last night. I've done my best to be as accurate as possible. (This info was updated on 3/10/8.)

"When people say I'm disciplined [to have been practicing every day for decades], I think about how as a kid you are disciplined when you are bad. I practice because I am fascinated."

The Notes
1. On pain & "openings":
Pain
David explains that there is no benefit in hurting yourself and that "if it hurts you are doing it wrong."
"Hurting yourself more won't make you hurt less."

Openings
"Openings" are injuries and are to be avoided.
"I hope you don't have any more openings," he says.
"The average person over 30 who practices daily will get about 80% as stretched out as they are going to get within about two years of practice. Stretching should be slow and gradual to prevent tears. One doesn't just keep getting looser and looser forever."

2. On what yoga is:
"I want everything to increase my prana."
The purpose of yoga is to increase prana which is the energy, vitality, and immunity.
Nothing decreases prana more than injury.
"The form of a pose does not increase prana, only correct breathing, mulhabandha and one pointed concentratrion do."
"Ankle grabbing doesn't lead to enlightenment."
"Yoga is consciousness, awareness, and sensitivity, not just putting your leg behind your head."
Yoga is about increasing prana (imunities to dis-ease) and feeling good.

3. On daily practice (even if you are sick):
There is a 24 hour expiration on the benefits of yoga, meaning that you have to do it everyday.
If you are sick, its good to move, even just a little, that, and to swim in the ocean. (Does the East River count?)
Instead of doing one long practice, you should do a few small ones.
If injured or hurt, it is also important to keep moving, unless of course, something brings pain.

4. On Mulhabandha:
"Don't be confused by that other book," I think he is referring to "Moola Bandha, the Master Key". He says that you just have to contract your anus and ladies, also your vagina. That's it. "This is the whole practice." He explained how to find mulahbandha by putting one hand on the belly and one on the sternum. Take a few breaths here feeling the breath in the body and not doing any bandhas. Then, contract your anus and vagina (if you've got one) and breathe. Notice that the low belly is firm. Re-establish the bandha on exhales. This is what you should do during the whole practice. He also said that people who have what looks like big guts are often just stretching out their belly muscles during practice and aren't applying the bandhas properly.

Still digesting the info from last night, but thought I should share some notes in the meantime.

To read more on David Williams (he is fascinating) please check the following links:

David's website http://www.ashtangayogi.com/ is an excellent resource. In it you can find his biography, info on ashtanga, his teaching schedule, etc. But you will also find articles, a q&a forum, and pictures of the entire system of ashtanga yoga as taught to him by Guruji. For those of you in Ontario, be sure to check him out! March 13 - 16 at Orleans Yoga Shala http://www.oys.ca/.

Guy Donahaye at Ashtanga Yoga Sangha has revamped the original Ashtanga Yoga Shala website to include a forum, videos (of the old shala, very cool!), and interviews with notable members of the ashtanga community. His interview of David Williams is one of many that he has conducted as part of his upcoming film project...
http://aysnyc.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=97&Itemid=160

"While you are doing your yoga, try to be a yogi."

*Edited on 3/10/8 with the help of none other than David Williams. Thanks!
Edited on 3/11/8.

Tittibhasana - A User's Manual

"Be careful what you wish for."

These are the words my teacher says to me with a smile as I stand there after practice, still shaking. Today I got Tittibhasana.

Now this is one of those poses (or clusters of poses, really) that I never EVER really thought I would be doing. I mean, there is always the fantasy of me floating through the air in fifth series postures, but I know that they aren't ever going to happen--except they did today.

I hung out in yoganidrasana as long as possible. Just breathing, hoping I don't know, maybe to hide? Yesterday Guy said that I'd get Tittibhasana today. "No new poses on Tuesdays," he laughs. All day I was thinking to myself how he is crazy and there is no way that that is ever going to happen. At the same time, he gives poses out about as frequently as Sharath, so if you get a pose, you know you are ready for it. Still, I was convinced I might break in half this time.

So there I am in yoganidrasana. I didn't get an adjustment, so I figured I might slip by. I did chakrasana, took a few breaths in downdog and then I heard it, "jump your legs around your arms." Its funny how you always know when your teacher is talking to you, even if it is across the room.

1.) How to jump legs around arms so they land high? I can jump them, but I feel like I can't get my arms deep enough under my thighs. Maybe I should just jump to handstand and then lower down from a straddle on Sunday. Yes, that's what I'll do, no problem.

5 breaths here in Tittibhasana (with pointed toes), then swing legs to the floor around hands.

2.) Feet were too wide apart. They need to be pretty close in to the hands. Maybe squeeze thighs together a bit more?

Then lock hands behind waist and look to navel without falling over. Don't know if my legs were straight. There was just so much going on. And I was laughing involuntarily almost the entire time. 5 breaths here. Then walk.

3. Figuring out how to walk was pretty challenging. The first steps were not steps at all, just little shuffles. Then, I got a momentum. Inhale step right exhale step left. My fingernails were digging into my fingers. My thighs were burning. 5 breaths later, I have to now walk backwards. By this time, I can feel the blood rushing to my thighs. I can feel them turning into jelly. I am struggling to recall the last time I was working this hard. I am covered in sweat. I think I lose my grip and come up for air. I say something like "oh my god!" And then dive back in to finish walking back. I can feel the whole class watching me, I feel like I'm giving childbirth I'm making so much noise. I complete 5 breaths and Guy says, "One more!". I huff and puff and take one more right and left step back. Then the feet come together. I stand up for air. My legs are useless at this point.

4. Saving enough energy to bring heels together, interlace hands around tops of feet, look to navel, AND not fall over. 5 very quick breaths and faith in a teacher later, titibasana. I sigh heavily, probably say, "THANK YOU!" again. I rock back onto my hands, lift my feet, struggle to lift my jello legs, bakasana, jump back. "Next time 5 breaths tittibhasana and bakasana and then jump back". I look at him and say, "That was so hard! You got me this time! I had no idea!" He just smiles. I lie down with all circuits firing. The rest is a blur in the wake of tittibhasana. Back bending, finishing, resting.

I never really thought I'd be doing leg behind the head stuff with confidence, but it is true, just a few weeks later and my neck is a million times stronger. After the initial shock wheres off, my muscles and mind will remember that these poses are possible. Slowly slowly.

Be careful what you wish for.

David Williams is in town for a weekend workshop. I've got a pass for the first night's talk which is not to be missed (and a bit of chat time for the magazine). This is also during the time I am supposed to teach a brand new class. What to do? Sub it out and make a totally bad impression? Teach it and miss out on meeting a legend? What to do?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWdO7RmTs5M

Oh, youtube, how I love you! This is a video I found on youtube posted by ashtangaboi. Enjoy!

Sick? No fever = practice!

The consensus seems to be: no fever equals practice. Since I look to my ashtanga practice as my medicine, I figure I should follow what the instructions on the bottle say... But, I also told myself that it I really felt like shit this morning (fever or not), I would rest, as I don't want this dragging on for weeks.

When my alarm went off, I did a little "check in" with my body. Vital signs good. Heavy congestion. Diagnosis? Hit snooze and move slow. Seven minutes later, I am convinced that although sleepy, I am feeling better and only congested. I take a shower. I do neti. Some yellow boogers and blood-speckled phlegm later, I eat some chywanaprash. By this point, I'm feeling okay. I bundle up and head out the door.

It is a nice day outside, and at 6:30am, it is getting lighter. About halfway to the subway I get dizzy and realize what the @#$% am I doing out of bed? But can't seem to turn my feet around. Too much effort to change mind. Get to subway station. Hips hurt. Wait for train slumped in a seat. Debating whether or not to call a cab. Train comes. Get on. Reassure self that it is okay. Take bus to shala. Walk through park. Wondering what to practice. Second only? Modified? Not really caring either way. Feeling like I'm sitting inside an egg shell, looking at the world through a lens. Get inside. Feeling ok.

I'm late, but don't really mind as I'm not concerned with getting a new pose or adjustments. Start sun salutes and really get into it. My breathing was so comforting. It was like soft pillow breathing. At Trikonasana, teacher tells me to just do primary. Awesome. Went slow, full, deep breathing, got really sweet adjustments, it was such a soothing, soft, pillowy practice. Back bends were shit, but didn't expect much anyway. Felt good to just take it easy. Relieved that I didn't practice second. All the back bending? Yipes! I'm used to primary. It doesn't really shock my body like it used to. Now, it is like an old friend, a security blanket, my favorite food. My body knows what is coming, and invites it in. Second is getting there, slowly. There are some points, however, where a joint feels gummy, and I've got to breathe through and my nerves are all firing at once. That's why I'm relieved I didn't practice that today. Being sick, I've got that feeling already. My spine, the back of my neck, my shoulders, my right elbow, my hip, my knees, all gummy and achy.

I didn't even break a sweat. I got up and rolled up my mat like I had a good soak in the tub. Bundled myself up, headed out still congested, but feeling better. Yoga magic!

Should you practice ashtanga yoga if you are sick?

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.

Personally, I feel it is inappropriate for an ill student to attend a class as this exposes others to the possibility of getting sick as well. Plus, its gross practicing next to someone spitting loogies into a tissue. That said, should you practice at home? Will it actually help you get better, or will it just help you keep up a "routine"?

I searched the internet for answers and I invite you to share your understanding of the topic!

In a humorous post (10/25/07) about conservative versus liberal ashtangis, CRON yogitect notes that the conservative will "do primary series when they are sick, unless they have a fever."

In the ashtangayogi.com article entitled "I Ain't No Doctor", Charles Pan shares his notes from a workshop he attended with David Williams. On illness, David suggests that if you are sick, you should "...start with the sun salutations, doing three of each and then getting in bed and covering up to hold in the warm healing prana. Repeat throughout the day. "

Again, in Alan Little's blog, he mentions that David Williams said that he "'never missed a day’s yoga practice in thirty years'. Williams says skipping practice when you are sick is exactly the wrong thing to to – that’s when your body most needs to be energised and cared for by yoga practice. That doesn’t necessarily mean two hours of heinously advanced asana contortions though." ("Ahimsa" 20th July 2005)

In the FAQ's at theyogaroom.co.uk, Abby Hoffmann recommends that students should come to class to practice "if you are only mildly ill". And that indeed, "it may be helpful to practise. However, if you have a temperature and/or your energy level is depressed, practise real yoga: respect your body and rest. If you’re up to it, you could try a gentle restorative practice at home, using blankets and bolsters (there are lots of books with suggestions for passive, restorative postures). Consider others as well, no one will think any less of you if you not at class for reasons of illness and also keeping your germs out of the shala!" (This same info is listed on

http://www.movingprayer.co.uk/astanga_vinyasa.htm.)

Okay, so nothing really definitive. Plus, not all sicknesses are created equal. Do you do the same for the flu as a cold? What about food poisoning? Menstrual cramps? A migraine? Constipation? Bronchitis? Pneumonia? I await the answers!

And is your flu really the flu? I've heard of and experienced "back bending fever", which is usually a 24 hour flu after some intense back bending. Additionally, it is not unheard of for people to get sick during times of intense practice:

"Other mild to stronger symptoms of purification will begin to appear for most practitioners. It is very common to see the increased occurrence of colds and flu and fevers, as well as, headaches, drowsiness and light-headedness. It is important to honor and respect these kinds of changes, as they can be quite deep in one’s system. I recommend that you take extra time to rest and be quiet." (Govinda Kai, Ashtanganews.com, "Ashtanga Yoga and the Path to Purification", November 29, 2006.)

Hmm. Yeah, but I think this is just the flu, flu. I am around many different people every day, I ride the subway, everyone around me is sick. I got sick too. I am not going to the shala today to spare my fellow practitioners, and I might do a couple of sun salutes. I'm going to take the day to rest and hopefully recover before tomorrow. For me, I feel like its better to just rest and get over it (3 days max) and then back to practice to work through anything that's left. But that's me.

Yoga Chikitsa: Led Ashtanga Primary Series

As I was completely absorbed with publishing the new magazine (check it out at www.livingmysore.com), I did not have time at all to practice or do anything else yesterday. So today, before attacking that overflowing pile of stinky laundry next to the computer, I broke out Sharath's Primary Series CD and went to Mysore for one hour and fifteen minutes.

I bought this CD a couple of years ago while I was doing an intensive over at the Ashtanga Yoga Shala so that I could learn how classes are really supposed to be counted. After having been in Mysore, I can honestly say that this is an excellent way to experience a led class the way it is taught by Sharath. I really learned how ashtanga teaches us to use an economy of movement; to really move with mindfulness and place things exactly where we mean to place them. There is also no room at all for thinking because you are listening so carefully for the next vinyasa count. It is just so precise in its simplicity. I just love it!

I haven't practiced with the CD for a while, but I remember that when I first got it, I was struggling to keep up in headstand and upluthih. So you can imagine my surprise when I could stay up this time! Slowly, slowly...

I did practice at home, however, which has its drawbacks. The first being that it is really cold (but not cold enough for me to rationalize turning on the heat, which we pay for). Well, actually, that's the only drawback. It is cold energetically and physically. Part of what gets me through practice is the community.

And after sitting at the computer ALL DAY yesterday, I was so achy today. It makes me feel very worried for all those stuck in front of a computer 9-5. This is not how we are supposed to live!

Also, because it was laundry day, I had no proper practice clothing left ie a reliable sports bra. This really changes practice. More on this and teaching the led primary later...

The Splits

Semi, half, no split. Which is it? It seems there is no simple answer.

First, what is "the split"? When practicing mysore style, you learn first series one pose at a time. At a certain point, perhaps your teacher will decide that you are ready for the next pose which, if you are practicing a satisfactory primary up to setu bandasana, would be pasasana--the first pose of second series. So every day, you would go do your primary series practice up to pasasana, and then maybe you get another pose, and you continue like this, adding poses onto the tail of primary until one miraculous day when your teacher splits your practice. This means that you only have to practice one series--second. Then you would go on practicing second series adding a pose now and then until you practice all of second and then you get third series postures tagged on the end. You continue adding poses to a certain point and then your teacher gives you the split this time for third series only.

In the case of the second series split (practicing only second series), you would still practice primary on Fridays. In Mysore, you might also practice primary on Sundays. This is because Sundays are the "led" days. If there aren't any second series led classes offered, then you practice first.

But the question remains: at what pose will I get spilt in second series? There are many answers. The current trend in Mysore is getting split at eka pada sirsasana. However, one must wonder if this is on a case by case basis, if this is a time and space issue, or if it is "official" policy. I've spoken to a few teachers and students on the subject, and answers vary. Some of the older teachers say that back in the day, Guruji had them practicing both first AND second series until they got to the first pose of third. I didn't hear what happened after. Others say that "past generations" were split at karandavasana. Still others recommend doing a "semi-split" until karandavasana. In this instance, one would practice the first half of primary one day plus second series asanas, the second half of primary the next day plus second series asanas, and back and forth all week.

The main reason for the longer wait for the split seems to be developing and maintaining strength for karandavasana and third series. So then why split earlier at eka pada? I've heard there have been other changes made to the practice over the years, though the reasons are hazy. I've heard there was a second variation of lagu vajrasana, for instance. I've also heard drop backs didn't happen until well into second series, instead of as the final trial before second. I've also heard that hand mudras were okay in the past, but now they aren't. Not that any of it matters really I suppose.

On my split:

I am pretty surprised at how sore my arms are and how quickly my neck is growing stronger. I figured with second series only I'd be having it easy. Not so! Perhaps it is the belly back bend/upward dog transition or some other new muscle groups being developed...And indeed, my neck is getting much stronger by the day. I remember on that first day, I had a little voice in the back of my head that was convinced my leg would push my head right of my shoulders. I am looking forward to primary tomorrow. All the forward bending is calming and soothing for my back. Plus, its a nice way to end the week.

The Indian Way

Before I went to India, I was very concerned about the hand policy. Left, right, right, left, how would I remember? I tried to sit on my left hand while I ate, and was shocked when I reached for toilet paper with my right. But once in India, the problem was not a problem at all. In fact, toilet paper available or not, I very easily I appreciated the comfort of having a "clean" and a "dirty" hand.

Back in my apartment post-India, it took me a few days before I realized that in the west, its not that people don't care about being clean or dirty, its that this is a righty's world. I've been making mental note of this. Almost every WC I encounter had the toilet paper roll to the right of the toilet, whereas in India, it was mostly on the left. This must be particularly traumatizing to those who grew up with a dirty/clean hand policy. So do lefty's wipe left? That's quite a reach around. Do you just use the hand closest to the paper?

On the Tyra Show (I know, I know), Tyra gave western toilet squatting lessons to a post surgical woman. (Man who is now woman.) She definitely told her to wipe right.

I digress.

After some initial turbulence, practice today was smooth sailing. I seemed to have "proved" my second series worthiness, whatever that means. Had some hinting towards the next pose coming tomorrow. I'm a bit scared. This is uncharted territory I have a hard time believing that that stuff is possible for my body. Swaha.

Good housekeeping

Doing some early spring cleaning on the site so I can start writing again....

Mysore tips from my first trip 2007

Mysore Travel Tips

This is by no means a definitive list, but it does include all those little things which I had no way of knowing before actually being in India.

1. Floss. I haven't gone looking for it, so I can't say for sure if it is always in stock, but who wants to go out and buy floss? Just bring some with you!

2. Ladies, don't expect to find undergarments to your liking in the shops here. Bring bras that you like with you and if you aren't a fan of the granny panty, you ought to bring your own undies as well. That said, there is a jockey store on Devarajurs Road...

3. Did I mention grapefruit seed extract? Yes? Well go buy some right now!

4. you might miss magazines. there are local india mags, but I know I'd like to get my hands on a NY Times or Discover Mag, or Rolling Stone. Anything! Even if it was three months old. My recommendation? Bring em with you!

5. you can find tampons here at the local grocery store called Nilgiris, but they aren't organic (if you're into that sort of thing).

6. vegans: you need healthy bacteria in your belly. plan on either eating curd or taking supplements (but you'll need to bring them from home).

7. You'll be really happy if you bring veggie bars like the ones by odwalla or the green veggie powder you add to water. Yes, there are veggies here, but I know a lot of us are craving more!

8. join facebook. just do it. I didn't want to either, but it is a great way to keep up with people around here. emailing can be so tedious!

9. I can almost guarantee that at some point, you will have diarrhea. better not to think about it too much.

10. You'll start to miss variety if you don't bring plenty of clothes. The paper bag look doesn't work for everyone.

11. Mysore is a lot like life. It is part what you make of it and part what it wants to give you.

12. Try to bring clothing that has lycra or something like it. From hand washing and no dryers, you'll find most of your clothes will grow, grow, and grow.

13. Avoid talking politics. Yoga, that is. Some people are open about different views and opinions, but you might catch yourself with your foot in your mouth.

14. Almost everyone gets sick within the first 2 weeks. See Anu and Ganesh. They'll make you food that will help you feel better.

15. Bring or buy mosquito repellent. why suffer?

16. Lots of people have wifi at their houses and in local restaurants. You might want to bring your laptop. Plus you can use it to watch movies! Its like college all over again!

17. Bring loads of yoga clothes.

18. Bring lots of things to make yourself feel fresh. I didn't really bring anything. You can buy a lot of stuff here, but not necessarily things that you like and you don't want to spend your trip here feeling like you are camping!

19. Buy electrical adapters when you get here. A simple one costs 12 rupees at Loyal World.

20. Seriously consider how much you need your jeans. You'll be hand washing them.

21. If you are picky about toiletries, you should bring your own.

22. Pack grapefruit seed extract

23. Don't under any circumstances hand over money for a room until the said space is EXACTLY how you would like to live in it!

24. Only pack shoes that slip on and off. It is better if they don't have backs because you will be constantly taking them on and off everywhere you go.

25. Savor your last shower before heading for the airport. It might be some time before you have a shower like that.

26. Bring toilet paper, wet wipes, and hand sanitizer. Toilet paper is available in mysore, but you might want to have an emergency roll on you, just in case.

27. Nobody gets shots. Really.

28. It is really easy to get a car to pick you up from the Bangalore airport. The guy Krishna that they list on the ayri website really will arrange this for you.

29. Take the flight with the shortest layover possible. It is ok if you arrive in Bangalore at a weird time like 3am.

My heart is in mysore

I just picked up this book on successful blogging at the local library (my favorite haunt). Happily flipping through the pages as I chomped down a particularly delicious (although inappropriate ayurvedically [is that even a word?] for winter and my dosha) salad with homemade ginger carrot dressing (yum), my eyes landed on the "top 10 dont's of successful blogging". Number 2, "don't let more than 3 days pass between blogs". Oops.

Well, the truth is, I didn't know if it was right to continue writing in this blog, since I was between mysore engagements and all. But I figure now, what the hey? I'll be there again soon enough and perhaps "living mysore" is all in the mind.

What's new? Russell and Sally left New York, and Guy is back at the shala. I'm curious to find out what he's going to say about my practice. You see, Russell has had me working up to yoga nidrasana and doing the "split" (which means practicing second series only). For some reason, it feels like I'm cheating or something because Guy didn't give it to me. He's going to come back and be like, "Really? Is this what you've been up to?" Its just poses, I know. But who is the one that has to let go? Is it me? Should I be like, "Okay, whatever. I'll go back to whatever I was doing before." Or is it my teacher's turn to let go? Or, does it really even matter? Maybe because I feel like I'm having fun (loads of back bending will do that for you), I feel naughty.

Anyway, I'll be in to practice tomorrow, so we'll see!

Since I've been away, I've been keeping up another blog:
www.ashtangainspired.blogspot.com. But, I think I'm going to post here mostly from now on.

A first-timer's meditations on mysore, practice, and all things India

The great thing about reading blogs is that it is like reading a story that is taking place in "real time". Well, probably because it is. I wonder if anyone out there is writing completely fictional blogs. I find this fascinating. So did I, or did I not study for three months in Mysore? You'll have to decide for yourself.

This blog chronicles my trip to Mysore, India from July-October 2007.

Unfortunately, the blog format is not very user-friendly for those wishing to start from the beginning. To read the blog from the beginning, scroll down this page and look for the "archive" located on the right. Click on "July". You'll have to read the entries from the bottom up. Does anyone know how to reverse this?

Thanks for reading my blog. If you have any questions or feedback, please email me at livingmysore@gmail.com, or leave a comment on my current project, http://www.ashtangainspired.blogspot.com/.

Epilogue: One Week Later

I'm sitting in a chair. Really, a chair. Everywhere, there are chairs. I ask myself, every few hours, "Is this culture shock?" Or alternately, "Is this jet lag?"

I was walking through a food co-op in San Francisco. Aisles and aisles of organic food. Bulk food bins with every kind of rice, every kind of gluten-free wheat alternative you can think of. A woman was pushing her daughter in a stroller, reassuring her every few minutes, "Its okay, you're with Mommy...Its okay they aren't real." I looked up and saw that the little girl was sulking away from the Halloween decorations that spilled over the tops of the shelves. I knew how she felt. So much. There's just so much.

I stood at the edge of a cliff, looking over the edge for a long time before I finally said, "That's it! I'm doing this!" and jumped into this journey to India. It wasn't that I was scared, as much as I just had no idea what to do or how to do it. Anywhere I looked, I found no roads, and all those who had blazed the trail before me were keeping its secrets to themselves. "You'll figure it out," they told me. 

What finally gave me the kick in the pants was thinking about my life, thinking about how nothing is permanent, and realizing that the chance to practice with the aging teacher would never come again. I had to do it. I had to go. It was one of the best decisions I've made.

Reading over my blog entries, I've laughed, cowered with embarrassment, and smiled at the me that embarked on the trip and the me sitting in this cafe. This has been one amazing journey, and I am so happy to have been able to share my experience here through Mysore Musings.

I had never read a blog before this trip, and it took some convincing to get me to start one up. I never thought anyone would read it and I didn't and still don't have any idea what I am doing. And still, each time I sat down, I wrote from my heart, and the next day, I was surprised and pleased to find that people were reading. I've met and received support from so many people through this blog. It has been amazing to feel the sense of community that has surrounded this project, and I look forward to doing something like this again.

I am, for now, closing this blog. I feel like it is time to open a new chapter, and I look forward to my next project, ashtangainspired. This new project will look at life starting from the mat, while exploring a path less travelled. Or something like that. Me, Yoga, New York City, Life, and Everything in between...

I'm also working with some people on launching an online Mysore Yoga community. This is going to be an amazing resource for ashtanga people in Mysore and around the world. It will feature a local Mysore community board for posting for roommates, ride shares, trades, and other local info. The board will also have an area to post and find yoga-related jobs and volunteer work around the world. The board should be up and running shortly. We're also publishing an online ashtanga mag written by voices from the ashtanga community. Your comments, questions, and suggestions are more than welcome. Additionally, we are looking for pictures of you practicing for our site, as well as article submissions.  We aim to launch the website by November 1st!

Thank you for reading, writing, and helping me along the way. Mysore has been an amazing experience, and I look forward to returning soon!

Lokah Samastah Sukino Bhavantu
May all beings be happy and free

The End

I've taken a week to reflect (a little) on possible endings, yes, endings, for this blog.

Romantic

I enjoyed a long, leisurely breakfast surrounded by a circle of new and old friends. We ate fresh, hot muesli, curd, dosas. We ate fruit salads of every variety. We ate two different types of eggs. We had fresh milk and tea. We sat around a large wooden table on soft floor cushions, stretching our beings, trying to learn how to soak up small moments in time. The car arrived outside. It was white. Cars are usually white. And because it wasn't a rickshaw, I knew it was for me. As I waved goodbye, a light switched off inside of me, and I turned to look ahead to the road to come.

I slept the whole ride to the airport. I walked to the Kingfisher counter. I stared at the woman asking me for a ticket. She kept saying it and saying it and saying it and I kept not giving it to her.

The light turned back on.

"Actually," I said. "Can I change my ticket?"

I've never missed a flight and I've never tried to rearrange a ticket. For me, I start cooking a meal, I cook the meal, and then I eat it. But this time I was surprised to find how easy it was to just stop cooking. A friend recently told me about this San Fran mouse that can jump like 12 feet and mid air, turn 90 degrees. That's me. Born the year of the rat.

So this rat turned 90 degrees away from the USA. This rat jumped back into India.

Expected

I sat in the car going to the airport. I was amazed to find that I was at the exact limit of permit luggage weight (25 kilos). The plane took off and I was in a daze. I landed in Mumbai. The plane took off and I was in a daze. I landed in New York. I had no keys to my apartment. I had 25 kilos of luggage. I had jet lag. So, I went to practice.

I didn't know exactly where Eddie's was, but somehow, managed to navigate my way to the unmarked, second floor studio. My body buzzed from lack of sleep, airport funk, 24 hours of unused muscles, and the adrenaline of the "fight or flight" instinct surging through my veins as my body shifted from one side of the world to another, from one culture to another, from one teacher to another. And in that torrent of energy, I practiced. My body carved the air and I could feel the boundary where New York met the cloud of Mysore surrounding me.

Cop-out

As the car drove further and further from the place I've called home for the past few months, I thought of all the people I've met, all the things I've seen, all the things I've learned. I saw the landscape outside the car as if it were the first day again. I tried to pick out the things I was fascinated with on that first ride. As my eyes jumped from one thing to the next, I slowly drifted to sleep.

My eyes began to flutter open. I could see someone rolling out their mat to the right of me, and someone else beginning to walk away on my left. I arched my neck and moved to see the clock on the wall behind my head. I struggled to read what it said. "No, really?" I asked myself. I had been asleep for an hour. I sat up on my mat. There was one last person finishing up in the front of the Shala in New York.

I was so excited about my upcoming trip to Mysore that I had dreamt about it during what was supposed to be post-practice rest (savasana).

What is real? Maybe a little of all of them, maybe none of them. I have to keep a little of this magic to myself...

:)

My last class, my last day

I woke up this morning in the middle of a dream, interrupted. Was that really my alarm? Did I really have to get up? Just as I was convinced that ignoring the blaring sound and journeying back into dreamland was a viable option, something inside said, "Wake up! This is your last class!" I'm not sure, but I can probably say that as I turned to roll out of bed and switched off the alarm, I was making the grouchiest, most pained expression I was capable of. Sometimes I wish I had a hidden camera. I'm such a clown. I'd see myself and think, "Oh no, really?"

I did all my morning rituals, just the same as before. I trotted to class, avoiding eye contact, eyes burning to stay open, just the same as before. I fidgeted on my mat until Saraswati walked in to start class, just the same as before. And when she started the chant, I could hear and feel the vibration of the room, just the same as before, but this time, I realized that it wasn't forever. That, tomorrow, I wouldn't be here standing in this spot, listening to this chanting, feeling the breeze from that window. I realized that even when I wasn't here, someone else would be in this spot, and the chanting would still go on, just the same as before. For a brief moment, I could feel the presence of all the people in the room, and then all the people that had been in that room since I arrived in July, and then all the people who had ever been in that room, and then all the people who ever practiced with Guruji, and then Guruji practicing with Krishnamacharya...I know that there is no question, I have to come back, and me and Mysore, well, we'll be waiting for each other.

As for my last practice, it felt like my first day in that I was hyper aware that something was special, and different, and deserved really being paid attention to. I noticed how at once, my body was so tired and also so ready for anything. I noticed how my body has changed. I'm much stronger than before, and my body shape has developed accordingly. Some poses are a little harder than before, such as hands down in prasarita c, because of all the new muscles in my upper body. In the last three months, my strength has really developed, but my flexibility hasn't changed dramatically. I think that part of this is because I don't really get any adjustments, and that extra push is often going to take you deeper into something that you might otherwise just stay comfortable in.

I've learned so much practicing with the family and living in Mysore about myself, people, and the world. I feel like I was in a life rehab program and I'm about to step out the front door to see if anything really changed, or if the developments of the past few months will fall away from me like post-it notes when the sticky wears off.

I feel happy. I feel content. I feel like I have direction, and love, and friends, and family, and good health. I feel like the astrologer was right. That all the cards are there, we just have to be brave enough to play them. And I think that I can and I will and I think that I'm so glad that I made it out here at all. I think that if you have that spark somewhere inside you, that little voice that says, "I wonder...", you should listen. I think you should go for it, because it will change your world.

I'm taking a car from Ganesh at Anu's at 1pm this afternoon to the Bangalore Airport. From there, I fly to Mumbai/Bombay where I catch my overnighter to New York City!

"Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first." --As spoken by Tina on Friday at our cooking class.

Things that fly

I could hear a rattle outside my window this morning and it wasn't the scratching of those Indian brooms on the cement. I tried to ignore it, but couldn't. I inched to the side of the bed and reached over to move aside the blinds. A dragonfly was stuck between the window and the mosquito screen. What I heard was the sound of a creature reaching for a chance to live, or rather not to die. I let go of the blinds and fell back into bed. It would find its way on its own. It didn't. The sounds were fading as the poor creature was slowly losing strength. I reached over again, lifted the screen, and pushed the window open. The dragonfly that was lying prone on the ledge was out the window in an instant.

I spent the day with friends at the salon getting everything on the menu that I possibly could manage. It felt like the right way to perform the ritual of leaving.

I remember when I first arrived in Mysore that I was in awe over how many butterflies I saw everywhere. Really, they were everywhere. I hadn't noticed their abundance until recently when the everyday became extraordinary again. As I waited at the gate this morning for Petra, I watched as a little green caterpillar inched across the ledge toward my chin, which was resting on one end of the gate. He had feet in the back and feet in the front and seemed to be in a great hurry.

I feel myself clinging to the warmth of this place, the safe chrysalis that I've slowly grown inside. At the same time, I'm filled with the anticipation of knowing that tomorrow I'm going to fly away.

Tomorrow morning is my last class here in Mysore, and in many ways, it feels like its going to be the first.

Last days

Remember the nineties? Do you remember those little glass containers filled with colorful oil and water that you would turn upside down to watch as one changed places with the other? And then when they successfully divided, and all was calm in that little world, you would turn it over to watch the chaos unfold once more? When I first arrived in Mysore, my life in New York slowly drifted away. I tried to cling onto a few pieces like my boyfriend, being vegan. Others I had to let go. Now, as I inch towards climbing into that car to the airport, my mind is slowly letting more and more of my life in New York back in. It seems very clear right now that I am here, not there. I've come full circle. I'm smelling all the smells again, hearing every scraping broom, looking for the details, so that I can pack them with me as I go. I think that maybe I'll realize that I'm trying to pack too much and that I'll never be able to fit Saraswati in my overhead carry on. Maybe I've become a little part of this place, and in that way, it will be easy to pack, because it is me.

Saraswati taught a really beautiful led class this morning. Some days you feel whatever it is that could hold you back, but you just keep going. You don't listen to it, you just breathe, you just move, and even though it feels like it, you don't die. For a moment, you realize that. You realize that you can do it, that what you're feeling is just that--a feeling. You watch in amazement as you do all the things that you couldn't do three months ago (or what about 3 years ago?), the things you thought were so far out of reach. You notice how much you've grown, how strong you've become, and how you (in a way) always were. You see the faces and the glow of all the people just arriving and you smile to yourself because you know they are in for one hell of a journey.

Today I've talked Tina into doing one last cooking demo/lunch for me. I'm treating it as my going away fete. Tomorrow and Sunday I'd rather not be stressing about putting together the social event of the season, so I thought this would be great. Tina organizes her kitchen so that there is the main table where she cooks, with chairs set up so that we can watch. I think of it as the Food Network live. She tells you about the spices and cooking techniques. She tells you about history and customs. And then, when you feel like you can't take it anymore, the smells have you so intoxicated you feel like you might go out of your mind, she hands you a sample that she set aside just for that moment. This goes on for more than an hour-Tina working up your appetite and then feeding you a little just at your breaking point. This culminates with a delicious feast that leaves you completely incapacitated for the next few hours. I love that woman.

The smell of Mysore

Today was my last Mysore class. I wondered what I would remember from this trip. How the morning smelled like burning sugar. How a cockroach walked toward the kitchen, stopped when it noticed me, and then continued on its way. How my shoulder felt in ankle grabbing--like the whole world was tied in a knot next to my left ear. The way I feel like I'm walking on air when I step out of the shala, and then get a little nervous of falling down the stairs. The ugly dog that hangs outside of the shala, and how I avoid it as I walk up the hill toward my house. How lying in my bed after practice, I drift off to a half-sleep where the sounds of birds become like voices and I wake up feeling like I should know the words. Or even if I could put the feeling of getting used to a new pose into a jar: the wave of sensation that lingers over the body as it adjusts to the new challenge.

I am not sure if I'm getting a little sick or if I caught some back bend fever. Yes, this really happens. After intense back bends you get sick for about 24 hours with flu-like symptoms and then you're good as new. I've gone through it a few times in my life as an ashtangi. I feel like maybe it is happening again. I feel super tired and drowsy, my back is sore, everything is achy, my throat scratches. A friend told me that she actually went to the doctor for this and he told her that this was as very real diagnosis and that it happens because the muscles in the back have a huge spasm. Sometimes this spasm around the spine is so big, that it affects the nerves and this could effect the immune system.

We said goodbye to Pete yesterday, who had been here for about a year. He was the last person who has really been here the whole time that I have. Its easy to get very close to people here. It is like dog years or summer camp. Its this violent explosion of relationships that last for a week or a month or sometimes just one special day. It seems strange to paint the picture of this place in my mind without the people that I have met in it. I can understand how it is very hard for the people who really live here long term. All the time it is like the ghosts of the people you were close with are always floating in the air, just beyond your reach. Their house hovers in the direction you remember, but the weight of knowing the emptiness weighs on your heart. It is so amazing to me how you can come here knowing no one, and leave with a network of friends smiling as they wave goodbye.

I still have four days here in Mysore and two more led classes with Saraswati. I'm slowly crossing things of my Mysore to-do list, and also deciding that some of the things aren't really important to do. Mostly I'm just being here and totally in awe of this crazy life as I look down to my feet, through the earth, and imagine myself and everyone I know standing on the other side.

Ramblings

Yesterday I had a Thali lunch with John in the city center. It was a restaurant inside this hotel that reminded me of a hospital. I can't remember the name at the moment, but it started with the letter "D" and is quite popular. (It is called Dash Prakash...thanks Jody!) A thali meal is kind of like a chinese pu pu platter in that it consists of a variety of different dishes for you to try. In the more traditional variation, the meal will be spread on a banana leaf (like at Guruji's birthday party), but most of the time (for me at least) it has been served on a metal tray. I love these trays! Sometimes they are round and about the size of a pizza (like at 6 Main) with a bowl of rice in the middle surrounded by small cups filled with curd, and a few other soupy treats, a sweet treat, pickles, and a few pieces of bread. Other times the metal tray is rectangular with geometric compartments for each part of the meal. At this restaurant, we had the circular tray.



The real clincher, however, is that you are supposed to eat this meal with your hands! there is a spoon tucked into either the curd or the sweet dessert (but not always, as in the case with Guruji's Birthday) that you can steal to use for the rice and "sambars", or you can do it "Indian style". First, you dump the bowl of rice onto the center of the plate, then you dump some of the soup stuff on that. Then you plunge your fingers into this soupy mess, squish it together and toss it into your mouth. You have to get used to the feeling of wetness and pieces of rice lingering on your skin. It takes time. You also have to get used to watching other people eat...I'm still working on it. I still have a few minutes of shock before I can actually dive into the meal and be okay with it.



This restaurant was fascinating, it was so dynamic and fast-paced, it was great just to watch the organized chaos. You paid at a counter before you sat down, then you sat wherever you wanted, even at a table with people you don't know. You wait a couple minutes, maybe go and wash your hands, and before you know it you see these men wearing what look like veteran or GI uniforms bringing stacks of silver trays out of the kitchen. They bring you yours and your meal begins.

There was a hair in my food. A small one. I still ate the meal without a thought. One's view towards food changes after being here. For instance, once people get into it, they tend to prefer eating their meals with their hands. They say that it increases the awareness that they have of their food. It also helps develop a connection with the meal, instead of the metal or plastic utensil acting as an intermediary.

I got two poses today: Bhekasana and dhanurasana. Bhekasana means frog pose (see the above pic). In this pose you are lying on your belly with your legs bent so that your heals are moving to the floor just outside your hips. Your elbows face behind you as your hands press your feet toward the floor. At the same time, your chest lifts and back arches as you look toward the tip of your nose.

Dhanurasana means bow. Still on the belly, the legs bend as you hold the outside of your ankles. Then everything comes off the floor.

This is the part where I am glad I have a yoga rug. I never understood why people used them until I started second series. Doing a bow once in a while is one thing, but doing it every day really starts to wear on my hip bones. Also, I was dealing with a little back "kink" that made moving pretty unbearable, so doubling up the mat for all those rolling postures in primary became essential. (Before the "injury" I could practice full primary on the wood floor with no problem.)


So today we are saying goodbye to Pete who has been here for a year. Its going to be hard. But he said we'll say goodbye "Indian style". That is, we look at eachother and say, "okay bye". We're meeting at 6 Main for lunch and I am hyped to get my favorite meal: North Indian Thali.

Growing pains

My body is so sore. I just want to spend the whole day horizontal. But when I stop moving, all the muscles, bones, and organs begin to settle and the aching begins to crawl through my skin. I look in the mirror now and I feel like a brand new person.

The changes have happened gradually, of course, but they've happened. I'm stronger physically, and I've noticed that mentally there have been a lot of shifts as well. I feel like I have a strong sense of direction and mental clarity. My practice is different. How I look at life is different. My dreams when I sleep are different. My feet are different. My appetite and digestion are different.

I feel like I've cleaned house and noticed all the wonderful, terrible, and interesting things I have that were either tucked under something else or covered by layers of dust.

I feel at once frightened and excited to go back. Part of me cannot wait for the journey ahead, and the other part is so comfortable with the lifestyle here that it never wants to leave.

My friend, Michael, went home two days ago. I think I had asked him how he felt. He said that most people are very sad when they leave and live their "normal" life again because they leave Mysore behind. He said that wouldn't happen to him because he is going to take Mysore with him.

I cant predict what will happen with me exactly, but I do know that for a long time, I'll be able to smell Mysore radiating from me and that over time the smell won't fade, I'll simply become used to it.

When I go swimming, I usually stick my toes or finger into the water first to see just how cold this will feel on my body. I cringe and then slowly inch myself in, ugly faces all the way. But that day I saw the water and I just jumped. As I sat, dripping on my towel, my friend turned to us and said, "I don't know how you guys just jump in like that." I lied down on my chair and smiled to myself. For just a moment, in this very small way, I truly felt that anything is possible.

India made me fat

"I got fat in India?!" My jaw drops. I look from one face to another, hoping for some reassurance. I find none.

Go back about one month. I am sitting on the floor with Pete, who has just arrived. I turn to him.

"Pete, I am going to ask you something. I know you're not going to like it and you're going to think I'm weird, but I want you to be completely honest with me," he looks at me perplexed, I look down to the floor. I can't believe I already put this out there, without stopping myself in time. "Pete, seriously now, you see me every day. Have I gotten fatter?" His eyebrows raise, I can feel the panic and dread start to rise. He thought more of me before this moment. "I'm serious, I'm not being silly, but I really feel like I have and I just want to know if I'm crazy or not."

"You're crazy," he says. I can't figure out if he is being honest or if this is the natural reflex of a 30+ year old man who has been asked this very same question over 1,000 times since he was 12 years old. "You aren't fat and you haven't gotten fatter." The timing of his answer was somewhere between trained reaction and contemplation. I couldn't tell if he was serious.

"I think you've gotten skinnier," Petra says.

"No way," I counter. I don't believe them and I feel embarrassed to have asked. I can sense the question hovering in the air long after they've forgotten my insecurities.

Go back fifteen years. I am about seven years old, maybe younger. I am walking around the edge of the Paradise Hills community pool. It is a clear, sunny, summer day. I can still smell the chlorine and the thick air of the locker rooms with slick floors decorated with fallen hairs and the toilets with wet seats. I can hear the water slide and the loud splash as each child is flung out the end into the water. I am walking around the pool toward something I cannot remember. I am thinking something I cannot remember. A group of boys not much older than myself are walking towards me.

"Why do you think you can wear something like that?" One asks as he points to me and snickers to another who is laughing. I look down to see what he is pointing at. I'm wearing a little bikini. Maybe it is pink.

"Your belly sticks out!" Another says. this could have been the end of the conversation, this could have been the beginning. I don't remember. What I do remember is that I had no idea that my body was not okay until that moment, at an age consisting of a single digit, with the round belly of a healthy child.

I'm standing in the small room with the tailor, his wife, and two friends. I decided to have a couple of shirts made before I left India.

"You have old measurements?" I ask the tailor's wife. The tailor had just finished measuring me while she recorded the results. She was now thumbing through the pile of old measurements trying to find the receipt of a friend's commission made two months ago ( I am trying to recreate this same shirt). She doesn't answer. I ask again. She finds the measurements for the shirt I had made in July.

"Bust three inches...waist one inch...hips two inches...shoulders same," he says all this with a smile and head wobble. I look to my friends who are laughing. I finally close my mouth. Was it hanging open or was I laughing?

"No way!" We all seem to be saying. He takes out his measuring tape once more and measures my arm.

"Half inch arm," we are all laughing now. He adds, "Height same." My eyes are wide. I'm somewhere between hysterics and tears. I keep laughing. Is it forced?

"I got fat in India?!" My jaw drops. I look from one face to another, hoping for some reassurance. I find none.

Did I really get fat in India? I don't know. Maybe I gained more muscle. Maybe I gained more fat. Everyone seems to agree that the tailors usually measure loose. They don't want to get too close to your body (especially when the tailor is a man) and you have to really convince them that you want something tighter, or shorter, or more low cut, or sexy.

Here in Mysore, the women look beautiful. They wear long flowing saris, or these long, thigh length blouses with pants and beautiful scarves. Everything is loose and flowing (except the sleeves which, as a rule, are always tight as a drum). You see these women and the grace with which they all carry themselves from the upper class woman in silk to the woman gathering garbage in beautiful vibrant green and purple.

So the first few days in India, you decide to integrate Indian pieces into your wardrobe. Nothing fits right. Everything is up to your neck and too long and boxy. You feel like you're wearing something somewhere between a mumu and a hospital gown. You buy these things anyway, of course.

Later that evening we (my two friends from the tailor and I) are sitting around the living room getting ready to watch the L Word.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks. "What's wrong?" Its about an hour after we visited the tailor.

"You know," I say as I flop back onto the cushion, my eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Do you think its because we were raised in America?" She asks.

"Yes," I reply quickly. No one says anything.

In India, having a little extra weight is a sign of good health and prosperity. A friend told me that she was talking to her cleaning lady who told her that she had never tasted a fruit before because they were too expensive. She only ate rice, chapati, curd, and dhal (I think). You'll notice that generally, those of the lower classes are thin and those of the upper are heavier. But those of the upper class who can afford to be exposed to western culture and lifestyle are thinner.

Something else you'll learn in month two or maybe three is that "people go crazy when your hair is down and especially if it is curly," as my friend says. I hadn't noticed up to that point, but all the women indeed had their hair in long braids or ponytails. There was very little variation. I don't really understand why this is. My friend went on to explain how when they see your hair like this, they don't know what to do. "Not even the police will touch you." He adds.

This morning in practice I felt light and strong. Some days you really connect with yourself during practice and this was one of them. It was "steady and sweet". I didn't feel heavier or that I was moving more weight around, despite the information to the contrary.

Yesterday Pete and I walked into the Badsha by the big vegetable market so he could buy gifts for family. Our friend Shoab works there and he greeted us happily at the door. The first thing he says is, "You have gotten so skinny!" I turn to him and laugh. I look at Pete and he's laughing (he already heard the tailor story). I give Shoab the abbreviated version. He replies with a smile, "I guess we always think the ones we love are too skinny because we worry about their health."

The tailor's wife is quiet. In the midst of all the hysterics, I think she said, "but those original measurements were for the tight shirt..."