One of my teachers is fond of saying that yoga is not like other physical pursuits. You cannot come at the practice of asana with sheer will and brute force. I have learned this lesson like I have chosen to learn most lessons in my life: the hard way. When I committed to a daily asana practice years ago, my practice began as a means to tame my mind and body. I approached the practice in my habitual manor, with a competitive spirit and dogged work ethic. Day in and day out I showed up to the mat striving to attain pose after pose, examining my parts and pieces for what needed fixing. I was committed and I worked hard.
Then a funny thing started to happen. Slowly, piece by piece, I began injuring myself. First a hamstring tear, then a shoulder subluxation, sore wrists, achy knees, then a groin pull finally culminating in chronic sacroiliac instability. Rather than getting ahead it seemed the more I practiced, the more I was falling apart. What I was practicing was neither sustainable nor sustaining. Something had to change.
I began gravitating to an alignment based practice, seeking out teachers who understood the body. With a change in perspective, I also began to see my injuries as teachers. Each injury led me to study and engage directly with the anamaya kosha, or physical body. I came to understand that I needed more specific blueprints for how to build an asana, or shape. I must go back and begin again with greater focus and attention to detail. I felt deeply indebted to the teachers who shared their experience and knowledge of anatomy and have helped me put my pelvis back together. In the process of aligning my physical body, I have observed that alignment can and does work from the outside in. As I am learning to align my grossest layers, mainly bones and muscles, I can feel a shift in the more subtle layers. My breath and energy are free to move when I am not in pain. I redirect my attention away from never-ending problem solving mode, instead focusing on following the blueprint, surrendering trust to a system. I have felt my understanding of my own form, or rupa shift from an object that needs fixing to an object worthy of attention and care taking.
But this is only half of the story. I am also a Bhakti Yogini. The first time I heard one of my teachers sing mantra in a yoga class something moved in my heart in a way that I had never before experienced. I've found singing mantra to be a direct line to my pranamaya kosha, or energy and emotional body. Throughout my struggle with injury I've found myself chanting and singing more. While chanting, the perfectionist faculty in my mind can be still and I am free to feel and sing and be. While in song, there is nothing that needs fixing.
Recently I've been studying Narada's Bhakti Sutras. I've learned that the rupa, or form of Bhakti is parama prema, which means supreme love and that Bhakti's true essence, or swarupa is amrta, which means nectar. In other words the true nature of Bhakti yoga is none other than loving and nourishing sweetness.
I have experienced this to be true in my asana practice. When I relate to my body as a problem to be fixed or something unruly to be tamed afterwards I hurt. When I relate to my body sweetly, as an object worthy of attention and maitri or loving kindness, afterwards I feel good. In other words, when I come to the mat with the intention to align each shape from within with Bhakti, I step off my mat into my life feeling refreshed and nourished. In this way it also holds true that alignment works from the inside out.
This is my practice and this is what I have to share as a fellow student of yoga. I have decided to change the name of one of my classes to Bhakti Alignment. In this class, I hope to guide students to align from the outside in with physical alignment cues and from the inside out with the spirit of Sweet Bhakti. Maybe in the process we will discover that this is one and the same.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Sorrow Prepares You for Joy
Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the boughs of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place...
~ Rumi
Meditation makes me cry. Not every time I make my way to my cushion...I probably would not make it a daily practice if that were the case. It seems that exactly three consecutive days of meditation lead to me to emotional eruption. The swell begins with deep knotting and pressure in my chest that travels upward forming a solid lump in my throat and eventually emerges as a steady stream of tears.
Last spring I attempted my first meditation retreat at a Goenka Vipassana center. It was a 10 day retreat and entirely too ambitious of an undertaking. After sitting for three days and wrestling with a mountain of resistance my chest began to tighten. As is my way, I fought against this unpleasant sensation with every fiber in my being. I released an army of "shoulds". Meditation should not make me feel bad...Meditation should lead to bliss...This should not be happening. But alas, in a tiny room shared with two others cloaked in noble silence and nothing to do but meditate, there is no place to hide from what is. When the tears came, I panicked and left.
Fast forward to one year later and I am trying this whole retreat thing again. This time more sensibly with a six day retreat, a teacher highly recommended by my teachers and surrounded by a support system of familiar faces. Day 1 of the retreat I was anxious. I was waited with baited breath for the crazies to bubble up. Day 2 of the retreat feeling strong and centered I got a little cocky. The sessions in our Shamatha retreat were broken up into 24 minute sitting segments known as a Gotika with 6 minute breaks in between. I joked, to myself, "I Got-ika this!" Day 3 arrived and I awoke to a tight chest.
~ Rumi
Meditation makes me cry. Not every time I make my way to my cushion...I probably would not make it a daily practice if that were the case. It seems that exactly three consecutive days of meditation lead to me to emotional eruption. The swell begins with deep knotting and pressure in my chest that travels upward forming a solid lump in my throat and eventually emerges as a steady stream of tears.
Last spring I attempted my first meditation retreat at a Goenka Vipassana center. It was a 10 day retreat and entirely too ambitious of an undertaking. After sitting for three days and wrestling with a mountain of resistance my chest began to tighten. As is my way, I fought against this unpleasant sensation with every fiber in my being. I released an army of "shoulds". Meditation should not make me feel bad...Meditation should lead to bliss...This should not be happening. But alas, in a tiny room shared with two others cloaked in noble silence and nothing to do but meditate, there is no place to hide from what is. When the tears came, I panicked and left.
Fast forward to one year later and I am trying this whole retreat thing again. This time more sensibly with a six day retreat, a teacher highly recommended by my teachers and surrounded by a support system of familiar faces. Day 1 of the retreat I was anxious. I was waited with baited breath for the crazies to bubble up. Day 2 of the retreat feeling strong and centered I got a little cocky. The sessions in our Shamatha retreat were broken up into 24 minute sitting segments known as a Gotika with 6 minute breaks in between. I joked, to myself, "I Got-ika this!" Day 3 arrived and I awoke to a tight chest.
The feeling was familiar, but this time my response was something new. Two days prior I met with the teacher for an interview and explained about Goenka and my knot. His response was, "You had no framework for what was happening". My experience is not uncommon in the world of meditation retreats and according to my teacher should be expected at any moment. As you begin to settle the mind in it's natural state the membrane between conscious and unconscious material become permeable. Repressed material, or shadow elements are freed up and all sorts of unpleasant memories, thoughts or emotion can appear. The distracting turbulence of day to day life where we vascillate between excitation, (think hectic pace, multitasking, etc) and dullness (think that glass of wine at the end of your day) keeps this unwanted material in check. And yet, until I actively sought out an explanation for what had happened at the Goenka retreat upon my return, I had never heard of anything like this.
This time as the tears welled up in the meditation hall I did my best to welcome them. Instead of pushing it down, or as my teacher put it, placing my foot on the cellar door, I went limp and did my best to just observe. At the break I returned to my room where I cried mindfully allowing the wave of emotion to sweep through and rock my every cell. What was coming up had no attached story line or conceptual overlay. It was simply raw embodied emotion. The dark and slithery stuff I have worked not to feel for god knows how long.
When the tears subsided, I sat down and made the tightness at my chest the object of my meditation. What I discovered shocked me. This thing...this weight at my chest was an ideal object for meditation. It included coarse tactile sensation for me to observe and like the breath, it seemed to be ever changing. I observed as my knot pulsated growing larger and then smaller and then finally began to untangle and dissipate. My attention was rapt and I even began to relax. Some piece of my awareness developed the mantra, "Welcome, welcome, welcome, you are welcome..." Later this mantra evolved to, "Bring Out Your Dead".
I have learned from my teacher the equation: Suffering = pain x resistance. Hell, I have even taught yoga classes centered on this theme. Reading this blog you may wonder if there is a repressed memory of trauma that is trying to break through and causing me to cry. I think no. I have had my share of pain and imperfect parents who did their best with what they were given. However, I think it is my habitual response to discomfort lurking behind my tears. I am a stuffer. At some time it was communicated to me that painful emotion was unattractive, weak, crazy and to be denied at all cost. I have developed a host of mostly healthy coping or stuffing activities that allow me to function at a high level all the while avoiding uncomfortable emotions. In the intimate context of retreat where all of these resources are removed the cellar door is blown wide open. Without resistance, raw pain flies out.
This is consistent with my direct experience in meditation. Shamatha is developing concentration that is balanced between excitation and relaxation. Part of the process is developing the faculty of watchfulness that checks in frequently asking the question, What do I need right now? More energy or more softening? Each time I checked in what I found is that I had heaps of activity and a deficit of relaxation. After the storm of tears, I reached a new level of surrender that I had not achieved before in meditation. My Gotikas that afternoon were sublime.
I think it's important to talk about the aspects of the practice that are painful to balance discussion of peace and bliss. In my understanding Sadhana was not created with short term happiness as a goal, but ultimate freedom. If we disown the parts of the practice that are painful such as injury from asana and uncomfortable emotional states we create a collective shadow that limits us all as practitioners and isolates those in difficult states. I know the practice is leading me to greater freedom, I can feel it, it is visceral. And it is a process. Much can be gained by relaxing into what makes us uncomfortable both at the personal and collective level and asking the brave question: What do I need right now?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Delayed Reaction to NY Times Yogagate
Bhagavad Gita, Stephen Mitchell Translation 5:12
The resolute in yoga surrender
results, and gain perfect peace;
the irresolute, attached to results,
are bound by everything they do.
Spending some time with the Bhagavad Gita this week, I was struck by this quote. This excerpt along with the descriptions of the Gunas: Rajas, Tamas and Sattva brought me back to my first reaction to reading this classic text: Americans on a whole are a Rajasic Nation!
Rajas, is defined by The Bhagavad Gita as, "marked by passion born of craving and attachment" and , "Greed and constant activity, excessive projects, craving, restlessness"(Mitchell 158-9). Western terms we might apply to this guna are driven, Type A, goal oriented, mostly positive in connotation. Like the quote above, rajasic people are attached to results.
Its polar opposite on the spectrum on inbalance is Tamas, "ignorance-born...dullness, indolence, and sleep" (Mitchel 158). Western terms we would use to characterize a tamasic person would be lazy, shiftless or even depressed, a far more bleak picture by our culture's standards.
The state of balance between these two is Sattva, "untainted, luminous, free from sorrow, binds by means of attachment to knowledge and joy"(Mitchell 158).
It seems to me, that American Culture tends to value the traits of rajas. It is built into our mythology of The American Dream, if you only work hard enough, you will achieve the things that make us happy; mainly a house, a car, 2.5 kids, you get the picture. And it seems that we are only trending more in this direction. Ever watch the show Mad Men? The days of 4 martini lunches are long gone, (not that I'm advocating they return). Most folks I know don't even leave their desk / computer to eat lunch anymore. Productivity is paramount to joy, balance or even wisdom. The recent economic housing crises driven by predatory sub-prime loans is a perfect portrait of rajas gone wild. But I digress, this is a blog about William J. Broad's The New York Times article, not our economic quagmire.
Broad calls attention to a truth we tend to gloss over in the yoga community: sometimes people injure themselves with asana practice. Broad's article is colored by his own experience with injury and asana and I think, presents a fascinating portrait of the writers own mind, much more so than a unbiased appraisal of the health risks and benefits of yoga asana. To his way of thinking, Broad did everything right. After sustaining a slipped disc injury in his spine, he sought out yoga as a means to cure himself. He worked hard in asana class to strengthen his belly muscles to protect his spine with some success. However, when his back slipped out again while in side angle pose, he felt betrayed by yoga and draws the conclusion that asana as a practice is inherently unsafe.
I would like to ask Broad if I had the opportunity, "Where was your mind on that day in side angle when you back was re-injured? What instructions was the teacher providing about philosophy, alignment, finding an appropriate edge and striving?"
I would guess that his mind was not sattvic when his injury occurred.
Now the fact that he had to dig back to 1972 to find some really scary cases of injury seems supportive of the idea that most yoga injuries are not catastrophic. Torn hamstrings, wrist sprains, rotator cuff injuries are typical, not strokes. And there are already plenty of blogs to demonstrate that statistically speaking yoga is far less dangerous than running, tennis, baseball, (see Sadie Nardini's response for this).
But again, it is true. It is entirely possible to hurt your body when engaged in asana. I know I have. When I developed a daily asana practice after my father's death, I came to my mat each day with the fervor of a rabid dog desperate to devour my grief in the tapas, or intensity of the practice. Later, I used yoga with the goal of escaping work stress / anxiety. My practice was rigorous and I entered each pose striving to match my body to the yoga journal cover image in my mind. Eventually, blinded by rajas I tore my left hamstring attachment in competitive forward folding, (a sport wholly apart from asana and one I would not recommend). An injury I am now using yoga to slowly rehabilitate.
But even those who should know better, myself included, can find it hard to shake the mentality we were raised with. My father was a man who valued achievement and hard work as a path to happiness, whether in school, a job or exercise pursuit. It is difficult to quiet his voice in my mind that say, "Push, push", when stretching my hamstrings.
Entering a yoga teacher training program and reading the foundational texts such as The Bhagavad Gita and Patanjali's Yoga Sutras helped me to understand what yoga really offers humanity which for me has become a philosophy that works to end suffering along with a way to better understand your mind and body
Problem is, most Americans arrive at yoga studios with the rajasic yet earnest desire to achieve and "get good at" yoga. Yet they have not studied the Bhagavad Gita or the Yoga Sutras. They lack a fundamental understanding of how to approach yoga as a practice and conflate yoga with one of it's eight limbs, asana. Combine daily stress with our rajasic, striving, goal oriented nature and what you can end up with is frustration and / or injury. Quite literally, the harder these students strive to open up their bodies and achieve a pose the more bound, physically from injury and mentally with frustration, they become. I know, because I've been there. The Bhagavad Gita foreshadows this eloquently when it warns, "The fruit of rajas is suffering"(Mitchell 160).
Suggested solutions? Traditionally, the science of yoga was transmitted by guru to student one on one. Along with asana, aspiring yogis were enculturated with the philosophy of yoga from texts like Bhagavad Gita, Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and Hatha Yoga Pradipika, as one holistic practice. Though most students cannot afford or do not prefer private one on one lessons, perhaps its time to get all the limbs back together for a more balanced or sattvic yoga practice for the sake of safety for our students. There are countless teachers already offering seamless classes that blend asana, philosophy, meditation, with plenty of workout to satisfy our rajas. To students: seek out a teacher that offers this holistic approach for best results and to protect your body and mind.
The resolute in yoga surrender
results, and gain perfect peace;
the irresolute, attached to results,
are bound by everything they do.
Spending some time with the Bhagavad Gita this week, I was struck by this quote. This excerpt along with the descriptions of the Gunas: Rajas, Tamas and Sattva brought me back to my first reaction to reading this classic text: Americans on a whole are a Rajasic Nation!
Rajas, is defined by The Bhagavad Gita as, "marked by passion born of craving and attachment" and , "Greed and constant activity, excessive projects, craving, restlessness"(Mitchell 158-9). Western terms we might apply to this guna are driven, Type A, goal oriented, mostly positive in connotation. Like the quote above, rajasic people are attached to results.
Its polar opposite on the spectrum on inbalance is Tamas, "ignorance-born...dullness, indolence, and sleep" (Mitchel 158). Western terms we would use to characterize a tamasic person would be lazy, shiftless or even depressed, a far more bleak picture by our culture's standards.
The state of balance between these two is Sattva, "untainted, luminous, free from sorrow, binds by means of attachment to knowledge and joy"(Mitchell 158).
It seems to me, that American Culture tends to value the traits of rajas. It is built into our mythology of The American Dream, if you only work hard enough, you will achieve the things that make us happy; mainly a house, a car, 2.5 kids, you get the picture. And it seems that we are only trending more in this direction. Ever watch the show Mad Men? The days of 4 martini lunches are long gone, (not that I'm advocating they return). Most folks I know don't even leave their desk / computer to eat lunch anymore. Productivity is paramount to joy, balance or even wisdom. The recent economic housing crises driven by predatory sub-prime loans is a perfect portrait of rajas gone wild. But I digress, this is a blog about William J. Broad's The New York Times article, not our economic quagmire.
Broad calls attention to a truth we tend to gloss over in the yoga community: sometimes people injure themselves with asana practice. Broad's article is colored by his own experience with injury and asana and I think, presents a fascinating portrait of the writers own mind, much more so than a unbiased appraisal of the health risks and benefits of yoga asana. To his way of thinking, Broad did everything right. After sustaining a slipped disc injury in his spine, he sought out yoga as a means to cure himself. He worked hard in asana class to strengthen his belly muscles to protect his spine with some success. However, when his back slipped out again while in side angle pose, he felt betrayed by yoga and draws the conclusion that asana as a practice is inherently unsafe.
I would like to ask Broad if I had the opportunity, "Where was your mind on that day in side angle when you back was re-injured? What instructions was the teacher providing about philosophy, alignment, finding an appropriate edge and striving?"
I would guess that his mind was not sattvic when his injury occurred.
Now the fact that he had to dig back to 1972 to find some really scary cases of injury seems supportive of the idea that most yoga injuries are not catastrophic. Torn hamstrings, wrist sprains, rotator cuff injuries are typical, not strokes. And there are already plenty of blogs to demonstrate that statistically speaking yoga is far less dangerous than running, tennis, baseball, (see Sadie Nardini's response for this).
But again, it is true. It is entirely possible to hurt your body when engaged in asana. I know I have. When I developed a daily asana practice after my father's death, I came to my mat each day with the fervor of a rabid dog desperate to devour my grief in the tapas, or intensity of the practice. Later, I used yoga with the goal of escaping work stress / anxiety. My practice was rigorous and I entered each pose striving to match my body to the yoga journal cover image in my mind. Eventually, blinded by rajas I tore my left hamstring attachment in competitive forward folding, (a sport wholly apart from asana and one I would not recommend). An injury I am now using yoga to slowly rehabilitate.
But even those who should know better, myself included, can find it hard to shake the mentality we were raised with. My father was a man who valued achievement and hard work as a path to happiness, whether in school, a job or exercise pursuit. It is difficult to quiet his voice in my mind that say, "Push, push", when stretching my hamstrings.
Entering a yoga teacher training program and reading the foundational texts such as The Bhagavad Gita and Patanjali's Yoga Sutras helped me to understand what yoga really offers humanity which for me has become a philosophy that works to end suffering along with a way to better understand your mind and body
Problem is, most Americans arrive at yoga studios with the rajasic yet earnest desire to achieve and "get good at" yoga. Yet they have not studied the Bhagavad Gita or the Yoga Sutras. They lack a fundamental understanding of how to approach yoga as a practice and conflate yoga with one of it's eight limbs, asana. Combine daily stress with our rajasic, striving, goal oriented nature and what you can end up with is frustration and / or injury. Quite literally, the harder these students strive to open up their bodies and achieve a pose the more bound, physically from injury and mentally with frustration, they become. I know, because I've been there. The Bhagavad Gita foreshadows this eloquently when it warns, "The fruit of rajas is suffering"(Mitchell 160).
Suggested solutions? Traditionally, the science of yoga was transmitted by guru to student one on one. Along with asana, aspiring yogis were enculturated with the philosophy of yoga from texts like Bhagavad Gita, Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and Hatha Yoga Pradipika, as one holistic practice. Though most students cannot afford or do not prefer private one on one lessons, perhaps its time to get all the limbs back together for a more balanced or sattvic yoga practice for the sake of safety for our students. There are countless teachers already offering seamless classes that blend asana, philosophy, meditation, with plenty of workout to satisfy our rajas. To students: seek out a teacher that offers this holistic approach for best results and to protect your body and mind.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Tapas
Hatha Yoga Pradipika 1:10
For those continually tempered by the heat of tapas, hatha is like the hermitage giving protection from the heat. For those always united in yoga, hatha is the basis acting like a tortoise.
My husband Nathan has been reading a book for his thesis that I see laying around the house, entitled The Body in Pain. While I've not actually cracked the cover of this heavy sounding text, it did get me to thinking about the different ways in which we experience and respond to pain.
So what could this verse from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika concerning pain, or the complex concept of tapas mean? How can our yoga practice shelter us from pain like a tortoise's shell? In Swami Muktibodhananda's translation there is mention of a beautiful myth of Lord Vishnu saving the world from destruction taking on the form of a tortoise, balancing the world upon his back (p. 35). But for me, I think this verse has some very practical applications.
As yogis, we cultivate TAPAS, which is translated as both pain and heat, every day when we come to our mat. Just like in chemistry, we implement heat as a catalyst to excite the molecules in our gross and subtle beings to speed up reactions and create transformation. Anyone who's held Warrior 1 for several minutes, can attest to a very real heat, or burning sensation in lunging thigh, a heat so powerful that all other thoughts in the mind are obliterated during the pose.
Incorporating tapas into our daily practice does more than just heat and change our bodies though, it provides us an opportunity to both observe and practice the ways in which we respond to intensity, from the safe space of our mat.
Let's face it, we have a multitude of options in how we react to intense external stimuli. We can roll up our mat and leave when things get intense. We can tense up our armor and fight the intensity every step of the way. We can be conscious and present as we breath through pain. We can practice ahimsa or compassion for ourselves, backing out of poses that become too much, finding safe shelter in child's pose. Or, when our practice has become very strong, we may be able to transform the way we actually experience pain, seeing it as an opportunity to change and grow. Whatever we choose in our practice, if we are paying attention, we can gain insight into our daily patterns, and then make the choice to make changes or continue on the path we are forging.
The most painful experience I've endured was losing my father to cancer. When he died, I can recall thinking, this is just too much, I cannot handle this. But it is also the very thing that rocked my foundation, waking me out of a complacent routine that was simply not working for me. The very intensity of the situation, made me sit up and take notice of the patterns I had created in my life and created the space for change to occur. In fact, I felt I had no choice but to change. Coming home from work to drink two glasses of wine in front of the TV before bed, certainly would not sustain me through this tough time. And thus I began a daily asana practice.
In my class this week, I'm going to discuss the importance of tapas in yoga as an agent for transformation. I will invite my student to observe they ways they respond to intensity on and off the mat and invite them to use their practice as a safe sheltering space to get into awareness while cultivating new patterns in their lives.
For those continually tempered by the heat of tapas, hatha is like the hermitage giving protection from the heat. For those always united in yoga, hatha is the basis acting like a tortoise.
My husband Nathan has been reading a book for his thesis that I see laying around the house, entitled The Body in Pain. While I've not actually cracked the cover of this heavy sounding text, it did get me to thinking about the different ways in which we experience and respond to pain.
So what could this verse from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika concerning pain, or the complex concept of tapas mean? How can our yoga practice shelter us from pain like a tortoise's shell? In Swami Muktibodhananda's translation there is mention of a beautiful myth of Lord Vishnu saving the world from destruction taking on the form of a tortoise, balancing the world upon his back (p. 35). But for me, I think this verse has some very practical applications.
As yogis, we cultivate TAPAS, which is translated as both pain and heat, every day when we come to our mat. Just like in chemistry, we implement heat as a catalyst to excite the molecules in our gross and subtle beings to speed up reactions and create transformation. Anyone who's held Warrior 1 for several minutes, can attest to a very real heat, or burning sensation in lunging thigh, a heat so powerful that all other thoughts in the mind are obliterated during the pose.
Incorporating tapas into our daily practice does more than just heat and change our bodies though, it provides us an opportunity to both observe and practice the ways in which we respond to intensity, from the safe space of our mat.
Let's face it, we have a multitude of options in how we react to intense external stimuli. We can roll up our mat and leave when things get intense. We can tense up our armor and fight the intensity every step of the way. We can be conscious and present as we breath through pain. We can practice ahimsa or compassion for ourselves, backing out of poses that become too much, finding safe shelter in child's pose. Or, when our practice has become very strong, we may be able to transform the way we actually experience pain, seeing it as an opportunity to change and grow. Whatever we choose in our practice, if we are paying attention, we can gain insight into our daily patterns, and then make the choice to make changes or continue on the path we are forging.
The most painful experience I've endured was losing my father to cancer. When he died, I can recall thinking, this is just too much, I cannot handle this. But it is also the very thing that rocked my foundation, waking me out of a complacent routine that was simply not working for me. The very intensity of the situation, made me sit up and take notice of the patterns I had created in my life and created the space for change to occur. In fact, I felt I had no choice but to change. Coming home from work to drink two glasses of wine in front of the TV before bed, certainly would not sustain me through this tough time. And thus I began a daily asana practice.
In my class this week, I'm going to discuss the importance of tapas in yoga as an agent for transformation. I will invite my student to observe they ways they respond to intensity on and off the mat and invite them to use their practice as a safe sheltering space to get into awareness while cultivating new patterns in their lives.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Real Love
1:16 When an individual has achieved complete understanding of his true self, he will no longer be disturbed by the distracting influences within and around (Desikachar 154)
The past few weeks I have been thinking about love. Love for my husband as well as for friends and family. Everyone, and I mean everyone, wants love and specifically real lasting love to sustain us.
The sutra above teaches us that once we have glimpsed our Purusha, or our unchanging divine nature, we will be less distracted by outside objects and I would go one step further to say that once we have connected with our inner divinity, we are less likely to seek out these distractions. Sorry to get all Whitney Houston, y'all, but the greatest love of all is, indeed inside.
The chicken or eggness of this teaching, is that first we need to learn to discipline, or quiet our mind from said distractions, in order to see who we truly are, to have the Purusha experience, that makes these distractions less sexy.
The unexpected outcome of experience with Purusha, is that it happens to make you better at loving people. Without the knowledge, of our true and perfect nature, it seems to me that we are prone to very imperfect, or in Western Psychology terms, codependent types of love. Love that is needy, greedy and driven by the desire to fill an inner void, is not love at all. It is just another thought ripple that has us chasing after happiness and believing that outside validation will finally make us feel good. This type of love is ultimately selfish and likely to lead to dissolution.
When we are graced with the understanding that we are already whole and divine, loving becomes a beautiful practice of giving. There is no energy lost. And the ultimate irony, is that this type of love, does indeed bring happiness!
For classes this week, there will be increased focus on the breath and the bandhas and seated vipasana meditation after sivasana to help them quiet their chatty chitta. I hope to arm my students with the tools to quiet their minds to create enough space for Purusha to peek through, so that they might more fully love others their lives.
The past few weeks I have been thinking about love. Love for my husband as well as for friends and family. Everyone, and I mean everyone, wants love and specifically real lasting love to sustain us.
The sutra above teaches us that once we have glimpsed our Purusha, or our unchanging divine nature, we will be less distracted by outside objects and I would go one step further to say that once we have connected with our inner divinity, we are less likely to seek out these distractions. Sorry to get all Whitney Houston, y'all, but the greatest love of all is, indeed inside.
The chicken or eggness of this teaching, is that first we need to learn to discipline, or quiet our mind from said distractions, in order to see who we truly are, to have the Purusha experience, that makes these distractions less sexy.
The unexpected outcome of experience with Purusha, is that it happens to make you better at loving people. Without the knowledge, of our true and perfect nature, it seems to me that we are prone to very imperfect, or in Western Psychology terms, codependent types of love. Love that is needy, greedy and driven by the desire to fill an inner void, is not love at all. It is just another thought ripple that has us chasing after happiness and believing that outside validation will finally make us feel good. This type of love is ultimately selfish and likely to lead to dissolution.
When we are graced with the understanding that we are already whole and divine, loving becomes a beautiful practice of giving. There is no energy lost. And the ultimate irony, is that this type of love, does indeed bring happiness!
For classes this week, there will be increased focus on the breath and the bandhas and seated vipasana meditation after sivasana to help them quiet their chatty chitta. I hope to arm my students with the tools to quiet their minds to create enough space for Purusha to peek through, so that they might more fully love others their lives.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
When's the big game?
Sometimes, we need to be reminded of the most obvious things. This week, I've been ruminating on how my practice, or my sadhana if you like, is helping me to develop the skills to become a better person in real life, real time.
But to back up just a minute, it is worth pause to consider, why is it that we call this thing that we do when we come to our sticky mat? What is it that we are practicing for? I can think of at least two ways of answering this question: literally and metaphorically.
At the literal level, asana, or practice of Hatha Yoga Poses, as the story goes, was invented to prepare the body and its energy channels to be able to sit comfortably to begin a concentration, or dharana practice. This is why, at least in the west, asana has become the "gateway limb" of yoga for practitioners. It is simply the most accessible way to get started down a yogic path. Once the body is free from pain and excess energy has been discharged, we are more likely to have success with concentration.
On a metaphorical level, our asana, as well as our meditation practice, prepare us for life. In other things we show up and practice for, such as a sport, there is usually a main event to prepare for, aka, "The Big Game!"
Fellow yogis, the big game we are preparing for in our daily sadhana is life itself.
Just this week I observed how meditation is an elegant preparation for living life. When we sit down for concentration and fix our mind on an object, be it our breath, a mantra, or specific intention, inevitable non related, less helpful thoughts pop up. As practitioners we are taught to acknowledge the thought and then release it like a passing cloud. This in and of itself is great preparation for life. Developing the skill to control your mind and select for beneficial thoughts over harmful is perhaps the most important skill any person can develop.
Sometimes when you sit for meditation, you stumble and your mind goes chasing after the unwelcome thought and you lose your way, lose your practice for a moment. When this happens, we are taught to find our footing and gently, without judgment bring the mind back to our center. This I find to be especially applicable to daily life. After all, we are human and destined to err. The way to move past our mistakes, without creating addition ripples of judgment, blame, guilt, etc., is to observe that we are off track and gently guide ourselves back to our purpose, back to our center, back to our breath.
Getting back to asana, it seems a worthy exercise to list some of the skills we can cultivate with a daily practice, to keep in crystal clear focus, why it is we have a daily practice. Here are just a few I've come up with, feel free to add more in the comments section!
1.) Concentration / Focus - In asana, as in meditation, we keep our mind pointed on the present moment, with helpful anchors like our breath, alignment and or bandhas. When our mind wanders to what we are eating for dinner, we gently guide it back to our mat, back to the practice. In today's world of Triple Macchiatos and Ritalin for school children, focus is something we are desperately grasping for.
2.) Core Strength - With our bandhas we develop very real inner strength, a strength Sadie Nardini has coined, "Core Strength Vinyasa". When we are strong from the inside out and move from this place of strength our confidence is increased, as evidenced by our confident correctly aliggned posture. Coming from a place of confidence and strength we are less likely to act from fear and insecurity and more likely to act with love, reaping far better results.
3.) Flexibility - As we age, we become more rigid both mentally and physically. In our late 20s our ligaments and connective tissues begin the process of hardening and calcifying and so does our mind. Taking the time on a daily basis to stretch and create space in the body, slows this process down. Stepping out of our comfort zone to try new things, "You want me to put my foot where? Which nostril are we breathing out of?", I would argue also slows down this hardening / aging process.
4.) Vinyasa - I have heard vinyasa translated as "moving with the breath" and "moving in a special way". While I am no Sanskrit expert, there is a definite lesson to be learned either way. Taking the time to move through our lives with intention, making sure our actions are aligned with our highest truths can only be a positive. Haphazard movement is likely to yield haphazard results. Taking time to check in with our breath, as means of evaluating our mental state and then redirect it when necessary is a great thing to do throughout the day. "Is my breathing shallow? Am I stressed right now? Am I holding tension in my chest? What can I do at my desk to relax a bit?".
It seems helpful to me, to keep in perspective just what it is that we are working towards in our daily practice, keeping your eyes on the prize so to speak. After all, yoga does not have to be about lofty goals or esoteric themes. The lessons I learn from my daily practice are real and pragmatic. How has your practice helped you to better prepare for daily life?
But to back up just a minute, it is worth pause to consider, why is it that we call this thing that we do when we come to our sticky mat? What is it that we are practicing for? I can think of at least two ways of answering this question: literally and metaphorically.
At the literal level, asana, or practice of Hatha Yoga Poses, as the story goes, was invented to prepare the body and its energy channels to be able to sit comfortably to begin a concentration, or dharana practice. This is why, at least in the west, asana has become the "gateway limb" of yoga for practitioners. It is simply the most accessible way to get started down a yogic path. Once the body is free from pain and excess energy has been discharged, we are more likely to have success with concentration.
On a metaphorical level, our asana, as well as our meditation practice, prepare us for life. In other things we show up and practice for, such as a sport, there is usually a main event to prepare for, aka, "The Big Game!"
Fellow yogis, the big game we are preparing for in our daily sadhana is life itself.
Just this week I observed how meditation is an elegant preparation for living life. When we sit down for concentration and fix our mind on an object, be it our breath, a mantra, or specific intention, inevitable non related, less helpful thoughts pop up. As practitioners we are taught to acknowledge the thought and then release it like a passing cloud. This in and of itself is great preparation for life. Developing the skill to control your mind and select for beneficial thoughts over harmful is perhaps the most important skill any person can develop.
Sometimes when you sit for meditation, you stumble and your mind goes chasing after the unwelcome thought and you lose your way, lose your practice for a moment. When this happens, we are taught to find our footing and gently, without judgment bring the mind back to our center. This I find to be especially applicable to daily life. After all, we are human and destined to err. The way to move past our mistakes, without creating addition ripples of judgment, blame, guilt, etc., is to observe that we are off track and gently guide ourselves back to our purpose, back to our center, back to our breath.
Getting back to asana, it seems a worthy exercise to list some of the skills we can cultivate with a daily practice, to keep in crystal clear focus, why it is we have a daily practice. Here are just a few I've come up with, feel free to add more in the comments section!
1.) Concentration / Focus - In asana, as in meditation, we keep our mind pointed on the present moment, with helpful anchors like our breath, alignment and or bandhas. When our mind wanders to what we are eating for dinner, we gently guide it back to our mat, back to the practice. In today's world of Triple Macchiatos and Ritalin for school children, focus is something we are desperately grasping for.
2.) Core Strength - With our bandhas we develop very real inner strength, a strength Sadie Nardini has coined, "Core Strength Vinyasa". When we are strong from the inside out and move from this place of strength our confidence is increased, as evidenced by our confident correctly aliggned posture. Coming from a place of confidence and strength we are less likely to act from fear and insecurity and more likely to act with love, reaping far better results.
3.) Flexibility - As we age, we become more rigid both mentally and physically. In our late 20s our ligaments and connective tissues begin the process of hardening and calcifying and so does our mind. Taking the time on a daily basis to stretch and create space in the body, slows this process down. Stepping out of our comfort zone to try new things, "You want me to put my foot where? Which nostril are we breathing out of?", I would argue also slows down this hardening / aging process.
4.) Vinyasa - I have heard vinyasa translated as "moving with the breath" and "moving in a special way". While I am no Sanskrit expert, there is a definite lesson to be learned either way. Taking the time to move through our lives with intention, making sure our actions are aligned with our highest truths can only be a positive. Haphazard movement is likely to yield haphazard results. Taking time to check in with our breath, as means of evaluating our mental state and then redirect it when necessary is a great thing to do throughout the day. "Is my breathing shallow? Am I stressed right now? Am I holding tension in my chest? What can I do at my desk to relax a bit?".
It seems helpful to me, to keep in perspective just what it is that we are working towards in our daily practice, keeping your eyes on the prize so to speak. After all, yoga does not have to be about lofty goals or esoteric themes. The lessons I learn from my daily practice are real and pragmatic. How has your practice helped you to better prepare for daily life?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Feelin' Good
Sutra 2:35 AHIMSA PRATISTHAYAM TAT SAMNIDHAU VAIRA TYAGAH
In the presence of one firmly established in non-violence, all hostilities cease (Satchidananda 130)
If I'm being honest,I have to admit that I have been being pretty hostile to myself recently, on my mat and in my head. Still struggling with notions like progress in my practice I think I'm creating a somewhat masochistic dynamic, and as if I needed proof, I've yet again torn my left hamstring. Coming from this decidedly unfriendly head space, I know I have not been doing my part to spread love and light to others in the world.
Times like these I'm reminded of what one of my teachers, David Williams would say, "Get on your mat and see how good you can feel." One might not expect this from father of Ashtanga Yoga here in the US, but David is firmly rooted in ahimsa and I'm grateful to have his teachings to draw from right now.
One definition for the word HIMSA is "to hurt". To most fully immerse myself in a practice of AHIMSA, perhaps it's best to delve into the extreme and focus on" to make feel good". After all on an elemental level, that's why so many of us make our way to the mat every day; yoga feels good, or at least at its best, it should.
To bring my practice of feeling good to my mat, I've been playing around with finding my edge in a given asana and then backing out just to the point that it begins to feel good. To an outside observer, my asana might appear less beautiful or even lazy, but I'm learning. And it feels good, so who cares?!?
All week, I've been thinking about the things that feel good and things that do not feel good. Here is what I've come up with so far:
Feels Bad: listening to negative thought reels that play in our head, attachment to results and ego-driven asana.
Feels Good: a safe place like a sticky mat to check head junk, breathing deeply and being fully present moment by moment as sensations arise.
Now I'm not suggesting a hedonistic approach to yoga. Hedonism is about pursuing pleasures from outside sources, slaking desires as they arise with outside things like food, drugs, sex etc.. These good feelings are fleeting and superficial. What I'm exploring is a more mindful way to move through asana as a means to more fully quiet the mind and access the the deep good feelings that are inside patiently waiting for us, always.
What I learn more and more from my practice and readings, is that yoga simply does not work, if not performed for the benefit of others. In other words, working with a strap for hours on end to achieve the full expression of a pose, will never result in peace. Maintaining a regular asana practice as a means of mental and physical hygiene for the sake of loving others, is ultimately fulfilling.
As I see it now, it is my civic duty to get onto my mat each day and see how good I can feel . That way I can spread that good feeling around to all I encounter. So I can be a better wife, better friend, better teacher, better coworker. My goal is to leave my mat smiling each day.
It just seems like a better face to greet the world.
In the presence of one firmly established in non-violence, all hostilities cease (Satchidananda 130)
If I'm being honest,I have to admit that I have been being pretty hostile to myself recently, on my mat and in my head. Still struggling with notions like progress in my practice I think I'm creating a somewhat masochistic dynamic, and as if I needed proof, I've yet again torn my left hamstring. Coming from this decidedly unfriendly head space, I know I have not been doing my part to spread love and light to others in the world.
Times like these I'm reminded of what one of my teachers, David Williams would say, "Get on your mat and see how good you can feel." One might not expect this from father of Ashtanga Yoga here in the US, but David is firmly rooted in ahimsa and I'm grateful to have his teachings to draw from right now.
One definition for the word HIMSA is "to hurt". To most fully immerse myself in a practice of AHIMSA, perhaps it's best to delve into the extreme and focus on" to make feel good". After all on an elemental level, that's why so many of us make our way to the mat every day; yoga feels good, or at least at its best, it should.
To bring my practice of feeling good to my mat, I've been playing around with finding my edge in a given asana and then backing out just to the point that it begins to feel good. To an outside observer, my asana might appear less beautiful or even lazy, but I'm learning. And it feels good, so who cares?!?
All week, I've been thinking about the things that feel good and things that do not feel good. Here is what I've come up with so far:
Feels Bad: listening to negative thought reels that play in our head, attachment to results and ego-driven asana.
Feels Good: a safe place like a sticky mat to check head junk, breathing deeply and being fully present moment by moment as sensations arise.
Now I'm not suggesting a hedonistic approach to yoga. Hedonism is about pursuing pleasures from outside sources, slaking desires as they arise with outside things like food, drugs, sex etc.. These good feelings are fleeting and superficial. What I'm exploring is a more mindful way to move through asana as a means to more fully quiet the mind and access the the deep good feelings that are inside patiently waiting for us, always.
What I learn more and more from my practice and readings, is that yoga simply does not work, if not performed for the benefit of others. In other words, working with a strap for hours on end to achieve the full expression of a pose, will never result in peace. Maintaining a regular asana practice as a means of mental and physical hygiene for the sake of loving others, is ultimately fulfilling.
As I see it now, it is my civic duty to get onto my mat each day and see how good I can feel . That way I can spread that good feeling around to all I encounter. So I can be a better wife, better friend, better teacher, better coworker. My goal is to leave my mat smiling each day.
It just seems like a better face to greet the world.
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