The sweetness of home practice...

The biggest challenge for me coming home from India this time around was going back to practice at the studio I'd been at for the last year.  Maybe I changed, or maybe I was just seeing things more clearly, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong there anymore.  I love the people there, but it was clearly the time for me to move on.  There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.

And I don't know exactly where I'll end up.  There are not a lot of ashtanga options in Austin.  Aside from where I was practicing, there are two other options, one way across town during evening rush hour (not ideal time or location) and the other - taught by the only teacher I know of in town who has actually been to Mysore - is a weee bit too early for this night owl, and it's held out of a local gym.  But a third option has presented itself.  In the last couple of weeks, a new ashtanga program started up at another studio where I practiced a couple years back.  The time and location are both good.  I don't know the teacher, although I have heard good things.  So I may go check that out sometime soon.  And I got word that the studio up north will be switching their evening classes to morning next month, so that may become a more viable option.  I plan to explore all these possibilities and just see what feels right. 

I'd like to find a teacher in Austin.  And at the same time, I recognize within myself a certain skeptical resistance to feedback from people who haven't been to Mysore.  Especially when that feedback is contrary to the way things are done in the main shala.  The general etiquette in a yoga class is that you do what your teacher tells you when you are practicing with them, even if it is contrary to how you normally practice.  But a big part of me thinks that is totally bogus.  Especially over here in the west where a couple thousand bucks and a few weeks of your time can buy yourself the title of 'yoga teacher'.  And especially in a lineage-based yoga practice like ashtanga that has a specific tradition and way of doing things.  Luckily, most ashtanga teachers have a well established practice and much better grounding than most.  But still, there is often a massive gap between those who go to Mysore and those who don't - not just on the outer appearance of the practice but energetically too.  I think it's important to critically reflect upon feedback and not accept it blindly, being open to what is useful and letting go of the rest.  I don't think this is disrespectful - I think it is what a responsible, engage student ought to do.  I think it is what being accountable to yourself and your practice looks like. 
Afterall, "two gurus will kill one student."

Sharath is my capital T teacher.  I trust him implicitly.  He sees what I am capable of before it's even on my radar, and he helps me see that in myself.  He helps me become that.  There is some ineffable quality in his presence, in his watchful eye, in his laconic instruction, and in his sense of humor, that instills in me total faith in him.  Not blind, unquestioning faith but a faith tested in the fire of experience.  A faith that is so wholly hearted it burns all doubt to ash.  Śraddhā.  Guruji used to say, “Many teachers, crazy making. One teacher, shanti is coming.”  And I feel that peace with Sharath.  There is no doubt in my heart or mind.  I have found my teacher.  And so, maybe I'm not even looking for a teacher here in Austin, per se.  Maybe I'm looking for a mentor, someone who can provide valuable feedback while also recognizing and honoring that Sharath is my teacher.  And maybe they're even interested and curious to hear about the way things are in the main shala.  Maybe I'm looking for a place where the integrity of the tradition is respected, even if no one has been to Mysore.  Maybe I'm just looking for a solid adjustment every once in a while.  Maybe I'm looking for the sense of familiarity and community you develop with the people you practice with every day, even though you may rarely even say a word.  

Every day in utpluthih, I hear Sharath saying, "Lift up.... lift up.... lift higher..."

So where does this leave me...?  I have departed without any certain place to go.  And I'm okay with not belonging anywhere in particular for the moment, not having a teacher here or even a community of other ashtangis to practice with.  And I'm okay with the prospect that I may not even find those things here.  I'm open to the process of discovery and this in between place of the unfolding.  And you know what, for right now at least, I am really enjoying home practice, even with its challenges.  I've been on a major huge intense creative streak since I've been home, and so it's been all too easy for me to start working on one of my many exciting projects first thing in the morning and get so wrapped up that before I know it, I look up and it's already late in the afternoon and I haven't done my asana practice yet!  So what if I hit the mat at 4pm?  The inconsistency in my practice timing has actually been helpful in some ways.  It keeps me from getting too comfortable, from taking anything for granted, and it allows room for all this creative energy to be expressed in all kinds of juicy ways.  But inconsistency can also be an uphill battle.  It's much harder to hit the mat as it gets later in the day, so I am working towards a little more consistency - just enough to keep me reigned in and focused but not so much that things become too rigid for deep, sustained creative work to unfold in that unpredictable way it so often does.  I like having room to improvise when the muse comes to visit.  I will say, I am continually amazed at how much discipline and commitment it takes to keep up a home practice, especially since I work from home and there are plenty of ways to detour myself.  And I am nothing short of shocked (shocked, I tell you!!!) that I have become a person who could even remotely be described by the words 'disciplined' and 'committed'.  Oh what a potent and peculiar sort of magic yoga is!!! 
 

Asana practice itself has been great.  Except, to be honest, I miss those rock solid backbending assists in the shala. "Catching?" "Yes catching, no problem!" Every day catching. I could totally catch my ankles on my own if only I can find my balance.  Even so, my backbending is deep and steady, my breath is more full and calm than I thought possible that deep in it... Backbending has gone from a fear and panic inducing thing I had to force myself to confront every day, to my very favorite part of the day... All is coming!  Who could of guessed?!

<Exhibit A>  Exhale, go back... Breathe 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... Inhale, up!

I've been taking some video of my backbending at the end of practice.  I thought it would be good to see how it looks for myself.  It's been helpful to see myself in motion, how I fidget too much sometimes, but also how beautiful and deep backbending has become!  Slow and controlled, steady and focused.  And you know what else?  Looking at myself backbending, it occurs to me that my ass is so big it's damn near a miracle I can bend back over that thing!  As I told my friends who were quick to defend my derrière, I'm not saying fat bottomed girls are a bad thing.  Au contraire mon frère!  I think it's funny!  And kind of awesome.  Clearly, I don't have the ballerina-esque body that seems most commonly found amongst yogagirls... certainly amongst the most naturally graceful and flexible yogagirls.  Hahah, and yet!  I've discovered that my body is plenty capable of doing some damn amazing things.  <see exhibit A, above>  I've been struck with an overwhelming clarity and peace of mind that comes from recognizing how this body is an ally, a comrade on the battlefield, the dearest most loyal friend in life.  I've spent far too much time and energy struggling against it, berating it, trying to force it to be something it's not.  But no more.  How could I have anything other than love and gratitude and respect for a body that does this every day? 

And so... practice is practice is practice... whether you're on the other side of the world, waiting for the "one more" that signals you to enter and roll out your mat to begin your practice as seventy other people are in the midst of their own... Or whether it's just you at home all alone... Practice is practice, and it is so very sweet, same same. 

 

Everything to give...

Well, I'm back in Mysore.  Feels like I never even left.  

I had another dream before I left Austin.  I had been feeling quite anxious about some circumstances that presented me with the opportunity to practice non-attachment in a big way.  I was conflicted about whether I should stay in Austin to deal with the unfortunate situation, or go to India as I had set in motion months ago.  When India calls, it is not a subtle argument.  It is not the sweet whisper of a lover.  No, it is the full force of a new moon tide pulling me toward shore.  There is little option but to surrender.  And my dream whispered to me, "Go.  Go, and take nothing.  She has everything to give..."   

So here I am.  And it is a beautiful, sweet homecoming.

I haven't even been here for a week and already Sharath has me catching my ankles in backbends.  Remembering the lessons from last year, and being thankful for them and integrating them into my practice every day, my practice is so much stronger, more focused, more refined - which is most definitely apparent in my asana practice, but also moreso apparent (to me, at least) in my inner devotional practice.  Last year cracked me open, stripped the outer artifice of the practice away, and let me see all that remains.  With a dislocated rib and pulled intercostals, I was crawling and crying my way through the most basic practice, in terrible pain with every breath, and I realized that everything I need was right there all along.  Yoga is really not about the asanas.  Referring to the asana practice, Guruji said, "Yoga is showing where to look for the soul - that is all."  And in the last year, the sweetness and devotion I found in my cracked open heart has grown and taken root in a much more substantial way, in ways apparent from the outside, and, most importantly, in the infinitely more nuanced inner workings.   

Yesterday was my first day of self-practice at the shala.  I attempted to have a nice leisurely stroll of a practice.  I did a few dropbacks with just a little moral support from one of Sharath's assistants while Sharath kept a watchful eye on me, and then he tells his assistant to 'make her catch' in the final dropback.  To which I responded the only way a person really can to such a direction, with a look of complete shock and terror!  For all you non-ashtangis out there, that means dropping back into backbend from standing and grabbing both your ankles.  I didn't do it quite because I sort of panicked and just ended up landing my hands about two inches from my heels, but I feel somehow like I've been found out, and I should be very, very afraid of what's in store.  'No fear, no fun!'  

And then today, I did dropbacks all by myself without the mental safety net of someone standing right in front of me.  And then another one of Sharath's assistants comes over to do half backs and the final deep dropback.  He asked me if I catch and I'm sure I had that scared look in my eyes and said I never even tried or thought about it until yesterday.  So he talked me through it.  My hands landed nice and close to my heels, and I walked them in until they were just a hair away, then he told me to straighten my arms and he grabbed my right hand, put it on my right ankle, and then did the same with the left.  Then he readjusted me a bit higher on my ankles and told me to straighten my arms again, and I took the usual five breaths before coming back up.  As I was getting squooshed in forward bend, Sharath asked, 'Catching?'  And his assistant replied, 'Yes, catching.  Easy for her.'  Ummmm, yeah... easy.  Hahah!  Not so easy inside my head!  But also not as crazy scary as I could have imagined if given a little more time to think about it. 

So there it is, once again, experiencing first hand how the impossible becomes possible, and one day the possible may actually become easy.  So go do something that scares you, aim for something just out of reach.  Practice.... All is coming!

On friendship... this is the training ground part 2...

In my last blog, This is the training ground, I wrote, "It is this place - between the running and the staying, the closing and the opening, the hardening and the softening - where we see precisely what we're made of.  This is where we can initiate meaningful and substantial change within ourselves.  This is where we become better people, more integrated, more open, more loving, more clear.  No one is exempt from fighting this battle within him or herself.  The only real choice you have is which side you fight for.  It is the choice you make - between the fear and the love - that becomes the story of your life.  Which side are you fighting for?  What story do you choose to tell?"  This is an internal dynamic as well as a dynamic we take into our relationships with others.  There has been lots of talk on the wind lately of friends having difficulties with other friends, questions about how to be a friend, how to stand in your own integrity when a friend is struggling in their own darkness, how to stay open instead of shutting down.  It has been at the forefront of my mind lately, too.  One thing I know for certain is that unless we each confront our own darkness, there is no way to have deep, meaningful friendships with anyone else in this world.  The good news is these difficulties are opportunities to become better people, no matter which side of the scenario you fall on.  As we head into the dark of the year, it is an ideal time to turn our focus to the internal work required of us to become the best people we are capable of becoming...

Meaningful relationships depend upon our individual, ongoing self-reflection.  It's crucial to know where our landmines are, our triggers, our hard edges that cast the darkest shadows. We need to be mindful of all the ways we escape, shut down, short cut, run away, numb out so we can be accountable when those things come up in our relationships.  I hold myself to high standards of integrity and accountability, and I likewise expect that from my friends.  We all fuck up sometimes, it's not only okay, it's to be expected.  This isn't about being infallible, it is about actively working on being the best we can be, and being accountable to ourselves and others for our thoughts, feelings, words, and actions when we fall short.   

 So what do we do when another person's shadow butts up against our own?  We are not alone out in the cold, there are tools we can use to bring clarity to our own internal dialog so we can bring clarity into our dialog with others.  If I see a friend trying to pound a nail into the wall with a sock, I go give him a hammer!  There is no judgement or blame here, none of us have these tools when we come into this world.  Some of us are very lucky to find them along our way, and many of us still need someone to give us a goddamn hammer!  Now if my friend keeps using a sock to pound the nail after I give him a hammer and show him how to use it, then there is not much I can do other than feel compassion for his folly as he becomes increasingly despondent at the failure of his method.  Afterall, we all have blind spots and stubbornness that obstructs our view at times.  It can be challenging and often futile to reason with someone who is already convinced of things being a certain way.  As a stubborn person myself, I know how frustrating it is for my friends to try to convince me of something I don't want to hear or think I already know.  But if we tune into the nuances of our own inner workings, our emotional reactions become a light that shines precisely on the places we ought to be looking.

Our emotional life maps our incompleteness: A creature without any needs would never have reasons for fear, or grief, or hope, or anger. But for that very reason we are often ashamed of our emotions, and of the relations of need and dependency bound up with them.  So people flee from their inner world of feeling, and from articulate mastery of their own emotional experiences... What is the remedy of these ills? A kind of self- love that does not shrink from the needy and incomplete parts of the self, but accepts those with interest and curiosity, and tries to develop a language with which to talk about needs and feelings. ~Martha Nussbaum  

Feeling emotion deeply can be a gift when we are equipped with the tools to properly manage it.  When we don't have the tools or know how to use them properly, our emotions can be overwhelming and outright destructive to our lives and the relationships that are most important to us.  They can undermine and sabotage everything we desire and work so hard to create.  We end up living out our greatest fears.  But when we employ the proper tools, our feelings can be a great catalyst for transformation.  They can propel us toward our dreams.  They can be a bridge that connects us in the deepest and most meaningful ways to the people in our lives.  We have the choice, every day, to approach our emotions with interest and curiosity and to use them to initiate beneficial change in our lives and in our friendships.

Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom... The last of one’s freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance.  ~Viktor Frankl 

Our thoughts generate our emotions.  If we change the way we think about something, the way we feel will likewise change.  When I am upset about something, I work to understand what is at the root of my discontent.  I inquire within myself about my own needs, motivations, judgements.  What is my role in this?  Oftentimes, creating just a little bit of space between the situation and the emotional reaction is necessary to have enough clarity to responsibly manage the habituated response which, more often than not, is counterproductive to our contentment and the wellbeing of our friendships.  How do we create that space when things are heavily charged with fear, hurt, pain, vulnerability?  We take a breath.  We breathe just enough space around our fear/hurt/pain so we take a moment to ask ourselves some important questions.  In my yoga practice, fear comes up in backbending almost every day and can induce something close to a panic attack.  This is a helpful place for me to practice creating that space between the situation and my immediate reaction, even if it's just pausing for one breath before I cave to the fear.  The next day might be two breaths, and my capacity to make that space continues to grow as I continue to practice.  Learning how to fall is also helpful, so when that fear comes up, you can ask yourself, what is the worst that can happen?  And you answer, I could fall.  Well, as silly as it sounds, it's quite helpful to test it out so you know you won't die if you fall, and it hardly ever hurts as much as you fear it will.  For me, yoga is a safe place to practice this, and there are also relationships in my life that are safe places to practice making space in my emotional reactions.  No matter how safe these places are though, it always feels risky.  That's okay so long as we are continually pushing our capacity to stay open.  The greatest things in life involve the greatest risk.
  

 

Gamble everything for love, 

if you’re a true human being. 

If not, leave this gathering.  

 Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty.   

You set out to find God, but then you keep stopping 

for long periods at meanspirited roadhouses.  

~Rumi

So how do we make space in our reactions to a friend?  Well, we embark on a process of self-inquiry.  For instance, if a situation arises where I do not get what I need from someone, I look to see... Did I ask for what I need?  (When I ask myself this question, the answer is almost always a resounding no!  And I'm always shocked!  Shocked!  I mean... but... how... uhhh... what... but.... if... damnit!  Why can't you read my mind?!  (Note to self: Be fearless in asking for what you need.))  If you don't ask, the answer to your question is always no.  And as the guy who picked me up hitchhiking one time many years ago said, "If you've got the balls to ask, the only answer is yes!"  I've realized this is a profound insight into the inner workings of the universe.  Regardless of whether or not I asked for what I need, was I open to receive what was given to me?  Was I open to recognize what I need in unexpected forms or from unexpected sources?  Did I express gratitude for the kindnesses extended to me?  Did I give freely to others what was needed of me?   

If I judge someone else as having fallen short, say, by being unkind.... I ask myself, "In what ways have I been unkind?"  If I already know the person to be a good person based on our shared experiences and history, then I am inclined to give a more generous interpretation for their actions.  I ask myself if there are other factors at work: Are they under duress?  Do they have the proper (physical/emotional/spiritual) tools to deal with the situation properly?  Are they doing the best they can under the conditions?  Are they willing to acknowledge where they fell short?  Are they actively working to be better?  And then I turn every single one of those questions on myself. 

Hopefully that line of inquiry turns up a new, more positive perspective on the situation and my friend and I can start working things out from there.  But if it doesn't, I consider if I could be mistaken in this assessment of my friend.  Is there a more fair and generous interpretation?  Am I projecting my own fears/biases/beliefs/pain/anger onto this person?  How is this triggering my own pain/fear/darkness?  Did this person unknowingly step on one of my landmines and go explodey all over both of us and now I don't know which way is up?  What is at stake if I act on a potentially inaccurate or incomplete understanding?  Is this friend important enough to me to do the work required of me to gain greater clarity?  Do my feelings about the situation or attachments to my defense mechanisms outweigh the care and regard I have for my friend?  Is my friend willing to help clarify the situation, their motivations, their feelings?  Am I willing and courageous enough to stay present and open even though it's uncomfortable/scary/confusing/triggering me? 

Don't turn away.  Keep looking at the bandaged place.

That's where the light enters you.  ~Rumi 

What is at stake is not just the friendship.  By running away or shutting down or closing myself off, I am reinforcing my own negative patterns, defenses, and fears.  What part of me does this serve?  Does this serve my deeper desire for connection and intimacy?  No!  Does this serve the love and care I have for my friend?  No!  How do these defenses obstruct my ability to have meaningful and substantial relationships with myself and the people I care about?  And most importantly, how do I serve the higher parts of myself, the desire for connection, the love I have for my friend?  

 

Very little grows on jagged rock,
Be ground, be crumbled,
So wild flowers will come up where you are.
You've been stony for too many years
Try something different
Surrender.

~Rumi

 

Our defenses are thorny weeds, the more we indulge them, the more strongly they take root.  So long as we submit to the spurious whims of our shadow, we will remain complicit in our own suffering.  We are making a choice, whether we realize it or not, every time we run.  But there is another choice we can make.  We can ventilate those claustrophobic places, we can uproot those thorny weeds.  We can choose to stay present in those moments we want to run, we can choose to stay open instead of closing ourselves off, we can choose to feel the depth of our emotions instead of numbing ourselves out.  Choosing this course of action chisels away at our defenses and opens up greater possibilities in our inner landscape.  It also brings us into greater integrity within ourselves and our friendships.  Standing in integrity means our thoughts, words, and actions are in alignment and turned toward the Good.  Breaking down our reactionary defenses and integrating the shadow part of ourselves is necessary if we are to live contented lives and enjoy meaningful relationships.  

We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.  ~C.G Jung

It's worthwhile to look around your life every so often and take inventory of things.  It's helpful information to know if you've surrounded yourself with people who serve the lowest parts of you or the highest.  Take a good look around to see what kind of people populate your life and bear their influence upon your physical, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing.  And ask these questions of yourself, as well, to see what kind of friend you are to others.  Does s/he hold herself and her friends to high standards of integrity and accountability?  Does s/he manage her emotions responsibly?  Does s/he call me on my negative patterns?  Does s/he refuse to coddle my weaknesses?  Does s/he challenge me to look at the dark places within myself?  Does s/he encourage me and support me in becoming a better person?  Does s/he celebrate my successes?  Does s/he see the best in me even when I fall short?  Is the care and regard for our friendship mutually reciprocated?  Do I feel lighter/clearer/more energized after spending time with him/her?  Am I a better person for knowing her/him?  

If we are earnest in our inquiry, it is likely we've turned up some unsavory aspects of ourselves and our friends that may cause alarm.  Fear not!  This is to be welcomed and expected as the natural result of sincere self-reflection.  Afterall, I do not know a single soul who is as good as they'd like to be.  And the very best ones are often filled with the most doubt and fear and questioning.  So long as we are moving toward our goodness, that thing perpetually on the horizon ever out of reach, we are headed in the right direction.  When we fall short or do wrong, know that it is possible to repair the infraction.  First, acknowledge your short-falling at the very first opportunity you have to do so.  The more time that passes without acknowledgment, the more damage is potentially done to both you and your friend.  Then, account for the short-falling.  Explain to your friend what was going on in your heart and mind that caused you to behave the way you did.  Show your friend where you have clarity and where you are still struggling, and ask them to show you the same in return.  Listen to your friend's side of the story, and be open to really hear what they say so you can both better understand how to support each other and more gracefully navigate any difficulties moving forward.  Next, make amends by making the situation right in whatever ways you can and committing to yourself and your friend to actively work on becoming better.  Finally, forgive your friend for their short-fallings, and ask for forgiveness for your own.  Now hug it out, you two!

Life, and love, is short.  The forgetting, and regretting, is so very long.  Be fearless.  Be the first one to pick up the phone.  Say I'm sorry.  Extend a hand.  Ask for help.  Ask for clarity.  Ask for forgiveness.  Be forgiving.  Cry together.  Express gratitude.  Laugh at yourselves.  Celebrate the little things.  Friendship must be tended to, cultivated.  It takes continual, sustained effort over time.  It takes devotion.  It takes practice.  It takes showing up even when it's not convenient or pleasurable or easy.  It takes good days and bad days and falling down and getting back up.  It takes fighting for what and who is important to you.  It takes courage and a willingness to go far outside what's comfortable.  It takes vulnerability and sacrifice.  It takes looking your fears in the face.  It takes staying instead of running.  It takes being seen by another, shadows and scars and all.  It takes bearing witness to another person's pain and darkness and loving them still, even more.  It takes a goddamned impeccable, unshakable sense of humor.  It takes risking everything for the chance of love.   

This is the yoga of friendship, and it is one of the most beautiful and worthwhile things in the entire world.

Street art by Swoon

Lovers gather and give each other shade,
relief from the direct sun.
Stay closeby that community.
Be shade with them,
until you yourself are full of light
like the moon, then like the sun.

~Rumi

Forget your perfect offering...

A month just flew by in the blink of an eye.  Time is strange here.  The days are impossibly long, and yet the accumulative passing of them goes by in a flash.  I still have another week in Mysore, and many people have already left or are in the process of leaving this weekend.  There is much to catch up on since my last post, but mostly, if there's anything to know, it's that practice is practice is practice, whether you're at home or halfway around the world in Mysore, whether you're strong and rockin it or injured and crawling your way through the vinyasas.

In the last few weeks practice has taken an interesting plot twist for me.  I caught the bind in supta kurmasana just a day or two after my last blog, got moved on to the next bit of primary, the garbha pindasana to kukkutasana bit, then the following week got to go ahead with full primary.  Doing full primary means I'd get to work on dropping back.  But then a week and a half ago, I felt something pop in the right side of my chest as I was doing backbends from the ground.  I wasn't pushing myself to my edge, I was very much working within the realm of what's possible and even comfortable for me.  As I came back down to the ground, I was in serious pain.  If the pain had been on my left side, I would have seriously thought I was a having heart attack.  I couldn't finish the rest of the closing sequence, so I sat up, did the closing mantra, rolled up my mat and went home to lay down.  Next day I was in serious pain, literally crawling through the vinyasas.  I rested for a few days, since we had a moon day, then led class which I skipped, then Saturday off.  Sunday I practiced at home and it was so painful all I could do was cry.  Later that morning, I went to an ayurvedic bodyworker to see if I could get some relief.  He told me, "Pain is good sign, noooo problem.  Only in mind is there problem.  Your heart is opening, madame.  Happiness coming soon.  Yes, love coming too... coming very soon, maybe three or four days only.  No worry, pain good sign..." *head wobble*  The second opinion I received was a little more sobering.  It looked like I may have separated the rib from the cartilage that attaches to the sternum, and that I was looking at a six week minimum recovery, and perhaps as long as six months.

Three or four days later, I was still suffering, and I was coming to terms with the more grim prognosis of a long recovery.  Things were rough, and I was doing my best to handle it with grace and surrender.  To add insult to the injury, I came down with some awful upper respiratory infection, coughing, sneezing, sinus pressure hell.  It already hurt to breathe, and then with every cough and sneeze it was like a knife in my ribs.  It was so painful.  I mean, what the fuck, Universe?  I come to Mysore, prepared for whatever is in store for me, ready and willing to suffer if need be, and yet, my predicament seemed beyond ridiculous (and somehow entirely appropriate).  Of all the sicknesses I could get in India, I get the one that hits me right in the chest where I was already injured?  (And as far as being sick in India goes, I think I prefer the coughing and sneezing over the alternatives... but still).  I was suffering so badly, and yet the irony was not at all lost on me.  I started laughing about it, which was also very painful, but I think that's when something shifted...

I found a little book called The Yoga of Beauty.  It talks of beauty as one part of the holy trinity of the Good, the True, the Beautiful.  The trick is finding beauty in things that are not pretty and perhaps downright ugly.  There is plenty of art that is aesthetically and/or emotionally challenging that I find beautiful.  Some of the most beautiful moments of my life were ones marked by hardship.  The thing that makes something beautiful is not a set of some formal characteristics which are pretty, but it is a whole accumulation and unfolding of moments that lead to an aesthetic experience.  The Japanese concept of wabi-sabi is a good example of how we can celebrate imperfection.  If a vase is broken, it is put back together in a way that adorns and embellishes the cracks instead of attempting to hide the imperfection.  And as the very wise Leonard Cohen says, there's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in...

I went to talk to Sharath about modifying my practice and to get any advice he may have about my situation.  He told me to breathe into the pain, stabilize my mind on my breath, and to only do half primary and skip the vinyasas in between right side and left side.  And so I put my full trust in him and did just that.  Sharath said something in one of the conferences (I'll post full notes on those when I get a chance) that despite the ups and downs of life, Guruji always had an evenness about him.  He said life is like the streets of San Francisco, up down up down, you never know what is coming, but to find a steadiness and ease regardless of the terrain, that is one of the gifts and rewards of yoga.  And so I wondered, is it possible to have a great practice when I'm this down and out?  Can I find the beauty in this pain no matter how ugly things feel?  Whenever I've been in pain in the past, I always pick little projects for myself to focus on.  Like with my shoulder injury, since I couldn't work on building strength in the vinyasas, I decided to work on bandhas and lengthening in the forward bends.  With this current injury and sickness, I decided that I would find a steadiness and ease in my breath and mind and have a good practice the next day.  And I did.  To a casual observer, I'm sure I looked hobbled and suffering, but I would say the energetic quality of my practice was as sweet and focused as the days I feel strong and totally rockin.  Each day of practice this past week, I felt marginally better, just enough to renew my faith and not lose hope.  The measure of progress in the practice is not if I can get my legs behind my head or jump back with grace and ease, but it is if I am becoming a better person, more clear, more open, more loving... and I think that I am...

Last night it rained in Mysore.  First rain in many months.  The sun was setting, and I went for a walk to enjoy the thunder and rain.  I realized that the last few days the pain in my ribs shifted.  It feels less like suffering and more like opening.  Big opening, filled with much joy and gratitude.  And I realized that happiness is not coming, it is already here...

Every heart, 

every heart to love will come, 

like a refugee... 

Ring the bell that still can ring, 

forget your perfect offering. 

There's a crack, 

a crack in everything... 

that's how the light gets in,

that's how the light gets in...

~Leonard Cohen

A sleeping turtle in the land of yogis...

First few days in India felt like a whole week.  With a nearly thirty hour trek to get to Mysore, I saw two sunsets and two sunrises in twenty eight hours.  Hours feel like days as I am sinking into the rhythm of things here in Gokulam.

First day of practice.  My start time is 9am, which is technically 845am shala time, and so I arrived at the shala a quarter after 8am since I have heard it's good to be early.  Sharath looked at me and said I was "too early, you come ten minutes before your time, that is all."  Ok, no problem!  I was half expecting my first practice here to be more of a struggle than it was, since I am jetlagged and a little off kilter, but it was actually pretty damn good.  It is hot and humid in that room, good for the sweat and the breath.  Plus the energetic buzz in that room is off the charts.  Made it to supta kurmasana and am still half an inch away from the bind there.  On a good day and with help, I can touch my fingers.  I can cross my feet over my head, no problem.  Sharath stopped me there.  Also, "no backbends until you do full primary."  No problem!  There is work to be done with the asanas I have.  It feels magical and blessed to be practicing at the shala. 

Second day of practice.  Led primary, 6am start time.  Walked to the shala around 5am in the cool pre-dawn air and waited outside on the steps with other folks who arrived early to get a spot.  Even so, I wound up in the ladies changing room with a dozen others who weren't pushy or early enough to get a spot in the main room.  I didn't mind being in there, actually, as we started practice, I became increasingly relieved I wasn't in the main room.  My practice felt heavy, sluggish, sore.  Jetlag and a creaky neck and shoulder caught up with me.  Today is rest day, hoping a deep tissue massage later this morning will set me straight. 

I have been contemplating the lessons supta kurmasana has for me.  Every asana creates a doorway to the inner work.  What is the spiritual lesson for me in this pose of the sleeping turtle?  It is one of the gateway postures of the primary series and opens up an entire universe of behind-the-head postures.  It is a counterpose to urdhva dhanurasana, requiring a strong core and lengthening of the spine necessary for dynamic backbending.  Supta kurmasana also seems to me to be a very receptive and quiet posture.  Meditative.  Every time I get myself into it as deep as I can go, it feels very cozy and contemplative and somehow emotionally restorative.  Safe, even.  I always feel compelled to stay longer than five breaths.

One of the primary physical benefits of the posture is that it increases blood flow to the heart and lungs.  I find this especially interesting when considering supta kurmasana as a counterpose to backbending.  Backbends open the heart and, for me, have been purging old sadnesses which Chinese medicine says reside in the lungs... Coincidence that this is where my work is right now, highlighted and underscored and asterisked, a door I must figure out how to unlock before I can walk through?  I think probably not. 

Out of curiosity and a hope to be inspired by the symbolism, I looked into the mythological underpinnings of the asana, and of turtles in general.  I'm fascinated at what I found.  In general cross cultural symbolism, the turtle shell is a symbol of heaven and the square underside, a symbol of earth.  Turtle represents a union of heaven and earth and a temporary dwelling place of souls making their way to nirvana.  Turtle is also a shore creature, a gate keeper between land and water.  Turtle is easy going, patient, wise, steadfast, and tranquil.

In Hindu mythology, there are various accounts of world-tortoises, that is turtles who hold up the world on their back.  One of them, Akūpāra, meaning unbounded, is a turtle who carries an elephant that carries the world on its back.  The elephant is the masculine; the turtle, feminine.  Another tortoise, Kurmaraja, is the second avatar of Vishnu.  In an epic battle between the gods and the devils, the gods were losing strength.  Vishnu suggested they drink the nectar of immortality to regain what was lost, but it had been hidden in the milky ocean of the universe.  They began churning the ocean to recover the nectar, but the mountains began to sink.  Vishnu assumed the form of Kurma to bear the weight of the world in order to recover the nectar.  As the churning continued, halāhala (poison) was thrown out and threatened the existence of both the gods and the demons.  Shiva drank the poison to save the gods.  The nectar of immortality was recovered, and the gods regained their strength.

As the Hindu proverb goes, you have to digest halāhala (poison) before you get amrita (immortality).
And somewhere, Ganesha is looking over, laughing...

Come home, it's time...

I am getting on a plane to India tomorrow to go study and practice at the Shri K Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in Mysore.  I have been having a lot of dreams leading up to this trip, dreamland visitations by people I will soon meet.  Mostly they are anonymous dream characters who give me an information download, but one night Sharath came to me as I was wrestling with the decision to go and the timing of my trip.  He had a very light, joyful, playful energy, at the same time commanding my unwavering respect and trust.  He told me very clearly, "Come home, it's time."  Well ok, then!  

When I originally started planning this journey, my intent was to go to deepen my practice.  Something has shifted though in my practice to allow me to see the depth of the work there, and now I feel like I'm going to heal something within myself, first and foremost.  The practice has become such a deeply devotional activity for me, that I have no attachment to what asanas I may be given, or whether or not I'll get the bind in supta kurmasana once and for all, or if I'll start second series.  I only care about any of that insofar as it supports the spiritual dimension of the practice.  The asanas create gateways to the inner work.  They show me where to look, where my fears and suffering hide, where my weaknesses and vulnerability are, where I need to pay attention more closely, where I need to push myself harder, and where I need to let go.

I want to practice in that room with people from the world over, where the roots of the lineage have grown deep through the generations, where the spirit and history is palpable with every ekam inhale.  I want to go deep into my own work, to push my edges, to sweat and burn through the things that no longer serve me, to heal old wounds and discover things I don't yet know about myself.  I want to taste my capacity for joy and sorrow and suffering and courage.  I want to confront my fears and pain and know the source of my own strength.  I want to walk to that edge, to see my limitations, and then go a little further to see what I'm made of just beyond the present horizon.  I feel like my whole life has led up to this.  In many ways, it feels like I'm preparing for battle, like I'm about to step right into the fire.  And I'm ready for whatever is in store for me.  I am, afterall, about to be practicing under the sway of Durga who slayed the demon Mahishasura in the Chamundi hills on the outskirts of Mysore.  My recent experiences in backbending (which Kino mentions at the end of her recent article) have given me a look into the depths of what is there and how much work there is to be done.  After a couple of weeks of almost daily full body sobbing after practice, I've had several days of respite from the emotional purging.  A lot of joy and laughter have been bubbling to the surface, even in the midst of the somewhat stressful hustle to get ready to leave the country.  I feel like I'm peering over the edge of a rabbit hole, about to dive in.  I am ready to surrender to the current, wherever it takes me, whatever painful or blissful or beautiful or ugly places it has to show me within myself.  I'm willing to do the work required of me, to confront whatever demons need slaying and to bow down at the feet of gods, trusting completely in the unfolding.  I feel held and supported and blessed by my amazingly awesome friends, my teachers, the community, and something so much bigger than me, something beyond my wildest dreams.  I am filled to the brim with gratitude and a deep sense of trust as I venture forth on my journey...

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers
but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain
but for the heart to conquer it.

Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield
but to my own strength.

Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved
 but hope for the patience to win my freedom.

~Tagore 

Samskaras, tapas, & burning through...

The only way out is through.  Last weekend I took a workshop with Ashtanga badass Kino MacGregor.  One of the main points of focus was about developing agni, or the karmic fire which burns through obstacles we encounter along our path.  Kino talked about tapas, the significance of pleasure & pain, and the importance of burning through samskaras.  She said that if things are uncomfortable enough to make you want to skip practice some days, then you're onto something important, and if things are so uncomfortable that you think about giving up the practice altogether, then you're really onto something important.  It's those times that are absolutely crucial to show up on the mat, to stoke the inner fire and burn through whatever is in the way, be it pain or fear or old emotion or unhealthy habits.  If your practice is comfortable and pleasurable, you may not be doing it correctly, or at least not maximizing its potential for your own transformation.  It's that burning sensation, whether burning muscles or burning emotions, that let's you know you're on the right path.  Kino recently wrote a great article, Let Her Fall.  The entire article is worth a read, but for those short on time, here is one part that particularly resonated with me as it relates to the things I'm confronting in my own practice. 

I recently heard R. Sharath Jois say to his assistants in Mysore, India, to let certain students work on challenging arm balances or backbends for awhile before going over to help them. His actual words were “let him suffer” or “let her fall.”  These two experiences tie directly into the discussion of pain and suffering within the context of our yoga practice, and as such they also offer the most potential for growth and development in the student.  When you learn a new posture you often need the teacher present to go to places inside of the body and mind that bring up fear and pain. After awhile, you will need to strengthen your nervous system and face these places with your own inner resolution. Sometimes, asking for the teacher to help you every day is a kind of escape that prevents you from experiencing exactly what you would need to experience in order to learn the tough lessons contained within some of the most difficult postures in the Ashtanga Yoga method. If you always either go to the wall or ask a teacher to spot you, then you will never develop the kind of self-confidence that it takes to master the posture on your own. You have to learn to…let yourself fall... Learning how to fall is about understanding what suffering is, how to face it, accept it and ultimately make it your friend. This is at the core of yoga’s deepest teaching (Kino MacGregor, Let Her Fall). 

In my last blog, I talked about fear in backbending.  Last weekend in morning mysore practice, I dropped back and stood back up by myself for the first time ever.  Kino was standing there in case I needed help, and I rather shamelessly pleaded with her to spot me, as I'm used to my regular teacher really holding onto me so I know he's there.  But Kino does things differently, and I have to trust her and surrender to whatever it is she is trying to show me.  Honestly, I wanted to run away.  I wanted to tell her to hold my hips so I could feel she was there and feel safe and not be so fucking terrified that I'd fall.  But she stood there, a few feet away, smiling and sweet and a little scary like a stern but tough loving parent all at the same time, and said, "It's ok, I'm here.  Just your fear in the way.  Body, no problem.  Now go."  She was throwing me in the deep end.  I felt like I was about to sink straight to the bottom.  And despite wanting to run and hide, I dropped back anyways.  And I actually did it.  And then I came back up.  Kino was there smiling at me, "Good.  See, you did all by yourself, both ways."

Insofar as I imagined this day would come at some distant point in the future, I imagined I would be ecstatic with joy of the accomplishment.  Like jump for joy happy.  Like feeling as if I could do anything I set my heart and mind to.  Instead, I finished the closing sequence, laid down in savasana, covered my face with my hand towel, and cried.  Sad tears, not happy tears.  After practice, I got in my jeep and cried some more as I drove home.  So much sadness.  When I got home, I drew a super hot salt bath and cried even more.  Bawled, actually.  Big whole body sobbing.  I let it all go into the salt water, got it all out, and then crawled into bed and took a nap until it was time to go to the afternoon workshop.  It felt like some kind of spontaneous combustion happening on an emotional level, like I'd set aflame old things that no longer serve me.  It's the burning through of old emotions, the emotional detritus that accumulates over a lifetime, or even over many lifetimes, and roots itself into the body and heart and mind. 

During my post-practice, post-cry nap, I had a dream.  I was tending a vegetable garden, with big, almost ripe veggies I knew I would be enjoying for dinner in a day or two.  Plump, juicy, sweet, and brightly colored veggies.  Down in the dirt, I see a little thorny weed sprouting up, just barely three inches tall.  I pinch it just below the surface and pull, but it barely moves.  I dig a little further in and start to tug.  It feels like it is starting to move a little but is clear it has roots down deep.  I pull and dig some more, my fingers are covered in thick, dark, sticky mud.  As I dig and pull, I discover a massive, gnarled root, so imbedded in the earth it takes all my strength and focus to get it out.  I don't want to pull too hard too soon because I know I could make the root break and leave part for it to grow up again.  With what seemed like a lot of time, a lot patience, and a heroic effort, I pull the entire root system out in tact and examine it.  The little tiny thorny sprout was growing from a massive, hardened, and mostly dead root clump.  I throw it in the fire pit in the center of the yard and watch it burn.  It hisses and smokes and burns brightly, quickly to ash.  Then I wake up.  

I know I've carried a lot of sadness throughout my life.  Not just my own, we inherit our parents' (and countless generations passed) sadnesses, too.  I have some deeply rooted traumas from my childhood and early adult life.  I grew up in a physically and emotionally abusive family to parents wholly incapable of loving me in the ways I want and need and desire.  Thank god I had a natural capacity for love and empathy, and a proclivity for independent and creative thinking combined with a fierce stubborn streak that served me well enough to keep my head above water during some dark times.  I've dug through and healed much of those traumas over the years, and yet it's an ongoing process and one that continually reveals new and more profound lessons and layers of healing.  The old traumas no longer guide or control my relationships.  If anything, now, they help me hold myself and my relationships to the highest levels of integrity.  And yet, it now feels important to talk about it even more openly as part of burning through those remaining dark spaces.  There are more layers there needing the light, even deeper roots sunk into that thick black earth that need burning, like that big mass of mostly dead root from my dream that needed to be thrown on the fire.

The things that have been coming up in my practice in general, and backbending in particular, feel very much like they're tugging on and uprooting those traumas, whatever remains of them.  All the fear, issues of trust, vulnerability, sadness, anger, pain.  There are also profound moments of joy, love, hope, strength, and glimpses into the depth of my own courage and the opening up of new possibilities.   It's like when we discover a nuance in our asana practice, and then suddenly there is a whole new space that opens up in postures that once were impossible or uncomfortably constricted.  To find courage and hope where there seemed to be absolutely none at all, that's where the work begins.  It is only by confronting the struggle and burning through samskaras that we open up new landscapes within ourselves.

"Think of the yogi as a brave warrior going on a long and epic journey to the center of the soul. Just as in every heroic epic there are fearsome, painful and worrying battles that test the limits of the hero’s ability, so too in yoga are there challenging, difficult and nearly impossible postures that test the limits of your body and mind. But if you are the hero who is committed to the whole journey, then you also have the heart to see the experience all the way through to the end and win your final freedom."

~Kino MacGregor

Check out Kino's website & youtube channel.

The places you fear to go....

"No fear, no fun."  One of the things I love about Ashtanga, is that it requires me to confront some scary places.  I started working on dropping back and standing up from urdhva dhanurasana (backbends) a few weeks ago.  My teacher came up to me as I was going into the finishing sequence and asked if I wanted to try it.  It hadn't even occurred to me, much like many parts of the practice that at one time seemed so inaccessible I wouldn't even attempt it.  It's one of the gateway postures in the primary series.  Once I get to Mysore, I'll need to be able to stand up on my own in order to move on to the intermediate series.  He explained how we can work on it with him spotting me.  I said it sounded really scary and that I was afraid.  He said it was indeed terrifying.  And I replied, "let's do it!" with enough mock bravery to convince myself that maybe I could do it, or at least not break myself in half trying.  We've continued to work on it in class, and it's still pretty much as scary as it was that first day.  But I'm getting more comfortable with the fear, and that, if anything, feels like progress.  Pain is a guru, a gift.  And so is fear.  How can I unwrap it? 

There's all kinds of stuff packed into fear, but as I'm fond of saying or being reminded of as often as needed, "where there's fear, there's power."  That power cuts both ways.  If I do not confront my fear, that thing will have power over me and will be an obstacle and limitation, often amplified into something monumental and insurmountable.  But by confronting fear, I come to embody that power and open up those spaces that I feared to go.  Those places are often the most fertile territories we can colonize within ourselves, and the rewards of such an endeavor echo into every area of our lives.  We become empowered in all we do when we confront our fear.  In addition to confronting the many layers of fear, there is a tremendous amount of trust I must give my teacher to not have me do something I'm not capable of doing, and of course, to not drop me on my head.  The teacher is an archetype, a mirror in which the student glimpses previously unseen possibility.  The most important gift a teacher can give is to be a clear reflection that allows the student to see what they are capable of, to help navigate and facilitate the student's own self-discovery.  And when it comes to backbending, I am not only trusting my teacher, but also myself.  I have to trust I will stay focused and aware and not get all turned upside down and around and try to come up on the wrong count - which is precisely what happened a couple weeks ago.  I got ahead of myself and all turned around (it's hard to tell which way is what when you're upside down) and I came up a count too early and damn near made us both wipe out.  Luckily no one was hurt.  It rattled my nerves a bit, but I got right back up and did the rest of my five drop backs.  This made me realize that the trust cuts both ways too.  It's like mountain climbers tied together, even though the more advanced one leads the way, if either one falls, they could both potentially go down.  

And yet, the act of trusting is far deeper and infinitely more subtle than merely knowing I'm not going to get dropped on my head.  Trusting can be terrifying, and all the times I gave my trust and was somehow betrayed come rushing to the surface.  Whether intentionally or accidentally broken, the rupture of trust can be traumatic.  Broken trust, most fundamentally, feels like a self-betrayal because it inevitably comes to the question, "How could I have allowed myself to trust an unworthy person?"  That's a heavy question to have to confront, and, for the faint of heart or meek of spirit, it can undermine the most basic sense of self.  And now realizing that my teacher has to trust me to some degree too, I must rise to the occasion to be worthy of that trust.  Breaking another's trust is perhaps even scarier to me than the prospect of them breaking mine - and most certainly scarier than falling on my head.  And so go the layers and layers of work to be done here, all potent and alive in just this one part of the practice.  And so I breathe into all those spaces, and I acknowledge that trusting is scary, even scarier and more difficult for me than the actual backbends themselves.  I'm sure my teacher sees some of these inner workings as I stand there preparing and trying not to freak out too much, outwardly at least.  He reassures me so that I feel safe and supported.  That reassurance is not just comforting physically, but even more so emotionally.  The emotional dimension of feeling safe is profoundly transformative and healing territory for me, having grown up in a very emotionally unsafe family dynamic.  I have done a lot of deep work to heal those early traumas, and still, when I push myself to the edges, tilting the mirror just enough to see into the darkest of spaces, there are still shadows wanting for the light.  Those shadows cast hard edges, and it's those edges that offer the greatest leverage for healing and discovery.  The heat generated from the practice is purifying, it breaks up stagnation and old traumas and clears the way for the light to shine through.  Combine that with urdhva dhanurasana being one of the most powerful heart opening asanas, and the conditions are ripe for some serious magic to happen.  Dark places are coming into light.  As one of my earliest yoga teachers from my highschool days in Idyllwild was fond of reminding us, backbends place the heart over the head.  "That's the medicine."  She was right, it is medicine, and it's potent.

As I continue to make progress with the physical practice, the emotional dimension continues to open up as well.  As I come up from the backbend, the natural instinct is to lift the head.  It's an automatic reflex like blocking your face if some object is flying at you, but really the head should hang back and be the very last thing to come up.  Lifting the head too soon can actually cause you to lose balance and fall back.  I have to really fight the impulse until it becomes second nature to let it haaaaang back.  Interestingly enough, keeping the head back also keeps the heart open, guiding the movement upwards.  And so I ask myself in what other ways are my impulses and reflexes self-sabotaging and can cause me to lose balance and fall?  Where else can I fight the knee-jerk reaction and train myself to haaaaang back?  Where else do I close myself up instead of staying open?  Where else do I let my head lead over my heart?  What am I capable of when I remain open and trusting, when I surrender to the movement of the heart?  And in practice last week, I caught a glimpse of what I'm capable of.  In the final deep bend of the backbending sequence, I walked my hands in close enough that I could see my own feet from behind.  At first I thought they were my teacher's feet because it is very strange and unexpected and exciting that I'd be able to see my own feet in a backbend.  I wonder what else will come into view in this wild, uncharted landscape.  There is so much to discover, and I am so grateful, every day, for this practice, and the vistas it is revealing.

This is incredibly potent heart opening territory.  And in some moments it is scary as all hell, and some moments it is so full of joy and wonder and discovery.  This is where the work is.  This is the place where I face my fears and see what I'm made of.  This is the inner landscape that holds the kind of power and beauty that cracks the heart wide open.

And the light is dawning there...

 

May your trails be crooked, 

winding, lonesome, 

dangerous, 

leading to the most amazing view... 

where something strange 

and more beautiful 

and more full of wonder 

than your deepest dreams 

waits for you 

beyond that next turning 

of the canyon walls...

~Ed Abbey