November

Well, not quite November. But time for new poses for the new month. Navasana and bhujapidasana. Honestly, as far as bhujapidasana goes, I can't imagine ever getting my feet through without scraping them on the mat. But perhaps it will feel more possible after a few weeks of practicing...

And the results of yesterday's experiment (Can I go to the gym and do cardio and not feel any negative repercussions in practice?) are in: No. No, I can't do the treadmill and bike and not feel something about it in practice. I was actually just fine 'til we got to backbends. I'm a sketchy backbender to begin with--and apparently if I spend time doing repetitive motions that tighten up my hips, I pay for it the next day. So backbends stunk. Oh well. Lesson learned. I can't believe I managed to stay away from the gym for as long as I have (4 months). Cancel the Gold's membership.

As has been the case lately, newer people at Volleyball Guy's: The Returning Guy was there this morning, and The Beautiful One (I stopped to watch her bhujapidasana, since she was going into it just as I was leaving the shala--ah, it looks so easy!) and the gal who sat with most of her butt on my mat in samakonasana one morning. I think I'm gonna have to come up with a better name for her :-)

Un-minding

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned a passage in Namarupa. It's right at the beginning of Meditation in Kashmir Saivism II by Swami Lakshmanjoo. I'm not going to quote from the text, because I don't think I can be subtle enough to take it out of its context and keep its power. But check it out, if you can get hold of a copy of the magazine. It's a couple of paragraphs on turya--the fourth state (wakefulness, dreaming, and deep sleep being the other states). Fascinating stuff in relation to the meditative state of practice.

I will post a quote that Lakshmanjoo cited in his text--it's from Netra Tantra:

When during meditation you experience the divinely produced, internal, subtle elements, pass through them, un-minding your mind with great awareness, and enter into the supreme state of God consciousness. This is pratyahara.

Alrighty. Now it's time to get on with Sunday errands: laundry, maybe look around at a few open houses, the gym (I've been avoiding the gym since I started practicing 6 days a week, but The Cop loves it and we used to spend quality together-time there almost every day--I wonder if other Ashtangis have gym habits, or if it's considered counter-productive? If anyone has any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear).

Yesterday, The Cop and I looked at a few open houses. We want to move into a new house right after the new year. He wore a dark tee shirt with "Tactical Division" printed on the front and "Scottsdale Gun Club" on the back. And I had on my bright blue tank top with "Peace and Love" and huge flowers painted all over it. Very amusing.

Mind games

Can it really be possible that just thinking about relaxing your hamstrings makes a significant difference? Or did I just have a particularly bendy practice today? Led primary at the Starbucks of Yoga studio. The one class Volleyball Guy regularly teaches there per week. Their commitment to Ashtanga is not so strong (understatement).

Anyhow, I had the idea that perhaps my psyche affects my hamstrings. It makes a kind of intuitive sense--if I spend all day at work storing anxiety in my muscles, then go to sleep without releasing it, wouldn't it follow that the tightness might just stay there, all stored up and ready to torment me in practice? Who knows. But I consciously spent some time relaxing (or, more to the point, thinking about relaxing) my hamstrings. In addition to the stretches I do to try to relax them physically.

So how'd it work out? Great, actually. Usually in prasarita padottanasana B and C, I can't get my head to the floor like I can in A and D. On B and C, I am usually happy if I can just feel my hair barely touching the mat. Today, no problem getting the top of my head down to the floor. In kurmasana, I was quite surprised to find my face smooshed on the floor--usually it's just my forehead barely touching, at best. My legs are getting straighter and straighter--with considerably less stress on my shoulders and arms. And in upavishta konasana, my head was on the floor. No, not my chest--that's still a bit much to ask for.

I was kind of in and out, focus-wise. Not nearly as deep as in Mysore, but at least a constant state of calm--and I was able to send myself back into myself any time I noticed I was drifting out and around.

So practice is done and now I can spend a nice, relaxing Saturday with the Cop. Maybe the library, then dinner out. Our usual activities. Tomorrow's a day off, so I might as well enjoy some margaritas!

Sounds of Sigh-lence

Lots of new folks at Volleyball Guy's this morning (at least new to me)--a fellow recently returned from India, a fellow returned from a multi-year lay-off, and the two Bikram gals.

Bikram Teacher was next to me. This morning she taught me why Mysore practice is silent. Throughout her entire practice, she made comments about her performance (which she was not particularly pleased with), about the poses (many of which, she feels, are awkward or difficult), and about the practice in general. Nothing awful, just a leaking out of her internal monolog. Volleyball Guy made a couple of jokes about how we don't say, "this hurts," but, rather, "this is interesting," which brought a few chuckles.

Bikram Teacher also sighed and moaned a lot as she moved through her practice. Pretty much every move. Which made me realize we don't usually hear too much of that. Usually it's a grunt here or there, or a bit of a moan if someone is sore or coming off an injury--but it's generally confined to a pose or two--not a running sequence of noises or comments about how hard things are.

Yes, I felt irritated. But also interested from the perspective that the practice really does work (eventually, I hope, in this case) to silence the mind. All of the thoughts about difficulty, pain, pleasure, etc., are eventually subsumed by the breath, bandhas and driste. You realize that all of that good/bad, pain/pleasure business is draining energy from the practice itself. And by rights, my irritation with all of Bikram Teacher's noise ought to be something I can work through and past. While her practice will likely bring her to new places, mine ought to get me past all this, too.

All that said, it was a great practice. Faster than when I work at home--and the speed gives some insight into the full scope of the movements, of the whole shape of the practice. Managed to keep some of the improved breath- and bandha-awareness that I've worked on in the past couple of home practices--which is heartening. Seems like it's a process of learning things at home/bringing them to the shala, learning things at the shala/bringing them home kind of deal. I'm good with that.

Stickin' with the program

No practice yesterday. I moderated a global focus group--via webconference--so I was at work at 5:30 AM, logging on to meet with our European participants. I hate public speaking, even via web, so I was anxious and woke at 1 AM, worrying, "What if no one talks during the focus group?!?!" I considered, for a moment, getting up and practicing, since I knew I wouldn't have time in the morning. But it seemed pretty obvious that I would have a practice distracted by worry, and probably a good idea for me just to get some sleep. None of the worrying was necessary in the end, of course. Everything went beautifully. But it was very strange to sit in a conference room at 5:30 AM, feeling all jangly with nerves, really wishing I was at Volleyball Guy's, practicing with the others. Hmmm, dim, warm room with other people practicing yoga nearby, or fluorescent-lit conference room with disembodied voices via speakerphone? Yeah, pretty hard not to have a preference.

So today back to the mat--my refuge. Good practice--breath seeming to take precedence over bandhas today. It used to happen in zazen, where there appears an empty place between the exhale and the next inhale. A still point. I fell into that little pause after exhale early in my practice this morning, and stayed with it--it is so peaceful and pleasant--until Marichy C, where I fully realized how constricted my breath is in C, and again in D. What can I say about that, though? I can't imagine it isn't normal, the constriction, especially for beginners like me. So something to work through.

I vaguely remember reading somewhere that if you cultivate the pause at the end of the exhale, it relaxes the system--and if you cultivate the pause at the end of the inhale, it invigorates the system. Personally, I'm pretty attached to calming practices--but I'll have to play with the other sometime.

Bandha, driste, breath

The Cop left the heating pad out after tending to his ankle last night. Since I needed to practice at home this morning, I decided to heat up my back a bit before I began--so I sat on the couch and warmed myself and read some of the new Namarupa. Which rocks.

Practice was quiet. Bandha, driste, breath. That's where I tried to focus. As always, it is fascinating to see what happens in meditation. Moments of grace, where time slips away, and moments where all I can hear is my ongoing internal monolog. Which is always shockingly critical.

One moment of grace occurred in ardha baddha padmottanasana, which is a bit strange, as it is a pose that I don't feel at all attached to. It is tough for me, but I never expect to really enjoy it, so it's never particularly disappointing, either. But my mind went still in the midst of it.

It's a curious state--I was reading in Namarupa this morning (and of course I can't find that paragraph now) of the mind states of waking consciousness, and dreaming consciousness, and deep sleep; and how the still mind is actually suspended between those states. It explains it very well--and when I find that passage again, I'll post it.

I did find that I could stay pretty focused on bandha, breath and driste until I got to the Janus. I often seem to hit a pocket of suffering there. Not sure why. And I slowed down tremendously at the Marichys, which I love. Something about their complications--or, I suppose I should say, subtleties--always absorbs me. I wonder if I can find a similar way into the Janus...

Anyhow, home practice this morning was very rewarding. So many things one can hear in the stillness, in being alone. Interesting, too, how it takes some courage to be alone, how it's easier to have others around. For the distraction, I suppose--for the human comfort. Being alone is so revealing; so why is it sometimes so hard to choose?

Silver lining

Today, Volleyball Guy had the space heater on. Guess it's officially autumn. I reminded him about the strain I sustained in practice on Saturday, and he reminded me to go easy.

Practice was actually quite satisfying. My mantra was "mula bandha, mula bandha" and "John Scott knees." Mula bandha to try to help shore up my back, and John Scott knees to try to find a more pleasant way through all the hamstring tightness I've been feeling lately. In his book, Ashtanga Yoga (which I read as I sat with a rice sock on my back all day yesterday), JS seems to set up all forward bending poses with the knees a little bent. Then once you are aligned, you press into the knees. It really helps in padanguthasana, the prasaritas and paschimottanasana--all of which have been killing me lately.

So instead of straining to move forward, today's practice was about bandhas and cutting my hamstrings some slack. Not quite so much forward momentum, practice-wise; not quite so much striving. It was really nice. I enjoyed every moment of it.

Hey, watch that adjustment!

I think I may have solved the mystery of the pain in my lower back, which arose in practice this morning. As we do our Surya As and Bs, we usually stop once for the folks on one side of the room to go across to the folks across from them and give them a down dog adjustment. Then we stop once for the folks in the row that was adjusted to go over and return the favor.

I've never met the gal who gave me an adjustment today, but she sure dealt out a weird one. Where you usually put your hands on the down-dogger's lower back and then press up and back, perhaps pressing your body evenly up their spine, my adjustor put her hand square on my upper back and pressed straight down. As if she was adjusting me into a face plant. Then she went around behind me, grabbed my lower shins and pulled toward herself, hard. Kinda like pulling my legs out from under me.

I was surprised and also perplexed, wondering if perhaps this was some new-fangled adjustment I'd not seen before, or maybe the way another school of yoga adjusts or something.

It occured to me as I woke from my nap (I figure lots of stuff out in the hypnogogic state) that the strange adjustment may have set the back pain off. I asked The Cop to help me verify--I got into down dog and he pressed straight down on my upper back. Yup, it makes the spasmy place in my back go crazy. So this begs the question: How do I make sure it never happens again? Do I scream if someone I don't know ever tries to adjust me? LOL! That would be kind of funny, but probably disruptive. I'm going to ask Volleyball Guy on Monday. Not like I'm not already paranoid about getting adjustments from people I don't trust. Which I am. But I try to be a good sport. Apparently there is a middle ground here that I need to define more clearly.

Practice Makes Practice

Volleyball Guy said an interesting thing in led primary this morning. We were doing hanumanasana--which is either a non-traditional addition to the series that John Scott apparently also does, or else it is something that used to be in the series but was then taken out; I'm not sure which--and he said "The hamstrings never really release. There is no point you can get to where they just release. It's always a slow work-in-progress." Sigh. Gosh, I hate hanumanasana.

So there I am, watching the sweat drip off my nose onto my rug, being informed that the day will never come when I slide into hanumanasana effortlessly, with no resistance from my hamstrings. It seemed quite tragic. Sure, I bucked up and thought, "Would I even want to practice, if there weren't all these resistances?" But I knew I was secretly thinking, "Oh God, really? It's always going to hurt? Why am I doing this?!?"

I try not to harbor those thoughts for very long. What good do they do? But it was a hard practice today, with a mysterious pain in my right lower back. The scary kind that seems to presage a spasm-type injury. I tried to explain quickly when Volleyball Guy came over to adjust me in Janu B. He asked me where it hurt and then just kind of massaged my back while I struggled into the pose. The Dancer, who only comes to practice on Saturdays, and who was next to me, asked "Are you okay?" as I came out of the pose. She is just the sweetest person. Kindness in the shala has a very intense resonance. It always reminds me that that is really what we are there for.

And it wasn't all bad news: bhujapidasana is coming along pretty nicely. And jumpbacks.

Ultimately, I guess the resistance is not in my hamstrings. Or in my back. Or rather, it is in those places, but that's not the heart of the resistance. The real resistance is in my mind. I have no idea why I am fighting myself so hard in practice, why I am not just relaxing into it. But tomorrow is my day off, so I will rest. And then on Monday, I'll practice.

Ashtangevangelism

The Bikram gals were back at Mysore this morning. Bikram Teacher came in right at 5:30 AM. Volleyball Guy told her to warm up however she'd like, because then she'd be learning Surya A and B and the standing poses. Yay! They are here to learn Ashtanga!

The first Bikram gal, who's been coming to Volleyball Guy's for a few weeks, is The Contestant. Volleyball Guy met her at the Bikram studio, where he gets routine fixes for his addiction. She is preparing for a Bikram contest, and Volleyball Guy offered to help her prepare. Which explains the pose workshopping. Then on Wednesday, Bikram Teacher showed up. And I proceeded to be irritated.

But today Volleyball Guy asked Sanskrit Scholar to take Bikram Teacher through the Suryas and standing sequence while he adjusted The British Director and me. The Contestant showed up at 7 AM, to run through her contest poses. The contest is tomorrow. We all sat around with cameras that Volleyball Guy provided, and took pictures of The Contestant as she ran through her performance twice. The funniest thing was hearing The Sanskrit Scholar, Volleyball Guy, The British Director and myself ujjayi breathing as she worked her way into the poses. As if we could help her, if we all breathed properly.

So a pleasant morning, and a pretty good practice. Last night was led primary, with the usual suspects (Sanskrit Scholar, British Director, me and The Other Dave). I seem to have tweaked the outside of my left ankle--no idea how--but I can feel it in Marichy B and D. Just a sudden, sharp pain if I get the ankle in just the right position.

Can't really complain, though--The Cop is in worse shape than I am. Sprained his ankle running yesterday. Already has what might be a hairline fracture to his thumb from "defensive training" class (i.e., fighting), and a nasty welt on his chest from a training scenario that involved something that's not a rubber bullet, but similar. Not quite sure about what it is, but it leaves a hideous mark, whatever it is.

Just say No...di Shodana

I know, it's Nadi.

So I had my nerves cleansed on Tuesday night. Perhaps a bit too well-scrubbed. I have only toyed around with second series a few times, and each time I've been aware of pretty intense feelings the day after.

Yesterday, for example, I was simultaneously buzzed and exhausted--and curiously loose through my shoulders and lower back. Kept trying to eat a bit more than usual, to bring myself back to earth. By late afternoon, though, I was kind of headachey. All of which was cured by giving in and eating the dinner I craved: a large coffee and potato chips. And some candy corn. Seriously, it totally set me straight, physically. And I never eat like that. So no idea what that was all about.

Still, strange emotional feelings lingered. Because I brought My Gift from the Universe to her lupus doctor yesterday afternoon? Because while we were in his office, I was thinking about how she'll be packed off to college at this time next year? Hard to imagine sending a kid with a chronic illness off to fend for herself, but of course, she has to grow up. Still, it's haunting my psyche.

So how much of these anxious feelings are a result of Tuesday night's practice? And what does it all mean? The traditional answer, of course, that I shouldn't be messing with 2nd series. So I have to laugh--I've always been the person who tries everything, who does what she's not supposed to do--why am I suddenly gifted with a teacher whose answer to my What should I do? type questions is always, "Well, try it and see." Why does the universe never give me a straight, definitive answer? Haha. I know. The joke's on me. Once again it's my favorite zen answer: Just don't know.

Antelopers

Or, I should say, interlopers. Doing rabbit.

Mysore morning at Volleyball Guy's included a couple of Bikram practitioners workshopping poses like rabbit and head to knee pose. Volleyball Guy, truth be told, has a Bikram problem. As he'll tell you himself, he complains about how lame it is, but he can't seem to kick the habit. So now some of the Bikram folk have been appearing at Volleyball Guy's.

I don't feel very gracious about it, I'm afraid. But I assume I'll get over myself. Ideally, they will decide they want to learn Ashtanga, and then he can teach them, and Mysore practice will feel normal again. You know, because the universe revolves around my desires.

Aside from my wanting everything to be the way I want it to be, practice was pretty good. Light and strong. As happened last week, led at night followed by Mysore in the morning added up to a nice, bendy morning practice. Sleep last night, though, was a little weird. I think my subconscious was wigged out about the unexpected eka pada sirsasana. A little disoriented by the bizarre new kinesthetic experience. What's that I feel on my outer ankle? Oh yeah, I think it's the back of my head.

Beyond the weirdo kinesthetics, there was also the sense that I don't usually move my back quite that way. I imagine it'll be quite instructive as regards kurmasana and supta kurmasana next time I do led primary--which is tomorrow night--but the fact of the matter is, I think of my practice as what I do in Mysore, which is up through Marichy D. So all of this eka pada sirsasana and kurmasana/supta kurmasana business is kind of hard to integrate. I guess I'll think of them as research poses.

Only other really notable things: pain in my left ankle in Marichy D--no idea what that was about, but it seemed like a temporary glitch, and pain my my right wrist as I push back into down dog. It lasted just until I was warm, which is a little scary, because I remember the same effect (hurt, warm-up, feel fine) when I had tendonitis in my fingers from climbing. And it took a long time to heal.

Evening practice

Yup, Volleyball Guy likes to do led second series on Tuesdays. I was kind of overwhelmed, in my mind, when I stepped on the mat: long day at work, traffic on the way to Volleyball Guy's, 5:30 PM when I am used to practicing at 5:45 AM...blah, blah, blah. Once we began, I was happy as a clam.

The Sanskrit Scholar was there, The British Director, The Other Dave and me. It felt great to do so many backbends! I'm still new enough to second series that there is a good bit of anxiety on my part--oh geez, what's coming up next?!?--but in the end I had a grand old time. And I got eka pada sirsasana A & B on the left side for the first time. All of my practice of this pose as I watch a bit of TV in the evening--which I started doing because it gets the kinks out of my sacrum--has paid off. Sure, My Gift from the Universe rolls her eyes and says, "Oh Mom, do you really have to do that?!?!" But in the end, it was a good idea. Still, it scares the heck out of me when my foot hooks around my neck--totally feels like I'm going to get stuck somehow.

Volleyball Guy left us to do our own closing sequences, and as he closed the door and went into the house proper, I looked at the others and said, "Do you think it seems to him that every time he opens that door, we're here?" Because we'll all be back tomorrow morning at 5:45 AM Mysore practice. Home practice has much to recommend it, but it sure is lovely to practice with these people.

Post moon day

Mind itself is buddha.
Practice is difficult. Explanation is not difficult.
Not-mind. Not-buddha.
Explanation is difficult. Practice is not difficult.
--Dogen

Had to include this poem--it made me laugh, as I could imagine Dogen writing about Ashtanga and blogging.

The moon was beautiful over the desert last night. Evening practice today. Volleyball Guy likes to do second series on Tuesday nights. That ought to be interesting.

Coca Cola Coca Cola Coca Cola

This morning, Neti had some interesting thoughts about how to deal with conflicting information about what is "right" in practice.

This post made me think of a story that Zen Master Seung Sahn used to tell about chanting. In the story there is a question about what kind of chanting is "correct" chanting. Folks in the story are unclear about which is the best chant. Here's a bit of Soen Sa Nim's comments:

Practicing will not help if you are attached to your thinking, if your mind is moving. Taoist chanting, Confucian chanting, Christian chanting, Buddhist chanting: it doesn't matter. Even chanting, "Coca Cola, Coca Cola, Coca Cola..." can be just as good if you keep a clear mind. But, if you don't keep a clear mind, even Buddha cannot help you. The most important thing is, only do it. When you only do something one hundred percent, then there is no subject, no object.There's no inside or outside. Inside and outside are already one. That means you and the whole universe are one and never separate.

Seung Sahn died in November of last year. I miss having him around. His stories were remarkably simple and remarkably instructive at the same time. I was both naive and arrogant enough to think they were unsophisticated when I first heard them. Duh! Not.

Perhaps the best thing about the stories is the compassion that they suggest. Soen Sa Nim always said "Just do it," which in Ashtangi-speak means "just practice." But the underlying assumption is that one should practice with compassion. For everyone. Including oneself. Which is easier said than done, as I'm sure many Ashtangis know.

I wonder if we don't, as a group, tend toward the hypercritical, toward lots of thinking. Like Neti, I overexert, I think too much, I am critical of my attempts. I have to be really careful not to disparage myself moment by moment as I practice. And that's perhaps my biggest challenge and the greatest opportunity of practice--I can spend time on the mat being critical, or I can let go of that mind and just practice, and feel the grace and the acceptance and the love. And maybe if I do it over and over again, I can bring that clear mind into everyday life and share it.

Thanks for the good morning post, Neti! And here's the link to the whole chanting story, if anyone's curious: http://www.kwanumzen.com/primarypoint/v14n1-1996-spring-dssn-kobongstrymind.html

Coffee, football and somatics

Doing zazen is a bit like putting your whole life on the stove, turning up the fire and watching the dross you had unconsciously presumed to be yourself bubble away in the misery of self-confrontation. In the beginning years of zazen, you are many times brought face-to-face with dimensions of your personality that you did not know were there and did not want to know were there. Often you experience emotional and physical pain that represents in an unmistakably primal way your own resistance to transformation.

--Spacious Body: Explorations in Somatic Ontology

Familiar, huh? Easy to apply this to an Ashtanga practice.

An interesting thing about this book is that the author relates many of his zen experiences, which most people think of as "mind" experiences, and then applies them to the Rolfing process, which most people think of as a "body" experience.

Good passages in the book about the creative process, from which all transformations arise, and the necessary "allowing" that fosters the creative process. He speaks about passivity and about willfulness, and suggests that both come from a conflicted, defensive orientation to the world. And that that orientation, built and reinforced over a lifetime, hinders full awareness. If your being is a manifestation of defensive responses accreted into physical form, it's going to take some adjusting and burning off to clear things up. I can't help thinking of Ashtanga as a mode for attempting this. But perhaps any practice that forces you to confront yourself would work? And what practice, practiced mindfully, doesn't force you to confront yourself?

Today is my day off from practice. So it's all about coffee and football games and lounging around. Tomorrow is a Moon Day. Yay! Last night The Cop and I went out for dinner (standard Saturday night behavior) and then came home and tried to watch a movie. Miraculously, he fell asleep before I did (usually I am the party pooper), but I wasn't far behind. Perhaps I will never view a movie in its entirety for the rest of my life. Are all Ashtangis exhausted in the evening?

Rise and shine

Sad to say, the super-flexible morning practice I had yesterday at Volleyball Guy's did not repeat this morning. Oh well. It would have been a lot to ask for--after all, I was tied up at work until 7PM last night, and then we went out for dinner, and yes, my one drink did taste especially good and strong--and this morning I discovered that it tasted really strong because apparently it was really strong. Duh.

A couple of times a year, my work requires a Saturday half-day. And today's the day. We host VIPs from all over the world who want to audition to teach seminars for the company. So today was home practice, much too early, a bit hung over, stiff, sore, and distracted about how much time I have before I have to be at work. LOL! Not the most conducive conditions. And yet, it was just fine. Moments when I was really present, moments when I was concerned with all the other stuff.

Last night at dinner, The Cop and I discussed Ashtanga (well, I discuss it on a daily basis, but this time he brought it up in relation to himself). As I've told him before, he would 1) be a talented practitioner, being long-limbed, light, strong, and quite flexible, and 2) benefit greatly, from a meditative perspective. He is curious about the practice, but he also has many job-related practices he needs to keep up with--martial arts/fight training, practicing at the range, running, weightlifting. He has a full plate.

But he seems to understand that his job puts him in a position to always take a rather negative view of humanity, of always expecting the worst. And somehow he sees Ashtanga practice as a way to curb this tendency. It's interesting that he senses this. Also not quite time yet for him to practice, I think. But I imagine he will eventually. When I hear people being curious, I always sense the karma bringing them to practice. It's like hearing deep, deep into their pasts, before they were even born.

Light and fluffy

Usually the 5:30 PM practice followed by a 5:30 AM practice is pretty daunting. At least one of them is usually rather lacking. But this morning, I must have still been warmed up from last night's practice. I felt raring to go after my first surya A.

Volleyball Guy was very hands-on today, and highly experimental. I got deep adjustments on trikonasana and parivritta trikonasana--usually he just does adjustments to the surya down dogs and then leaves us alone until the prasaritas. But today he was busy right from the get-go.

And I got great adjustments in Marichy A and B. He left me to my own devices on C, but was back for D. D is what I am really working for--he knows it's where my focus is--and he adjusted me until I was nice and compact and pretty well-balanced. My wrapping arm isn't making it around the knee tightly enough, but my back arm is working well, and the base of the pose is strong. Volleyball Guy never says too much about one's progress--so it was especially sweet to hear him say, "This is good. Keep working the problem. I think you'll get the bind in November."

And then he went into total experimental mode. Before backbends, he had me doing Eka Pada Raja Kapotasana and Eka Pada Setu Bandha Sarvangasana. Uh, okay, I thought, bemused. So then we went on to backbends and dropbacks and everything was back to normal until sirsasana. I felt his hands on my heels and he said, "Go into a backbend from here." I've never entered a backbend from headstand, but I've got to say, it was quite instructive. The weight of my lower body floating in the air somehow showed me how to work into the thoracic area in a way I can never quite find during backbends. It was almost like doing a backbend underwater--free of so much gravity.

So I have no idea what Volleyball Guy was thinking, or even if he was thinking at all. Maybe it was just instructor intuition. I feel more coordinated and kinesthetically aware in headstand than I do in Urdhva Dhanurasana so it was easier for me to work with and feel my spine in that crazy backbend. For whatever reason he thought of it, though, I am impressed, and I am grateful I get to practice with him.

Fun with Flexion

A little something from the new book (listed in the side menu--Anatomy of Hatha Yoga--and yes, I have a "book problem"):

Practicing with total attention within the body is advanced yoga, no matter how easy the posture; practicing with your attention scattered is the practice of a beginner, no matter how difficult the posture.

Terrific book: printed on that shiny, "slippery" kind of paper that makes a book feel really dense. The opening chapter is heartening, because you can tell the author is a devoted yogi. And then he launches off into all the anatomy questions one could possibly have: chapters on standing poses, backbending, forward bends, twists, headstand, shoulderstand.

Here's one interesting tidbit/experiment: he talks about flexion reflexes (pain reflexes) and reciprocal inhibition (flexion reflexes activate flexor muscles to get you out of the pain situation, and at the same time, they relax the extensors--which allows flexion to take place more effectively): okay, now when you are stiff in your back (e.g., first thing in the morning), try lowering yourself into a standing forward bend with your fingers extended. Note how far you get. Come back up and flex your elbows a bit and flex your fingers tightly (make a fist). Holding that arm/hand position, bend forward again. It'll be easier and deeper. The tightly flexed hands inhibits the motor neurons in the deep back muscles, allowing them to extend more.

I love this stuff. People have been talking on the Ashtanga board about how happy they are with their practices lately, how it feels exciting and playful--like being a kid again. I've been feeling it, too--that sense of devotion bordering on mania.

Yesterday a magazine editor who has published some of my writing wrote and asked for more work in December, and it made me wonder if I'd have time to do much writing, if I want to do much writing. Mostly I've been spending my creative energy on yoga. I'm sure other writers might wonder why I find so much gratification in exploring physical poses with my body--after all, there is no "final product"--but on the other hand, I'm accustomed to "normal" people wondering why I spend time writing poems on pieces of paper. Guess it's all relative. I have a mania for playful, useless pursuits ;-)

Getting a Grip

Well, sometimes it's all about letting go. Of attachment to daily practice, in this case. Ladies holiday: to practice or not to practice? I would not, if I attended a traditional shala, out of respect to the tradition of the community. But I don't practice at a traditional shala. So inevitably I just go ahead and practice, since I'm making these decisions on my own.

Listen to my body? Ummm, that can be rather problematic. I have kind of ignored it over the years, when it didn't want to go to the gym, or when it wanted to sleep instead of going to work or school, or when it didn't think climbing a particular rock face was a good idea at all. I kept being suspicious that it was my mind that was complaining or being scared, and that perhaps my body was okay with everything, and that if I just take one physical step in the direction I intend to go...voila!, here I am, a couple of hundred feet up in the air, and hey, easier to climb up at this point, rather than down!

Okay, so I am attached to practicing 6 days a week. It's well-defined and easy to remember. Sundays off. Period. But this morning I had an idea: gee, you've been awfully tired, the tradition says to lay off today--how about trying that out?

So I spend time reading instead of practicing and eventually find myself looking at a calendar of Moon Days, with this nice metaphorical explanation of the effects of the moon:

The full moon energy corresponds to the end of inhalation--an expansive, upward moving force that makes us feel energetic and emotional, but not well grounded. The new moon energy corresponds to the end of exhalation--a contracting, downward moving force that makes us feel calm and grounded, but dense and disinclined towards physical exertion.

Huh. Perhaps I will pay attention to how I feel around Moon Days. Which I usually also ignore. I know, I am revealing my ignorance--I should have attended to this sort of thing long ago. But here I am, making note of Moon Days in my calendar and thinking, "Whoa! If I don't practice on Moon Days, I will actually be practicing 6 days a week one week and 5 days a week the next!" And the thought of a little extra rest, a break from my headstrong 6 days a week, sounds just delightful. Like a little present from the practice. To me, who always has to do things the hard way.

The Future is Ow

Home practice two days in a row. Yesterday I had to skip going over to Volleyball Guy's, since My Gift from the Universe and I were scheduled to go visit a college she's considering for next year. The campus is 2 and a half hours away, and we had to be there at 8:30. So practice at home, at 4 AM. Wherein what was most clearly reinforced was 1) dedication is good, and 2) not without some cost, i.e., extreme I-just-woke-up stiffness. Owie.

Okay, so Saturday's 10 AM class made it abundantly clear that the later I practice, the more flexible I am. What does this mean, though? Would it be good to practice later in the day, figuring I could get deeper into the poses; or is it good to practice very early, when I can really dig deeper into the stiffness? Or is it a wash? Or should I just knock it off with all the thinking? ;-)

Today I am creaky as usual, with a little added tension on the strings as a result of 5 plus hours of driving and two plus hours of sitting on the college tour bus yesterday. So the morning's practice started off as No, no...not this! Go back to bed! and turned into Okay, do some surya namasakaras and see what happens. Which turned into a slow roll to Janu A. Short, but somewhat satisfying. I guess some days, practice really is just practice. And you do it because it's just what you do.

I think I will check out Thursday night led class this week. I go to Volleyball Guy's Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings for Mysore, and would go Tuesday and Thursday, too--except apparently he wants a life and sleeps in on those days. So it's usually Tuesday and Thursday home practice, and then a Saturday led class. Tuesday and Thursday night, though, there are led classes at the Starbucks of Yoga studio. The turnaround from Tuesday night led to Wednesday morning Mysore (same on Thursday night and Friday morning) is a bit much--but hey, maybe I'll give it a go for a while. It'll be an interesting experiment.

Nonduality

Today is my day off from practice, so nothing to say about practice except: I love the day off and need it, but geez, I know I'm gonna pay in extra stiffness tomorrow.

Okay, since there is a house full of laundry and cleaning to do, let's turn to The Heart of Awareness: A Translation of the Ashtavakra.

First off, a little Wikipedia definition of terms:

The Ashtavakra Gita (Song of Ashtavakra) is an influential nondualist Hindu text traditionally said to have been written by the Sage Ashtavakra, though its authorship is not known with certainty.

Alrighty then.

Here is a verse from the section entitled The Self:

Meditate on the Self.
One without two,
Exalted awareness.

Give up the illusion
Of the separate self.

Give up the feeling,
Within or without,
That you are this or that.

Evocative, yes? Give up the feeling / Within or without / That you are this or that.

This or that, I think, is what finally brought me to zen, and then to Ashtanga. My beliefs about who I was and what I did and how I was valuable in the world were just getting so entrenched, so complicated, so much like a little prison I'd constructed for myself. Of course--duh!--I am not past creating and perceiving myself as a separate, busy little construct. But practice seems to make the scaffolding a little looser, awareness of the construct a little less unconscious, the ability to set all that stuff aside and just be in the moment a little more possible.

Here's a verse from the section entitled Awareness:

I am not the body.
Nor is the body mine.

I am not separate.

I am awareness itself,
Bound only by my thirst for life.

I'm wrestling with this one. I am not the body. / Nor is the body mine seems to suggest that awareness is separate from the body.

But then the next line reads: I am not separate.

Hmmmm. Well, the resolution seems to be: I am awareness itself, / Bound only by my thirst for life.

I love that line, in part because it seems so alive, and in part because I can't fathom it, quite. But I think there is something in it that is related to asana practice, to physical practice.

Ah well, who knows? Happy Sunday.

Grace

Led class this morning. And it rocked from beginning to end. The morning started with My Gift from the Universe (i.e., daughter) setting off to take her SATs. As she was going out the door, we reviewed her list of essentials: calculator, pencils, water, sweatshirt. Off she went. A few minutes later, as I was sitting down to write, the phone rings: she's forgotten the ticket that gets you in the door for the test. So off I go to bring the ticket.

And the weird thing is that I have no impatience about having to drop my writing and run the ticket over to the testing center. Usually when stuff like this happens, I take a moment to put things in perspective, so I won't get sucked up into impatience and irritation. It's a pretty simple process, a kind of practice. But this morning I was surprised to find I had no impatience or irritation there to process--I felt quite joyful, actually. Okay, now this sort of thing is where I can get excited about my practice--if it is making this kind of equanimity possible. I came to Ashtanga from zazen, and despite differences between Hindu beliefs and the zen perspective, I feel pretty convinced that both practices lead to the same place.

And the joyful feeling stays all through led class. A kind of calm joy. I decided, at the beginning of class, that I would listen for any anxiety I might feel, feel it, then relax and let it go. And while I was at it, I might as well meditate on relaxing my hamstrings throughout the whole practice, right? Not be fearful of the hamstrings, or wrestle with them, but simply meditate on them gently. Kind of like Freud's "hovering attention" in psychoanalysis. I know, it seems like an "easier said than done" kind of deal, right? But somehow it worked. Or else, I was simply meant to have a light, graceful practice today. Either way, it was very sweet.

How are you?

Arrived at Volleyball Guy's just as he was opening the doors. The lights still off, so it was dark and as I padded over to my corner, he asked "How is Karen today?" I said, "I have no idea," and kind of laughed. It was early, the morning was dark and quiet, I'd had chai instead of coffee, so I didn't have much in the way of self going on. The Sanskrit Scholar arrived momentarily, and we all did Vande Gurunam together in the morning darkness.

Practice was good--the usual: stiffness and suffering at the beginning; warmth and a bit of grace at the end. I'd been despairing of my intractably crummy transitions between chaturanga and up dog throughout the end of the summer--what in the world happened that it was suddenly so choppy?--but that seems to have been resolved this month, after The Other Dave looked up one morning and said, "Hey, your driste keeps sinking down in chaturanga." Bingo. Problem solved.

So the current question revolves more around hamstrings and lower back (psoas, I wonder?). I am feeling fear as I move into these places deeply. Like my attention wants to skitter away and avoid the situation. Why, though? I booked (my birthday present!) three Rolfing sessions with the Philosophy Monk--we chatted a bit yesterday and I suggested my desire to be rolfed might really be about greed and impatience--and instead of trying to talk me out of that idea, he conceded that it might be. So we will see. But fall is here in the desert, the mornings are a little cool, and more people are showing up at the Volleyball Guy's. For quite a while, it wouldn't be odd for practice to just be me and him and maybe the Sanskrit Scholar. Today, folks were coming in throughout the time I was there. If I keep getting over there by 5:30, though, I should be able to enjoy the quieter time.

Home Practice

Lit some candles this morning and skipped the kitchen light. Pretty dark at 5:30 AM, but lovely and easy to listen in to my body, with the visual distraction at a minimum. My hamstrings came in loud and clear. Home practice is such a shifting thing--some days it is very sweet; others, a huge struggle. This morning was a combo pack: the setting was lovely, but my hamstrings/lower back were very sketchy. It's amazing how an internal experience can feel frightening--after all, how much more "at home" can I be than in my own body? It always amazes me that there can be a challenge in there--a huge challenge. It is somewhat reminiscent of my climbing days: I'd be climbing along merrily, and suddenly something shifts--there're no holds, or my foot slips, a bat flies out of a crack in the rock--and my body goes into a kind of anxiety mode. Now, in my own home, on my comfy green rug, I can find (or create?) that same feeling in my own body.