I had the best phone conversation recently with a student calling to ask what the difference was between a Basics-level and Intermediate-level (and beyond) class. Now, this is a fairly standard question -- I answer it all the time and was going through the usual checklist (boiled down: "as long as you know how to do a Sun A, you are going to be fine in any of our more advanced classes") when the student said something unexpected: "What I'm actually most nervous is about is the Sanskrit -- I don't know all the postures by name." My yoga nerd brain lit up -- no one had ever offered this as a potential reason to wait to advance beyond Basics.
Now, I am a language person, so learning the Sanskrit names for yoga postures was deceptively easy for me when I was beginning. I actually had no idea how easy it was for me until I did teacher training and was shocked when some of my fellow TTs -- some of whom had been practicing yoga for years longer than me -- didn't know the traditional posture names and struggled immensely with Sanskrit pronunciations. This dead language was a piece of cake for me because I learned all the cheats -- I learned the root words. I sleuthed it all together.
So when this student nervously asked about Sanskrit, I got pretty excited (much to the amusement of the teacher and desk staff signing in students for the next class) as I explained that learning the Sanskrit would never be required of our students but it would sure make her life easier if she knew some of the basics -- "Allow me to elaborate..." I said.
And to my good fortune, she did.
"Let's take my favorite Sanskrit posture name: Eka Pada Raja Kapotasana," I began.
"Whoa, what's that??" the student asked.
"I'll break it down for you," I said. "Eka is the Sanskrit word for one, Pada is foot, Raja is king, and Kapotasana is pigeon pose. Put it all together and you get One Foot (or leg) King Pigeon Pose."
I went on to explain to her that anything ending in asana is a posture (Asanas being the physical practice associated with the eight limbs of yoga), which actually simplifies a lot of things, theoretically. There are also Frequently Used Words, like ardha which means half or supta which means reclining or baddha which means bound. Hasta means hands, pada (as previously stated) means feet. Urdvha means upward and adho means downward. Muka means face. Konasana is angle. Etc. etc. etc. Many of these words are used repeatedly in Sankrit postures so learning a few of them will make Sanskrit, as a whole, less daunting. Right?
The phone call ended with the student thanking me and saying she was going to make flashcards to study on the T. Dear Student, whoever you are, will you be my best friend? My yoga nerd heart beat with joy as I hung up the phone.
Meanwhile, Carly and Sara (the teacher and desk staff, respectively) were still laughing at me from outside the office. Carly came immediately to the doorway. "What," she sputtered, "was that?"
So I explained the entire conversation to the two of them, which only lead to Carly and me breaking down other complicated Sanskrit posture names. To wit:
Ardha Baddha Padma Paschimottansana
Ardha = half
Baddha = bound
Padma = Lotus
Paschimottanasana = seated forward fold
Boom.
After a few more rounds of nerdom, I took it another level and mentioned a Sanskrit-nerdy conversation I'd had with Mimi (founder of O2 Yoga, my Teacher Training and yoga home) about Supta Kormasana. We had been taught that supta meant reclining (i.e. poses lying down), but Supta Kormasana was a forward fold -- what gives? "So what explanation did Mimi have?" Carly asked. "She said, in this case, it meant sleeping." While Carly gave an affirming nod, Sara stared at us wide-eyed -- "What's Kormasana?" she asked. "Tortoise pose!" I said, demonstrating it to the best of my ability right there at the sign in desk.
God, this conversation made me so happy.
Yoga is its own language, its own culture, its own proudly held piece of nebulous land. Understanding this spoken aspect of the practice connects you more deeply with the postures because learning each poses' Sanskrit name is adding a layer of respect for your time spent on your mat. Plus, it's good, nerdy fun to understand what the teacher is asking you to do and to know that you could go to any yoga studio anywhere in the world and understand what formation your body should assume when the teacher cues, "Vrikasana." ((That's tree pose, yo)) So brush up your Sanskrit -- let the language be something you pay attention to as you practice -- and you'll be ready for Power in no time.
I am a woman in motion who sweats. A lot. It drips down my face, my back, my arms, my legs. Sometimes it drips into my eyes. Sometimes it soaks through my clothes. I prefer tank tops to t-shirts more because tanks don't show off sweat stains as readily as t's do. I am nothing if not practical.
Sweating is good, sweating is healthy, sweating is normal. A sweating body is one that is self-regulating properly, it's keeping the internal heat at a manageable level. It is good to sweat.
And thank goodness for that because, as I'm sure it's clear by now, I sweat.
I was thinking about this the other night in Ann's class at O2 Yoga as she adjusted me in a seated spinal twist and gave her familiar explanation about how doing twists helped massage and cleanse internal organs -- to put it the simplest of terms, twists served to wring out your insides like a squeezing a sponge full of water. My back was sweaty as Ann pressed her hand against the small of it, her other hand guiding my shoulder. Somehow her simile took on profound new meaning to me as I felt my entire body become that sponge she referenced. Drip drip drip.
Somehow, this all managed to ground me more in my practice. It made me think more about why we were doing what we were doing when and how we were doing it. And for me to think more about these things than I do ordinarily is what made me want to sit down and write about it.
It made me want to write about those things that I've learned while on my mat. Those things about anatomy and sense of purpose and fundamentals and what it means to breathe. It made me want to write about how doing yoga has better equipped me to live life off my mat. It made me want to write about how learning to regulate my rapidly firing brain, to slow it down, has made me a kinder, more honest, more giving person. And it made me want to write about how all of this may seem like cliche, like hippy-dippy baloney, but that none of it is. Not everyone has the same truth, but this is my truth. Yoga did these things for me. And I still can't believe it, not ever, how deciding to sweat on my mat at O2 Yoga instead of on an elliptical machine at a gym changed my life in an untold number of positive ways. Doing yoga taught me to sweat the small stuff -- to let it out, to shed it, to keep my internal self safe and healthy as a means of keeping my external self much the same.
So here I am, writing about these things. And I know I am choosing to write and think about them now because of a sense of crossroads I feel inside of me now. I am actively striving to keep from repeating mistakes I've made in the past. I am seeking alternatively routes and thinking long and hard about how to achieve the unachievable. There may be no harder thing in life than changing a behavioral pattern. Especially when love is involved -- especially then. But change is part of the journey -- it's part of the extended practice. Change shows learning and growth have pushed in and refused to take no for an answer.
This brings me back to Devon's class at O2 on Monday night. That class, hard as all get-out, also involved an intense breakdown of the pieces of the vinyasa -- plank, pushup, updog, downdog. Over and over and over again, Devon took us through these motions, more familiar than almost any other to a regular yogi, and this room was full of such practioners. Breaking down a vinyasa is something usually reserved for a Basics class, not Power like this one was. But Devon is a stickler about these fundamentals, as she should be, and she wanted to push us to do these things perfectly, not just automatically. My entire body shook in the extended length of time we held each plank, listening to Devon's explanations of anatomy and physics, coaching specific students to do this or that to make the pose flawless, and my body shook even more when we lowered into chataranga, the yoga pushup, to listen to her do it all over again. By the time we got to updog, everyone had a game face on and we all sighed in relief to return to downdog, a resting posture if there ever was one. What Devon did was she made us think about this series of postures we do ad nauseum in every single class. What she did was take the ordinary and showed us why it was extraordinary and why doing these seemingly routine functions served a higher purpose -- pay attention, this shit is important. There's a reason we do this so many times in class and there's a reason we should be doing it correctly. It was the perfect thing to spend time on in a Power class -- fundamentals are just important to experienced yogis as they are to beginners. What I learned is a bad habit can begin and then slip through the cracks until someone takes the time to point it out. How many things do we do in our daily routine that could use the same amount of extra attention? There must be so many things. Take a minute and figure out what they might be for you. I am definitely taking that moment for myself.
It's healthy to sweat. It's good to have that release, that return to equilibrium. Unloading the small stuff makes room to deal with the big stuff -- it prevents what I like to call the "crumbs around the toaster" argument -- you know what I mean -- when you and your partner or your roommate or your friend or your mom get into a screaming fight because one of you isn't as tidy in the kitchen as the other. Screaming about crumbs left around the toaster. We all know these arguments have nothing to do with something so trivial and have everything to do with something bigger, maybe something unseen or unacknowledged. But if you just said upfront when the waters were calm that, hey, it would be cool if you cleaned up a little, then when the time came to tackle the bigger issues, you could do just that instead of wasting time and energy on things that simply do not matter.
I am happy to be a woman in motion who sweats. I am happy to be able to recognize how amazing this seemingly gross attribute is. I will sweat all the small stuff right out of me until what's left is what needs to be there to keep me healthy. And when my workout is over, I will be sure to drink plenty of water to be ready for the next time. Hydrate, sweat, repeat. This is one pattern I won't break.
All of the sudden, everyone is moving. To Philly. To San Fran. To Boulder. To Washington. To Santa Fe. Back to Boston. Within the last few weeks, I've heard both expected and surprise announcements along this line more than I think I ever have in my entire life. I wonder -- is this an astrological phenomenon? What is making everyone suddenly throw lives into boxes and jettison across state lines? Most people are making these geographical changes for work-related reasons (or their significant other's work-related reason). But whatever the cause, all this wanderlust has stirred a bit of that within me, too -- where would I go if I were to go? Where would I want to go -- and do I want to go? I've lived in Somerville, Massachusetts for almost thirteen years and am deeply in love with this place and the people and events that have shaped my life over this decade-plus. But could I love somewhere else -- is it worth considering?
The answer is, of course, yes. I could love many other places, people, and things. Other horizons will always beckon with the promise of valuable life lessons and opportunities to deepen my own sense of purpose on the planet. And some day I will likely leave this place to find out more about what this life has to offer me -- and me it. But what strikes me even more profoundly in this exact moment is how simple switches in my current life could be more significant than saying sayonara to Union Square hailing a cab for Timbuktu.
I have been practicing yoga regularly (almost daily) since the beginning of 2008. There have been, of course, exceptions to this rule -- periods of time when my practice wasn't as regular, the longest stretch being maybe four or five months at the start of 2011 when my work and social life prevented me from making it to my favorite studio's class times. During this woeful era, I was also dealing with the fallout of the worst breakup I've ever experienced as well as a difficult living situation and I truly felt like everything was unravelling. It was actually because of an especially passive-aggressive trick played by my extremely immature roommate that I found my way out of the fog -- instead of getting mad at him for what he did, I felt, instead, that it would be more productive for me to wish him well than perpetuate his angry cycle. "I'm not a religious person, but I'll pray for you," I thought. It's not a huge surprise that shortly before this realization, I had thrown the emergency brake on my life and set some hard and fast rules for myself: yoga at least three days a week, no exceptions. This change also allowed me to find some forgiveness in my heart to heal the breakup wounds and even reconnect with that individual, rebuilding our friendship one brick at a time. I didn't need to change my geography to get a fresh start -- I needed to change my thinking, my approach to familiar problems, and I needed to stick to this new plan of action with both kind and serious intention. The result was I emerged from that very dark time in my life triumphant, returned to love, returned to writing, returned to my yoga practice. And the next twelve months proved to be the most transformative of my entire life: I self-published my first of many books, I did yoga teacher training, and I accidentally fell right into the perfect job. The pieces of myself that I'd lost came back stronger than ever. And the only change I'd made was a mental one.
Three years later, I am still gleaning lessons from that time in my life, that time that proved that if you're going through hell, you really should just keep going. But the part Winston Churchill left out of that famous quotation is that you get out of hell by breaking the cycle, taking a different path, changing direction. As corny as it may sound, thinking positive thoughts instead of negative ones saved my life and restored my sense of self. I live my life with as much honesty and integrity as I can muster because I know first hand how short life can be and how much it matters to be good to the people you love.
That said, I still have a lot to learn and am constantly listening to the lessons of the universe. There is so much out there -- how can one lifetime be enough even to dream of learning it all? The one thing I know for sure, though, is big change can happen with small gestures -- it doesn't have to be anything dramatic or huge -- your entire life doesn't need to be packed up in order for you to get the closure or renewal or surge of strength you desire. Everything has a root and you can only effect real change when you find that source. It's probably right under your nose. I bet you barely need to leave your house to uncover it. All you really need to do is be open, focused, and willing to listen. Oh, and breathe. Always breathe. You may be surprised how tangible the solution is. Maybe it's as simple as getting on your yoga mat or laying in the grass for ten minutes. Maybe it's writing a letter or looking that significant someone in the eyes. Maybe you just need to string together a few nights of decent sleep. Definitely default to honesty and the rest will take care of itself.
And in case you were wondering, no, I am not such an enlightened being that my life is now perfect because I re-dedicated myself to yoga. Far from it. But the point is I learned the importance of being places where I was safe, loved, happy, calm, and respected. I learned what that feels like and how to achieve it and how not to settle for any less. So even now when I run into dead ends or hard times, I am equipped to move ahead steadily and with intention, sure that even if it doesn't turn out exactly as I hope, it will turn out exactly as it should. I've learned what questions to ask out loud and to myself and how to determine what the acceptable answers might be -- and what to do if they're not to my standards. And I've learned to be flexible with my standards and kind to myself and others, to see others in as many dimensions as they'll allow. I try. That's the best any of us can really do.
But, seriously, do yoga at least three days a week. OK? OK.
As a manager in a yoga studio, I spend a good portion of my time talking to nervous first time practitioners. I'm not strong enough. I'm too out of shape. I don't look like everyone else in their tight Lululemon pants. I'm not flexible. I am afraid of making a fool of myself. To all of these people, I say the same thing: "If you can move and breathe at the same time, you can practice yoga here." The style of yoga we teach is Astanga-based so it's full of vinyasas and tends to be on the rigorous side and, yes, there will be things that beginners might not be able to do in their first (through twentieth) class. Same goes to intermediate and advanced level students. But that's not the point of yoga -- doing that arm balance or coming up into headstand or mastering a Sun B isn't what makes the practice. It's the practice that makes it perfect. It's the effort, the concentration, the intention. In many ways, it's like having a good attitude instead of a bad one. So maybe your heels don't reach the ground in downward facing dog. Who cares? Mine don't, not even after seven years of almost daily practice. My calves are tight and so those heels will probably never flatten against my mat in that pose. It doesn't stop me from getting on my mat. I get on my mat, step one, to be in the moment, to achieve what I can in this singular class. Yes, I can move and breathe at the same time -- I can do yoga.
I was chatting with a few of the teachers at the studio over the weekend about this month's concentrated focus: prop usage. Both of these teachers "look" like yoga teachers and practice with very few need for modification, unless they're injured. I was explaining to them that props month was going to be a good one for many of our students, especially the ones who thought using props made their practice more remedial or elementary -- like they weren't really doing the practice if they "gave in" and used blocks or straps. But, really, props are there to make certain postures safer on the joints and more accessible to people with physical limitations. Using blocks and straps can actually make the practice far more beneficial for people who tend to hyper extend elbows or knees as well as people with tight calves or hamstrings (like me!). It actually took me finally understanding when and how to use these props -- and being comfortable with this knowledge -- to get me out of the land of basics (where I lived like a queen for many, ahem, years) and into the very scary land of Power -- doesn't it just sound intimidating? For me, it really was. I mean... My heels don't reach the mat in down dog, one of the most basic postures of all. How could I ever think I was ready for something like power yoga?
It took comfort level with the props and lots of gentle encouragement from my trusted teachers (thank you Katherine, thank you Ann, thank you Mimi) to make that big step up to the class level I should have attempted more than a year or two prior. I was just nervous -- who could blame me? I still needed to use blocks in half moon -- just like everyone in basics does. That must make me a basics kind of yogi, no matter how many years I had under my belt.
Of course, the answer to that is no, using blocks in half moon does not classify me as a basics bum for the rest of my yogic life. It means that I have the knowledge of both the practice and my practice to prop those blocks up when I need them without worrying that doing so makes me less of a yogini than the person practicing next to me. Because of this, I try to expand my answer of "When should I move on to intermediate and power?" from simply, "When you know how to do a Sun A" to "When you know how to do a Sun A and you know when and how to use props." Truthfully, students advance at much different rates and there's no predicting what things impact the decision of when to move up in class level -- it's a very personal decision.
For people like me, it was a big deal. I am a perfectionist. I didn't want to make a fool of myself or be the one person in the room who couldn't do the advanced posture -- the one everyone was talking about after class and rolling their eyes like, "What's that moron doing in here?" I wanted to ace everything in basics before I allowed myself to graduate. But the longer I stayed in basics, the more I realized there were some things I would never be able to do because of certain physical limitations and even though I learned to be OK with that and attempt power anyway, sometimes I do sit on my mat before class and look around at the other students, many of whom I know quite well, and I have a quiet laugh because I do not have a "yoga body." I am not waif-like or stick thin or long-limbed. I have never worn anything size extra small in my entire life and I have never skipped putting on my bra because, oh, I just don't really need it. I often joke that I can't do certain arm balances because my boobs are simply too big and they get in the way and as silly as that might sound, it's pretty legitimate. They are in the way. Other poses are next to impossible because of my excessively tight calves (even physiology guru Mimi shakes her head and says, "You, those calves, I just can't figure it out"), making even the simplest forward folds the most challenging poses in the sequence. It's not unusual for me to be the only student in the room who can't get certain binds (especially side angle or bird of paradise-esque stuff) and I won't be the one doing the "fancy" Astanga exit out of pretty much anything ever. My body doesn't bend that way and it most likely never will -- not even if I practiced for two hours a day every single day (which would likely wreck my joints from overuse anyway). And you know what? None of that matters. It took being dedicated to the practice and its myriad benefits for years to realize that even simply getting on my mat and moving with the breath made the practice worthwhile. Being the "flawless yogini" wasn't my goal anymore. Being the "diligent yogini" became the defining thing for me.
I have the body I have -- curvy and awesome -- and I accept me for who I am and what I can do and be both on and off my mat. My time on my mat has proven to be one of the greatest teachers of my life and a friend I will never ever lose, no matter what. Tight calves, woefully shallow forward folds, constantly bent knees, heels off the ground in down dog, unmastered arm balances, binds that will never be -- I thank you for teaching me, too. We achieve so much more through things that are challenging than things that come easily, so I am thankful that I made myself mentally move past my limitations and, instead, find ways to work with them and still feel rewarded by my practice. I guess when all of that is factored in, I actually do have a yoga body. I get on my mat and I move and breathe at the same time and I am a better person for it.
Last night, I was at a potluck dinner hosted weekly by some yoga friends of mine. Not long after my arrival, one of my friends pointed out my nail polish (mostly orange with two fingers done in black, partly for the proximity to Halloween and partly in support of the Detroit Tigers who had just lost in the American League Championship Series to the Boston Red Sox) and then to her boyfriend's nails which were also painted in a wide variety of colors. I joked that when I selected nail color, especially for pedicures which I routinely get once a month during the summer months, I liked to pick the color that best represents which chakra I'm most focused on at the time. Another yogi in the circle piped in, "The chakras have colors??" which launched the rest of us into a miniature tizzy. Do the chakras have colors? What yogi doesn't know about this?
Of course, it's perfectly reasonable for even the most dedicated yogi to know next to nothing about the chakra system. It goes beyond the scope of the asana practice and is rooted more deeply in the meditative or philosophical considerations of a yogic lifestyle. "Well, then, what does my favorite color say about me?" asked the man with the multicolored nails. He found three yoginis staring back at him. "Well, it could mean everything," I said with a wink.
Chakras are believed to be energetic centers in the body that correlate with different levels and states of being en route to enlightenment and work together to create your overall aura. Traveling from the base of the spine up through the crown of the head, these seven stopping points work like a prism with the root lock being associated with the color red up through violet at the crown of your head. Each chakra represents a different step along the road to self-realization, which is the ultimate goal of a strong, meditative practice. If your chakras are in order, you can achieve your highest possible level of personal satisfaction -- when they're out of wack, that's when you feel "off" or unsettled. Traditionally, it is thought that the journey is an upward one -- if your root chakra is balanced, then you can work on your spleen and so on and so forth. And as one of the yoginis pointed out last night, if your throat chakra (your communication center) feels off, it may be best suited to work on your heart chakra which is directly beneath it as a way of fueling energy upward to balance what has gone awry.
All of this is fancy talk, I know. And it, like most everything, is to be taken with a grain of salt. I am tongue and cheek when I say I pick my nail color to help me work on or emphasize a specific chakra. But I also do sometimes honestly make what would otherwise by an arbitrary selection that way. Right now, my nails are black and orange for festive reasons, but this summer I specifically painted my nails green when I wanted to focus on my heart chakra and I own multiple shades of purple to use when I'm in need of some enlightenment. Plus, I just like having my nails done and it can make for an interesting conversation topic if it ties into something potentially wack-a-doo like the chakra system.
For those of you who are less familiar with all of this, let me break down the basics:
Root (or Base) – Muladhara – Red
Base
of the spine
Survival,
the right to exist. Vitality,
grounding reality, stability, sexuality, courage, impulsiveness. Deals with tasks related to the
physical world. Ability to stand
up for one’s self and security issues
The Root chakra is your main power station and it
is connected to your physical vitality and endurance, mental perseverance
and it is the center that gives you your life’s passion. The root center
is also your connection to your existence
Spleen – Svadisthana -- Orange
Below
navel/lower navel
Feelings/the
right to feel. Connected to our
sensing abilities and issues related to feelings. Ability to be social. Intimacy issues. Procreation, sensuality, confidence,
freedom.
The Spleen chakra is your sensing
power station, connecting you to your feeling sensitivities. It is the
center that allows you to live consciously, in the "now." The
spleen center is also the link to your enthusiasm, happiness and joy—your
inner-child.
Solar Plexus – Manipura – Yellow
Above
navel/stomach area
Personal
power/right to think. Balance of
intellect, self-confidence and ego power.
Ability to have self-control and a sense of humor. Mental clarity,
optimism, curiosity.
The Yellow chakra is your mental
awareness, which connects you to your mind power. It is the center that
governs your ability to learn and comprehend. The solar plexus center is
known to govern your ego and your will power. It is the sun center that
emits optimism and confidence.
Heart – Anahata – Green
Center
of the chest
Relationships
– the right to love. Love,
forgiveness, compassion. Ability
to have self-control. Acceptance
of one’s self. Harmony, peace,
renewal, and growth.
The Green chakra is your heart power
station, connecting you to your emotions. It is the center that allows you
to love and give unconditionally. The heart center governs your
relationships. It is the energy center that integrates one's physical
reality to one's spiritual connection.
Throat – Visuddha – Blue
Throat
Relationships. The right to speak. Learning to express one’s self and
one’s beliefs ( truthful expression).
Ability to trust.
Loyalty. Organization and
planning. Creativity, expression.
The Blue chakra is your communication
power station. It is the center that handles incoming and outgoing
messages. It is through this center that we voice our opinions and our
truths.
Brow or Third Eye – Anja – Indigo
Forehead/between
the eyes
Intuition. The right to “see.” Trusting one’s intuitions and
insights. Developing one’s psychic
abilities. Self-realization. Releasing hidden and repressed negative
thoughts.
The Indigo chakra is your intuitive
intelligence. It is the center that taps into the universal consciousness.
Through the third-eye you can see things from a psychic potential.
Crown – Sahasrara – Violet
Top of
the head
Knowingness. The right to aspire. Charisma. Dedication to the divine consciousness and trusting the
universe. Learning about one’s
spirituality. Our connection to
“God” or a higher intelligence.
Integrating consciousness and unconsciousness into
superconsciousness.
The Violet chakra is your
spiritual connection. This chakra links you to the cosmos so you can reach your
higher potential. It is the energy of knowingness and enlightenment.
Try this guided Chakra Meditation:
Dedication Yoga-to-Go
So, yes, maybe your favorite color does have something to say about you. Look at what that color's energy represents and see if it doesn't tie into something you are exceptionally strong in or have a particular relationship with. Let's use me as an example, shall we? My favorite colors are Green, Yellow, Orange, and Blue in that order.
GREEN = THE HEART
This is love. This is belonging. This is what is unconditional. This is what gives us peace and strength of mind. Green attracts me, it stands out. I gravitate towards this color in pretty much every shade it comes in. As a counterpoint, my eyes are hazel and mostly appear green, so it's a color I look good wearing as well. I find it interesting that "geniuses pick green" as their favorite color more often than any other (this is true and not just a line from Meet the Parents) given that its strong tie is something so emotionally and intuitively based. You can't measure or quantify love -- it's elusive and strange and so often out of our immediate control. The heart wants what the heart wants, right? It's no wonder it's the color of jealousy as well! We use our other senses to add a measure of sanity or realism to some of the heart's odd or unattainable requests, but sometimes even that best outcome is to quiet the noise of our heartbeat. Nothing is more important to me than love (sharing it, finding it, keeping it) and the community, commitment, family, and sense of belonging that is built with that. This is also an area where, admittedly, I struggle. But I try and I want and I give and I do my best to receive -- which, for me, is actually the most difficult part. Green is my favorite color and its chakra tie is, no pun intended, near and dear to my heart.
YELLOW = THOUGHT
This is what it means to have an opinion. This is what it means to consider the consequences. This is what it means to be an active thinker and a learner. I am a lifelong student who misses the structure of a curriculum and a classroom but who still finds ways and means to further expand my knowledge base. My best friends are people who are intelligent and interested in debates and discussions about everything from nuclear physics to the writing of Gabriel Garcia Marquez to classic rock to baseball to online dating and beyond. I want my opinions to be challenged almost as much as I want my challenges to other's opinions to be heard and considered without outright dismissal. Intelligence is hungry for this -- I am hungry for it, too. Yellow is the color of the sun, of warmth, of a new day -- yellow is the color of an awake mind and its symbolism is one I incorporate into my daily life.
ORANGE = FEELINGS
This is a chakra tied into awakenings. It's the reproductive center -- it's your core desire. It's where you come into your own. It's more base than, say, the heart chakra because it's less intellectual and more gut-level, but achieving balance here only heightens the productivity of the green chakra once the orange one has been stabilized. Like most of the chakras, it works in tandem with the others the same way that taking Algebra I will better inform you to be prepared for Algebra II then if you'd skipped the introduction. This is another color I wear well, so people tell me, and it's an endearing favorite of mine because my younger brother loves it, though he pronounces it "oranch." Finding security in the orange chakra is a necessary evil since we are here to reproduce but our ultimate knowledge of what that means can be stunting. If I have been jilted in the past or taught not to trust because my emotions were disregarded or trivialized, then it makes forming partnerships anywhere from difficult to nearly impossible. If I have been shown a great deal of respect and trust and empowerment by those trying to establish a meaningful connection with me, then that is, in the absence of a straight up betrayal, an unbreakable bond. This is Freud's playground, right here. If he were around to comment, I'm certain he'd say there was no other color but orange -- none that mattered, anyway.
And finally -- BLUE = VOICE
Being heard. Being understood. Being recognized as a thinking person with a viewpoint. This is the throat chakra. As a writer, it is understandable (and likely goes without saying) how important this one is. Interestingly, from an astrological standpoint, I am diagnosed as being someone who is frequently misunderstood because my mode of communication is, well, quirky. I am prone to rambling. Even worse, I am prone to rambling metaphors. I know what I mean and am easily frustrated by people who don't and overly endeared by those who always understand right away. There are a handful of people who get me and for them I am very grateful. Maybe this is why I write, also -- it's easier to be editorial and succinct and articulate with an eraser in hand, less so when speaking out loud in a series of nonsequitors that totally fire and connect in my brain but are often confusing for people who are "new" -- and even some who've been around a long time. I see complicated connections everywhere that enhance the meaning of a situation to me and sometimes that's lost in the translation when I try and communicate such information to others. I actively work on thinking before I speak, or at the very least finishing one metaphor before I roll over into another one. Hey, all I can do is try, right?
Of course, I could associate parts of myself with all of the points and their corresponding colors in the chakra system. All of you, could, too. So maybe it's not any more important then your astrological sign, but it's something to consider. Why not? Worst case scenario, you'll achieve nirvana.
I have never done hot yoga. The style I teach and practice is intended for a "comfortably warm" space -- maybe 80-degrees. The idea is the practioner should generate an internal heat through controlled breath work and intentional movement as opposed to entering a room already cranked to 100-degrees and assuming an exaggerated sense of flexibility that could lead to injury. Makes perfect sense to me. Plus, an 80-degree room is plenty warm for exercise, can't we all agree?
A lot of people don't agree. Hot yoga is an exceptionally popular mode for practice, Bikram Yoga being one of the most preferred. I had heard of Bikram in a vague sense when it was first becoming really trendy and was shocked to learn on a Today Show news segment one early morning that Bikram was, like, a dude. There he was, on my television. Jovial and boisterous and beyond any reasonable level of pretentious, obnoxious, and arrogant. Thisguy "invented" a style of yoga? Isn't yoga supposed to be about the opposite of pretentious, obnoxious, and arrogant? Isn't it supposed to be about simplicity and quiet personal growth? Isn't it supposed to be about expanding your mind, not expanding your vintage car collection or your number of diamond studded watches? Who is Bikram Choudhury and where does he get off? But the journalist, Jenna Wolfe, seemed charmed by him and also declared herself a believer in his school of thought. I watched this interview and thought, "I would never do this man's practice -- he goes against everything I believe to be beneficial about yoga." It's like believing profoundly in God only to go to church to find the minister staring greedily at the congregation while holding his hand out for an offering.
I hadn't thought much about Bikram or his yoga since seeing that interview and, in the meantime, continued to devote myself to my own practice, including doing teacher training last spring. For me, yoga is a way to slow down life, to make myself take a moment to breathe, and to see how much (or how little) I have changed from one day to the next. It has taught me to be comfortable in my own skin. So I can't do peacock or put my foot behind my head -- who cares? I work with modifications or props -- I take myself to my own depth and that's all that matters.
Recently, some of my yoga friends have started talking about a book -- a book I must read. It became a topic of conversation at a recent teacher training reunion party where a few of the women were in the midst of this page-turner -- Hell-Bent by Benjamin Lorr. A nonfiction account about Bikram, his yoga, his teacher training, and his pursuit of making yoga an Olympic sport. My curiosity got the better of me and I added this book to my Kindle the next day.
Ladies, you were right -- I couldn't put it down.
Lorr talks about his own path to Bikram that started with a general malaise in life that lead to him becoming lazy and overweight and somehow landed him in one of Bikram's self-declared Torture Chambers (his term for the rooms where his trademarked classes take place -- how very yogic). The yoga was impossible at first but strangely very addictive and before Lorr knew it, he was a Bikram junkie, attending class every day, sometimes multiple classes per day, and escalating his devotion to two-week intensive backbending "retreats" with other diehards and eventually doing the nine-week/$11,000 teacher training as well as a trip to Nationals. Lorr's book includes other narratives similar to his own -- extreme personalities (Type A's, addictive/obsessive personalities, anorexics, drug addicts, etc) who devoted their lives to Bikram Yoga, many of them claiming the practice healed them from illness and/or injury and gave them the proverbial new lease on life they'd all so desperately needed. Desperation is a common theme in this community, it seems. People who need need need something to fill them. Bikram Yoga and its 26 prescribed postures occupies the void -- it fills them -- even if it hurts like hell.
This passage from Hell-Bent recounts Lorr's first time with the Backbenders, an official/unofficial group of extreme Bikram practioners. The speaker here isn't Bikram but his wife's son Esak Garcia, once instrumental in the Bikram community but later ostracized for seemingly no reason -- a never-ending story within the confines of this world. Here, Esak is parroting what many of the senior Bikram teachers say on the founder's behalf. This style of yoga asks students to embrace pain, not back away from it. Clearly, there are dangers in this. Pain exists for a reason -- it's a warning from your body. It's asking you not to go further -- it's implying danger. Pushing yourself to your limit is one thing -- ignoring those limits is another ballgame all together.
And for a yoga that claims to be so healing, it comes with quite a laundry list of problematic ailments.
Of course, the section on teacher training dropped my jaw the most. The entire event seemed to be designed to torture and humiliate, very nearly turning some people into drones or, worse, animals struggling to survive. And for what? To memorize a 45-page script written by a man who taught class from a throne on a stage. Insanity, what? Lorr tells stories about the fickle nature of Bikram that astounded me in this section. One of the most memorable is a man who completed the entire nine weeks only to be called up to Bikram's suite the day before graduation and told he would not be graduating because this man had taken classes in a studio Bikram felt had tried to rip off his trademarked practice. And even though this man wasn't a regular student there and had no intention of working for or with this studio, Bikram still refused to let the man graduate and refused to give him back his money, adding that he had known since Day One that he would never allow this man to become one of his instructors on account of this "transgression."
And then, of course, there are the women...
Bikram is currently being sued for sexual harassment. The book details lots of examples of women being objectified and disrespected by this man who they (at least once) worshiped and adored. He's a man in power, no different from any other narcissistic person in power who believes sex, money, objects are his for the taking and that the honor belongs to these women he's selected. Lorr talks about the women who lose the stars from their eyes the moment Bikram lays an unwanted hand on their thighs.
Maybe even Bikram is bigger than Bikram -- his persona, his myth has taken over and crushed the man who came from India to the United States at the age of 28 and offered free classes until Shirley McLane quite famously informed him that Americans "don't respect anything that's free." Everything after that is Bikram's experiment in being American -- the more expensive it is, the more people will want it because it will seem luxurious.
"Inhale, and God approaches you. Hold the inhalation, and God remains with you.
Exhale, and you approach God. Hold the exhalation, and surrender to God."
To me, this is where yoga is at its purest -- just breathing -- just focusing on what is internal and allowing it push into the external. Bikram Yoga seems, at its most base, to want the same thing -- but as an industry, it feels counterproductive to me -- it feels like a greedy church who loves its parishioners for their deep pockets, not their deep faith in God.
Lorr's book is fascinating and will surely grip the attention of those who practice and those who don't because it's not a book about yoga -- it's a book about a sociopath and his followers. Read it -- get bent.
My friend Maggie came up to me at the end of Ann's stellar Intermediate class at O2 Yoga last night and said, "Can I tell you something awesome? I did Revolved Triangle for the first time tonight." Immediately, a grin took over my face and I high fived her. I don't know that I will ever do Revolved Triangle with square hips let alone without props, so I appreciate how exciting it must be to get into that difficult pose. Maggie teased about it being a "dear diary" moment, but, truthfully, it is one. Part of the joy of yoga is achieving these milestones and no matter how experienced you are, there is always something to work towards. Every time you roll out your mat, your practice will feel different and that's a pretty exciting thing.
On days I can't make it into the studio to practice, I like to step onto my mat at home and do my own thing. One of the simplest ways to build heat quickly and feel like I've really gotten a swift but solid practice in is to do five Sun Saluation A's and five Sun Salutation B's. This is the way the warm up for the Primary Series of Astanga begins, though it's arguably a pretty well-rounded practice on its own. I made an audio recording cuing the practice to share with all of you. I can also send you an mp3 if you'd prefer. Just email me at dedicationyoga@gmail.com :)
Keep it simple. After all, any time on your mat is time well spent!
Dedication Yoga's weekly class on Prospect Hill in Somerville, MA has been suspended for the long, cold New England winter for the obvious reason -- this is a heat-building practice, yes, but the atmosphere in which we practice has to be accommodating. I miss my time outside with all of my dedicated yogis, many of whom had near-perfect attendance all summer. I wonder what they're doing now -- if they've found a place to practice indoors. Because, in all honesty, this brisk chill and early nightfall makes for perfect yoga weather. Just think of it -- dimly lit studio, heat cranked to 80-degrees, skilled teacher leading a room full of practioners through a sweaty sequence. I love my evenings on the mat and I make my practice happen nearly seven days a week. What else would I rather be doing? I always make the time for this.
It's especially easy for me to do because I work for a yoga studio, the very same where I did my teacher training last spring, so I spend a lot of my time in that environment. How did I ever get so lucky? And while I do not teach at this studio, I do still treat it as an education -- a way to learn about my practice and learn from it, too. I love being a student -- I always have -- but I love it even more now that I have the background in teaching. It adds a creative layer, a new perspective, a way to see things in a fresh way. Yoga keeps my learning active and I want to participate in every class. It's a wonderful thing.
There are so
many layers to a yoga practice.There’s
the tangible asana or postures – the flow of a sequence with the vinyasa
transitions/re-sets.There’s the
balance of achieving the same depth or expression of a posture from right side
to left side. There’s literally
balancing on one leg or on the backs of your arms.There’s flexibility and strength and finding consistency between
these two separate-but-equal aspects of practice.These are all visible, touchable, explainable things that are
fleshed out, focused on, and progress-measured for any given yogi.
And then there
are the less tangible aspects of practice.
There are mental and emotional challenges or releases; there are
energetic realizations. It’s often
said, and is true for me, too, that time on the mat teaches a degree of letting
go, of surrendering the mind to the physical awareness of being in this moment
only, not dwelling in the past or pushing for the future. Depending on the dogma of any given yoga
teacher or studio or individual practioner, even, the unseen inner progress
(which, granted, eventually does morph into a tangible outer result, like it or
not – to quote O2 Yoga founder Mimi Loureiro:
“I teach yoga because it makes people nicer.”) is often the most
beneficial part of a complete yoga practice.
Yoga almost gives you permission to stop, breathe, and discover the best
version of yourself there is.
The energetics
piece of yoga is truly interesting to me and is the next layer I’m
exploring. Does it make a difference if
I flip my palms up towards the sky as I sit cross-legged versus flipping my
palms down on my knees? One is said to
be a lifting energy, the other grounding.
Does that work? Is it
placebo? Does it matter either
way? What about mudras like gyan mudra
(connecting your thumb and forefinger when the arm is extended) or taking a
chin lock in various seated positions – what does that actually do? It feels more yogic to employ these things,
so I do them and I think they make my practice feel more complete, but who
knows? To me, using them is almost like
learning correct grammar – if you want to seem less pedestrian, you will take
gyan mudra in your twist.
Where I have
noticed an actual difference, however, is with my savasana mantra, of all
things. I’ve written about this several
times, but it’s something I definitely think is worth repeating as often as
humanly possible. O2 Yoga instructor
Carol Ciaravino closed a practice once by asking the class to think “I am” on the
inhale and “here now” on the exhale. So
simple. So revolutionary. This mantra completely changed my
practice. I started using it in every
class and the next thing I knew, I was leaving every class feeling as if I were
literally an improved human being. I
felt focused, grounded, and renewed.
And all I did was remind myself to remain present for five minutes at
the end of class. How could anything
be this easy?
I discussed this mantra with anyone who would stand
still long enough to listen and had some especially interesting conversations
with my friend Tom about this topic. He
suggested an alternative to “I am/here now” by thinking “I” on the inhale and “Am”
on the exhale. I experimented with
this, too, and for me, “I/Am” was a much louder, bolder statement than “I
am/here now.” My mantra felt grounding,
calming, and restorative. His felt
empowering, bold, and energizing. So
when I taught Dedication Yoga last Sunday, this was the energetics option I
gave the students – instead of asking them to flip palms up or down, I asked
them to pick one mantra or the other, depending on what their energetic needs
for the day were. It’s kind of like a
yoga revolution – or a yoga evolution.
The options – the variations – the modifications – are endless. Do what works best for you and your
practice, that’s the bottom line, right?
Simply breathing works wonders for me.
Kumare is a social experiment. Filmmaker Vikram Gandhi wanted to see if he could impersonate a guru, invent a bunch of phony rituals, and find a following. This film, now playing at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, is an amazing experience and ripe with debatable topics. Is this just a cruel trick he plays on people looking for something genuine? Does he prove that his theory that the guru inside is all the spiritual leader you need? Is this man simply a sociopathic genius?
I loved this film. I loved how awkward it was and how frankly honest this fake guru was about his "true self" and how he seemed to be proving unequivocally that people hear what they want to hear and see what they want to see. His thesis seems to check out -- many of his followers do learn to believe enough in their inner voices to live by their own code instead of seeking validation and blind guidance from an external source. But what about the people who simply feel duped? Was the experiment worth exploiting these "innocent bystanders" -- were they actually innocent bystanders? The moral, social, and ethical ramifications of the Kumare experiment are beyond fascinating.
Please go see this film so we can discuss it. Thank you for your cooperation.
This sequence was part of Karen Caiazzo's class at O2 Yoga yesterday and I really dug it.
Students started in Samsasthiti (equal standing) at the back of the mat. With hands spread out from the shoulders in a T-position, right toes pointed off the side of the mat before flexing into the foot and teeter-tottering into a Full Moon balance (couldn't find an image of this one). Then she cued us back through center without lowering the right foot to the mat and instead had us swing our right legs back into Virabhadrasana Three (Warrior Three):
Then she had us return our hands to the mat and walk out to Downward Dog.
As always, we did the same sequence on the left side to balance things out. I really enjoyed this and will definitely infuse it in a future class!
A mandala translates as "circle" and are meant to create a visual sense of balance. These are often found in pictorial forms such as these:
They are used in many different religious or spiritual practices to aid meditation and find a centralizing focus.
Recently, I took a yoga class where we created a physical mandala by stringing together a sequence of postures, similar to a Sun Salutation. We started by breaking down several basic postures -- Utkatasana (chair pose), Virabhadrasana One (Warrior one), and Virabhadrasana Two and incorporating each of these postures with variations, such as twists and lateral stretches before stringing the basic postures together in a real-time continuous vinyasa movement that starts you facing forward, spins you around, and then returns you where you started. It was too cool, so I taught it on Sunday.
Variation options are, of course, limitless. But what I did was start with Utkatasana:
Then took a vinyasa and then came up through Warrior One:
Before opening out to Warrior Two:
From here, students straighten into the front leg, square off, and then bend into the back knee as they take Warrior Two, now facing towards the back of the mat. And then it's all repeated again until the students end in Utkatasana (and then Samasthiti or equal standing) facing the front once more.
It's so fun to do -- and builds an insane amount of heat. Thank you to Kim Freeman from O2 Yoga for introducing me to this challenging sequence!
One of my favorite life moments happened in January 2010 on a St. John beach where I was vacationing with a dozen or so dear friends. We were giddy to be splashing around in the crystal clear water when our native Boston was buried under another ice storm -- this was the life. The only thing that would have made it perfect was if the clouds would part, the drizzle would stop, and the sun would shine. But even with the light rain, we were still having the time of our lives.
Then something happened -- spontaneous yoga on the beach.
I'm not entirely sure how it got started. All I know is it my friend Kathryn and I stood side-by-side on the beach doing a Sun A and we were quickly joined by half a dozen more of our friends until we were a line of yogis moving through a combination of warrior postures and Sun A's for ten or fifteen solid minutes -- only stopping when we suddenly realized that a new friend had finally joined us on this unreal beach -- THE SUN! One of us pointed at the sky and said, "LOOK WHAT WE DID!"
Everyone on the beach, we realized at that moment, had stopped what they were doing to watch us salute our warming star and they were all part of the experience as we broke our formation and celebrated in a group hug.
Yes, it's true -- yoga makes the sun come out.
That was before I was an RYT and was likely my first concrete experience with the true magic of yoga. Since that January day on Cinnamon Bay, I've encountered this magic again and again. I am a believer.
Fast forward to yesterday -- a Sunday in August in Somerville, Massachusetts on a hill overlooking the city of Boston. This is the site of Dedication Yoga and the only thing keeping the day from perfection was the 60% threat of storms hidden in the clouds above our heads. But we gathered for class, anyway -- a slightly smaller group than normal, but a wonderful group, nonetheless. The focus for class was setting your intention -- what brought you to the mat today -- what did you hope to achieve either on the mat or off -- and after a few moments meditating on this, class was underway. And by the time we came to the final vinyasa -- wouldn't you know it? The sun came out. I'm not sure I could contort my face into a bigger grin.
And after twenty minutes or so of writing and reflecting on our intention for the day's practice, we went our separate ways with the knowledge that no goal is impossible to achieve -- even a threat of probable rain can be overcome.
A few weeks ago, I decided I wanted the focus of my final Pilot Program class to be the energetic body. This started with me toying with the idea of having a color focus (Everyone think about the color yellow) and grew into one of the more esoteric aspects of yoga: a chakra meditation. Wouldn't that be fun?? My home studio is O2 Yoga, a place whose motto is "Up Dog, Down Dog, No Dogma." You don't go to O2 to talk about your feelings or release emotion from your tight hips -- you go to practice asanas or postures -- you go to achieve a physical center, not for a therapy session. Of course, anyone who practices yoga on a regular basis will likely tell you that you have emotional or psychological experiences even if that's not what the teacher is cuing you to do, but a studio like O2 lets students explore that less tangible result on an individual basis. That doesn't mean that we don't do our fair share of oming or engage mudras (or spiritual/energetic seals) -- we certainly do -- but students aren't forced to battle demons on their mats. Just show up, do your practice to the best of your ability, and see ya next time. It's something I appreciate as a yoga student -- my practice is truly my own that way.
While Sarah B and I were doing our teacher training, however, we did participate in a two-hour class/workshop at O2 that focused on the energetic body -- and part of that class was the before-mentioned chakra meditation. Chakras are believed to be the centers in the body that generate our auras. Literally translating from Sanskrit as "wheels," these invisible beams of light project out and swirl together to make us who we are. I really loved this class -- a standout for me in teacher training -- and thought it might work as a nice compliment to Dedication Yoga's premise of focusing each practice on a specific goal.
As soon as I made this decision, it seemed like the universe got right in my face with all kinds of chakra talk. A dear friend of mine was about to embark on a teacher training of her own with Kripalu's JourneyDance, a chakra-centric, empowering-your-inner-goddess dance form, and the day before she set out, we were lost in conversation about energy and how it's shared and how the impact is felt. Shortly after that, a group of friends learned about the healing power of Shamballa, whose main belief is the power of love. And then after that I attended my first Kundalini class, a yoga practice that is 100% in line with aligning your chakras to reach a state of enlightenment. It was a very unusual and unforgettable couple of days.
And in case you're curious, I took an online quiz once and learned I was 47% hippie. So that means that 53% of me leaned over these conversations and experiences with a skeptical eye. I don't live my life by any of these philosophies or ideals -- but I find them interesting and conversation-worthy. And I was VERY excited to share the chakra concept with the Dedication Yoga community.
Then Sunday morning arrived -- and it was raining. The sky was heavy and gray and so was my attitude. I had so looked forward to this -- I had gushed about it to so many people -- and now it was all ruined (cue the dramatic music). I got up anyway and cut through Prospect Hill Park on my way to class at O2 and deemed the ground a little wet but not a total swamp, so I sighed and wondered what it would be like a few hours when it was class time. To cancel class or not to cancel class -- that became the question. I was so incredibly bummed.
But that's the best time to get on my mat -- when I feel defeated. Yoga brings me back to myself, it revs me up, it reminds me. So after an incredibly stellar practice, I left O2 and felt bouncy and hopeful -- the sky was still full of clouds but perhaps lightening in color and the rain had stopped. It was even warmer. So I called Sarah B and said I would go to the hill and see who came.
There were just three of us-- one student, Sarah B, and me -- but we practiced anyway under that relentlessly gray sky. I opted to save the chakra mediation for another time when the sun was in attendance and, instead, let the two students choose their own focus. It was actually very lovely to have such a small group and my students were both so in-sync, it was beautiful to watch and instruct them. And when the asana part of class was over, both students asked for time to write -- something that literally warmed my heart. And afterwards as the three of us sat and shared a meal and talked about our lives, the sun came out, even if just for a few minutes.
