Yoga Moment! I balanced for 7 whole seconds in Sirasana (headstand)! Whoohoo!
It was like flying. For months now I have been doing that dance with many inversions: one foot off the wall, then the other, then quickly falling back to the security of the wall if I started to waver.
Today, though, all my yoga principles seemed to converge in full alignment. I engaged Muscular Energy by pressing into the ground and hugging the midline. I activated skull loop to keep my head safe and give me more balance. I scooped my tailbone and puffed my kidneys to keep from arching my back. And I pressed up through my feet, activating inner spiral.
The balanced action that resulted was freeing. I could feel myself anchoring down to the stability of the earth even as I activated Organic Energy to extend toward the sky.
It enabled the exquisite poetry of being fully in the present moment. I can’t balance on automatic pilot. I have to turn inward and attune to all the subtle messages of my body. When I started to fall forward, taking my hips back helped me stay up. When I started to waver backward, pressing both downward and upward simultaneously helped center me again.
My yoga teacher said the other day that an intermediate class is not distinguished so much by the physical poses or capability, but by the sensitivity. For me, the soaring sensation of balancing came from the deeper layer of inner attunement that allowed it.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Walking the Talk
As we approach the new year, indeed, the new decade, many people talk of setting new year’s resolutions. Such resolutions are virtual obsessions in the U.S. and often carry built-in failure. Most people resolve to lose weight, to make more money, or to achieve that promotion—all potentially useful goals, but all focused more on the end result than on the journey. If we do slip up or fail to achieve our goal, we often feel worse about ourselves than we did to begin with.
Instead of focusing on achieving that end result, over which we may or may not have control, we might instead commit ourselves to how we want to be in the world. In feminist terms, we would call this “walking the talk,” or putting our beliefs, politics, and values into practice.
Buddhist philosophy reminds us that attachment is one of the key sources of suffering. The writer Rachel Naomi Remen makes a powerful distinction between attachment and commitment, one of which tends to be much more life-affirming than the other. She writes,
“While attachment has its source in the personality, in what the Buddhists refer to as the ‘desire nature,’ commitment comes from the soul. In relationship to life, just as in human relationships, attachment closes down options, commitment opens them up….Attachment leads farther and farther into entrapment. Commitment, though it may sometimes feel constricting, will ultimately lead to greater degrees of freedom. Both involve in the moment an experience of holding, sometimes against the flow of events or against temptation. One can distinguish the two in most situations by noticing over time whether one has moved through this activity closer to freedom or closer to bondage. Attachment is a reflex, an automatic response which often may not reflect our deepest good. Commitment is a conscious choice, to align ourselves with our most genuine values and our sense of purpose.”
Commitment, then, is about grounding ourselves in our deepest values and infusing our actions with that clarity. It is more about how we meet life’s challenges than it is about the end result. Paradoxically, because we are less attached to things being any particularly way, we often achieve our goal anyway, but with less suffering along the way. Regardless, we can view the journey as a path of deep internal joy and growth.
I remember the first time I heard my yoga teacher invite the class to “let go of that which doesn’t serve you.” I felt a wave of relief and even freedom wash over me with the realization that I can choose what I cling to and how I want to move through the world.
As we move into the New Year, I invite all of us to return to the clarity of what’s truly important to us. May our deepest commitments infuse our world with beauty and light.
Instead of focusing on achieving that end result, over which we may or may not have control, we might instead commit ourselves to how we want to be in the world. In feminist terms, we would call this “walking the talk,” or putting our beliefs, politics, and values into practice.
Buddhist philosophy reminds us that attachment is one of the key sources of suffering. The writer Rachel Naomi Remen makes a powerful distinction between attachment and commitment, one of which tends to be much more life-affirming than the other. She writes,
“While attachment has its source in the personality, in what the Buddhists refer to as the ‘desire nature,’ commitment comes from the soul. In relationship to life, just as in human relationships, attachment closes down options, commitment opens them up….Attachment leads farther and farther into entrapment. Commitment, though it may sometimes feel constricting, will ultimately lead to greater degrees of freedom. Both involve in the moment an experience of holding, sometimes against the flow of events or against temptation. One can distinguish the two in most situations by noticing over time whether one has moved through this activity closer to freedom or closer to bondage. Attachment is a reflex, an automatic response which often may not reflect our deepest good. Commitment is a conscious choice, to align ourselves with our most genuine values and our sense of purpose.”
Commitment, then, is about grounding ourselves in our deepest values and infusing our actions with that clarity. It is more about how we meet life’s challenges than it is about the end result. Paradoxically, because we are less attached to things being any particularly way, we often achieve our goal anyway, but with less suffering along the way. Regardless, we can view the journey as a path of deep internal joy and growth.
I remember the first time I heard my yoga teacher invite the class to “let go of that which doesn’t serve you.” I felt a wave of relief and even freedom wash over me with the realization that I can choose what I cling to and how I want to move through the world.
As we move into the New Year, I invite all of us to return to the clarity of what’s truly important to us. May our deepest commitments infuse our world with beauty and light.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Gift of Vulnerability
A former student of mine recently wrote to me about an abusive relationship she found herself in after graduation. She described the familiar cycle of isolation, emotional manipulation, and physical abuse that resulted in a loss of self. I remember this student as sassy, intelligent, outgoing, and funny. So it broke my heart to hear of the pain she endured.
It is a familiarly painful story that I hear from many women. The loss of self she describes echoes my own story of addiction, which served as a self-destructive “coping mechanism” for a period of my past. In my case, it was a way to silence the self-denigrating voice of judgment that had grown too powerful. In her case, the abusive partner’s version of reality distorted her own.
Though our experiences were different, this former student and I had some commonalities. We were both passionate about feminism, social justice, and women’s empowerment. We both had a solid network of friends. We both had voices of wisdom deep inside us warning us the situations we were in were dangerous for our well-being. And yet, the destructive situations snuck up on us and took their toll nevertheless.
However, those deeper seeds of wisdom and self-honoring eventually prevailed, helping us pull out of the situations and getting us back on our feet (with the help of loved ones, of course). She tells me that it was her feminism and what she learned in her Women’s Studies courses that gave her the strength to leave and rebuild her sense of self. For me, it was this same grounding combined with the self-honoring lessons of yoga.
In yoga, we recognize that those experiences that are the most painful for us are also often the ones that provide the deepest and most profound life lessons. As we are pulled into the darkest depths of the painful situations, we discover our inner strength, capacity, and insight. These experiences are not our “flaws” or “failures,” but rather the textures that allow for the deepest growth. When we emerge on the other side of it, we can reclaim our lives with a joy and peace that we could not have imagined. The legacy of our own pain can help us become more compassionate for ourselves and others.
For me, the combination of yoga and feminism provided the tools to foster a self-honoring voice of wisdom. My former student is still finding her own path and discovering the tools that will work for her. But for both of us, we discovered that life will, at times, take us under. When that happens, rather than sinking, we have the opportunity to delve into the rich vulnerabilities of our own hearts. The gifts we find may surprise us.
It is a familiarly painful story that I hear from many women. The loss of self she describes echoes my own story of addiction, which served as a self-destructive “coping mechanism” for a period of my past. In my case, it was a way to silence the self-denigrating voice of judgment that had grown too powerful. In her case, the abusive partner’s version of reality distorted her own.
Though our experiences were different, this former student and I had some commonalities. We were both passionate about feminism, social justice, and women’s empowerment. We both had a solid network of friends. We both had voices of wisdom deep inside us warning us the situations we were in were dangerous for our well-being. And yet, the destructive situations snuck up on us and took their toll nevertheless.
However, those deeper seeds of wisdom and self-honoring eventually prevailed, helping us pull out of the situations and getting us back on our feet (with the help of loved ones, of course). She tells me that it was her feminism and what she learned in her Women’s Studies courses that gave her the strength to leave and rebuild her sense of self. For me, it was this same grounding combined with the self-honoring lessons of yoga.
In yoga, we recognize that those experiences that are the most painful for us are also often the ones that provide the deepest and most profound life lessons. As we are pulled into the darkest depths of the painful situations, we discover our inner strength, capacity, and insight. These experiences are not our “flaws” or “failures,” but rather the textures that allow for the deepest growth. When we emerge on the other side of it, we can reclaim our lives with a joy and peace that we could not have imagined. The legacy of our own pain can help us become more compassionate for ourselves and others.
For me, the combination of yoga and feminism provided the tools to foster a self-honoring voice of wisdom. My former student is still finding her own path and discovering the tools that will work for her. But for both of us, we discovered that life will, at times, take us under. When that happens, rather than sinking, we have the opportunity to delve into the rich vulnerabilities of our own hearts. The gifts we find may surprise us.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Body Wisdom
Yoga continually reminds me how to listen to the insights within my own body. This past weekend, I participated in twelve fabulous hours of workshops led by Martin and Jordan Kirk of http://kirkyoga.com, two Anusara teachers who hold a permanent spot in my heart. At one point, I overshot my edge in the very last handstand technique. Instead of opting to work with a spotter, I went for it and ended up falling.
Interestingly, had I remained calm in that moment of uncertainty before I found my balance, I could have used the principles of alignment to protect myself and remain upright. Instead, fear overtook me and I crumpled to the ground, bruising my shoulder in the process.
The soreness in my shoulder the next morning made me worried that I might not be able to finish the weekend workshops. But Martin and Jordan are renowned for their yoga therapeutic expertise. They showed me how to use Anusara principles of alignment to not only protect but also to help heal my shoulder.
Over the next two days, the level of wisdom that emerged from my own body astounded me. Each time I unwittingly let my side body collapse or failed to keep my shoulder blades back, my body reminded me with pain. But when I practiced the principles, I was not only painless, I felt much more freedom in that wounded area. The pain, instead of being a showstopper, actually helped me more fully embody life-affirming movement.
We often consider learning to be an external process. Women in particular are often taught to perceive our bodies through external lenses and criteria. But when we turn inward, our body can share its own power of knowing. Yoga is about learning how to listen.
Interestingly, had I remained calm in that moment of uncertainty before I found my balance, I could have used the principles of alignment to protect myself and remain upright. Instead, fear overtook me and I crumpled to the ground, bruising my shoulder in the process.
The soreness in my shoulder the next morning made me worried that I might not be able to finish the weekend workshops. But Martin and Jordan are renowned for their yoga therapeutic expertise. They showed me how to use Anusara principles of alignment to not only protect but also to help heal my shoulder.
Over the next two days, the level of wisdom that emerged from my own body astounded me. Each time I unwittingly let my side body collapse or failed to keep my shoulder blades back, my body reminded me with pain. But when I practiced the principles, I was not only painless, I felt much more freedom in that wounded area. The pain, instead of being a showstopper, actually helped me more fully embody life-affirming movement.
We often consider learning to be an external process. Women in particular are often taught to perceive our bodies through external lenses and criteria. But when we turn inward, our body can share its own power of knowing. Yoga is about learning how to listen.
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Sheepish Yogini
Hello, friends. My apologies for the delay in my regular posts. After working with John Friend in his workshops in Park City a couple weekends ago (fabulous!), and getting over a cold right before, I have been playing catch up at work. That may happen from time to time during the semester, but I will try to be as regular with my posts as I can.
I hope to get back to my schedule this weekend. In the meantime, here's an insightful quote from yoga teacher Shiva Rea to ponder:
"The yogini is a woman whose body has become her temple, her source of discovery and renewal, the place of remembering her life force."
I hope to get back to my schedule this weekend. In the meantime, here's an insightful quote from yoga teacher Shiva Rea to ponder:
"The yogini is a woman whose body has become her temple, her source of discovery and renewal, the place of remembering her life force."
Monday, September 7, 2009
Talking the Talk
Feminism has long noted that our language helps construct our reality. Far from being mere exercises in “political correctness,” feminists note that the language we use shapes our understandings of social issues and our relationships with one another.
Anusara yoga has taken this awareness to a new level. Anusara teachers infuse our speech with life-affirming attitudes. We recognize that language matters; the storylines we tell ourselves influence our understanding of the world. As yoga practitioners and teachers, we can take the opportunity to create more empowering storylines.
What does this sound like? Instead of squeezing or tightening our legs together in handstand, we hug in toward the midline. Instead of stretching our torso in a forced way, we imagine inner body bright, which creates fullness while maintaining a soft opening. We receive a deeper breath. We allow our experience to be what it is. And we shine forth our full potential in each pose. The difference in wording crafts a more loving and empowering tone both on and off the mat.
With its base in Tantric philosophy, Anusara takes this positive angle even further to infuse yoga practice with metaphor. Anusara teachers learn how to paint descriptive pictures for our students. We radiate our energy outward on exhales and draw in on inhales like an ocean tide. We float our leg up in Warrior I, allowing the waves of energy to ripple through us. As we transition from Warrior I back to Downward Dog, we recognize that when we flow with our breath, we can harness surprising strength.
Mere semantics? I don’t think so. In a media-infused culture that trains women to view ourselves with a critical, objectifying, and fragmenting gaze, it can be transgressive to speak to ourselves and others with language that reflects our value systems and our principles. Over time, we can sculpt a more compassionate and empowering reality with life-affirming language, much like ocean waves carve softer shapes out of hardened rocks. The rhythm of time and practice enables ripples of powerful change.
Anusara yoga has taken this awareness to a new level. Anusara teachers infuse our speech with life-affirming attitudes. We recognize that language matters; the storylines we tell ourselves influence our understanding of the world. As yoga practitioners and teachers, we can take the opportunity to create more empowering storylines.
What does this sound like? Instead of squeezing or tightening our legs together in handstand, we hug in toward the midline. Instead of stretching our torso in a forced way, we imagine inner body bright, which creates fullness while maintaining a soft opening. We receive a deeper breath. We allow our experience to be what it is. And we shine forth our full potential in each pose. The difference in wording crafts a more loving and empowering tone both on and off the mat.
With its base in Tantric philosophy, Anusara takes this positive angle even further to infuse yoga practice with metaphor. Anusara teachers learn how to paint descriptive pictures for our students. We radiate our energy outward on exhales and draw in on inhales like an ocean tide. We float our leg up in Warrior I, allowing the waves of energy to ripple through us. As we transition from Warrior I back to Downward Dog, we recognize that when we flow with our breath, we can harness surprising strength.
Mere semantics? I don’t think so. In a media-infused culture that trains women to view ourselves with a critical, objectifying, and fragmenting gaze, it can be transgressive to speak to ourselves and others with language that reflects our value systems and our principles. Over time, we can sculpt a more compassionate and empowering reality with life-affirming language, much like ocean waves carve softer shapes out of hardened rocks. The rhythm of time and practice enables ripples of powerful change.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sometimes Just Being Is Enough
The feminist writer bell hooks has noted that “teaching is a performative act.” Years of working as a Women’s Studies professor has taught me the truth of that observation. Not only is one in front of a group of people as a professor—or as a yoga teacher—but one’s job is to engage them in an active learning process. For me, it brings out a performative nature that I did not know I had growing up as a shy, bookish, only child.
But “being on” also takes its toll, especially if one is as introverted as I am. I can relish, excel, and enjoy the performative nature of my work, but sometimes I hit a wall and I just don’t feel like “being on.” And yet, as they say, the “show must go on.”
Yoga has taught me how to just be in those moments. Each week when we enter our yoga class, we are in different moods with different states of energy and different distractions. The self-reflection we develop through our practice helps us learn how to access deeper layers, regardless of the circumstances. The result is often an intensely transformative educational moment.
Once, when I was first learning to be a yoga teacher, I had a vibrant and witty lesson planned. Then I walked into the yoga studio to teach my first mini-class to a group of other yoga teachers while being observed by a senior yoga teacher, and all my anxiety arose. What if I wasn’t any good? These were experienced teachers, I thought; they would all be so much more talented than I. Who did I think I was?! My heart started racing.
Normally, I would have just bluffed and put on the performance. But the self-awareness and mindfulness that yoga has taught me has opened a deeper possibility: turning inward and offering a teaching from where I am at that moment.
In this case, I scrapped my plan. Instead, I delved into the fears and anxieties I was feeling, and created a class plan from what I learned through that exploration. I used my fears as a way to open and connect with students, instead of a way to shut them out. My theme for that day was how to witness anxieties without clinging to them or pushing them away, a theme which I wove throughout our poses. We were then all—students and teacher alike—able to practice how to meet our responses with skillful acceptance, compassion, and humor.
This ability to turn inward and teach the material from where I am has often produced a profoundly authentic and transformative experience, both in the yoga studio and in my academic classrooms. I have entered feminist classes with the same philosophy of allowing what is. Those classes have often become turning points in the semester for students to own the material for themselves in new ways.
What yoga has offered, then, is this simple but powerful understanding: Often, just being authentically present and self-aware is more than enough.
But “being on” also takes its toll, especially if one is as introverted as I am. I can relish, excel, and enjoy the performative nature of my work, but sometimes I hit a wall and I just don’t feel like “being on.” And yet, as they say, the “show must go on.”
Yoga has taught me how to just be in those moments. Each week when we enter our yoga class, we are in different moods with different states of energy and different distractions. The self-reflection we develop through our practice helps us learn how to access deeper layers, regardless of the circumstances. The result is often an intensely transformative educational moment.
Once, when I was first learning to be a yoga teacher, I had a vibrant and witty lesson planned. Then I walked into the yoga studio to teach my first mini-class to a group of other yoga teachers while being observed by a senior yoga teacher, and all my anxiety arose. What if I wasn’t any good? These were experienced teachers, I thought; they would all be so much more talented than I. Who did I think I was?! My heart started racing.
Normally, I would have just bluffed and put on the performance. But the self-awareness and mindfulness that yoga has taught me has opened a deeper possibility: turning inward and offering a teaching from where I am at that moment.
In this case, I scrapped my plan. Instead, I delved into the fears and anxieties I was feeling, and created a class plan from what I learned through that exploration. I used my fears as a way to open and connect with students, instead of a way to shut them out. My theme for that day was how to witness anxieties without clinging to them or pushing them away, a theme which I wove throughout our poses. We were then all—students and teacher alike—able to practice how to meet our responses with skillful acceptance, compassion, and humor.
This ability to turn inward and teach the material from where I am has often produced a profoundly authentic and transformative experience, both in the yoga studio and in my academic classrooms. I have entered feminist classes with the same philosophy of allowing what is. Those classes have often become turning points in the semester for students to own the material for themselves in new ways.
What yoga has offered, then, is this simple but powerful understanding: Often, just being authentically present and self-aware is more than enough.
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