That's what my little sandwich board sign says and three days a week during the summer I pick up my sign at a little store and carry it across the street and into a little public park overlooking the water. The park is at the north end of a very famous public market and many tourists make their way through the market then into the park to take in the view and take a few pictures of the water and Mount Rainier if they're lucky. Local people spend time there, too, although typically they are local people that the city would prefer that tourists not have to encounter: men sleeping on benches, people making quick exchanges while glancing furtively around, a woman singing to herself while she staggers around the park in too large pants kicking garbage cans.
This is where I brought my yoga for 2 months this summer. I love teaching yoga and I have to admit that part of what I love is the part where I get to stand up in the front of the class and be the teacher. I don't think this is a bad thing, but I do think it's possibly a dangerous thing. The possibility exists of loving the role to the exclusion of what's being taught and who is there to learn. Teaching in the park stripped me right back down to basics.
I brought my little sign with me and set it up. Then I'd fuss a little with the tape and the business cards and my belongings, the placement of the sign. Eventually I'd run out of little distracting things to do and there it would be, the requirement that I just begin. And so I would begin, grounding through my feet, connecting through the top of my head with the sky, forming a circle of energy around myself. But not too tight a circle! "Come Join Me!" says my sign and "Come join me!" must be the message I send out into the park. This can't be my turtle self doing my yoga practice safely in my shell; no, this has to be my soft and fragile human self at play, broadcasting my message out into the world, "I'm all alone and I am vulnerable out here but it's so beautiful and so good to be alive here. You will be safe if you join me. I will be safe if you join me. Together we will no longer be alone."
Then I breathe: Breathing in I raise my arms up, breathing out I bring palms together and draw them down my center. As I breathe, my mental chatter of fear, fear, fear clatters itself to a close and I begin to feel the air around me, hear the laughing and the seagulls, see the water responding to whatever the weather is today. I think I could just breathe for an hour here in this park and I would be the better for it.
Some days I do my whole practice, people come and they go, some talk to me, some take my picture, but mostly I remain alone. I am sad that I've been left alone for the hour and my energy slows but I am still safe and I am okay. Nothing bad has happened. Most days though the miracle happens. Someone stops and wants to join me. The woman on a short trip to Seattle who extends her visit and misses her plane and joins me twice in the park. The man who has been on a fishing boat for many months, but the boat has broken down and he might not have a job and he might not get paid and he doesn't have a place to live but he'd like to do some Sun Salutations with me. The Latino worker who spends his mornings standing on a corner waiting for some construction firm to pick him up and give him work and doesn't really know anything about yoga but it looks like it would be helpful. He comes again and says not only did the yoga make him feel better but it must have brought him luck–he got a job! The Black homeless woman who joins in behind me, so quietly that I don't realize she's there until I turn around. The big guy from Philly who's heard about this yoga stuff and wants to get a little more flexible...could I just lead him through a little? The man who brings me a green peach and sings for an hour to me and my student; he even takes requests for our background music. The little man from Iran in his suit and his dress shoes with the most radiant smile I've ever seen. Still smiling, he tells me how very very sad he is, that his wife is ill and he just wanders the city with no one to talk with because he doesn't speak much English. The floaty woman who drifted into Seattle for a month and the current she caught happened to bring her to this park this morning, and isn't it an interesting coincidence that she's been looking for outdoor meditative movement opportunities? The couple from Pennsylvania who don't join me, but who come over at the end of my session to thank me for my work and tell me that they wish they had something similar back home. I can hope that what they felt was my desire to offer this practice and this teaching as a gift to the city I love and the people who populate it.
Little connections, brief encounters, and every one of them so very important. Not allowed to hide under the title of teacher, my being cries out, "Is anyone out there? Am I alone here? I don't want to be lost and falling into nothing!" These moments call back to me, "We are all alone and we are all falling into nothing but we are here together and together we are large and spacious and there is nowhere for us to fall and no way to get lost. Be calm. You are safe." We are safe together.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Monday, October 22, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Mind/Body Battle
I had a good chat this morning with a guy down in the park where I teach an outdoor yoga class. I had noticed him–note to anyone doing an outdoor practice: it's always good to stay aware of your surroundings!–with his coffee and cigarette, standing at the overlook watching the water. He approached me when I sat on a bench, told me he did yoga for about 4 months and it had really made a change in him for the better, then he went overseas with the military for several years, and when he returned, he just kind of went crazy wanting all the stuff he hadn't had for so long–beer and cigarettes and tv. He talked with regret about how unhappy his body is now with the choices he's making and how he's trying to figure out how to change.
We did an interesting exercise back at my yoga teacher training. Yoga works with the idea that each of us incorporates 5 koshas, or bodies. There's the physical body, the mental/emotional body, the breath/energy body, the witness body and the bliss body. They're all present all the time, and because of that we are all already living in bliss, but a lot of times we don't realize it. Thus, the yoga practice to help us become aware of it. In this exercise we split into groups of 4; in each group one person became the physical body, one the mind, one the prana or energy, and one the witness.
So often in our culture some part of ourselves becomes the enemy, the bad one. So, we have the bad body–too fat, too flabby, too weak, too wobbly, too pale, too wimpy, too skinny, too misshapen, too hairy, too....well, you get it, you probably have your own litany. Or we have the bad mind–too up and down, too all over the place, too unfocused, too obsessive, too emotional, too stupid, too...yeah, okay, you get that one, too. Worst case, we've got both: bad body bad mind. Both of them have to be overcome, whipped into shape. Often our workouts are punishments, the critical trainer in our heads on patrol for any mistake. Our meals are overlaid with do's and don't's that have nothing to do with pleasure. Our minds have to be constantly monitored or they just drift off into la-la land. Every emotional reaction has to be rated. (One of my personal alter egos is someone I've named "Stop That!" because that's all she ever says in my head. She tries to censor not words and actions but every thought.)
Back to the exercise... In my group I was the body so I showed up first, quickly followed by Prana. Prana and I had a great time together, just roaming, exploring, no thinking, no judgment, no analysis, no real direction or purpose, just the physical acts of moving, breathing, sensing, resting. Then mind showed up. Now I have to admit, despite enjoying the use of my mind in my life, I tend to think of it as something that has to be overcome, that's in the way. I'm not sure I even realized I had this belief until we did the exercise. Oh, I knew I had lots of body issues, but my beliefs about the mind were buried a little deeper. But you know, when Mind showed up things certainly got more complicated and more tiring, but Mind was also fun! He was curious and witty and interesting to talk to and intriguingly complicated. Who knew? In our little exercise, things weren't so great when the 3 of us worked at cross purposes, but when we were all in tune with each other, it was fantastic!
Back to guy in the park... Seems to me that this is really how it's supposed to work for us. Here's this guy, and his body isn't happy, it doesn't feel good with what he's doing to it, and in his mind he's recognized it and has a sense of the direction he needs to go. As far as I can see, he's in great shape! His body and his mind are in agreement; if he can witness that, and really see it for what it is, and allow his energy to follow that line he will transform himself by being present for this moment. If he drops into bad body (I'm too fat, my ribs hurt, I'm out of shape) or bad mind (I can't believe how stupid I was to allow this to happen, I know smoking's bad for me, what's wrong with me?) he'll be delayed in his desire. Body and mind just are what they are; it's our beliefs and our stories about our bodies and our minds that delay us.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
We did an interesting exercise back at my yoga teacher training. Yoga works with the idea that each of us incorporates 5 koshas, or bodies. There's the physical body, the mental/emotional body, the breath/energy body, the witness body and the bliss body. They're all present all the time, and because of that we are all already living in bliss, but a lot of times we don't realize it. Thus, the yoga practice to help us become aware of it. In this exercise we split into groups of 4; in each group one person became the physical body, one the mind, one the prana or energy, and one the witness.
So often in our culture some part of ourselves becomes the enemy, the bad one. So, we have the bad body–too fat, too flabby, too weak, too wobbly, too pale, too wimpy, too skinny, too misshapen, too hairy, too....well, you get it, you probably have your own litany. Or we have the bad mind–too up and down, too all over the place, too unfocused, too obsessive, too emotional, too stupid, too...yeah, okay, you get that one, too. Worst case, we've got both: bad body bad mind. Both of them have to be overcome, whipped into shape. Often our workouts are punishments, the critical trainer in our heads on patrol for any mistake. Our meals are overlaid with do's and don't's that have nothing to do with pleasure. Our minds have to be constantly monitored or they just drift off into la-la land. Every emotional reaction has to be rated. (One of my personal alter egos is someone I've named "Stop That!" because that's all she ever says in my head. She tries to censor not words and actions but every thought.)
Back to the exercise... In my group I was the body so I showed up first, quickly followed by Prana. Prana and I had a great time together, just roaming, exploring, no thinking, no judgment, no analysis, no real direction or purpose, just the physical acts of moving, breathing, sensing, resting. Then mind showed up. Now I have to admit, despite enjoying the use of my mind in my life, I tend to think of it as something that has to be overcome, that's in the way. I'm not sure I even realized I had this belief until we did the exercise. Oh, I knew I had lots of body issues, but my beliefs about the mind were buried a little deeper. But you know, when Mind showed up things certainly got more complicated and more tiring, but Mind was also fun! He was curious and witty and interesting to talk to and intriguingly complicated. Who knew? In our little exercise, things weren't so great when the 3 of us worked at cross purposes, but when we were all in tune with each other, it was fantastic!
Back to guy in the park... Seems to me that this is really how it's supposed to work for us. Here's this guy, and his body isn't happy, it doesn't feel good with what he's doing to it, and in his mind he's recognized it and has a sense of the direction he needs to go. As far as I can see, he's in great shape! His body and his mind are in agreement; if he can witness that, and really see it for what it is, and allow his energy to follow that line he will transform himself by being present for this moment. If he drops into bad body (I'm too fat, my ribs hurt, I'm out of shape) or bad mind (I can't believe how stupid I was to allow this to happen, I know smoking's bad for me, what's wrong with me?) he'll be delayed in his desire. Body and mind just are what they are; it's our beliefs and our stories about our bodies and our minds that delay us.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Opportunities
I had a wonderful geometry teacher in high school. He would dress up in crazy costumes, and sing little math ditties for us, and though I loved math already, I loved it more that year. We were tested or quizzed every Thursday but they were never called tests. No, Mr. Rhoades always called them opportunities.
Earlier this week I was thinking that I needed to write another entry, and probably this time on getting lost, rather than yoga or meditation. I took myself back to a couple of times that I was lost and walked myself back through the experience.
The first memory was of being in Venice. I was in Venice kind of by mistake, having gotten on the wrong train car; the train split sometime in the night and here I was in Venice. I had intended to get there sometime but had planned to spend a little time. Instead, I now had to make the choice to either spend only one day in Venice, then board another train, or do something different and watch my later travel plans unravel. Since I was planning to meet up with another traveller in a particular place at a particular time one week from now, with no way to contact her and change our plans (these were the days before cell phones), I decided to make a short visit to Venice.
I wandered happily through the little streets and alleys, over bridges and around corners, map in hand. I found everything I wanted to see and then needed to make my way back to the station as the fog rolled in and dusk came over the city. As I began to pick my way back to the train, I realized that the map was of no use; many street names and bridges were missing and soon I was hopelessly lost. Finally, as I started to panic, I found the station–almost 3 hours early for my train but too afraid to venture back out again and risk losing myself in the mist.
My second memory is from much later in life. I had taken a bus to an area somewhat familiar to me for a meeting. I found the building and the meeting, we met, we finished, and I strode out the door into the night with my head full of what we had talked about and eager to catch the bus and get home. Unfortunately, it was a different door from the one I had walked in, and on a different side of the building. When I strode out into the night, I strode out in the wrong direction. A few blocks later, I began to wonder what was going on because the area wasn't looking familiar to me. I wasn't exactly sure what had gone wrong, so instead of immediately going back in the direction I had come from, I turned a corner and walked a little in that direction. That wasn't right either and, now worried because it was dark and I didn't want to miss my bus and there was no one to ask because it was a residential neighborhood, I finally managed to work my way back to the building, figure out what had happened, and retrace my steps along the correct route and find the bus stop.
In both cases, what I was really struck by as I ruefully relived the experiences, was the tremendous flow and sequence of emotions that ran through me each time in quick succession. In Venice I was annoyed at myself for being on the wrong train, then accepting, good-humored and decisive, then pleased and relaxed, curious and engrossed, then complacent followed quickly by anxious, confused and worried, a little frightened, then thrilled and relieved when I found the station, but then kind of irked that I had to wait so long and discouraged, and finally just plain bored. After my meeting, I was feeling competent and absorbed, then anxious and confused, a little frightened again and annoyed with myself, relieved when I found the building again and ashamed this time of my incompetence, and finally just very happy to be on the bus on the way home.
And now I'm right back to yoga again. Well, you knew it had to happen. Part of yoga practice is self-study, and I realized that getting lost had provided me with many opportunities for that practice. Because in each case, nothing was really happening, nothing was really changing, but my mental and emotional state was in constant, chaotic flux based on how I was perceiving my experience. I can't even really look back at those memories and label them as "good" or "bad" because I can see that they are just experiences, value-neutral, just stuff that happened, stuff I did, choices I made, and not even terribly interesting as story material. Except that the memories are strong. Probably because I remember them for what they were: opportunities.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Earlier this week I was thinking that I needed to write another entry, and probably this time on getting lost, rather than yoga or meditation. I took myself back to a couple of times that I was lost and walked myself back through the experience.
The first memory was of being in Venice. I was in Venice kind of by mistake, having gotten on the wrong train car; the train split sometime in the night and here I was in Venice. I had intended to get there sometime but had planned to spend a little time. Instead, I now had to make the choice to either spend only one day in Venice, then board another train, or do something different and watch my later travel plans unravel. Since I was planning to meet up with another traveller in a particular place at a particular time one week from now, with no way to contact her and change our plans (these were the days before cell phones), I decided to make a short visit to Venice.
I wandered happily through the little streets and alleys, over bridges and around corners, map in hand. I found everything I wanted to see and then needed to make my way back to the station as the fog rolled in and dusk came over the city. As I began to pick my way back to the train, I realized that the map was of no use; many street names and bridges were missing and soon I was hopelessly lost. Finally, as I started to panic, I found the station–almost 3 hours early for my train but too afraid to venture back out again and risk losing myself in the mist.
My second memory is from much later in life. I had taken a bus to an area somewhat familiar to me for a meeting. I found the building and the meeting, we met, we finished, and I strode out the door into the night with my head full of what we had talked about and eager to catch the bus and get home. Unfortunately, it was a different door from the one I had walked in, and on a different side of the building. When I strode out into the night, I strode out in the wrong direction. A few blocks later, I began to wonder what was going on because the area wasn't looking familiar to me. I wasn't exactly sure what had gone wrong, so instead of immediately going back in the direction I had come from, I turned a corner and walked a little in that direction. That wasn't right either and, now worried because it was dark and I didn't want to miss my bus and there was no one to ask because it was a residential neighborhood, I finally managed to work my way back to the building, figure out what had happened, and retrace my steps along the correct route and find the bus stop.
In both cases, what I was really struck by as I ruefully relived the experiences, was the tremendous flow and sequence of emotions that ran through me each time in quick succession. In Venice I was annoyed at myself for being on the wrong train, then accepting, good-humored and decisive, then pleased and relaxed, curious and engrossed, then complacent followed quickly by anxious, confused and worried, a little frightened, then thrilled and relieved when I found the station, but then kind of irked that I had to wait so long and discouraged, and finally just plain bored. After my meeting, I was feeling competent and absorbed, then anxious and confused, a little frightened again and annoyed with myself, relieved when I found the building again and ashamed this time of my incompetence, and finally just very happy to be on the bus on the way home.
And now I'm right back to yoga again. Well, you knew it had to happen. Part of yoga practice is self-study, and I realized that getting lost had provided me with many opportunities for that practice. Because in each case, nothing was really happening, nothing was really changing, but my mental and emotional state was in constant, chaotic flux based on how I was perceiving my experience. I can't even really look back at those memories and label them as "good" or "bad" because I can see that they are just experiences, value-neutral, just stuff that happened, stuff I did, choices I made, and not even terribly interesting as story material. Except that the memories are strong. Probably because I remember them for what they were: opportunities.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Stretching your Legs
The other day in one of my classes I got that inevitable question: "So, what exactly is the purpose of Downward-Facing Dog? What does it do?" Probably the best answer to the question is, beats me...what's it do for you? Not many students appreciate a teacher being smart ass, even when that answer is perfectly true.
I knew that wasn't the desired response though so I gave it my best, describing how Dog was at once a power pose, requiring strength throughout the body, that it focused attention on both arms and legs bearing weight, that it was an inversion, with the head lower than the heart, and a forward bend, and in a way a back bend as well, and that it worked to stretch the whole back of the body, and that it could serve as a point of reference during practice by returning to it again and again to observe any changes.
Mostly what she gathered from that is that it's good for stretching out the backs of the legs. Which it is. But actually if what you want to do is stretch your legs there are better, easier ways to do it. Dog gives you too much at once to think about for it to be the most effective leg stretcher out there.
What I actually think about Dog, and any other pose for that matter, is that it provides a context within which to view your own death. You can stretch your legs at any gym or any street corner before you begin your jog. But the secret of Dog is that stretching your legs doesn't really matter at all because we're all going to die. With or without tight hamstrings it's going to happen. Stretching your legs at a gym obscures the reality of your death. You can tell yourself that you're making healthier choices by stretching and therefore will live longer and therefore don't really need to think about death at all. Death is something that happens to other people.
Stretching your legs in a yoga class or practice though eventually will lead you to observe the reality of your own death. Because it draws you in to observe the reality of your physical existence with all of its possibilities and all its limitations; observing the tidal movement of the breath and recognizing that eventually the tide flows out for good. Why else would we practice Corpse Pose at the end of class except to practice for our future? We die at the end of every class, only to return again to breathing and movement, return to life and the opportunity to live the life we choose to live. We get to practice dying so that we can live fresh, because we don't get the opportunity to practice life. We choose and we move and we breathe...and we live. Maybe with loose hamstrings this time.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
I knew that wasn't the desired response though so I gave it my best, describing how Dog was at once a power pose, requiring strength throughout the body, that it focused attention on both arms and legs bearing weight, that it was an inversion, with the head lower than the heart, and a forward bend, and in a way a back bend as well, and that it worked to stretch the whole back of the body, and that it could serve as a point of reference during practice by returning to it again and again to observe any changes.
Mostly what she gathered from that is that it's good for stretching out the backs of the legs. Which it is. But actually if what you want to do is stretch your legs there are better, easier ways to do it. Dog gives you too much at once to think about for it to be the most effective leg stretcher out there.
What I actually think about Dog, and any other pose for that matter, is that it provides a context within which to view your own death. You can stretch your legs at any gym or any street corner before you begin your jog. But the secret of Dog is that stretching your legs doesn't really matter at all because we're all going to die. With or without tight hamstrings it's going to happen. Stretching your legs at a gym obscures the reality of your death. You can tell yourself that you're making healthier choices by stretching and therefore will live longer and therefore don't really need to think about death at all. Death is something that happens to other people.
Stretching your legs in a yoga class or practice though eventually will lead you to observe the reality of your own death. Because it draws you in to observe the reality of your physical existence with all of its possibilities and all its limitations; observing the tidal movement of the breath and recognizing that eventually the tide flows out for good. Why else would we practice Corpse Pose at the end of class except to practice for our future? We die at the end of every class, only to return again to breathing and movement, return to life and the opportunity to live the life we choose to live. We get to practice dying so that we can live fresh, because we don't get the opportunity to practice life. We choose and we move and we breathe...and we live. Maybe with loose hamstrings this time.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Summer Reading
I know summer's almost gone, but I don't have a lot to say at the moment. On the other hand, this year I've read many books which have had a great deal to say, and which have been both informative and transformative. So, I thought I'd share. Here are a few of my favorite, most recent, and most unforgettable reads:
Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness by Sharon Salzberg
Meditations from the Mat: Daily Reflections on the Path of Yoga by Rolf Gates and Katrina Kenison
How to Want What You Have: Discovering the Magic and Grandeur of Ordinary Existence by Timothy Miller
Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
Plenty: One Man, One Woman, and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally by Alisa Smith and James MacKinnon
The Wisdom of Yoga: A Seeker's Guide to Extraordinary Living by Stephen Cope
Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life by Marshall Rosenberg
Other than maybe too much of a fondness for long subtitles (a trend?), these books are gems and well worth a read. This is absolutely NOT a comprehensive list; only a list of books I've read very recently that have struck my fancy and found their way into my permanent library-quite a rare distinction. Are other lists forthcoming? Maybe. In the meantime check these out.
Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness by Sharon Salzberg
Meditations from the Mat: Daily Reflections on the Path of Yoga by Rolf Gates and Katrina Kenison
How to Want What You Have: Discovering the Magic and Grandeur of Ordinary Existence by Timothy Miller
Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
Plenty: One Man, One Woman, and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally by Alisa Smith and James MacKinnon
The Wisdom of Yoga: A Seeker's Guide to Extraordinary Living by Stephen Cope
Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life by Marshall Rosenberg
Other than maybe too much of a fondness for long subtitles (a trend?), these books are gems and well worth a read. This is absolutely NOT a comprehensive list; only a list of books I've read very recently that have struck my fancy and found their way into my permanent library-quite a rare distinction. Are other lists forthcoming? Maybe. In the meantime check these out.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Effort and Surrender
Yeah, I know...I'm obsessing a little over this topic. ENOUGH ALREADY!!! But...I think it's worth a little obsession. I keep thinking I'm going to create a yoga class with this title. That's really what happens in a class after all, the effort of doing the poses followed by the surrender of Savasana. I'm not sure though that the lines are that clear cut.
I was thinking about this topic for this particular entry and already thinking about how it relates to willpower, and some misconceptions I think most of us share about what that means. And then I got lost.
No big surprise, given the name of this blog, but I haven't actually written much lately about getting lost because it hasn't happened to me for a while. Apparently, if you live some place for 17 years and spend lots of that time walking and taking the bus all over, eventually you're simply guaranteed to acquire some sense of direction. But if you're like me, you are still quite capable, thank you very much, of getting hopelessly lost.
Here's the story: I went to teach a lesson in a part of town where I've a)lived for many years, b)worked for many years, c)wandered and socialized and hung out and gone to events for many years, and (here's the best part) at a home where I've been three (3!!!) different times recently. I couldn't find it. And what was interesting about it was that I was in complete denial that this was even possible, so in my head I was having a little conversation that went like this, "This can't be happening. But it is. But it can't be. But it is. But it can't be..." and so on. And then as I realized that it was indeed happening and that I was now late for my lesson I added in a little refrain, "I'm an idiot," to the rest of my litany. (Isn't that interesting? I now have a hate mantra, as in the Peril of Pigeon Pose, and an idiot mantra.) Eventually though I had to realize that the chatter going on in my head was not even vaguely useful, tune it out, surrender to the ridiculous situation and call the woman I was going to meet.
And I think that's exactly what happens with what we call willpower. Often people use the term "mind over matter", but I think the truth of it is body over mind. It's that initial umph to dive down deeper underneath the mind's chatter to access the body wisdom of a situation. So I think about days when swimming was part of my after work routine. I would leave work feeling tired and just wanting to get home and park myself in front of the tv with a nice cup of tea. In my head, this is what was playing, "I'm really tired, really REALLY tired, I don't want to swim, my suit is wet already and I don't want to put it on, it takes too long, I'll get home too late, I don't want to swim, if I go home I can exercise in front of the tv, that would be just as good..." and on and on. In my body what was happening was this: I leave work and turn my body in the direction of the pool, I walk down the street until I get to the pool, I walk inside and pay the fee, I go in the locker room and change clothes, I shower, I get in the pool...and suddenly my mind has shut off its litany because I'm here already, I'm swimming in the clean cool water, slicing up and down the lanes, enjoying the pleasure of moving my body. My body knows that this is what I need and my mind doesn't get a vote.
I've read that discipline in yoga equals feet on mat or butt on meditation cushion and I think there's a wisdom there for any venture. All you need is that tiny push of effort to dive under the mind and the body's momentum will carry you if you're willing to surrender to it. Doing the poses themselves isn't the effort; that tiny little push to arrive is.
I had a yoga teacher who taught us how to do what he called "whine-asana". It's a very important yoga pose and it goes something like this: Plant your feet hip's width apart. Turn your palms out and inhale your arms up to reach up overhead. Then recite, "I don't want to do yoga! It's too hard! I'm too tired. I don't like this!" Tone of voice is very important–make sure you draw out the syllables and get them nice and whiny! You can bend your knees and bounce a little to really emphasize the whine. Try it sometime when you hear some negative self-talk going on in your head. Put it out there out loud on the breath with the body engaged. Give yourself some love and empathy but don't take yourself too seriously. Life is ridiculous and grand and aren't we lucky to be here?
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
I was thinking about this topic for this particular entry and already thinking about how it relates to willpower, and some misconceptions I think most of us share about what that means. And then I got lost.
No big surprise, given the name of this blog, but I haven't actually written much lately about getting lost because it hasn't happened to me for a while. Apparently, if you live some place for 17 years and spend lots of that time walking and taking the bus all over, eventually you're simply guaranteed to acquire some sense of direction. But if you're like me, you are still quite capable, thank you very much, of getting hopelessly lost.
Here's the story: I went to teach a lesson in a part of town where I've a)lived for many years, b)worked for many years, c)wandered and socialized and hung out and gone to events for many years, and (here's the best part) at a home where I've been three (3!!!) different times recently. I couldn't find it. And what was interesting about it was that I was in complete denial that this was even possible, so in my head I was having a little conversation that went like this, "This can't be happening. But it is. But it can't be. But it is. But it can't be..." and so on. And then as I realized that it was indeed happening and that I was now late for my lesson I added in a little refrain, "I'm an idiot," to the rest of my litany. (Isn't that interesting? I now have a hate mantra, as in the Peril of Pigeon Pose, and an idiot mantra.) Eventually though I had to realize that the chatter going on in my head was not even vaguely useful, tune it out, surrender to the ridiculous situation and call the woman I was going to meet.
And I think that's exactly what happens with what we call willpower. Often people use the term "mind over matter", but I think the truth of it is body over mind. It's that initial umph to dive down deeper underneath the mind's chatter to access the body wisdom of a situation. So I think about days when swimming was part of my after work routine. I would leave work feeling tired and just wanting to get home and park myself in front of the tv with a nice cup of tea. In my head, this is what was playing, "I'm really tired, really REALLY tired, I don't want to swim, my suit is wet already and I don't want to put it on, it takes too long, I'll get home too late, I don't want to swim, if I go home I can exercise in front of the tv, that would be just as good..." and on and on. In my body what was happening was this: I leave work and turn my body in the direction of the pool, I walk down the street until I get to the pool, I walk inside and pay the fee, I go in the locker room and change clothes, I shower, I get in the pool...and suddenly my mind has shut off its litany because I'm here already, I'm swimming in the clean cool water, slicing up and down the lanes, enjoying the pleasure of moving my body. My body knows that this is what I need and my mind doesn't get a vote.
I've read that discipline in yoga equals feet on mat or butt on meditation cushion and I think there's a wisdom there for any venture. All you need is that tiny push of effort to dive under the mind and the body's momentum will carry you if you're willing to surrender to it. Doing the poses themselves isn't the effort; that tiny little push to arrive is.
I had a yoga teacher who taught us how to do what he called "whine-asana". It's a very important yoga pose and it goes something like this: Plant your feet hip's width apart. Turn your palms out and inhale your arms up to reach up overhead. Then recite, "I don't want to do yoga! It's too hard! I'm too tired. I don't like this!" Tone of voice is very important–make sure you draw out the syllables and get them nice and whiny! You can bend your knees and bounce a little to really emphasize the whine. Try it sometime when you hear some negative self-talk going on in your head. Put it out there out loud on the breath with the body engaged. Give yourself some love and empathy but don't take yourself too seriously. Life is ridiculous and grand and aren't we lucky to be here?
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Don't Abandon Ship
I've been pondering those darn yoga sutras again lately. Oh, and what might those be, you ask? Good question! Written long, long ago and commonly attributed to Patanjali, they are some pithy Sanskrit phrases that basically lay it all out there: What is that yoga stuff anyway? (Sounds better in Sanskrit.)
The tiny, tiny bit that's written about the physical part of yoga says, in a nutshell, that the posture should be steady and comfortable. Huh. Not something people often attribute to yoga pretzel poses. Another way to interpret it is to abide with what is.
I've been thinking about that in connection with my obsession with surrender. Surrender is one of those big trigger concepts for me, something that feels really juicy and important, so I work with the concept a lot. One of the ways I like to work with it is to try and tease it away from other concepts that can feel similar sometimes but which take me to a whole different, and not so helpful, landscape. Abandon is one of those other concepts.
There are times when the two feel quite similar. When you throw yourself into something with abandon, isn't that the same as surrendering? I think there's a little edge there, a tiny separation, because I think that releasing yourself into whatever may come for me denotes that there's a part of me that has remained behind. Abandoned ship, so to speak. And, it has finally occurred to me, that I have BIG abandonment issues, so how can it possibly be a good thing for me to stand on the brink, hurl myself over the edge and wave goodbye? This is way bigger than wandering off in the wrong direction with all parts accounted for; this is getting really LOST.
For myself, I see this most clearly in relationships (of course). You know that feeling...you're crazy about someone, and there's something that feels good, maybe a little risky, but what the heck, what's life all about anyway? So you release yourself to go there (yesyesyes...ABANDON!), and then, oops! Bad idea and now you're hurting, so now there's yet ANOTHER part of yourself beating up on the first part. Now, you're telling yourself you're an idiot. And the big YOU (please refer back to prior discussions on the inner witness!) says oh boy, I'm out of here and walks away. Arrrgh!!! Abandonment!!!
Here's the tough part; this is where surrender comes in. What happens if the inner witness hangs around and does what it does best–witness without judgment and with curiosity and compassion? In other words, you now surrender to the whole experience and ride it out with all hands on deck. No one gets left behind or thrown to the wolves and we ride through the storm together. Abide with what is, and find a way to be steady and comfortable on the way.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
The tiny, tiny bit that's written about the physical part of yoga says, in a nutshell, that the posture should be steady and comfortable. Huh. Not something people often attribute to yoga pretzel poses. Another way to interpret it is to abide with what is.
I've been thinking about that in connection with my obsession with surrender. Surrender is one of those big trigger concepts for me, something that feels really juicy and important, so I work with the concept a lot. One of the ways I like to work with it is to try and tease it away from other concepts that can feel similar sometimes but which take me to a whole different, and not so helpful, landscape. Abandon is one of those other concepts.
There are times when the two feel quite similar. When you throw yourself into something with abandon, isn't that the same as surrendering? I think there's a little edge there, a tiny separation, because I think that releasing yourself into whatever may come for me denotes that there's a part of me that has remained behind. Abandoned ship, so to speak. And, it has finally occurred to me, that I have BIG abandonment issues, so how can it possibly be a good thing for me to stand on the brink, hurl myself over the edge and wave goodbye? This is way bigger than wandering off in the wrong direction with all parts accounted for; this is getting really LOST.
For myself, I see this most clearly in relationships (of course). You know that feeling...you're crazy about someone, and there's something that feels good, maybe a little risky, but what the heck, what's life all about anyway? So you release yourself to go there (yesyesyes...ABANDON!), and then, oops! Bad idea and now you're hurting, so now there's yet ANOTHER part of yourself beating up on the first part. Now, you're telling yourself you're an idiot. And the big YOU (please refer back to prior discussions on the inner witness!) says oh boy, I'm out of here and walks away. Arrrgh!!! Abandonment!!!
Here's the tough part; this is where surrender comes in. What happens if the inner witness hangs around and does what it does best–witness without judgment and with curiosity and compassion? In other words, you now surrender to the whole experience and ride it out with all hands on deck. No one gets left behind or thrown to the wolves and we ride through the storm together. Abide with what is, and find a way to be steady and comfortable on the way.
copyright 2007 J. Autumn Needles
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