The (in)finite foot

My Goodness. I emerge from the wilderness (canoeing in the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota), and the yoga b-sphere is alight with discussion. But, since I have little to say on John Friend, even less on Tantra, I'll leave that to those more knowledgeable (altho YogaDawg's comment on it's all about yoga has the wheels turning).

I was very taken with Brooks Hall and Bob Weisenberg's exchange on elephant journal. In fact, I've been thinking along those lines all week...lakes, loons, and pine trees will do that to a body. The infinite, the finite, what brings us back to center the most?

One discovery, this camping trip, is that I am no longer able to blissfully spend the night on the hard ground with just a thin thermarest under my body and a lumpy backpack under my head. Such stiffness in the morning! So everyday, I hobbled down to a gently sloping chunk of granite by the water and moved through a series of chest and shoulder openers and twists just to get the synovial fluids moving.

Bare feet on a warm rock, man, speaking of infinite joy. I just love doing yoga without a mat, in bare feet, in the great outdoors. I like to honor the sole of the foot as a sense organ, not just a mode of transportation. The sensations of temperature, texture, moisture, and shape under my feet contribute to the practice as much as quieting thoughts or stretching muscles. The uneven ground challenges the sense of balance (no headstands), as does the flowing water (Vrksasana was wobbly), but coming back to the base stilled each pose. And when that base is having its own heightened experience, the whole thing gets bumped to a new level.

Throw in a loon's echoing call, campfire coffee (you could skip the mosquitoes), and there's my recent adventure...

[On another note--I was honored to be featured on The Magazine of Yoga's weekly Blog Fan Page, while I was off the grid. Such a thoughtful (and accurate) description of this blog...please take a look at other recommendations and enjoy Susan M.'s careful, researched descriptions.]

Sisters are doin' it...

Well, this sister did it. I finished my first outdoor triathlon this Sunday. It was an all-women's sprint (1/2 mile swim, 12 mile bike, 3 mile run), sponsored by TREK bikes, and it was phenomenal. Not so much my performance (I finished, so I was quite pleased with that), but this mass of super-strong, super-focused female energy. It was so inspiring to be a part of the whole thing.

You know where I'm going with this, don't you?

And, repeatedly, I thought to myself, why can't this be what the face (body) of womanhood looks like? Muscles, hips, curves, tanned skin from spending time outside (not a machine), unfussy hairdos, smile lines, crinkly eyes, sandals you could run in. Guilt-free chocolate. All of us assembled in one place to challenge ourselves and our bodies...but happy about it, not hyper-competitive. You got the sense that people were proud of themselves, not feeling inadequate or ugly (well, except maybe for inner monologues during the run). A beautiful thing, to be sure.

Now, I usually prefer a mixed-gender group, but, for a first-timer, I appreciated the supportive environment...newbies, cancer survivors, sinewy veterans, but all chicks. While looking over the transition area, where 1683 bikes were parked with Elmo balloons and chalk greetings ("We're so proud of you, Mom!") marking peoples' spots, my friend observed, "I'll bet Ironman doesn't look like this." Sweet, a little silly.

For three or four hours, no one was worrying if they looked fat or old or boring. It was all about inner (and outer) strength; about being able to go deep inside and pull out the energy needed to finish. How refreshing. I wish it could be like that all the time, for everyone. All "you go, girl" messages, instead of "imagine what you would look like 20 lb.s lighter."

Wouldn't that be nice. I wish, I wish, I wish.

(P.S. If you're toying with the idea of a triathlon, can't recommend enough the site, Tri-Newbies Online for training suggestions, info, workouts, etc. It is a very sane, careful approach to training, with a lot of advice for first-timers. Yoga, of course, is a wonderful complement to it all, both physically and mentally.)

Yo, Calliope!

Perhaps my most favorite thing to muse over is creativity. Just how do humans come up with their ideas? How do we keep generating new things to amuse, challenge, upset, inspire? The ancient Greeks (and, even more, Renaissance Italians) liked to personify the urge to create with a variety of female demi-goddesses. I guess it's easier to blame some willful divinity for your writer's block, than waiting around for your synapses to start firing.

My professional trajectory has been one that often intersects with one or another of the classical muses (altho these girls weren't really standardized and assigned specializations until Cesare Ripa's Iconologia in 1593); journalism (Calliope)-art history (Clio)-costume design (Melpolmene/Thalia)-and, in a way, back to journalism. It's been a mix of being creative and studying creativity and justifying creativity (to an actress whose ability to create is dependent on whether she thinks she looks fat or not).

The act of creation; sometimes the urge and the ideas overwhelm in their volume, other times it's impossible to even get started. They say, it's a matter of the brain's ability to operate outside of usual patterns, often facilitated by letting the mind wander or doing something relaxing (like knitting or, ahem, doing yoga) to shift the task into an auxiliary system. Putting it on the back burner, if you will. But, it's funny how a deadline--decidedly not relaxing--can help accelerate the process. Sometimes the most brilliant work comes at the last moment (altho that's usually not the best strategy for something that requires careful proofreading). Adrenaline? Activated sympathetic nervous system?

However, like the ancient Greeks, to me it feels like some external presence/inspiration arrives after the usual pre-work puttering (facebook, putting away dishes, a round of shanghai). I get about an hour to an-hour-an-a-half of productivity and then, like a sputtering match, the words stop coming and my creativity flickers out. It's the same with writing or with drawing, whether being eloquent with words or proportional with a drawing of the human figure. Bye, bye, muse, and it gets all redundant and ugly. The steel doors come slamming shut. (I wonder what that sez about my brain's circuitry...limited and prone to blowing a fuse?)

Anyway, interesting to ponder. Any metaphors you'd like to add? How does the muse visit you?

Don't Mess with the Mat...

I had my YIP class on Saturday. Lovely weather (I challenged the gray skies and they turned to blue...yoga power), devoted students; a delightful practice, all in all. As I was setting up--which involved picking up a few cigarette butts, tossing out a beer can and unrolling my mat--a couple was letting their dog chase a few ducks and take a swim. The woman looked over, saw my mat, and gathered her crew, "Oh look, I'm sure the ladies don't want to watch you and a wet dog while they do yoga." They hustled off.

Boy, I thought, yoga has arrived in Beloit, Wisconsin, if all you need to do is unroll a mat and your intention is immediately recognized. No asana, no chanting, not even students at that point, just sitting cross-legged on a mat in the grass and I might as well be unfurling a giant Om banner.

The ultimate yoga icon: The Mat.

More than Vrksasana or namaste or stretchy white chicks...when people see The Mat, they think of yoga. It delineates your individual space in a crowded class (don't step on any one else's!); its ritual unrolling symbolizes the beginning of practice. The colors and pattern represent your personality--soothing lilac, tropical hibiscus, punchy orange. Its material indicates your politics--eco-friendly, thrify, hedonist. Its carrying case a testament your craft cred(how many knitting patterns are out there for a mat bag?), or busy schedule (peeking out of your bulging backpack like a Frenchman's baguette).

[Maybe that's part of why the free mats at NYC's Yoga on the Great Lawn event were such an affront: crass advertising on that most sacred of rectangles! Treating The Mat like a stupid koozie or bumper sticker or ugly ball cap...the nerve!]

Of course, I kid. But as I mulled over the implications of this floppy piece of cushioning, I came to see it as truly symbolic of one's own practice. Your are your Mat, so to speak. Which begs the question...what if you don't use a mat? Purist? Cheap? Have a carpeted living room? Again, it's a sort of psychological yoga test.

What does your mat say about you...?

Pardon me, your Yoga is showing...

I just got back from a wonderful weekend at the beach. Two dear friends from high school, sand, surf, and no responsibility. It was dreamy...although highly unsustainable. I jogged on the beach, read for hours (more later on Wendy Doniger's The Hindus), did a little yoga on the beach. Am in the process of acclimating to Real Life...

Yoga Outside...so topical, this week. I'd meant to post before I left, because Yoga Spy left an intriguing comment last week about doing yoga in public and I found it inspiring, if a bit confounding. Now, It's All Yoga, Baby also has a post worth considering in this context, too. There's some back and forth about the giant yoga-in in NYC, but I haven't read up on that, seeing as I was "off-line" when it went down.

For me, our little session in the sand was just a quick amuse bouche. A little stretch-and-commune-with-nature, but nothing particularly deep or moving. However, doing it outside did mean we were on view, and one jogger going by was so distracted he wandered into the incoming wave. (n.b. we were 2 middle-aged ladies and one man in sloppy tees and shorts, no hot yoga bods, here) Still, we felt better afterwards and definitely more calm, so benefits were had.

Which gets me to my (and my fellow bloggers') point. Is yoga outside too distracting to count as yoga? Are you drawing too much attention to yourself? Are you too aware of what else is going on? Does this detract from the practice, or enhance it?

I see the point on both sides. I think a traditional practice--a withdrawing from the senses--probably is made more difficult by being outside, or at least in public with passerbys and whatnot. But I think a modern practice (so to speak) is improved; I think you become more aware of what you are doing and you become very sensitive to your environment. Instead of withdrawing from your senses, you withdraw from the distractions of everday life--demands, obligations, to-do-lists--and become more in tune with your body and your place in nature. One living being among many.

I'm all for quieting the monkey-mind, however it is accomplished. I like to keep the tool box filled, if you will. But I'm really interested in what the rest of you think. Wind, waves, and walkers or serenity, screens, and silence?

(Aah, Topsail Beach in North Carolina...)

Yoga al fresco

Barring any weather developments--this being the Midwest, you never know--I'm teaching my first outdoor yoga class in a couple of Saturdays. I love yoga outside; breezes, smells, flowers, grass, birds. A sensory smorgasbord to add to the mix. I think it makes you feel a little more one-with-the-planet-ish, and certainly more in-tune with nature.

I've done outdoor classes before and I thought I'd try to be a bit more connected to the location of the class, this time around. I usually pick a favorite sequence, maybe add a bit longer meditation or savasana, but this time I want to try something different. Try something that really takes us out of a basic practice, just by the fact that it's happening outside.

How? I dunno, I'm still mulling it. Because the ground will be lumpy and bumpy, I think we'll be on our feet or sitting most of the time, instead of lying down. Because we're in a beautifully-landscaped corner of Beloit's Riverside Park--garden on one side, river on the other, we'll keep our eyes open (focusing on flowers rather than just turning inward). Maybe not too many standing balance poses, but several seated twists to take in all the scenery.

Changing perspective is really cool and a bit trippy outside, so I want to throw in some inversions--Down Dog, Prasarita Padottanasana and look at the tops of trees from the bottom of our feet. I always use a lesson plan, so I don't have to think about the sequence as it unfolds, but I will be a bit looser for this class. Maybe a nearby duck or goose or snake will present an opportunity to modify...snakes always liven the up joint.

I was initially inspired by this Yoga Journal piece, but I figured I'd turn to my favorite online resource--Y'all. So tell me, what yoga do you do outside? Why? What do you change? What changes you?
(Thank to OldOnliner for his gorgeous flickr photos of Riverside Park)

Simpler Times

In last week's comments I said that one of the things that I like about my new exercise "regimen" is that it frees my yoga practice up to be more-than-exercise. But I've been thinking...it wasn't that long ago (seven years ago, in my pre-teaching days) that it was just a part of the routine, included to help soften the edges of high-stress workdays and stretch out a tense body.

Sometimes I miss those simpler times, when awareness of the texts or history or different schools of yoga didn't seem to matter that much. Every Thursday evening, I put on my stretchies, gathered up my mat and water bottle and headed off to class for 1 1/2 hours of calming and strengthening. It was a temporary escape from my Washington DC life to put myself in the hands of a strong, experienced teacher, where all I had to do was follow directions and keep my mind clear.

I manage to take a class here and there (it's not easy being one of the few teachers in town), but never with that beginner's mind. I'm always collecting ideas for my own classes or sneaking peaks at adjustments or memorizing clever sequences--I know, I know, mind my own business--but, as they say, once a teacher, always a teacher. And, while I cherish my level of understanding, sometimes I wish it could just be easy again.

I guess that's the trade-off when you decide to pursue a beloved hobby as a profession. Your relationship to the activity changes and it can never be "just" something you do in your free time. You know too much.

Maybe that's what is so nice about the biking and running and swimming. It's "just" exercise. Of course I've looked at various training sites and read about strategies to improve, but it's still just something I slip into the schedule for an hour or so five times a week. No great thoughts, no strong emotion, just some sweat and work.

That would be a good summer goal--to make yoga easy again. Just do the asana and leave the rest for the experts (or for when I'm teaching). Challenging. Appealing. Possible? We'll see...

Listen, my children, and you shall hear...

I was supposed to run a quarter marathon yesterday. But, a convergence of (minor) misfortunes--a pulled adductor muscle, stomach flu, head cold--cost me three weeks of training and made running 6.5 miles seem like a very bad idea.

It's so hard to listen to your own advice. Pay attention to just yourself; modify the sequence to suit your body; only you can know if the pose is working or not. All fine and good to suggest during yoga class, but start me slogging down the street and it's all the old voices of junior high school track (too slow, too heavy) whispering in my ear. So, Mother Nature decided to get my attention with a mighty twinge in my right thigh. I thought I'd better listen.

In the beginning of this year I trained for, and ran in, a sprint triathlon. I had two goals: 1. To see if I could actually do the work without killing myself (yes) and 2. To tame my hyper-competitive spirit (sorta). Funny how that is such a problem for me--and maybe why yoga appeals so much.

I love swimming. I love riding my bike. Running makes me feel lumpy and slumpy and like I'm just pounding along. But, I enjoy the cross-training and I think it is good for me to have to work on something that doesn't come easily. That has a lot of voices attached to it. I have to remind myself frequently to just do the work and not focus on the fruits (thanks, B-G).

To me, the whole thing is a nice physical metaphor for life. Some things will come easily and be a delight, some things require a lot of work and are a challenge. How can you adapt your thinking so that you will be open to learning from both experiences? Maybe even find some joy in the rough stuff (or at least be at peace with it)?

The leg is fine, now. I have another triathlon in July, that I'm really looking forward to. My massage therapist noted that the yin meridian in my right leg was blocked so I'm working on getting the chi flowing. I went out for a bike ride this afternoon that was lovely. No voices, just breeze and open fields and bird song.

Doesn't that sound nice...

A Fair Trade

What made Homo sapiens so special? Dr. Ridley argues that it wasn’t our big brain, because Neanderthals had a big brain, too. Nor was it our willingness to help one another, because apes and other social animals also had an instinct for reciprocity. “At some point,” Dr. Ridley writes, “after millions of years of indulging in reciprocal back-scratching of gradually increasing intensity, one species, and one alone, stumbled upon an entirely different trick. Adam gave Oz an object in exchange for a different object.” --NYT review of "The Rational Optimist", by Matt Ridley.

Even the most hardened skeptic of the self-expression free-for-all has to admit that plenty of nonprofessional creators, ignoring the wants and needs of the market, have produced priceless gifts for the rest of us to enjoy.--"Valuing $0" by Rob Walker, NYT Sunday Magazine.

Though the unwise cling to their actions, watching for results, the wise are free from attachments, and act for the well-being of the whole world.--Bhagavad Gita, 3.25

(Isn't it funny how things seem to coalesce when you're trying to come up with a blog post? All these quotes floated across my radar screen this past week, and all seemed relevant.)

I'm a big fan of Web 2.0, and all the kooky, wonderful free stuff that's out there for the downloading (plenty of shite too, I know, but that's part of the fun). I wonder if this is going to be the "good old days" that everyone refers to when we have to start paying for content and subscribing (not that that wouldn't be fair). And I'm proud to be a contributor to the kookiness which, by the way, has been for exactly four years on Saturday.

Sometimes I think about all the "unvalued" time I've put into this venture. By now, once-a-week for four years (231 posts), it's more like a hobby/habit than anything else. I feel obligated to stay current; I think about what I'd like to formulate into an essay; I get interesting feedback. [BrooksHall wrote a nice piece about this last week] By putting my little offering out there ("gift" seems too grand a title for these random musings), I feel like I've done my work and any fruits that result are a delightful extra. And there have been quite a few fruits (so to speak)--internet friendships, writing opportunities, teaching opportunities, new students, yoga-blog-community membership. Actually, a wealth of riches in exchange for about 45 min.s of my time every 5-7 days.

Would that my physical practice was so regular. But, in a way, they are of the same piece. Some people learn best by doing, others by reading. I float somewhere in the middle, as I like to think and learn and study in addition to do, and it all informs my work on the mat. This writing exercise, such as it is, has deepened my understanding of asana and pranayama and strengthened my teaching in ways I never could have imagined. I am a person of the book, to be sure.

Thanks, everyone, for accepting this little blog as an item of exchange. Unvalued it may be (at least as part of a market economy), it is priceless to me.

Deep Thoughts

Several things inspired this week's post: my 80-year-old teacher, Nicky Plaut; in Madison, Linda Sama's lovely, thoughtful birthday essay; a bit in the NYT's Science Times. Overall theme: the wisdom that comes with age.

I watched a beautiful, young thing jog around the track at the Y, today. At each pass by the mirror, she checked herself out and, by the end of the run had rolled her tank top way up and her shorts way down. I guess her hipbones needed to cool off. I thought about how much energy you expend on your appearance as a youngster--am I pretty/strong/buff/tan/thin enough? And, I guess,when you've got such smooth skin, such endless energy, and haven't tasted much disappointment, it all seems like something that really matters.

One thing I find so inspiring about my teacher in Madison, is that even though she inhabits an obviously aging body, she moves with such grace and ease. I watched her feet while we were doing Adho Mukha Svanasana, and they looked so strong and balanced. Nothing scraggly or misshapen, no bulging veins or discoloration. Instead of seeing her body as something that must be tamed and offered up for others' approval, she presents it as an accomplice in good health. She works with it, rather than against it, accepting the limitations (she now uses a headstand-chair) but still moving through all the poses her much-younger students obviously struggle with. I guess that's what 50 years of yoga will do...coupled with a good attitude.

This is where Linda's post and the NYT article come in. Linda talks about the acceptance that comes with age, and the peace and calm that result from that acceptance. The article is about a study showing adults over 60 are much better negotiators, judges, and counselors because of their ability to see multiple perspectives and their recognition of the limits of knowledge. There is no black-and-white. (Well, as long as you're not an aging member of the Tea Bag Party) I guess you start to realize that all the fighting isn't worth it. There's nothing to Win and you just wear yourself out.

I'm still pretty early in my Middle Age, but I hope I to take all of this to heart and let it guide. They say that Youth is wasted on the young, but I think I agree with the other maxim that says, "you can have everything, just not at once." You don't get boundless energy and an unlined face with deep wisdom--that would be overwhelming. As I move towards more lines, though, I think I'm just fine with the trade-off.

Wisdom has more staying-power, anyway.

Peace out, y'all.

No Fruit for You!

Don't worry, I'm not about to go all Atkins on you. Myself, I can't think of anything more delicious than a fresh peach or tomato in season...but I digress.

This is Week One of elephant journal's discussion of the Bhagavad Gita, and what a response! 142 comments, with more accumulating. It's such an interesting mix, emotional responses from people who use it as a guide for living, academic responses from those who want to discuss translation and context, tentative responses, a few hot air responses (gotta admit, I hit the *scroll down* button whenever I see the word "ontological")--all lovingly moderated by Bob Weisenberg.

We're reading Chapters 1 and 2 for next Monday. I am immediately taken with one of the themes of the second chapter:
"You have a right to your actions, but never to your action's fruits." (2.47)
and "Pitiful are those who, acting, are attached to their action's fruits." (2.49)
and "The wise man lets go of all results, whether good or bad, and is focused on the action alone." (2.50)

That's a lot of metaphorical produce! But I love it as an image and it is truly one of those things that can make you crazy--clinging to those fruits. Especially when said actions concern another person. You do what you can, own the doing, but the result is not under your control. Worry, fret, get angry all you like, but you can't make those fruits be the way you want them to be.
I don't think this means be complacent. Since your contribution to the whole endeavor is the actions, those should be done as conscientiously as possible. I think you can even hope for a desired outcome--if you're still new to the wisdom business--but don't get too disappointed by what actually happens. Or too excited, for that matter (happy vs satisfied). It all could change in a matter of seconds.

It certainly isn't the first time we've been warned of this kind of attachment. Bhante Sujatha told a similar tale at a Christmas-time meditation I went to last year. Funny how this message seems to reach across time and cultures...says something of the quirks of human nature. Just. Let. Go.

So, plants those seeds. Nurture them, tuck mulch around them, sprinkle water, trim dead leaves. Appreciate the fresh salsa, but don't take the blight fungus personally when everything turns brown and falls off over the course of two days. (Man, I sure could have used the Gita during last year's gardening season...)

Bendy...

You can keep your stinkin' Olympics. What I wanna know is: If I do enough yoga, will I be able to do this?



In my humble opinion, the red gingham bloomers are way cuter than, well, just about anything in black lycra.
(Thanks Meikka C. for the link)

Achtung Baby

Setting: Kerbey Lane Cafe, Austin, TX, mid-1990s
What: 2 young people eating lunch at a window seat and watching customers arrive...a white limo pulls up and a short, spiky-haired fellow gets out, wearing high-heeled cowboy boots and wrap-around glasses.
bkp: (snorts) Look at that guy, he thinks he's Bono!
jrr: (calmly) He's right.
bkp: (remembering U2 is in town) Hmph!

I was reminded of this scene from my past, while considering recent comments on my earlier post.

Seriously, if people are happy with their yoga classes and no one is being exploited or abused, is there really a problem? I certainly enjoy the discussion and crafting an argument can be a great mental exercise but, at the end of the day, if some one thinks their brightest contribution to the practice of yoga is a pair of yoga shoes, maybe they're right. If shelling out for yoga pants can help assuage the fear of "camel toe" during class, maybe that's a good thing. Perhaps Led Zeppelin and 59 other sweaty bodies can be the path to inner peace (and a bargain, to boot).

The practice of yoga has been around for a long time and will survive any attempts at hybridization, branding, or re-imaging that the entrepreneurs can think up--whether I get mad about it or not. Come for the tight yoga bod, stay for the mental peace. Whatever.

So I'm going to try and stop caring (so much) about the trendy and get back-to-basics. Wanna join me? Bob Weisenberg is hosting a book discussion group over on Elephant Journal; first text under consideration-Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Bhagavad Gita. As Bob says, this is one of the Big Three of yoga sources, along with the Sutras and Upanishads (I hope we'll read those, too). I'm looking forward to this; the combo of Bob's thoughtful discussion, comments from many of the usual suspects, emotional reactions, and intellectual exploration should make for a really lively and interesting mind-full. On Monday, we're starting with the Introduction (just 20 pages, there's plenty of time...).

Do come.

By Any Means Necessary

Some good stuff this (and last) week: yoga for those who can (should) afford it, for those who can't, yoga for everyone. I am especially inspired by the discussion following Roseanne's post on mobile yoga and Linda's on donation yoga --are the hybrid yogas and cheap yoga a good thing, as long as they bring new students to the practice?

My comment to Roseanne was that strategies for getting-everyone-on-the-mat strike me as similar to those of trying-to-get-everyone-to-read. The reasoning seems to follow that it doesn't matter what people do, or the quality, but just that they are doing it--60 people crammed in a studio, rollerblade yoga, graphic novels. Who am I to say what kind of yoga/books people should enjoy...maybe these will lead them on the path to "harder" stuff and that these are the gateways to a more intense yoga or literary experience.

But maybe they won't.

And that's where my enthusiasm for the hybrids ends. I certainly don't have a problem with other forms of exercise borrowing from yoga or other reading material being considered a part of literature (and I think some graphic novels are brilliant, but you don't read them like you read a page full of words) . I think both approaches miss the point--that these should be activities that force you to leave the external world and enter an interior one. Asana should help you get out of your body and books should challenge your imagination. It's hard work to exercise the brain, but that is what doing yoga and reading the printed word is to me.

So if the class stays focused on cost-cutting (meaning the factory-farm model, to borrow R's analogy) or trying to do the "best" arm balance or tightening your abs and glutes, I'm not particularly supportive. If the book feeds you all the visuals or dumbs-down the language or draws its characters from a TV show, I'm not thrilled. If that's really all some one is looking for, she's missing a lot. Maybe the whole thing.

But that's just my opinion. Maybe these options do create awareness for some people, or maybe they will want to seek a more challenging approach some day. However, it seems that if you offer people an easier way, they rarely decide to try something harder. And, since the easy way is usually the profitable way...well, you know how that story ends.

(BTW, this is in no way to denigrate the awesome, generous spirit in which most pay-what-you-can yoga classes are offered. There are many wonderful teachers out there sharing their knowledge for free or on the cheap...not with an eye on the bottom line, but on spreading the love. I am grateful they can do that, and I hope people realize that this is a gift and not something to be taken for granted.)

The Challenge of Silence

They have been some really interesting comments about what we take from yoga, especially the stillness and quiet. For me, savasana is the hardest pose and pranayama the hardest practice--it's so hard to shut those voices up! Well, apparently this is a very popular topic--the challenge of silence--and this guy's publicist is working overtime to promote his new book about it...

At least I think this is the guy I was listening to--I know, shameful lack of citation--on NPR the other day. George Prochnik was discussing In Pursuit of Silence, and was making some interesting observations about humans and their need for constant noise. He noted that pretty much every other animal on the planet tries to keep quiet, either to avoid being eaten or to avoid being detected while sneaking up on the former in hopes of eating. Just about the only exception is noise in service of reproduction...

What is it with us humans--top of the food chain, with no predators? big brains in need of constant stimulation? not enough attention as children? too much attention from parents and not enough from the rest of the world? scared of being alone? too many listening devices?

I do okay with quiet (which technically includes the hum of a dehumidifier, the gurgle of the fish tank, occasional scolding from a vocal cat), which is such a relief when I'm the only one at home. But, unless I have the voice of a teacher in my ear, I have a hard time concentrating on my yoga practice without music. I really have trouble meditating. Prochnik suggests controlled background noise can have a focusing effect for kids with ADHD, but I see it working for many of my students and, certainly, for me.

Which makes me a little wistful. I try to cultivate quiet calm, when I can (background noise that I control...with two little boys, yeah, right!). I'd like to think that I'm part of a group that can forgo constant external stimulus, but maybe I'm not (or just barely).

Or maybe quiet has always been hard. Maybe there's a reason yoga was originally restricted to the Brahmin caste; it was thought the average householder couldn't handle it. Maybe it's always been noisy, it's just the kinds (and volume) of noises has changed. Humans have always been the "look at me" animal on the planet...and, for the most part, aren't worried about being lunch.

Something to think about--when you're not trying to not think.

(Overheard at the Milwaukee zoo, "Hey sweetheart, get a load of this...")

The Opening and Closing of a Heart

Woof. The first discussion on the Diane Rehm show yesterday morning was a four-weller (meaning, I found myself welling up listening to it, four times). And I only caught the last 15 minutes!

The show had assembled a number of counselors and pediatricians who deal with adoption issues, prompted by the actions of an adoptive mother who "sent" her son back to Russia after deciding she couldn't handle him. (I can't begin to understand her decision; suffice it to say, I am very sorry she felt that was her only option and I am sorry that she now has to deal with her own reaction to that decision, as well as global condemnation)

The show had a wonderful, moving call (a two-weller) from a mother dealing with a very difficult, six-year old adoptee. She sounded very tired, but very determined. The host asked her if she'd ever wished she hadn't adopted her daughter. Without a second's pause, the caller said no and said, while she hadn't visualized this life for herself, she figured there was a reason she was matched with this child.

There is some one who is going to have an awesome next life.

It reminded me of another interview I read, in which a woman was recounting her life dealing with her teenage son's mental illness. She told of complaining to her minister that, "this wasn't what she signed up for." Her wise counselor responded, "actually, this is exactly what you signed up for." For me, that exchange really drove home the whole amazing and horrible trade-off of parenthood.

Or any relationship where you accept responsibility for another life, actually. To open your heart and allow some one (thing) in requires a huge investment--of emotion, time, and faith. You cede control to let in the sweetness--and the pain. (Probably the technical explanation is that the brain rewires to accommodate this new sense of self and obligation...but where's the poetry in that?) These are important things to remember during the first heady days of falling in love, bringing home a new pet, considering parenthood.

It makes life that much richer, and that much scarier. I can't think of anything more upsetting than losing some one close...the old I-would-give-my-life-for-you sort of feeling. On the other hand, I can't imagine keeping people at arm's length to avoid any heartbreak. That seems rather cold and lonely.

So I wish you all the ability to open your hearts, and keep them open. Cherish the good and soldier through the bad that comes with this responsibility. It's hard to love, I know, but I wonder if it's even harder not to...

Before there was Yoga...(and After)

I have been very impressed with the tenor of recent discussions. A lot of really smart (a compliment, as far as I'm concerned), thoughtful responses, with much additional information to put in the mix. Very cool.

I'm struck by the variety of experience out there. Not that it should surprise me, but there are a lot of interesting back stories that I'm just getting a glimpse of: college majors, past career tracks, enthusiasms, impressive reading lists. It got me to thinking (don't it always) about what leads up to one's yoga "career" and what it was about yoga that was so compelling that we stayed. Some of it is obvious (stress-relief, fitness, improved health), but--of course--yoga moves in deep and subtle ways and there must have been something more personal that each of us responded to. Before there was yoga, there was something else and I want to know what it was...

So, I'll go first. My first yoga class was in the fall of 1989, in Philadelphia with Joan White, a long-time Iyengar instructor. It was also my first semester of grad school in Art History at the Univ. of Pennsylvania, and my first Big City experience as an adult. I was quite overwhelmed by Ivy Leaguers and the City of Brotherly Love and I'd heard yoga was good for stress, so I thought I'd try it out.

Of course, it was good for stress, but what caught my attention was Joan's rigor and her attention to detail. I liked the soothing pace of the class, but I also liked the right-way/wrong-way dichotomy. That I was there to learn "how" to do a pose and--even though it could be modified--there was a correct version and an incorrect version. Some of this came from Joan's adjustments, but some of it came from the fact that if you're out of alignment, you can't hold Tree Pose. Basic enough.

As a fish-out-of-water Midwesterner, I found this fairly strict presentation of the discipline very appealing. Here was something clear-cut, secure and regular. I could go to class, expect a straightforward sequence, and would feel better when I was finished. None of the "do I belong here" or "can I keep up" voices from the rest of my life at that time.

I guess that's why the basic Iyengar approach continues to resonate with me, altho I've found it a bit inflexible at times. I like the logic and structure. I know one thing will lead to the next and, as this progression unfolds, I will move deeper into the practice and into calm. I can rely on it. It's not that the rest of my life is super-chaotic, but my yoga practice feels like my protected, quiet center.

Before there was yoga there was a lot of nervous, unfocused energy. First Art History and then Costume Design. High-pressure deadlines out of my control, unpredictable personalities, excitement, drama, over-thinking (can you imagine?!?). Sequins. And that is still my tendency, but I have a remedy for the worst of it. And, when I moved back to Wisconsin, I replaced the really crazy life of show biz with that of a yoga teacher (and mother--but that's a bit more of the out-of-control drama).

So, for me, yoga offers Structure. A Voice that reminds me not to over-analyze and helps me focus the energy and settle down. Nothing fancy, not too much dogma, just asana and pranayama and the calm that follows. Common-sense yoga, if you will.

Your turn.

Cogito, bitches

re. Last Week: That's what I'm talking about. Interesting observations. Provoked thoughts. Amusing anecdotes. That is why we do this, no? And it brings yet another issue to mind...

It seems, on a regular basis, some kind-hearted soul smiles at me while I chase one misbehaving child or another and says, "Well, isn't that their job? To test limits?" And, while I grit my teeth and try not to offer them an afternoon testing their own limits with said child, I have to admit, they're right. That's child (teenager) hood, isn't it, to figure out the rules and then try to transgress them. And sometimes this is problematic--crayon-meets-wall/bike-meets-concrete/alcohol-meets-underage-lips; other times it is something beautiful. That something beautiful is thinking for yourself.

I have a healthy respect for rules. I'm not a fan of chaos or anarchy. But some rules are meant to be challenged, whether with a well-crafted argument or science experiment or clever demonstration. That's what I hope to teach my own little tormentors--using your mind is probably the most transgressive act of all. Cogito Ergo Sum, baby. I Think Therefore I Am.

And so it ties in with my feelings about all the yelling over and the shutting down. The citing of Sutras and taking of the US Constitution's name in vain (you don't really have to read it, you know, to know it's against health reform). The Purists/Constitutionalists/Fundamentalists would have you believe that the guys who wrote the texts that we live by, had no imagination, couldn't conceive of a world other than their own and, therefore, expect us to follow the rules they set down without question or exception.

Yeah, right. A good writer is a good thinker. One who considers words carefully, who crafts meaning with intention, who looks at many sides of an issue. We know T. Jefferson and the Apostle Paul and, probably, Pantanjali, did a lot of thinking before putting pen (quill? charcoal stick?) to paper. I doubt they thought they had all the answers. How could Pantanjali be against chocolate--I doubt he ever tasted it?!?

And yet, people want to take refuge in unchanging verities. To take a text at face value. Instead of thinking reasonably about their beliefs, they want to shut the book and cross their arms and ignore all challenges. That is a trap I hope the boys never fall into--to stop thinking and just accept.

It's a trap I hope we all avoid. It's hard to be a thinking person, it can be lonely, but it is what makes being human such a beautiful thing. We have a very complex and subtle brain; we can abstract, empathize, and use language. Growing up doesn't mean you stop testing limits or questioning rules. Maybe you don't try to write on walls or stuff dirty clothes under the bed anymore, but you should never stop thinking.

I mean, where's the fun in that...

(Thanks, Leonardo, now how about a Vitruvian Woman?)

These are my principles (If you don't like them, I have others)

I love civil discourse. Dig a frank dialogue. Heart a heated discussion. I am all over a charged debate when both sides have something to say and the verbal skills to do it intelligently. I appreciate having my assumptions challenged and being asked to clarify my statements. I may sputter a bit in the process, get my feelings hurt a little, but--ultimately--it makes me that much more secure in my convictions...or forces me to change my mind.

I'm pretty sure I'm an endangered species.

Never mind the nonsense in the US Congress or on reality TV. I'm talking about here in YogaBlogLand. I am so appreciative of my fellow yogis who are willing to go out on a limb and have an opinion and back it up (it's all yoga, baby; Yogaspy; Linda's Yoga Journey; Yoga for Cynics, Yoga Dork; the writers at elephant journal; everyone's favorite thinker Bob Weisenberg). Not only do they take a stand, but they are willing to engage all comers in the discussion.

What I don't heart (dislike button), is the crowd who hides behind the Anonymous title or accuses people of missing the joke (lame--work on your ironic tone, or show me what I missed) or, worst in my mind, advises more yoga so the writer in question will calm down. Generalizations, name-calling, unsubstantiated claims should be beneath us.

I'm not going to link to any of this (also lame-- but I don't want to seem like I'm flaming any one), but look around at this week's postings and you'll find all of it.

C'mon everyone! We're writers and readers, that's why we're here. We think. It's cool to think. If I don't agree with you, tell me why I should. If you think I'm misguided, cite me a source, chapter and verse. Prove your case. I'm a big girl, I can take it.

There are some really compelling ideas floating around...some lovely, challenging interpretations of this practice we so love. Let's talk about it. Who knows, we might learn something in the process.

But don't leave in a huff. (If that's too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff).

The Power Within...or Settling for Store-Bought Eggs

Last Thursday morning, son #2 was bouncing around the living room, relishing the attention of both parents after his big brother left for kindergarten. He announced, "I a Alligator!" and threw himself face first between the armchair and the ottoman, wrenching both shoulders and smacking his chin on the floor. He let a mighty, non-reptilian wail and ran to me, gathering his pacifier and security blanket on the way.

"Wow," said my husband, "Getting out all the big guns."

That, my friends, is true power. Being able to soothe and comfort another living being (with a little help from laytex and polarfleece), just using your own maternal energy. Job #1 for me, these days, is chasing around two boys and, apparently, I'm doing alright.

I'm still thinking about the Goddess thing. Jenn's comment coupled with an NYT Sunday Magazine article, "The Femivore's Dilemma," a few weeks ago about stay-at-home moms who raise chickens, and the fantastic discussion last week made me wonder why can't empowerment come from within.

Why are we (yes--first person--I'm as guilty of this as the next mother hen) seduced with the idea of being super-woman, invincible, divine? Guys are sold the "happiness thru toys" message, while women are targeted with the "happiness thru self-improvement" meme. By choosing language such as goddess, we put the bar so high we are constantly falling short, berating ourselves for not working hard enough, not changing enough lives, not having pretty enough hair. Not tending a chicken coop and educating the children. Yeah, I know goddess is just a word, but words are very powerful things and we should be able to come up with something as compelling but more reasonable.

Why can't we revel in the powers we do have: to teach, to construct, to write, to create, to nurture, etc etc. Celebrate the already existing and build on that, rather than strive for something with high-disappointment potential. I'm not saying we shouldn't have ambition or challenge ourselves, but I just don't understand the need for such impossible standards.

Again--this rant is directed at me as much as anyone else. That's why Jenn's comment was so sweet and common-sense, and why the chicken article bugged me--take pride in what you do do, instead of cooking up some additional tasks that just wear you out and down. You are still a valuable individual, even if you have a short to-do list (and keeping that list short requires serious strength!).

So, yeah, ix-nay on the oddess-gay. I'm open to suggestions for better terms, but I'm ready to retire this one. Luckily I have a source for local eggs...cluck, cluck.