Wednesday 16th August 2006
Dancing About Architecture
Warning: my very poor writing skills are on full display in this post because it's a completely unedited ramble that wanders all over the place.
Where to start?
I haven’t posted in over a month, because my Ashtanga practice got curtailed by this shoulder condition. And the prognosis that I have to live with it forever has not been all that easy to accept.
To cut it short: the shoulder injury from back in early in June wasn’t a torn rotator cuff.
An ultrasound of my right shoulder which I finally got done 8 weeks after the injury, showed up two things1) a degenerated condition of the AC joint (acromioclavicular joint where the collarbone joins the shoulderblade).
2) the sub-deltoid bursa is catching on the CA (coracoacromial) ligament
It seems that the cartilage in my right AC joint has worn down to zero, which unfortunately won’t ever regenerate, heal or get better; it’s something that can only get worse with time and continued use. The doctor didn’t formally curse me with the word arthritis, but I think that’s what it is in medical terms. What a horrid thought. Up until now, I associated arthritis with the gnarly fingers of my grandmother. I’m just way too young and healthy to be stricken down with this disease of old age. Anyone reading this who has an arthritic condition, please forgive me for being both ignorant and dramatic here.
Now I figure that if the cartilage has worn away in my right shoulder, then my left shoulder is probably on its way out as well, but having already spent $hundreds to get the ultrasound and ensuing advice from the sports med doctor, my left shoulder for now will remain ignored and unchecked.
In the past few years I’ve been blessed with two injuries that affected my Ashtanga practice: a torn hamstring and a ruptured disc. I practised around both of them until they subsided and healed. Injuries do make you sit up and take notice of what you’re doing - not always a pleasant process to go through when you’ve been subconsciously expecting progress, but at least you know that EVENTUALLY the injured part will heal, or at the very least, improve somewhat.
This shoulder condition is an entirely different kettle of fish because it’s not an injury as such, it’s a degenerated condition, so it can only get worse. Doom and gloom.
So after 10 weeks, I still can’t lift my right arm up past shoulder height and I’m really not sure if it’s the arthritis or the caught ligament that’s causing this.
Whatever the cause, it’s the little daily things that are most affected (yoga practise aside), like lifting a towel up to dry my face oouuuch, or trying to get a fork to my mouth oouuuch, like not being able to get my clothes off over my head without a searing pain that stops me dead in my tracks, like rolling over in bed half asleep and yikes the warning sirens go off that say NO you can’t roll onto that side… Not an hour goes by without some painful reminder.
After the initial shock/horror realisation that the body of this fit, flexible super-yogi could actually be DEGENERATING (shock/horror because my peak years might be over), I had to review my physical yoga practice.
Disbelief gave way to a futile search for an explanation - What had I been doing wrong all these years to cause the shoulder cartilage to wear away – Chaturangas? Dog Poses?
This gave way to a disguised form of anger - Didn’t a lifelong yoga practice promise to look after my body, keep it young and healthy, free of pain, disease and the ravages of time? Well hey, I kept up MY side of the bargain by practising regularly
Which gave way to resignation - my faith in yoga to save me from a life of mediocrity was totally shattered.
The entire mental framework in which my yoga practice was comfortably embedded has been turned upside down. I now have an inkling of how Ashtanga teacher Eileen Hall might have felt when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
The doctor immediately banned me from practicing traditional Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga because of its multitude of vinyasas. At first I tried modifying this practice that I love, doing Primary series without raising my right arm or bearing any weight on my right shoulder. Still, after each practice, the shoulder screamed pain.
What to do? Grudgingly, I didn’t practice for a week to give the shoulder a complete rest.
That felt very, very wrong. Habits die hard.
At this point, before you all start thinking my yoga practise has been a shallow physical engagement let me explain that I’m separating the physical practise out from the larger yoga system to keep it simple for now – it’s so much easier to talk about the singular components of yoga than the whole package (but stay tuned for future posts when the inevitable yoga wisdom of mind and heart kicks into action and quite literally saves the damsel in distress).
So I took stock of how and why I practice Ashtanga, looking at it with fresh eyes. Crisis ultimately turns out to be a blessing because it rips you quite violently out of your comfortable groove and plunges you into the vast and beautiful underworld of your soul. How interesting that the word crisis comes from the Greek word krisis meaning decision. A decision implies reviewing a situation and making a firm resolution based on whatever mode you primarily use for making decisions (facts, feelings etc).
When you’re about to lose something you love, you stop taking it for granted, you begin to see it for the sacred and beautiful thing it is, you search the depths of your soul for a creative solution of how to be with it differently to avoid losing it altogether (I’m referring to Ashtanga practise here but it can apply to anything).
In fact, my ex-partner would echo these very same words in relation to the breakdown of our relationship. But I won’t go there because this is a yoga blog. Relationships, work and family matters are carefully censored from these pages, despite being the ongoing life exams where all our yoga study is not only tested but PUT INTO PRACTICE.
For me, the love affair with Yoga as a spiritual path/philosophy/religion/primary practise is softly fading into the sunset after many years of dedicated study and practice. Gradually moving in and taking up the vacant space of my soul’s longing is the mysteriously beautiful and heady scent of Mysticism. A revolution is occurring. I’m becoming totally intoxicated as I’m drawn closer to the mystical heart of all spiritual practices and they all converge in the end. Union with the Absolute, dwelling in the Divine presence and becoming a pure vehicle for the expression of its love.
Looking back on my journey, I’m reminded of those baton races where one person from the team carries the baton for a certain distance around the track, then passes it on to the next person who takes it and runs with it until the point is reached where the next person is waiting etc…etc…
I carried the Buddhist baton for 7 years and then the yoga baton for 10 years, and now I’ve been handed the mystical baton. And it feels like I’ve just been given the holy grail.
But there is a place for yoga. My morning yoga practise remains an important component in my spiritual equation, not just for its health benefits but for how it helps to lift my spirit into the day.
Exactly what I do on the mat over the coming weeks as I come to terms with this shoulder is like an artist staring at a blank canvas. What will come forth? Perhaps a very modified daily Ashtanga sequence while still working within the confines of that system will be OK if I can control the inflammation (Glucosamine, Fish Oil and anti-inflammatory creams are my current concoction).
But if not then what?
A giant leap out of this yoga mentality, which is a frightening prospect. Life without yoga looks like a void but in there are other options like chi kung and tai chi, jogging, laying over bolsters and blocks, maybe a morning practice where I just sit on a cushion in divine meditation for 2 hours (I’d get fat like Buddha).
Who am I kidding…I’d just be pining for the good old days of Ashtanga, those crisp early mornings sojourns to the shala, to that sacred space filled with incense, heat, music, love, and the communal energy of devoted yogis.
What a haphazard ramble this post has been, going all over the place and getting nowhere in the end. Oh well, at least something got posted.
I noted down a quote a few days ago (apologies to whoever said this because I can’t remember where it came from) – “Writing about yoga is like dancing about architecture.”
An apt description…
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Dancing About Architecture
Warning: my very poor writing skills are on full display in this post because it's a completely unedited ramble that wanders all over the place.
Where to start?
I haven’t posted in over a month, because my Ashtanga practice got curtailed by this shoulder condition. And the prognosis that I have to live with it forever has not been all that easy to accept.
To cut it short: the shoulder injury from back in early in June wasn’t a torn rotator cuff.
An ultrasound of my right shoulder which I finally got done 8 weeks after the injury, showed up two things1) a degenerated condition of the AC joint (acromioclavicular joint where the collarbone joins the shoulderblade).
2) the sub-deltoid bursa is catching on the CA (coracoacromial) ligament
It seems that the cartilage in my right AC joint has worn down to zero, which unfortunately won’t ever regenerate, heal or get better; it’s something that can only get worse with time and continued use. The doctor didn’t formally curse me with the word arthritis, but I think that’s what it is in medical terms. What a horrid thought. Up until now, I associated arthritis with the gnarly fingers of my grandmother. I’m just way too young and healthy to be stricken down with this disease of old age. Anyone reading this who has an arthritic condition, please forgive me for being both ignorant and dramatic here.
Now I figure that if the cartilage has worn away in my right shoulder, then my left shoulder is probably on its way out as well, but having already spent $hundreds to get the ultrasound and ensuing advice from the sports med doctor, my left shoulder for now will remain ignored and unchecked.
In the past few years I’ve been blessed with two injuries that affected my Ashtanga practice: a torn hamstring and a ruptured disc. I practised around both of them until they subsided and healed. Injuries do make you sit up and take notice of what you’re doing - not always a pleasant process to go through when you’ve been subconsciously expecting progress, but at least you know that EVENTUALLY the injured part will heal, or at the very least, improve somewhat.
This shoulder condition is an entirely different kettle of fish because it’s not an injury as such, it’s a degenerated condition, so it can only get worse. Doom and gloom.
So after 10 weeks, I still can’t lift my right arm up past shoulder height and I’m really not sure if it’s the arthritis or the caught ligament that’s causing this.
Whatever the cause, it’s the little daily things that are most affected (yoga practise aside), like lifting a towel up to dry my face oouuuch, or trying to get a fork to my mouth oouuuch, like not being able to get my clothes off over my head without a searing pain that stops me dead in my tracks, like rolling over in bed half asleep and yikes the warning sirens go off that say NO you can’t roll onto that side… Not an hour goes by without some painful reminder.
After the initial shock/horror realisation that the body of this fit, flexible super-yogi could actually be DEGENERATING (shock/horror because my peak years might be over), I had to review my physical yoga practice.
Disbelief gave way to a futile search for an explanation - What had I been doing wrong all these years to cause the shoulder cartilage to wear away – Chaturangas? Dog Poses?
This gave way to a disguised form of anger - Didn’t a lifelong yoga practice promise to look after my body, keep it young and healthy, free of pain, disease and the ravages of time? Well hey, I kept up MY side of the bargain by practising regularly
Which gave way to resignation - my faith in yoga to save me from a life of mediocrity was totally shattered.
The entire mental framework in which my yoga practice was comfortably embedded has been turned upside down. I now have an inkling of how Ashtanga teacher Eileen Hall might have felt when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
The doctor immediately banned me from practicing traditional Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga because of its multitude of vinyasas. At first I tried modifying this practice that I love, doing Primary series without raising my right arm or bearing any weight on my right shoulder. Still, after each practice, the shoulder screamed pain.
What to do? Grudgingly, I didn’t practice for a week to give the shoulder a complete rest.
That felt very, very wrong. Habits die hard.
At this point, before you all start thinking my yoga practise has been a shallow physical engagement let me explain that I’m separating the physical practise out from the larger yoga system to keep it simple for now – it’s so much easier to talk about the singular components of yoga than the whole package (but stay tuned for future posts when the inevitable yoga wisdom of mind and heart kicks into action and quite literally saves the damsel in distress).
So I took stock of how and why I practice Ashtanga, looking at it with fresh eyes. Crisis ultimately turns out to be a blessing because it rips you quite violently out of your comfortable groove and plunges you into the vast and beautiful underworld of your soul. How interesting that the word crisis comes from the Greek word krisis meaning decision. A decision implies reviewing a situation and making a firm resolution based on whatever mode you primarily use for making decisions (facts, feelings etc).
When you’re about to lose something you love, you stop taking it for granted, you begin to see it for the sacred and beautiful thing it is, you search the depths of your soul for a creative solution of how to be with it differently to avoid losing it altogether (I’m referring to Ashtanga practise here but it can apply to anything).
In fact, my ex-partner would echo these very same words in relation to the breakdown of our relationship. But I won’t go there because this is a yoga blog. Relationships, work and family matters are carefully censored from these pages, despite being the ongoing life exams where all our yoga study is not only tested but PUT INTO PRACTICE.
For me, the love affair with Yoga as a spiritual path/philosophy/religion/primary practise is softly fading into the sunset after many years of dedicated study and practice. Gradually moving in and taking up the vacant space of my soul’s longing is the mysteriously beautiful and heady scent of Mysticism. A revolution is occurring. I’m becoming totally intoxicated as I’m drawn closer to the mystical heart of all spiritual practices and they all converge in the end. Union with the Absolute, dwelling in the Divine presence and becoming a pure vehicle for the expression of its love.
Looking back on my journey, I’m reminded of those baton races where one person from the team carries the baton for a certain distance around the track, then passes it on to the next person who takes it and runs with it until the point is reached where the next person is waiting etc…etc…
I carried the Buddhist baton for 7 years and then the yoga baton for 10 years, and now I’ve been handed the mystical baton. And it feels like I’ve just been given the holy grail.
But there is a place for yoga. My morning yoga practise remains an important component in my spiritual equation, not just for its health benefits but for how it helps to lift my spirit into the day.
Exactly what I do on the mat over the coming weeks as I come to terms with this shoulder is like an artist staring at a blank canvas. What will come forth? Perhaps a very modified daily Ashtanga sequence while still working within the confines of that system will be OK if I can control the inflammation (Glucosamine, Fish Oil and anti-inflammatory creams are my current concoction).
But if not then what?
A giant leap out of this yoga mentality, which is a frightening prospect. Life without yoga looks like a void but in there are other options like chi kung and tai chi, jogging, laying over bolsters and blocks, maybe a morning practice where I just sit on a cushion in divine meditation for 2 hours (I’d get fat like Buddha).
Who am I kidding…I’d just be pining for the good old days of Ashtanga, those crisp early mornings sojourns to the shala, to that sacred space filled with incense, heat, music, love, and the communal energy of devoted yogis.
What a haphazard ramble this post has been, going all over the place and getting nowhere in the end. Oh well, at least something got posted.
I noted down a quote a few days ago (apologies to whoever said this because I can’t remember where it came from) – “Writing about yoga is like dancing about architecture.”
An apt description…
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