Wednesday 14 March 2007
To teach or not to teach,
that’s the issue currently tormenting me day and night, night and day.
I had to cancel the two yoga classes I teach in the Gallery on Saturdays for 4 weeks because the space is filled with a ceramics exhibition – 25 individual, beautiful, very breakable things on plinths.
It’s been such a relief not to teach on Saturdays that I’m now realising how much stress it uploaded into my system.
When I’m not teaching, I don’t have to keep up any particular kind of yoga practice and I don’t have to feel guilty for not practising daily; I don’t have to read about yoga, or find yet another new way to say tilt the pelvis back or elevate the ribcage; I don’t have to keep up with the local yoga scene, and stay one step ahead with snazzier brochures; I don’t have to worry about who will or won’t or doesn’t turn up, and what they think of me, or what they’ll say about me; I don’t have to eat sensibly if I don’t want to (although in the 2 weeks that I haven’t been teaching I’ve risen to new heights in the healthy eating stakes – something to do with less stress=less comfort food); at last I can spend Friday nights watching movie marathons with my gorgeous daughter, hanging out and eating pizza together, bonding, sleeping over, sleeping in, then going shopping on Saturday morning; I can drop all those false notions of having to be special, pure, spiritual, compassionate, wise and all-knowing, and at last become a total nobody, reclusive, invisible, a yoga drop out, a NORMAL PERSON with nothing to live up to.
All sounds too good to be true. Could it possibly happen? Could I give up being a 'yoga teacher' after all these years? Condemn all my dedicated students to continuing their yoga journey with the deathly dry Iyengar teachers?
Hmmmmm…yes.
Yes.
That is…
until I run into my students in the street and they tell me how much they miss my classes, how much their bodies miss my classes, how they can’t wait for my classes to start again. Then I run into people who’ve only HEARD about my classes and they ask excitedly how soon they can start coming to classes and what they need to bring.
When I’m actually teaching a class, I love it. But when I’m not, I want abdication from all responsibility, release from the torment of facing my fear of ridicule and failure, to be an anonymous, free ranging, low life chicken again.
It seems cowardly to take the easy way out.
But it's taking courage to let go of what I was, and what I had, to even consider riding the strong winds of change into the unknown.
I have one week to decide.
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Monday 5th March 2007
No Ashtanga practice today - day 2 of menstruating, probably brought on early by sleeping on the mysterious moonrock in the Barossa Valley under the full moon on Saturday night. It's a strange, otherworldly thing to do, but this insane society I'm pretending to live in is feeling so superficial lately, I have to dip more often into the 'other world' for authentic nourishment - the superfood my spirit needs to grow stronger.
I'm halfway through reading Jed McKenna's book "Spiritual Enlightnement: the damnedest thing" (the book almost jumped off the library shelf and into my hands yesterday, as these things do when we need them). And I must say it's gotta be the most real approach I've ever encountered on the subject of awakening.
No frills, no fuss, no props - it echoes my attitude entirely.
And he puts into plain English what I've been feeling for a long time - that you don't need all the spiritual teachings to get to enlightenment, that it really is a natural occurrance and our true state of being. And since we are natural beings, it's where we're all heading, whether we acknowledge it or not. Just strip off all the unnatural stuff that clogs up your vision and there you are, seeing clearly, fully awake.
But I'm still to be convinced about his take on mysticism - that enlightenment and mysticism are two entirely different beasts. For me, the experience of awakening was a two day blitz that stripped my brain of its entire contents, rewired it to a much higher frequency, then left me stranded to start all over again. But the experience did have a very mystical flavour - as if I'd been permitted unlimited access into the secret headquarters of God/the Divine/the Absolute source of everything.
Perhaps Jed only got to first base. Perhaps he's just not the mystical type and wasn't allowed that far. Or perhaps he really went all the way (which is why he can write about it so confidently) and I got sidetracked and then stuck in the alluring mystical realms.
I shall suspend judgement (as all good little enlightened beings do) and read on.
Meanwhile this serious attitude I've adopted to advancing along the spiritual path (fuelled by yoga, meditation, reflection, spiritual practice etc) is quite frankly looking a bit silly. Like I've forgotten what I really know and have reverted back to the default position. Should I even consider spiritual practice may be superfluous, that it served its purpose years ago and its time to move on, to give up the trainer wheels and accept that I can fly.
Right now just playing around with the profound and profane, when I should be typing up the minutes from our last Academic Committee meeting.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
No Ashtanga practice today - day 2 of menstruating, probably brought on early by sleeping on the mysterious moonrock in the Barossa Valley under the full moon on Saturday night. It's a strange, otherworldly thing to do, but this insane society I'm pretending to live in is feeling so superficial lately, I have to dip more often into the 'other world' for authentic nourishment - the superfood my spirit needs to grow stronger.
I'm halfway through reading Jed McKenna's book "Spiritual Enlightnement: the damnedest thing" (the book almost jumped off the library shelf and into my hands yesterday, as these things do when we need them). And I must say it's gotta be the most real approach I've ever encountered on the subject of awakening.
No frills, no fuss, no props - it echoes my attitude entirely.
And he puts into plain English what I've been feeling for a long time - that you don't need all the spiritual teachings to get to enlightenment, that it really is a natural occurrance and our true state of being. And since we are natural beings, it's where we're all heading, whether we acknowledge it or not. Just strip off all the unnatural stuff that clogs up your vision and there you are, seeing clearly, fully awake.
But I'm still to be convinced about his take on mysticism - that enlightenment and mysticism are two entirely different beasts. For me, the experience of awakening was a two day blitz that stripped my brain of its entire contents, rewired it to a much higher frequency, then left me stranded to start all over again. But the experience did have a very mystical flavour - as if I'd been permitted unlimited access into the secret headquarters of God/the Divine/the Absolute source of everything.
Perhaps Jed only got to first base. Perhaps he's just not the mystical type and wasn't allowed that far. Or perhaps he really went all the way (which is why he can write about it so confidently) and I got sidetracked and then stuck in the alluring mystical realms.
I shall suspend judgement (as all good little enlightened beings do) and read on.
Meanwhile this serious attitude I've adopted to advancing along the spiritual path (fuelled by yoga, meditation, reflection, spiritual practice etc) is quite frankly looking a bit silly. Like I've forgotten what I really know and have reverted back to the default position. Should I even consider spiritual practice may be superfluous, that it served its purpose years ago and its time to move on, to give up the trainer wheels and accept that I can fly.
Right now just playing around with the profound and profane, when I should be typing up the minutes from our last Academic Committee meeting.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Wednesday 28th February 2007
Plain Sailing and Deep Sea Diving
Despite twisting my ankle last Sunday, I went to the shala, and I practised anyway. Totally modified the practice, but figured better that than nothing.
David left me alone to do what I had to do today so I only got a supporting adjustment in Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana where I was wobbly on the injured ankle.
No jumps or vinyasas and no lotus poses this week.
The seated poses had to be done without the Up dog/Down dog vinyasas, so the second half was like a forward bend practice, but I so like the Ashtanga ethos of how every forward bend is followed by a back bend then a neutral Dogpose (the reason for the inbetween vinyasas) that I needed to find another way to do it. So in between the poses I sat tall in Dandasana then arched up and back through the upper spine like Ustrasana for a few breaths which felt really lovely.
As I was leaving the shala a person who often practises opposite me remarked on my “beautifully contained practise”.
He said he’s noticed how I just come in, lay down my mat, do my practice with no frills, no props, no fuss, roll up my mat and leave. He’s an older man, quite stiff, and David has him working with a lot of props. Although I haven’t paid much attention to his practice, I don’t think he’s progressed past the standing poses yet.
Yet somehow, at times when I've glanced across the room, I've picked up on his determination to stick with this practice despite the painfully slow progress. I've often seen him using two blocks under his hands to help with the fundamental action of lifting up ready for the jump back; he uses a rubber ring to connect hand to foot for Ardha Baddha Padmottanasana; and two blocks under his hands or feet for Urdhva Dhanurasana with David's adjustments stretching his very core, eliciting those very deep groans of agonising opening.
But he’s consistently there and obviously dedicated. I feel a sweet tenderness for him and everyone else travelling the well worn path towards samadhi.
His remark caught me by surprise and I mumbled some regrettably glib response. But what surprised me was that I didn’t feel flattered at all, I felt genuinely embarrassed and undeserving of the compliment, a reaction that sparked off a bit of self reflection as to why.
My so-called “contained” practice mirrors my self-contained attitude to a lot of other things – perhaps it's self assurance borne of years of spiritual practice and knowledge of the higher purpose that pervades all life. Comfort and ease become permanent when we find that safe inner sanctuary of the heart in which to dwell.
As often happens, I thought of the best response a few minutes too late, and he’d gone. If only I could be in my true heart 24 hours a day and allow that Truth to effortless flow from my lips.
I’d like to have said to him that his Ashtanga practice is more authentic than mine because he’s learning it from the ground up (I discovered it after 6 years of Iyengar practice and was doing the full primary series right from the start with an Iyengar mindset until the breath/bandha/drishti effect seeped in and began to flow through my practice).
I still can’t lift up and jump back correctly and don’t even try to do it properly. I suppose I could pull out two blocks, sit in Dandasana with my hands on the blocks and lift with all my bandhas, cross my ankles, spread the energy across the back of my weak shoulders and practice, practice, practice, over and over…but I don’t.
I just do what I’ve always done, sail from go to whoa, from here to there in a fairly straight line. There may be no frills and no fuss and it may look pure from the outside, but plain sailing on calm water isn’t what Ashtanga practice, or life is all about. In skimming the surface, we shortchange ourselves of the discoveries that lay waiting below the shimmery surface, past the murky depths, way down in the subterraneum caverns through which the life force flows.
Last Sunday evening I joined Kosta for a quiet forward bend practice, something I hope we can establish as a weekly institution so I can visit these secret places.
Because I’d twisted my ankle last Sunday afternoon while bushwalking, my outer right ankle had started swelling up and I couldn’t do any poses which put pressure on the area (all the lotus and half lotus poses). I managed Janu Sirsasana and Parivritta Janu Sirsasana with a soft blanket under the ankle. Tiriang Mukhai I could only do with fat blanket support under one buttock because the extra height took pressure off the front of the injured foot which didn’t want to stretch at all.
Kosta led the sequence but I'll probably lead the next one in a fortnight and perhaps we might even invite others along, don't know yet.
There’s quite a sweet interior delight to be found in extending the time spent in forward bends to 5-8 minutes, extremely uncomfortable at times, but always very interesting to navigate around and through the chaos and the silence that arise and disappear as the physical and mental obstacles arise and disappear. Holding one position for an extended time gives me the opportunity to silently observe the mind and body sensations coming and going, while gradually moving towards stilling the fluctuations and coming to rest at the bottom of the ocean.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Plain Sailing and Deep Sea Diving
Despite twisting my ankle last Sunday, I went to the shala, and I practised anyway. Totally modified the practice, but figured better that than nothing.
David left me alone to do what I had to do today so I only got a supporting adjustment in Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana where I was wobbly on the injured ankle.
No jumps or vinyasas and no lotus poses this week.
The seated poses had to be done without the Up dog/Down dog vinyasas, so the second half was like a forward bend practice, but I so like the Ashtanga ethos of how every forward bend is followed by a back bend then a neutral Dogpose (the reason for the inbetween vinyasas) that I needed to find another way to do it. So in between the poses I sat tall in Dandasana then arched up and back through the upper spine like Ustrasana for a few breaths which felt really lovely.
As I was leaving the shala a person who often practises opposite me remarked on my “beautifully contained practise”.
He said he’s noticed how I just come in, lay down my mat, do my practice with no frills, no props, no fuss, roll up my mat and leave. He’s an older man, quite stiff, and David has him working with a lot of props. Although I haven’t paid much attention to his practice, I don’t think he’s progressed past the standing poses yet.
Yet somehow, at times when I've glanced across the room, I've picked up on his determination to stick with this practice despite the painfully slow progress. I've often seen him using two blocks under his hands to help with the fundamental action of lifting up ready for the jump back; he uses a rubber ring to connect hand to foot for Ardha Baddha Padmottanasana; and two blocks under his hands or feet for Urdhva Dhanurasana with David's adjustments stretching his very core, eliciting those very deep groans of agonising opening.
But he’s consistently there and obviously dedicated. I feel a sweet tenderness for him and everyone else travelling the well worn path towards samadhi.
His remark caught me by surprise and I mumbled some regrettably glib response. But what surprised me was that I didn’t feel flattered at all, I felt genuinely embarrassed and undeserving of the compliment, a reaction that sparked off a bit of self reflection as to why.
My so-called “contained” practice mirrors my self-contained attitude to a lot of other things – perhaps it's self assurance borne of years of spiritual practice and knowledge of the higher purpose that pervades all life. Comfort and ease become permanent when we find that safe inner sanctuary of the heart in which to dwell.
As often happens, I thought of the best response a few minutes too late, and he’d gone. If only I could be in my true heart 24 hours a day and allow that Truth to effortless flow from my lips.
I’d like to have said to him that his Ashtanga practice is more authentic than mine because he’s learning it from the ground up (I discovered it after 6 years of Iyengar practice and was doing the full primary series right from the start with an Iyengar mindset until the breath/bandha/drishti effect seeped in and began to flow through my practice).
I still can’t lift up and jump back correctly and don’t even try to do it properly. I suppose I could pull out two blocks, sit in Dandasana with my hands on the blocks and lift with all my bandhas, cross my ankles, spread the energy across the back of my weak shoulders and practice, practice, practice, over and over…but I don’t.
I just do what I’ve always done, sail from go to whoa, from here to there in a fairly straight line. There may be no frills and no fuss and it may look pure from the outside, but plain sailing on calm water isn’t what Ashtanga practice, or life is all about. In skimming the surface, we shortchange ourselves of the discoveries that lay waiting below the shimmery surface, past the murky depths, way down in the subterraneum caverns through which the life force flows.
Last Sunday evening I joined Kosta for a quiet forward bend practice, something I hope we can establish as a weekly institution so I can visit these secret places.
Because I’d twisted my ankle last Sunday afternoon while bushwalking, my outer right ankle had started swelling up and I couldn’t do any poses which put pressure on the area (all the lotus and half lotus poses). I managed Janu Sirsasana and Parivritta Janu Sirsasana with a soft blanket under the ankle. Tiriang Mukhai I could only do with fat blanket support under one buttock because the extra height took pressure off the front of the injured foot which didn’t want to stretch at all.
Kosta led the sequence but I'll probably lead the next one in a fortnight and perhaps we might even invite others along, don't know yet.
There’s quite a sweet interior delight to be found in extending the time spent in forward bends to 5-8 minutes, extremely uncomfortable at times, but always very interesting to navigate around and through the chaos and the silence that arise and disappear as the physical and mental obstacles arise and disappear. Holding one position for an extended time gives me the opportunity to silently observe the mind and body sensations coming and going, while gradually moving towards stilling the fluctuations and coming to rest at the bottom of the ocean.
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