our-yoga

Over the last few days, I have been reading and thinking about early Buddhism (i.e. the Pali Canon), and comparing them in my mind to Advaita Vedanta in preparation for one of my spring philosophy classes. One big difference between Buddhism and Vedanta (I think many would argue that this is the chief difference) is over the existence of self. Vedanta holds that there is a greater universal Self of which we are all a part (simply put, this means that ultimately, I am you and you are me, and there is no separation whatsoever between us. The trick is to find a way to realize this with our entire being; hence Self-realization.)

Buddhism (at least early Buddhism), on the other hand, holds that there is really no self at all. Self, the Buddhist would argue, is a convenient fiction that we use in order to live our everyday lives in society. Ultimately, says the Buddhist, all there is is an endless stream of feelings, perceptions, volitions, and consciousnesses of these things. The notion of a self, as it is conventionally understood, is simply a useful label we conventionally assign to a certain bundle of feelings, perceptions, volitions, and consciousnesses, because we have discovered that doing so allows us to conduct our practical existence in a way that is productive and fruitful. Suffering, the Buddhist holds, arises because we forget this simple fact--that what we call the self is simply a convenient fiction, nothing more--and over-identify with it. Notice that I said "suffering", not "pain". According to the Buddhist, pain is inevitable in human existence; suffering, however, is optional, and arises to the extent that we over-identify with the fiction of the self.

Which is all very well in theory. Despite my best efforts, however, I just can't bring myself to believe that there is really no such thing as a self. Very often, the first emotion that assails me when I wake up in the morning is anxiety. I'm not going to bore you with the lurid details of just what exactly I am anxious about. But they all boil down to one thing: Anxiety/angst and fear over what may or may not happen in the future. And it is pretty obvious (at least to me) that if one experiences anxiety/angst/fear, one must believe that there is a self to which these bad things may or may not happen in the future. In other words, one is being a "bad" Buddhist. Or, to put the same point more personally, I am being a bad Buddhist.

Come to think of it, maybe this is why I practice yoga. Assuming that my present yoga practice is based on a Vedantic worldview (hmm... is yoga still NOT a religion? Something to think about here, no?) which posits that I am part of a greater cosmic Self, it might be that I am attracted to yoga because of the prospect of someday attaining self-realization and becoming one with this Self; the image that comes to mind here is that of a drop of water (me) rejoining the great ocean of Self.

I wonder if all this means that from a spiritual point of view, I am trying to have my cake and eat it too: Might it be that I am trying to reap all the benefits of the Buddhist view of not believing that there is a self in everyday life (so as to avoid the existential suffering that arises with over-identification; something I haven't been too successful with thus far) while also having the assurance that I ultimately belong to and am part of something greater (the Self)? How long can one keep up this neither-here-nor-there spiritual position (if indeed, it is even possible in the first place)? Hmm... what a mess.  

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So I look around me in the yoga blogosphere, and see that bloggers are coming up with posts to reflect on the year, or recollect the best 32 or 15 (or however many) blog posts of 2011. And so and so forth. Which is wonderful. More power to all of you hardworking bloggers who go to all the trouble to come up with such posts; I really mean this, I'm not being snarky or anything.

As for me, well, I just don't have the energy to do things like this. I'm kind of an in-the-moment, writing-things-on-the-fly kind of blogger: Most of the time (i.e. about 99% of the time), I don't know today what I am going to blog about tomorrow (and this is true of today as well; right now, I have no idea what I am going to blog about tomorrow). I am just not the kind of blogger who has, like, 5000 blog ideas running in his head at one time. Heck, most of the time, I have trouble even just holding on to one idea. Maybe this is a kind of rebellion against the super-structured academic environment which I am supposed to be a part of. I don't know; I'm not going to try to psycho-analyze myself here.

But I do try to do one thing on this blog. I try to write in a way that is real and not (or at least not too) fake. I don't pretend to be an authority on shit (because chances are I'm not). But I do always try to write exactly what is on my mind, in a way that does not offend (too many) people. If there is one phrase that captures what I aspire to, it would be: No bullshit, just tell it like it is. Of course, being the kind of person that I am, I seem to lack the ability to just shoot from the hip. Most of the time, you will find that whatever I write has tons of qualifications (ifs, buts, on the other hand, this being the case, etc.). But well, I am what I am, and it is what it is. As I say, I do my best.

I've always been a fan of the late George Carlin. I think he has this quality of shooting from the hip and telling shit like it is that I always admire, but can never quite emulate, whether in speaking or in writing. So I thought I'll end this post with a couple of clips by Carlin on--what else--bullshit. Enjoy!

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The end of the year is a time for reflections on the year that has gone by. For many, it is also a time for setting goals or intentions for the year to come. Since this is an Ashtanga blog, it seems appropriate to use this blog to reflect upon developments in my practice, and in life as it relates to the practice this past year.

Let me start by talking about one thing that I definitely have not done this year: Go to Mysore. If you practice Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga (or even if you don't), you will know that Mysore, India is the birthplace of this style of yoga. As such, among many an Ashtangi, Mysore is regarded as the World Capital of Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, and going to Myore to study at the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute (KPJAYI) is seen by many an Ashtangi as an important rite of passage.

This brings up the question: Rite of passage for what? One certainly does not need to go to Mysore in order to practice Ashtanga, or even to teach it (although one does need to be authorized or certified by the KPJAYI in order to, well, be an authorized or certified Ashtanga teacher). So it is kind of hard to pin down just what going to Mysore is supposed to signify. Having said this, however, I think it is safe to say that going to Mysore definitely signifies a strong desire on the part of the Ashtangi to deepen his or her practice by seeking it out at the source (or the Mothership, as it is sometimes called).

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you will know that I have written about this topic a couple of times in the past (see this post and this post). And if you are familiar with what I have written about this topic, you might be cringing right about now. You may be thinking to yourself: Oh no, he's going to go all existential-angsty about never having been to Mysore and all that jazz again... help! But not to worry; I like to think that I am now past all this angsting. Besides, if I go to Mysore one day, I go. If I don't, I don't. Either way, no amount of angsting is going to change anything, I would think. So I may as well stop angsting. What I'm going to do here is to share a little dream about Mysore that I had recently (a few weeks ago). It was a pretty interesting dream. I don't know what it means. If you are into dream interpretation, I'll love to hear your interpretation of it. By the way, it just occurred to me that Ashtanga is the only style of yoga in which I have dreamt about the practice and its birthplace and its guru: I have had a few dreams about Guruji over the years, although I have never met him in real life. I like to think that this signifies that I have some kind of strong and powerful bond with Ashtanga that I don't have with any other style; for instance, before I became an Ashtangi, I did my own Iyengar-inspired practice, but to this day, I have never dreamt about B.K.S. Iyengar or Pune. Or maybe this is just me being self-important. In any case, here's my recent Mysore dream:

"In the dream, I was in Mysore with my fiancee. We were living in this really luxurious and well-appointed house in a very fancy neighborhood of Mysore, and this house is supposed to be within walking distance of the shala. (I really don't know if there really is such a fancy neighborhood in Mysore within walking distance of KPJAYI; in any case, my dreaming mind succeeded in convincing me that there was such a neighborhood in Mysore, and that we were living in a fancy house in such a neighborhood.). It turns out that the house belongs to this really well-to-do Caucasian couple who live there only at certain times of the year. They have very generously rented the house to us for a very affordable price for the duration of our stay in Mysore.

So anyway, in the dream, it was early Friday morning, and we were planning on going to led primary with Sharath at the shala. But we couldn't remember whether led primary started at 7 or 8 a.m. (I know that it starts way earlier than that in real life, but whatever: This is a dream.). So we tried looking up the information online. It turns out that there were two computers in the living room of the house. We each got onto one computer, and started looking up the information online. Somehow, instead of looking up the information online, I started watching this video-clip. In this clip, my teacher in Milwaukee was explaining in great detail his wake-up routine when he is in Mysore. He was wearing this funny-looking headgear which looked like a cross between a turban and a beanie (a turbnie?!). Anyway, in the video, he jumped out of bed wearing this turbnie, and started doing Kapalabathi while seated on the floor of his room. He was doing it so rapidly and intensely that his eyes started glowing! I was transfixed by the video, and forgot for a few minutes that I was supposed to look up the start time for led primary online. In any case, we couldn't find any information online about what time Friday led primary started at KPJAYI.

At this moment, we looked at the clock, and saw that it was slightly after 7 a.m. Which means that if led primary started at 7 a.m., we were late. But we decided to take a chance anyway, and started out for the shala. We made our way through the neighborhood, which consists of a series of well-kept paths winding among lush landscaped tropical vegetation and ferns. A few minutes later, the shala came within sight. It was a beautiful colonial-style house, in a similar design as the house we were staying in. I was really excited at finally being able to practice in the shala, even if I was going to get chewed out by Sharath for being very late. But then, at this very moment, I suddenly remembered that the shala does not look anything like that in real life. And that was when I woke up from the dream."

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I just came across this Youtube video in which Greg Nardi explains the different kinds of instances in which physical pain comes up in the practice, and how best to respond to them. It's really amazing how much information he packs into just four minutes of real time. I hope you find this useful.

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Before I go on with this post, I should issue a disclaimer here: In writing this post, I am not endorsing alcohol consumption (or excessive alcohol consumption). Nor am I implying that practicing Ashtanga and drinking a lot go together. Indeed, I believe that most readers of this blog are probably much more highly evolved beings than I am--beings that are probably way beyond the antics I will describe in this post and in the previous one. However, not being so highly evolved, I find myself prone to excesses such as the ones I will describe in this post and in the previous one. Since I try to tell things in my life like they are in this blog and not pretend to be more (or less) evolved than I actually am, you will hopefully bear with these details of my not-so-evolved existence, and (hopefully) enjoy the story I am about to tell. 

So here's the story: At one point during Christmas dinner at my colleague's place the day before yesterday--roughly, at around the point when I had had my second margarita and was about to down that shot of scotch, but was still sober enough to know that I had had too much to drink (see previous post)--I thought briefly about what reality is. Is there one common reality that we all have access to and experience in the same way in our different minds and bodies? Or do our different minds and bodies, with their uniquely different histories, experience very different realities? If the realities we each experience are each uniquely different from everybody else's realities, how and to what extent are we successful in communicating these different realities to one another?

At this point, you may be thinking: Woah, wait a second! Back up a little... How exactly did you get to thinking about reality in the middle of a Christmas dinner (being intoxicated may admittedly have something to do with it, I suppose, but surely that can't explain everything...).

Well, okay, I guess I do owe you some kind of back-story here. So, around the point when I had had my second margarita and was about to down that shot of scotch, but was still sober enough to know that I had had too much to drink, I started to ask myself if I should perhaps pass on that shot of scotch and call it a night. After all, I rarely drank that much, and I still planned on waking up at a reasonable hour the next morning and doing my regular yoga practice (which is presently full primary and second to Ardha Matsyendrasana), if that was indeed still possible given the state I was already in. Eventually I decided to cast such concerns aside, and just go for the scotch anyway. Why did I do that? One reason may simply be that I was looking forward to the warm feeling that scotch produces in my insides, at least for a few minutes: Compared to this, the fuzzy endorphin high that comes after many an Ashtanga practice seems quite far away. But another reason was that I wasn't confident that I would be able to sufficiently communicate the full weight and reality of my reasons for passing on the scotch to anybody who might think to question my choice. Here's how such a conversation might look like:

Q: Why are you passing on the scotch?

Nobel: Well, I need to not drink any more, so that I can get up in the morning without a nasty hangover and do my yoga practice.

Q: But can't you just sleep in and skip your practice this once?

Nobel: No...

Q: Why not?

Nobel: Because I love my yoga practice too much. I feel good when I'm doing it and afterwards. And besides, it makes me a better person and brings me further along the path of self-realization... [insert big speech about the therapeutic and purifying effects of the practice from Yoga Mala, or wherever.]

Q: Uh, okay...

Given the way most exchanges occur in polite society, it is very possible that the conversation will end at this point, with Q simply accepting what I say (or at least pretending to), and perhaps giving me a somewhat sour, Nobel-you-are-such-a-wet-blanket look. But it is also possible, although not very likely, that the conversation might continue with the following:

Q: So you say that you feel good when you are doing yoga and afterwards. But if you drink the scotch, you will feel good and warm and fuzzy RIGHT NOW! Who can beat that?

Nobel: Yeah, but drinking too much is bad for you [insert another big speech about how excessive alcohol consumption leads to all kinds of terrible health effects that cause one to die eventually.]

Q: Okay.. and if you do yoga everyday, eat organic all the time, and abstain from drinking alcohol, you will live forever, or at least not die of some weird form of cancer? And besides, what's that I hear about yoga practitioners breaking their necks and backs and busting their knees? Hmm.... does doing yoga really give one a better quality of life?

Nobel [grins sheepishly]: Uh...

Of course, the conversation doesn't have to end here: If you are a better speaker than I am, you can probably think of all kinds of interesting ways to respond to Q here. But I guess what I'm trying to get at is that Q and I inhabit two different realities. For me, reality is such that what is "good" in my life are things like yoga, organic vegetarian food, and the occasional session of excessive alcohol consumption. For Q, reality is such that what is "good" in his life are things like sleeping in, eating lots of meat (organic or otherwise), the not-so-occasional session of excessive alcohol consumption, and whatever else rocks his boat. And I suspect that I could try talking to Q until I'm blue in the face, and I probably still wouldn't succeed in arriving at this magical Yoga Journal moment when Q will realize the, ahem, folly, of his way of life, renounce it, and instantly embrace all things yogic and organic. And, to be fair, I also suspect that if Q were to try to do the same thing with me from the other direction, he could try talking till he's blue in the face, and probably wouldn't succeed in arriving at some magical... Sports Illustrated moment when I realize the folly of my wet-blanket ways, and instantly embrace red meat, cigars, and fast cars. In other words, we can say that Q and I live in two different realities, and it is not clear that we will each be successful in communicating to each other (much less converting each other to) each reality.

Which, of course, brings up the big question: What is reality? In his essay, "How to Build a Universe That Doesn't Fall Apart Two Days Later", Philip K. Dick wrote, ""Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."

Very nice, Dick. But this is really not very helpful for our present purposes, if you think about it: Both Q and I would equally accept Dick's definition of reality, and continue to adopt our respective chosen lifestyles. For me, the benefits of doing lots of yoga and eating organic and vegetarian do not go away even if I were to stop believing in them. Neither, for that matter, would the pitfalls of such a lifestyle (busting one's knees in padmasana, breaking one's neck in Sirsasana, breaking one's back in Kapotasana, etc, etc.). The same thing goes for Q and his lifestyle: The benefits of eating red meat and smoking cigars and drinking excessively not-so-occasionally would not go away even if he were to stop believing in them. Neither would the corresponding pitfalls of such a lifestyle. So at the risk of sounding very cliched, we can say that my reality is just as real for me as Q's is for him. At least according to Philip K. Dick. 
  
So what gives? What is the moral of this neither-here-nor-there story? I don't know, really. Maybe do whatever rocks your boat, for tomorrow we all die, one way or the other.      

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Happy Boxing Day! I hope your Christmas has been as restful as mine; more on mine in a little bit. So, just before I started writing this post, I got to wondering why the day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. When I was younger, my theory was that Boxing Day is so named because maybe people have so much energy after having so much fun and eating so much good food during the Christmas festivities that they had to burn off some of this excess energy by engaging each other in boxing matches.

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Last night, I went to the local movie theater to see Lars von Trier's latest film, Melancholia. Overall, I enjoyed it; although "enjoyed" is probably a rather inappropriate word for such a heavy-going film. The basic premise of the film is that a rogue planet, Melancholia, is fast approaching Earth on a collision course, bringing about the imminent end of all life as we know it.

Given this basic premise, the film is divided into two parts. The first part portrays the wedding party of Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Michael (Alexander Skarsgard). Justine suffers from depression, and her depression gets worse as the party unfolds, culminating in a series of tragi-comic events that result in the unraveling of the newly-weds' short-lived marriage. The second part of the film portrays events shortly after the wedding. Justine, who has become severely depressed, comes to live with her sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), her husband John (Kiefer Sutherland) and their young son Leo in their big house (in which, incidentally, the wedding party was held in the first part of the film). As Melancholia approaches Earth on what may or may not be a collision course (I won't spoil the story for you here, although by this point in time, you can probably find lots of spoilers everywhere you look online ;-)), the four of them face this possibly-impending doom in starkly different ways. Claire gets more and more upset as the planet approaches, while Justine becomes less depressed and more calm, even upbeat, in the face of possibly-impending-death. Indeed, this seems to be one of Lars von Trier's main points in the film: That depressed people are often able to remain calm and unruffled in the face of great disaster, because they have been through so many bad things that "[t]hey already know everything is going to hell." (for more details, see this article.) Hmm... is there a yogic lesson here? Something about expectations, maybe? Could depressed people actually be more yogic, in this sense?

Personally, I highly recommend this film, although it is probably not for everybody. It's definitely not the kind of film to see if you are looking for some kind of feel-good movie to get you into a festive holiday mood (to say the least). As a study in emotion (especially those pertaining to depression and alienation) and an examination of human nature under great duress, this film is a superb work.

Oh, and on a somewhat lower-brow level, if you are a guy, you may also be interested in the fact that this is the only film (to my knowledge) in which one gets to see Kirsten Dunst fully naked. I know, I know, this is a rather crass reason to go see a movie, but hey, surely you won't begrudge me a little eye candy in return for all this heavy-going emotional stuff, no?

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First, a little practice report. I had to start my practice earlier this morning, as I had to get my fiancee to the airport by 9 a.m. for her flight to Florida... yes, she's going to Florida to visit her dad, while I'm stuck in this little midwestern town for the holidays! How can this be?! Aren't I supposed to be this super-jet-setting-aspiring-yoga-bum who flies all over the place to take classes with his favorite teachers? Well, I can probably explain the chain of events and choices that led to my present grounded state, but it's way more detail than I (and probably you) would want to go into. So let's just stick with talking about my practice...

So, as I was saying, practice this morning. This morning's practice was a bit lackluster, asana-wise. You may be thinking: How much more lackluster can your asana practice be, when you are already modifying most of your half-lotus poses on one side, and not doing padmasana altogether? Well, not to brag or anything, but despite the lack of padmasanas in my practice for the last month or so, I still can do some pretty cool stuff: Grabbing my heels/achilles tendons in Kapotasana, binding at my hands in Supta Kurmasana (with my legs snugly behind my head, no less), wrist bind in Pasasana, dropping back and standing back up, etc., etc.

Yeah, I know, yoga is not supposed to be about asana achievement, but you got to admit that asanas are fun. And besides, as most of you probably know, asanas come and go; despite our best efforts, shit happens, and sometimes the shit that happens results in your having to modify asanas (because of, say, a busted knee; don't even get me started on that...). So it makes a lot of sense to enjoy your asanas while you have them. Because life is unpredictable. Enjoy what there is to enjoy, suffer what there is to suffer. And do your asanas (or whatever modifications of those asanas you can do) no matter what. If this is not yoga, well, I don't know what is.

Wow, I said I was going to talk about my practice this morning. And I still haven't done so! Okay, I'll do it now. So, in practice this morning, I only got my fingers in Supta K. And while doing the standard exit from Supta K, I lost my balance while transiting from Titthibhasana to Bakasana, and nearly landed on my mouth! I still don't know exactly how this happened, but somewhere between Titthi and Baka, I found myself plunging mouth-first towards the mysore rug, and it was only a last-second intervention on the part of my arms (I somehow managed to regain my chaturanga at the very instant my mouth touched the rug) that saved me from losing my front teeth!

And to add insult to the proverbial injury, in Pasasana, I barely managed to bind my wrists on the second side. Why did all these things happen in my asana practice today? I didn't think I ate too much yesterday; although, come to think of it, my fiancee did bring home a bunch of Ferrero Rochers that the parents of a few of her kids at school (she teaches Montessori) gave her as holiday presents. Even though I do not have a sweet tooth, I nevertheless had three Rochers after dinner last night, just to show that I'm not some super-anal Ashtangi who can't even have a few sweets :-) Could it really be that having just three Rochers could affect my (again, not to brag or anything) asana prowess? I wouldn't think so... but then again, what do I know?

 In any case, the fact of the matter is that I did not lose my front teeth this morning (in this universe, anyway: There could be a parallel universe in which I did not regain my chaturanga in the nick of time this morning, and am now walking around with two (or more) missing teeth. But hell, I'm sure glad I don't live in this universe...). So it's better not to brood over what could have been, especially if what could have been could have been way worse than what is. So I need to end this post with some semblance of holiday cheer. Where to find holiday cheer? Well, here's something. Most of you probably have already seen this Yoga Girls video that has been making the rounds of the blogosphere lately (believe it or not, I only just saw it this morning; seriously, who has time to keep up with every single viral video out there these days?...) It's not exactly high-brow yoga literature, but we don't need to be high-brow all the time, do we? Anyway, here it is, if you haven't already seen it; if you have seen it, well, see it again anyway.

 
In the meantime, I'm going to go eat more Rochers; since tomorrow is a moon day, there's no danger of falling on my mouth and losing front teeth :-) 

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I was just reading the latest blog entry on Suzy's Mysore Blog 2011-12. Suzy relates in great detail Sharath's answers to various questions during conference in Mysore on November 27th 2011. Here are a couple of things that jumped out at me:

(1) Suzy writes: "In conference on 6th November 2011 Sharath spoke about the 3 things that are very important in asana practice – the posture, the breath and the gaze point. He explains here why he didn’t mention bandhas: because bandhas should be practised all of the time, not just in asana, but also whilst walking and sitting. When you practise like this then the body develops strength."

Bandhas should be practiced all the time... I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately, and I have identified one big block of time in my day where my bandhas are almost certainly not engaged: When I am sitting in front of the computer, doing, among other things, blogging! Isn't this ironic, blogging about Ashtanga yoga while not engaging the bandhas?

Anyway, here are a couple of questions I have about this. Are there certain postures in daily life (such as being hunched over a computer) that are inherently not conducive to bandha engagement? Or will consistent daily Ashtanga practice eventually get our bodies to the point where we can engage the bandhas at any time of the day, in any position (including being hunched over a computer)? This seems at least possible to me: After all, some asanas (Baddha Konasana B, for instance) actually require one to assume a rounded-backed seated position and engage the bandhas at the same time.

Or, to approach the same issues from a bigger perspective: Guruji famously says, "Do your practice, and all is coming." Well, in this case, does "all" mean "giving up sitting hunched in front of the computer" (or at least spending less time doing it)? Or does "all" mean acquiring the ability to both sit hunched in front of the computer and still engage the bandhas? I hope it's the latter, but what I do know? Any thoughts on this?

(2) Sharath says: "Now you can do a 200hr teacher training and get a certificate to become a yoga teacher. How is it possible? It is nonsense. Put the certificate in the dustbin. You need to dedicate yourself to yoga, you need to research many things in yourself to get the knowledge. It only comes if you have passion in you."

This is probably the clearest refutation of teacher trainings that Sharath has uttered thus far, at least to my knowledge. And I agree with the spirit of what he is saying: Svadyaya (self-study) is definitely not something that one can carry out in 200 hours, and it would be foolish to think that one can become a "yoga expert" just by having done 200 hours at some teacher training program at some studio.

But perhaps some of us may be thinking: With all due respect, Sharath, it is very easy for you to say something like this; after all, you are not the one who has to try to make a living as a yoga teacher in this crazy land of America. As many have observed, many studio owners (as well as yoga students) in this country take the letters "RYT" to be a magic stamp that magically bestows upon one the powers of a "certified yoga expert" (whatever that means). It is one thing to respect tradition and be true to one's lineage and all that, but what is one to do when having or not having the letters "RYT" after one's name can make all the difference between whether or not one succeeds in scraping together a living as a yoga teacher?

Well, even though I am no longer in the yoga business (see this post), I will be so bold as to venture to suggest a way out of this dilemma. The Bible says, "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." (Mark 12:17) Applied to our present dilemma, this means that the good Ashtangi who yet desires to make a living as a yoga teacher in this crazy land should render to the yoga masses (i.e. studio owners and the average yoga student) the things that are theirs (i.e. do that 200 hour training, if that's what you need to get your foot in the door, so to speak). At the same time, the Ashtangi should also render to the lineage/tradition the things that are the lineage's/tradition's (i.e. accept that you are somebody who is perpetually a student on the Ashtanga path, and do not allow the "RYT" label to mislead you into thinking that you are a "teacher of Ashtanga.").

This, at any rate, is my proposal. But then again, maybe most Ashtangis out there are already doing this. Well, then I'm just stating the obvious, am I not? Oh, well...

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I just came across this short Youtube video where Tim Miller talks about what the yoga practice is for. A couple of interesting points:

(1) At 0:30-0:34, Tim describes daily Ashtanga practice as a form of daily hygiene, like brushing your teeth or taking a shower. I cracked up when I heard this; way back in grad school, when I first started practicing yoga daily, I would often explain the place of yoga practice in my life to my friends by telling them that to me, yoga practice is as important as taking a shower: You do it everyday, you may not talk about it for the rest of the day, but it's vital and central to your life.  I don't think any of my friends understood me much at that time ("what? taking 2 hours for a shower?!"); I'm guessing they probably still don't. But it's nice to hear Tim say the same thing. Pardon me for being immodest, but great minds think alike, no? :-)

(2) At 2:00-2:20, Tim talks about how it is important that we practice with Vairagyabhyam; not to be confused with Viagra; although, come to think of it, if you have Vairagyabhyam, you may find it easier to achieve the same effect that you were trying to achieve with Viagra in the first place. But this is for another post :-) Anyway, as I was saying... Vairagyabhyam is usually translated as "non-attachment." In my opinion, non-attachment is probably the single most powerful thing that will keep one practicing for a long time. If one is not attached to the results of the practice, then, well, one just practices. And all is coming.

And while we're on the topic of Tim Miller videos, here's one from the early days of him and a few others practicing with Guruji in Encinitas. Enjoy!

 

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Here's a piece of totally-useless-but-nonetheless-interesting information that I came across just a few minutes ago while trolling the web for, well, useless information. Let me begin by giving you a little quiz. Which popular activity produces, in order of frequency of occurrence, the following injuries?

1. Pulled muscle
2. Injured back
3. Carpet burns
4. Cricked neck
5. Bashed elbows/knees

If your answer is "yoga", well... you're wrong. The correct answer is: Sex. (see this article for the full details.) Isn't it interesting, though, how closely sex injuries resemble yoga injuries (with the exception of carpet burns, of course; but now I wonder, might it also be possible to get "yoga mat/mysore rug burns" from doing too much yoga? :-))? I wonder what this says about the nature of yoga practice? Or the nature of sex?    

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Earlier today, I read with great interest Claudia's latest post about her Revelation Back-Bend Moment, and the comments to that post. Congratulations, Claudia, on finally feeling your inner thighs!

Btw, has it ever occurred to you what strange things we Ashtangis congratulate each other on? I mean, can you imagine what kind of reactions we would get from somebody who just happened to be listening in on "everyday Ashtanga conversation" in a public place? ("Hmm... what's there to congratulate about feeling your own inner thighs...?")

Actually, if you think about it a little more, you will realize that Ashtangis frequently say things to one another that will sound outright weird, maybe even a little risque, to somebody who is not in the Ashtanga "cult". Here's another example: One day, you run into a shala-mate on the street. This is the first time you have seen her outside the shala. And you say, "Wow, this is the first time I have seen you with clothes on!" Can you imagine the heads that will turn in a public place upon hearing this line? I think somebody needs to publish a collection of such conversations among Ashtangis: Conversations that would seem perfectly normal within the context of Ashtanga, but would be totally weird in any other setting. Perhaps such a book can be titled "21 Strange Things Ashtangis Say to One Another." I think this will sell like hot cakes. See, here's another way to make money in the Ashtanga world :-)

But all this is a big digression (I seem to be digressing a lot recently). I meant to write about backbends. So, let's get on topic. Claudia's post reminds me that backbends are a very powerful tool for getting to know one's own body better. I recently blogged about how I was recently able to find that elusive spot in my mid-back that needs to open. Along with that, I also discovered that hanging back with straight legs first rather than just dropping back right away has the effect of enabling me to feel my thighs and psoas more and engage them more in the action of backbending. In these ways, I feel that backbends are quite magical; they transform bodily knowledge that was previously only theoretical (in the sense that we theoretically know that we have inner thighs and mid-backs and psoases) into actual experiential knowledge: It is one thing to know theoretically that you have a mid-back or inner thighs, or even to be able to point them out on an anatomical diagram. It is quite another to be able to feel them working in their full intensity in your own body. Again, as Guruji would say: Yoga is 99 percent practice, 1 percent theory.        

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Last night, I saw the movie The Pianist. The movie is based on the true story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, a Polish pianist and composer who lived through the German occupation of Poland during World War II. Based on Szpilman's memoir of the same name, The Pianist portrays Szpilman's courage and resilience in surviving the holocaust, and vividly depicts how his love of music helped see him through this dark period of humanity.

The following is probably the best scene in the entire movie. Hiding in a deserted building, Szpilman (played by Adrien Brody) was discovered by a German officer. When the officer discovers that Szpilman was a pianist, he asks him to play something on the piano for him. Szpilman does so, and the officer was so moved by his playing that he spared his life, and even went on to help him survive the rest of the war by allowing him to hide in the attic of the building and giving him food regularly. Gee, talk about being able to play to save one's life...

And this is Szpilman himself, playing Chopin's Nocturne in C Sharp Minor:

we recommend you to buy some goods below for comfort, safety and ease of your yoga activities

we recommend you to buy some goods below for comfort, safety and ease of your yoga activities

we recommend you to buy some goods below for comfort, safety and ease of your yoga activities

Earlier today, I received an email from the owner of the yoga studio at which I have been teaching Ashtanga for a couple of months (wow, it's been a couple of months already? Time flies when one is having fun, doesn't it? :-)) The email was sent to the few of us who teach yoga classes at the studio. She informs us that starting December 31st, she will no longer be leasing the studio, because the class numbers thus far have not been enough to support the cost of leasing the space. Since she did not specify any further plans to relocate/find a new place to house the studio, I take the email to be a euphemistic way of saying that she is closing down the studio. So starting from December 31st, I will once again no longer officially be a yoga teacher, and will be devoting more time to my practice and self-healing. Which is good for me personally.

Nevertheless, as I was contemplating this development earlier today, I couldn't help noticing how there always seems to be a certain disconnect between yoga as a personal practice of self-realization/self-care, and yoga as a business. For the last couple of months, there have never been more than three people showing up for my class on any one evening. In fact, most of the time, it's one or two individuals. But these one or two individuals show up almost every week; which means that the practice (or at least the way I teach it) speaks to them enough to get them to keep coming back. In my opinion, I feel that this is a success. When I first taught yoga years ago in grad school, I was constantly preoccupied with how many people showed up for my classes. But since I became an Ashtangi, I had decided that if I were ever to teach again, I would try to stick as closely to the Ashtanga method as possible, no matter how many or how few people show up. Thus, I feel that if I can get even one person to appreciate the method and make it a part of his or her life, I would have succeeded. And I have.

But of course, things do not work this way from a business point of view. From a business point of view, there are real financial concerns to address. From such a point of view, a yoga studio is worth running only if its operations can generate enough revenue to cover the overhead costs. And the main way for a yoga studio to generate said revenue is through students (unless, of course, the studio chooses to do something lucrative in addition to its regular classes; something like, say, a Yoga Alliance sanctioned Teacher Training. But let's not go there now, okay? :-)). Anyway, what all this means is that if a yoga class does not bring in enough students, it is not a success, from a business point of view.

Some of you seasoned teachers who are reading this are probably thinking: Duh! All this is so obvious! How can we survive and pay the bills if we don't have enough students?! What planet do you live on, Nobel? (Answer: Maybe I'm from Mars. My skin seems to be turning redder by the second as I write this...) And of course, I totally anticipate and understand this reaction on your part. All I can say is: Gosh, I'm glad I don't teach yoga for a living. I'm glad it's "only" a practice for me. To all of you yoga teachers out there, you have my most sincere respect. I take my hat off to you.

 

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