Showing posts with label Angela Jamison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angela Jamison. Show all posts

Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor House Recommendations, World War Z, blog post recommendation

A few days ago, I said I was going to repost sections of the Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor House Recommendations on this blog, and maybe write a review about it. Well, I'm going to do it now. But it's been a long day, so I might be a little less-than-coherent. Please bear with me.

Before I start, there are a few important details you need to know. This wonderful resource, which has been crowd-sourced and curated by Angela Jamison of Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor, has recently been published into a pamphlet by Laura Shaw of Small Blue Pearls and Laura Shaw Design. The pdf version is downloadable here for free (you just need to sign up for a MagCloud account); in addition, a print copy can be obtained in exchange for parting with USD 3.84 of your precious monies.

As I have already intimated, this thing is good stuff. Whether you practice at a shala or by yourself at home, this resource provides a wealth of insight that will help you to develop a most efficient and effective practice for your personal--and, by extension, the world's--self-transformation. There is, frankly, not much else I can say here that wouldn't be redundant and add to your discursive mind (if you don't know what this is, read the pamphlet). But since this is a blog post (and what are blogs, really, if not discursive extensions of our already very discursive everyday being-in-the-world selves?), I should probably say a few things anyway.

To begin, there are a few things that Angela says about mental hygiene that really resonates with me. One of the things that will inevitably arise in the practice when you do it regularly is difficult emotions. There is just something about the nature of the practice and the mind-body atmosphere it generates that brings difficult emotions to the surface. Some of these may be repressed feelings or memories from long ago, others may consist in rather mundane stuff (something somebody said to you or about you the other day, etc.) that it didn't occur to you to be bothered by until you stepped onto the mat. Whatever the case may be, the fact remains that they are difficult to have to confront and be with. Mental hygiene, briefly, is the art of managing and holding the space for these emotions to be as they are, without letting them bend you out of shape (because you already are bent out of shape on a physical level :-)). Angela has this to say about this easy yet difficult art: "Let difficult emotions and thoughts arise and move on... Do not repress your experience. This deepens emotional blocks and increases unconsciousness." At the same time, however, one should also "Be cautious about repeating negative thoughts or verbal talk... It is possible to cultivate positive emotions and thoughts while accepting and studying any negativity that arises."

Angela also has some valuable things to say to folks like me who practice mostly at home without the benefit of a regular shala to attend. In the "Relationship" section of the pamphlet, she writes:

"If you are doing mostly self-practicing and are wishing for support, you are not alone. Many people practice mostly at home... The most nourishing way to receive this sort of inspiration [from a true master teacher of this method] is to keep your eyes open for a teacher who excites you and who knows something you don't. Go to them at their home base, not a workshop. Spend time practicing in, and being in, that setting. Just be yourself there. Deliver your whole mind-body to the experience. Do honest practice. Pay attention. Hang out with the teacher's other students. Prioritize listening over performing, and over trying to get approval or quick answers. Then the following year, do it again." 

There is a whole lot more in the pamphlet (yes, go read it!), and I hope this has been enough of a teaser-trailer to get you motivated on getting started. I could probably ramble on a lot more if I want to, but why ramble more than you have to? So I'll leave things here. Have fun reading and exploring!

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Speaking of teaser-trailers and movies, I think I'm going to go see the recently-released World War Z, after all. I had originally decided not to go see it, because the screenplay differs so much from the novel that it may as well be an entirely different story. That, plus the fact that the preview trailer gave me the impression that it's basically a Brad Pitt vehicle, featuring Mr. Pitt running around and looking like, well, Brad Pitt.

All of which is true. But the reviews I have read thus far have been quite positive. It seems that many critics have concluded that although the movie departs greatly from the novel (which is a necessity, because the original novel did not have a linear narrative, but was, rather, a collection of oral history accounts of people who survived the zombie apocalypse; hardly the sort of narrative structure you can easily translate into a Hollywood blockbuster), the director (Marc Foster) has done a good job of crafting an original story with its own character. So I'll think I'll give the movie a chance, and go see it. If any of you out there have already seen it, feel free to let me know what you think (I already know the ending from reading the synopsis on Wikipedia, so you can't spoil anything for me).  

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Update/Addendum: There is something else I want to say here that I forgot to talk about in the earlier (as in, twenty minutes ago) version of this post. I just read this very brilliant and insightful post by Patrick over at Ashtanga Yoga and Stuff about the ambiguous relationship between yoga and mainstream American culture. As with all of Patrick's posts, Patrick writes in a ranting, insightful and no-bullshit incisive way that I can never hope to imitate (although I think some wise guy once said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery...). Anyway, I thought I'll mention this post, as it's really worth a read. Check it out.


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How do you know when you are ready (or not ready) to teach Ashtanga?

I just read Angela Jamison's latest post on the Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor blog, where she discusses in engaging detail that million-dollar Ashtanga question: How do you know when you are ready (or not ready) to teach Ashtanga? I encourage you to read her very intensely thoughtful and utterly honest post in its entirety, but here's an excerpt that really speaks to me:

"For ashtanga teachers, transitioning from sadhana to seva (from self-focused practice, to service) can be weird. It can stunt one’s growth dramatically if done without sufficient (1) preparation as a student, and (2) support from teachers and community. When this transition is made because the student puts herself in the teaching role, and not because her own teachers identify her as sufficiently skilled and prepared to teach, the challenges just mentioned are multiplied.

(Subtext: do not get in to ashtanga teaching unless you full-on cannot avoid it. Resist!! Don’t give yourself over to it unless you basically have to do it in order for your own practice to grow, and unless you have tons of support.)

Given these challenges, most teachers need active, invested mentors to whom they are accountable. (I do.) They need a (1) clear method and (2) a sense of history to keep from getting confused. They need to have strong equanimity and mental clarity, so they can (1) stand outside today’s “yoga” market and culture hype and (2) influence that culture positively.

Teachers need to be able to identify, and resist, the ego’s urge to use teaching to feed root chakra needs: money, sex, power, and attention.

(Subtext: yoga BS, and yoga scandals, happen when teachers don’t have all the support they need. Or when they fail to realize that they actually do have sufficient money, sex, power and attention – and thus they constantly grasp after more and more of the same. This happens when we don’t have anyone to call us on our, well, crap.)"

Reading Angela's words above and reflecting on my life of mostly self-practice over the last few years, I can appreciate that what has happened to me over the last few years is really no accident. If you read this blog regularly, you will know that over the last few years, I have, on several occasions, entertained the notion of teaching or "sharing" the practice with others, and although I have made a few limited ventures in this area, none of these ventures have led to anything big or long-lasting.

Reflecting on Angela's words above, I can see that the "failures" of my forays into teaching Ashtanga thus far are actually not bad things at all, from a big picture point of view. While there is probably nothing inherently wrong with sharing my limited knowledge of the practice with others, it is still nevertheless true that I was never in a position where I "full-on cannot avoid" teaching; I was never in a position where I had to teach in order for my practice to grow. As they say, everything happens (or does not happen) for a reason: I am quite convinced that in not teaching Ashtanga over the last few years, I was in fact protected from the vicissitudes of today's yoga scene; a scene which, as many of you know, is more often than not driven by the forces of the free market than by people who genuinely know what they are doing. Angela speaks quite bluntly about this pitfall of the contemporary American yoga scene when she writes:

"The majority of yoga teachers are exploited. Exploiting them is easy because they’re inexperienced as practitioners and poorly trained as teachers. But exploitation, inexperience and poor training don’t help anyone – not really.

...here’s the thing. Trying to pretend you know what yoga is when your practice is not fully developed is a formula for arrested development. Thrusting a person into this job for matters of convenience is not cool. It’s the reason western yoga is full of elementary-level instruction trying to pass itself off as something more by adding special effects. 

(Subtext: when you meet someone who wants you to teach regardless of whether you’re ready, and for matters of their own convenience, is that your teacher? Do you deserve better?)"

These are definitely sobering words for this "fake-it-till-you-make-it" capitalistic culture that we live in, in which it seems that virtually everybody wants to be seen as an expert of one kind or another, whether or not they actually really know what they are doing or saying.

On a slightly different but related note, at her LA workshop last weekend, Kino also briefly addressed this question of when one is ready to teach Ashtanga. During one of the sessions at her workshop last weekend, she related this humorous story of a very physically-talented student she met during her workshop in Taiwan. Apparently, this student, who had a background in martial arts, was doing Ashtanga for the very first time in his life (apparently, he had accompanied a friend to the workshop and was taking the workshop along with the friend to keep the friend company). Seeing that he seemed to be quite physically able, Kino asked him if he could try jumping through with straight legs. After hearing her description, this student effortlessly accomplished a straight-legged jump-through on his very first attempt ever; an accomplishment which took Kino herself many years to achieve.

Anyway, the point of Kino's story is this: You know you are ready to teach Ashtanga yoga when you can look at people who are more advanced in the practice than you are (or who can effortlessly do things that took you a long time and a lot of effort to accomplish), and genuinely rejoice and be happy at their abilities, without being envious of them or even being resentful of their achievements.

Well, all I can say is this: Using Kino's yardstick, I know for sure that I am definitely not ready to teach Ashtanga. If it's okay with you, I'm not going to go into the details here. But I think you get where I'm coming from...           


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How to practice when hell's freezing over; reposted from Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor

Many of you have probably already read this latest post by Angela Jamison over at Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor (I've noticed, from the comments in her post, that many of the people who read her blog also read this blog), but just in case you haven't (or just in case you want to read it again), I've reposted it here, with Angela's permission. It's a beautiful post on how to practice when hell freezes over, both in the external environment and in your heart: In the first part of the post, Angela describes a recent ego-drama episode she had, and offers beautiful insights on how to find equanimity in the midst of the ups and downs associated with seasonal affective jag. The second part offers valuable practical tips on how to make it easier to make yourself get up and practice in this, uh, winter wonderland that many of us are living in right now. A lot of it has to do with deciding to be awesome, but well, I shouldn't spoil the story for you. Enjoy!

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How to practice when hell’s freezing over

by Angela

Yesterday, a wave of sadness crushed me to the rocky ocean floor and held me under for an hour. You can read my personal thoughts about that, or just jump to the numbered list below for the practical stuff.

I came in from an appointment, closed the curtains, sat on the sofa and cried. When the chemical-emotional wave ended, some part of my nervous system refused to let it go. So, without realizing what was happening or why, I started thinking sad thoughts. My imagination went on search, landing on a succession of increasingly sad subjects: homeless people; then the hundreds of orphan children I grew up with; then on to wars in the middle east.

This is one way an unenlightened nervous system works under stress. It solidifies the exact experience it wishes it weren’t having. It seizes upon—and identifies with—the thoughts, images and emotions that hurt the most.

Some part of the system relishes the strong sensations of suffering, insists on suffering at all costs. Otherwise, how do I know who I am?

Strong sensation lets me know I’m alive. When that sensation is negative, and not accompanied by equanimity (radical freaking acceptance) it lets me experience myself as separate from everything else. It’s a setup. Suffering + “I’m special and different” = huge ego boost. Getting off on negativity is a version of this: self-loathing and self-congratulation are ego hangups of equal magnitude. They’re both just separateness trips.

It’s all ok. I don’t mind a little ego drama in myself. It is actually important to go to the crossroads and think, hard, about homelessness and war. It is interesting to have full experiences of the range of pleasure and pain. And it opens up space for love when I understand, and then stop getting off on, what it feels like to be radically alone.

But seriously. My seasonal affective jag does not equal homelessness and war. I am not my seasonal affective jag. Because I’m not it, there’s no shame in going through it. And maybe, it’s not just me who feels this. Which would mean this suffering (like all suffering) does not make me special. Instead, the suffering is exactly what makes me just like (almost) everyone else.

I wanted to open up about this in honor of anyone who sensed that an energetic, hormonal or emotional low was part of the territory the past three days. Some of you are stable enough in your yoga practices that you didn’t feel it. Thank you for that stability. If I were only doing my personal practice and not teaching so intensely, I’d likely be with you. This is because when practice stabilizes, the ups and downs become gentle. That’s kind of the point.

But back to the stormy sea. Anyone else cold and nauseous? Darn if this is not a cold, cold ocean. So. Are we going to practice with this situation or what?

YES. But now I’m just talking to those of you who want to do what you want to do. You who have already committed to showing up here, consistently, not for me but for yourself. You who are with me on valuing equanimity as a developmental skill, to using the resistance life throws you to make your practice so much more effective than it would be under “ideal” conditions. So, my job for you is to support that aspiration, to hold you accountable, and to share with you my unshakeable understanding that this is a very, very, very good idea.

I’m not going to try to work the push factors. It’s just not my way. The truth is that my experience of unbroken practice is sourced in love. Practice just really turns me on. I can’t teach you to practice from guilt or shame or self-punishment because I don’t know how. I know people fuel self-punishing neuroses to propel spiritual practice all the time, but it isn’t necessary. Pull factors are what I understand.

So here’s what I’ve got so far. Like all the lists here, it’s a living document open to revision. To improve it, I’d love to add your experiences. Please talk to me about what works for you, or leave your findings in the comments.

1.

One easy way to stay in your practice when there is resistance is by deciding to be awesome. The dead of winter can be a kind of hero’s jourey. And you can use it to discover – and to decide – what you are made of.

The dark side of being a hero is that any stories about how hardcore it is to do what we do will just have to get dismantled later. If it gets you across the squalls of Februrary to think like a badass, ok. But leave the sleek fire-powered Batman wetsuit on the shore when you get to the other side. That thing will get hard to carry, especially when saturated with last season’s stories.

2. 

Take a hot shower in the morning. Let the water run on the crown of the head and down the spine. Feel your feet get very warm. Stay in the water just a little longer than you usually would. Same principle at practice: if you wear a long-sleeve layer, leave it on a little longer than you usually would.

3. 

Note that practice will give energy, not take it. The Mysore room is a resource for you. It has been created to give you energy, and to ease the everyday resistance that comes with having a body.

This fact might not come immediately to mind if you ask yourself whether you want to go to practice at the one moment you least want to move – in a warm soft bed in the. If you catch the thought “Practice will take too much energy,” please question it or subject it to an empirical test. I sumbit that practicing more + decreased resistance about practicing = waay more energy.

As always, it doesn’t matter what your practice looks like, or how many postures you do. Surya namaskara + savasana = practice. What gives energy is to move and breathe, in the morning, with a single-minded awareness, and with the support of the community, teacher and subtle energy that make the room what it is.

4.

As Amy told me last year, the Mysore room is also a source of long-term internal heat. This is a place where you can heat up your core body temperature warmer than is possible anywhere else. As a result, you will be far more warm all day long.

5.

This isn’t a time that one can afford the energy suck of emotional eating. It isn’t the time to fall back on sugar, excessive wheat or other drug-like foods that leave a hangover.

I assume folks aren’t that in to alcohol, since it is depressive, and toxic, and makes twisting painful. But my husband says that the winter weeknight wallow is such a part of Ann Arbor intellectual culture that I should talk about it for the academics. I don’t know. I always toasted my professors’ cognac with tea back at the UCLA faculty club; it was nice. If eating late, having a beer and staying up an extra hour right now feels like a good idea, ok, that is one coping strategy. It sabotages practice. Please don’t try to do both. Trying to do both is torture. Usually, torture leads to unhappiness.

6. 

Gear. Those who have lived here more than a year and aren’t too hip to wear NorthFace know how this works. (My gear is mostly from the thrift store.) If you moved here lately, ask anyone. It’s about a burly winter coat, actual boots, and all the layers you can find. The whole package costs less than a plane ticket to the islands. Please don’t just wait for winter to end: it won’t.

7. 

Carpool. A few people are doing this and say it helps tremendously. They say the main resistance to frequent practice is the work it takes to leave the house. Knowing someone is waiting for you cuts through that resistance. Simple.

8. 

Or walk. It’s a half mile from my house to the shala. Under all these thrift store layers with Jayashree in the headphones and fire in my belly at 4:30 in the morning, I am sweating by the time I get to the shala door. Even on the mornings it’s below zero. Try it. Could be awesome.

9. 

Choose your stories deliberately. They are part of the deep structure of the nervous system.

Here’s an example. I severely frost bit my right foot 15 years ago while sleeping in a snow cave for a month. Not a good scene. For years afterwards, I would lose sensation from the knee down as soon as temps dropped below about 40. This was experienced as a re-traumatization, bringing with it fear and anger. Restoring sensation to the foot was painful, requiring gradual soaking and self-massage. The layers of association of this history with my experience of cold are complex and subtle, and have offered an awesome opportunity to do nervous system surgery on myself this winter. Turns out there is no necessary connection between that older, much less mature, experience of cold and my new experiences of Ann Arbor winter.

But there are other associations I’ve actually revived for the sake of amusement. For example, way down deep, my body remembers ice skating for miles on bumpy frozen irrigation ditches across Montana cornfields when I was a kid. Calling forth that gleeful young ice-skater, and letting her reinhabit me makes skating down treacherous ice-covered streets outright joyous in the early morning hours. My whole body relaxes into the bizarreness of my situation, and adult-y complaints about dangerous street conditions fall away. Kids are smart: they love winter.

10.

Drop your awareness into the belly and leave it there. Draw up your mula bandha, soften the front of the belly, and practice deep breathing into the abdomen. Really deep, even breathing. Imagine a little flame there in the belly, flickering brighter and brighter as you stoke it with breath. Turn the belly into a little crockpot, or as Rachel says, a portable heater. Feel the heat from this fire in the belly radiate up the body and out into the limbs. Get familiar with this technique while seated, and then learn to do it while walking around.

I wouldn’t say this if it didn’t work as well or better than this other practical stuff. If you practice ashtanga yoga, you can make contact with and use subtle body practices of this kind. Do not waste time: if you relentlessly keep drawing your awareness inside and feeling your inner experience very closely, you will learn to interact consciously with your own nervous system.

This too is the point of practice – getting focused and smart enough with your energy and your mind that you can just play with and be fully alive in whatever circumstances. Sadness, coldness, tiredness; vitality, warmth, joy. It is all here. 



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How to get up for yoga

I just read this blog post by Angela Jamison about how to get up in the morning for yoga. Angela owns Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and has recently been authorized by Sharath at level 2, which means she is authorized to teach the whole of second series.

Although I have yet to meet Angela in person (hopefully, this is coming...), I have been a longtime reader of both her blog at AY:A2 and her alter-ego-blog, InsideOwl, and have much admiration and respect for her real, introspective and insightful blogging.  

I particularly enjoy what she has to say about getting up for yoga. As somebody who has actually been able to get up for yoga consistently for the last couple of years--I like to think that this is because I am finally approaching the stage where I am not pushing myself to practice so much as being practiced, but maybe I shouldn't jinx myself in this way; as they say, "Pride cometh before a fall"--I often find myself unable to articulate to newer Ashtangis how to get up in the morning to practice. More often than not, I find myself suggesting that people go "cold turkey": When you hear the alarm ring, roll over right away, and swing your legs over the bed so that you end up in a position where you are perched on your butt, with your head being in a higher position than your butt. Plant one foot on the ground, then plant the other foot. Keep repeating this action, until you find yourself in the bathroom. Your body (and probably your mind as well) will hate you for the first couple of weeks, and you might also feel like shit for most of the day. But after a couple of weeks, the energetic effects of the practice will finally start kicking in, and your mind/body will begin to hate you less. With some luck, they may even start loving you.

Most people, of course, are not likely to take this kind of "cold turkey" advice from an Ashtanga Fundamentalist: As a matter of fact, to date, I still don't know anybody who has actually heeded and successfully executed my advice in this area. Which is why Angela's perspective on this getting up question is so refreshing and valuable. Which is why I have decided to repost her blog post in its entirety below (with her permission, of course). If you are relatively new to Ashtanga and are grappling with getting up in the morning to do your practice, I hope you will find this useful. If you have, ahem, transcended this problem (like yours truly, hahaha...), I hope you will also get some nice insights from reading this as well. Enjoy!

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How to get up for yoga, again

  by Angela Jamison

 

I’m unconsciously competent. The longer I practice, the less I can articulate how to begin. So I must keep learning from those who are new to ashtanga. Thank you for being open about what’s hard, brave in dropping old habits, and enthusiastic in your own practice. I love this phase of the learning.

At the start, getting up for practice requires strength and guts: I admire you, and we will all support you. Later, you’ll be able to do what you want to do with ease, and will embody that grace to yet new beginners.

Again this year, I’ve surveyed our group to remix the autumn antidote to SAD. The Earth is changing, our student body is changing, the zeitgeist is changing: so, a practice so fine-tuned as ashtanga also has to adapt. (This is true, too, of subtle changes to the method emerging from the main school in Mysore: our old practice is ever new. Because we are ever new.) Anyway, after a month in the lab with your findings, here’s this year’s get-up-early elixir. No kidding: stick to a regular practice rhythm, and ashtanga’s the only prophylactic you’ll need.

1. Alchemize your word.
What’s the value of your word? If you say you’re going to do something, is that an ironclad statement? Is it as good as a 50/50 bet? Is your word more like hot air? If you decide strongly that you are going to be a woman or man of your word, then you can use the golden quality of that word to hold yourself to your own intentions.

Recently, three different practitioners who were struggling to get on the mat consistently got out of their own way with this single, uncompromising practice. They decided to be the kind of people who have zero daylight between what they say they will do, and what they do. In those painful mornings when the bed was especially seductive, they asked themselves if sleeping through the alarm was worth the pain of going back on their own word. It wasn’t. Because they had turned their word in to gold, it was able to cut through tamas, doubt, and even the softest bed.

Thanks for the inspiration. You know who you are.

2. Use the moral values that help you practice; lose the ones that don’t. It turns out that getting your words and actions lined up is efficient. Similar is the Bhagavad Gita’s teaching that a yogi remains detached from the fruits of her actions and simply absorbs her attention into doing her best in the present moment. Ashtanga is not about getting an awesome body or a perfect mind or “nailing” some posture; it’s about maintaining some concentration and equanimity for every breath, regardless of what it looks like.

Grasping for results isn’t morally wrong; it’s just not smart. What we can control is our attitude, not the outcome of actions. So why waste energy fretting about what we cannot control?

By the same token, why waste energy fretting about the past? Most of us—myself included—have absorbed a Puritan meta-morality from western culture. This includes a lot of emphasis on moral purity, with a countervailing internal assault team of guilt, shame, self-loathing and regret

Total waste of energy. Enough already, Hester Prynne. Regrets for the past kill excitement for the present. You are worthy and you are welcome: if the (internal) puritan mobs come for you, laugh at their feeble 17th century weapons and get your lightning speed mulabandha in gear.

3. The drugs. 1 mg of herbal melatonin 30 minutes before bed for the first 2 weeks. Don’t try to wake up at vastly different times on different days. People seem to suffer too much doing that. A key insight of Ayurveda is that the body loves a stable rhythm. Reset the whole system, so your serotonin-melatonin dynamic is stable.

4. The rock’n’roll. Big sound, bright light and a hot shower in the morning are still key. See here.

5. Practice in the body you have today. The corporeal body… and the student body. The new people having the most fun this year are those rolling out your mats near the veterans. People who have practiced for a while embody a tacit (hormonal, energetic, phermonic?) knowledge that does rub off. Get in!

The veterans’ prime time used to be 7-8 am, but like in most Mysore rooms, it’s crept earlier because they just can’t wait to get on the mat. Most newcomers say it helps to know that getting up early for practice is effortless for so many. (For that matter, my alarm now goes off at 3:30 instead of 4; and in Mysore I usually get on the mat at 4:15. And, to be brutally honest, it’s awesome.) For now, our group’s energy is strongest from 6:30 – 7:30. You can come later if you want! But if you need a boost, you’ll get it by jumping in the 6:30 updraft. By contrast, if you arrive when the majority of people are finishing, what you’ll experience is their most calm, grounded, quiet energy. That’s also very nice, but one cannot really draft off it.

6. Start in with a sunshine lamp routine now. Get one and follow the instructions. If you don’t want to invest the money, ask your friends. Everyone who has one will tell you it changed their life. Michigan newcomers usually suffer their first winter or two before figuring this out. Why waste a year? I use a Phillips goLITE BLU light therapy device.

7. Get closely in contact with your love of the practice. It’s there, even amid suffering, obstacles and madness. Why else are you doing this, anyway? Ayurveda teaches that our deep desires are wise, and that on some level the nervous system knows things. I see different ways that each of you loves, and respects, and gives thanks for this practice. It is personal. I see that some of you love the way your mind and body operate on the days you practice; some of you love the quiet of the mornings; many of you love the sheer honesty of staying with this when it is physically, emotionally or psychically hard.

Whatever it is, that awe and love are high quality fuel (whereas guilt, shame, pride, superiority and achievement are not as great). Love and a little reverence tend to give us all more energy as the rhythms—hormones, appetites, emotions, inner vision, et cetera—find their way into agreement with each other.

This is how it works. Most of us have to effort it strongly at first, and then practice starts to do itself. I see for those of you in your second year that you are not pushing yourselves to practice so much as being practiced. Yes. Once this thing has a strong spin of its own, you move from (1) depending on external practice resources (like high concentration environments, others’ strong energy, and social norms that promote precise mental discipline) to (2) producing them for yourself and others. In this way, too, in the long run the yoga gives more energy than it takes.



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Good Food, heavy practice, more tamas, deeper backbends (?)

Disclaimer/Warning: The contents of this post will probably reveal all too clearly that I am very much identified with my body, its perceived shape the morning after eating certain rich foods, and its ability to get into certain asanas. Which means that I am probably very much a victim of body-identification/asana-identification/whatever-other-identification there is out there. Or maybe I simply am doing too much asana, as Steve over at the Confluence Countdown would say. If you suffer from any of these identifications as well, and would rather not read this post, I understand: Don't read. If you choose to read this, do so at your own peril. I will not be held responsible for any aggravation of any symptoms of your identification. Consider yourself warned.

So here's the story. Yesterday evening, my fiancee and I went to the local Indian restaurant for dinner. Neither of us was particularly hungry, so we decided to share an entree. Which sounds like a wise choice, except that we both tacitly assumed that just because we were only eating half an entree each, we were therefore entitled to eat more appetizers and side dishes. So this is what we ended up eating: We had Gobi Manchurian (flour-battered spicy cauliflower) and garlic naan bread for the appetizers, and we shared the entree, which was Palak Paneer (pureed spinach with cheese). If you would like a visual, we had:

[Image taken from here]
 
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[Image taken from here]
 
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[Image taken from here]
 
Looks yummy, right? I thought so too. But if you are an Ashtangi, you will know that one can engage in such indulgences at the dinner table only at a rather hefty price: A difficult, heavy-going practice the next morning. Of course, one can avoid such suffering by simply skipping practice, or doing a much shorter practice and then calling it a day. But being the Ashtanga Fundamentalist that I am, I decided to put myself through the self-flagellatory routine known as primary plus second up to Ardha Matsyendrasana. Oh boy, I felt the heaviness from the first few Surya As: I just barely managed to lift myself off the ground after Trini to float (if I can even call that a float) back into chatvari. The heaviness subsided somewhat once I got past the standing postures and into primary, but the effects of last night's dinner definitely continued to make themselves felt. I had to take a couple of extra breaths to get the bind in Mari D on the first side. And the jumpbacks definitely felt less light than usual.
 
But here's a surprise: The backbends were actually deep and felt more stable. In particular, Chakrabandhasana today was almost a breeze. After the third dropback, I walked my hands to my feet, and then hooked my right fingers around the right ankle. And then I simply did the same thing with the left hand: Walked it further in, and hooked the left fingers around the left ankle. And held the whole thing for a good solid five breaths. When I came up, I could scarcely believe what I just did. 
 
Now here's a theory I have: Eating more food makes one heavier and more full of tamas, which is not so good for doing most asanas, but is actually very good for doing deep backbends. Why? Because by making the body heavier, tamas helps to anchor the body to the ground. This is particularly useful in Chakrabandhasana; the more the body is anchored to the ground, the less likely it is to just spring up like a jack-in-the-box
 
And I think I may actually have some evidence for this theory. Before we go on to view the video below, I would like to first issue a general apology to Iyengar people out there: I am not doing this to make fun of Mr. Iyengar or any Iyengar practitioners. It's just that, well, sometimes a visual does speak a thousand words, doesn't it? Anyway, take a look at the following video. In particular, notice the series of deep backbends (the successive dropbacks, Kapotasana) Mr. Iyengar performs around 40 to 60 seconds into the video: 
 
 
I'm guessing that Mr. Iyengar must have been at least in his 70s when he performed those backbends (I wonder if he still does them today?). And as you can see, he is, well, not thin... again, I don't mean this as an affront to Mr. Iyengar or to Iyengar people out there, but well, it is what it is, no? Could it be that whatever it is that is tamasic and weighs down the body also actually helps to anchor the body in deep backbends? As I said, this is just a totally random theory I came up with. Feel free to weigh in on it (no pun intended). 
 
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In other news: In order to help me get over my recent disappointment at not going to Mysore, I have decided to go to an Ashtanga retreat organized by the fabulous Angela Jamison of Ashtanga Yoga Ann Arbor. The retreat itself is on Sunday July 29th, but I plan to arrive there a few days before to practice and soak in the sights and sounds of the beautiful city of Ann Arbor. Actually, I am also thinking about turning this trip into a Grand Ashtanga Midwestern Road Trip (sounds pompous, no? :-)), where I travel through a few Midwestern states to practice (and blog) at several shalas before arriving at Ann Arbor. But I'm still waiting for a few things to fall into place before I decide if I want to do this ambitious road trip. But I'm definitely going to Ann Arbor, one way or the other.  
 
Incidentally, Angela has also informed me that the best Iyengar school in the country, the Ann Arbor School of Yoga, is located in Ann Arbor (duh?). Now this makes me a little nervous: I might get kidnapped by some Iyengar people and put into Kapotasana for, like, five hours in retaliation for what I just wrote in this post. Note to self: Gotta watch my back more (no pun intended) when I'm there. Also gotta be more careful what I say on this blog.    



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