our-yoga

I just watched this recent video by David Garrigues, in which he talks about the place of pain and injury in Ashtanga yoga. He starts by talking about aligning the shoulder girder properly to prevent shoulder injuries. But he then switches gears and declares that there is a certain karmic component to injury; as he puts it, "you cannot have a long intense relationship with Ashtanga yoga without some kind of injury happening." Injury may arise in the course of your Ashtanga career due to moments of carelessness, genetic weaknesses, or the presence of certain lifestyle factors that impinge upon your practice, or other factors that are simply beyond our control. Whatever the case may be, we should not think that it is "wrong" to be hurt, or that being injured in the course of practice is somehow a yogic sin. David also brings up some funny Guruji stories about injury and pain; I won't go into the details here. I'll leave you to listen to them for yourself in the video.


I just read this very detailed report of Sharath's latest conference (Sunday January 20th). Here's something from the report that really struck a chord with me:

"One student asked Sharath what one is to do if they cannot afford to come study in India, but want to have and maintain a dedicated practice. I loved his answer to this question. We can afford cell phones and nice meals, nice clothes, etc but we cannot afford yoga? He spoke of so many of his students who make tremendous sacrifices to come study with him each year, bringing their children, sacrificing many things to ‘find’ the money to come to India and study with him b/c they want to learn the truth of what is yoga, they want to learn this practice properly under his guidance. If so many of these people can do, everyone can do. So many families coming now brining their children, uprooting their lives to come learn proper practice, to understand this yoga, to show their dedication for this practice, this lineage – if parents can make such tremendous sacrifices and bring their children, it is possible for anyone to do. He chuckled and advised someone to skip one meal per day for some time until they saved enough for the trip."  

Hmm... now I can't help but wonder what Sharath would say about not being able to come study in India because of immigration and career issues? I have a few pictures in my head as to what he might say, but I'm not going to put it out here just yet, since I don't know him personally, and it is rude (not to mention fruitless) to guess what people would say to your personal situation when you don't know them personally. But I can't help wondering, nonetheless...

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I just read David Garrigues' latest post about the asana practice and moving from the center. As always, David's post is very beautiful; he brings up many things with a depth of insight that I can only marvel at. I highly recommend reading it. He writes:

"In our fantasy of what we will look like and how good it will feel we overextend ourselves in our efforts to achieve what we consider to be the end goal or final pose. Our excursions take us too far away from the center where the skeletal support is, where our breath really does lead the way– where we make optimal use of our muscles and organs and where our brains are situated properly to minimize reality obscuring ego striving.... you have to be sure you are not sacrificing your body to your ego. That you are not going too far in order to compensate for unconscious feelings of unworthiness— you don’t need to use your asana practice to ‘prove’ you are good and worthy."

These last two sentences really strike a chord in me. I am one of the most egoistic people I know, and ego has often led me to many places in my practice that I would rather not be (for an example of this, see my previous post). I will definitely ponder David's words carefully here, and make a more conscious intention to move more from my center.

As many of us know, Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga has often been accused of being a practice that offers the practitioner too many opportunities to over-identify with asanas and in the process, feed the practitioner's ego. I suppose there is some truth to that. I'll even go further, and venture to speculate (although I really have no statistical evidence to back this up) that Ashtanga tends to attract people with a certain self-loathing streak; people who somehow feel less than complete or adequate, and therefore feel the need to use the asana practice to "compensate for unconscious feelings of unworthiness" and in this way, "prove" that one is good and worthy. And if you think about it, these feelings of unworthiness may be what are really driving many "Type A" individuals; individuals who always have something to prove, either to themselves or to others. 

But as I said, I don't have any statistical evidence to back these claims up (what do you want me to do, conduct a poll on this? :-)), and I'm not saying that every single person who practices Ashtanga fits this psychological profile. All I'm doing, really, is speaking for myself. And I figure that if this psychological profile is true of me, then maybe, just maybe, it might also be true of at least a few other Ashtangis out there.

So, the truth is out: I am a person who uses the asana practice to compensate for unconscious feelings of unworthiness, who (over)achieves asanas because he feels the need to prove that he is good and worthy (of what? you may ask. Well, I'm not going there; this is not a psychoanalytical blog post :-)). Well... what about it? I mean, are you this super-self-evolved being who never feels the need to compensate for any feelings of unworthiness, conscious or otherwise? So you have effectively extinguished your ego, and never feel the need to prove anything to anybody anymore? If so, good for you. I'm obviously not there (yet). So what I'm going to do, I think, is to continue to strive in my asana practice. Try to land that Karandavasana and then come back up. Maybe do third series at some point. Maybe do fourth series before I leave this world. Maybe complete all six series (and then I'll finally be a perfectly evolved ego-extinguished being who has nothing to prove to anybody). But till then, I'll continue to sweat and toil in the trenches of asana practice. Of course, I'll try to be smart about it as well. You know, rest when I can (take moon days and rest days), try to breathe and move from the center.  Etc., etc. But it looks like sweating and toiling in the asana trenches will be my lot for a while. And if it's going to be my lot for a while, wouldn't it be better to toil happily, rather than berate myself day in and day out for being egoistic? So here it is: I've resolved to be a happy egoist, as far as this is possible. Maybe you will join me too? Or are you too evolved? :-)

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In the last couple of weeks, I have been devoting more attention to backbends in my daily practice. In particular, I have been working on opening the front body more in dropbacks. For the longest time, whenever I get to the dropbacks, my mind always consciously or unconsciously says to itself, "Ah, dropbacks! Last set of intense poses before the sweet release of the finishing sequence. Quickly do the dropbacks and standups, and get them over with!" As a result of this way of thinking, I always had the tendency to kind of just rush through dropping back and standing up, with the result that they are usually kind of sloppy. 

In the last couple of weeks, however, instead of simply rushing through the dropbacks and trying to get them over with, I have been spending more quality time with them, by doing more with less: Less dropping all the way to the ground, and more hanging back and opening. Instead of just ritualistically dropping all the way to the ground and coming back up three times, I have been doing three hangbacks and then only dropping back all the way to the ground on the fourth and final time, walking my hands to touch (and hopefully, one hand, grab) my heels. This is what Kino does at the mysore sessions at her workshops. It's a good way of building strength and flexibility in the front body, especially in the psoas and in the quads, especially if you keep your knees extended (or as extended as possible) the whole time. Keeping the knees extended (or as extended as you can make them) has the effect of really getting the backbend into the quads and the psoas.

Seen from the outside, hanging back instead of dropping back may look less intense, and it may look like one is doing less work. But looks are deceiving: By engaging the psoas and the quads and opening the front body more, one is actually moving more intently from the center than if one were to simply drop back for the sake of dropping back. This brings to mind something David Garrigues wrote a couple of months ago:

"Generally speaking in our daily practice we can get sucked in by the lure of our fantasy about the forms of the asanas in sequences... In our fantasy of what we will look like and how good it will feel we overextend ourselves in our efforts to achieve what we consider to be the end goal or final pose. Our excursions take us too far away from the center where the skeletal support is, where our breath really does lead the way– where we make optimal use of our muscles and organs and where our brains are situated properly to minimize reality obscuring ego striving.

For example, to go for a drop back and be unheeding of the position of the skeleton in order to get your hands to the floor is a long term mistake. In the short term there might be a thrill, a sense of accomplishment and a sense of maximizing progress. a feeling like you are working at the edge so you will improve and be an intense student... How strict are you going to be? How close to center are you going to stay? How many props (please note: only if necessary and desired and under certain, specific conditions) are you willing to use to remain close to center, close to principles?—We want to explore the foundational principles of the positions and see how those principles will always lead back to that central asana that has so many important names—but actually is unnameable—"

David's words here are priceless: Definitely something to constantly ponder and come back to.

On a slightly different note, it has recently occurred to me that asana practice has many similarities to artistic interpretation. Just as the same piece of music played by two different musicians can give rise to two different works of art, no two individuals will ever realize the same asana in the exact same way. For instance, Urdhva Dhanurasana expressed in my body will never be the same as Urdhva Dhanurasana expressed in your body.

Actually, this difference in interpretation also shows up in the way different yogis assimilate the same yogic insight. Take for instance, David's words above about moving from the center. Two different yogis may both perfectly understand these words. Yet they will both apply these words differently to their own bodies, and adapt them to fit the needs of their minds and bodies in order to make these words work for their bodies. The first yogi may have longer psoas and quad muscles, and may be able to go deeper into the posture, or even drop back all the way to the ground right away and still move from the center. The second yogi, by contrast, may have tighter psoas and quad muscles, and may need to not drop back all the way in order to work more from the center. In this way, we can say that the two bodies "interpret" the words differently. Indeed, this interpretation difference is necessary in order for the asana practice to be fruitful and productive for each individual.     

Just my two cents', as always. :-)

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What does an Ashtangi (more specifically, this Ashtangi) do on moon days? Watch asana videos, of course! Particularly videos of asanas that he is working on at the moment. Following Erica's suggestion in a comment she left on my recent Karandavasana impotence post, I decided to check out the following video of Sarah Dee practicing Karandavasana under the expert guidance of Lexter the cat. David (Garrigues) and Joy are the owners/parents of Lexter; I imagine Lexter must have absorbed much yogic wisdom from them, and decided to impart it to Sarah. Hmm... maybe I should also volunteer to cat-sit Lexter the next time David and Joy go to India? ;-)

Anyway, here's the video. Enjoy, and happy moon day!

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I just saw the above video, in which David Garrigues explains the mechanics of mula bandha in very clear and succinct terms, combining an intimate knowledge of pelvic anatomy with the energetics and mechanics of engaging mula bandha. Definitely a pleasure to watch and listen to. I have a couple of thoughts on his explanation:

(1) Early in the video, David gives us an overview of the structure of the pelvic area. He explains that what we commonly think of as the pelvic muscles is actually a diamond-shaped group of muscles that are bounded by the sit bones, the pubic bone and the coccyx.

Within this diamond, we can further isolate three groups of muscles. Firstly, the back part of the diamond consists of the anal muscles, which we engage by contracting the anus and engaging Ashwini Mudra. Secondly, the front part of the diamond consists of the urethra muscles, which we isolate by engaging Badroli Mudra (I hope I'm spelling this correctly; I've actually never heard of this mudra before, so I'm transliterating as best as I can by listening to David's explanation). David doesn't go into too much detail about this mudra, but I suspect that we engage this mudra by engaging the muscles that we engage when stopping the flow of urine while urinating.

Thirdly, there is a tendon that separates the anal and the urethra muscles, or the front and the back parts of the diamond, if you will. This tendon is the transverse perineal tendon. To engage mula bandha is to isolate and draw up this tendon, thereby creating the lifting action that we associate with this bandha.

David remarks that isolating this one tendon takes a lot of work over a period of time. As I understand it, he recommends starting with contracting the anus and engaging the urethra muscles in practice; over time, the practitioner will get a finer sense of where exactly mula bandha is.

I'm not sure I really agree with all of this. I'm no expert in mula bandha, but in my own practice experience so far, contracting the anal muscles seems to be a rather counterproductive action. It tends to create unnecessary tension in the glutes, which leads to unnecessary tension in the lower body. At least, that is my experience thus far. Hmm... maybe I should get in touch with David himself and seek more clarification on this. Anybody have any thoughts on this? 

As for engaging Badroli mudra, I think this might be a bit more helpful, at least for me. At any rate, I often find myself engaging the muscles in the front of the pelvis almost without realizing it during practice, and it seems to be working fine for me thus far. As for drawing up the transverse perineal tendon... well, if I can say that I am definitely drawing up on this tendon every single time that I practice (or even every moment of the day, as Sharath would say), then I should be an Ashtanga Rock Star by now, right? :-)

(2) Later in the video, David speaks of the feet (pada), legs and the pelvic region forming what he calls a gross mula bandha. The general idea is that by working on rooting down through the feet and lifting the arches in the Suryas and the standing postures, we get a bigger canvas on which to understand the general workings of mula bandha, and are, in turn, able to gradually apply the insights gained from this bigger canvas to activating the "actual" mula bandha. I really like this explanation. It fits in with the general objective of Ashtanga yoga and indeed, all of hatha yoga, which is to work from the gross to the subtle levels of being.     

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I just watched the above video by David Garrigues celebrating Guru Purnima (which is either today or tomorrow, July 3rd, depending on when you take the full moon to be). I really like his analogy (at around 5:20 to 5:40) about the guru being the container that contains our shakti or, perhaps more generally, all the various formative influences in our lives. The idea, as I understand it, is that it is not enough simply to learn something from somebody, as one would do if one were learning a trade; but one needs to integrate what is being taught with one's entire personality, so that it becomes an organic part of oneself. And a guru helps one to do just that.


In other news: If you read Claudia's most recent Sunday Yoga Blog Times, you will know that yesterday (July 1st) was the first day the KPJAYI opened its doors for students this year. According to my "original" plan, I was supposed to be there yesterday! Which meant I would have been there the first time the shala opened its doors so early in the year in recent memory, and I would be observing Guru Purnima in Mysore! Think about that...

But as some wise guy* once said, "If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have a merry Christmas." Or, in this case, a merry Guru Purnima. So rather than go on and on about what could, would, or should have happened, I'll just say that I'll do my best to enjoy my practice in my little corner of the planet and share it with whoever cares to learn about it, until I get to Mysore one day. And then what? And then I go back to whatever little corner of the planet I happen to be living in at that time, and do my best to enjoy my practice and share it with whoever cares to learn about it ("Before Mysore, roll out mat, take practice; In Mysore, roll out mat, take practice; after Mysore, roll out mat, take practice..."). Go figure.       

*A little online research reveals that the wise guy in question happens to be former Dallas Cowboys quarterback Don Meredith. Not that you'd care, necessarily...

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I just read David Garrigues' latest post. I think I'm becoming a big fan of his. Maybe I will try to go study with him if I don't make it to Mysore soon. Anyway, in this post, David answers some questions from students about the practice. One student's question--and David's response--really jump out at me. This student was recently diagnosed with mild soliosis and carpal tunnel syndrome. The doctor told the student to quit Ashtanga as it places a lot of pressure on the wrist, and doing inversions "will only make... scoliosis worse." This student decided to write David to ask him if there is a way to continue practicing Ashtanga with these conditions.

David responds by suggesting various modifications for practicing with these conditions. He then concludes by saying:

"The essential ingredient is a love of ashtanga and in maintaining a steady devotion and trying to do the practice as accurately as your given circumstances allow... there will always be someone to tell you that you can’t do ……….. the list of possible things or activities or dreams is endless and so is the list of people who will tell you can’t do that something. Sometimes they may be right but equally sometimes they are wrong. And ultimately you have to decide how important something is to you. And when you’ve decided on that something that is important enough to you, you may need to guard and protect the heck of it in order to for it to remain a strong, positive force in your life. As people we can tend to be suspicious of what we don’t know about, and if on the surface something looks strange or exotic or very different from what we know or are used to, we can tend to form negative impressions of that thing. But our own fear and unwillingness to be open to new or different things can us cause to make wrong assessments of things and to unfairly judge what we don’t have enough information to be judging. I believe it would be a true waste for you to stop developing the ashtanga yoga practice that you have begun and love. If you practice properly there is a strong chance that ashtanga can help correct or at least minimize the negative effects of both of your problems better than any thing else that you will try. I have found that ashtanga applied properly, has huge potential for transformation and healing. Om! David"


David's response really speaks to me. For one thing, I also have mild scolosis. I've been diagnosed with it since I was in elementary school. And at least a couple of my yoga teachers have also spotted it: Eddie Modestini and Nicki Doane spoke to me after one of the sessions at their asana intensive on Maui in 2007 (which I attended), and asked me if I knew I had mild scoliosis (I said I did). They had spotted the curve in my spine while I was in Sirsasana. They didn't really suggest anything much more beyond that (they didn't ask me to stop doing inversions, which is why I'm still doing them today :-)), although Eddie did say that doing more backbends will help my condition in the long run. Anyway, I have this suspicion that if anybody had told me at any point that I needed to stop doing Ashtanga because of the scoliosis, I probably would have gone ahead and continued doing it anyway, knowing the sort of person I am.

But David's response also spoke to me because it highlights something I have been feeling very strongly for a while now. It seems to me that very often, expert knowledge and specialized training (in this case, medical training) have the effect of closing the mind of the individual who has received that training, accentuating the very human tendency to be suspicious of and form negative impressions of things we are not familiar with. It is probably not an exaggeration to say that many highly-trained experts operate from a place of fear rather than openness, automatically rejecting that which is strange or counter-intuitive to them.

But perhaps we can't blame people for having this attitude. After all, seen from many angles, the daily practice that Ashtanga requires is very strange and counter-intuitive to many people. This morning, for example, I had to wake up earlier than usual in order to do my practice and make it to campus for a meeting at 8:30 a.m. As I sat in the conference room waiting for the meeting to begin, I couldn't help wondering what the reactions of the other people present at the meeting would be if I had told them that I had spent two hours breathing, bending myself into certain shapes and standing on my arms as well as my head before I came to the meeting... I guess what I'm trying to say is that doctors are ultimately ordinary people plus some specialized training. And that specialized training may or may not prepare them to deal productively with things in their patients' lifestyles that they find unfamiliar or strange. So it is perhaps natural that many doctors, when confronted with such unfamiliarity and strangeness, would default to that "if it puts you in an unfamiliar or uncertain place, it's probably bad for you, don't do it" mindset.

Please don't get me wrong: I'm not telling anybody to stop seeing doctors. But David's student's encounter with the doctor brings up a feeling I have been having for a while now: It seems to me that, more often than not, the medical establishment in this country tends to disconnect and dis-empower individuals from their bodies. Rather than helping the patient to find out how best to work with a particular condition given his or her lifestyle choices, values, and things he or she holds dear, doctors often seem to just default to saying something along the lines of, "Take this pill or undergo this procedure, and you will be better. And don't do this or that." For instance, some time ago, I had a diabetic friend who was taking medication daily for his condition, as prescribed by his doctor. When I asked him what that medication was supposed to do, he said he didn't know! Which strikes me as very strange: If you had a particular condition, and somebody was asking you to put a certain substance into your body, wouldn't that person at least have a responsibility to tell you what that substance was supposed to do in your body? Or maybe it didn't occur to my friend to ask. Yeah, I suppose that's possible too. In any case, if my friend's experience is indicative of the state of physician-patient relationships in general in this country, then it seems to me that medicine as practiced in this country suffers a serious flaw: There does not seem to be any attempt to further engage patients as people, and help them to better understand and care for their bodies and minds given who they are as individuals. Doctors just see patients as machines that can be fixed with this or that drug or procedure. Which leads to a state in which people feel more disconnected from and dis-empowered with regard to their own bodies, and become ever more dependent on supposed health experts to tell them what is right and wrong and good and bad. I don't think this is a good way to go.      

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