![]() |
| Statue and Bird by Melina Meza |
Friday Q&A: Breath Practices for Anxiety
Anxiety, Yoga, and Brain Chemistry
by Ram
![]() |
| Child with Dove by Picasso* |
On a final tipsy note, a similar calming effect can also come from a glass of beer, which mimics the effects of GABA by signaling an analogous mechanism in the brain. However, if I were you, I would finish a long day of work with a one-hour session of yoga rather than having a beer. For I know that the calmness I experience from a glass of alcoholic drink may not last long while the calmness I experience from a yoga session might stay forever.
When Relaxing Isn't Relaxing
by Nina
![]() |
| Cactus Flower by Melina Meza |
If you don’t find Crocodile comfortable, you could try a supported version of Savasana, as raising your torso higher than your legs might feel better than being flat on your back, or even a side-lying Savasana (see Corpse Pose Variations).
Supported Inversions: because the Relaxation response is triggered by your physical position, supported inverted poses don’t require a mental focus (see Why You Should Love Your Baroreceptors). So you can keep your eyes open and even listen to music while you are practicing them and you’ll still quiet your nervous system. These are also great alternatives to forward bends, which cause some people to brood and others just find unpleasant. Of course, as with any pose, if you feel bad in an inverted pose, come out of the pose immediately. See All About Supported Inverted Poses to find a supported inverted pose that's right for you.
And please let me know if you have any further recommendations! I'd love to add more ideas to my list.
Finally, if you are a teacher who is teaching one or more students with mental disorders, it is always a good idea to let the class know that if anyone becomes seriously agitated, anxious or depressed during meditation or relaxation, they should stop and raise their hand so you can help them find an appropriate alternative.
Yoga for Emotional Wellbeing: An Epiphany
by Nina
![]() |
| Sand Dollar by Melina Meza |
During the period when I was studying yoga with Rodney Yee and writing our first book together, Yoga: The Poetry of the Body, Rod helped me understand how my yoga practice was benefiting me in emotional and spiritual ways, as well as physical ones. It turned out that by practicing regularly at home—something I had taken up intuitively rather than with any specific goals in mind—I had been learning to manage my stress, balance my emotions and cultivate equanimity without even realizing it. (If you read the dialogues in the book Yoga: The Poetry of the Body, you can witness Rod helping me toward that realization.) And as someone who had suffered in the past from chronic stress (working full time at a software start-up while raising two children!), which had led to a bout of agitated depression, I began to see the tremendous power yoga had for helping people with emotional difficulties of all kinds, including stress, depression, anxiety, anger, and general dissatisfaction or unhappiness.
Then, one morning when I was practicing yoga with Rod and his best friend, Ian, Ian began talking about how he had just learned that a colleague of his had committed suicide. (Yes, sorry to disillusion you, those guys chatted constantly while they were practicing.) And while I was in Shoulderstand, I kept thinking about about Ian’s story, and filled with compassion for his friend—for the suffering he must have experienced to lead him to take his life—I began to cry. I realized then that while I could not help Ian’s friend, I did have quite a lot of knowledge that I could use to help other people who were suffering. And while I had no particular ambition to become a yoga teacher per se, I understood at that moment that I really should look into finding a way to share what I knew. Yes, it was one of those actual epiphanies (and I had it while I was doing a yoga pose).
After that, I started doing two things. First, I began taking as many workshops as I could from teachers like Patricia Walden, who teaches workshops on Yoga for Depression (I took that more than once!) and Yoga for Emotional Healing, and Roger Cole, who teaches about the physiology of inversions. Then, I enrolled in a three-year teacher training program at The Yoga Room, in Berkeley. Clearly I believe in being thoroughly prepared! Finally, when I felt ready (and when I got the go-ahead from Patricia, who was informally mentoring me) I did begin teaching workshops on Yoga for Emotional Wellbeing, Yoga for Stress and Yoga for Better Sleep. Those were rewarding—there is nothing like having even just one person tell you that you made a difference in their lives by teaching them a simple practice, like breath awareness—and I still teach them occasionally. But I eventually realized that writing is still my forte and that I could reach a larger audience through my writing than by teaching local workshops.
When Baxter and I came up with the idea of starting a blog, I realized that a blog could be the perfect venue for me; having our own blog would allow me to give myself the power to write about what I wanted to write about, the way I wanted to write about it (frankly, the way some publications edit/rewrite you can be positively painful). And because the blog was free and accessible world wide, I could reach people who would never be able to study with me in person.
Because I not only write for the YFHA blog but I’m also the Editor in Chief, I work on the blog at least five days a week (and sometimes behind the scenes on the weekends). And that takes a lot of dedication. But that original epiphany I had in Shoulderstand and my ongoing passion for sharing what I know about the emotional and spiritual benefits of yoga—as well as the physical ones—are a wellspring that never runs dry.
Yoga for Performance Anxiety
by Baxter
![]() |
| The Violin by Juan Gris |
Violin-Yoga
by Janet Orenstein
As many of you know I played a recital with Allison Gagnon last night at UNCSA -- only my second recital in 17 years (the first was last year, also with Allison). I walked onstage forty minutes before it started to check a tempo and found myself to be in almost a state of panic. My heart started racing and my hands went clammy and cold. My mind was racing. I went backstage to my room and had the impulse to just keep playing the violin until I felt better. Thankfully some inner wisdom stayed this impulse. My body was in trouble, but somehow I knew the difficulty was in my mind. I kept thinking about my students being at the recital, and how only a few had ever heard me play. Their primary teacher is Ida Bieler, a phenomenal powerhouse of both teaching and playing, who leaves me in awe on most occasions. I saw that I was terrified of not being worthy. What on old story! But what to do? Didn't Terry Brown (a fabulous yoga teacher) teach me that extending my exhales will calm the nervous system? How many times had I practiced that very thing in yoga class? (And how many repetitions of the same information does it take for me to learn?) So ten minutes later when Brooks came backstage to wish me luck, he found me sitting in the dark, breathing. In fifteen minutes my heart slowed and my hands stopped feeling cold. My mind still raced, but ten minutes later that too started to slow down. I tuned my fiddle and went backstage. Allison smiled at me and we went onstage to play Ives. She starts the piece alone and I listened to her. I was there with her, and, miraculously, I remained present the entire recital. I felt that rare and powerful connection to another human being that communicates trust. I was listening and reacting, and I felt heard and reacted to. That has got to be yoga, right? It was a blast. We were in sync and nothing else really mattered at all. I forgot my students; I forgot the entire audience. I remembered that this is why I play the violin. Thank you, Allison, and thank you to all my numerous teachers of violin and yoga. And of course, thank you to my students, who as it turns out, are also my teachers.
Is hope the opium of the un-present masses? Pulling an Eckhart Tolle during practice (and also pulling something else)
I have a bad feeling that this is going to be one of those posts that contribute to the popular (mis?)conception of Ashtangis as self-torturing pain junkies who delight in inflicting pain on themselves. I hope I don't contribute too much to Ashtanga's already bad rep in this area. But everything that I'm about to describe here actually happened yesterday and during this morning's practice. So I can at least say that I am being honest, if nothing else.
Before I go on to tell the story proper, I think it would be useful for me to give you a little background story. I am going through a rather nerve-wracking and angst-provoking time in my life right now: I don't particularly feel like going into the details here (although I might when all this is over, however it turns out), so you'll have to bear with me for being a little vague about things here. Suffice to say that I am waiting for a couple of things to fall through (or not), and I'll know in a couple of days whether they do. Right now, there is nothing to do except wait. And wait some more. And in the meantime, continue to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, do the practice, blog, and try to stay sane the whole time. I have tried reading Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now, but honestly, it hasn't been helping much. He's just too harsh and rational about this whole being in the present moment thing for my state of mind right now. For example, at one point in his book, in response to somebody who said, "Surely we need hope to keep us going, and hope is always hope that things will turn out better in the future. So doesn't having hope imply not being in the present moment?" To this, Tolle replied that if one is fully present in the moment, one doesn't need hope: When one is able to fully savor the present moment, what use is there for hope for the future? I'm paraphrasing, as I don't have the book on me right now, but I'm pretty sure I captured the essence of his reply. I don't know about you, but I think this is kind of harsh. I mean, it does make for a certain logical kind of sense: If you are fully, fully present, you won't need to hope for anything in the future. But I think it is no exaggeration to say that we humans are hardwired by centuries of cultural conditioning to hope for a better future when things get rough. And, to borrow a phrase from Marx, perhaps Tolle is saying that hope is the opium of the un-present masses, just as religion was the opium of the masses on Marx's view. And maybe it's just me, but isn't it a little bit cruel to deny a frail mortal like me even the opium of hope in a time like this? Well, I'm guessing that Tolle will disagree here; he'll probably say that I need to go "cold turkey" and use this difficult time in my life as an opportunity to rid myself once and for all of the opium of hope. Whatever. Go to hell. (Yikes! What did I just say?)
To add insult to possible injury, I was talking with a friend yesterday about my present situation. He listened for a while, and then suggested that I take a bigger-picture view of things as they are right now. Even though things are not going quite as I would like them to go, there are many blessings in my life: Good health, a yoga practice, etc. He then proceeded to point out that material possessions and worldly position are really quite insignificant in the light of this bigger picture. Wow... this is what happens when one reads Eckhart Tolle: Even your friends start to sound like him.
But here's another ironic twist: As much as a certain part of me refuses to buy into any of Tolle's talk about being in the present, the Ashtanga practice seems to be the one thing that is actually fostering such presence in my life right now. This morning, I woke up with a rather funky mood. My whole body felt stiff and heavy, and I did not feel like practicing at all. Well, okay, I asked myself, what are you going to do then? Go back to sleep? But I somehow knew more sleep was probably not going to make me feel much better: If anything, I'll probably end up feeling even heavier and stiffer a couple of hours down the road. So I gingerly rolled out my Mysore rug, and started moving through the practice. As I got into primary series, an idea suddenly struck me: The last couple of days, I had been re-reading Matthew Sweeney's Astanga Yoga As It Is, and familiarizing myself with the Sanskrit vinyasa count of the postures and transitions in primary. It's pretty funny to say this, but as much of an Ashtangeek as I am, I have actually never gotten the exact Sanskrit vinyasa count in the seated postures of primary down pat. I figured that now would be the time to rectify this gap in my Ashtanga career :-) Anyway, as I got into primary this morning, I suddenly thought it would be kind of cool to recite the vinyasa count mentally to myself as I did each of the postures. So on I went: Sapta, inhale and jump into posture. Ashtau, exhale and hold for five breaths. Nawa, inhale and exhale there. Desa, inhale lift up. Ekadesa. exhale into chaturanga. And so and so forth. And since Sweeney does the traditional long count, he doesn't "reset" the count to Sapta on the second side of the posture, but continues with the count on the first side. So I get to count all the way up to Ekonavimsatihi (I really love the sound of this particular word!) and then Vimsatihi, which is when you exhale into downdog before starting from Sapta again and jumping into the next posture of the series.
It's really interesting, but before I knew it, I realized that counting the vinyasa to myself really helped to remove all extraneous thoughts from my mind. Who knew that one could pull an Eckhart Tolle simply by doing the vinyasa count? Maybe one day, when all this shit that I am presently going through is over (I know, I know, I'm not being present again, but whatever...), I'll teach a workshop titled, "Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga and Eckhart Tolle: How to use the Traditional Vinyasa Count to bring greater presence into your practice". Maybe you come? :-)
Another, less pleasant thing also happened during practice this morning. My upper back muscles, especially the Trapezius, goes through periods of tightness. Such tightness tends to recur during periods of stress or anxiety. Over the last couple of weeks, I have been feeling this tightness from time to time whenever I sit in front of my computer or when I am reading. These past couple of mornings, I have been feeling the tightness during practice itself, especially when I lift my legs to put them behind my head in Supta Kurmasana. But I thought that if I moved into and out of the pose carefully, I'll probably be fine. And in a sense, I was right. Nothing major happened in Supta Kurmasana this morning. But something major did happen as I rolled over into my second Chakrasana (the one following Setu Bandhasana). As I rolled my legs over my head to go into downdog, I felt this sharp pulling sensation in my trapezius. Somehow, I still managed to land my feet in downdog. But I knew the damage had been done. Damn... no more Chakrasana (and probably also no more putting legs behind head in Supta Kurmasana) for the next few days, or maybe even for the next few weeks. We'll see. Anyway, my traps have been aching since then. In fact, they are aching right now, even as I am typing these words. I am doing a whole bunch of gentle trapezius stretches throughout the day to relieve the soreness. But the funny thing is, even this pain has its upside: It is making me more present in my body, and causing me to fixate less on the other things in my life that are causing great anxiety. I guess this says something about my state of mind, when I am actually at a point where I actually prefer physical pain to mental anxiety. I hope this doesn't mean that I need to go see a psychiatrist or something. Scary. Anyway, I guess I'll sign off here. More later.
we recommend you to buy some goods below for comfort, safety and ease of your yoga activities















