our-yoga

Just finished the first day of Kino's workshop here at Omkar108 in Los Angeles. We had two sessions today: Led primary earlier in the morning, followed by a session on arm balances after a brief lunch break. I am beyond excited and very grateful to be able to study with Kino again, even if just for a couple of days. In addition, I also met for the first time Savannah, who writes the blog Musings from the Yoga Mat. It's really wonderful to be able to put faces and voices to virtual personalities.

As with all of Kino's workshops, she shared a wealth of information and insight (not to mention unforgettable Guruji impersonations) during both sessions. I am really too beat to share everything here (as if that's possible anyway). But I'll just say that this morning's led primary totally kicked my ass. You know, I'm embarrassed to say this now, but before this morning, I had actually thought that I was pretty "good" at the primary series... Well, let's just say that Kino showed me a few interesting things about primary this morning. For instance, do you know that if you hold Mari C for a few Kino-length-breaths (she would typically count "1", then interject an entire commentary on some aspect of the pose in question, then count "2", and interject some commentary on some other aspect of the pose, and so and so forth, till we finally get to the blessed "5"), the arm that is doing the grabbing in the bind will feel so sore that it feels like it's going to fall off? Or that it is possible to take these really, really long breaths in the finishing padmasana in which the inhalation seems to last forever, and the exhalation also seems to last forever?

With all this in mind, it would perhaps be wiser from now on for me, in Kino's words, to "remain broken". i.e. to not think that you have "got it", but to be in a perpetual state of being aware that no matter how "good" or "advanced" you think you are at this or that series or this or that pose, you are "never good enough." Not "never good enough" in a bad or disparaging way, but "never good enough" in the sense that there is always something on the horizon to aspire towards and to challenge ourselves with.

You could also say that I kind of feel like that chick pea in that famous Rumi poem. I'm not a big Rumi fan, but I really think that particular poem hit the nail on the head as far as what I am feeling now is concerned. Oh, in case you don't know what poem I'm talking about, here it is:

Chickpea to Cook
A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it's being boiled.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
"Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.
Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this.
...
 
Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
"Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can't do this by myself.
...

The cook says,
"I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.

My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher."  

Ah.... may I always be a chick pea that is burning with the desire to be boiled some more, so that the flavor of the practice may seep into the depths of my being and make me more and more delicious... 

Speaking of delicious, I am quite hungry now. Thus I shall presently sign off, and scour the City of Angels for some angelic grub. More later... Oh, I almost forgot something else. The picture below was just posted on Kino's Facebook page. It shows all of us taking rest, lying in post-led-primary bliss:

I did full primary to Sharath's led primary CD again this morning. Like the last time I did Sharath's led (see this post), this morning's practice was another congested one. Except that I was being very stubborn this morning; I wanted to keep to the vinyasa count and the pace so badly that I didn't even bother to pause to blow my nose. It would've been pretty gross if you were watching me practice this morning; from around Garbha Pindasana all the way to Utplutih, snot was coming out my nose, and I just let it flow. Surprisingly, I didn't drown in my own snot; somehow, I was able to find the space in my respiratory system to continue breathing and moving. It certainly wasn't comfortable, but I like to think that it forced me to find a deeper space to breath out of. And the really interesting thing is that, immediately after practice, I blew my nose, and was totally congestion-free after that!

Anyway, this also makes me wonder: What do people in Mysore do if they are congested during led primary? I mean, do people just get up in the middle of led to go to the bathroom? Or do they just continue, snot and all? Anybody know?

In preparation for my move to Idaho, I think I'm going to stick to just doing primary for the next few weeks. My teacher (PJ Heffernan) told me that Sharath told him that it is a good idea to do primary only when you are moving to a new place, and to stick to primary only for two weeks after you move to the new place, in order to get used to the energy of the new place. Sounds like good advice; I'll take it. Which means there will be no adventures in Karandavasana impotence for the next few weeks.  

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I was feeling quite under the weather this morning; before I went to bed last night, I took my temperature, and it was 99.8 F. For most of the night, I was in this state of half-sleep in which one part of my body wants to go to sleep, but the other part would wake itself up every other hour, ostensibly because it wants to go to the bathroom (I think needing to go to the bathroom is my body's way of telling me that it doesn't want to go to sleep :-)).

As a result of this disturbed sleep, I decided to allow myself to lie in bed for a couple more hours this morning. Not that it helped much; I still felt very congested and under the weather when I finally got out of bed. And then I was faced with the question: To practice or not to practice? I've heard a few people say that it's not a good idea to practice when you have a fever, but I had this feeling that doing some practice and sweating it out would do me some good. So... guess what? I popped Sharath's led primary CD into my computer, and started doing primary to his count. If you've ever practiced to Sharath's count before, you'll know that it's like a bullet train. His vinyasa count is precise and brisk, and the whole practice takes only 65 minutes. Probably not the best thing to be doing when you are feeling under the weather, but I felt that it would be easier for me to practice in my unmotivated state if I had somebody counting the vinyasa for me. So I decided to do it.

The whole thing went quite well. My breath was shorter than usual, and I was a little more breathless than usual by the time I got to the closing invocation. But I survived. Immediately after the closing invocation, I went to my bedroom, and lay on the floor in savasana covered by a blanket. And I actually feel better now, even though I'm still quite congested.

As I said, doing full primary in 65 minutes is probably not the wisest thing to do when you have a fever. But there's something about Sharath's voice that is really reassuring, and I get this sense that if I follow the vinyasa count to the best of my ability (even though I still can't get into Mari D in one breath), everything will be just okay. I've also discovered that my relationship to Sharath's led primary has changed over the years. When I first started practicing to his count a couple of years ago, I was breathless and scrambling all over the place just to keep up with his count. It's still challenging now, and I still get breathless after Utplutih, but I sense that underneath the breathlessness is something... deeper; a deeper sense of being centered, a deeper sense of being powerful, if that makes any sense.

In other news: I don't usually troll the web for things of this kind, but this was actually posted on Kino's Facebook page, so I couldn't help noticing. Apparently, this yoga blog out there (definitely one of those 4.0 blogs...) has come up with a list of 10 Amazing Yoga Teachers. Kino is on it; rightfully so, because she is amazing. But it's quite funny that other teachers who I personally wouldn't put in the same league as Kino are also on this list (I won't name any names here; you can go look yourself, and decide if I'm right). But then again, I suppose many people out there probably wouldn't think that Kino is amazing either, in light of the not-so-recent Kinogate and Shortshortsgate (remember those "scandals"?).   

Oh well. Goes to show what interesting yoga times we live in...


In yet other news: B.K.S. Iyengar turns 94 today. Happy birthday, Mr. Iyengar! Since this is supposed to be an Ashtanga blog, let's take a look at this video from 1938, which shows him performing what looks suspiciously like the third series:

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I did full primary to Sharath's led primary CD this morning. There is something very calming about doing the practice to his precise count, from the dedication to Guruji that he chants at the beginning, to his beautiful enunciation of the cadence of the opening and closing mantras, and perhaps most importantly, simply letting his vinyasa count guide and move my practice along. No thinking needed, just breathe and do whatever asanas is called out in the moment.

As I was doing the asanas to Sharath's count this morning, a thought occurred to me: There is a very interesting sense in which the practice is not linear, but cyclical. As many of us who have been doing this practice for some time know, Ashtanga has often been criticized by detractors for being very linear in nature, both with regard to the linear progression of the way the postures build on one another, and also with regard to the linear nature of the way the asanas are supposedly performed: Forward bending, backbending, even twisting seems to presuppose fixed lines of motion through space. Which may be why Anusara, with its emphasis on spirals, is more appealing to a lot of people, at least until the fall from grace of Juan Amigos earlier this year...

But I digress. As I was saying, it occurred to me this morning that Ashtanga is not linear, but is in fact cyclical in nature. We can see this if we pay attention to the vinyasa count. Everything "resets" itself at Ekam, so that in the seated postures of primary, you always jump into a posture at Supta. This cyclical nature is even more obvious in the finishing sequence: In the three Urdhva Dhanurasanas, for instance, one lifts up into the backbend at Nawa, brings the head back down to the ground at Desa, and then lifts back up into the backbend at Nawa again. I mean, you would think that if the intention were for the practice to be truly linear in nature, one would be lifting into the second backbend at Eka-desa, and into the third backbend at Trayo-desa...

The same pattern can also be seen in the shoulderstand sequence. Halasana is at Ashtau, if I remember correctly. And the next pose, Karnapidasana, remains at Ashtau. Again, this seems to suggest a cyclical, not linear progression.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into the nature of the practice from the way the vinyasa count goes. Maybe the vinyasa count doesn't really say anything about the nature of the practice one way or the other. But I can't help feeling that I'm on to something here. Am I? If I'm not (and you have good reason to believe I'm not), just let me know. I'm okay with being wrong :-)  

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This morning, I did full primary to Sharath's led primary CD. Gosh, doing full primary to Sharath's vinyasa count is the asana equivalent of "getting called bullshit" upon, to borrow a phrase that Patrick used in a comment on my previous post. Sharath's count is so precise, there's no room to faff or even to take a couple of extra breaths for the more difficult poses of primary (like Mari D, for example); you just try your best to get as deeply into whatever pose is being counted, hold the pose for the prescribed number of breaths, and then move on. Hmm... but how traditional is Sharath's vinyasa count? Well... can we not go there? :-)

Over the last few Saturdays of doing Sharath's led primary, I have made an interesting discovery: My Navasana now feels a lot lighter and stronger compared to a couple of years ago. I can extend my knees fully throughout all five navasanas, and it's only in the fifth navasana that I start to feel this burning sensation in the quads, which is probably an indication that I am no longer engaging the bandhas to hold the pose, but am holding the pose through sheer quad muscle power. Moral of the story: The secret to lightness and strength in navasana (as in pretty much any other pose, really) is bandha engagement. If I recall correctly, I think Kino also brought this up in passing when she was talking about engaging the bandhas during one of her workshops that I attended. She was talking about engaging the bandhas, and somehow the topic of navasana came up. She said something to this effect, "Just try holding navasana using only your quads", and then laughed. Translation: Holding navasana using only quad power... No good. Holding navasana using bandha engagement... very good.

I guess I'll try to keep this post short, because I really don't have that much more to say right now. Or more to the point: I can't say more without possibly lapsing into a state of rambling. Speaking of rambling, somebody left the following anonymous comment on my recent post about Tradition Guilt:

'Normally, I am a huge fan of your blogging, but this was alot of rambling. Perhaps you should just "do your practice". I will continue to follow your blog.'

I don't normally go out of my way to reproduce readers' comments in my posts, but it's being a while since I've received such a... pointed comment, so I think this is worth sharing. Honestly, I have no objective way of knowing if or when I ramble in my writing. But judging from the way this commenter prefaces his or her remarks ("Normally, I am a huge fan of your blogging..."), I like to think that rambling is the exception rather than the norm in my writing. Or maybe I ramble all the time, but it just happens that that post about tradition was a much worse case of rambling (i.e. "alot of rambling") than usual.

As I said, I've no objective way of knowing whether and how much I ramble (and if I'm actually rambling right now, even as I am writing this...). As they say, a doctor who tries to treat himself has a fool for a patient. Perhaps in the same way, a writer/blogger who tries to critique his own writing/blogging has a fool for a student. But this whole thing got me curious enough to look up the definition of rambling online. Here's the first definition I found:

"(of writing or speech) Lengthy and confused or inconsequential."

Yikes! So I might be writing in a lengthly and confused and inconsequential manner all this time without knowing it! All of you must be geniuses to be able to understand and parse my writing, and even comment on my posts... I take my hat off to you.

So what to do? If I'm really a rambler, I should seek help, right? I obviously don't want to be a lifelong rambler. Well, here are a few possible things you can do:

(1) The next time you catch me rambling, kindly point this out to me (either in a comment or in an email), and maybe also offer me some guidelines as to what would constitute "not rambling";

(2) You can also pay me every time I write something that meets these guidelines (positive reinforcement). Maybe I should set up a donation button on this blog for this purpose? Or is it not yogic to seek worldly rewards for one's blogging? But hey, good writing (as in the thoughtful, not-rambling kind of writing) takes a lot of work, you know. If good carpenters get compensated for building wonderful chairs in which people may repose their butts, why shouldn't good bloggers/writers be compensated accordingly for "building" good writing in which people may repose their minds and souls? I've always believed that writers are the carpenters of the soul. But okay, I think I'm rambling here, so I'll stop.

(3) You can simply vote with your electronic feet, and stop reading this blog altogether. This is, of course, a much simpler thing to do than either (1) or (2). But if you do this, we all lose: I lose readers, and you lose the opportunity to enjoy some good not-rambling writing, and no value is created in the world. 

Wow... that was a lot of rambling about... rambling. More (rambling?) later.   

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This morning, I did full primary to Sharath's led primary CD. Sharath's led, as many of you know, is done in strict accordance with the traditional long vinyasa count; which means that in Supta Pangusthasana, for instance, he counts all the way up to Chatur-vimsatihi (twenty-four), and he gets through the whole of primary in a brisk 65 minutes.

This morning was the first time I had done Sharath's led in more than a year. After I injured my left knee around this time last year, I didn't dare to do Sharath's led again for a long time. For one, I didn't think my knee would appreciate trying to get into lotus or half-lotus in one or less vinyasa count in the state it was in; of course, I could have modified and did all that good stuff, but I figured that I might do better modifying while not going in strict accordance with the vinyasa count, to give my knee a little more space and time to heal.

But this morning, I finally mustered the courage to take Sharath's led CD out of its place in the cabinet and put it into my computer. I was a bit nervous, and told myself I'd do my best to keep up with the count, and maybe modify here and there if necessary.

It turned out that no modification was necessary at all. I think that over the last year of healing, my body/mind had somehow found a way to open and engage the necessary muscles while getting into lotus or half-lotus, so that this morning, I found that I could get into half-lotus in all the relevant postures without feeling like I was pushing or rushing myself into them, and still somehow keep to Sharath's count. I also tried out my floating techniques in Suryas A and B, with very interesting results. It turns out that if I lift my feet off the ground in Trini first before floating back into Chatvari, I actually have to stay suspended in that position with my feet off the ground for an entire breath while waiting for Sharath to call out "Chatvari" (duh...). Now, a full breath might not seem a long time, but it kind of is if you are really engaging your bandhas to generate the lift necessary to keep your feet off the ground.

But there is an upside to this as well. While lifting off (and staying lifted) in trini position may seem like a lot of work from an observer's point of view, from my point of view, engaging the bandhas so intensely so early in the practice actually sets a good rhythm of moving from the center for the rest of the practice. As a result of this early bandha engagement, the rest of the practice comes quite a bit more easily even at Sharath's pace, because it becomes easier to keep the bandhas engaged and to continue moving from the center once you start doing so from the very beginning.

Still, not having done full primary to the strict vinyasa count for such a long time, there were a couple of things that threw me off for a loop. For instance, in Marichyasana C and D, I forgot that according to the traditional count, you are supposed to get into the posture immediately after you jump your legs through in Supta, whereas in almost all the other postures, Supta is when you jump through into the posture, and then you have Ashtau to try to get your legs and hands snugly into whatever position they need to be in before Sharath starts counting. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever been able to get into the bind in Mari D on the Supta count; I always need an extra breath to get the bind. Which means that by the time I am actually in the posture, Sharath has already counted "one". And in my experience, different teachers kind of find different ways to deal with the strictness of the vinyasa count. For instance, the few times I have done led primary with Kino, she always kind of fudges the vinyasa count a little when it comes to Mari D, and gives you an extra breath or two to get into the posture before she starts counting. I know a couple of other teachers out there who do this too. But Sharath is Sharath: He is the lineage-keeper, so he has to be strict about the count, even in Mari D; whether or not I can keep up with him is well, my problem.

But all in all, Mari C and D aside (actually, even these two postures were wonderful... so what if I can't bind Mari D within the Supta count?), the rest of the practice was very refreshing and brisk, like a double-shot espresso. When I first started doing full primary to Sharath's count a couple of years ago, I always felt really winded at the end of the practice. This morning, a couple of years later, I was still a little short of breath after Uplutih, but there was also this general feeling of being refreshed and recharged, just like the sort of feeling one gets after downing a double shot of espresso. I think the single biggest difference was the fact that I had engaged the bandhas more and moved more from the center from the beginning of practice. Ha! This gives a new twist to Sharath's famous saying: "Got bandha, no need for coffee!"

So all in all, even though I didn't make it to Mysore this year, I like to think that if and when I do, I'll be a little more comfortable doing led primary with Sharath :-)

There is another interesting thing about doing led primary with Sharath. At the beginning and end of practice, he doesn't just do the opening and closing invocations. Before practice, he also does this invocation honoring the guru (can' t remember how it goes) before launching into the opening mantra. At the end of practice, after the closing mantra, he also chants "Sahanah Vavatu" and this other chant to Ganesh (I also can't remember how exactly this goes; there is "Ganapati" in it). Which is very nice. I did whatever chants I could follow (the opening and closing mantra, and "Sahanah Vavatu"), and just listened along to the other chants that I didn't know.

All of this brings to mind this recent post by Steve over at the Confluence Countdown about the complaints launched by a group of parents against the Encinitas Union School District concerning the new yoga program launched recently in schools within the district as a result of a $533,000 grant from the Jois Foundation. Despite statements from district officials that there was no religion or religious indoctrination involved, seven district parents and a lawyer have insisted that the program pushed Hinduism on children and violated religious freedom.

Given that I wasn't actually present when the yoga classes for the children were conducted (duh!), I probably shouldn't be saying anything one way or the other about this situation here. But I'm going to, anyway, because I love sticking my head (and neck) into all things Ashtanga :-) This is what I think: If the teachers teaching the classes (who, I take it, are probably sponsored and affiliated with the Jois Foundation) were teaching it in the exact same way in which they would teach a regular led Ashtanga class at Jois Yoga or some other traditional shala (with the opening and closing chants, and all that good stuff), they would be crazy and naive not to expect any push back or resistance!

I know, this is Encinitas, but Encinitas is still in America, and America, as we know, is a place where people take the idea of separation of church and state (or in this case, separation of church and school district) very seriously. To get a sense of where I'm coming from, imagine this: Suppose a bunch of Kabbalah followers were to invent a series of exercises that they claim were very good for your mind and body. Let's call this system of exercises "Kabbashtanga." Suppose, further, that Kabbashtanga were to become the next big thing in the spirituality business, becoming even bigger than Ashtanga, because Madonna has now switched allegiances from Ashtanga, and has become the poster-girl for Kabbashtanga; presumably, she now has a Kabbashtanga body:

Now suppose the Kabbashatanga exercises also open and close with some obscure chants in some ancient Hebrew tongue that had long been lost; a group of senior Kabbashtanga teachers claim that this tongue was revealed to them in a collective vision as a result of their dedication to the Kabbashtanga practice. They require everybody to do these chants at the beginning and end of every practice, in order to honor the spirit and tradition of Kabbashtanga. However, they also claim that doing these chants is not religious, and does not mean that you are converting to Kabbalah. It's just, well, honoring tradition.

Now suppose you live in Encinitas (or anywhere in the United States, for that matter). Your child is enrolled in the local school district, which has started a Kabbashtanga program as a result of a generous grant from Madonna and her fellow Kabbashtanga enthusiasts. Would you feel secure that the doctrine of the separation of church and school district has not been breached? I don't know, maybe you would; maybe you are one of those very open-minded people who are perpetually generous of spirit and mind, and who is willing to put your faith in the good sense of the school district officials. But surely we cannot expect every single parent to have this same attitude; surely it would be understandable if at least a few parents were to become a little suspicious and uneasy that Kabbalah may have been force-fed to their children...

I'm guessing you can see the parallel here with the Ashtanga program in Encinitas. Like you, I know that yoga is not a religion, and that chanting the opening and closing chants does not turn one into a Hindu (is Hinduism even a religion, in the first place? Well, I can't go into this here; this would be too much of a digression...). I have also had my share of frustrations with getting people to do the opening and closing invocations in the practice (see, for instance, this post). But let's face it. We live in this funny land called America. And in America, if you try to get people to chant something which is not in English in a secular setting (which, I'm almost certain, is what transpired in that yoga program in Encinitas) and which, to add insult to injury, translates into something along the lines of prostrating to a serpent with a thousand white heads, I'll be damned if you don't get any resistance. In fact, I'm actually a little surprised that only seven parents complained.

So what to do? In the grand tradition of offering unsolicited advice that this blog has increasingly become known for, let me suggest this: When in Rome (or in America), do as the Romans (or Americans) do. Or more to the point: "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's" (Matthew 22:21)

Why am I quoting the bible here? Well, replace "Caesar" with "the state", and "God" with "Ashtanga" (even though Ashtanga is not a religion), and you will see my point. If making a few changes and removing a couple of things (like, for example, Sanskrit chants about a serpent with a thousand white heads) makes Ashtanga a little more accessible and palatable to people in a secular setting and avoids unnecessary conflict, why not do it? If these people then want the "full" Ashtanga experience, they can then go on to take classes at a traditional shala, and maybe listen to Elder Miller expound further on thousand-headed serpents and that funny little snake that lies sleeping at the base of the spine, waiting to be awakened by our wonderful practices. This way, everybody wins. What's not to love about it? 

Well, I guess I should sign off now. When I start quoting the bible on a Saturday afternoon, I know I've gotten into a serious sermonizing mood. And who wants to hear anybody (even an Ashtanga Fundamentalist) go on and on like this on a beautiful Saturday afternoon? So I'll leave you with these thoughts. If you have anything to say, I'll love to hear from you, as always.             

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