Resistance is Futile

It's 6am. It's dark. I'm warm and comfortable, but I claw my way out from under the covers and my husband's lovely embrace to get ready for an Ashtanga yoga class that I am determined to take. The entire time I am getting ready, I question my decision. I even go back to bed at some point. Somehow, I get myself there and on time.

Erika Abrahamian is the teacher and she begins with a talk. This morning, she shares with us that she's been practicing along with another teacher's video, filmed in a live class, and has noticed some important citta, or mind-stuff, that she'd like us to be aware of in our own practices. We have certain expectations about our practice, our bodies and our abilities, she explains, and when she followed this video, she felt those expectations come up. The teacher in her video took his time explaining the details of how to get into each pose - sometimes this was several breaths, and then he would begin counting the breaths to remain in the pose; it was much longer than Erika was used to, and her mind presented her with lots of resistance.

She asked us to look at our own obstacles during the practice and explore the practice of surrender, of letting go of wanting a different reality. Since my practice includes lots of adaptations to accommodate my injuries and strengthening my weakness, I know this yearning for a different reality all too well. Each time I heard the little voices of grasping, I tried to stay with it anyway and release or dampen the mental grasping. Over and over again. The mental grasping is like a weed in my mind; it grows rampant, if left unchecked. Soon, I'm not just desiring that person's handstand, but I'm also desiring that person's age or energy or life situation... I'm no longer inhabiting my own experience, my breath, in this moment. This is a shame, because all of it will end, eventually, and nothing is to be taken for granted - even my next breath.

I left the room feeling very humbled. I navigated through the crowd of people and collected my things, then paused to check my messages...

22 years ago, someone who abused me as a child had begun the process of reaching out to make amends. My grandmother was sick at the time, and I was filled with resistance about her cancer. I had no time to accept the offering from this man - no matter how real and heartfelt it may have been. He left his amends letter for me at my grandmother's house and I tore it up, unseen. There was a story in my head, one that cast this man as the monster and me as the victim, and I resisted letting that story go. Over the years, he has reached out several other times, and each time I resisted. Two years ago, after doing some very intense therapy, I decided to rewrite the story. I let go of the mantle of victim and I peeled off his monster's mask. I reached out to him. I sent him a message that said I forgave him and wished him well.

I heard nothing until today.

When I looked at my messages, I didn't recognize the name at first. And then I realized who it was from. The communication I sent two years ago finally reached him. He replied back with grace and love, and the bricks of resistance I had built up around my heart were gone.

Breath by breath. Step by step. Thought by thought. Moment by moment. Practice by practice.


Om guru bramha;
Guru Vishnu;
Guru devo maheshwara;
Guru sak shat;
Param bramha;
Tash mayishri;
Guruvey namaha.

I bow to my gurus and offer my efforts; to the guru that is this life; to the guru that is this path; to the guru who entrusts me with the hardships and the uncertainties on this journey; to the guru who sits within, who sits nearby and who lives without; and to the guru who is beyond all of this, who is formless and supreme; I offer my efforts.

Thank you to my gurus: to the painful childhood memories, to my own mind who clings, to my teachers along this path, and to the breath that I have the privilege to breathe.

An Unlikely Ashtangi

"You have to take this class. It's incredible, and the teacher is such a gift."

Mary had been singing the same song to me for months now. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I thought, resisting the idea that I could even survive the class, let alone enjoy it. She was speaking about the Mysore class, which meets each weekday morning - early in the morning.

"Whatever it is that you think it is, it's not. Just come and try it."

I trusted Mary's opinion. She had been taking classes with me for years. She knew many of my teachers, and she has been on the yoga path for long enough to be able to discern quality in a practice as well as the teacher delivering that practice. But...

The time slot just didn't work for me...
I didn't move that well that early in the morning (my home practice ideally started closer to 9 am)...
My chronic neck pain might flare with all that weight bearing on my arms...
... The list went on and on.

And then one day, all those barriers fell away.

To be honest, the catalyst was me stepping on the scale and seeing that my weight had gone up significantly. I hadn't been doing anything really physical because of my pain, and the numbers reflected a more couch potato lifestyle that I was heading towards. I committed to making a change, and then the universe removed the obstacles:

The time slot grew wider; "come any time, Monday through Thursday between 6:00-8:45 am to do your practice at your own pace."

My home practice was no longer working; when school started, my daughter and husband began getting up earlier, and my son's work schedule kept him home most mornings. Trying to fit in an hour - or even 30 minutes - while my family went about their morning routines became too difficult.

I came to a point with my chronic pain that I wasn't willing to limit myself anymore. Through trial and error, I learned the poses that made things go from uncomfortable to unbearable, and I started a conversation with the teacher, Erika Abrahamian, about what I could do. I wrote to her that, because of my limitations, "my practice is a little messy." She replied,

"Modifications are fine... We all practice messily."

And with that, I stepped into the Mysore room 2 months ago, and haven't left.

It surprised me that I lasted a week. Then a month. But there is something so embracing in the Mysore room, like I've come home. I've always loved libraries; they have been my sanctuary - my temple, even - for years. The hush that some people find oppressive, I find soothing. I feel that in the Mysore room. Conversations are only as loud as necessary. The sounds are limited to breathing, stepping, falling, stretching, doors opening, laughter and the occasional "yesss" from Erika that always makes me smile, even if it's not directed towards me.

That's the thing with Mysore: you feel connected. 

I cheer on Matece's handstand drop, or Jennifer's drop back, or Tony's silent jump through, just as much as I cheer on my own twist in revolved side angle pose (with my back knee down and my hands just resting on my thigh, not pressing, because I want to twist from my torso strength, not my arms).

I think of this practice as the first layer of soil at the top of the Grand Canyon, and I am slowly - every so slowly - making my way down to the canyon floor.

For those of you curious, or maybe doubtful about your own ability to take on this practice, let me paint you a picture of what my practice looks like:

It is slow. Super slow. I could easily spend 3 hours, because I luxuriate in each breath and I'm careful with each transition.

I don't practice all of the sequence of poses called the Primary Series, even if I could remember which pose to do next. I keep my breaths the same as those doing all the poses, but I skip or modify what I consider risky for my situation.

The 2-chair headstand setup

I use a lot of props. Erika began teasing me about the chairs, blankets and blocks that I use to construct my inversion "forts" as a way to keep the weight off my neck.

I meditate at the end of my practice. Apparently, this became a "thing" in the Mysore room, and now more people are concluding their practice with some time in a seated meditation. Who knew this limited, slow poke yogini could influence that kind of wonderful-ness?

I've had some good days, where I did more than one Chaturanga (a low push up). I've had some frustrating days, when my back or my neck rebelled against the practice completely. I keep going. I know these are not the best and worst days that I will have in this practice. Last week, I tried to skip going to the Mysore room and doing a portion of the practice at home instead, because my pain was intense and kept me awake most of the night. The very next day, I returned to the Mysore room; my home practice wasn't enough for me, and not just because of the limited poses. There is something so compelling about going through your practice, but doing it together with others.

There is an energy in the Mysore room that keeps you going, pulling you along when you're flagging. 

Sometimes I space out and look around... okay, a lot of times I space out and look around. There are some really athletic yogis in the room, some who do the entire series - with all the gymnastic transitions that are available, and it's beautiful to watch. There are yoga studio owners (plural) who show up each week. There are yoga teachers - lots of teachers, from multiple studios. There are folks who have been practicing these sequences for years. There are some who have just started, like me. There are people in their twenties and some that might be 3 times that, but I would never guess their true age. Dedication, intention and grace has a youthful effect.


I know I had to come to this practice under certain circumstances. I'm so happy that I did. I can feel changes in me, week by week. They are slow, and it's only when I step back and gain some perspective that I really notice. I feel the same way in the Grand Canyon, by the way! Maybe next month I'll explore the next layer...

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• Remember, if you can't make it to class, you can always pop in my DVD, Healing Yoga for Wellness, available online at www.amazon.com and www.eBay.com, and in stores at Breathe Los Gatos, Pacific Healing Arts, Cancer CAREpoint resource center, East West Bookshop and Kaiser Mind-Body-Wellness center.
  

All is Not What it Seems

This is the story of how I lie to myself.

First, a little background. For the last month, I have set a goal to get to the studio early enough for a Mysore practice, a self-led sequence that requires both physical and mental stamina. Because I teach in the mornings at locations all over the Bay Area, I need to be there by 6:00 am in order to meet this goal.

Lorien in a pose called
Marichyasana C

This particular morning, I woke up before the sun, dressed, drank a glass of water, gathered my belongings for the day ahead (I planned to be out of the house until evening, so there were several things to gather) and left the house. It was especially important for me to be on time this specific day, because I needed to be done with enough time to shower, eat and get to Sunnyvale in heavy traffic by 8:30 am.

I pulled into the studio's parking lot at 6:30 am, grumpy that I couldn't get myself out sooner on an already limited practice day. As I was collecting my items from my car, I noticed that my phone wasn't among them. I remembered to bring my charger, but no phone. I was frustrated with myself, because I didn't have time during the day to run home to get it, and I had planned to do several things using my phone. With time slipping away, I silently cursed my forgetfulness and walked into the studio.

The next hour was a struggle - the toughest one since beginning this Mysore practice. I couldn't let go of my inner critic. I kept thinking of all the things I wasn't going to be able to do because I forgot my phone: emails I was too tired to send the night before, wishing my high school friend a happy birthday, texting my noon appointment to be sure we met in the right place, texting my daughter to be sure she knew I was picking her up, playing music for my new class, locating my new class, etc...

Stop me if any of this internal dialogue sounds familiar.

There are many poses to remember in the Mysore sequence, and I'm a newbie who's trying to keep my chronic pain at bay, so I practice only half of the sequence. Even still, I couldn't remember the order. My mind was elsewhere. I went through the motions and only occasionally grounded my awareness inside my body. When I noticed I had drifted, I berated myself even more, and the negative thoughts poured out of the dark corners of my mind like water from a leaky boat on rough surf.

The Ship by Salvador Dali

Crash! went a wave, and I remembered how I had hurt myself doing this practice before.

Slosh! went the water, and I thought that maybe this practice isn't meant for me.

Down the other side of the surf and up the next crest I went, feeling worse with each pose. It reminded me of the time I was aboard a boat in the Mediterranean, heaving over the side and we rose and fell, caught in a storm that had almost everyone aboard suffering with seasickness.

I didn't want help from the teacher or her assistant. I wanted to wallow in my inadequacies, to swim in those dark waters.

I ended my practice with enough time to get me to the next thing. Once on the road, I reflected on what had just happened. I missed feeling blissful and proud. I missed the distraction that my phone provided. As I sat in traffic, I examined my thoughts. I had recently been working with the concept that "life is made up of 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows", and noticed that I got caught up more in the sorrows than in the joys.

Well, this certainly was a morning that described that pattern of behavior. Once I realized this, I decided to embrace the joys. I listed the items that I did remember to bring with me, all of the things that I needed for the day. I reframed the day as an "old-school" day, knowing that I had once lived without the aid of a smart phone, and - gasp!- even a cell phone.

I can do this, I told myself.

As I reframed things, I noticed that traffic became less annoying. I focused on the interesting bird (was it a Chicken Hawk or a Turkey Vulture?) that sat above me on a wire, watching the commuters below with intense interest. I remained tuned in to my surroundings as I taught my morning class, ran my first errand and made my way to my next meeting. Somehow I found my way, all without the technology that I thought I needed.

I was just parking my car when my phone rang. From my purse.

What I thought I needed to make it though my day was with me all along.

I had lied to myself in the morning, and continued the lies as I practiced. If I had continued to believe those lies, I might not have made it through my day, whether or not I found my phone. Once I realized all of this, I heard my Mysore teacher's voice telling us one of her wise phrases:

"All is not what it seems."

The next time you tune in to your thoughts, see if you notice any of these patterns, and ask yourself what is true about your thoughts. As the lies drop away, remind yourself that things are not always as they initially appear.

Announcements

• Please see my schedule page for updates; 3 NEW classes for cancer survivors, and new locations!
• Sunday, September 15: Basics of Pranayama and Chanting; this 1-day workshop is at Mind-Body Zone in Fremont; see the Events page for more information.
• Share my blog with others, and invite them to sign up. This is one of the best ways I have to get news out to you all!
• Remember, if you can't make it to class, you can always pop in my DVD, Healing Yoga for Wellness, available online at www.amazon.com and www.eBay.com, and in stores at Breathe Los Gatos, Pacific Healing Arts, Cancer CAREpoint resource center, East West Bookshop and Kaiser Mind-Body-Wellness center.