On my latest trip to New York City, I had the privilege of assisting Chrissy Carter in the Yoga Works Teacher Training. In addition to being a superb instructor, Chrissy has a gorgeous voice. On the last day of the training, we recorded a few of her favorite chants, which I later converted into a duet by adding a harmony line. The sounds of midtown Manhattan in the background add their own flavor. Gayatri Mantra with Chrissy Carter
Here are my two nieces (4-years-old and 5-years-old) singing some of their favorite songs. Kids singing
So for that past few years I’ve been practicing ashtanga. Flow, flow, breath, breath. There is a cycle and rhythm to the practice. You move. You keep going. You jump around. You breath some more.
But here I am visiting my old Yoga Works crew. And they study Iyengar.
See, in the yoga world, there are three main lineages: Ashtanga, Iyengar, and the yoga of Desikachar. Most our our Western yoga springs from the same teacher (the granddaddy of yoga as we know it, Krishnmacharya). But where ashtanga focuses on movement and breath, the Iyengar tradition focuses on alignment.
Ruthlessly. Meticulously. SLOWLY.
So now I’m not jumping around. I’m laying on the mat and contemplating the slight external rotation of my thigh in the hip socket as I reach my other leg into the air in supta hasta padangustasana. And then I’m holding it there. For a long time. I’m meditating on the percentage of weight in the ball of my foot during my forward bend. I’m finding that extra degree of external rotation in my upper arms in downward facing dog.
It’s slow, it’s sweaty, it’s focused, it’s hot.
The exquisite attention to detail is like a life-sized magnification glass. We’re using the acute sensation of one part of the body to develop focused concentration (or dharana) that helps settle the monkey mind down. Similar to ashtanga, it’s not really about the body (though it sure can feel that way!), but about the mind. The bodily sensations become a lens for the practice and a means of cultivating mindfulness in our lives. After all, if we can focus and breathe in the discomfort of utkatasana (fierce or chair pose), we may have a little more space to be present in oh, say, an argument with our ex about who left the fridge open. And the capacity to focus on the details in our practice makes us more sensitive the the miraculous detail of everyday life.
We tend to think of joy as something that involves big events: weddings, success, births. And while this is true, the sustaining marrow of life is found in the smallest of everyday occurrences. It’s finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. The shape of a flower, the smile of a friend. The play of light on a skyscraper at sunset. These are the small joys that sustain us when the greater flow is not revealed.
The devil is in the details. And through those tiny portals lies the magnificent expanse of the divine.
New York City has chilled out.
People on the street are less hurried, the traffic flows sedately, the line at Zabar’s is leisurely. There is time to nod and smile at fellow customers without feeling that everyone is clawing for the front of the line. Even on the subway, a civilized distance is observed between the pressing bodies. New York has become freakin’ mellow.
Or maybe not.
The last time I lived in the city, I had a mission, an agenda, a dream. Higher than high ambitions that were not to be thwarted. The city was to be gotten through, gotten over, conquered, and tamed. (Oh, how the gods must have laughed!) Every moment was a rush to the next appointment, every transition too slow for what I needed to get done.
But upon my return to teach a yoga intensive this June, everything looks a lot less harried. My first thought was, wow, there must be fewer people here! Did the population decline? Have that many people lost their jobs?
Um, no.
The reason for the change is laughably obvious. New York hasn’t chilled out, honey, it’s ME. Three years in the Pacific Northwest have slowed me down enough to actually see other people on the street, take my time standing in line, and feel positively mellow in my hyper-kinetic homeland. (That, and the fact that a visit to Delhi makes New York City look like an elderly, sleepy monarch.)
I took an Iyengar class today with Carrie Owerko, where she spoke about how we see the world through the filter of our mindset. When we take a moment to acknowledge where we are – rather than immediately reacting – we have a better shot at practicing direct perception of the present moment. In every situation from “class was sooo hard today” to “my partner is being completely unreasonable,” we can first ask ourselves: where am I coming from? What is my state of mind? What are the vrittis, or thought patterns, that are fogging up my perception?
While my New York state of mind has been tempered with some West coast chill, I still find myself starting to hurry in the street. Looking down and not up and walking too quickly to enjoy the sites that I’m passing. Getting irritated waiting at the deli. When I notice this happening, now I can take a moment to reset. I wipe some of the fog off the mirror and think of the Pacific Northwest. And smile at person next to me in line.
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