Category: Lifestyle

“The truth will set you free. ”

We’re all adept at seeing certain truths.  For some of us, it’s easy to accept that we’re pretty, attractive, talented, loved, or successful.  (And sadly, for some of us, it’s easier to accept a truth that we’re unattractive, unsuccessful, unloved, or untalented!)  But these are simply ideas that we’re comfortable with,  stuff that is easy to swallow.  These are the truths that we’ve gotten used to and repeated to ourselves – or had it told to us – many times.

However, the truths that will really set us free are the ones that resist our attention.  They are the shadowy impressions that we turn away from because we’re afraid of change, pain, or hurting someone else.

However, if we have the bravery to take a good look (as terrifying as it can be), we will discover that the truth is never as frightening as we thought.  It’s like when we were kids and we turned on the light in the closet.  Instead of discovering a terrifying demon, we find our laundry basket and some stuffed animals.  When we trust in our truth and accept responsibility for our feelings, we will actually be relieved.  No longer do we have to lie to ourselves about how we feel or think.  Once we embrace our truth, we can become whole and begin to heal.

Sometimes there are painful consequences to the finally embracing our truth.  Relationships or jobs may end.  Friendships may change or priorities shift.  In yoga class, we may realize that we have to radically change our practice.  But frequently, the acknowledgment of truth creates a launching point for change.  When we arrive fully in ourselves and are able to see a situation more clearly, we create the space to take positive action.  Even if we don’t quite like where we’ve landed, we can now take authentic steps to transform our circumstances, rather than paddling around in the dark.

Halloween is the perfect time of year to welcome the shadows into light.  We can get quiet, look inside, and open ourselves to our own personal truth.  What truths have we been hiding in the closet?  Can we risk opening the doors and letting in the light?

Pincha Mayurasa (forearm stand) is a pose that demands truth and patience.  There are no shortcuts.  A challenging inversion and backbend, pincha Mayurasana requires us to get quiet and be present.  By working on the pose at the appropriate level, we can set up the correct pathways to open the pose in the future. If we try to ego-jump to the end point, we will topple or risk injury.

This week, we will use Pincha Mayurasana to teach us to embrace our truths.  Working step-by-step, we unpeel the ego and explore one of the great heart openers.  The journey is not about completing the pose; all we need to do is show up and authentically participate in the process.

Risks:

Like all backbends, the lower back is at risk for collapse.

Component Parts:

Shoulders: (arm flexed at the shoulder, external rotation of arm, forearm flexed at elbow, forearm pronated)

Warm up with poses that use this arm position: Utthita hastasana, Gomukhasana Arms, Forearm Prep (dolphin), Virabhadrasana I, Virabhadrasana III)

Hamstrings: Warm up with Uttanasana, Prasarita Padottanasana, Parvottanasana, Trikonasasna, Parivrtta Trikonasana

Thoracic backbend Warm up by opening upper back while working to lengthen the lower back.  Baby Cobra, Urdhva Mukha Svanasana, Sphinx (nice because it mimics forearms parallel).  Teach the backbend into the upper back only, so to avoid crunching the lumbar.

Core: Plank and forearm plank and abdominal variations.

Legs neutral/Adductors: Work on poses that teach neutral rotation of the legs, like three-legged dog, extended cat/cow, Virabhadrasana III, parvottanasana, lunges.

Possible Sequence (feel free to comment/question):

Child’s pose

Cat/cow, add leg extension (check that leg is neutral in hip)

Forearm cat, raise back leg (lengthen lower back, reach sternum forward, leg neutral)

Forearm plank

Plank pulses (inhale: lift sides of waist up, exhale: back to forearm plank)

Surya C with lunges (first time low lunge, second time open twist, third time high lunge, 4th time high lunge with twist) Vary the backbends: low back, sphinx, cobra/UMS

Trikonasana, working to lengthen sides of waist

Prasarita Padottanasana with twist, opening upper back

Utkatasana with block between thighs and between hands

Vira I with gomukhasana arms

Garudasana (eagle) with Gomukhasana arms into Virabhadrasana III, release arms, standing split, Uttanasana, Tadasana (R/L)

Vinyasa to Parivrtta Parsvakonasana – straighten front leg to long Parsvottanasana

Parivrtta Trikonasana

To wall:  Urdhva Mukha Svanasana at wall (toes on floor, heels up wall, body on floor, hands under elbows. Legs straight and in line with hips. Lift chest forward and up to UMS. Focus on upper back, press heels into wall.)

Virabhadrasana III at wall (hands on wall, hip height)

-add with sphinx arms, strap above elbow

Pincha Mayurasana prep with strap and block

Pincha Mayurasana

Child’s pose

Upavista Konasana

Baddha Konasana

Janu Sirsasana

Ardha Mastyendrasana

Pascimottanasana

Savasana

My friend and Circle of Soul sister Chanda Rule sent me this outstanding chant as a little reminder to keep opening to grace.  Keep on, keepin’ on, even when you feel like closing off.  Another sister of mine once said that we were always in either a state of expansion or of contraction.  Listen to Chanda’s voice and feel yourself get a little brighter, a little bolder, a little bigger.  For more of Chanda, check out her site and new album.  She is divine.  Click just to hear her website music, it will make your day just a bit happier.

Here’s another duet with Chrissy Carter, recorded on my trip to New York City in June. Shri Krishna Govinda with Chrissy Carter. Check out Chrissy’s site.

Here are my nieces (and well, my sis, my mom and I), singing from Peter Pan. Because hey, I think we all feel like this sometimes. I Won’t Grow Up with the nieces

Here are my two nieces (4-years-old and 5-years-old) singing some of their favorite songs. Kids singing

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.

A couple weeks ago, I put my car into storage and started riding my bike.  Now, I am not what you’d call a good bike rider.  My ass hurts, my thighs ache, and grease somehow gets smeared all over my calves.    Small children on tricycles pass me on the street.

While my body may be used to yoga, riding a bike challenges me in a completely different way.  Muscles get tightened rather than lengthened; cardio work is a main component rather than a by-product. And although riding a bike is undoubtedly good for me, it is very humbling and hard.

As I was riding to work last week, however, I noticed a small change. It had become just the slightest bit easier.

I noticed this because I was actually able to think about something other than my screaming legs.
But I hadn’t become suddenly stronger; I was just becoming accustomed to the pain.  Through practice, I was slowly getting used to this new kind of stress.  In that moment, I had a mini-revelation: if it took practice for me to get used to physical discomfort, why should mental discomfort be any different?

As obvious as the connection is, riding my bike reminded me that we are always going to have to move through discomfort when trying something new.  We don’t have the strength when we start. It’s something that we have to practice in order to get.

Exercising new muscles – whether they’re physical or psychological – requires patience, compassion, and diligence.  So don’t be hard on yourself if your thighs are burning (literally or metaphorically). Stay with it. As Pattabhi Jois says, “Practice, practice, and all is coming.”

A necessary side note: After I wrote this blog, I found this video clip of Shri K Pattabhi Jois.  He’s the original purveyor of “Just Do It.” He passed from this world on May 18th, 2009 and has left the world the incredibly legacy of Ashtanga Yoga. Thank you, Guruji. You are missed.

Last week, I took a roadtrip with my boyfriend. He struggles with anxiety and is working towards flying on planes. In the meantime, we drive. He hasn’t been to Los Angeles for several years, so this was a pretty significant adventure.  The prospect of leaving terra firma and adventuring into the wilds of the United States held the potential for serious discomfort.

We had our moments, of course. All evolution requires some growing pains. There were times with then anxiety would come on, and he would have a choice: open to possibility (that he would live through this moment, that he could survive distress) or close down in fear.

Although his boundaries are far more tangible than most of ours, we all have possibilities that we’ve shut off in order to stay comfortable. We all have places we don’t go, because we “don’t do that,” or we “can’t do that.” Some of us refuse to sing in public (or even sadder, in the privacy of our own home) because we’ve come to think we can’t. Some of us unknowingly put limitations on our ideas of personal success and happiness. We may shy away from something that we’d actually like to do because we are pre-supposing that we won’t be able to do it.

It’s almost easier for my boyfriend. He can see the border between Canada and the United States and determine to step over it. Some of us have been living with our self-imposed limitations for so long that we no longer even recognize that they’re there.

In our practice, we can use our discomfort as a stepping stone to possibility. When we’re in the throes of a pose (say, a strength-challenging hip opener like Warrior II), we can take the space to respond to the discomfort rather than shy away from it. When our thighs start burning and the mind jumps in, “abort, abort!”, we can instead explore the possibility of remaining in the unknown. The inhalation becomes a doorway to greater space and literally creates more space in the body. By engaging in the breath and staying present, we can actually use our anxiety in order to open to possibility.

And then, take this ability to create possibility from your fear into the rest of your life. What neglected corners could use a little loving sunshine?

I had a crazy inspiration for this song. But who wouldn’t expect The Great Removal of Obstacles to have a great sense of humor? I had way too much fun with this one. Ganesha

This is one of my father’s favorite song. During one of my visits home, I corralled him into the bathroom and made him sing it with me for posterity. My father was the one who taught me how to harmonize (or at least, how to try!) when I was little. Amazing Grace