Fear

Changing up my font today, folks. Feeling a little adventurous.:) Taught a heated vinyasa class this weekend. I was a little nervous beforehand because although I really enjoy vinyasa and teaching in general, the addition of external heat has, in the past, made me feel both nauseous and claustrophobic. Not to mention that I sweat like a man. And when I am in intense heat or in the midst of an intense workout I tend to smell really ripe no matter what supposedly extra strength deodorant I coat myself with. It's not feminine or pretty.

So I was feeling a bit self- conscious about the whole event but excited too. I like to practice vinyasa and it is a much different teaching experience than the hatha classes I usually lead. For one thing, it is more verbal and less demonstrative (or at least it has been when I have taught flow in the past, but more on that in a minute). Secondly, it is an entirely different style of yoga than hatha. Postures are practiced in different ways. While good form is always encouraged, the precise alignment and slow discovery of poses one can enjoy in hatha is not really present in a flowing form of yoga.

But it is good to challenge oneself as a practitioner and a teacher and to be outside of one's comfort zone for the purpose of growth. Even if that means perspiring like a not-so-fresh mountain spring and having to deal with the inner anxiety that has you wondering if you sweat this way because a) you just do or b) you are soo toxic its frightening.

So I was excited about the class and had a pretty cool playlist ready to go. Having been back at the studio this whole lean summer, I know that the classes have not been exactly full. But I was holding out hope for a vinyasa class because flow classes tend to be very popular. I was surprised when the "class" turned out to be two very nice young women.

Small classes happen all the time. I have learned to be a good instructor to small (in some cases, very small) hatha classes. But flow classes, in my opinion, depend to certain degree on the energy built by the people in the room. All yoga classes do I suppose to a certain degree, but flow yoga is so physically demanding I think that practitioners need to call on the energy they draw from one another to maintain the energy in their practice.

Once I got into my teaching space and ignored the mostly empty room and focused on the people who were there, the class went more or less well. Where one would usually provide almost all verbal instruction and physical assists when necessary in this type of class, I found myself flowing along with the students from time time both to demonstrate and to build momentum in the room.

When it was over, I was a little disappointed that my cool playlist had gone mostly ignored and the energy (and students) I had envisioned in my head weren't there in reality. Then I felt ashamed of myself as a teacher for letting my ego and my own selfish desires be in the way of why I was supposed to be there in the first place. However, as a human being on planet earth and a person who needs to make a living like everyone else, I know I need to develop better sales skills.

I need to learn how to "sell" my classes without making myself or yoga sound like the latest "must have" gadget of meaninglessness. I deeply wish the economy was in a better place and that jobs were plentiful and that people were coming to yoga class by the busload. But I know even if that were the case they would not necessarily be coming to my yoga class. I still need to develop those very important self promotion skills.

I think that is the lesson I will choose to work with here. I managed to get over my aversion to heated practice and actually found some peace in it. I managed to cope with my self- consciousness about being a profusely sweaty individual and teach competently anyway. In spirit, I think anyone who loves teaching would gladly do it for free. In practice, I think there must be a level of value attached to what you offer.

In our world, in our culture, unless there is a value (i.e. a dollar sign) attached to what you do, people are skeptical of the quality of what you are offering them. Also, there comes a time you have to ask yourself; if you are afraid to promote your work, of telling others about the quality work you do, is it really because you are humble or shy or is it simply because you are more comfortable hiding in your fear? I guess I will have to find out.

Opportunity

I have started teaching yoga again after a year long hiatus. I have missed it so for several reasons and wish I had never stopped. The most important one is simple; I love that "ahh" look people often get at the end of a class. I feel good when other people feel good and most people feel good after a yoga class. The second reason, a far less lofty and yogic reason, is that it takes so much time to build classes, to gain any kind of following.

When you leave teaching, no matter how good your reasons for doing so might have been, nobody is hanging around waiting for you to come back. You are just one of thousands of instructors in the world looking to ply their trade. You might be a good instructor but it makes no difference if you are not paying your dues, so to speak, every day, every week, even during the lean times, the lean seasons (think summer vacations). You have to be committed, you have to stay committed even through all your myriad other life commitments (day jobs, family stuff, grad school, etc...).

Like everything else in life, I can extract a lesson (or two) for myself from this. I understand commitment better now even though I think I did then too. I just didn't think I could stretch myself in the multitude of ways life required of me at the time (yes, pun intended). If there was a way to do things differently I would have chosen to stay committed to my teaching. I feel more balanced mentally and spiritually when I am connected to others who value yoga practice the way I do. All that good yogic energy helps sustain me. So this time, if the universe smiles on me, I will trudge along and pay my dues. I will be committed and have an open heart and mind about it and be grateful to have the opportunity to start again.

Vigorous

I went to a sweaty yoga class the other day. More formally known as heated vinyasa flow (or some essence or variation of those words). I go periodically; once a month, more if I am able. I have for a while now and I finally admitted to myself this past weekend that I don't love it.

I love flowing, mind you. I love moving through a series of postures. I love the sensation of my body warming to the movements, the way my muscles and joints begin cold and stiff and finish open and pliant. Flowing makes me feel awake and stimulated and focused. But flowing at my own pace, to the heat created by my own inner fire. Not the fire created by an impossibly overheated room, crammed in like a sardine with 20 or 30 or so other practictioners who, it would appear, really love slicking around in a bath of their own sweat and getting a bit delirious from dehydration.

So why do I keep going? I might have finally admitted the truth of my lovelessness but it doesn't mean I haven't known it in my heart all along. (And I really do drink plenty of water, before, during and after). Still, I am totally wrecked for the rest of the day. I don't feel rejuvenated and calm like I do after my own daily practice. I feel like crap. I am shaky and stinky and my muscles quiver and all I want to do is lie down.

After a tad of introspection, it is my current belief that I keep going because I (must be) a bit of a masochist and am driven by a little too much ego. Everytime I think I am learning to put those qualities aside (is masochism a quality?), I then find that competitive part of my personality that refuses to be ignored. The part that was never an accomplished athlete, dancer or gymnast but must have really wanted to be.

That's the chick that keeps going to sweaty yoga, who gets an ego feeding thrill out of being strong and flexible and possessed of focus and stamina. The woman who stubbornly (and it could be argued, stupidly) insists on practicing headstand when her feet (towel to wipe with is, by this time, hopelessly drenched), mat (ick) and the floor (so ick) are so slick she can barely walk her toes in close enough to properly raise up into said posture.

Just in case there is a sweaty yoga lover out there who stumbles across this and gets this far into it, please don't be offended. I love yoga in all its forms. Its just that sweaty yoga is well, sweaty. And I have actually experienced severe dehydration (more than once) totally unintentionally and it finally seems insanely foolish to keep seeking out what was an awful experience again and again, on purpose.

And yet, that is what I am doing. Knowing myself, I probably still will again, even after confessing here that I am drawn to sweaty yoga for all the wrong reasons and it causes me suffering. So there must (there simply must) be something redeeming about the practice, even beyond the ego feeding and strength building aspects of it. Some part of my energic layer must reap a twisted morsel of satisfaction from it or I would not ever go back to it. Right?

I really don't know. Surely, there are a million heated flow devotees and teachers out there all better acquainted with the positives I am struggling to find. Other than the obvious muscle softening, joint relaxing ones. I think I am really just bummed out that my body is rejecting this form of practice. I admire and yes, envy the slew of folks out there who claim to feel good after such a practice, who feel as though their life has changed in a beneficial way because of it.

Maybe I am doing this kind of yoga all wrong. Maybe I don't use my ujjayi breath correctly or I am just too toxic of an individual and that is why I sweat myself to sickness. Or, maybe there is a lesson here for me in this particular struggle. Letting go? Loving myself enough to accept where I am and where it may be no good for me to go? Honoring the body and it's true needs rather than pushing it to an extreme it cannot appreciate and always rebels against?

Makes you realize we're all a little crazy when you think about how often we cause ourselves pain trying to "prove" something about ourselves in our own little worlds. Exactly who are we trying so hard to impress or make notice us? Truth be told, even in a sweat slicked, overcrowded yoga room, you really are all by yourself. Nobody's watching. Nobody, except hopefully the instructor, is paying attention to the quality of your poses or your breath. Everybody else is there for their own self, just as they should be.

That's kind of the case in real life too, more often than not. We want others to think good things of us, to like us, to accept us, to validate our existence. We want to be thought of as valuable and relevant. We often want to be what we think we should be, rarely what we are. I think the next time I feel compelled to go sweat it out in a heated yoga class I should give a moment's thought to what I think I need to punish myself for. What is it in me I think is so lacking that I need to atone for it through what my body clearly regards as torture? Maybe next time I'll stop in my tracks and high tail it for the nearest pedicure...

Random thoughts

I need my practice more than ever right now and seemingly because of that need, I haven't done my usual practice in 3 days. No wonder I feel so yucky. Been working out like mad, to take advantage of the available equipment and to distract myself. From all my material worries. From all my mental ones...But working out, while certainly a fine and respectable activity, does not provide me with that sense of inner well being that practicing does. My body feels worked, my brain is properly stimulated to give my mood a lift, but I don't feel zingy the way I do after a really good yoga class. I need to go to class as much as I need to teach it. Maybe because I need to teach it I really need to go to class. You never know enough about anything. And the more you think you know, the less you truly understand.

Plus, someday I'd like to be able to do at least a few really advanced poses just for the sake of being able to do them. It might not be spiritual, my desire here, but it would just be fun. And yoga is fun. It is joyous. It is freeing. It is challenging to learn difficult poses, to train your body to move and think in new ways, but it is an enjoyable journey.

Word to the wise; if you are new to yoga, don't make "Light on Yoga" your first book. Wonderful, wonderful book. But if you have any ego involved in the "performance" of postures, you will be thoroughly discouraged. As you move on, learn more about what yoga really is, the fact that Iyengar can twist himself into a dazzling but intimidating array of postures most of us will probably never get into, will not bother you. You'll be impressed and humbled and hopefully inspired.

New Weight Loss Focused Class

On Sept. 3, 2009 at 5:30 p.m. at Central Mass Yoga Institute (www.centralmassyoga.com) in West Boylston, MA I will begin teaching a beginner level class with an emphasis on practices that promote weight loss.

Yes, yoga in general balances your metabolism and strengthens your muscles. It can be a good cardiovascular workout and as always, it is great for your head. However, people who struggle with their weight, excess pounds that seem to collect abdominally (the most dangerous kind), and their overall self image as pertains to their physique may benefit from a focused class such as this.

We will explore strength building postures, breathing techniques that tone the abdominal muscles and inner organs, restorative postures that promote deep, peaceful rest which is essential to releasing the type of pent up tension that promotes excess cortisol production and results in unhealthy fat that worms its was around and within our vulnerable inner organs.

It will be open anyone, as usual, but it will be taught on the beginner level. People are asked to come as they are to explore the myriad benefits of yoga practice. Learn to deepen your breath, let go of tension, release negative self doubt. Improve your health, your flexibility, and feel your true self blossom as you learn to see the perfect package that is you in a new and healthier light.

Ahimsa

Ahimsa, or the concept of non-harming, is the first entry on the list of yogic principles known as the yamas and niyamas. Otherwise known as yoga "don'ts and do's." There are five of each, ten all together. These principles are addressed in the ancient text that codified the principles of the practice, the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali.

I once heard, from one of my own teachers, I think, that if you can successful live one of these principles, you are successfully living them all. They are all entwined in one another, sort of like the series of complicated connections that make up the human mind; you really can't work one without the other.

I focus a good deal of thought on ahimsa and satya. Satya is the principle of being truthful. Judging by ordinary, day to day standards, I am neither a dangerous harm causer nor merciless liar. Meaning, I never deliberately try to hurt people or lie to them. Unless I think telling the truth will cause harm and in that case I soften it into something kinder and more palatable, molding the truth into a non truth; a lie. All because I want to save someone from suffering, of course. Which should earn me some kind of prize in the ahimsa department, don't you think? Saving people from pain is a noble deed, after all.

Of course, living yoga is just living (albeit more consciously and deliberately and with greater attention than we normally give the monotony of our existence), and there are no material prizes for that. All the rewards are internal. I suppose it kind of goes against the loving self acceptance that is so central to yoga practice to feel like I don't measure up when it comes to abiding these principles I so deeply respect.

I understand the directive of satya that suggests we speak the truth in a pleasant way. It sounds easy enough. But what about the times when you cannot follow the old adage "if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all"? What about those times when you must speak the truth and it isn't pleasant, and no matter how kind your tone of voice, the receiver of your truth is going to suffer? Are the words you must speak causing harm? Or would the harm be far greater if you changed the truth or said nothing at all?

Now, following my wandering thoughts back to ahimsa, I often feel a great deal of guilt because I am not a vegetarian and I call myself a yoga practitioner. I love animals. Dearly. My dog's name is Tom and when I sign cards for the family I include him. It wouldn't bother me if people mistook him for a human. He is my fourth kid. Just a really hairy one. I would starve if my only choice was to slaughter and eat my beloved dog, just as I would starve before I would slaughter and eat another human being.

So, why the mental divide between hairy fourth kids I love and pieces of delicious animal meat already prepared in the butcher section of the grocery store? There really isn't one. I know what I am doing is wrong. Animals are intelligent creatures with their own purpose for living on this planet and who the heck am I to make them my dinner, especially when I know better and actually have other options? I don't live in a cave and depend on animal furs to keep my crotch covered and the kids warm at night.

I am not dependent upon my immediate, wild environment to provide me sustenance. I am dependent upon the processed food conglomerates of America and the myriad individuals and technology that makes keeping up my fatty American diet possible. The fatty American diet my fatty American upbringing has twisted my brain into believing that a meal is incomplete without some version of animal as the main course. I like the taste out of habit. I suspect if I ate real wild animal, caught and prepared by a real hunter in the real wild (have we such a thing anymore?), I would probably think it gross.

My palate has been seduced by the way meat is produced in our beloved nation and it is probably nothing like its forebears. Where would I be without the simple deliciousness of hotdogs on a summer grill? What, eat grilled vegetables and pretend they smell divine and taste delicious? I am a decent faker, but not that good.

None of this in anyway answers the question of why I continue to do something even though I believe it is wrong. I could tell you about my GI issues that make large amounts of veggies a source of physical suffering for me. I could tell you about my low iron issues and how red meat is an ideal source of this element. They are all excuses. The real culprit is my infernal laziness. It is time consuming and not all that interesting to do the research and preparation necessary to make a successful transition to vegetarianism.

The vegetarian meals I have had, unless prepared by a really good cook, were not so swell that I would want to eat that way all the time. Going vegetarian will be a transition not only for me but my family as well. The kids would adapt, in time. The husband might. But more likely he'd just try to sway me back into the meat eating fold with his own brand of reason. And, of course, there would be the delicious aroma of animal meat roasting on the backyard grill to contend with.

He'd tolerate the meals I'd fix and supplement with his own. He'd expect me to still purchase the offending matter and store it in my kitchen. He would pretend to not understand how it is either all one way or the other on this matter. I either eat and prepare animal flesh or I don't. And if I don't, then I don't buy it, store it or bake it either. Like most issues of morality and lifestyle, fence sitting only gives you a sore butt. It is not conducive to living in a way that is authentically representative of you.

The idea behind yogic vegetarianism is that not ingesting matter brought to you through violence keeps you from ingesting the energetically imprinted terror and pain the animal suffered upon it's slaughter. Nothing brought about through fear and suffering can be truly healthful for you. A yogic diet, a true yogic diet is simple, nourishing and satisfying. Food is fuel that helps to power the divine being that is you. It isn't the answer to your problems or the place to hide when the world is cruel. That is what your practice is for.

I suppose this is why ahimsa and satya are so tied together in my thinking. To behave in a harmful way and trying to live truthfully are totally incompatible. You can't acknowledge the truth that your actions cause harm and then do nothing to change your behavior. You are living harmfully and without honesty just in the matter of the food you eat, never mind in the hundred other aspects of your daily existence. I take heart that everything begins with one small step. As I begin the journey to nourish myself harmlessly and truthfully, I have that all the other changes I need to make will come with a little less difficulty.

Figuring It Out

I haven't done my practice yet today and I am out of sorts. Deciding to practice daily (at least for a short while; something is always better than nothing) and then not doing it first thing makes me feel the way I do when I don't exercise; stiff, heavy, out of balance.

Sometimes, I have the luxury of 30 minutes (ocassionally more) to devote to a fairly well rounded asana session. Most days, I've got 15 or 20 minutes tops and I do my best to make the most of them. Even if you can only spare 5 minutes, it is entirely worth it to do a few gentle warm ups, (neck, shoulders) some spinal stretches (mountain rolls, cat/cow), maybe an active pose or two (a balance pose or strength builder), followed by a little time in shavasana or another quiet pose of your choice that helps to bring your thoughts inward.

Even in an abbreviated practice, it is very important to dovote some time to a breathing practice. Alternate nostril breathing is a good, safe choice for beginners and the perfect lead in to meditation. Basic instructions for alternate nostril breathing can be found on any number of yoga websites and in books. Of course, it would help the development of your practice most immensely if you went to a class with a qualified teacher, but I know that is not always possible for every person or pocketbook.

Anyway, after a few minutes of alternate nostril breathing, let your hands settle palm side up, tips of the index fingers and thumbs pressed together, on your knees as you sit in a supported cross legged fashion or on a block in a modified hero's pose with a tall spine and relaxed neck and belly. With eyes softly closed or gaze directed downward, bring your attention to the feel of your breath on your upper lip. Notice it's quality, temperature, rate. Make no effort to change anything about your breath or the moment you are in. Just observe, letting any thoughts that intrude (there will be an endless parade, especially in the beginning) go with every warm exhale. Inhale a sense of peace and stillness. Exhale tension.

Keep with the breath in a gentle, non-forceful way for as many minutes you can spare. Set a timer if necessary (3 minutes? maybe 10?), to keep from anxiously worrying about the numbers on the clock. You might be surprised to find that the more time you spend in practice, the more time you'll want to practice. You might also find that the bliss of those few silent moments spill over into the rest of your life. This is not to say you'll be magically serene or never lose your temper again, but it might happen a little less often. And on the days (there will be some) that you don't "feel" like practicing, practice a little longer. It will be worth it. You'll be calmer, more focused, less out of sorts. Off to practice now.