Not Yet Done...!

I'm sure you have all given up.

I would have, by now.

I almost did...

But, I've decided, no! I'm going to give it another go! I am NOT going to be hushed by my own busy-ness or anything else!

It's an interesting thing actually...the meshing of this practice with my life, and maybe the last several weeks have been an illustration of the front burner/back burner switcharoo that must naturally take place as my acting career ebbs and flows. Lately there has been a lot of flowing, for which I am truly grateful, but I won't pretend that my yoga practice hasn't suffered. My steady five classes/week has hovered around 3 on my busiest weeks, and I can FEEL the difference. My legs and arms get cranky for movement, and I, too, get cranky. I want to chide myself for being so dependent on a practice to feel at home in my body (and in my life, oftentimes) but then I remember that I ought to just shut up and be grateful. How did I ever get along before??

I am settling in to the speed of my schedule now and am making a larger effort to get my ass to class and am nearly back to my previous schedule, and am no worse for the wear, thankfully. In fact, I feel like some small gap has been closed and am more intimately connected to the asana than ever before. I'm convinced that part of this is due to my newly found attentiveness to my core throughout the practice. There is such a lot of fire and dynamism down there!

Oh, Shanti Town, I have so much to catch you up on! The Yoga Conference at the Sheraton! My ensuing obsession with Seane Corn. (Seriously. I love her.)! Halloween Yoga! My new favorite teacher at the studio! More Edward stories! There is so, so much...

But, in time. In time.

For now, I would just like to say...I'm sorry to have been away so long. I can't promise it won't happen again, but my hope is to always return, no matter the absence...

Hitting vasisthasana...

(a quick shout-out to the flicker page I keep stealing these awesome Mr. Pretzel photos from.... So awesome.)

I'm having a bit of a Mary Dana love-fest at the moment, as she keeps blowing my mind with her Sutra-liciousness and kick-ass sequencing. I wish she had a website to which I would direct everyone...I'll just say you can find her at Laughing Lotus where she will teach classes you can sing to...

Okay, so, as I've said previously here in Shanti-Town, I clean mornings at the yoga studio once a week, and they can often be a little difficult for my brain. Meaning: I tend to go on little mental journeys best left un-taken. And always after I am done cleaning I reward myself with an early morning class, which can, depending on how tight a ball I've managed to wind myself into while scrubbing toilets, be much needed and sometimes as mind-heavy as the rest of the morning. Most often I take the AM classes with the lovely Mary Dana, who spares no amount of Navasana or Utkatasana or crazy arm-balancey-ness, despite the early AM hours. For which I love her (though my body sometimes does not).

Yesterday morning, MD was in fine form, and she started the class by talking about struggle. She talked about embracing struggle, about making friends with struggle and using it to open you instead of moving away from it. Yes, fine. Good. Heard it. Know it's right. Have no idea how to do it. At least, not with the really difficult stuff. Every time I'm having a hard time and I tell myself I have to "embrace" my struggle, I just end up digging my hands into it and rubbing it all over my face. Which is not, I don't think, the same thing.

So, as I'm sitting there with my eyes closed, dutifully moving into child's pose and on to all-fours, she says to the class, "So right now, maybe your struggle is to overcome fatigue. So, see what you can do with that. See if you can open up to that. Breathe into that."

And I think, "huh." I hadn't thought of that--that my body is fatigued in these early morning classes. I felt around. It is. Of course it is. And it suddenly made sense to me why I struggle more with worry and round-and-round thoughts in these AM classes--maybe my body IS tired and in my effort to avoid that feeling of fatigue I am retreating into my mind. Alright, I thought, I'll work with this. My struggle is to overcome fatigue. I am going to embrace that struggle.

First thing, I started to tune in to the sensations of fatigue--the muddiness in my joints, the heavy feeling in my calves and arms, the weight and gracelessness of my limbs and back. I started to examine all the machinations of that feeling, and to really let the poses work those areas. Fatigue was my point of focus and every pose was about speaking to, communicating with and ultimately relieving that feeling of fatigue. Two things happened because of this newly focused effort:

1. My mind quieted.

2. I had an awesome practice.

Because I had such a specific and body-oriented point of focus, the class became very personal and I felt myself really working moment-t0-moment within it. I found that my fatigue dissipated very quickly and a deep connection to the workings of my body during the practice took it's place. And because of that, I finally stuck a real Vasisthasana (toe in hand people, toe in hand!) in a way that I never, ever have.

This pose has always proved problematic for me, as I have tight hamstrings and even tighter groins. It has taken a long time for me to find truly straight legs in a lot of poses that require it and I am still just inching my way towards Hanuman and Wide Angle Seated Forward Bend. So most often when I have tried for the toe-in-hand variation of Side Plank (Vasisthasana), I have been woefully contorted, my leg bent and my spine all out of alignment. But because I was moving moment to moment in this practice, when we moved into Vasisthasana I found that my leg (and I) just opened up right into it. I found for the first time the quality of big exuberant opening in the pose. Like flying.

And as we wrapped up class, oh so fatigue-free, I felt like I finally understood a little better what it means to embrace one's struggle. It means, I think, not to think and think and think on struggle. Not to grudgingly tell myself that I'm going to play nice and be friends with struggle. Not to pretend that struggle isn't there and paste a smile on my face (while I'm busy struggling all the same) and not to cave in the face of struggle--like, say, deciding I'm fatigued and there's nothing I can do about it so I'll just suffer through my class--but it is to acknowledge that there IS struggle, and then to engage in a conscious effort to RELIEVE the struggle. Not to add to it by judging or badmouthing it, but to gently mediate and resolve. I am fatigued, I am struggling with fatigue--I am pulling away from my body and into my mind--how can I work with this? How can I USE what I am doing/thinking/feeling, to address and relieve this fatigue?

And contained within this approach is an acknowledgment and HONORING of the struggle, because I'm not saying oh screw you, fatigue! You're always fatigued! Stop being so fatigued! And I'm not saying, poor little fatigued me. I'll never feel awake again. My muscles have failed me and I'm less of a person because of it. No, I'm saying--okay, there's a struggle happening here. I can not alter the fact of fatigue, but I can try to work with it. To USE it to open and feel and move forward.

I have heard again and again, in so many different forms and forums, that EVERYTHING is an opportunity. That, if you can change your perspective, all of those things in your life which cause you pain or which you struggle with can be the exact thing that leads you to greater opening, greater peace, and I really believe that's true. I am really bad at DOING it, but I really believe it's true. Joseph Campbell talks about how the things that threaten us in our lives are dragons, and that so often we run away when we see the dragon, but what we don't know is that the dragon is guarding the entrance to a cave, and in that cave is all our treasure.

1 struggle down, 6,000,000,000 to go.

Love to you all,

-YogaLia

Letting Be and Letting Go...

The other day before class Edward (who I love and adore and would follow anywhere to be taught yoga by!) asked us to share our own personal "sutras"--(as September was Sutra Month at the Lotus)--little anecdotes or sayings which we had found inspiring or helpful recently. Edward's was:

"If you're in control, you're probably not going fast enough" - Mario Andretti

Some others:

"Don't rely on miracles, expect them."

"No matter how it looks, everything is going well for me."

"Whatever it is, I'll take it."

The one that I offered up had actually been said by Favorite Teacher Mary Dana a few days prior. She was in the room when I called it out. It was: "In order to let something go, you first have to let it be."

Let me repeat that...

"In order to let something GO, you first have to let it BE."

Now, I don't know if this will resonate for y'all, but it knocked my little socks off. The number of things on my list of things which I must "let go" of, including (laugh if you will) the incessant prescription for how and why to let things go, is immense. And does not shorten easily, if you know what I mean. Perhaps this is because balling my fists together and screwing up my face and demanding that my brain LET GO is not the most efficient way in which to mentally houseclean.

Sometimes I think that my brain is one of those dogs that really only picks up its toys when there is the possibility of a tug-a-war. There's me, on one end of a chewed up old dog toy (much used, much much used) all covered in slobber, pulling like mad...and on the other is my dog-mind, loving nothing so much as the battle. Who will pull the hardest? Who will pull the longest? Who will pull whom across the floor? Who will bare their teeth first to scare the other into submission? It's a lose-lose situation of course, both of us just tired and slobbery by the end. And me feeling like an idiot for having expended so much energy on a game that easily could have been avoided. Because the thing I always remember (too late) is that if I had just put the toy down in the first place...if I had just let the dog (mind) have it, to do with what it will...soon it would have grown tired and bored of the poor decimated thing and it would have abandoned it on the floor with all its other chew toys.

So I suppose another sutra could be: "No matter how many times I say "LET GO!", it's actually my job to put down the chew toy." Or something like that.

This morning I ran into Favorite Teacher Mary Dana before class and she called out to me, "Lia! How's the letting be going?" I told her it was going alright, but that I found that I was too often instead demanding of myself that I let things go.

To which she replied, "Oh yeah, that's the best way to hang on to something forever."

To Think On...

Just got finished reading an interview with John Records, who heads up an organization called Comittee on the Shelterless, or COTS. It's an organization that provides shelter and rehabilitation services for the homeless (including yoga, meditation and energy work) in Petaluma, California, and the following has stuck with me all morning:

"I bring my own shortcomings and challenges to this work, some of which are rooted in my early life and losses. But to the extent that I've offered my being, my hands, my body, and my mind in service, that largely displaces fretful feelings. Last week I was working with a guy who's an abuse survivor and is seriously ill. He was about to undergo another round of medical treatment, and I said to him, "I don't know how long you're going to live, but I know you're going to be OK." That perspective echoes through all of this: we're all going to be OK.

In the book How Can I Help? Ram Dass talks about looking at someone who's dying from AIDS and thinking, This person is doing interesting work. That's true for everyone: were all doing the work of our lives. Homeless people are doing their work. COTS staff are doing their work. I'm doing my work. We're all works in progress, learning the hard way how to be more comfortable and happy, on a planet for slow learners."

-John Records, from an interview in The Sun.

Springing and Pulling

Had my very first ever pilates session with Kyra Miller at Spring and Pulley last night in Brooklyn. I have wanted to try Pilates for quite awhile now, particularly as my yoga practice has advanced and I have noticed a distinct lack of strength in my core as compared to other places. I am blessed with a naturally athletic body, one that builds muscle quickly, but the strength of my arms and legs in particular allows me to "cheat" in certain asanas by over-compensating with quads and biceps when I should be working on the articulation of smaller interior muscles. But most of all, my desire to stick a handstand and a forearm stand without the aid of the wall or a spotter has led me on a quest to tighten my core.

My brother (the martial artist/personal trainer extraordinare) gave me this crazy core bubble thing, which is essentially an inflated oval that you can stand/sit/balance/do crunches and push-ups on and which forces you to engage your core to stop the wobbling of the bubble beneath you. It's pretty cool, but I've not been super motivated to use it. Instead I just pull it out of one storage spot, remind myself I ought to be using it, and move it to another.

Pilates, however, I had a feeling might be more up my alley.

Kyra is an actress and went to the same college that I did (she for grad school, I for undergrad) and has recently opened up Spring and Pulley after teaching at other places for the last many years. It's a pretty dreamy set-up. The walls are a cool calming green and faces a quiet backyard in Carroll Gardens so it feels like a real respite from the city. I had the whole place to myself and she walked me through some basic mat exercises, on "the convertible" and then moved me up to the spring whatchamahoos on the fancy spring and pulley machine. ("the reformer"?) Heavenly. Totally heavenly. One, I am a sucker for anything that lets me stick my feet in rubber bands and move myself back and forth on a rolley-board. That is like...there's nothin' better! (These are all highly technical terms, mind you), but the best was the detailed discussions of alignment and musculature that went along with all the exercises. Kyra is supremely kind and encouraging and also very sensitive to the machinations of one's body. The kind of alignment instructions she gave me were so tiny and so precise, that each one pulled me deeper and deeper into the workings of my subtle body as I tried to release here and engage there.

Note: looking at Kyra makes a person want to do pilates. All the time. She has a gorgeous pilates bod, strong and supple and wide-open, so I was completely game for whatever she asked me to do. If I can have abs like hers...

Anyhow, the most thrilling part came at the very beginning and very end of our session when Kyra had me stand in front of a mirror and she very gently encouraged my body into a more natural standing alignment. As she put her hands on my back I felt my ever-jutting front ribs relax down, my tailbown scoop a bit under and my entire torso move forward until it clicked into what I can only assume was it's proper alignment and a shiver of ecstasy (no joke) fluttered across my chest and down my body. It was if all my musculature was calling out, THAT'S IT! RIGHT THERE! I felt as wide-open and relaxed and solid as I ever have standing on my two feet, and also felt exposed and vulnerable and as if I was leaning imperceptibly forward (this, from years of pulling back, sticking out my ribs and curling my pelvis under, I assume). It felt so good all I wanted to do was stand there, so that none of my muscles would ever forget what it felt like.

The discovery of this dichotomy (ribs out, shoulders back, pelvis under) at the beginning of our session helped us both focus on encouraging my body to relax and open during the work so that I could redirect my focus to my deep down abdominal muscles and urge them to pick up some of the slack. Again and again the key to finding my alignment in an exercise came when I remembered to relax and open my back ribs, letting the whole of my rib cage settle more naturally into my body. Each time I did this, breathe flooded my body.

So many correlations began to unfold for me--the feeling I have sometimes of never being able to really let a breath go, as if I am just endlessly inhaling, until I have to let it all out of me in a big shuddering sigh, the feeling I have often of emotions getting "stuck" in my upper chest and ribs, and a nagging compressed feeling in the muscles of my back around my rib cage and shoulders.

Kyra even showed me a couple small adjustments to make in my down-dog in order to continue to encourage a truly long and open spine, and today in yoga class I could not wait to test it all out. Gently, gently throughout class I brought my attention to my spine and the backs of my ribs and asked that area to open and relax, and as I did, my front ribs settled in, my spine extended, and breath flooded through my body. Again and again--in standing poses, in sitting poses, in twists--as my pelvis and ribs and head lined up in a more organic way, I could actually feel the line of energy extend from my sacrum to the crown of my head. Best of all, I felt truly IN my body, not jamming my chest out to show how "open" my heart is, but soft and strong and long in my spine.

Yoga Practice, meet your new friend...Pilates.

Thank you, Kyra!

Effort.

While speaking to a dear friend about a certain tendency I have (both in life and in art) to get caught up in my own feelings and fears about "how well I am doing", she offered me the following analogy: (oh wise woman that she is)...if I were sitting here with you, she said, and all I was thinking about was how best to advise you, what the right thing to say was, what the best way to say it was, if I was helping you enough or in the right way...I wouldn't have all the ideas and images and feelings that I am having now. And I wouldn't be here with you.

Favorite teacher Bryn quoted Osho the other day regarding effort...in a nutshell: Effort might get you to New Delhi, but it won't get you to the infinite.

And yesterday in class, a newer teacher, one whom I never taken from before, speaking on ahimsa (non-violence): make a vow to stop harming yourself, she said, and take all of that energy that you have been using every day to criticize and berate, and use it to do all those things you want to do, but beat yourself up for not having done already.

May we all give up just a little bit of effort today.

That's my wish for you.

Namaste,
YogaLia

Mind vs. Body

I can not think my way into presence...



I can not think my way into presence...



I can not think my way into presence...


(but man oh man I'm gonna try)

Back to Basics

Showed up to the studio on Saturday all ready to take a pre-rehearsal class and found out that I had inadvertently shown up for a Basics class! Heaven forbid!

I sort of stood in front of the sign-in sheet and stared at it, my ego railing against the idea of taking a, gasp, beginner's class (how will anyone KNOW how advanced I really am?!) but unable to justify taking off my yoga pants and going outside to kill time for two hours before rehearsal, yoga-free, when, after all, here I was, dressed and ready to go...and it was a class, after all...

So, I buttoned up my pride and found a place in the room, determined to be in the class with humility (and not a hoity-toity "i'm too good for this beginner stuff" attitude), which was not as easy as it might seem. In fact, I felt myself torn between two poles throughout the class: 1. not wanting to SEEM arrogant by modifying too many poses into their more difficult form, or by moving too quickly or being too much of a show-off, lest anyone should feel shown-up or slighted, and 2. very much WANTING to show-off and prove myself as better or more capable.

Does this sound like a familiar struggle to anyone? I mean, jesus christ, that is perhaps the most succint description of my entire LIFE's struggle: on the one hand not wanting to be too big, in order to not hurt any feelings or flare the insecurities of others, and on the other hand, wanting nothing but to prove to everyone how much better and more talented I am than everyone else, motivated of course by small feelings on my part. (God, I hope this sounds familiar to someone, or else it's just a really embarrassing admission...)

In the course of this small battle with the two poles of my ego I realized the following things:

1. That I am not perfect. Shocker. And that in fact many of the poses which I pride myself on my rock-solid ability with are perhaps lacking in some foundation principles. Hence the wobbling.

2. That sometimes going slowly is actually much more difficult (and more worthwhile) than speeding through.

3. That humbling experiences are good for a person. Namely, me.

4. That I have come a long way, but...

5. That it is important, once a person has come a long way, for that person (me) to remember that there was a point at which that person (me) began, a point at which some of the things that that person can do really well and with a lot of ease now, did not come so easily. In fact, there was a point at which there were many things that person (me) couldn't do at all, and so that person should not pretend that she is any better than those people who can't do those things that she can do. Because that would be really ass-holey.

6. Going back to basics once in awhile, can only be a good thing.

Review: Om Yoga Center

So, here's how this will work: every so often I will take my little yoga butt to another yoga studio in the city, attend one of their classes, and give you the low-down on the place, from soup to nuts. Or rather, from "Om" to "Shanti". This week we begin with Om Yoga Center...an uber-popular NYC yoga spot.

Atmosphere:
I'm sorry, but if I had a little "star" system, Om would rate preeeetty low on the ol' atmosphere scale. For one thing, you walk in and it is deathly quiet and deserted (or at least it was at 3:30 in the afternoon), and dim, dim, dim. The dude and dudette at the front desk were stone-faced...I had to ask the guy who signed me in to please tell me where everything was. (Which wasn't even all that helpful as their studio is layed out like a maze, and he rattled off the directions so quickly I just had to pray for signs...).

The studio itself is quite large, with lots of winding hallways and rooms with cutesy names (every yoga studio in the world is guilty of this...oh, that will be taking place in the sky room...you'll be having class in the love room...just leave your mind right outside the earth wind and fire room...) and the dressing rooms are practically palatial compared to the Lotus. This was actually really nice, as I'm so used to bumping elbows (and all kinds of other things) with my fellow dressers while shimmying in and out of my sometimes-sweaty yoga togs.

After getting dressed I lined up with my fellow classmates outside the earth room (sigh) where we would be taking class. Again with the silence! No talking, no laughing, no groovy chant-y music playing...we all just kind of jammed ourselves against the wall and pretended we were alone. Other signs of chilliness: a full-size model of a skeleton staring at me from down the hall. (I mean, I get why it's there, but really...necessary?), and a large-size note next to the perfectly organized rolled-up mats declaring over and over that if you are NOT a member or a teacher you are NOT to touch these mats. Mats for you (oh, non-member peon) are hanging up in the studios! (Okay, now I'm just being snarky. I promised myself I would keep an open mind, but the vibe was really killing my I'm-about-to-go-to-class buzz.)

Class: (Intermediate/Advanced, One hour and 40 minutes)
Finally, the doors opened and we were allowed in to the studio (also huge), and all beige, which I was not super fond of...though the light was nice and because of the monochramatic thing going on it felt kind of ethereal, which I like...and stocked to the brim with mats and props. I found what I thought would be a nice hidden spot, one row from the back, and set myself up.

Note: I hate being the new girl, and I hate even more being the new girl and feeling like I have to "relax" or "warm up" on my mat before class. It makes me supa self-conscious. So...picture that.

My teacher today was to be...let's call him "F"...the straightest straight man I have ever taken a yoga class from. Perhaps even a trace of a New York accent? F. wandered in with coffee cup in hand to our class (all women, mind you) and wandered from student to student, chit-chatting and making them giggle before calling things to order. I was hoping that he would not come over to me to have one of those "are you new?" conversations that teachers feel obligated to have when they see a new student in class, as they are oftentimes embarrassing, and also make me feel like I'm wearing a "new girl" tattoo emblazoned on my forehead (but also I was kind of hoping that he would. No, not for the reason you think! But, because it's nice to feel that the teacher is looking out for you when you are new.)

He didn't.

Class began and I quickly realized that I had not chosen my spot as wisely as I had imagined. Turns out, at Om (or at least in this class), they orient the front of the room toward the middle, meaning, there are two rows of mats on each side, all facing in toward the center. Meaning, you are staring at the people across from you while you practice.

Boo! Double boo! Me no likey. Where do you look?! Do you look at them? Do you look right past them as if they aren't there?! Do you stare at the floor the whole time?! What the...ugh! Blar! Noooooo. Bad. Bad bad bad. (Okay, seriously, I thought this was totally uncomfortable, but you do actually forget about it pretty quickly. And I'm sure there's some good, spiritually enlightening reason for setting things up this way.)

As for the class itself: though I felt frustrated by the set up and the total lack of music (!!), and the continued somber atmosphere, the class itself was good. I say "good" and not "great", because I, personally, like my classes to have a bit more "flow" to them...this class was sequenced for learning, more than for moving, if that makes any sense. What I LOVE about the Lotus is that, no matter the teacher, the classes tend to be physically inspiring and move with the breath in a creative symbiotic way--not this pose, pause, pose, instruction, pose, pause stuff. I miss that, in classes that are otherwise, but I do not deny the benefits of working with poses for the sake of the poses individually and not just the overall output of the asana. Which is what F. was doing. Some of the work in ardha chandrasana was particularly helpful...at one point he made an adjustment for me and said softly "it's not all about your leg" which was a bit of a revelation, as it has been pounded in to me over and over that half-moon is very much about my leg!

Moment of Brilliance:
We did a long handstand practice toward the end of the class and after a bit of us all hopping up into handstand against the wall, F. encouraged those of us who have been practicing for a while and used to being upside down, to start playing around with micro-bends in our elbows after we got up. He emphasized the micro part of that instruction and asked us to pay attention to how it shifted the weight on our hands and the rotation of our shoulders. He likened it to the up-and-down play that is so often done in standing poses (bending the knees and then coming out, re-bending, etc.). I tried this and it ROCKED my handstand WORLD!! I realized, as soon as I did it, that, not only was all my weight focused in the heels of my palms, instead of spread throughout the whole breadth of my hands as it should be, but also I had been paying so much attention in my handstand practice to my legs and my feet and my lower ribs, I had completely forgotten about my hands! That would be like doing an entire standing practice only thinking about your arms, and then wondering why you kept falling over! This one instruction, for me, was worth the entire class.

Conclusion:
Though I can't see myself getting really excited about OM, I would go there again in a pinch. I still think Laughing Lotus beats it on all fronts, and going there made me realize just how much I value a sense of fun and improvisation in my practice, and in the atmosphere of the studio itself.

YogaLia Rating: 3 Lotuses (out of 5)

Train-ing in Frustration

I'm deep into rehearsals for my current show, and have been squeezing my practice into early mornings and two-hour breaks or, if worse comes to worse, in ten minute slots of time, sprawled out on a sawdust covered floor in the theater. I know that my practice gets sacrificed during the weeks leading up to a show, I know this from experience, and I also know that it will all even out again once the show is up and running...this is what I try and remind myself...but my body begins to complain after a few days of haphazard practice and I, un-yogic-ly, have nightmares of all my hard work slipping away from me as my practice dwindles from 5 to 3 days/week (or worse!). So, I struggle during these weeks--to keep practicing even if it's not as much or as challenging as I want it to be, and to remind myself that there are only so many hours in a day, and only so much that I can do...

But some days are harder than others.

This morning I had a costume fitting scheduled for 10am, which I was nervous about, as I was supposed to be in midtown by 11:00 for my job-job...but the designer assured me she would get me in on time, and the fitting was just on 26th street, so I figured I would be okay.... I had spent a good part of the early morning half-assing it through a practice while my brain wheeled madly, trying to figure out how I could jam a class into my day. Maybe I can leave work a couple hours early? Maybe I won't go at all? How many classes will I take this week? How EARLY can I get up tomorrow? On and on. Truth be told, I COULD have taken a class this morning, if only I'd woken up at 6am when my alarm went off...

But, unable to solve this conundrum, still bandying around the idea of ducking out of my job-job at 4pm to make it to a class before rehearsal, I headed off, in plenty of time to make my fitting. I even postponed my cliff-bar-from-the-deli ritual in order to have a cushion on the other side of my train-ride. However...things being as they are, meaning, as my friend's father used to say: "the hurrier I go, the behinder I get", nothing went quite as planned.

The train was just pulling in to the station near my house when I arrived and I thought my goodness, what luck! There was nowhere to sit, which was kind of a bummer, especially since I had put on uncomfortable (yet beautiful) shoes this morning (a whim!). But, C'est la vie! I have a good book to read...no harm done. THIRTY MINUTES later, when we had still only gone 2 stops and I had finally looked at my calendar to see that my fitting was over on 11th ave and would take me at least an additional 15 minutes of walking when I finally did get off the train (whenever that might be...), maybe even longer, taking into account my beautiful yet idiotic shoes and this meant I would most definitely be late not only for my fitting, but for work, which really blows my take-off-early-and-make-a-yoga-class idea all to smithereens, not to mention the fact that as soon as I DID get off the train I would get a voicemail from my commercial agents asking me could I please make an audition that afternoon, which meant not only would I be late to work I WOULD have to leave early, after all, and...life was looking preeeeeetty unfair.

I tried, gentle readers, I tried not to let it rile me up. I really did. I tried repeating "Ganesha" over and over as one of my yoga teachers says she does on aggravating train rides, I tried taking the joke, I tried gently asking myself what the universe was trying to say to me about worry and rushing, but to tell you the truth, the whole thing really ticked me off!

But what could I do, but wobble my way the several long blocks to the fitting, apologize to both designer and boss, adjust my schedule to give me enough time to run to my audition later, and try (and try and try and try) to not show up to my fitting in a lousy mood. Of course I couldn't find the entrance to the costume collection and of course I got on the wrong elevator and then had to get off again, but with every step I just had to remind myself to let it go and continue moving...the world is not conspiring against me, the world is not conspiring against me...no one, after all, wants to deal with a crabby actor, no matter what kind of morning they've had. And nor did I want to pull myself so far downhill that I would not be able to climb up again (you know what I'm talking about). I could feel myself wanting, again and again, to put on my "everything sucks" goggles--thoughts of all the larger and larger and larger annoyances in my life beginning to surface (all for the sole purpose of keeping the feeling of frustration alive in my body), and again and again I had to take them off and breathe. And breathe. And breathe.

So, as it turns out, even though I will NOT be making it to class today, I might still be getting all the practice I need...

Scrubbing My Way to Freedom...

So, in order to pay for my many, many yoga classes, I clean my yoga studio once a week. It's a sweet gig, just a couple hours of elbow grease yields me unlimited free classes, and makes me feel a bit more part of the community, to boot. And there are worse places to clean than a yoga studio, let me tell you what...

I do my cleaning either in the evening after everyone has gone home, or early in the morning, before everyone arrives. Both have their pluses. The evenings are serene in their isolation--the city is dark and hushed outside the windows, and without the threat of imminently arriving yogis, I can relax into my work, secreted away on the third floor with my vacuum and toilet brush. However, it can also get a little creepy--late at night, me the only one around, in a building that is rife with noises of banging radiator pipes and a settling foundation. I have freaked myself out on more than one occasion with visions of "robbers" scaling the side of the building and crashing through one of the studio windows. (What a disappointment to someone looking for wads of cash to come tumbling into a yoga studio...).

In the mornings, however, I am waking the studio up, as opposed to putting it gently to bed (as it sometimes feels I am doing at night)...I make tea and get all the loud cleaning done before anyone arrives, and the rest of the morning finds me scooching around the early-morning yogis with my roll of paper towels in one hand and a bottle from our selection of "natural" cleaners in the other. There is another kind of peace these early mornings, but it is a bit more electric, and because of the solitary nature of the work, and the quick action which my mind tends to leap to immediately upon waking, I am a bit more prone to...um...shall we say...flights of fancy? Or rather...whirlpools of fancy? Sometimes muddy sucking quicksand voids of fancy? There's something about those early hours and the unconscious repetition of toilet brush in toilet bowl, three sprays of glass cleaner to every mirror and a backwards-forwards vacuum stroke that lends itself to...obsession.

Lately I've been cleaning a lot of mornings.

But this week, I tried a little experiment. Instead of letting myself sink into thought thought thought endless compulsive thought while absently scrubbing away soap-scum, I decided that I would try my best to pay attention to what I was doing. Fully. With totalness of mind.

While visiting home my mother told me a story, which she has told me many times before, about her days as a youth, working in a bank, before the days of computers, where her job consisted of slipping many many checks into many many check-sized slots--a job which, no surprise, became a feeding ground for a variety of worries--and how she one day picked up a book all about the Japanese tradition of the "tea ceremony" and how it changed her life. The Japanese tea ceremony is, apparently, all about the triumph of aesthetics over the mundane, and so she--my mother--began to apply these principles to her check-sorting. She began to give the checks and the slots and the sorting of the checks into the slots her full and total and beatific attention and according to her, it changed her life. She even said that one day, while the checks were flying into their proper places, and her hands too, were flying, she looked over to see a customer hanging around her area of the bank. Assuming the man was lost, she asked him if there was something she could do to help and he shook his head, no, and said:

"I was just watching you do that."

Why? Because it had become beautiful. Why? Because she had become fully and wholly devoted to it. And watching anyone do anything fully, is a beautiful sight. So, it was by this principal that I attempted to operate this week while vacuuming rugs and cleaning toilets: Japanese tea ceremony, baby, Japanese tea ceremony.

I can not say that I found any yogis hanging over me, watching me spray cleaner on the sinks, delighted by my beautifious concentration, but I can say that I had a more enjoyable morning of cleaning than I have had in quite awhile. I attempted to be gentle with myself, and every time my mind wanted to go rampaging off in this or that direction, I just softly guided it back to the task at hand. I tried to notice the small beauties of the room: the gleam of a cleaned handle, the brightness of a light, the juxtaposition of two colors, the feel of fabric and paper in my hand. And I began to ask myself questions about what exactly I was doing: why was I doing it, for whose benefit, how good a job could I possibly do--was I willing to do? And all of these things led me deeper and deeper into the task at hand.

Which is, ultimately, the only thing that is at hand anyhow. Always. No matter what. Now I only have to master this for every OTHER MOMENT OF MY LIFE. And then, finally, I will be perfect. (hehheh)

My Shoulder Hurts

And, after much deduction, I think it's because I was trying to show off to my brother all my cool yoga moves and I tried to do a forearm stand without warming up.

Because I'm an idiot. Apparently.

3 Ways of Practice

I am returned from my trip!

I did not write while there...my apologies. But, I am delighted to see that I have new readers here in Shanti Town in the meantime...welcome! I love you! (Seriously. I love you.)

My practice was minimal while away...a few stolen moments in the mornings at P.'s parents house, a beautiful vigorous practice on the cold wet deck of a shared house on the Oregon Coast (thank you, Heidi), and another on a different deck, this one shaded with fat green trees, watched by a white cat with wide eyes, in a beautiful house in Seattle. This last practice may have been my favorite...the air was warm but full of breezes, music quietly seeped from the outdoor speakers, and I felt--on the warm plank wood of the deck--that I was both indoors and out, and with P. and Jos working just on the other side of the windows, both solitary and with company (this, like taking a nap in the middle of the day when someone else is home and awake) being one of my favorite kinds of feelings...and every time I bent backwards, I could look up to see the sky covered with trees...

The trip, like these three practices, was broken into three major parts: A week at P's parents house in Eugene (where I stole bits of practice before the house was awake), several days on the Oregon coast (where Heidi and I practiced in the damp air of the morning), and our last week in Seattle (where I did backbends on the deck in Seattle with its fat cat and fat trees)...and I have to wonder if the practice matched the place...?

Perhaps it is right that the quiet solitude and spaciousness of the house in Eugene--itself standing solitary amidst acres of farmland, down a long dusty road to the peace of it--inspired a silent solitary practice, stolen on the gray rug that carpeted our bedroom. I remember how much my back ached that first day when I bent forward into a gentle seated practice, how I could feel all the muscles around all my vertebrae begin to stretch and call out, and how much patience I felt I had for my practice...the space to lean forward and rest my head in the cups of my turned out ankles...bereft of my usual need to push and move and accomplish, I spent a good portion of an hour rippling the waves of my aching back. And so it was at the house, where every morning P and I watched birds gather in the grass as we drank our coffee, and the buzz of New York slipped from our ears and the backs of our shoulders, a little more each day, as we took walks and ate long lunches and generally reee-laxed.

Perhaps it is right that on the coast--where for most days the sky was luminous gray and the air so cold both P and I had to go to the local outlet store and purchase jackets, where we were suddenly away from the solitude of the country and in the arms and eyes and conversations of a large group of friends, all gathered in pending celebration--that my practice became not just shared, but spoken aloud, as I led a chilly (but soon vigorous warm) practice on spread-out beach towels on the deck of our temporary coastal home. The addition of another yogi made my practice come alive in a way that I find difficult to achieve when practicing on my own. I wanted it to be good, damnnit! And we sweated and moved and bent and twisted and inverted, so well my legs quivered after with the exertion of it. (What is it about company, that can so easily obliterate distractions?)

And perhaps also it was right that in Seattle--the place of my youth and late-youth (heh), a place which I feel I am rediscovering, now as an adult, and which also swells with memories and nostalgia and my own longing to live in a place which is beautiful--that I practiced in a new house in a new neighborhood, but in a city I know so well, outside beneath the trees, with my love just on the other side of a window, and the smells of Lake Washington spilling over the dry leaves around my feet, and that the trees and the height and the space of the deck forced a kind of improvisation to my practice, and that the past, after so many days of family and friends and childhood neighborhoods, was deeply present, but also, after the revelry of a much-anticipated wedding and the silent reclamation of a city I have long loved, and, more importantly, the appearance of a Self--more grown, more solid, more flexible--in all these places of old, meant that the future was there with me as well.

The Space I Am In...

Tomorrow morning I leave for a 2 week + vacation to visit family and friends in the West. I am over the moon about getting out of New York...watching people jostle each other through the doors on the subway this morning (as if we won't all get on, eventually) made me so grateful for the impending break.

I'm not certain how my practice will fall out while I'm gone. I went to class early this morning, so as to be limber for a long day of travel on the 'morrow. I am being strongly encouraged not to bring my yoga mat (space and all), but I'm undecided. Rolling it out in class this morning I was struck with what I am often struck with when rolling out my beautiful (now ragged) orange rubber mat--that it is such a clean square space to hold my practice. I have sweated and prayed and wondered and fallen and cried and struggled so many hours on that mat, in that particular 72" of space--it's like carrying a little temple around on my back. And on this vacation, where we will be in many spaces and with much family and where quiet time with my body and my breath will be perhaps hard to eek out, I might need my ratty orange temple, in order to carve out space for myself in all these foreign places.

It is also, I realize, the only thing which posesses as intimate a knowledge of my practice as I do. I love all its funny sweat marks and pock-marks and where my feet have worn down the rubber to its fibers. I want to use it until I can see the floor through it, and then I might have to hang it on my wall or something (P. would love that!)...I am so grateful for this rectangle of rubber. I mean really I am so grateful for this incredible versatile body and for Laughing Lotus which is my home away from home and for the amazing teachers who keep coming into my life and for all the hope of striving for an easier mind, but ALSO I am grateful for this strip of textile that I can role up and shove on shelves and in bags and lug around with me and lay down ANYWHERE and make a yoga studio of it.

That's it. I'm decided. It's coming with me.

After a while...

Um, I think my yoga blog ego suffered a bit of a blow a while back...hence the silence.

Possibly it's because no one is reading this. Or, if you are, (sorry) you are loved, and I apologize for the absence. Not to worry! All is well! It's just been days and then weeks and now, gulp, many weeks of hemming and hawing over the whats and whens and hows of my life.

Concretely: I will not be going to yoga school, I will be acting my pants off in several wonderful plays.

One door closes, another opens. Or sometimes; there's only room for one door at a time, which seems more ept.

My practice, however, is flourishing. Handstand and Forearm stand are inching their way towards me (or I towards them) and it will be only a matter of time now before I do not need the wall OR for the teacher to just come over and "stand by me while I do it" (How old am I?!!). It's the same for falling back into wheel...a brilliant and visceral hesitation to be overcome. For all of these poses it is the same:

I am strong enough to do it
I am flexible enough to do it
I have the form and the training to do it
I will not, probably, injure myself...

But all, also, require a supreme letting go. There is a moment, in each of these poses (whether coming up or coming down) where conscious control has to be relinquished and the body trusted (that legs and arms and neck will go where intended) and it is this moment (which widens out into a Grand Canyon of moments) in which I...pause. And in the pause I lose it all.

A teacher once said to me, "let your breathe be louder than your thoughts" and it was a revelation of sorts...or rather, a beautiful way to trick the mind. Example:

BODY: Time for handstand...

MIND: Um, okay. Okay, yes, cool. Cool. We can do this. I mean, woah, you're not going to do it right HERE, are you?

BODY: Yeah, I was...

MIND: What if you kick that girl? What if you fall weird on her block and you break your neck?!

BODY: I don't think, um...

MIND: Just, how about, how about just a little farther away from the wall? Baby steps. Baby steps.

BODY: No, I'd like to try it in the middle of the room.

MIND: I don't know. I don't know. I'm not really going to kick hard enough to accomplish that just to be sa--

BODY: Inhale. Exhale.

MIND: Are you--

BODY: INHALE

MIND: listen--

BODY: EXHALE..

INHALE...

(mind fading away into small birdlike whine...)

EXHALE...

etc. etc...

Ah, sigh. It could be that way, it really could. The microcosm of my life: Let go of the worrying and just let myself kick up into the sky.

Being Yoga

I've just signed up for the Being Yoga Conference. I hope it doesn't kill me.

Decisions, Decisions...

So, looming, once again, is Yoga School.

I have been wanting it, salivating over it, dreaming about it, for the last two years, and finally it is within my reach. I've done the math, I've gone over and over it: I can do it. If I really want it, I can make it work.

The thing standing in my way: Me. Well, Actor me is standing in my way. Yoga me says yes yes yes. Yoga me knows what an incredible thing it would be for me, how empowering and crystallizing it would be, and how much it could really only add, not only to my "self" (which is so deeply inseperable from myself as an actor) but to my ability to shape my career as I want it. Actor me has some other things to say. Actor me is horrified that I would think of turning down theatre work from now until January. Actor me has a million "what ifs". Actor me is worried I would be admitting defeat, or asking for it.

Yoga me would like to remind myself that this is something I am desperate to do, something that feeds me, and that, ultimately, will allow me more creative freedom and repose in my life. And also I might be good at it. And also I love it.

But work! Says Actor Me, how can I say no to work? How can I make myself unavailable for WORK?! What will happen? Won't I fall off the face of the planet?

I have the decision sitting in my hand, a little bird. But right now my fingers are cupped around it and I can not let it fly.

The Yoga of Sound...

Many Classes, One Post.

The theme this month at the Lotus: Nada Yoga, the yoga of sound. A beautiful cross-pollination for me, of the work I am doing in my Linklater classes, and my ongoing yoga practice. A deepening of work centering on the body and breath as central to the voice, and the voice as central to the expression of all things, not just verbal.

Stacey gave an incredible talk at the beginning of class on Tuesday, in which she discussed the origins of the famous yoga "Om" and the spiritual lineage of the Sanskrit language (in brief, of course). My distillation: a few enlightened dudes from the ancient times went up in to the mountains, sat as open vessels, and the universe poured into them the sounds that eventually came to make up the Sanskrit language. According to Stacey, the impetus to keep Sanskrit alive, after all these many thousand years, is because it is the only language that survives as a direct connection to what is considered divine sound (as in, sound divined from the universe).

Heavy stuff.

In Nada Yoga, the conceptual theory is that there is a universe of sound in which we are all existing, to which we are either tuned in or tuned out. Meaning, a kind of God-sound is available to us, and is a possible connective tissue between ourselves and larger consciousness, that we do not create (as in, I am producing sound) but we instead connect to. As in all spiritual thought bent in this direction, universal consciousness is water flowing through a faucet which we can either turn on or turn off. (But just because we've closed the spigot, it don't mean there ain't water there and available to us!)

And to get more specific, the sounds we chant at the beginning of class (my favorite part) are chanted, not because they're pretty (oh, but they are!!) but because these sounds are considered little doorways to God. One could, I suppose, ride the Om straight to enlightenment, if they really knew what they were doing...

The chants have always held a lot of power for me...there is something about the way the particular sounds of Sanskrit emerge from and dissolve into silence that just immediately soothes what can often be a tropical storm of thought in my head (thank you, Bryn, for that image!). And though we are often told of the power of mantra, of chanting, to be a focusing tool and a powerful pathway towards change, I have never quite believed it. I just like to sing, and I like how the words sound in my mouth, and if I sit down and try to make something of it, I'm just going to ruin it for myself...that's been my thinking. And also I've just not been able to stomach the thought of sitting down and chanting to Lakshmi or something when I don't even really know who that is or what I'm saying (apart from my handy-dandy Yoga Journal translation) as I would feel myself to be merely aping another culture--one which I do actually have some respect for. It all seems a bit too easy and too perfectly Western.

However, hearing Stacey talk about the Om (aum) has perhaps shifted my thinking a bit...

The Om, considered the root of the all sound...perhaps the root of all everything...the most universal of sounds, is made up of three distinct parts:

Ahhh.

Oooo.

Mmmm.

(Aum).

And in these three sounds lives the birth and death of sound. Ahhh, the creation, the birthing of sound, the possibility. Oooo is perseverance, the sustaining. And the Mmmm is the closing of the circle, the destruction of sound. Stacey likened these to the triumvirate of Hindu deities: Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Brahma representing creation, Vishnu--preservation, and Shiva the destroyer. But I don't know enough about these lovelies to speak intelligently about specific connections. (I will say, however, that there's got to be something to the whole idea of a holy trinity of powers, as it seems to repeat itself in religious literature of all flavors...) And so, contained within this one word, aum, is the whole cycle of life--illustrated through sound moving from the back of the throat, across the soft palette and finally vibrating against closed lips. It's beautiful. Born out of silence and returning to silence.

And, stealing from my Linklater work, if one's body is the conductor for sound, and one's spine is the pathway through which all impulses for sound travel, then what one is expressing when one is expressing, is not just a personal truth, but is a vital and universal one. I.e., we are elucidating at every moment, through sound, the matter of the universe--universal consciousness.

It's big, dude. It's big.

Thought for the Day...

My body is always existing in the present.

Back-to-Back

Classes: 12:30-1:30pm, "Flower Hour", Mary Dana; 2-3:00pm, "Lotus Hour", Vanessa.

My friend was supposed to meet me at the 2pm class today, but I just for some reason couldn't bear the idea of only going to class for an hour, so I did something I've always wanted to do: back-to-back classes.

I had second thoughts about this, about halfway through the first class when, because of (ahem) hormonal issues and various angst, I felt like I was dragging my body through mud in every pose. My lower half felt like it weighed 1,000 pounds and I considered, for a moment, telling my friend that I would be sitting out in the lobby waiting for her after she finished the 2 o'clock class, on her own.

I was given an out, however, when said friend left me a message saying she probably wasn't going to make the 2PM, and I could meet her afterwards instead. I considered crossing my name off the list for the class and skipping it right along with her, but something compelled me forward. I'm pretty sure the "something" was the impressed accolades from some of the LL staff when they saw me putting my name down for the 2nd class. How could disappoint them? (And give up all that nice ego-stroking...)

Turns out, to my pleasant surprise, back-to-back classes ROCK! It was about 10 or 15 minutes into class #2 when I broke through some kind of wall, on the other side of which was Magic Yoga Playland. My lethargy and heaviness and muddy mind vanished, like bugs slamming into a bug-zapper. And, my grade-A super-duper revelation for the day?

I am a body, breathing.

There is no way to truly explain this, except to say, at a certain point, while trying to pay attention to the breath coming in and out of my belly (as I am a bit obsessed with learning how to breath with parts of my body other than the tiny landing strip of my upper-chest) I simultaneously noticed the breath coming in and out of my lungs, and in and out of my diaphragm and in and out of my back, and breath sliding across and through my nostrils and down the back of my throat--I noticed all of it at once, all happening in partnership and at the same time and the thought occurred to me, I am a body, breathing. I am a body, breathing. I am in space, in this room--composed of these arms and legs and this face--and I am moving in this particular way, but the largest truth I can muster about who I am and what my place is in the universe is simply: I am a body, breathing. And everything else, everything else, is imaginary. As much as it is in my mind. Not worthless, but not nearly as solid and true as this shape that I am, breathing in and out.

In short: push through the muddy stuff, because on the other side is clear blue water.

Playtime has changed...but it ain't all bad!

Class: 4:00-5:45pm, "Cosmic Play", Rachel.

I am sad to say, that dearest Edward is no longer teaching Cosmic Play.

Please allow me a moment while I let out a tremulous sigh.

*Siiiiiiigh*

We know how much I love Edward, love love love Edward, yes we do. I only hope his schedule has changed for some kind of fabulous reason, (like movie-making), as he will be sorely and surely missed.

I skipped last week's cosmic play. I was in Puerto Rico, so I have a good excuse, but this week was my first play-time sans Edward, and I was prepared to be disappointed.

But, no need! No need! Rachel is amazing!

Yes, Rachel, Raaaaaachel. We love Rachel, yes we do. We love her, too.

Rachel is a spritely yogi. An angelic yogi. A long-limbed, reed-voiced yogi. Rachel floats up into arm balances so high and graceful it makes me want to weep. She's got one of those practices, those oh sigh will I ever look that pretty while I practice practices, and also, she is HARD-CORE.

I'm talkin', she and Ariel could have a who-could-kill-you-more-swiftly with deadly yoga moves ass-kicking contest, and I think it might be a draw!

Along with being a graceful ass-kicker, Rachel is a from the heart kind of teacher...she is soft-voiced and soft-handed (she also does Shiatsu) and you can just smell grounded inspiration all over her. (Note to self: If I ever market a yoga perfume, I'm calling it, grounded inspiration.)

So, needless to say, I was not not not disappointed.

Rachel spoke today about the Gunas. For your reference, I will include a quick-and-dirty explanation of what the Gunas are (thank you cyberspace) below:

A Guna is a state of mind--an attitude. Attitudes are basically qualities or tones of vibration and are found in everything, especially in the human. There are three Gunas, or attitudes, from which all the more subtle attitudes are derived. The three Gunas bind your spirit to the body, keeps it here. A Guna is an earthly quality. The three Gunas are Sattva, Rajas and Tamas.

As far as I can figure, Tamas is intertia, Rajas is desire (not the pleasant kind), and Sattva is goodness, and, like all things yogic, all of these gunas are at play in different frequencies at all times, and all of them can get a little out of hand if not tended to properly.

Rachel's big theme regarding the Gunas, had to do with the idea (which has been on my mind A LOT) that there is a possibility, when working with emotions and states of being, for one to be fully-present without being either indifferent or attached to what he or she is feeling. This is a big tenet of any spiritual practice (by my calculation), and it is also EXTREEEEMELY DIFFICULT. My god, has anyone ever tried this and lived to tell the tale?! I have tried, many times, and almost always I lose this battle and end up locked into a french kiss with my prevailing emotional state. A dirty, uncomfortable french kiss...

I do believe that it is possible! and vital! and by god, I am determined to get a handle on it.

For those of you who aren't sure exactly what I'm talking about here, imagine this: suffering, say, is a wild whirlpool, and most of us, most often, choose to either:

a. stand to the side and proffer "what whirlpool?" when someone asks what that loud sucking noise is, or

b. get sucked down it. quickly. with bruises.

What is being proposed here, is that there is actually an opportunity, when that whirlpool appears, to STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF IT, without either getting slurped down to the recesses or pretending that you are whirlpool free. Of course, the idea is not just that one can do or should do this with negative emotions, but with ALL emotions, good and bad.

So, okay, the Gunas are in play, all the time, and when one is out of whack it kind of takes over, and our challenge, as yooooogis, is to stand in our Gunastic whirlpool and feel it all, maaaan. (I have to make a full disclosure here and say that I spent most of today (leading up to class) lying on my bed, crying and watching Netflix. Just so no one thinks that I am numbering myself among those who are good at this particular practice). My afternoon, in hindsight, may have been a deadly combination of unfulfilled Rajas and hardcore pre-menstrual Tamas....

So, needless to say, I felt that today's lesson was particularly attuned to my, ahem, needs, so I really went for it in class. 1. I needed the exertion to whick off the toxins that had accumulated from my cry-fest, 2. I read recently that if you can really push yourself to the edge while doing any kind of physical activity, the spiritual rewards are great, and 3. I hadn't taken a class in 3 days and my body was screaming in revolt! And, I am happy to report that after nearly two-hours of upside-downness and twisty-twistyness, and one amazing mini-massage from Rachel during class, I felt a small flicker of possibility...that maybe next time (after having forgiven myself for an afternoon of indulgence) I might be able to stand in the whirlpool and enjoy the sucking sensation a little longer (before I am long-gone down the drain).


-Yogalia

Vacation

It's true, I've been away.

I spent the last six days in beautiful Puerto Rico, with my beautiful love, soaking up too much sun and tromping through the rain forest. There was little time for asana, but still I seemed to be practicing every day...

On Friday we arrived and dealt with several sets of systems: the airport system, the baggage claim system, the shuttle system, the rental car system, the hotel check-in system, the driving directions in a strange place system, the how do you say "where" again in spanish? system...while eating the equivalent of fast food tacos at "Taco Makers" I reminded P. who looked a bit downtrodden at the start of our long first day, that travel days are always the hardest. He perked up a bit at this, and I realized too, that when the day is so involved in setting up the structure for the days to come, it's hard to feel relaxed and open to what's happening. Too much to come, not enough now.

Saturday morning we attempted to kayak in the ocean, having been told by our hosts that it would be no problem (even with the small amount of kayaking experience between us), and as we stood on the shore, after having been thoroughly thrashed by waves and unable to make it out to calmer waters, both us wanting so much to say WE CAN! and to hell with fear, but both of us knowing better, we came face to face with a large question (not the first time it would happen on this trip): when does conquering fear mean plowing ahead, and when does conquering fear mean admitting you need help?

Sunday we walked a forbidden trail in the rainforest. We had to sneak under a gate warning DANGER! and PROHIBITED! (we were told that everyone does it), and walk along an aquaduct, traveling aluminum bridges over dams and rushing reservoirs, eventually scaling a chained off metal ladder and making our way through volcanic rock to find ourselves totally alone at the top of the world. Along the way, in the midst of the solitary rainforest, the only sound the creaking of bamboo and the shrieking of several birds, I thought of how funny it is that I can go so far away, to the middle of a rain forest, and still my whole world comes with me...

Monday we took a long ferry ride to the island of Culebra, where we laid in the sun and snorkeled and even found an entirely deserted beach. I got sunburned all over and felt indecisive and uncomfortable on the hot sand. We bickered over when to go back and where and later I realized that too much ease can sometimes breed aggravation.

Tuesday we left our small room in Punta Santiago and traveled to Old San Juan. We ate expensive tuna sandwiches in an air conditioned restaurant and left the town early, dissatisfied with all the knick-knack shops, and headed to a resort-like hotel in nearby Condado. There we spent too much money but found finally the perfect picture of relaxation. We laid in our giant king bed in our cool cool room and watched waves break, we drank margaritas pool-side, I did my first bit of yoga in days, flying easily into a long steady handstand on the squishy grass by our beach chairs, and we let the week soak in and rinse off.

And yesterday, upon our return, I felt such an instantaneous jolt--New York rains down hard upon the returning traveler. I tried with all my might to hang on to the feeling of being away and apart, but the long rattle of the subway and the mounting to-do list, won out.

This morning I awoke, we both did, reminding ourselves what the week was like, trying to remember what and how the freedom was, so that it might remain, or so that it might become something of a part of our life here. It feels like a struggle already, but somewhere I know that the fight to wake up with a sense of wonder and curiousity about the day, as we did while we were away--with the sense that it is a thing to be joyfully conquered--is a battle worth waging.

Learning to Sit...

I got up today determined to meditate...just like so many other days. I gave myself a pep talk in the shower about how important it is to start a mediation practice, about how I can't expect it to change my life instantly or anything (unfortunately) , but that it will be very good for me and that it will be a life-long practice and if nothing else it will help me get more open instead of more closed as I get older. My automatic internal rebuffs to this went as follows: I want radical change! There are plenty of people who meditate all their damn lives and are still just as messed up and neurotic as they ever were. I don't know how to do it right anyhow. I need a guru. How many times have I tried this and failed. Etc., etc., etc.

But I was good and strong and I ignored this whisper-voice and went ahead...

I pulled out my meditation cushions and lit my favorite jasmine-scented incense and my altar-candle and I looked at my little postcard with the pictures of Krishna and Shiva on it and I set my cellphone alarm to ring in 20 minutes and I sat my butt down. And, just like every other time, I got up from my cushion before the alarm rang, frustrated and tied up in knots. Ah, how relaxing!

Here now, I shall try to dissect why my meditation practice is, ahem, faulty.

1. Often I decide to sit while in the throws of some worry or another, thus using the meditation as an excuse to sit down and worry some more. But just to worry in spiritual language.

2. If I'm not in the throes of worry when I sit down, I tend to think that I'm supposed to solve some great bothersome woe while meditating--since my plan in the meditation is to become one with God, at which point I will reach enlightenment, at which point I will solve the great struggles of my life--which often leads me to skip the enlightenment part and head right to the problem-solving. See item #1.

3. I tell myself I don't have to follow any "structure", that my meditation is about freedom, man, and therefore I am really going to just sit and Be. However, since I am a person prone to worry (yes, I am, I admit it), and I don't actually have a lot of experience meditating (or just being, for that matter), I often slide quickly into neurosis, without any kind of structure to serve as safety-net. Again, see item #1.

4. As much as everything I've read tells me not to do this, I really want to have a big awakening experience while meditating. This is born of my very first few months meditating (lo, these many years ago), when I did feel like I was having a kind of enlightened experience every time I sat down to meditate. I attribute this to a kind of "beginner's mind"--not knowing what I was getting into, just falling into meditation, la-dee-da--but now the memory of this and the desire to return to it plagues me and makes my meditation a muscular experience, to say the least.

5. I am a big fan of things you can do every day, ritualistically, preferably ones that will make instantaneous changes in your life. I tend to read about things like this. I tend to have an on-going mental collection of things like this. Which makes it very hard to (a) choose which magic 10-minute a day miracle I'm going to devote myself to and (b) meditate.

6. I lack discipline. I do NOT lack discipline as a person. In fact, when I set my mind to something I can be incredibly focused and diligent. Take my yoga practice, for example: sure, I'll miss a few days here and there, but for the most part, I am on my mat. And I can feel and see on a daily basis, the benefits of that kind of discipline. However, I am most disciplined when either (a) there is great desperate survival-type need for discipline or (b) somebody else tells me what to do. Meaning: I am really good with "plans". I love plans. I want there to be a specially designed plan for me called "the 10 things to do everyday which, if I do them, will make me a happy and balanced and grateful person all day, every day". Where the hell is that plan? (Unfortunately, that plan is published in a million different forms in a million different sources in a million different ways, and I am overwhelmed by all the options.)

However, I do know that when it comes to something like meditating, discipline is key. I just have to make up my mind that getting into that seat for 10, 15, 20 minutes everyday is important to me, is something I want...and probably it wouldn't hurt if I made it a little easier on myself by not making it such a momentous thing every time I pulled out those cushions.

Cosmic Dana Comes and Shakes the Planets...

Class: 4-5:45pm, "Cosmic Play", Dana.

I read in an online article that Dana is sometimes referred to as "the Janis Joplin of yoga". This is not an inaccurate description.

I was shocked when Dana introduced herself to me in class (she didn't remember me, nor did I expect her to) at how beautiful her face is up close. It's tan and creased and her eyes look right at you in a way that feels dangerous and delicious and...breathtaking. As I watched her walk away to take her place at the front of the class I immediately decided that if I loved women (in that way) that I would be in love with her. She is hot, hot, hot.

Dana did not remember me, because I had only taken one of her classes prior to her and Jasmine's (the other co-founder of the Lotus) move to San Francisco. I only took one of her classes before that because I was pretty sure, halfway through that one class I took back then, that I was going to die, and that it would be Dana's fault if I did. Now, mind you, I was taking a super-advanced class back then when I had no business doing so, and if I had died it would have been no one's fault but my own. However, it did put a permanent terror in my heart when it came to taking Dana's classes.

Also, of the founding team of Laughing Lotus, Dana is definitely the Shakti to Jasmine's Shiva, if you know what I'm saying. To put it plainly, she's terrifying. Sooooo, when I heard she was coming back in town and that she'd be teaching the Tuesday afternoon Super-Crazy-Advanced-Class that I have now been regularly attending, I figured I'd bite my lips and go. Terrified or not. And I was. Terrified, that is.

Dana does not, like most of the teachers at the Lotus, spend a lot of time up front talking before class starts...she just opens up that harmonium and lets it rip, singing out Shri Ram Jai Ram, her voice cracking, just like Janis Joplin.

"Shri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram, Om" She says "No, not your friend Ramone!" We laugh. Yoga humor. You had to be there. Over and over we sang, and sang and sang. Halfway through she called out "Now, pretend you're in San Francisco and swaaaaay!" And we all did, and we all laughed, swaying and singing. I closed my eyes and let the sound wash over and through me. We sang and sang until she asked us to sing it one last time "Sweetly now..." and then we all finished and we sat and the aftermath of the sound buzzed around and she let out a deep thick chuckle and announced, "Well, I am just Vibrating. Are you?" And I was. We all were.

About the class itself: I am proud to say I did not die. Not only did I not die, I survived quite admirably. I kept up. I could not, no, wrap my legs around my head in lotus and then roll up into a seated position (if you can call it seated when your legs are wrapped around your head). I did get one leg around my head for a little bit. The left one. Thank you, left leg! And, yes, my arms were shaking by the time we got to the inversions and I definitely could not throw in the forearm and handstands between the vinyasas like some...but I held my own. And, at some point, about halfway through class, something spectacular happened. I do not know if it was what Dana was saying, which now I can barely remember, or if it was the music (which was great), or the excitement of her being there, or just mind-gripping fatigue, but at some point I had the following short exchange with myself:

Me: I would really like you to be free.

Myself: Really?

Me: Yes. I love you, and I would really like you to be free.

Myself: I would like that too.

And then, it happened. I was free. And it felt un-fucking-believable. And then, of course, it went away. I tried to hang on to it...tried to remember it the next morning when I woke...tried to repeat the words to myself "I want you to be free", but it just wasn't the same. And I have to say, I do not think it was her sequencing or her words or her music, but it was Dana herself that allowed me that moment of...grace. She was a sharp hot knife and I was cold butter, and I ain't afraid of her no mo'!

Thank you, Dana.