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

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.

Vasisthasana All Crazy-Like

Class: 4-5:45pm, "Cosmic Play", Edward

If you think I can do this pose as pictured...well, I'm flattered. Because, if you think that...you would be very, very wrooong-o. There was only one person in class (and mind you, this is super-crazy-advanced class) who could really execute this pose. She was next to me (I think her name was Renee) and all I could do was fall on to my butt with my toe still in my hand and watch her wrap her leg behind her head and fan out into what I have now deemed "Vasisthasana-all-crazy-like" (see above). I think I even said "you are awesome" as she came out of the pose, like her one-woman yoga fan club.

This is actually one of my favorite things about the aforementioned super-crazy-advanced classes--how I am forced to check my ego at the door in the face of so much unattainable work and so many far superior practicioners. It is not only a kind of call-to-arms for my own practice (someday I will get where she is) it's also an opportunity for me to practice humility, to use my beginners-mind, instead of being a big fat show-off (as I can be in some of the open-level classes). Not to mention Favorite Teacher Edward. Who rocks my world.

Edward's classes are always very free-form and creative, and often he gives lots of time for a choose-your-own-adventure practice (i.e. "you've got a few minutes, do some standing poses"), and though I love this aspect of his teaching, it also kind of freaks me out. My audition muscles kick-in when I hear him tell us to "make it your own" or "be creative" and I begin to size-up not only my own "best moves" but everyone's around me. Am I being wild enough? Risky enough? Graceful enough? If Edward happens to walk past me during this "play time" there is a good chance I will fall over or do something backwards or almost kick somebody, and I find myself longing for instruction. I also almost always feel like a downright schlubby yogi, what with all my darting glances and wobbly half-committed poses. Why can't I look like she looks? I think, stealing more glances at graceful creative Renee to the side of me. She may as well be underwater for all the effect gravity seems to have on her. And all I can do is cringe at how much earlier I return to downdog than everyone else and hold my breath until Edward starts calling out poses again.

It's humiliating to me, having been a performer all my life, that I would get such amateur-y stage-fright IN MY YOGA CLASS. However, it is also a great teacher, all this uptight-ness, as I know (smarty-pants that I am) that this self-consciousness comes from the same place as does my vanity--and that it nets the same effect: a separation from myself and from my practice. Because, see, here's the other thing that I know (did I mention I'm a smarty-pants?), graceful Renee is not graceful because she's over there thinking about how graceful she is, she's graceful because she is involved in her practice...I daresay she is graceful because she is so involved with her practice she is actually one with her practice. She is, as they say in some circles, in the flow. I, sitting on my butt with my toe in my hand, gawking at her as she pretzels herself, I am most definitely not in the flow. My body is on the floor and my brain is sitting at the front of the room, running a minute-to-minute compare and contrast of me v. the rest of the class.

But then, something lovely happens: we continue to play with Vasisthasana variations, moving back and forth between standing poses and inversions and Vasisthasana+ and at a certain point, without thinking about it, I am suddenly WITH MYSELF. It's nothing outwardly too obvious--perhaps I'm moving a bit more slowly, more fluidly, perhaps I'm looking around a little less, but inside it is like a whole new world, and it clicks--how simple it is!--it is my practice, I suddenly realize, it is my practice and all that I can really pay attention to is how it is going for me. It's the difference between walking into an audition room to do what you think the director wants and going into an audition room to do what you want--it's a subtle shift, but it means absolutely everything. It is why you return to the mat in the first place. It is the thing you fell in love with and the thing you keep working to return to. It is the thing that makes the whole world drop away, that says fuck-all to what everyone else is doing, and that allows you the space to see and hear and feel your own body, even when you're trying to put your feet behind your freakin' head. Suddenly there I am, breathing, paying attention, shifting and adjusting to fit my own bodies quiet little desires and aversions...the simplest hardest thing in the world: to pay attention.

And do you want to know something? Later that same class...I caught Renee watching my practice out of the corner of her eye...(not that I pay attention to that kind of thing...)

Monkey'in Around

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

Have I gushed about Edward? Not enough, I'm sure. Not nearly enough.

My favorite quote from his class today,

"I can tell how many of you have been to prison by who is paying attention to instructions..."

and in second place,

"This class has the highest pose per minute ratio."

and rounding third,

"This is all going to culminate in some incredibly complicated choreography which I have of course entirely forgotten."

Do you see why I love him? I looooooove him.

I think I love him all the more because he walked in off the street wearing black jeans and a black sweater and then changed promptly into his yoga gear, which consisted of black yoga pants and a black t-shirt. And he's a filmmaker and he plays the most kick-ass music ever. (he's an amazing teacher, that helps too.)

I'm having a couple strange little body twinges in my classes lately: a funny feeling in my left hip flexor combined with a little sciatic nerve soreness, and my continued right shoulder crankiness. I am, however, really attempting to use my injuries as teachers and am proud of my newfound proper alignment in chatarunga and upward dog. The hip thing...I don't know about that. (It makes me feel like the work I'm doing in my legs and lower body is actually having an effect, albeit a sort of painful one right now...). At the very least I am trying to back off from my tendency of muscling through everything, and paying attention to when and where my body wants to hang back.

But, back to the amazingness of Edward and his amazing classes...(sigh)

Today, we did a big fat investigation of Hanumanasana. What, coloquially, one might call, the splits. Oh, Hanuman. Oh, horrible, terrible, groin-wrenching Hanuman, how I wish I knew you more. This, if you haven't guessed, is not one of my favorite poses. No, actually, let me rephrase that: this might be one of my favorite poses, if I could do it. My groins and inner thighs (and hips, I suppose) are just a little too tight to do this pose. Translation: I feel like I am going to rip down the center and all my insides are going to spill out onto the floor if I do it. Graphic, I know, but it's also a very intimate pose...meaning, the parts of your body you have to open up in order for it to be successful (groins, hips, heart) are very tender and protected (for moi). So, let me just say, I was not thrilled when I realized that all of our work in class was leading up to Hanuman-a-rama.

*"all of our work in class" being: standing and sitting twists, standing splits, pushups in handstand. Yes, in handstand. And all the usual requisite standing poses*

So, we pushed our mats to the side to get onto the slippery wood floors and I watched graceful long-legged types around me just sliding into this pose, their pelvis cuddling up to the ground, while I hovered wobbly on my two blocks. You could have driven a truck beneath my pelvis. And I seethed a little with envy. It looks like such a glorious pose, such a sexy, difficult, wide-open pose, and I long to be able to do it. I did notice, however, that though I was far from doing the pose, it was not as mind-numbingly excruciating as it had been in the past. In fact, I noticed, I bet I could actually go a lot further in the pose than I was, even. So why wasn't I?

For one, I was really using the blocks to lean forward and rest my body weight, terrified of the tendon-ripping I was sure would come if I let my legs and pelvis carry the weight. Also, I was putting a lot of focus (and fear) on my inner thighs/groins, energetically scrunching away from their opening, and also assuming the worst about the above-mentioned possibility of tendon-ripping.

As an experiment, I moved my focus away from my groins and on to my pelvis, and moved the blocks back a bit so that I could grip them with a straight-spine and open heart, and lo-and-behold! I was another few inches closer to the ground! Not only that, I felt more secure and balanced in the pose, and could feel the opening in my groins as a positive sensation, instead of a terrifying one. I even, I kid you not, wanted to stay in the pose longer than we were instructed! (Not to worry, however, as we revisited it about a dozen more times, complete with some crazy slip-sliding from leg to leg and a twist that made me laugh while attempting it, as it was so hard, and I was so far from accomplishing it.)

But, I attempted it all, and got closer to feeling really good in Hanuman than I have ever felt before. And thank god there are still so many parts of this practice that feel out of my reach. That gives me the juice to want to practice more and more, to imagine a future wherein I will be one of the graceful girls who slips into the splits, and not the cranky wobbly block girl I was this afternoon.

Thank you, Edward.

-Yogalia

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

Edward, though I'm a little intimidated by him sometimes, might possibly be the most innovative, creative, and all-around mind-blowing teacher I've had the chance to study with. This class--the one that (gulp) all the teachers take--is advanced and free-form and the music Edward plays always ROCKS!

I, mistakenly, put my mat in the front of the room for this class--there weren't many people and we were all asked to move up--and I had an hour and 45 minute wrestling match with my ego because of it. As such, I had the following realizations (while attempting to do one of the many one-handed inversions that Edward demonstrated with such wood-nymph-like precision):

1. I am nowhere near beyond the point where I want to be the "A" student in class--and this holds me back more than it motivates me.

2. The poses that are the most difficult for me are those which require either total abandon, total upside-down-ness, or total relaxation. This means handstand and forearm stand (in the middle of the room--I'm alright against the wall) dropping back into wheel and, yes, shavasana, are among those poses which give me major trouble.

3. The poses that I can not do, or won't allow myself to do, represent the culmination of struggles in other areas of my life, i.e., learning to let go--as these poses literally will not happen without my giving over to the pose and relinquishing my conscious ego-hold on getting it right.

4. I worry a lot about looking stupid. This one is a bit of a surprise to me, as I'm constantly looking stupid in front of big groups of people as an actor and auditioner, but also it makes total sense to me, as my biggest set-back as an actor is my inability to let go and trust my own instincts (see above).

5. I want to develop a practice that is more deeply and personally mine, so that I am not so easily thrown by this "how am i doing" head.

6. Watching people in that class glide from handstand into wheel and back into handstand, without making a sound or rippling the air makes my heart sing. I. Want. That.

7. Somersalts are awesome.

I will say that my alignment in all my inversions is improving a lot--I think I have the strength and balance and breath-work to be able to DO all of the poses I'm kind of fiddling around with right now: dropping back, handstand, etc...but my mind just takes over. I stand on the edge of the cliff and I just start staring at the water and the distance between me and the rocks, and all the possible miscalculations, and I cut my nerve to ribbons. One day I'm just going to have to dive off the edge.

I'm looking forward to that day.

-YogaLia