FRESHness...

I had an experience in a class I was taking, many moons ago, in which we were doing partner poses, and I, pro that I thought I was, was proudly holding up one of my partners legs, when I heard from across the room the rather stern voice of my teacher, calling out:

"Lia! What are you doing? You're spotting the wrong pose!"

And I looked down to discover that, indeed, I was spotting my partner in the non-rotated version of the rotated pose we were supposed to be doing.

"Notice that." my teacher said, rather brusquely, "You're not paying attention."

And for many minutes afterwards I fumed, silently, about the way she'd spoken to me. I felt scolded. I felt reprimanded. I felt called-to-task.  All of which, I was. And all for good reason. Because she was right--I wasn't paying attention. And I knew it.

I have, over the last several weeks, been noticing a lot of this in my own classes. Students jumping ahead, assuming they know where we're going, when most often, they do not. Students going through the motions without listening either to me or to their bodies, when it's clear to me from across the room, that either I have just said something...or their body has...and that it has been ignored. I am sensitive to it these days.  It gets under my skin.

I think about stories of spiritual masters who give "shaktipat", the experience of instant enlightenment--the direct transference of awakeness from themselves to their students--and how some have been known to give it with a quick smack at an opportune time. That was what my aforementioned teacher gave to me. A well-placed THWACK to shake me out of my sleepiness.

But, it's not a surprising thing--all of us, anyone who does anything with repetition, anyone who practices anything, is going to fall occasionally under the spell of their own expertise and fool themselves into thinking they don't have to pay attention anymore. It happens in yoga, it happens in art, it happens in relationships...things get known, they get forgotten...and they get stale.

And so this word, freshness, has been coming to mind. Such a perfect word: fresh. One of those lovely words that is how it sounds and sounds how it is. Fresh. Freeeeeeeeesh. Fresssssssshhhhhhhhh. 


There are ways to be "present" that just involve the mental regurgitation of the learned pattern of things, meaning: Here's a tree. I know what a tree looks like. Here is my mental picture of tree, laminated over the top of that actual living tree. Isn't that pretty. And there are ways to be present which require an absolute newness, as in: Branches moving. Leaves fluttering. Solid trunk. New moss on the ground. Heat vibrating off bark. 

One requires more effort than the other.  

And in the practice of yoga, we are asked to practice the latter. We are asked to use our breath as a guide.  The breath, which is never ever ever the same (not ever once will this inhale be the same as the last) but is a perfect teacher because it can be mistaken for sameness. If you're not looking closely, the breath could just seem like the same pattern, repeated over and over. So, in order to see it for what it really is, in order to keep attention on the breath, in order for it to be FRESH, you really have to be there with it. You really have to be feeling out, each inhale and each exhale.  And, that is the way we are supposed to be coming to our practice.  Every time, as if it's new. Even the poses (especially the poses) we have done 100,000 times before--we are supposed to be looking with fresh eyes. Every time. What's new about this? Have I seen this? Have I really seen it? Or am I just holding myself in this position, because it's the way I've done it before, and so that's the way I'm going to do it now. Am I paying attention?

THWACK!

Am I paying attention?

Overwhelmentizationizing...

That's right, even the word overwhelmed is not overwhelming enough for this post.  Take that, dictionary.

First of all, just to be clear...I realize that I have nothing to complain about in this department.  I do not work three or more unfulfilling minimum wage jobs.  I do not have children or pets to take care of.  I do not have one of those lives where sometimes I have to be up for 18 hours in a row and then just come home and catch a few hours of sleep before I get up and do it all over again.  I do not have to do any of these things, and anyone who DOES have to do any of these things, if you're reading this, I suggest you turn off this blog right away and go take a nap, for god's sake!

Anyhoo...for a lady who doesn't really have much (comparatively) weighing on her in the responsibility department, I sure am feeling full up with to-do lists and futurizing. (wedding, wedding, wedding, yoga, yoga, yoga, blog, blog, blog).  Though even for all my busy-ness I still have at least an hour or two during the day, everyday, where I'm just sort of aimlessly wandering around my apartment, trying to decide what the "best" thing to do next might be.

(All too often it ends up being green tea and Hulu, but that's another story.)

Are there people in the world who don't have this problem?

Yes, Lia...please open your edition of "people who have changed the world" to any page and point to...anyone.  Yes, that's right, ALL of those people knew how to effectively time-manage.  (Also, Will Smith.  I'm pretty sure Will Smith is, like, busy all day long making things generally better and more expensive in the world.)

Sigh.  Will...I've let you down, once again.

But, okay, here's the deal...the reason that overwhelmment is so, well...overwhelming, is because it's the by-product of one (me) trying to do something (by doing everything, all at once) that is actually physically impossible.

I'm no scientist, but I do know the following:

It is NOT possible to be somewhere other than where you are.

It is NOT possible to exist in the past and/or the future.  Period.  Not possible, folks.

It is NOT possible to do more than one thing at a time.*

*a short dialogue on why this is true even if you think it's not:

Me: oooh, beg to differ, do you?  

Other Me: yes, indeed i do.  for instance, what if I'm listening to the radio and, you know, washing the dishes...that's doing two things at the same time. 

Me: well, actually...that's doing two things alternately, back and forth, in short intervals...but most likely, you're sort of coming in and out of listening to the radio as you come in and out of washing the dishes. most likely you're not actually doing those two things at once, in the same instance.

Other Me: oh, hmm.

Me: it's a common mistake. 

So, it makes sense that when we try to bend the laws of physics...we might get a little cranky.

And it's in these moments where a yoga practice becomes actual and dynamic and useful in one's real-life life.  Namaste, y'all.  Because, even if you come into a yoga class with your motor revved to high-gear, and your list of plans circling wildly through your head, the perfect storm of the class--which is the combined impact of the attention to the breath, the movement of the body, and the persistance of the teacher reminding you to pay attention--will (or should) ultimately sloooooooow you down.  You might be resistant at first.  You might think, no, wait...what's going to happen to me if I'm not keeping track of all this stuff?!  But eventually that list of yours will be forcibly pulled from your hand and you'll be left with just...what's actually there.

Your breath.
Your body.
The feel of the air against your face.

And that's it.  (Because that's always it.)  As I write this, I am thinking that I have all kinds of things...I think that I have a wedding to plan and a class to teach and a fiance driving home to me, but really, when I look around, what do I have?  (Deep breath.) My breath.  My body.  The feel of the keys under my fingers.  That little crink in my neck.  The sound of some birds outside.

And that's it.

Which doesn't mean that all those other things aren't real, and certainly doesn't mean that I'm preaching presence as an escape hatch to get away from all the various things that lift us up or press us down, but just simply that in order to even begin to be with those things, in order to even begin to be able to handle/accomplish/love these things in our lives.  There has to be space for them.

So, Shanti-towners...if you can just take a minute, right now...as soon as you're done reading this...if you can just take a minute to close your eyes and take one simple uninterrupted breath, two things might happen. A. You might just have become a yogi, and B. you might suddenly have more space in which to perform all of your requisite duties.

I for one am off to go wash some dishes (and listen to some NPR)...please don't tell Will Smith.

A Small Prayer for the Evening...

Dear god-universe--cosmic-soup-tingly-feeling-in-my-fingertips-and-chest-whoever-you-are-this-evening,

(Please tonight, as I'm wending my way toward sleep, please, please, oh-that-which-is-softer-than-me-and-all-open-arms, please help me to remember a few things, as I head towards bed.)

Please help me to remember, first, not to turn expansion, into pressure.  And that just because good things are happening, does not mean I have to become a better version of myself in order to keep them.

Please help me to remember that making lists of all the things I need to get done, is not the same as getting those things done.

Oh, and help me, if  you could, to remember to breathe into the tight places.  Please help me to remember that I know the difference between that which is open and that which is closed, and that it's up to me to choose which of those I want to be.

Could you also, while you're at it, help me to remember that it's all going to be okay? To remember that I can let go, and worlds will not collide?

Help me, please, to remember not to rob myself of joy/bliss/thrill/excitement/lovelovelove with the expectation that eventually (and soon) the other shoe is going to drop. Please help me to stop looking for that damn other shoe.  Remind me, please, that sometimes there is only shoe.  The good one.  The one that fits.

Also, please help me to remember that there are other people in the world. Help me to remember that I am connected to them. And that my heart isn't just yearning to be open so that I can have more stuff and fun-times, woo-hoo!  But so that we can collectively all begin to open, heart by heart.

And help me remember that I am allowed. And that there is room. And time. And resources to get everything I need to get done...done.  And also help me to remember that I will never get it all done.  And also help me to remember that all of those things I think I need to do, are just pale sad covers for the real and only thing I ever need to do, ever worth doing, which is learning, finally, how to fall madly in love with my own life.

Please help me remember how to fall madly in love with my own life.

And with you.

And with everyone else.

(Even the jerks.)


Lots of love,
YogaLia

In The Chair

You'll be pleased to know, after my last missive about this, that I do not have any sort of condition that's going to make all of my teeth fall out.  Phew!

What I did have, it turns out, is a loose crown.

Can I just put it out there, first of all, that I take really good care of my teeth?  I do.  It just so happens that I have been blessed with an "unbalanced PH" in my mouth (this is what my mother tells me.  Though she is also the person who assured me as a teenager that I would eventually be tall, like all the other women in my family).  Anyhooo...I get cavities really easily, is what I'm saying.  Thankfully not in years have I had a full-fledged cavity (though that's also how long its been since I last went to the dentist), but the last round of work I had done involved several (yes, several) root canals and crowns.  One of which, lovely bugger, had come loose.

After letting it sort of wiggle around in my mouth the last couple weeks, the pain and annoyance got to be too much to bear, so I moved my dentist appointment up a couple weeks and was in the chair this Tuesday for the big event.

This dentist I found, as I said in my last post, is lovely.  He's this sweet young Indian guy, who works there dentist-ing away with his dad, who has had the business for years.  He's friendly, he remembers my name and my teeth, and he makes me feel like he knows what he's doing.  His assistant, who looks like she's about 17 and who kept grimmacing every time she put the little suction thing-y in my mouth because she kept suctioning my lips and cheek...did not make me feel so much that way.  But, okay.

We had decided, my lovely dentist and I, that "while we were in there" (ugh) he would not only replace the crown, but go ahead and replace some old fillings as well.  Why not?  It'll be a little party right there in my upper right mouth.  Hooray!

Have I mentioned that I hate having dental work done?  Have I mentioned that I had to take a few deep breaths in the car before I could even make myself take the long walk across the parking lot into the office?  Have I mentioned that my mouth doesn't open very wide so going to the dentist always makes my jaw ache?  Have I mentioned that the whole thing, the weird horror-movie chair and the terrible music and the smell of, uh, sickly sweet something and the office-park blinds on the windows, how it all makes me feel vaguely ill?  And how the fact that I usually know enough about what they're doing in my mouth to be very nervous, but not actually enough to keep my imagination from running wild?

Right, there's that.

So, needless to say, I had to institute some serious deep-breathing for my little dental adventure.  I believe the dentist, who knows I'm a yoga teacher, actually said as we were getting ready to begin, "Alright, time to get your meditation on."

So I focused on the slats of trees through the blinds, and not the nervous hovering assistant.  I focused on relaxing my hands every time I felt them clenching up into little balls of "god please let this novocaine be good" terror.  And I tried to breathe.  And then tried to breathe again.  And so on.

And as I was laying there, my mouth achingly open, just trying with all my might to stay present to the whole room, and not just to my upsetting narrative about my buzzing teeth, I thought about how life can feel this way sometimes.   How there are these moments in life when there is nothing to be done...where you've let the problem, the little nagging ache get big enough that now there's no choice but to turn it over to a professional...and so what do you do?  Life is just like, open your mouth please, and keep it open until I'm done.  I'm going to be sticking some saws and drills and stuff in there, and you can either sit still and make it easy, or you can freak out, and make it a lot worse.

And I thought about how often, in those times when I am being drilled or cut open or forced to sit with something uncomfortable in my day to day life, how I just (I mean let's just call a spade a spade) freak the fuck out.  And that if I handled the dentist the way I handled those things...my god, he would have to strap me down.

So why is it that in the dentist chair I know?  Why is it that there I can say, alright sweetie...just breathe.  It will pass.  And I listen to myself.  And maybe I come in and I come out, but I know, somewhere somehow, that this uncomfortable (painful) experience is an opportunity for me to sit with.  To breathe in the face of.  To open, to stretch just a little bit wider.

But be it a nagging THOUGHT, instead of a trip to the dentist, and this same, alright sweetie...just breathe, it will pass, gets met with a big ol' NO IT WILL NOT!! I am never going to feel better and I need to fix this right now, I need to get myself the hell out of this chair!!

Imagine if you went to the dentist and had a hysterical meltdown because some part of you actually thought you were going to be in the dentist's chair FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.  That would, I think, make you a crazy person.  But this happens with emotions, with thoughts, all the time.

(Please tell me I'm not alone in this...)

But here's what I learned, Shanti-towners...I went to the dentist on Tuesday, I left that same day, and while my gums are still recovering from all the action they got, by and large, the experience is over.  Done.  Better.   Fixed.  And I'm sort of thinking, next time I'm faced with something I like about as much as I like my teeth getting drilled, I'm going to try--in the words of my lovely dentist--to get my meditation on.

Earth Day!

Happy Earth Day!

What did you do for earth day?

I did...um...

uh...

I was really horriifed when I saw one of the cleaning people in my building had left the water running and I was going to turn it off but then I realized that she was filling something up...?

Um.

I...had judgemental thoughts about HumVees?...um.

Okay, no...I did do something, I did. I went to yoga (nevermind that I do that every day)...but, in honor of the 40th year of Earth Day, my teacher led us through 40 rounds of sun salutations.

40 people! Aw yeeeeeah.

This isn't actually very many, as people often do sets of 108 sun salutations at the changing of seasons and stuff, but I have never done 108 sun salutations (or probably really 108 of anything) and so for me, 40 was a lot. For those of you who don't know the sequence of a basic sun salutation (or, Surya Namaskar A), it's basically stand up, fold over, jump back, lower down, rise up, swing back, breathe breathe breathe, jump forward, stand up (and repeat). It's simple. It's juicy. And doing it all together in class, my fellow yogis and I collectively sounded like the ocean, breathing in and out, and our teacher pointed this out, asking, "isn't it beautiful that our breath is a reminder of the ocean? Of the constancy of the tides?"

Yes, it is!

So, I guess for Earth Day I spent a couple hours being the ocean.

That's pretty good, right?

Xo,
YogaLia

Breathing, Not Pooping...

So, I'm reading this anatomy book...mainly because I love the line drawings of people doing yoga...that's become one of my newest obsessions, doodling yogis (that and pouring over fashion magazines and cutting out pictures of models...because I heart models...)--but I have also been captivated by the actual content of the book (reading for content, a new discovery brought to you by YogaLia).

And yesterday, to my great delight, the anatomy book taught me how to breathe.

I always thought I was pretty practiced at the whole breathing thing, seeing as how I've been doing it for 29 years...but turns out, I had been doing it totally ass-backwards. Pun intended.

I had not set out to learn to breathe when I started reading the section on breath...I just thought I might pick up a few juicy tidbits about the whole in-out process and maybe refine my mental image of the breathing aparatus (and there is much room for refinement, as up until very recently my "mental image" of the inside of my torso basically consisted of a couple unidentified pouches and a lot of empty space...), but then, oh then...

In this book it explains how the breath moves in two directions, in and out (duh!)...or, more accurately, down (through the nose and into the lungs) and up (back out through the nose)...so far so good. The up/down description was new, but other than that, I'm good, totally on board. And then it starts to talk about how the "up" part of that equation is actually sort of difficult to master and done wrong by a lot of beginning yoga students, because for most people, when they think about expelling something, they think of a downward movement. Like, um...pooping.

Sorry. That's really the best analogy...

And at first I'm like, oh that's interesting...and then I start to think about it...and think about it...and suddenly I realize that I have been breathing totally wrong! Not just in yoga, people, I mean just in general throughout my ENTIRE LIFE.

When I exhale (up until yesterday) I have always imagined, for some reason, the air traveling down and out. I'm not sure where exactly I think the breathe is exiting...there aren't really many options down there. I think maybe I just imagined that it, like, osmosed through my stomach and out into the ether, but people, air doesn't go out your butt!! (Well...) Air goes out your mouth! Air goes out the same place it came in! Inhale, air comes in your nose and DOWN, exhale, air goes UP and out through your nose!

I just...I'm...flabbergasted by this discovery.

And not just because my idea about breathing is now more accurate, but because my breath has actually dramatically improved since making this find. No joke. As soon as I began to concentrate on my exhale with the knowledge that the breathe is leaving on an upward current...I'm not sure how to describe what happened except to say that everything just got...easier.

And I could feel the breath...leaving me. I could feel an actual letting go--letting the breath sail up and out instead of compressing it down into my belly and holding it there.

I could elaborate on the metaphoric resonance of all that, but I think it's probably pretty clear...if you've been reading any of my myriad posts on my attempts to "let things go" or be easier or chill the f-- out, you've probably already picked up the symbolic weight of this particular little gem.

BREATHING, my friends, not pooping...

Contradictions, baby.

Early on it becomes clear that yoga is a practice of contradictions, the largest one being, (among many others such as "root down and lift up", "curl in and open", "do this unbearably hard thing and breathe slooooowly"), that one must be Strong and also Soft.

I have been thinking a lot about this contradiction as it applies to my own life...

Early on in the LA-chapter of my practice one of my teachers talked about how visible it was in a person's practice what side of this equation they fell on: the uber-open-hearted, whose practice is loose and graceful but also sort of jelly-like and therefore wide-open for injury, and in the other corner, the rigid rule-adherer, whose practice sparkles technically but lacks that OOMPH of joy and soft-heartedness. He said that neither of these are ideal on their own, but both must be present in the practice. Things need to be strong and lined up and active, but the center must, must, must be soft.

Artists know this, instinctually. I know this as an actress--that there is a sort of sweet-spot right in the middle where preparation and hard-work meet up with in-the-moment ALIVE-ness--wherein the performance just lights up. I understand this as an artist--I still struggle with sometimes allowing myself to soften, but I understand it.

In my life, however, I find this contradiction totally f-ing confusing.

(excuse my language)

How, how, how am I supposed to be driven and be focused and have a vision of what I want and go after it and never say die and just like Will Smith my way into success AND be present and be open and "go with the flow"?!? (um, I'm not really sure about the Will Smith reference...I think I watched some bio of him at some point where he seemed all "I will manifest my dreams" ish.)

This is sort of a rhetorical question (sort of), but I have so often felt that I yo-yo between two poles: either completely engaged in a kind of "hustle", doing and doing and doing, OR throwing my hands up in the air, pledging to "just be", and spending way too much time journaling.

Neither is comfortable.

Neither is fruitful.

And, neither lasts.

So I know that there is an in-between point. I know that there is a sweet-spot, where both things exist...I have yet to FIND it, but I know that it exists. That isn't entirely true of course...it's there when it's there. It's there when I'm engaged in what I'm doing without being worried about the outcome of what I'm doing.

Let me say that again:  It's there when I'm engaged in what I'm doing without being worried about the outcome of what I'm doing.

As soon as I start to ask, "is this enough?", it's gone. As soon as I start to ask, "am I doing this right?", it's gone. As soon as I start to ask, "is there something else I'm supposed to be doing?", it's gone. And so I'm beginning to learn that the contradiction IS it. The pose is not one or the other, not soft or strong, it's both. And likewise my life can not be just effort or just ease--it must be both.

Root down and lift up.

Curl in and open.

Engage and release.

Inhale and exhale.

Inhale.

and

Exhale.

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!

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...

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.

The Exhale...

Class: 9:30-10:30am, "Lotus Hour", Deborah.

This month at the Lotus is all about Pranayama. The breath. The breath--often forgotten--which is in fact the foundation, not just of the practice, but of one's entire life. And Deborah, wanted to talk about the exhale. Deborah has a great accent (New Zealand?) so she can talk about just about anything and make it sound interesting...

The exhale is an interesting subject for me. The breath itself, but I suppose the exhale in particular is a source of great curiosity and consternation for me. When I was young I spent a short period of time (unnecessarily) using an inahaler for my allergies, as I would often spend days stuck in a sort of no-man's-land of breath, unable to fully inhale or exhale, and so forced to take these deep sucking gulps of air--giant sigh-like breaths--which tended to be of mild to great concern to those around me. A highschool boyfriend, in particular, was convinced I was perpetually frustrated with him because of all that sighing.

The inhaler did little to help, though it did give me a kind of fun light-headedness, and I rather enjoyed the sickly-sweet pumped chemical taste. I discontinued it after not too long and soon thereafter took up smoking, which cured me of this little breathing hiccup for the duration. However, in 2002 I quit the nicotine, and sure enough, the voluminous sighs returned. These days, though I still sometimes blame them on allergies, I know that this variation in my breath is the result of stress, fear or worry. As my practice grows, as my training as an actor continues, as my life evolves, it becomes more and more clear to me that I HOLD MY BREATH. A lot. Not only do I hold my breath, I tend to breath primarily from my upper chest, and my exhales are just wimpy little stepchildren compared to my inhalations.

So, the exhale is a weighty subject for me. Mainly because sometimes I feel that I literally do not know how to exhale. This is not a great thing, seeing as how the exhale is the source of emptiness and of letting go. The exhale, physiologically, is the thing which creates the space in your body for the inhale to come. The exhale drains the water from the pool so that the inhale might come in and fill it back up again. The exhale is the tiny little death of the breath and the inhale, the rebirth. The exhale is spaciousness and silence and emptiness and the inhale is, literally, inspiration.

Do you see where I'm going with this? If the exhale is short and shallow and...difficult...do you see the effect it might have? A clogging up of inspiration? A holding on. A refusal to let go. A building up and building up, building up so much that eventually the only possible release must come in the form of something like...

A Giant Sigh?

(Sigh). So. I've got a lot to learn about the exhale. And I'm trying. It seems that every day lately I am trying--placing my own hand on my own belly and gently, gently reminding myself to let go, to breathe out, noticing when the breath starts to get high and tight in my chest, reminding myself that there is so much more room in my body, that my instrument of breath stretches from the very bottom of my pelvis all the way up through my skull, just reminding and reminding, gently gently.

I can't say that there has yet been any miracle transformation--I still feel at times that the art of breathing is beyond my clumsiness, but I continue to just gently notice and adjust and notice and adjust, and in small steps I feel my body learning--ever so slowly--just quietly climbing in to the wheelhouse of my breath, and sometimes, like today, the body and the breath become one being--just briefly--and it all makes just a little bit more sense.

Inhale.
Exhale.

Contract.
Release.

Inhale.
Exhale.

Inspiration,
and Letting Go.

(and one great big sigh...)