Where I Been, Where I Be, Where I Be Goin...

Enough said?

NOTE: This is not MY pregnant belly. This is a random internet image of a pregnant belly. I just liked it.

NOTE: I am, however, pregnant.

NOTE: It is, also in fact, a girl.

Oh, wow, you might be saying, that's great, did you just find out? Is that why we're only hearing about this now?

Um....

Weeeelll....

The truth is, I'm due soon. Increasingly sooner and sooner-er. Mid March, to be specific. So, no, I did not just find out. Have I been thinking about posting about it here for quite awhile? Yes. Have I been encouraged by others to write, in particular, about the pregnancy in this space? Yes, I have. Have I done any of that? No, I have not.

Oh, Shanti Towners...what can I even say for myself?

I will start with this...early on in the pregnancy I spent one tearful afternoon telling a very close friend (who is a new mother) all about how much trouble I was having getting work done...how I had made a commitment to myself this year to take my creative work more seriously and now, with the due date looming like a giant measuring stick (you must have gotten THIS much done in order to ride this ride), I was feeling...lost.  What exactly was I supposed to be focusing on? Where exactly was I supposed to be putting my energy? And who, for the love of ______, was I exactly, anyhow?

Said friend listened very politely to my struggle and then reminded me, as gently as possible, that I was currently involved in the biggest creative project of my life...the creation of another human being...and that it made sense that perhaps I did not feel like I had as much out in my output these days.

So I have allowed myself, Shanti Towners, a bit of a paring down, these last several months.  My creative energies have been going to projects outside of this blog, and that includes, in large part, to the creative project currently taking place in my belly. Hence the prolonged absence.

Which I can not promise you will not continue, but hopefully even the continued absence will be punctuated with some shouts and giggles from the other side.

As for now, as the due date moves closer, I find myself in the midst of a necessary shedding...a space-making, a time-taking, a head-clearing. Which sounds, I'm sure, very lovely and maybe even easy to some of you...but trust me, for this lady, it's not. It's not at all easy. It's confusing. And on certain days, it's hard to know exactly what I'm putting down, and for how long, and how and if and when exactly I will pick it back up again.

It is a time, for me, of learning (re-learning) how to trust the process.  What happens when you let something go? What happens when you trust that just because you're not actively worried about/working on/obsessing about something, it does not mean that something will disappear from your life or your heart? What happens when you give yourself space to just breathe and to be and to connect, whether or not you think you've "earned" it? What happens then? Does everything fall apart like your busy brain tells you it will...or does something else happen? Does something get clearer? Does anything?

For the moment...I'm not sure. But I'll let you know what I find out...

Until then, Shanti-Towners...sending you lots and lots of love...

Swim, Fishy...Swim!

What is the difference between effort and surrender?

This week I heard it described like this:

Imagine a fish swimming in a river. When the fish is in the current, she is surrendered.  She is letting the flow of water carry her.  And if and when she ever loses that current, then (and only then) she uses her effort, to find her way back.

Her effort, her will, is what she calls upon when she's fallen out of the stream.  When life starts to get hard, get rocky, when it feels like nothing is moving and certainly nothing is moving her...that is when effort is required.

And then, lucky fish, once she's reunited with the river's current, then she is carried.

And on and on it goes.

I love this description so much (lifted from an interview with Mark Nepo) because we hear so much about surrender.  Surrender is the thing we're all told we're looking for--or at least that's what our yoga teachers tell us and our books tell us and our wise friends tell us (they tell us other things, too)--and often they're right.  Often letting go is what's needed.  Often it's needed because we live in a world where nearly every other influence in our lives is urging us toward the opposite.  Towards more, towards faster, towards harder, towards sweat, towards effort.  Towards multi-tasking our effort.  And so, the encouragement towards, sheesh, softening some of that, is good.

But, what about the times when surrender is not the answer?  Are we really just meant to go from splashing wildly, or worse, swimming in panicked circles, certain the current is there somewhere...to just being lazy fishies, letting the water take us where it will?

That doesn't seem right.

That would imply that the human system is flawed.  If surrender were the only solution, if the only thing which existed other than surrender was a kind of aggravated repetitive belly flop...that would imply that there is nothing to be done.  We either give up, or we suffer.  And I just think that the human mind and heart are too complex and too gorgeous (sorry), to write them off simply as the agents of our own destruction.

But if you think of a wise fish...of a little guy who finds himself suddenly out of the flow of water...what is he going to do?  I don't think he's going to freak out.  I don't think he's going to start slamming his fish body against the rocks along the bottom of the river because he's just so upset that this has happened to him, yet again, and all his other little fishy friends seem to be doing just fine thank you very much and why the heck can't he ever catch a break?!  No, he's going to quiet his little fishy mind (remember, he's a wise fish), he's going to stick his little fish nose and little fish ears (do fish have ears?) into the water, and he's going to use his will to start his little tail and fins a flippin', and he's going to swim himself back to that current.

And when he's there, he'll know he's there, whether or not his eyes are open (whether or not he even HAS eyes), because things will suddenly get...easier.

Ahhh.  Exhale. 

He'll know he's in the current, because he'll be able to fold his little fins against his fat little rainbow-scale sides, and coast.  He'll know he's there because he'll be moving with the river.  He'll know he's there because he'll suddenly be able just to enjoy the ride.

And if ever the time comes when he falls, one more time, out of the grace of the river, he'll know he has his effort, his will, and his good sense...to guide him back.

Working. Less. Hard.

Oh, Shanti-towners...it has been one of those days.  One of those it's too hot in my apartment and I'm too grumpy so I'm just going to go ahead and cry a little curled up in our bedroom because it's the coolest room in the house and I have a million things to do but I don't really want to do any of them and what on earth am I doing and why can't I just be out in the world being productive for gods sakes Stephen Colbert has formed a goddamn SuperPAC at least he's saying something real about the world around him and what on earth is wrong with me ANYHOW days.

You know the kind of day I'm talking about, right?

(oh god, please say yes.)

After a productive (and relatively short) bout of this fetal-ing in our only slightly cooler bedroom, I began to think about what was bothering me (I won't bore you with the details) and what I wanted (again, I'll spare you), and I kept coming back to two of my favorite words...letting go.

Ugh.

If you have ever read a single post I have ever written about anything you can bet that in SOME way somewhere in that post there is some kind of talk of letting go.  It is my Excalibur.  It is my hero's journey.  It is my f-ing nemesis.

Because, here's the problem for us overachiever A-student types...you can not Work Hard to let go.  These two things are actually opposite things.

And as I was sitting on our bed, now all white for summer, having been stripped of its heavy burgundy blankets, I started thinking about how often I TRY to let go.  How often I work and work and work to surrender, sometimes working hard enough that I actually feel, for a short period of time, that I've succeeded.  But how tenuous that hold is, because it's all held up by effort.  How the slightest wind could knock me off-balance and back into the state I have been trying to cover up with all the letting-go talk.  You know the state I'm talking about?  The honest one?  The one that's not so pretty?

And I thought about what real letting go is.  I thought about all the times in my life when I have truly actually let something go--about the feeling of relief that comes from that, the feeling of mourning maybe for what is lost and then the feeling of ensuing possibility, the feeling of solidity, the feeling (like it is with any real change of perspective) that one has arrived at something infinitely more true and more lasting then all the efforting that came before.  And I thought about how you can't fake a state like that.

How if it's going to come, it's going to come from a place of ease, and not from a place of muscle.

One of my favorite alignment instructions, whether I'm teaching a class or taking one, is to soften your fingers.  It's  a very sneaky way of encouraging people to release into a pose, because, for whatever reason, if your fingertips are relaxed, it's much more difficult for the rest of your body to be tense and "trying".  And when you're not over-doing it, when you're not clenching your jaw and reaching like your life depended on it, the pose starts to open in this incredible way.  It sort of reveals itself to you.  And you might find yourself making adjustments the teacher hasn't even touched upon, because in that state of openness, the natural wisdom of your body starts to shine through.  Why?  Because some part of you (usually not your brain) knows that you're sticking your ribs out in a weird way and it just doesn't feel good. And that part of you (usually without much help from your brain) wants you to feel good.  But until you start to relax, that part of you (the I-want-you-to-feel-better part) hasn't got much lee-way.

And if that is true in my practice, then it is for sure going to be true in my life.

So, Shanti-towners, the hypothesis I present to you is:  maybe that problem you're trying to solve, that project you're trying to finish, that magic you're trying to make come true--maybe it could use a little chilling out.  Maybe you could try on some relaxation for size.  But, not the fake kind, Shanti-towners.  Not the kind that comes from the mind as stern little directives to all the rest of all your systems--I mean the kind that comes from deep inside.  The kind that makes you sigh...the kind that gets you up from your mid-day fetal position and back into the world...

In a nutshell, Shanti Towners, just soften your fingers...and see what happens.

Missive from Hawaii #2, Me vs. Nature...Nature Wins

Our first free day on the Big Island, we took our rented jeep and headed out to the Waipi'o Valley...a few locals had boasted of it's excellent hiking and waterfalls, and we were eager to check "bathe in tropical waterfall" off our Hawaii to-do list. 

The first half of the drive was glorious...it was hot enough to be a little uncomfortable in the standing air, but with the wind whipping around through the open jeep well, the sunnier the better.  We had both left coats and sneakers behind and replaced them with shorts and t-shirts (a tank-top for me) and we packed enough water for what was sure to be a sweaty but glorious hike.

When you're in Hawaii, you don't tend to do things like check the weather report, or at least, we didn't.  And we didn't think to find out how and if the weather changes from one part of the island to another (hint: it does. A lot.).  And lastly, and this is the most embarrassing, maybe...we didn't think to link in our minds during preparation for the day, rainforest and um...rain.

You sense where I'm going with this?

Cut to, a few miles later, the two of us scrambling around under the vague cover of a Chevron station overhang, replacing the convertible top on the jeep in record time, me shivering in my short-shorts and sandals.  After successfully un-convertiblizing the convertible, we filled ourselves up with hot coffee and the blast of the jeep heater and continued on our way.  I hoped that the rain would pass...after all, this is Hawaii!!

We didn't reach our destination for another hour or two, as a "short-cut" I spotted on the map turned into a treacherous (but beautiful) 4-wheel-drive adventure through the backroads of the Big Island, but when we did finally get there, you guessed it...it was still raining.

There is no way into the Waipi'o Valley unless you are willing (and dressed) to hike down a steep trail onto the black sand beaches below, or, if you're a more experienced off-roader, 4WD vehicles are allowed down an equally steep road.  We decided not to risk it in the rain, and instead I wrapped myself in a beach blanket and, after parking nearby, we walked out to the Waipi'o Valley lookout, to...look out.

In the rain and mist and chill, the valley could not have been more beautiful.  Giant craggy cliffs cut into the ocean below in long fingers.  A single waterfall could be seen, even from a distance, as a ribbon of white water crashing its way down the center of one of the outcroppings, and the water on the beaches below looked rough and wild.  The valley itself is nearly untouched, just a symphony of green upon green, and with the sheen of mist covering it, it looked downright primeval. 

And as we stood there, me wrapped in our store-bought blue and white striped beach blanket, both of us cold and wet and wearing the general surprise of our day, I thought to myself...

Nature knows what the hell it's doing.

And there is not a chance that I, with my singular mind and ten fingers and toes could EVER come close to making something this beautiful. So, why oh why do I (do we) spend so much time trying to control all the forces of my life, when OBVIOUSLY, if left to it's own devices, nature can figure this shit out.  I mean seriously, look at this place!  And I can bet that whatever it comes up with...whatever happens when the natural expression of elements--wind and water and stone and awesomeness (those are my four official elements)--are allowed to just do their thing, you can bet it's going to be a whole heck of a lot better than whatever I can do with my frantic little mind.

I mean, maybe in a moment of inspiration I could mimic it, or at least describe it really, really well, that seems to be what artists are all trying to do, anyhow.  But I might as well be making velvet paintings of cats (metaphorically speaking)...because what's inspiration anyhow if not just a brief window of time where I have gotten out of my own way and let nature take the reigns?

So, even though it was cold and the rain was beginning to soak my poor beach blanket...I didn't want to leave.  I didn't want to get back into my small car and the even smaller space of my thinking mind.  I just wanted to stay there and watch the water pound the black sand and let the reminder pound against the inside of my own chest...the reminder that sounds a little like: for god's sake, let someone else be in charge.  And also like:

Give up, give up, give up...
Let go, let go, let go...

Ribs, Anyone?

No...not the barbeque kind....(heh heh)

Alright, y'all, so this line of inquiry started for me several months ago when, after many moons of wondering how on earth I am supposed to "open my heart" without "sticking out my ribs" a teacher FINALLY gave me an image that rocked my little rib-cage world.  "Imagine," she said, as we stood in tadasana with our arms raised (um, that's the one where you're just standing up, for those who left their Sanskrit dictionary in their other pants), "that your rib-cage is heavy and descending downward."  And maybe she said something about thinking of the rib-cage as one solid unit, or maybe that's just how it occurred to me as I tried it, but something about that image just clicked for me, and suddenly I felt how my ribs could...how do I put this...RELAX?

Yes, that's it. 

I imagined my rib-cage dropping straight down...as if it were some kind of bony sweater-vest being hung to dry from the clothesline of my collar-bones, and everything my teachers are constantly telling me to do ("pull in your bottom ribs", "expand your back ribs", "tuck your ribs in") it all just happened...effortlessly.  And I felt this immense and I mean IMMENSE relief.

And I realized that my heart is inside this cage of my ribs...and that if the whole structure descends and then the heart lifts...well there's more room for it to peak its little heart-head over the top of the cage, like a prisoner checking to make sure the coast is clear before she escapes.

I mean, I'm positive that physiologically that's not what's happening...but still.

So, it's this image I've been working with in my own practice for months now, and the more I work with it the more I realize that my ribs have been trying to do waaaaaaaaaaay more work than they need to do.  My ribs are showy little buggers--"Here I AM!"--they seem to be always shouting, all jazz-hands and protruding chins.  Well, no more, you scene-stealers! No more!

It's just one more way, I'm coming to see, that my body is trying (sneakily) to escape from itself.  Because when I hush those ribs, when I quiet them down and in, when I let them descend, when I give them the day off...I become...with myself.  The ribs literally become integrated back into the center of my body and likewise I become more centered.  My breath drops to my belly.  My shoulders relax.  And as things begin to loosen up down there in that protective armor of my torso, I realize...my god, I have spent so much time walking around HOLDING on.  My ribs have been like some puffed up bodygaurd.  (I'm mixing metaphors like crazy, here...my heart is a jailbird, and my ribs are apparently both like an attention-starved choreographer AND a juiced bouncer at a club.  What can I say, but that it's 3AM and I'm blogging...). 

What I mean to say is...my ribs used to be like some puffed up bodygaurd and NOW they are not.

Isn't it interesting, how we hold on to ourselves in all these ways...thinking that it will make things easier, or safer, or more perfect, and isn't it interesting how that is just never the way? When when when when when will we learn (and by "we" I mean "me) that the safety and the ease and the beauty comes from fluidity...from letting go...NOT from always gripping so damn hard?

Why Not Just Let Go?

Yesterday, while having lunch with a dear friend of mine, we stumbled into a conversation about "letting go", the culmination of which was a totally brilliant analogy, made by said friend, that actually resolved for me a burning inner conflict that has been bouncing around in me for years, literally...years. (I will  include genius-like analogy at the end of this post).

I housesat for this friend not too long ago, and while there took the liberty of perusing her bookshelves, upon which I found the following book. Cheesy title, I know, and the guy who wrote it is named "Guy", also cheesy, but my friend owned the book, and said friend is a voracious reader, and ivy-league educated to boot, so I trusted her judgment and set to reading.

This book begins with a story about an archeologist.  This archeologist has spent his whole life looking for this one ancient temple (full of treasure or something), which no one has ever been able to find.  And one day, after years of searching, this archeologist gets a hot tip.  This temple, it's rumored, is buried in a mountain which the archeologist is going to have to tunnel through in order to reach said temple.  And this archeologist, being the adventurous type, decides he is going to do just that.  But the tunneling is really hard. It's not a very stable environment and things keep caving in and he has to rebuild his tunnel over and over again. But he is determined to find this temple. So he digs and digs, it takes him months but he's just--he won't give up. And one day he gets to this point where he's too far in to turn back, and everything in the tunnel starts to cave in around him. All he can do is use whatever energy he has left (after months of digging) to throw himself up against the tunnel's center support beam, which stops the caving, but also means he is literally holding the tunnel together all by himself, with the force of his body. And as he's doing this, a thought occurs to him...as he's there, trying to hold the tunnel together with his bare hands, trying not to DIE...and the thought is:

"Why not just let go?"

And of course he thinks this is a crazy suicidal thought, but he can't stop thinking it...it's pretty persistent. So, deliriously tired from trying to hold this tunnel together, he does...he just...lets go. And everything starts caving in around him and he's pretty certain that he's just signed his own death warrant. But he hasn't--he doesn't die. And when the dust clears and everything settles he looks up, and there, right above him is the roof of the temple he's been looking for. He had been inside it the entire time--tunneling through the very thing he'd been searching for!

Now, I don't know if my re-telling is nearly as effective, but when I read that story I was so moved...I recognized it in a visceral way...that feeling of holding everything together, just trying to dig and manuever and keep the structure intact, while all the while there is this little voice saying, "why not just let go?" I recognized it. In my bones.

And my friend who I was lunching with and I got to talking about this book, and we had felt the same way about this opening story (she and I are similar in many ways--both of us carry a bit of the overachiever in our DNA) and so we began to talk about it--about this mysterious "letting go"...about exactly how it's done and what it means. A subject I never tire of exploring, but which always, for me, meets the same impasse.

The way I see it there are two camps, on this subject of letting go--one which says, you know, the whole DEAL is about letting go...that all of spiritual practice is really just about relaxing, and that the letting go is king. And then there's another camp which says, no no, it's all about ALIGNING--it's about lining up with "the divine" or whatever you want to call it, and that it's an active process, one of figuring out what you want and then lining up with that desire in order to find liberation. To me these things feel in contradiction, and I find myself swinging from one to the other...neither ever feeling totally comfortable. Never quite sure if I'm supposed to be doing less or doing more.

And this is where my friend's brilliant analogy comes in.

First let me say that my friend is a gifted actress and singer, and over the last several years she has become more and more devoted to her singing, practicing every single day, and so it's not surprising that right now her vocal work is the lens through which she is veiwing the world.

"Singing is the only way I can think to explain this." She said.

(Surpriiiiiiiiise, surprise).

She said that you have to have energy in order to produce sound...you can't just sit there with your mouth open and wait for music to come out...you have to engage...you have to move air from one spot in your body to another and that has to be active, and conscious. BUT, she said, you also have to relax the right parts of your anatomy in order to produce the sounds you want. If your vocal chords are tense, they aren't going to be able to vibrate, and if they can't vibrate, they won't produce clear sound. There has to be an openness, in your mouth and your head, in order for the sound to be rich.

So, she said, it's definitely not possible to produce with apathy...but you also have to relax, and the things you have to relax are usually the things that people habitually tense.  For her, she said, the letting go is really about learning to let go of the things you hold on to which get in the way.  That archeologist still had a quest...he was still actively seeking something, with energy...but what he didn't realize is that he didn't have to do ALL the work himself. And she, my dear brilliant friend, if she attempted to force the vocal chords do what they so naturally do without her input...she would never be able to produce beautiful sounds.

I don't know if I found this explanation so enlightening because she used something I don't do, singing, as the form through which to explain, but I thought it was one of the best explanations I had ever heard about this sweet-spot/middle-ground of both doing and not-doing. Doing, without over-doing.

And it made me think of yoga, and of how this play of muscularity and openness is constantly happening--how the body is constantly in dialouge--you're seeking out the pose, you're seeking out the pose and then you find it and in order to let it sing, you have to release into it--and that's the real moment of connection. Your body is lined up, but you are letting go of everything that is unnecessary...because if muscles are being recruited that aren't required, you'll feel it, and you'll feel it in the form of tension or aggravation or just plain ol' pain.

And same goes for singing.

And same goes for...everything.

It's not about just reeeeelaxing into some lump of goo on the floor, it's about doing with trust--trusting that your body knows what needs to be done (or your vocal chords or your heart or whatever it is) and that you do not have to do all the work yourself. You do not have to hold the entire tunnel together, and in fact, if you do...you're probably going to miss the exact thing you're looking for...

Shanti-Town Recommends...

Shanti-Town is proud to bring you word of an excellent new blog/book, written by one of my most favorite-est yoga teachers from NYC...

It's sweet! It's funny! It has cute pictures of a dog!

It's...(drum-roll, please)...The Yoga of Belle!

It's pretty ingenious, actually. The subtitle is "Life Lessons from my Chocolate Lab", and it's all about the primarily "yogic" lessons that the author (Edward), has picked up over the years from his gorgeous dog (Belle)...I was pretty moved by some of it...especially the section on letting go.

If you have a chance, pop over, say hello...they're doing a big push right now to try and generate some advance buzz for the book, so I hope you'll check it out...

xo
YogaLia

I Got Your Back...

You learn things when you start practicing yoga, about yourself, that you might never have known otherwise, like that you have a super flexi back, or that your hips are really open, or that you have good balance, or that you have the tightest hamstrings around...things which just, you know, don't tend to come up in the course of your life otherwise. (Unless you've given birth.  Or you're just...naughty.)

You also learn things like, "gee, I'm so disconnected from that part of my body that I can't even FEEL it. Even when I try really hard--gee, that's funny. It feels like that part of my body is made of flesh-rock."

(I don't know what "flesh-rock" is, but I am definitely in favor of someone starting a flesh-rock band. Please sing songs about yoga.)

Anyhoo, that is how I have felt (up until very recently) about my back-body.

In Anusara Yoga (the style I'm currently practicing) they talk a lot about the back-body. They say things like, "puff up your kidneys," or "move your waistline back," or "move from behind the heart"...people, seriously...the first time I heard "puff up your kidneys" I was like, wait...WHAT? My kidneys? A. I don't even know where my kidneys ARE and B. I don't really see, even if I did know where they were, how on earth I would ever "puff them up".

And so for a long time I just let these particular instructions go, as I was busy focusing on other things (like how to "move my thigh-bone back" and "inner-spiral my upper-legs"), and that's how the practice works, anyhow...you focus on the thing that holds the most juice for you at the moment, you work it into the whole of your practice, and as SOON as you've mastered it (and teachers seem to have a radar for this...) there is some brand new thing to work on.

That happened to me yesterday, actually...I was in class feeling like, "aw yeah, I've got this back-body think MASTAH-ed", and then, out of the blue, my teacher was like laser-focused on my shins.

Shins!

Ugh...that will be a post in a few weeks, I'm sure...

Anyhoo...I have had this series of breakthroughs regarding the back-body over the last several months...my kidneys and I have been getting to know each other and are now on quite good terms. As are the backs of my ribs and heart...we've been partying. And I have discovered that the back-body is like this magical land of loveliness. Who knew?

Now, a tiny bit of yoga-osophy...the back-body, at least according to the lore I've heard from my teachers, is considered the seat of the Universal Self. This is in opposition to the Individual Self which is housed, you guessed it, in the FRONT of the body. This makes sense right? Think about leading with your chin, or sticking your chest out or jutting your pelvis forward...all very self-oriented gestures, all signs of a person who is seeking out the personal, whereas the BACK body...well, shoot, what's back there? I mean, seriously, WHAT is BACK there?!  It's unknown, it's mysterious, it's unseen...and if you think about engaging BACKWARD there is an immediate association with falling, with sinking in, with...letting go.

(Theme! theme, theme theme!! Ding, ding, ding! That's the Shanti-Town recurring-theme bell...!)

So for me, I am a very front-oriented person. I'm ambitious, I've got a lot of striving and yearning in my make-up, and I have had to teach myself, over the past 4 years of practice, to not stick out my ribs and chest and chin. This is also something I've had to work on as an actress.  My boyfriend and favorite audition coach can always tell when I'm uncertain of what I'm doing because I start "chin acting" (Jutting my chin forward and up, and thereby totally disconnecting my HEAD from the rest of my body.)  And while those parts of me are often wonderful and lively and productive, there is a kind of disconnect that happens between what is going on in front of me, and what is going on behind.

Long story short (or medium-length at least), when I engage with my back-body, I have to REEEEEEEEEEEElaaaaaax.

Try it, right now, while you're reading this...just send your attention for a minute to your back body, and send even a single breath into the backs of your shoulders, the back of your neck, the back of your waist. Do it gently, with softness, just sort of filling up the balloon of the back. Notice a difference? Feel yourself having a bit of sigh and sinking into your seat and your self a little more? It's good back there! It's juicy!

Not to mention, how a repeated disregard for the back body can lead to a host of problems...as it's so much easier to slam bam crunch the back when you never spend any time there. It becomes just the invisible whipping-boy for the front-body instead of having it's own life and expression.

And my newly found connection to this back-body-wonderland has had a huge impact on my practice...it allows me to sink in more deeply to the poses as their happening, and each time I check in with my back-body it serves as a reminder to sit back, to slow down, to ease off...not because the other stuff is WRONG, not because it's wrong to strive or yearn or want or long for, but because those qualities have to be tempered with the other--the qualities of stillness and patience and trust. Because that's what's back there (at least for me) is the part of me which can settle in, which trusts that I'm held from behind, and that I do not have to work so hard absolutely all of the time.

It brings new meaning to the phrase "I got your back."

I do, Shanti-towners, I got your back. I also got my own.

xo
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."