Shanti-Town Recommends...

This is a long time in the coming, but anyone who likes Shanti-Town will LOVE...

HAPPINESS IS...

Sigh, sigh, and double-sigh. This blog needs no explanation, it is just pure unadulterated loveliness.

It is the brain-child of an old friend and total goddess, Shannon Eileen, and I go here just to let a little of her gooey awesomeness rub off on me...

Thank you, Shannon! Happiness is, Happiness Is...!

xo
YogaLia

The Yoga of Fear...

So, the other day on my way to class, for no apparent reason, I was struck with a large and penetrating fear. The kind that washes your whole body--the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach go all quibbly. It was not connected to anything in particular (though I soon found something to connect it to, clever, quick-minded girl that I am. Note: Sarcasm), but it did come on the heels of an up and down day in which, among other things, I fired my agent.

That's right. I fired my agent.

Well, why is that? You ask. Is it because you have legions of other bigger, better agencies pounding down your door?

Nooo, not exactly.

Well then, why? Is it because it's sort of a slow season, and not the middle of pilot season, and you have some other meetings set up?

Noo, no, not that either.

Oh. Well it must be because your agent did something HORRIBLE like lost you a job or something?

Uh, no. Nope. Nopers.

I'm confused, YogaLia, what prompted this sudden termination?

Well, quite honestly, blog of mine, I fired him because he wasn't doing anything. I fired him because in the 7 months we have been working together, he did not procure me one single solitary audition. And also, and maybe mostly, I fired him because I needed to hear myself stand up for myself. I needed to know that the me who understands that I deserve better, much better, is still around and ready to take charge.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't sort of thrown off balance by the whole thing...I was. I wanted him to fight for me, and he didn't. I wanted the phone to ring right after with a sudden out of the blue call for a job that I could then rub in former agent's face, and it didn't. And so, on my way to class I was feeling a bit...adrift.

Hence, perhaps, the wave of fear. The wave of fear that felt very much like the fear of the possiblity of total groundlessness, and probably in fact WAS the fear of the possibility of total groundlessness, and which, all the same, took me by surprise and spun me nearly upside-down.

Now, let me add here that fear is my go-to emotion in most stressful situations. I hate to admit that. And I'll amend it by saying, that for all that, I still consider myself a pretty fearless person. But I WORRY. I worry...a lot. And when things get tough, instead of some good ol' fashioned anger, I tend to turn to...fear.

And as I walked into class, this feeling sort of DRIPPING off of me, I thought something along the lines of "Goddamnit. This again." Because I knew which way that road leadeth, if you know what I mean. I am very familiar with the ins and outs and ups and downs of the highway of worry that is carved in me, and I am, to say the very least, sick of driving those roads.

And I didn't want another moment of my life stolen by worry. And I did not want my yoga to be tainted, in any way, by the nonsense of worry.

And so as I sat down, I reviewed my options:

A. Spend class worrying. Go through motions with body.

B. Spend class fighting worry. Go through motions with body.

And then, suddenly, a third option presented itself to me. Something along the lines of:

C. Don't fight it.

Don't fight it.

Don't.

Fight.

It.

And I felt, as I considered this option, the strangest sensation. I felt the feeling of the worry intensify (as so much of the reasoning with/explaining away/fretting over is really an attempt by the mind to get away from the FEELING present in the body) and then I felt myself sort of--I don't know how else to explain it--sort of "drop in" to the feeling.

The feeling didn't go away, I wasn't suddenly transported to bliss-land, but I was FEELING what I was FEELING. And it wasn't altogether unpleasant.

My body was tingling. My chest was aching, like a heart aching in its shell. My cells were all alive and jiggly, but there was also--warmth. There was also an aliveness. And, it seemed at least, that maybe my heart wasn't pounding nearly so fast as I thought. I even felt, paradoxically, quite relaxed and attentive inside all the swirling feeling. The swirling feeling was still THERE, that's important to note, but I wasn't fighting it anymore.

And in that moment I really thought, oh my god, THIS is what I'm running away from? All that figuring out/examining/reassuring/lambasting, etc., is all just an attempt not to do THIS? Not to sit in the middle of THIS?

And I thought of all the times I've been told to be present. And I thought of how often I think of presence as being present to that which is OUTSIDE myself, and rarely do I think of my emotional state as a circumstance to be present to--just as valid as being present to sounds in a room or any of the other things I urge myself to pay more attention to.

And I felt such compassion for myself--for this intricate system that calls out to me and calls out to me and which I ignore or deem "bad" over and over again, in attempt to change the feeling that is present. And not going anywhere.

It was a powerful practice, needless to say. It was a practice that had little to do with the asana and so much more with standing out on that ledge--because it's a risk, isn't it? To be presented with a feeling that is uncomfortable and to say, I will not attempt to FIX you--I will not attempt to fix this moment--I will sit smack dab in the middle of it and experience it from tip to toe.

So, suddenly I post videos?

It's a little out of my ouevre, to post videos, I know, but I can't help myself! I stumbled across this and was so incredibly moved by it...

This is the winner of Ukraine's Got Talent (don't ask) and she is doing something called "sand animation". Basically she's standing behind a table that is covered in sand and lit from beneath. She is illustrating the bombings of Kiev during World War II...now, my knowledge of this is...well, nonexistent, and I imagine it would be even more powerful did I know the history and political import of some of what she's talking about, but the sheer emotional power of what she's doing is undeniable. One of the images that you'll see (thank you, Marianne Williamson, for explaining this so clearly in your blog) is a Ukrainian monument that commemorates the bombings she is talking about.

When the shots of the crowd come you see how cathartic what she is doing is for so many of them...because of the beauty and release she is granting to something so un-beautiful, so publicily and with so much GRACE (something that's been on my mind a lot lately--grace.)...and it doesn't hurt that she looks like a Ukrainian audrey hepburn meets charlotte gainsbourg.

Watch it, through to the end, you won't be disappointed.

Um...Gorgeous.

This could be me...

Early this week, after missing all viable morning classes at Still, I went with a dear friend (and neighbor) of mine, to a studio in our neighborhood...a studio that I had never been to, but which she (the dear friend and neighbor) had been to many times, and had more than once tried to get me to go to with her. On this particular morning it was a spur of the moment "Are you going?" "I'll go too!" "Class starts in 15 minutes!" kind of situation, and she assured me that although she'd never herself taken from this teacher, she loved the studio and was sure it would be good.

WEEEEeeeeeell.

I am tempted to list here all the reasons that the class was not, um, shall we say...suited for me. I am tempted to talk about how chilly the studio was, about how the teacher didn't even talk to us before getting us moving, which for some reason really upsets me...I NEED to sit quietly and be "introduced" to class. Even though I have taken THOUSANDS of yoga classes, I need it. I need the teacher to hold my hand as I walk out of busy-busy activity world into quiet bliss-y yoga world. I need her (or him) to tell me who she is! (Or who he is.) I need her to tell me something about SOMETHING so that I feel I've arrived and am actually sharing an experience with someone or something other than the inside of my own head!! There was none of that. I am tempted to talk about how the class was basically some kind of glorified "abs and thighs" workout even though it was listed as a "flow" class. I am tempted to talk about how she taught forearm stand wrong. Yes, people. Wrong. And, I can say that because I know everything*. About everything**. I am tempted to talk about how her voice was too whispery and the sequencing was all funky and how I didn't even get to put my mat down next to my friend and how I was actually preoccupied the whole class with whether or not I had left the headlights on in my car in the parking lot as I've been sort of forgetful about things like that lately and wouldn't that just be the way!? But...I am not going to talk about all that.

(* okay, this part is just snarky. I'm sure she taught it perfectly correct. I'm just used to doing it another way and by that point in the class I had already decided I hated everything, so...
** I do not know everything about everything. In fact, the older I get the more I come to realize I actually know a very small amount about a small number of things. )

Instead, I am going to talk about being hate-y. (I'll-timed, I know, what with all the suffering going on in Haiti at the moment--no connection to this post--other than the one that shines a light on how NOT TRAGIC a bad yoga class is...)

Because that is what I was during that class...super duper ultra hate-y.

I was so hate-y, that at the most particularly hate-y parts of class it was all I could do to not chant "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you" in a sing-songy voice in my head.

(Okay, I actually DID do that. And I'm a little embarrassed about it.)

Did I think being full of hate-y-ness was accomplishing anything? Did I think it was making my practice better or making the class les...hate-y? Nooooooo. I did not. But, man it felt good. And I would like to say that I was so full of all this self-satisfied hate-y-ness because the teacher and the class were truly bad (like the class my friend Shelley took where the teacher ripped the block away from her and said, "blocks are for old people and injured people!" Now, THAT is a class that deserves some "I hate you" chanting!) But, this was not like that. In fact, I'm sure this teacher is perfectly lovely and talented. I'm sure she has students who adore her and recommend her to all her friends. Which I knew, even in the midst of all my hatey-ness...I knew that she wasn't some monstrosity of a teacher, and so at a certain point I had to ask myself, "WHY are you so angry at this class?" And when I really got down to it, when I was really honest with myself, the answer was undeniable...

That class was HARD.

Not like, hard as in lots of difficult yoga poses. HARD as in so many core exercises and quad-holdy things that my entire body was shaking...noticeably shaking (convulsing?)...in dolphin pose. So hard that I--and I pride myself on almost NEVER doing this--I had to come out of poses early and at one point I even considered retreating into (gasp!) childspose. So hard that I had to will myself with every ounce of energy in me to just...keep...going.

And it made me feel like a wimp.
And it made me feel...out of shape.
And it made me feel average.
And it made me feel so very, very angry.

And, yes, it was not the kind of class I like, and yes, I probably wouldn't have liked it even if it was only moderately taxing and not I'm-going-to-vomit-if-you-make-me-do-one-more-sit-up kind of taxing, but still...I was not responding with a normal amount of "oh this isn't for me" kind of aggravation. I was responding with hatey-ness. And that is what tipped me off. Hate. Hate hate hate hate hate...because I was being asked to do something that I was not comfortable with. I was being asked to do something that made me feel unsure...like a beginner...ill-equipped, and I, with every fiber of my being, did not want to feel that way.

It made me think about the actors I've worked with who like to walk all over fledgling directors...the ones who are convinced that there is NOTHING someone new or different could possibly teach them about making a play...and about how ridiculous they seem. And how stuck. And how closed.

And how...hate-y.

I'm sorry, teacher whose name I don't know! I'm sorry for being such a grumpy hatey yogi in your class! I'm sorry I didn't even give you the opportunity to teach me anything. I'm sorry I was so closed and so wrapped up in my own "I usually do it better than this" attitude...I bet you had something to offer me and now I'll never ever get that something back. I hope you use me in a yoga analogy in the future...just please don't use my real name...

Yours,

YogaLia

Rest In Your Heart...

I want to talk a little bit about...Resting

This is new territory for me here, people, so just go with me on this one...

Resting is not something I'm very good at. Oh, I don't mean laying on the couch watching tv kind of resting. That kind of resting I am VERY good at. And I don't mean cuddling with my mister and spending too long in bed kind of resting...also, very good at. I'm talking about the kind of resting that can happen at any moment any time and can (and should) last all day kind of resting. I'm talking about the kind of resting that prompts a totally spontaneous and giant sigh of relief. I'm talking about the kind of resting that makes the space of your chest all melty--the kind that makes your mind s - l - o - o - o - o - w d - o - w - n and communicates this slowed-down-ness to the rest of your body in waves of pleasure.

That kind of resting, I am not very good at. Or so I have discovered.

I came to this revelation during a recent class in which the teacher (the excellent and supremely talented Gina Zimmerman--look her up at Still Yoga, people!) started the class by talking about how there are people in the world who are seeking, endlessly thinking that they have to go to this class, or this lecture, or this book, or this healer to find their answers, and that maybe this isn't the most efficient way to live one's life. As soon as she started talking my little ears started to blush. (And when I say little ears, I mean it...my ears are weirdly too small for my head...but that's another post altogether).

Though I'm not yet going to "healers" (or, at least...not very often. heh.) I immediately recognized myself in her description of the endlessly seeking. I thought about how often when I am in a pickle of some kind I immediately think, "well, I have to call s0-and-so" or "I have to do such-and-such" or "if only I could do that thing that that book told me to do...what was that again?" And while I know the act of seeking in and of itself is not BAD, I could feel, in that instant, as I was listening to her, that the energy of seeking is very out and very forward and very fast-moving. I picture myself with my eyebrows raised, and my chin jutted forward and my hands a-flapping the air when I'm in that state. The "I need help from ______" state of mind.

And then she said something that has stayed with me, looping around my head and body, every day since. She asked us if we could just "rest in the heart."

That's it. So simple. Rest in the Heart.

But as she said it I knew, viscerally...CELLULARY, exactly what she meant. I could feel all of that forward eyebrow-raised energy sinking down down down into the center of my chest. I felt my butt plant more firmly to the ground. I felt my breath change. I felt myself--backing off. And I felt that spontaneous and giant sigh of relief. I think I might have even heard some tiny voice inside me utter a long-held and breathless, "finally!" And I thought, my god, do I really NEVER do this?

I have been in a phase for...don't ask me how long, actually...a phase of gathering information and amending behavior, asking advice and refining amendments...gathering, amending, asking, refining, gathering, amending, asking, refining, and feeling at times unbearably frustrated at the dearth of questions and tiny trickle of answers I felt I was getting. And then, in an instant, with that one little instruction: Rest In Your Heart, I felt it all start to change ("finally!"). Not because I was flooded with answers or because some great mystery was revealed to me but because, for the first time in I don't know how long, I was RESTING. And I could listen to instructions and move my body and participate and laugh and fall down and worry and fantasize and all of it from this place of rest.

I don't know how to describe what it feels like, to rest there. Or at least...not what it might feel like to you. To me it feels like sitting in a little hut with soft walls. I think it might be pink in there. It is definitely quiet...and for a little hut, it's spacious...like the sky is in there with me. Try it if you want...take a second, stop what you're doing, look away from this screen or don't, and ask yourself, whisper it, demand it, whatever...just try to feel what it feels like to Rest all that activity inside. You might find, like I did, that you are moving a lot more and a lot faster than you thought you were, and the rest might just do you some good...

That's all for now...

I love you, Shanti-towners!!


xo
YogaLia

Comings and Goings...

Happy 2010 Shanti-Town-ers!!

Twwwweeeeeeeeeeee!! (that's the sound of me blowing one of those new year's noisemakers.)

What kind of cra-zay New Year's did this yogini have? Weeeeell, after a 10 hour cross-country flight, an amazing (and much deserved) Indian dinner, several glasses of wine and a rousing game of "Hamburger, Hotdog" (a little like the game "celebrity" but with less rules)...this little monkey was crawling into bed around 11:45pm and not feeling the least bit guilty about it. The moon was full and blue, and I slept soundly, KNOWING that 2010 is going to be par excellente. More on the special numerology of 2010 later...for now, some stories of my travels.

Many of you may know that I spent the Christmas holiday in New York. Beloved New York. I've not been back since we came out to LA in March and I had been longing for every little bit and bauble of the city--especially at Christmas. I don't think there's a better place on earth at Christmas time than New York, if you're a Christmas junkie like I am. AND, I will admit it, I was particularly excited to get to practice once again at my dearly missed Laughing Lotus. I was practically salivating with desire just thinking about getting in that elevator, walking down that hallway, and doing the strange dance required in the tiny coat room when trying to remove boots and hats and coats amongst all the other yog-sters, coming and going.

Ladies and gents, we flew a red-eye from LA to New York, slept in our precious bed for a few hours and by 5pm that day I was in that elevator on my way up to the warm, radiator-clanking joy of the Lotus.

Even Mr. X was there! Grumpy as ever!

Betsy was teaching, one of my favorite teachers there, and she greeted me with a warm hug and a quick update as to her goings on when I arrived. I was both excited and scared about the possibility of walking into the studio and either A. seeing a bunch of people I knew and having to tell my travel story over and over or B. not seeing many people I knew, but expecting to, and feeling like an embarrassed stranger in my old studio.

It was a bit closer to B, than A.

The girls at the front desk were new (and one of them was a little snarky, in that yoga front desk way), and for the most part I only recognized a few of the students there. But Betsy was teaching, the studio was buzzing and as soon as the music started and my body got to follow along I was in HEAVEN. I was lucky enough to practice next to a lovely guy (who looked a little like Baron Baptiste...bandana and all) who had a very deep, graceful practice, and after class we thanked each other for the good vibes that come from being neighbors with somebody who is lit up. (Lit up as in drunk on yoga...) And I was FLYING after class. I'm in New York! I'm at Laughing Lotus! I'm drinking post yoga hot chocolate from City Bakery with my baby...life is goooood.

Next class was with Ali, another of my very favorites, and she made my year (what was left of it) when she sidled up to me halfway through class, during some vigorous set of standing poses, and told me how good it was to see me. I could have planted the flag right then. That's it--I'm staying! Screw this career nonsense...I'm going to wear an entirely Lulu Lemon inspired wardrobe and stay Right Here.

After this class, also...flying. Soaring. And, also...something else. A bit.... Um. Vaguely...just a teensy weensy little bit...dissatisfied.

I had this fear that after so many months of intense alignment work of the kind I'd been doing in LA, that going back to the quick and rigorous flow practice at Laughing Lotus would sort of...kick my ass. I worried that I wouldn't have the mojo any more for the fast stuff and that I would prove myself to be weaker and less resilient in my practice than I was before I left. But the funny thing is, the opposite actually seemed to be true. The practice at Laughing Lotus was flying by and at the end I didn't feel winded or sweaty or even...done. And I felt myself longing for some more complicated standing poses...for deeper hip openers and handstands! Where were the handstands? Not that they don't do handstands at Laughing Lotus, they do...and not that the classes I was taking there weren't great...they were! Amazing! As always. Betsy and Ali are two of the best teachers I've ever taken from, and Laughing Lotus I still firmly believe is the best yoga studio in New York, but having been away made me see that something had changed...me.

Was I, gulp, missing my LA practice? Yes, I guess I was. But it was something bigger than that even...I began to realize, as I lept back into my former practice, that the work I have been doing at Still has made my practice infinitely better. I could feel it. I was stronger, I was better aligned, I was using my body and my breath more efficiently during practice and I was able to do so much more now, even in the faster more free-form version of the practice, than I could before I left.

And as my week in NYC progressed, every time I walked out of a class I found myself feeling very grateful to Still and my teachers there. I began to feel so blessed that I had found that studio so quickly upon arriving in LA. I felt so grateful for being welcomed into the studio as a whole...for the support and encouragement of all the teachers there, for Erika, the owner of the studio, who has let me dive into a work-study position there...and I realized that Still has become as much of a home to me in LA as Laughing Lotus has been in New York.

On our last day in Brooklyn, as we were starting to pack for the flight home, I began to fantasize about the quiet incense-scented air at Still, the long hallway to the studio in the back, about Hagar and Maria Christina and Tony and Tara and Gina and all the other teachers there whom I have come to love, the classes that start a little late and end a little late and go deep deep deep into silence...

And I could not wait to get back.