Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Yoga Playlists, Music that Feeds My Soul, and Supporting the Artists

I have to say that my favorite music for yoga practice is silence.

That said, I humbly (wink) consider myself a master of the art of creating yoga playlists. I'm going to share with you a list of some of my favorite albums that I draw from in making my playlists, as this is something that has been requested of me many times over the years. I'm so lazy I'm just getting around to it now. Before I get into that, here's a few things to consider about music in yoga classes.

  • Are you a yoga teacher or a DJ? It's all about personal preference, but if I'm in a yoga class where the music is eclipsing my entire reality and drowning out the teacher, my breath and my sanity with a thumping bass and English lyrics that seem to have no relation to the dharma talk the teacher gave in the beginning of class I'm going to.... what? What am I going to do about it? Probably nothing. I'll probably just finish the class, get in my car and blast Beyonce all the way home, and then sit at my harmonium and chant. To me, there's a time for blasting pop music, and a time for yoga practice. I generally prefer music that evokes a sense of connection to the tradition of yoga when I'm on my mat, or no music. Ok and I'll add that that every now and then I go to a packed, sweaty, dimly lit class where the teacher is rocking my world with Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Joe Cocker.... and I LOVE it. But it tends to steal my attention.
  • Are you aware of the current legal issues around the use of music in yoga classes? You might want to read this. Go ahead. I'll wait. It's important.
  • While we're on the subject of musicians getting paid for their work—you should know that streaming services like Spotify and Pandora can be a massively unfair ripoff for indie artists. That kirtan artist you love so much probably spent upwards of $20,000 to record their last album, and will very likely never recoup that through streaming. Possible, but don't count on it (read this to learn more about how streaming services work out for artists). If you want to support indie artists, buy a physical CD or download the music from whichever service the artist links to on their website. And go see them live! Remember live music? It's awesome! 
Ok so below are some of my favorite albums to draw from in creating yoga playlists. Enjoy! 


photo by Niranjan Vaidya
Vinyasa / Flow / Power

Benjy Wertheimer & John de Kadt - One River
Chakrini - Songs of the Soul
Craig Pruess - Temple of Spice, Language of Love
Debashish Battacharya - Madeira
Kiran Ahluwalia - Common Ground, Stillness
Shantala - Jaya
Ananda Rasa Kirtan - Mulani
Mantra Lounge - Mantra Lounge
Kirtaniyas - Heart & Soul
Maria Gadu - Maria Gadu
Nada Sadhana & Kevin Courtney - Brooklyn Sessions, Vol. 1
DJ Drez - Jahta Beat: Chanting with Tigers
Donna deLory - Sanctuary
Gaura Vani & As Kindred Spirits - Ten Million Moons
The Hanumen - The Hanumen
Jai Uttal - Return to Shiva Station
Business Class Refugees - No Stranger Here
John de Kadt - Rhythms of the Infinite
Karnamrita - Dasi: Prayers By Women
MaMuse - Integration of the Awkward
Prema Hara - Tears of Love, Ocean of Grace
Rasa - Devotion
Rising Appalachia - Filthy Dirty South
Shubha Mudgal - Great Saints of India
Tina Malia - The Silent Awakening 
Tina Malia & Shimshai - Jaya Bhagavan
Tinariwen - Tassili
Transglobal Underground - The Stone Turntable
Trevor Hall - Trevor Hall, Everything Everytime Everywhere
Wah! - Greatest Yoga Music Ever



Gentle / Yin / Restorative / Shavasana

Choying Drolma & Steve Tibbetts — Selwa and Cho
Manose — Dhyana Aman and Epiphany
Benjy Wertheimer - Soul of the Esraj
Benjy Wertheimer & David Michael - Within
Jai Uttal & Ben Leinbach - Loveland
Carrie Grossman - Soma-Bandhu
Chinmaya Dunster - Meditation Ragas
Chuck Jonkey - Tibetan Singing Bowls
Dechen Shak-Dagsay - A Call for World Peace, Universal Healing Power of Tibetan Mantras
Mandala - Healing Ragas
Wah! Savasana
Stevin McNamara - Shanti Guitar
Jean -Philippe Rykiel & Lama Gyurme  - The Lama's Chants
Krishna Das - Door of Faith
Snatam Kaur - Light of the Naam: Morning Chants
Jai Jagdeesh - Of Heaven & Earth



What are your favorites?

Check out http://www.yogi-tunes.com to discover more good music to inspire your practice.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Beeps and Seeds: Two Vignettes

Two Beeps

“For things to reveal themselves to us, we need to be ready to abandon our views about them.” 
― Thích Nhất Hạnh

The other day I was leaving the yoga studio out of the side driveway, and trying to make a left on a busy highway. It was morning rush hour, and traffic was thick and fast from both directions. I waited for an opening. And waited. I could've jumped into the turn lane in the center of the street, but there just wasn't (what felt to me like) a safe opportunity. I noticed that there was a car behind me, and I began to feel a little anxious, as there seemed to be no break in the flow of traffic. Then the driver behind me honked his horn. Two short honks. Beep beep. In that moment I felt a huge wave of anxiety, anger, and embarrassment wash over me and fill my entire body and car with heaviness. I started talking out loud to the guy behind me (who definitely couldn't hear me), "What do you want me to do? Jump out in front of moving traffic and get hit??" Enraged, I slammed on the gas and turned right (I have turbo so it was very dramatic), and then slammed on my brakes at the light as I waited to make a U-turn. "THERE! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, A&#H%LE!!??" I yelled at my rearview mirror. 

Silence. Nobody yelled back. The other driver was no longer behind me—he'd gone his way and I'd gone mine. I heard the silence. I felt that silence. And then I realized something very important. 

The only thing that actually happened in reality, was that the driver behind me had honked his horn twice. All the rest of it, the injustice and unfairness of it, was my creation. I had created a huge and powerful supernova of suffering-energy around an assumption. I had taken the facts—two beeps, that's all they were—and spun them into a crisis. 

With this realization came the sweetest and most precious joy. I started laughing. It was the best joke ever, because I saw it so clearly….

…. all of my suffering is two beeps. 

All of it. 




Seeds

“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself.” ― Thích Nhất Hạnh

There is a yoga teacher, in another city, who posts things on Facebook that I find offensive. She doesn't post very often, but when she does it is often a scathing criticism of western yoga, yoga schools, yoga teacher trainings, actors, men, and gay men in particular. She uses derogatory language and accuses male yoga teachers of being gay, as if being gay would somehow disqualify them as yoga teachers. This morning she suggested that gay male yoga teachers should go be dance teachers instead.

(I'll just go ahead and admit that I have a lot of friends who are gay, male, yoga teachers, dance teachers, and/or all of the above. But I don't think I'm biased.)

I wonder if I should've unfriended her a long time ago. Over time it's been interesting to see her occasional rants come through my news feed. I tend to keep my opinions to myself when people say things that don't match up with my personal values. I do this because I don't like conflict, and also because I don't feel it's my business to go around policing other people's values. Nobody died and appointed me the defender of gay yoga teachers, for crying out loud. 

But if I don't say something, who will? Can I look my gay friends in the eye and be like, "You know what I do when I encounter homophobic hate speech? Nothing." Ugh. No way. 

Recently I've attended a few car auctions with my husband. Car auctions are not really my thing. I understand that it's a somewhat rougher crowd than the yoga/kirtan set, and I take the language and behavior I encounter with a grain of salt. Who am I to judge other people's values? I tell myself. I have enough of my own issues to worry about. 

The auctioneer who works the local auctions is obviously experienced, and uses a wealth of clever one-liners to make what would otherwise be an intolerably dull experience mildly amusing. Only his jokes are sometimes so off-color that I find them downright offensive—he talks about the cars as if they were women, only because it's a car he feels that he can publicly say things to it that would be completely unacceptable to an actual woman. "Back that ass up." "She looks so much better with her top down." And then there are the gay jokes. He loves to tease his male coworkers about being gay. Every time it makes my blood boil, but I then I feel stuck. Am I going to be that girl? The one that they all resent because I politically-corrected their sense of humor to death? Is it my place to say something? Nobody else is saying anything. Why don't I say something? 

I have to get real here. I want to live in the Truth. I want to stand up for what I believe in, not keep silent because I don't like conflict. I don't have to start a war, but I can calmly, mindfully, speak my Truth without taking personally how it is received or interpreted. No one else is saying anything—to the yoga teacher or the auctioneer. Why shouldn't I?

So I responded to the yoga teacher. And one of her friends responded with some statements that I could not relate to. I responded to the friend. And then the yoga teacher removed that post, and I removed the yoga teacher from my Facebook.

Instead of silently complaining to myself when I witness what I perceive as an injustice, I am completely free to speak up. I can only experience it as conflict if I believe that "the other" should change their views, and they don't. If I speak up and say what's in my heart, and I'm not met with agreement, so be it. I don't need everyone in the world to agree with me. Isn't that refreshing! I need myself to agree with my Self. Then I can look at my own thoughts, words and actions and see if I am sowing seeds of violence, or seeds of peace.

This post is dedicated with love and gratitude to Thich Nhat Hanh—great friend and teacher to all who seek to create true peace. 


Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Coming Home to Jagannathpuri

Jagannathpuri: This is a difficult story to write, please forgive my rambling nature. There are many details and nuances, and writing seems to trivialize the depth of it. This is the best I can do for now. 

On our first evening here, after checking into our hotel and eating, we went by auto rickshaw to the Puri Jagannath Temple. This was my first time traveling by auto rickshaw and it's wild! Or maybe it's extra wild right now because there are so many people descending on this place. Your driver has (hopefully) incredibly refined powers of one-pointed concentration. He is also completely in the moment. Some are more adept than others. They dodge an endless flow of cars, auto and bicycle rickshaws, people, trucks, and cows, that all seem to be swirling around you in a giant whirlpool of noisy, honking activity. There are WAY more cows here in Puri than Kolkata or Mayapur--if you travel one kilometer you'll see 10 or so. They are docile and sweet, and incredibly, during the mad hustle and bustle of the town preparing to receive a million devotees, they are frequently snoozing in the middle of the street. 

So that first night we went to the temple and saw the chariots as they were in the final stages of construction. Carpenters were hammering away, painters were painting, fabric being draped, and devotees were prostrating and touching them lovingly. 

We then circumambulated the outside of the huge, ancient temple complex. Against every inch of wall space were smaller shrines and temples. There are four main gates, guarded by pandas and police. Westerners and non-Hindus are not allowed inside, of course. Just inside the Lion gate there is a Jagannath named Patthita Pavana, friend of the fallen, who gives darshan to those who cannot enter, but his door was closed at that time. 

We then walked to some other temples nearby--the Gaudiya Math and a beautiful Narasimha temple. Our co-leaders on this Yatra (in addition to the brilliant Robert Moses and Kate O'Donnel) are two wonderful Iskcon brahmacharis, Radhakunda Das and Prem Gauranga Das. Everywhere we go they seem to have the most incredible inside connections, and manage to get us into all sorts of auspicious situations. They are a wealth of information and their Bhakti is deep. They keep track of each one of us and do everything with so much care, attention, patience and humility. 

The next day we woke early for led primary series practice with Kate, who kept a steady and brisk pace in our little conference room at the hotel. With the air conditioning off and the windows open it is so humid here that we all get drenched in sweat and moisture. It's lovely--my joints are very happy. Kate is a great teacher, and her partner / assistant Rich is also very good. Most of us in the group are Ashtangis so practice time is not only fun but very good self-care, as the pace of this Yatra is intense.

We went back to the "Grand Road" as they call it (it's very wide, for the chariots, of course), and saw the finished chariots, and then headed down the road to Gundicha temple, where the deities would be heading on their Ratha Yatra. Devotees inside were sweeping the grounds to prepare for their Lordships. Prem Gauranga Das told us we could try to go inside the gates, only up to the barricade, and only one at a time, but that if we were caught trying to sneak in we would really be in trouble! Only a few of us dared, and of course I was one. I'd rather get beaten with a stick by a panda (pundit) or shouted at then miss out on an opportunity to offer my pranams inside those gates. So I pulled my dupatta over my head and quietly went in. I dropped to my knees and pranamed, crying to Jagannath to please help me to open my heart to receive his blessings and feel his presence as fully as possible, to bless my family, friends and community. When I stood up there was a police officer standing right in front of me with a stern look on his face. He saw my tears and his expression softened. He asked me where I was from and I said "California, United States." He said, "Wait here," then walked over to a nearby vendor and came back with a rakhi to tie around my wrist. I thought he was trying to sell it to me or coerce me into making a donation (that's common) so I said "I have no rupees" which was true, I'd left my purse with the group. He shook his head and laughed, "You take. Jai Jagannath."

From there we continued our walk towards the water, stopping at a number of tiny temples to various deities along the way for darshan. People were everywhere, so many people. At the water ladies put fragrant oil on our heads and we splashed the water over our heads.

At this point I should mention two of the things that I imagine most westerners struggle with here. One is the poverty. It's intense, it's widespread, and on a level that you just can't imagine if you haven't seen it. I've seen some serious poverty in Brasil and Mexico so maybe it doesn't shock me so much, but it definitely hurts my heart to witness it. Beggars are everywhere holding out their hands, many are crippled, deformed, sick, starving, holding babies.... When I'm at home in the US I feel like I live such a simple life--Jaire and I live in a small apartment, drive older cars that seem to be on the verge of falling apart, and we work very hard to make ends meet each month. But here I am reminded that we are actually very rich. We always have food, electricity, clothing. We have so much. The other thing is cleanliness. When you take your sandals off to walk around barefoot, as you must in certain situations, it's anyone's guess what you're putting your feet in. Waste management is a serious issue here, and you have to be very aware of where you're stepping and what you're touching. Not to be indelicate but I admit the Indian style toilet was challenging for me at times, although in the hotels we've had western style. It's growing on me, though. I'm also getting pretty good at eating with my hand. Right hand only!

Then it was time for some shopping. I'd already scoped out a shop near the main temple, and I went straight there with my new friend Renee, who is a beautiful yoga teacher/practitioner and has the sweetest spirit and open heart. We were in handloom heaven! I bought four beautiful Orissan sarees for what I'm sure was an exorbitant price by local standards, but an absolute steal to by US standards. 

Then, stepping out of the saree shop the whole crowd suddenly went silent and dropped to the ground. There just inside the lion gate was Patthita Pavana Jagannath, smiling so beautifully in the dark passageway. I pranamed there in the filthy street, crying again. I couldn't believe I was there. Dear, sweet Jagannath, who so kindly has engaged me in His service through the loving friendship of my spiritual sister K.d. I felt then so much love for K.d. and Rainbow Jagannath, for my own Choto Amrita Jagannath, and for my Vaishnava sisters and brothers Karnamrita, Kilimba, Radhanath, Jai, the Kirtaniyas and Mayapuris, Kamaniya and Keshavacharya Das, Gaura, Keli Lalita, Jahnavi, and so many others who have so lovingly shared their devotion and their hearts and kirtan with me.

When we got back to our hotel we asked our friend Priyanka (a girl in reception who is easily one of the kindest, most darling people I've ever met) if she could refer us to a good tailor to have the cholis made, the pallus finished and the falls sewn in, and she immediately arranged for a tailor to come to our room within the hour (chaperoned by her, of course) for a fitting. This was at 6pm. We asked if it was possible to rush the pallu and fall for 2 of the sarees so we could wear them the next day for the Ratha Yatra with readymade cholis, and he said yes, and they were delivered to us at 9pm. Amazing, and very cheap. Indian hospitality is the best. It's simultaneously wonderful to be able to so easily afford these kinds of luxuries, and also terrible to know that even as we enjoy them there were hundreds of thousands of pilgrims literally sleeping in the street just blocks away, awaiting the arrival of their Lordships.

As I was getting ready for bed I started to feel a little sick to my stomach. I drank some water with extra grapefruit seed extract and went to bed, but it was no use. I was up all night long, very sick. We had to leave at 5:30am to get through the police barricades and into our rooftop seats, and by 4am I was still vomiting only nothing was coming out anymore. I was weak, feverish, and crying in the shower to Jagannath to please give me the strength to get ready and get out the door. I didn't know how on earth I could withstand spending the entire day up there on the rooftop when I could barely move.

Somehow I managed to wrap my own saree and Renee's, just in time to get to the lobby. Our auto rickshaws could only take us part way and we had to walk a few kilometers. I was really struggling and just kept chanting my mantra and praying to Jagannath to take care of me. 

We climbed to the roof of the old building and settled in our seats. I was in the front row, and we were close enough to the chariots to easily see everything. This was the chance of a lifetime--Radhakunda Das has procured these seats a year ago, they were very good. Everything appeared exactly as I remembered from watching webcasts of previous Ratha Yatras. There were military police and many different uniforms everywhere, and they began to push the crowd back to create a large barricade of officers all the way around the chariots. This was just after 6am, so the crowd was not yet too big.


I didn't want to get up because I was worried about losing my seat, but just sitting there was draining and I wanted to lie down on the floor in the back. I ate a piece of bread and sipped water and kept my eyes on the preparations below, where sevites washed and swept the street, created huge rangolis, and priests performed rituals of purification onboard the chariots.

As the crowd grew, so did the heat and humidity. By 10am it was almost unbearable. The many meters of beautiful hand loomed cotton wrapped around me were now sticking to every limb and suffocating me. I felt dizzy and weak, and ate a tiny sweet banana. 

The crowd only got bigger. Soon they were packed shoulder to shoulder, front to back, in a writhing, swaying mass of bodies. There were no clouds in the sky, only the sun and the intense humidity. I kept thinking, if I am suffering so intensely up here in a chair on a shaded rooftop, what hardship must those devotees being going through to see their beloved Jagannath, Baladev and Subhadra? 



The military police kept trying to move the crowd further back, which was terrible to see because everyone was constantly pushing forward. This was "handled" by beating those in the front with sticks--sometimes just little taps and often quite viciously. The crowd too can get quite rough with the officers--many times fights would break out and the people would throw shoes at the officers. This enraged them and they answered by leaping over the rope and into the crowd to beat them. Only they never beat the actual shoe throwers--they'd just jump in and beat whoever was close. They don't show any of this on the webcast. Sometimes when the crowd would surge forward and security beat them back, you could see a person get sucked down underfoot and trampled. It was terrible to witness from above, but thankfully the devotees seemed to manage to pull each other up. Often you'd hear the shrill whistle of paramedics fighting through the crowd with a stretcher carrying some poor injured or unconscious person to an ambulance, only the ambulances themselves struggled to get though as well. Fire trucks were parked everywhere, spraying down the hot devotees to cool them off, but as the time for the deities to emerge from the temple drew closer their energy only increased. Everywhere they were chanting, dancing, banging cymbals, drums and gongs. Everyone in tears, praying with all their hearts. I thought of how tame American kirtans are by comparison, of how riled up we get around Amma when people are pushing a little to get closer. It's nothing, the little hardship we go through--a 90 minute yoga class or a festival in the desert. It's nothing. In America it's so easy to go to a temple for darshan. It's so easy to go see a guru, to get a mantra, to learn some kind of sadhana. It's so easy but we still complain. Maybe this tapas is one of the things that makes India such a great place to grow spiritually. I thought of how many people all over the world contributed to my fundraising campaign to get me here, how lucky I am to have this rare opportunity, and how even though I was suffering from the heat, the sickness and fatigue, I was one of a privileged few who had it relatively easy. I would not be carried away on a stretcher.

So this went on for hours in the sweltering heat, and I watched weakly from above in my high, privileged position. From time to time I'd lie down in the back and try to cool off. I couldn't eat, and didn't want to risk it anyway. The one time I went to the nearby toilet it was.... rustic, I guess is a good word. Once was enough.

I don't know when it was, maybe after noon, when Sudarshan chakra finally came out and was carried on to Subhadra Devi's chariot. Then Baladev came lumbering out with a huge crown, supported on all sides by strong pandas who easily whisked him up the ramp and into his chariot. It was so sweet and beautiful! I love Baladev so much. My tears never stopped. Whatever merit, whatever blessing I'm receiving through your darshan, Lord, let it go to all my family, friends and community, to the whole world, was my constant prayer.

Subhadra Devi, my beautiful Goddess, also came out and was easily brought up onto her chariot. And finally, as the devotional energy and enthusiasm of the devotees surged into a complete frenzy, Lord Jagannath emerged from the Lion gate and rocked and swayed to the ramp. 

His brother and sister had gone up relatively easily, but Jagannath was playing so much with his beloved pandas and made himself very heavy! Every time they'd get him part way up he'd lean back so far that it seemed he was going to lie down. The pandas would gently "hit" him with a little stick, "Hey Lord, let's go!" And he'd only slide further down. 

Radhakunda Das explained that the Jagannath temple represents Dwarka, and Gundicha temple is Vrindavan. In the Ratha Yatra it is like the devotees are pulling The Lord back to Vrindavan, "We don't want you to stay here and be like a king, we want you to come home to Vrindavan and be a cowherd boy again." Jagannath loves his devotees so much that he allows this whole Leela to take place every year.

Finally The Lord went all the way up and settled in place. More rituals were performed, and around 4:30, I think, the chariots began to move. First Baladev, then Subhadra, then Jagannath. They move a little ways, then a huge "brake" is dropped and they prepare to move a little further. The military holds the first section of the ropes and then feeds the rest out into the crowd. It's an awesome sight! 

As Baladev's chariot went by, Radhakunda Das called out to one of the pandas on board, who smiled and waved at us. "He is the one who arranged these seats for us," he told me. They were shouting back and forth to each other until the panda went and took a Mala from Baladev of tulsi and lotus flowers, and tying it into a ball he tossed it into the crowd. The poor man who caught it was mobbed immediately, but eventually made it upstairs to us and Radhakunda Das gave it to me to dry and distribute to our group and also to everyone back home. Later Prem Gauranga Das also helped me get a piece from Jagannath's crown.

We left at 6pm, after the chariots had passed by and were out of sight. I ate a little and then slept for an eternity. 

The next morning, yesterday, we had Mysore practice and then went to Gundicha Temple for up-close darshan of their Lordships. It was so nice! The pandas were all very sweet with us westerners and would move people aside to help us get right up front and center. I had no idea we were going to get so close. Some people were sad that this year they did not allow devotees into the chariots, but this actually made it very easy to see them clearly. And they are so, so beautiful. The MOST beautiful. I don't have words for how I felt, standing there face to face with them, gazing into their sweet faces. I will never forget it. 




I'm sorry that I couldn't get better pictures of Subhadra and Jaganath, but it's the best I could do. They are so beautiful.

In the evening we had meditation and satsang with Robert-ji. When we opened our eyes after meditation, Radhakunda Das was standing there with his panda friend, who had come to bring us the MOST special mahaprasad--in his hands he held strips of the pink cloth that was wrapped around Jagannath's head while he was coming out of the temple and into his chariot. He tied these around our necks. I can't believe how much grace.... I feel that I don't deserve any of this. I can think of a hundred other people who should be here in my place, but for some mysterious reason Jagannath has called me here. 

This afternoon we go to visit Konark--the ruins of the glorious Sun temple, and later back to Gundicha to eat Jagannath's mahaprasad for dinner. I'm in heaven. My health is completely renewed and I feel better than ever. Tomorrow morning we fly to Delhi and then head to Varanasi, and I will always hold these days here in Puri in my heart as the most precious blessing. 

I am full of love and gratitude, humbled, and overjoyed. All glories to Sri Jagannath, Sri Baladev, and Sri Subhadra Devi. All glories to my beloved Satguru Amma. All glories to the beautiful devotees. All glories.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Giving Up, Letting Go: Lessons in Ashtanga Yoga and Life

Ah, Urdhva Dhanurasana, the upward-facing bow. I've always hated this pose, and avoided it for years. In Vinyasa classes, teachers often give their students a choice between U.D. and Setu Bandha Sarvangasana, supported bridge, and I chose the bridge every time. You see, although I know better, I can't stand to not be perfect at something. If I can't do it perfectly, I'd rather just not do it.

In August 2012 I started practicing Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga with my teacher, Erika Abrahamian. I had tried Ashtanga over a decade earlier and abandoned it after getting "stopped" at certain poses that I wasn't able to do fully at the time. I had a number of fairly legitimate reasons why my body was stuck in this pose or that pose, but my teacher at the time held to the traditional methodology which indicates that the Ashtanga practitioner should stop at whichever pose in the series they are currently unable to execute fully. The student is encouraged to continue patiently and consistently working at it, and to notice the craving, aversion, attachment and indifference that might arise. The student is told "Take practice. All is coming," but what "All" is remains undefined.

This element of the Ashtanga method is both an asset and a liability. It's a powerful tool for developing abhyasa (steady, consistent practice) and vairagya (non-attachment to the fruits of our actions). When we stay with what is most difficult, returning to it day after day and investigating it, exploring it, working with it, we initiate a powerful alchemical process of transformation on every level. Our bodies will develop flexibility and strength to go in the direction of our efforts—slowly, slowly, the impossible becomes possible.....

Maybe. Some bodies don't fit certain poses, and no amount of steady, consistent effort can change it. I see tremendous value in holding a student at a challenging pose and asking them to really work on it, for months or even years. But the individual needs of the student must be met, and it seems that  sometimes exceptions should be made in order to help a student progress.

Erika made some exceptions for me. Most of the postures of the Primary Series came fairly easily to me this time around. I had many years of Vinyasa practice behind me at this point, and my body was different. Although I have some physical conditions and old injuries to contend with, the Primary Series fit me like a glove. I enjoyed the challenge of the "gateway postures." Picking up and jumping back came fairly easily. What drove me crazy, though, were those five back bends at the end.


Here is my Urdhva Dhanurasana after six months of Ashtanga practice. I had just begun 2nd series, as Erika suspected that the intermediate backbends would help open up my tight upper back and shoulders. Traditionally I wouldn't have been permitted to start Intermediate until I could stand up and drop back on my own. But as you can see, there's no way I could've carried my pelvis far enough forward to stand up or drop back. My wrists were at an extreme angle, and I felt a painful pinching sensation in my shoulders. My thoracic mobility was limited, while my hip flexors and low back were very open. My backbends hinged painfully around L4 - L5, the site of my herniated disc. My body felt totally dysfunctional in these poses, and I wanted to see what, if anything, could be done. I set out to discover what it takes to create structural change in the body.

Feb. 8, 2013 My best UD, on a "flexible day," after six months of Ashtanga practice.
In addition to working on the 2nd series backbends, I did lots of "extracurricular" work on the side. I spent a lot of time rolling out my upper back on a foam roller. I was treated regularly by a very gifted chiropractor. My husband installed a chin-up bar with parallel handles that I would hang on to stretch out my lats. He's also a massage therapist, and did myofascial release work on my pectorals, under my scapulae, and deep into my armpits, which made me howl from being ticklish and also because it just hurt like hell. I did thoracic mobility exercises, shown to me by my friend and colleague Robyn Capobianco. In class, I focused much of my practice time on two things: kapotasana and assisted drop backs. And all of these things helped. Even though I couldn't get my elbows down in kapotasana, and I couldn't drop back or stand up on my own, I felt like there was some progress.

Sept. 25, 2013 - Seven months later.... Small progress!


I have to be honest and state that I worked my backbends as deeply as I could stand. I experienced pain, nausea, weakness, shaking, light-headedness, anxiety, tears, shortness of breath, and exhilaration. I'm not recommending that anyone else take to their backbending practice with that kind of ambition (and possibly masochism....), but I really wanted to know if it was possible to change something structural in the body that I perceived as immovable. Here's my kapotasana in January 2014:
January 2014. Assisted by the lovely Matece Skow.
You can see that although my head is between my toes, I'm nowhere near getting my elbows down. I can get a little farther than this some days but this is average for me.

In January Erika suggested that I take a break from the Intermediate Series. I had injured my right SI Joint from working too enthusiastically with eka pada sirsasana (one leg behind the head), and for months had been dealing with the pain and frustration of the injury. Why did I push so hard at everything? I had to really ask myself some tough questions. Part of me wanted to be the best at everything. I'm not one of the super bendy people—it takes a lot of work to get my body to open up, and even on my most flexible days I have proportion and range of motion issues to contend with. Short legs, long torso and arms, tight shoulders/upper back, super mobile low back & hip flexors.

At first I blew off her suggestion. I had worked so hard for nearly a year on my Intermediate Series. I had made significant progress. Sure there were setbacks, but I knew that the way forward was to try harder. I was building something. I couldn't stop now and I wouldn't. I felt like the underdog, the Rocky Balboa who would stoically keep my mitts up through hit after hit until I could land that one punch that would knock kapotasana out. Cue the trumpets.

This was absurd thinking. I would never council a student to take this approach. In fact I spend much of my time as a teacher encouraging people to develop patience and to make peace with their body's eccentricities. I tell my students to take a long-term view. I tell them it's not about the poses. And I believe it, for them. But for me, nothing less than perfect will do. Erika would tell me to manage my expectations, to be patient and give my body the time and space to grow into this practice, but I was on a mission.

By mid February I was a mess. In addition to my SI Joint pain, I was feeling my old herniated disk at L4/L5, and several mid-thoracic vertebrae seemed to be completely stuck (I have a lot of disc degeneration in that region), to the point where I could feel one of my ribs out. Then my neck began hurting. I had no choice but to slow down.

I was planning on attending an intensive with David Robson in late March, and I wanted to be in good shape. Over the next five weeks I reconstructed my practice, starting with less than a half-Primary and building up to kapotasana, stopping at the twists—no legs behind the head. There was definitely some improvement. I felt like I was on the right track.

David was wonderful. I felt freshly inspired. His workshops were excellent, but it was on the morning that we did a Mysore practice with him that I had some deep learning that changed my practice forever.

It was a small group in the room, and by the end there were only 5 of us. I asked David for an assist in kapotasana. We tried it twice, and I went far enough to feel my fingers touch the middle of my feet. I was elated and searched his face for signs of approval, but he seemed unimpressed. "How can I open my shoulders and upper back?" I asked, secretly hoping he'd have some magic technique that would suddenly free my body from it's frustrating shackles of tightness and pain. "Well," he said quietly, "you know traditionally you wouldn't even be working on Second until you could stand up and drop back on your own."

He went on to explain that he wasn't criticizing or telling me to quit Second Series, but he suggested that it was worth taking a closer look at Urdhva Dhanurasana and spending some quality time with it. Later we were walking back to the studio after breakfast and I blurted out, "I feel like Primary Series healed my body and put it back together, and like Second Series is tearing it apart." As I heard the words coming out of my mouth I saw two truths: the first was that it wasn't Second Series that was tearing me apart, it was my own ego and incessant desire for approval and acknowledgement. Second was hitting me in all my avoidance places, on so many levels. David confirmed this when he pointed out that although my path is Bhakti Yoga, the yoga of the heart, I have physically created a protective barrier around my heart. "It's worth investigating," he said softly. The second thing I saw in that moment was that going back to Primary, not just for a few weeks, but for as long as it takes, was completely essential to my healing.

So I did it. I dropped Second. I went back and spent the next few months rebuilding my Primary Series practice from the ground up. I've learned so many things about my body, my ego, and my heart. Erika supported and encouraged me, and gave me space to experiment. I tried new things. I spent lots of time working on Urdhva Dhanurasana. I discovered that putting my feet on blocks gave me "longer legs," and enabled me to feel more opening in my upper back. I also discovered, thanks to a little video from Noah Maze, that tucking a rolled blanket under my heels and changing my arm position made dropping back much softer and more enjoyable, and I started to work on standing up. I took an amazing teaching intensive with Chuck Miller, who helped me to see how to create sama, equanimity, in my practice and in life.


Instead of fighting so hard for Kapotasana and Eka Pada Sirsasana, I'm finding everything that's needed in Urdhva Dhanurasana and Supta Kurmasana. Even up-dog and down-dog have taken on new meaning. As I go deeper into the work of Primary, not just making the shapes with my body but feeling the energetic contours and noticing my reactions, I am starting to see that Second Series is naturally arising out of the work of Primary. I've just begun to play with the first few postures of Second, and I'm in no hurry.

Here's a more recent picture of my Urdhva Dhanurasana. For me this is proof of the efficacy of the Ashtanga method—because what you're seeing here is not just structural change in the physical body, but change on the inside.



So what does it take to facilitate structural change in the body? Did my backbend open up because exceptions were made and I was allowed to work on Second? Was it because of all the extra work I did outside of the Mysore room? Was it from going back to Primary? Was it because the humility and patience required to "go backwards" softened something internal that ultimately shifted the external? I don't know. My guess it that it's all of the above. It seems crazy to hold people in Primary for so long, when the different dynamics and movement patterns of Second might free them up to finally move whatever feels stuck. At the same time, there's really something to be said for staying with a stuck place and working with it.

This is my practice, and no one else's. I trust my teacher. I don't "steal poses." I respect the methodology and the tradition, and adhere to it to the best of my ability. I also feel perfectly free to push the boundaries a little here and there, to see, to discover, to explore.

All spiritual practices have their ego hooks, and Ashtanga yoga is no exception. This practice will heal you if you're truly aligned with an intention to heal, and it will tear you apart if your practice is built on an agenda of pleasing, performing, and perfecting. If you're a fundamentalist, have fun with that—I bet it's lonely at the top. If you're an innovator, do you have a solid foundation on which to build your ideas? Find a teacher who genuinely has your best interest at heart—one who is committed to helping you move forward, but unattached to the outcome of their efforts. And be teachable.

So to recap, here's the three snapshots. The first shows my frustration—what happens when you avoid something for a very long time. The second shows my forceful approach—what happens when you decide that you are going to "get it" no matter what, come hell or high water. The third shows my movement towards softness and surrender—what happens when you make peace with what is and learn to fall in love with the journey and forget about the destination. I see these as the three gunas, tamas, rajas, and sattva.


This is a process that's happening on every level of my being. My yoga practice is just one dimension of it. Ultimately my heart's desire is to wake up completely from this dream of separation. All that is stuck, avoided, unaddressed and frozen will need to be moved through the fire of self-effort and inquiry, and surrendered into the realm of Truth, acceptance, and Love. Our bodies don't lie—if we are in denial, if we think we can force, or evade, or fake it, our bodies will show us what's up. But we can't stop there. Don't think that attaining an asana or changing something in the body means that you've got your stuff all sorted out. Keep peeling back the layers and don't get too comfortable. Life is too short to stay stuck.

Om Sri Gurubhyo Namaha Hari Om