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