I was reading an article recently that touched upon the concept of goals within a yoga practice. Such an idea appears to be the antithesis of the discipline. People are quick to dismiss the idea of goals within your yoga practice. On the surface, it appears to be a manifestation of the ego (asmita) and in an effort to better ourselves as practitioners and humans, we shy away from having "goals" in the competitive sense. However, our ultimate goal as yoga practitioners is Samadhi, otherwise known as Enlightenment...a true sense of peace in the universe and control over one's conciousness. That seems like a decent enough goal....right? I think so, though attainment of Samadhi can take lifetimes. So how can we set realistic milestones for this physical life while avoiding attachment to an idea?
Perhaps setting little goals along the way is a decent approach, as long as the little goals are in alignment with the ultimate goal. I don't believe that setting personal goals such as "I will try to practice ahimsa (non-violence) toward myself and others more readily" or "I will reach my heels to the floor in downdog one day" is necessarily a bad thing. I think the way one approaches a goal can be destructive and counter-productive. I have done this in the past. I can remember saying things like "I WILL learn to balance on my forearms in the middle of the room by next year." Though it's nice to dream, these assertions are not only counter-productive, but can be disappointing. The only control you have over WHEN you will accomplish something is practice. Boxing yourself into time frames not only limits your personal growth, but further increases your attachement to the goal. Goals within yoga must be approached as "I'm going to try my hardest to accomplish this thing, but if it doesn't happen, it doesn't matter and I'll try again tomorrow."
Easier said than done, right? Non-attachment is a harder skill to master than most of us would like to admit. I am guilty of becoming attached to the mastery of asanas, amount of days I practice, my ability to live a mindful life in alignment with the Sutras, etc.
The approach I mention can be explained by a a story that my teacher Tim mentions regularly from the Mundaka Upanishad, a philosophical text that pre-dates Hinduism and other early religions (that means it's really, really OLD.) The story features two birds. One is seated in the very top limbs of a tree and one is seated beneath in the lower limbs. The lower bird keeps eating berries: both bitter and sweet berries. He keeps eating and eating. Each time he eats a sweet berry, his appetite is satiated, but when he gets to another bitter berry he is immediately disgusted. This bird is miserable, because he is always unsatisfied...pleasure is impermanent. The bird in the upper limbs sits in the tree, calm and satisfied by the small pleasures in life. This bird has a peaceful and fulfilling existence. In this story, the bird on top represents the Transcendental Self, the purusha, and the greedy bottom bird represents the individual self.
This little story is an apt metaphor for yoga practice. See if you can find more of the looking bird in your practice instead of the eating bird. Take the path of ease and serenity...yet fervor and consistency rather than instant gratification. Don't get greedy. Put in the time on your mat and you'll get there. Try and look beyond the posture, and find the benefit in the work it takes to get there. Set goals, but enjoy the journey and practice like each day is your last.
Monday, December 12, 2011
October 2011
They say that practice makes perfect, though the pursuit of yoga is peace and happiness, rather than perfection. Perhaps yogis should live by the adage "Practice makes peace" then? Like most things that require effort and concentration, practicing yoga can be hard work. Even harder than the actual practice itself is making yourself practice. I know it does not fall on deaf ears when I say that getting yourself to class is often the hardest part of practice.
I am currently going through a phase where my practice only takes place when I set out with an intended time and place to do so. I have to either attend a class which has a specified time, or schedule an extra 90 minutes before or after a time I teach to stay and do my yoga for the day. As I write this, I SHOULD be bending and breathing before my 6:30pm class starts...but I procrastinated with the newsletter this month, and it has to get out by tomorrow.
My point is that our practice goes through phases, and it's sometimes really hard to make yourself do the things you know you should. I can't count the times that I've had to drag myself to practice, but I can't recall any occassions where I went to practice and was disappointed or sad that I did. You're always grateful, content, and whole when you finish with the day's yoga....it's getting there that's the hard part.
Why is it so hard to get to your mat when the benefits are so obvious? Simple. The path of least resistance is part of human nature. It is easier to sit on the couch than it is to practice yoga...whether it's a sweaty, physical practice, or meditation and pranayama. It all requires more effort than doing nothing. It's not that humans are inherently lazy, we just often struggle to find the discipline to make ourselves do things we sometimes don't feel like doing.
I spent part of last week with one of my favorite teachers, Kino MacGregor. She made a point that has been following me all week: People tend to gravitate to things they are good at. For example, a natural backbender will jump at the opportunity to do ten Urdhva Dhanurasanas, while the dude in the back with tight shoulders grunts his way through bridge pose. You never hear yogis with tight hips requesting to do pigeon before class...it's generally the individual who can hang out there for hours and take a nap!
Kino's point was this: Why can't we love the poses that aren't easy for us or don't come naturally? Why can't we embrace and love a challenge?
We all have them: the postures we silently curse our teachers for making us hold, the Navasanas and Utkatasanas of the yoga world. The Parivritta Trikonasanas and Chaturanga Dandasanas. I have since tried to employ this notion in my own practice. There is a certain pose I have been working on for about a year....yes, a year. It will probably be at least another year before I fully master said posture. Usually, I dread this pose. About 3 poses before it, a reel in my head starts saying "It's coming, it's coming, it's coming..." I am attempting to love this posture. After all, I do hope to do it with ease one day...why can't I love the learning process and the challenge it presents? After all, if we were masters of the practice, we would be well on the way to Samadhi....and I most certainly have a long way to go.
The real work of the practice is between the lines. It comes when we are not looking. It's not the poses, but the way the practice touches our lives. It's the patience we cultivate when struggling with an asana, the kindness and Ahimsa we learn when we have to step back and rest our bodies, the non-attachment (Vairagya) to these poses as we learn them. Ultimately, a yogi should practice like their life depends on it while simultaneously practicing like it doesn't matter.
I am currently going through a phase where my practice only takes place when I set out with an intended time and place to do so. I have to either attend a class which has a specified time, or schedule an extra 90 minutes before or after a time I teach to stay and do my yoga for the day. As I write this, I SHOULD be bending and breathing before my 6:30pm class starts...but I procrastinated with the newsletter this month, and it has to get out by tomorrow.
My point is that our practice goes through phases, and it's sometimes really hard to make yourself do the things you know you should. I can't count the times that I've had to drag myself to practice, but I can't recall any occassions where I went to practice and was disappointed or sad that I did. You're always grateful, content, and whole when you finish with the day's yoga....it's getting there that's the hard part.
Why is it so hard to get to your mat when the benefits are so obvious? Simple. The path of least resistance is part of human nature. It is easier to sit on the couch than it is to practice yoga...whether it's a sweaty, physical practice, or meditation and pranayama. It all requires more effort than doing nothing. It's not that humans are inherently lazy, we just often struggle to find the discipline to make ourselves do things we sometimes don't feel like doing.
I spent part of last week with one of my favorite teachers, Kino MacGregor. She made a point that has been following me all week: People tend to gravitate to things they are good at. For example, a natural backbender will jump at the opportunity to do ten Urdhva Dhanurasanas, while the dude in the back with tight shoulders grunts his way through bridge pose. You never hear yogis with tight hips requesting to do pigeon before class...it's generally the individual who can hang out there for hours and take a nap!
Kino's point was this: Why can't we love the poses that aren't easy for us or don't come naturally? Why can't we embrace and love a challenge?
We all have them: the postures we silently curse our teachers for making us hold, the Navasanas and Utkatasanas of the yoga world. The Parivritta Trikonasanas and Chaturanga Dandasanas. I have since tried to employ this notion in my own practice. There is a certain pose I have been working on for about a year....yes, a year. It will probably be at least another year before I fully master said posture. Usually, I dread this pose. About 3 poses before it, a reel in my head starts saying "It's coming, it's coming, it's coming..." I am attempting to love this posture. After all, I do hope to do it with ease one day...why can't I love the learning process and the challenge it presents? After all, if we were masters of the practice, we would be well on the way to Samadhi....and I most certainly have a long way to go.
The real work of the practice is between the lines. It comes when we are not looking. It's not the poses, but the way the practice touches our lives. It's the patience we cultivate when struggling with an asana, the kindness and Ahimsa we learn when we have to step back and rest our bodies, the non-attachment (Vairagya) to these poses as we learn them. Ultimately, a yogi should practice like their life depends on it while simultaneously practicing like it doesn't matter.
September 2011
Today is Labor Day, and it is the first cool day of the season. There are a couple of leaves on the ground in my backyard, and it feels like fall is just around the corner. Autumn is my favorite season: it always has been, and it probably always will be. I love days around 65-70 degrees...warm enough for a tee-shirt or long-sleeves during the day, but chilly enough for a hoodie or light jacket in the evening. I'm really not sure if it's the temperature or the metamorphic nature of fall that I'm so in love with. There's something seductive about change, the approach of winter and within a few months, an entire new year.
Perhaps it's also that fall has always meant back-to-school. Even though I'm now done with my education, fall still means scheduling changes and a return to order and routine (things I like). Autumn is also a sign that the holidays are right around the corner. For me, the holidays mean snow days, time for family, and a few extra days off work!
All this discussion of metamorphosis reminds me of Sutra 45 in Samadhi Pada of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. I:45 states that "The subtlest level of nature is consciousness. When consciousness dissolves in nature, it loses all marks and becomes pure." In layman's terms, this means that the natural order of things can help us reach our most base, unaltered mental state, a state of mind free from all the baggage and junk we carry with us from day-to-day. All our doubts, fears, resentments, presumptions, desires, and attachments ultimately disappear when reduced to a natural, unaltered state. This is ultimately what we are trying to achieve with our yoga practice: a pure and quiet mind, free from attachement and attuned with nature, or prakrti, the unaltered or natural state of things. Prakriti also means nature, quite literally, which brings me back to my love affair with fall. There's a primal intelligence that exists within the seasons. Autumn seems to have experience. After all, it's the more experienced part of a year. It has weathered many storms and basked in hundreds of sunny days to make it to September.
Perhaps it's also that fall has always meant back-to-school. Even though I'm now done with my education, fall still means scheduling changes and a return to order and routine (things I like). Autumn is also a sign that the holidays are right around the corner. For me, the holidays mean snow days, time for family, and a few extra days off work!
All this discussion of metamorphosis reminds me of Sutra 45 in Samadhi Pada of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. I:45 states that "The subtlest level of nature is consciousness. When consciousness dissolves in nature, it loses all marks and becomes pure." In layman's terms, this means that the natural order of things can help us reach our most base, unaltered mental state, a state of mind free from all the baggage and junk we carry with us from day-to-day. All our doubts, fears, resentments, presumptions, desires, and attachments ultimately disappear when reduced to a natural, unaltered state. This is ultimately what we are trying to achieve with our yoga practice: a pure and quiet mind, free from attachement and attuned with nature, or prakrti, the unaltered or natural state of things. Prakriti also means nature, quite literally, which brings me back to my love affair with fall. There's a primal intelligence that exists within the seasons. Autumn seems to have experience. After all, it's the more experienced part of a year. It has weathered many storms and basked in hundreds of sunny days to make it to September.
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