Time to Absorb - "BRFWA"

Every practice has its rhythms, and for me, part of every practice is taking time to allow the body to absorb its experiences, for the mind to discover and recognize itself, and for the breath to carry awareness throughout my being. This is a continuous process, and sometimes I can practice within a rhythm where this is ongoing. Sometimes, though, my attention is drawn to an aspect of the practice, and I need to pause periodically to allow this process to become the foreground, rather than the background.

When I teach, I rely upon my own understandings of this while I watch my students carefully to absorb the layers of their experiences. Some of my students will break ranks with the flow of yoga asana to give themselves this time when they feel they need it, but the vast majority of students will only take time when they are physically overwhelmed. This is not the same thing, and I make every effort to provide a spacing of opportunities for students to integrate and internalize this pattern of allowing their awareness to catch up with them. Just like remaining in Adho Mukha Svanasana (downward facing dog) a few breaths after a flowing series of warrior postures, in order to allow the breath to catch up with the whole body, or practicing pranayama (breathing techniques) to bring awareness deeper into the breath itself, these moments of focusing upon integration can be quite intense and at the same time offer a profound release. For me these moments are often the gems of my yoga practice.

My students guide me with their breath, with their body attitudes, with their facial expressions. I try to give them the time they need to awaken the prana (life force), absorb the sensations and let go of the attachments of meanings and judgments that clutter the surface of their experience. Without these pauses, I believe the body stores stress and confusion along with the movement of the breath and the energy. In some classes I've taken there is no conscious integration until Savasana (corpse pose, relaxation) which is left to the student as an escape hatch from the exertion of the practice. This is not my interpretation of Savasana either. I feel Savasana is truly a practice of release, that death itself will feel familiar in its qualities of transformation when I arrive at that part of the path.

I suppose this explains why I feel consonance with the Kripalu yogic concept known as "BRFWA" signifying breath, relaxation, feeling, watching and awareness. This has really always been deeply embedded in my practice and my teaching practice and I feel honored to offer this experience to others.

Just a note: This weekend I led an intimate yoga retreat, hosting 4 remarkable students in my house in upstate New York, and sharing practice in a small former granary building. I gratefully acknowledge the courage, joy, open hearts, and depth of inquiry these four women brought to every moment of our shared experience. May the sweetness and peace of these moments rise in them whenever their hearts call them to it.

Even The Sun Rises in Stages

Early morning practices are a wonderful experience of greeting the day with a deeper acceptance of one's self and awareness of a greater landscape of possibilities. As with starting any practice, I also see sun salutations (Surya Namaskar sequences) as offering a wide variety of opportunities. Some practitioners take a specific sequence, some count breaths, some add standing Asanas like Virabhadrasana I or II, (Warrior) or Trkonasana (Triangle), or variations of lunges and twists in Ajanyasana (knee-down lunge) or Utkatasana (chair/fierce pose). Are any of these "right" or "wrong" in a sun salutation? I believe it is only really important if you are practicing a specific style of yoga that requires repetitions of specific alignments through particular Asanas. In either situation - a set flow or with additions - Surya Namaskar is a gradual process that will change your sense of being as you go along.

Beginning a yoga practice starts with the breath, and waking up the awareness. There are so many ways to do this, and all of them are reminders to be fresh to the moment, not leaning on expectations or memories, not judging or causing pain. I teach variations of physical warm ups that draw attention to different parts of being. In my own practice I do much the same, whether I start by sitting or standing, or even flat out on the floor, slowly through Pratapana (warm ups) or jumping in to Vinyasa (Asana flow) like Surya Namaskar.

I take personal practice as a true exploration and believe that sequences are built through understanding of the breath and curiosity about the body as a vehicle for experience of Prana (life energy) and grace. Some mornings I will repeat a series of Asana in a flow many times, sometimes I hold each Asana for many breaths. It may include variations or be the classical sequence. I've read that Surya Namaskar is a fairly recent addition to the pantheon of yoga practices, and that the ancient yogis had no requirement for this particular series. It evolved as a wonderful integration of movements with the breath that serve to open energy channels throughout the body, generate inner heat, strengthen limbs and core, release joint tightness, offer an inversion, and bring the mind into a more devotional state. Whatever my practice, I am building upon who I am, and how I approach, observe and release my own reactiveness. I learn to hear the deeper impulses of energy and fear, and I gain integration of my body and mind to the point when I can sit (or stand, walk, or lay down) in a natural meditational state. The practice helps me open the spaces inside me that encourage a less judgmental way of life, a more generous heart, and even a better humor in the face of darkening clouds on the horizon or right in my face!

I think many people cut short this last meditational phase of personal practice -- seeking physical integration and moving quickly on to other daily tasks, as if the practice is a warm up for the day. In some very real ways, I think practice IS a warm up for the day. Just like the sun rising, the light begins with subtle aspects, gradually spreading and brightening, as more and more of the world around us comes into view, and absorbs the heat. A yoga practice is really the same, and even on a morning thick with clouds, I can still salute the sun, finding its light illuminates the shades of gray above me. So, too, does the sun salutation series open spaces in which to see more clearly which way the practice may lead. One day it could be shoulder openings, another into twists, or strengthening standing postures. Perhaps the breath is crying out for Kapalabhati (Skull Shining Breath) breathing in Setu Bandhasana (Bridge pose) or deeply meditative Nadi Shoduna (Alternate Nostril Breath) in Virasana (Hero's pose).

Attending classes can help with the internal absorption of sequences, and introduce a combination that effectively raises energy, strengthens, calms, or opens awareness of fears or healing effects. Yet again I think of the sun, only by rising does the sun light the world. You will only find your personal practice by taking time to see what turns up in it on any particular day. You can begin with following what you remember from classes, or working with a tape or DVD, but the sooner you can turn off the external directive voices and begin to work from that internal voice, the brighter and more illuminating your practice will be.

Words & Wordless

In Savasana today there was a pool of light in the back of my ribcage, at least those are the words that might describe what felt like a shape shifting coagulation of energy and peace, pooling below my floating heart. My shoulder blades finally melted away and allowed my breath to soften my brain. There were no words. None.

Funny that when I teach yoga I seem to embody my language and words come out for my students to use. These words often drift out of my own muscles or from deep behind someplace where they rise up in my breath. Sometimes when I take class as a student, the words are nearly inaudible to me, as though they represent an energy transfer that is taking place through the sequence of events and my own breath in the space with the breath of others. When my teacher mind is present, I might think “oh that was a lovely word,” but by the time I release into the asana, that mind is gone and so is that word.

And then there are times when my mind is full of language. Words are not objects, not the thoughts themselves, not the feelings. Symbols, icons, scratchings on the stones, my words sometimes are drool, sometimes are the momentary fragrance of a ripe strawberry, sometimes just mud on my shovel.

I suppose I will live my whole life in a tug-of-war between words and wordlessness. I am grateful that I continue to find myself on all sides of that. Each part of the tug has its possibilities.

Pre-Dawn Yoga: Shoveling in Deep Snow

The outside world seems to present me with reflections of my inner self. Surrounded by a deeply snowy landscape in Upstate New York, I can feel the sequence of events, like a 3-part (Dirgha) breath. As with the breath, I can take it either way top to bottom, or bottom to top. I can move from the top surface light powder that overlays a heavy crust, below this is two-to-three feet of soft moist snow, resting on the underlayer of crusted ice that presses on the wet and yet solid surface of flattened greens holding tight with their roots in the semi-frozen ground. Or I can begin from underneath taking the reverse: the slushy greens softening under several feet of fluffy blue-white yet heavier-by-the-day snow, compressing at the top edge by the weight of a slick hardened crust and topped with a dusting of delicate bright white snowy filigree. As I shovel, I run into all of it.

Sometimes I penetrate from the top, cracking the crust before shoveling in stages through the deep snow, and finally ramming the shovel below the deepest crust into the softening mush in an effort to clear the surface. Sometimes I begin at the bottom, wedging my shovel's edge as deeply under the whole thing as I can and try to remove the support of the deep half-frozen slush so that the whole depth begins to loosen, crack and fall in chunks that are manageable to lift with my shovel.

Early morning yoga practice is sometimes so much like shoveling this nearly 4 feet of snow from the edges of the curving, sloping drive. I want to clear a wider path, make movement possible. I know there is more here than I can deal with all at one time. My perseverance, breath and lightness of heart will help me. There are layers that resist, sometimes crumbling in large chunks to reveal the deep softness within, only to find that there is another hardened layer made by hidden melts and freezes and solidified in the darkness. My back is already getting worn from the efforts. Yoga shines the light there. Turns out there is slush below that. And with careful, mindful breath, I just might find the effortless effort that loosens that deeper crust, reveals the vivid green lushness of grass and wild weeds long weighted down. What happens next? Savasana takes me deeper still where I rest, leaning on my shovel, reveling in my beating heart, eyes watering and blinking in the sun's light on the snow.

And lest anyone think that this has to be all about physical effort and endurance, I have found it even more challenging in my sitting meditation practice! That soft layer runs right into the crust of my open mind wandering mind in either direction, so my focused one-pointed shovel of attention must be steady in its work.

Feeling the Connection

Many a day my practice is a solitary behavior in a specific place where I can find the physical space to lay myself out. Those whose idea of me is "the official yoga teacher" would laugh out loud to see me wedged between two beds in a handstand, or propped up against the cellar door exploring scorpion. My family might find me zoned out at the end of practice in a supine twist in the middle of the living room floor. There is no reason to resist warrior in the kitchen, where the floor is clear; where the view of my own heart is as good as it is anywhere. I lost my attachment to the mat early in my exploration of yoga, finding that waiting for the mat and the private quiet space would just leave me waiting rather than practicing.

Classes bring the body into a space with other bodies. There is a wonderful confluence of influence in this. Following the intention to do yoga brings you to the class, and the class structure provides you with the breath of others around you, as well as the guidance, encouragement and support of the teacher. There is a commitment to be present. Watching over all the varieties of student I see one yearning among them all, to be and to be fully. Even without knowing what that is, or how that might feel, there is this possibility palpable in the room. By the time we find savasana, the sense of being fills the space, however large, however small.

By myself, on a mat between this and that furniture with barely enough clearance to extend one leg fully sideways, I have this same connection to the breath of all living beings, to the open space of the moment. Making the connection is all it takes.

The first stage is exactly the same no matter where I am: allow myself to be present. I seek my foundation. Just noticing where my body touches the earth helps draw my attention inward and releases me -- surrenders my will -- to that which sustains me. (Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya) Perhaps it is my sitting bones below me and the gentle pressure I feel on my ankle bones that enables me to let go of my earthly weight into the earthly support in Sukhasana (Easy Pose - crossed legs on the floor). My tailbone melts a bit, muladhara (root chakra) drawing energy like roots from the earth itself. This loosens the lower back and my spine rises in a natural curve that has evolved over thousands of years to find full expression right here in my own body. (Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya)

This inhale draws the ocean up through me in a wave of oxygen and as I exhale my shoulders rest more lightly atop my ribcage, the weight of my arms gently moving out and away towards my hands resting on thighs (or perhaps fingers gently on either side of me on the floor -- or cupped in my lap), just as my knees gently drift away from my hips. By now I am in the room, I am on the mat, I am in the breath, I am in this moment fully. If the cat rubs against my knee, I smile or perhaps stroke the last inches of tail as it passes, and feel the lightness of being right here, right now. This is not a closed posture, one where the gates are all shut tight to protect the experience. This is a wide open space where everything can exist at the same moment. It has taken me years and barely a few moments to be here, now. (Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya)

I find this is the same if I am flat on the floor, or with elevated knees, or in Tadasana (standing mountain pose) waiting for a light to turn green on the street. This connection to the present, this awakening of awareness, this being present with the breath itself is not bound up in yoga mats and classes, nor even in "yoga practice" per se. You can find this connection in a crowded subway, feeling the essential quality of presence among others there, (Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya) or alone waiting for the bus by the side of the road. The breath and the being will connect you to all living beings, once you are here, there is no other moment, no other place. Just this. (Surrender to that which sustains me = Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya.)

When you feel you are lost or when you feel full of being, try inhaling "just" and exhaling "this." No pre-existing conditions are required to be present, just this - setting aside attachments and judgments, allowing yourself freedom. Oh sure, the yoga asanas make this easier in that they open awareness and energy channels, take the body into healthier and more supported ways of being, draw awareness to patterns that can then be more easily released... all good! Yet that connection to being is always there in this inhale, and this exhale. Just this.