Responsibility & Fragility

We are such amazing structures of skin and bone, so strong and yet so transitory. Yesterday I was remarking to my husband that I feel responsible for shepherding my elderly relatives safely through the ends of their lives. It is almost as if my hand is gently on the oar of the ferry boat taking them through their final transitions to the other side of existence. This sounded so strange as I said it, yet felt so true. I feel the responsibility to outlive them, in order to keep paying their bills, organize celebrations for their birthdays, keep them supplied with their favorite treats or experiences, sort out their catastrophes and health care debacles, and problem solve when their minds can no longer rationally cope. This is not a passive situation, as I am administratively responsible for two nearly 90's and in the heart responsible for two more of equal age.

In some ways, I approach this weight much the way I do in my asana practice when my knee feels fragile giving those warning twinges. All of this requires first and foremost the ability to see what is really there, be open to what might be so without judging, and not get swept away by conjectures, emotions, and the distortions that past experience might overlay. Clarity, compassion and action are at the core, allowing me to fully support the expression of fragile qualities.

Last night I got a call from my aunt that her name tag had been removed from the door of her assisted living apartment. She wanted to know if there was a change in her status, if she was being removed, if she should move out tomorrow morning. What did I know about it, and why would they do such a thing? She was hurt, furious, scared. To a stranger, this might seem obviously irrational, yet I know that her sense of self is fragile, her place on earth tenuous, her fear and anger justified by her deep family experience. The child of refugees, she hung on correct protocol to protect her, fashioning a professional career that was all about precedent and protocol, legalities and legislation.

I hold the oar lightly, but firmly, and ply it in the strange dark waters as I sense that boat below me, with this dear frightened person in it. Of course I reassure her that it is not personal, and I take the responsibility for facts, explanations and replacement. Just as I practice yoga with my complaining knee, I gently bend it, position the foot directly below it to transfer the weight, bring my awareness to the way my thigh lifts and my hip rotates, my pelvis carries the weight, my spine rises... in other words, the body in its entirety helps support the knee, not the other way around.

So often I think that fragility is frightening because I have forgotten to take responsibility for the support structure. Fear arises when I think something or someone dear to me is suffering or being taken from me, and yet as I grow older I find that although I may never be physically able to do certain poses, my abilities grow constantly in new ways I never imagined. Open to fragility, and responsible for supporting that, I am more and more available to myself and to others. Ah, once again, releasing judgment, letting emotion wash through with the understanding that the wave will come again, but the water goes way beyond the wave.

Dipping my oar, I continue to scan the waters around me, peering into the dark even as the light bounces on the crests of the waves.

Signing Up and Signing In

Willingness, interest, even commitment may not be enough to get you to follow through on something that you pledge to do. For many of my students, this is a resolution to get to the yoga mat (or get to the gym) every day. Many yoga studios offer encouragement for a steady practice with cheaper multiple class cards, big discounts if you come every day for a month, or make it to a set number of classes in a set number of days. This can be a good jump start to your own practice, and the inclusion of yoga in daily life, but it is not always possible to get to the studio routinely for classes at the appropriate level at accessible times. Family life, work routines, unexpected circumstances, travel, there are so many reasons why a one-directional commitment to the yoga mat can seem impossible to meet.

I love yoga and have no question at all that practicing yoga is good for me in just about every way I can imagine. Even so, there are days when I just cannot seem to make it to the mat for my own practice. I can manage to check my email, but not get to the yoga mat? I certainly cook and eat every day, but I don't get to my mat every day? Am I meeting my commitment? I say yes, and deepening my practice continuously as I go along by allowing my practice to be inclusive, and acknowledging honestly when I do, or don't, direct my attention to my practice.

I see my commitment as an interplay between intention and action. When I fail in my commitment I make excuses, offer explanations, and oftentimes weave complicated emotional tangles that can take a lot of energy to untangle. I can hold myself accountable and let myself off the hook at the same time. Very confusing!

Through my yoga practice, I've come to accept my commitment as my intention. I no longer see my yoga practice on the mat as a requirement or duty, or hard and fast rule related to meeting expectations or achieving a goal. I see it as a discipline based in intention, offering a wide range of possibility for practice and exploring it as an ever enriching and unpredictable experience. I hold myself accountable for acting upon my intention, allowing this action to follow its own path, even if it includes not getting to the yoga mat in a particular day. In yogic terms, Tapas, discipline, is a practice well worth exploring, delving in to the concepts of intention, commitment and practice.

One handy tactic I have used with real impact is a paper sign-in sheet. Sounds a bit simplistic, but all I have to do is sign in and I'm present with my intention. I sign in honestly, noting my practice that day. I use symbols that designate my yoga teaching, philosophy and asana study, meditation (both sitting and walking), mat practice, chair practice, and when I take classes taught by others. I have a symbol for no-practice that represents a day when I have not set aside time for a focus on practice in any of the above activities. The marking of these actions offers me direct connection to my commitment, encouraging me to rev up the engines of my practice if I feel strong resistance to saying "no-practice." I find I can make a little more space in my day and focus my attention. The days I write "no-practice" are very few, and are no condemnation of my intention. They reinforce my exploration of my own journey, that which distracts me, or requires my attention, the choices I make.

I don't judge myself when I sign in, I feel encouraged, and sometimes inspired.

Not Knowing: Its All About the Inquiry

Not knowing is another one of those concepts that can cause confusion in a practice. For me, the simplest way to explain it is by using the idea of releasing the goal or the hard and fast explanation. It doesn't mean that you don't know what you are doing or that you give up on understanding and knowledge, but rather that you are free to use what you know without binding it to outcome. In essence, I give up a bit more of my attachment to the story when I look back at events or see myself getting invested in controling the what-when-who-how-why of things.

Recently my husband mentioned to me that he is always closing drawers on my dresser that I leave slightly open. I found this entirely shocking. My memory, as I scanned it, was entirely of closing my drawers. My thoughts ran through the standard patterns, denial that it just wasn't so, explanations about his character and the way he generalizes, revulsion that I could be so sloppy and simply not know it! Yet why would he say this if it wasn't true? I opened myself to the entirety of the idea: what is this? What is this? Watching the film, so to speak, I see him closing the last quarter inch of my drawer, every so often. Of course, it is true that occasionally the drawer is not flush to the dresser. I can feel his need to clean up the lines around him, to make order where there is disorder. I can feel myself getting distracted at the last moment of putting away laundry and turning my attention elsewhere. I am flooded with compassion for him. I am laughing at the odd couple we have been for so many years. I am softened by the way he is looking after me. I no longer feel threatened by this imperfection in me, nor by a potential judgment he might make of me for my behavior or the difference in my standards. I continue to wonder and observe how he interacts with my patterns, and how my patterns interact with his reactions. The whole conversation is no longer loaded with judgment, hurtfulness or confusion. I remain safe in my open minded attitude towards myself and my partnership.

Not knowing represents an attitude of wanting to know. Letting my awareness follow my breathing I find out all kinds of things about my breath. This doesn't inform me of what my breath will be in ten minutes, nor how to instruct someone else in their breathing. The curiousity and intelligence applied to observing my breath does inform my ability to be present with my students and encourage them in specific ways to explore their own breath. The outcome is unknown, and I am not witnessing my breath in order to inform my students in such and such a way. I am simply inquiring into the nature of my own breath and breath itself.

Liberating myself from the need to know has been, and continues to be, a process. As with all the aspects of yoga, this process leads in all directions, so that I find I am releasing judgment in order to inquire without predetermining the answer or even the direction of the inquiry. I may also find that I reach for my foundation for stability in order to let go of the grasping in physical, emotional, intellectual or even spiritual realms. Being open to whatever is there can inform me of truth that surprises me and removes the layers from the stories I've told myself for many years.

Using Judgment Wisely

The state of non-judgment is such an open space in which to experience yourself and others. It seems, though, that we are designed to categorize people, events, signals, scenes, memories -- everything really -- and judge it all! We take a quick scope of whatever data seems relevant and stash it away in a category that helps us function. A good deal of the time we use judgment to make life and death decisions like crossing the road, health decisions like starting a juice fast or eating a third slice of pizza, relational decisions as to when and how to offer help or stay out of something, myriad intellectual decisions, financial decisions, career decisions. Honestly, is there any decision that doesn't involve judgment - even what to say and when to say it?

Yet as my yoga practice deepens, I find more and more often I urge my students to release judgment. How do we do this? It is sometimes so difficult to allow the mind to simply notice and accept, rather than judge and categorize. We can establish ourselves too firmly as having a particular problem, and perpetuate that problem by doing so, often shutting out alternate ways of understanding our situation. We so quickly estimate our abilities and then manage to function only within the parameters of what we estimate, rarely finding out what our true range might be.

As with nearly everything, the trick is in the balance: how do we use our ability to make judgments to help us remain open to the vastness of possibilities in a safe and conscious way.

Within the practice of any asana or sequence in a physical yoga practice, we can explore this balancing act. A big part of this is the process of developing witness consciousness, that aspect of your nature that observes you even as your mind chatters away and your body willfully places itself in a posture. Perhaps you have disappeared for a moment in resting Kapotasana, a prostrate pigeon pose; for a few seconds losing track of the acuteness of that one hip opening, even of the breath moving up and down the spine. It is as though you can see yourself folded on one side, extended on the other, your upper back releasing, belly soft against your opposite thigh, as the hips rest squarely, one leg lengthened infinitely behind you. Your mind may be speaking volumes about how you cannot stay in this one more minute, or about how different this side is from the other side, busy noticing, commenting, bringing feelings and experiences into the moment. Your breath may be shallow in your chest, or deeply soft in your belly, or perhaps awareness has brought the breath to your hip joints, encouraging their opening. The witness can let all of this go, just be there, watching how all this is happening, meanwhile simply being and resting in that open space that your own prana, life energy, can give you. It is in this space that you can observe the way you function: how you make choices, criticize, explain, act, feel.

Yet even as the witness develops, judgments are made. Should you use a folded blanket under that hip? Are you forcing too much stress into the lower back, or shoulders? Could you tuck your toes and extend that back leg a little more to increase the lift in the inner thigh? You can learn to make these choices, being the one who judges, using what the witness can see.

So it is as though there is a whole committee with you as you practice, some advising about the physicality of the pose, some clamoring for attention to the emotional matters brought up by the hip openings, some reacting to the way the teacher adjusted you. Let the witness help observe the committee, like a recording secretary, and let your true self determine the advice for that moment. Watch out for the competitor who wants to force you into going past what is safe for your joints! Watch out for the worrier who will caution you against trying something new that might be risky! Notice all the players at the table, all part of you, and allow the witness to help you use your judgment wisely.

Give yourself the entirety of experience without limiting it. Use your judgment to open the experience further. Try the prop, remove it if you don't find it squares your hips. Release into the teacher's adjustment and let go of the ego who wants to do everything for itself. Let the asana practice help you see how you make your choices on the mat, and you will find that you can understand yourself much better off the mat too!

Exploring Yoga by Video

I have friends in remote places who seem to have fast enough internet service to actually do yoga along with streaming videos. There are several wonderful sites for this, some, like www.yogatoday.com, that charge a nominal monthly fee for access to a wide variety of levels, styles and lengths of yoga practice videos. Even YouTube has a nearly endless array of serious yoga videos - and joke ones too. Today I rediscovered a couple DVDs that a friend had passed along to me - one is from 1999 with Rodney Yee, Power Yoga: Strength & Flexibility, the other is from 2004, Yoga Shakti with shiva rea. So this morning I set aside my self-generated practice and took a sip from the common cup - yoga with computer open and the recorded sounds of someone else's directions.

When I take a yoga class in person I cherish the breath around me, the humor in the variety of experiences in one place at one time, the deep practice of each student being present on the mat. The teacher offers glimpses into themselves, their heart and understanding. Sometimes the teacher in me picks up a phrase or a sequence that is especially useful or apt. Mostly, I try to release into being the student, and leave my inner notebook at the door with my shoes.

Using a video to organize my yoga practice was oddly new to me! I bet many of my students have more practice with this than I! It took me a while to get over the total lack of eye contact, the vast difference between my situation on the mat in my bedroom and the incredible backdrops for the videos (Maui for Rodney Yee and the Maldive Islands for shiva rea). This slightly disconnected feeling seemed to keep my teaching mind much more alert. I was noting the transitions, observing the teachers' personal adjustments, sensing their structures embedded in their sequencing. It was particularly amazing to be able to stop the video and literally look at Rodney Yee in the midst of movement, seeing how his weight rests in his feet or the way the energy in his neck continued to pull the spinal movement in his arm balance. This obviously disrupted my own practice! It was much easier for me to move along with shiva rea, her languaging brought a presence into the sequence of events that made space for me, not just a logistical direction of where and how to physically do the asana, but in some ways directing inner drishti, and encompassing meditative aspects of the practice. I'm curious to see a video by Rodney Yee 10 years later, and experience how his teaching has developed.

Since this morning, I've investigated a few YouTube videos: of teachers David Vendetti and Todd Skoglund of South Boston Yoga Studio, and of Sadie Nardini generator of Core Strength Vinyasa Yoga in NYC. Each offers a very different feeling - both styles are more intimate and less of a commodity as the whole video production number.

Frankly, if you don't have a home practice and it's hard to get to classes either because of cost or your schedule or location, don't despair! There is a huge array of encouraging teachers available through your computer! Older yoga videos are just as wonderful as new ones, so keep an eye out in second hand stores, at yard sales, in video lending libraries, or on shelves among friends whose loans could be a great way to keep you going. Some sessions will strike you as too athletic, some as not athletic enough. Some will be overly wordy, some not wordy enough. Some over simplify, others over explain! And the music varies totally. And so it goes. This is often the case even if you pay for a class in a studio. It's also a lovely feature that you can actually repeat the class to support your journey. Perhaps revisiting a video after a hiatus would offer an entirely new adventure!

Using videos is a good way to keep yourself moving, to continue your inquiry on a more regular basis and maintain a commitment to a practice. You can choose a 20 minute practice to fit your day. You can explore some new approach that is unavailable in a nearby studio. If you can take a class, fabulous. If you can close your eyes and remember a few parts or sequences or flow from a collection of class memories, that's a great way to generate your own practice. It is fun to mix things up, though, and keep your yoga from turning into an exercise routine.

Videos and DVDs can fit nicely into this encouraging niche! Experiment within the level that you can practice without a teacher to guide you personally. If there are aspects, asanas, or directions that go beyond what you know is safe or familiar, watch it first without doing it. This is a great advantage of the technology. It is what we call in teaching a "demonstration." Allowing the mind, eyes and spirit to input and process before asking the body to follow is a nice benefit of a recorded session. Let yourself take a restorative class whenever you need one, rather than be limited by the once-a-week restorative schedule at your local studio.

I don't know enough to recommend specific videos - the ones I explored this morning were so different from one another and in my possession for totally arbitrary reasons! If you have videos to recommend, please share that in your comments - identifying the level for which they would be appropriate, please.

The most important part of practice is to be present, notice where you are in the moment, and let that be just what it is. You, breathing, right there. You can be on a plateau overlooking the ocean in Maui, or in the sand and surf of the Maldive Islands all while doing sun salutations on the mat in your living room!

Letting Go of the To-Do List

I often see people I love and teach in spirals of activity, trying to accomplish something, to control something, to produce or avoid something, even to be something. This level of doing and going, busy and constant, effectively blocks off deeper sources of energy and fulfillment. It certainly is satisfying to have a long to-do list that gets checked off, but rarely are the items on that list ones that add to growth, lend themselves to internal healing, or develop new levels of awareness. By its nature a to-do list is just that, things to get done.

I've said before that the act of just noticing is a strategy for letting go. Sometimes it is hard to even notice the mind's frantic chasing around, as it goes so fast, is forgotten so soon. Sitting still and watching the sprinting mind, short bursts in this direction, and that direction, noticing the rising and falling of the feelings and judgments that accompany the running, you can come to find the one who is watching, the one who is sitting still. This is the person you actually are, full of promise and possibility, living in the inhale and exhale, experiencing the ebb and flow of the drama without being the player in it.

Some of my students interpret the idea of noticing as catching every detail, or feeling every feeling. This can be one stage of developing the ability to notice, and one that catches us and drives our engines even harder to run, to dash from this to that, to cope and cope and cope with the constant surging emotions. There are reasons we let ourselves get caught there. And there is strength and energy in us to let go of that, the resistance in us that prevents us from doing what means most to us, from finding ourselves giving up the definitions and rationales which hold us too tightly in a role that is not fulfilling our heart energy.

We may not all be able to let go of all earthly trappings like monks, but there is the Bodhisatva in all of us, the enlightened being who lives in the world rather than in retreat from it. Doing what is there in you does not require constant motion or action, rather it encourages that you acknowledge the resistance you may have to being who you are, watching the patterns, observing and labeling, and releasing. You can find your way through that to your larger self, the self who is witnessing the performance rather than all the busy ones in the constantly unfolding drama. This quiet breath may lead you to let go of the judgments that prevent you from being all you are, doing that which is in you, and knowing that this moment is why you are here, now.

Peace as a Practice of Non-Attachment

Self interest is a great motivator. The day we come to realize that the welfare of all beings is truly in our self interest is the day peace will arrive on earth.

This is not a superficial idea, nor does it require the denial of a sense of self, nor the eradication of conflicting conditions. There is an interesting merger of idealism and practicality in the concept. Often I hear the saying that "peace begins with the self." I agree with this. It is like the concept of love, we can often be more caring, compassionate and thoughtful of others than we actually are of ourselves. At least we think that is so, until we find that we can harbor all kinds of complicated negative feelings as a result of the "good" we are trying to do. Love must begin with the self as well.

The practice of non-attachment is one with many concentric circles and layers. Non-attachment - the idea of letting go of outcome and just giving yourself whole heartedly to the act itself - is a strong foundation of love and peace. To really experience non-attachment you must let go of judging what you are doing or how it is going or how it will turn out. This does not mean acting irresponsibly as though none of what you do has consequences! It is a matter of opening to the possibilities that by giving all you have to the situation, that which is possible will come into being whatever that might be. That, in and of itself, brings a peaceful and deep level of being in the moment. Feeling that way, full and in the moment, you can see the roller coaster but don't have to take the ride. It is not your mission to change what other people do - or to manipulate yourself or others in spite of differing points of view or conditions. Feelings of compassion come more easily if you are not judging and attempting to control other people's experiences or their own evaluations of their experiences. You might more easily see how they fall into traps, suffer, find their ways out of traps, help make the traps less seductive, and perhaps even turn away from the traps towards non-attachment themselves. This compassionate non-attachment is the beginning of peace.

Non-attachment is not disengaged. This is caring about everything rather than not caring about anything or caring only about one aspect. Quite fundamentally the opposite, caring fully and being open to relinquish qualifying criteria, offers the chance to see more openly, more entirely. Exist in your full potential and you can offer all that you are.

Late last fall I walked several times a week past a huge overhanging rose bush on my way to teaching. I was struck by the intensity of the beauty of the few remaining buds and blooms at that late time of year. Yet just as those classic symbols of beauty held their own against the cold and grayness of the late autumn, the spent blooms also shone with all the depth of perfection in their faded, exuberant layers of browning petals, the loosening of their hold, and the sheer abandonment of their former form. The leaves of the bush were in every stage - green, new, brown, curled, fallen. The sidewalk littered with petals and leaves, the detritus of organic matter that is the same essence of rose as the tightly held bud. There is deep joy in this combining of non-attachment with non-judgment. Openness to the fullness of what is, heart filled by the vastness of life in all its many aspects. Compassion brings joy and sorrow, as does love. Non-attachment brings compassion and possibility, as does peace.