Sacred Spaces - Inside & Out

I remember my first experiences of taking yoga classes at the local Shambhala Yoga & Dance Center in my Brooklyn, NY neighborhood and feeling that just walking in to the small empty space was a special and personal act. There was a sense of safety there, where feelings could come and go, and where, for the most part, whatever might happen would be all to the good. Okay, occasionally a muscle pull might hamper the experience, but not with any harmful intention. Safety and openness to the possibilities, attentiveness and care on the part of teachers, and the non-judgment of fellow classmates definitely gave the space a sense of sacredness for our inquiry and our breath. Without the presence of "a god" and minus the requirements of religious dogma, the practice seemed to unify me with my understandings of spirit, self and connection to everything else. In some ways, any space in which living beings exist is a sacred space, including the manmade and natural world and the flora and fauna (yes even insects!) within it.

As a yoga teacher I am aware of my responsibility to continue this tradition of making a safe space in which yoga can be practiced. Respecting the commonalities of breath and suffering, the innate beauty of being alive in the world as we know it, of all the inner adjustments that my students and I go through, I feel the practice as an invitation to discover the sacred, the divine, the open space in ourselves and in everything around us. This helps us feel the inner peace, develops the ability to accept that which actually is so within us, and builds strength and resilience too.

I am in the process of constructing a small practice space in a former granary structure in upstate New York. The building was once up on stilts with heavy wooden bins built into it to house the grain off the ground. Long ago it sank into the earth, half the roof vanished and two sides of the building peeled away. Yet even in that form it had a magical quality of the hands that built it, and its story of once holding precious resources. It looked wonderful in the snow. The first part of the process was raising the structure onto a dry stone foundation, using salvaged materials to rebuild the shattered roof, and placing a new floor, hand sanded for the bare feet that will walk upon it. The current stage is to place the simple framed windows my husband salvaged from our house, hang a sliding door once on a neighbor's barn, and replace the remaining original ribboned and rotted siding with new locally cut wood. I feel a tug at my heart from the original structure, and am glad that the building will stand so straight as it once did long ago. The transformation of this little structure is a reminder of the experiences offered within it.

It has deep meaning to clear a space dedicated to the practice, yet, I also find that any place can be transformed into a sacred space if the intentions of practice are brought to bear. I might practice in a hotel room on the floor next to the bed. There are many times when I have practiced on the kitchen floor in my apartment, or on the bedroom floor. I've meditated while waiting at airports, and practiced sitting in a chair while waiting for a meeting to begin. Yoga studios might pack students in like sardines, with barely 3 inches between mats, or when only 4 students show up the room remains open and empty. Perhaps your yoga class is held in the basement of a church or in a meeting room at the office or in a medical center. Any of these places can offer the space necessary to "perform" the Asanas, and they also offer the opportunity to open that inner space where the self is accepted and the moment is fully experienced. That is where the sensation of the sacred is to be found, I think. We can find ourselves in the woods or on a front porch, in the kitchen, a magnificent temple or my new rustic granary studio space. It is the finding of the self, and doing all we can do that brings our hearts and our energy into the moment and open to "yoga" - the union or yoking - transforming even the seat on the bus into a sacred space for experiencing this life.

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.

Yoga Using the Body

Two days ago I stubbed my toe and it drew my attention like a rocket exploding across the sky. I could almost say it shook me to my foundation and took my breath away at the same time! From that instant this simple change in the way my foot reacted to everything has served as such a deep reminder that everything is subject to change and that the feelings and meanings, stories and responses are not who I am, they are just conditions. At this point my toe only speaks when I push on it, but it has helped remind me to soften my feet in every Asana, and highlights how my balance and my movement are related to breath and a rising core energy, and my relationship to the earth whether I am noticing that or not. The toe made sure I was noticing. What a gift!

Yoga practice is not a routine. Pratapana (preparatory movements) and Asana (postures) can be repeated daily and even in the same sequence (though that is not my style), yet the practice is unique to the moment. Each day that I open my eyes, the light astonishes me. Even thinking that I know which hip will be creaky, what is actually happening in the moment is something specific and can only be experienced with awareness in that moment. The instant I stubbed my toe, my body reacted and my mind reacted; my breath reacted (that sharp intake!) and my feelings both physical and emotional jumped in. Each time I settle on the mat, my body sensations and my inhale/exhale can take just as much attention. Can an ordinary moment, of transition from inhaling to exhaling, of resting in Virabhadrasana I (Warrior I standing posture), be as fully engaging as the moment I stubbed my toe? Yes, it can if I allow myself to choose to focus fully upon it. Through the body and its senses and reactions to conditions, the reactions of voluntary and involuntary muscles and nerves to the mind's directions, and within the patterns learned, I can literally find myself intensely and completely sitting on the mat breathing in and breathing out. My body gives me a laboratory in which to experience my self and the world, both internal and external.

What is the point of this intense presence? Is it some release into higher consciousness or trance-like tranquility? Well, not really for me at this point, though it may sometimes go through a stage like that. I think of the Asana practice, the practice of yoga through the body, as a stage in waking up. Allowing myself to observe so closely, to experience more fully without attaching to the experience, brings me to a new level of equanimity, while simultaneously integrating my energy into my entire being. I am at whatever level of practice this is, that I can more easily be clear and awake through the yoga practice, even while withdrawing from my sensations and becoming more and more of an observer, using experience and reactivity to help me see and be my self.

The ache in my toe brings my inner awareness to what I can release more fully into the experience. Releasing into the experience demands letting go more fully of the "idea" of the experience. Sitting or walking meditation starts in the same way for me it seems, using the breath or awareness of gravity or light. I guess this is just where I am on the continuum of cultivating consciousness, that I use my body as a prop, a processing plant, a playing field upon which to see and play the game of being who I am. After all, I am experiencing this life in this body, so I might as well use it with gratitude for all that it gives me!

Namaste: Gratitude to My Students for Everything

The plan is to be everything you need me to be, offering tender care for your joints, your breath, your energy, your critical mind, your hidden sorrows, your deepest yearnings. The plan is to lay bare the floor below you and the air moving through you. The plan is to give you everything, even those aspects about which you know nothing and those aspects which evaporate when you touch them.

This is the plan. It happens whether you are with me or not.

As I wake on a very rainy, misty gray morning, I find my heart beating, my eyes softly focus on the rain blurred world. It seems there is only my own body to inform today with a yoga practice, and yet every breath I take turns out to be for you. Does it matter if I am cutting melon for the fruit salad or responding to facebook posts? Does it matter if I am sitting in Padme (lotus) or curled in a soft chair? Turns out none of this cuts me off from you.

When I was at Kripalu for my teaching certification, one of my team leaders said quite matter-of-factly that once you become a yoga teacher you are a yoga student for life. It is true in a circle of experience that enfolds the yoga student in me forever into the yoga teacher in me. Of course my own experiences are in my own hip joint or my own meditational spaces, but what happens there belongs to you.

The only way I can thank you for all you have done for me is to continue my practice in all directions, to offer that which I am now, have always been, will ever be, and continue to let go of any fears or mind chatter that keeps me from you.

In Sanskrit we say "Namaste" and as the words leave my lips at the end of my classes, I explain, "acknowledging the grace, the beauty, the wisdom, the compassion in you, and honoring that in all living beings." These words escape from my heart, effortlessly giving everything. Thank you.

Beginning, Middle & End - All Part of Practice

Lately I've taught a classes with a different shape to them. One was part of a menopause group's activities. One was part of a teen health awareness program. One was an early afternoon chair yoga class. As strikingly different as these groups might seem on the surface, they are beginning in the same place, the present moment, this inhale. Throughout the practice attention wanders and returns to the breath, students sometimes watching me, sometimes turning totally inward, sometimes gazing at each other. And by the end, all in the same place, releasing the grip on the body and the mind, finding that the breath can take them into a place of peace, acceptance, ease.

As the teacher I lead them, I join them, I follow them. This is my practice. My practice carries me into and out of each day with an awareness of the way the heart moves the breath and the breath moves the heart and investigates all the spaces in which that might happen. I ask my students what they are doing here, and admit that we don't have the answer to that question except to say, "being present." I urge my students to accept that this is the body in which they will be living their life and that the exploration, celebration and joy of that unfolding experience can continue as long as there is breath.

Sometimes when I teach mat-based classes my students fall asleep in Savasana. How could I love them any more than I already do? Feeling the gentle breathing all around in my crowded chair sessions, I keep my eyes closed and lean my own breath across the room to hold all the sweet drifting hearts above the water level, until awareness returns to the fingers and toes and they can swim on their own.

Attachment to What Is, or Not?

A gust of wind thrashed in the upper branches of the tree across the street from my 4th floor window. I watched the dance of the leaves, and the light, the grace and vigor of the branch in its responses to the moving air. What do I see? Is it the world as it is in this moment, or is it a change from what I expected to see, or from what I saw a moment ago? In other words, is this moving, thrashing branch being measured against my idea of the tree holding still? Could it be that my idea of "tree" creates my concept of "tree in the wind?" If I simply see the tree, whether stationary or in motion, I can experience this moment without assigning meaning, without defining any dualistic value. The moment is reactive to conditions, the conditions are in the moment.

What is change without attachment to what was, or the measurement of what is against something that might have been or might yet be? Is that at the core of my human understandings or might I be masking something else by these attachments?

Maybe letting go of those meanings, that identification with the object as the defined object, would shake my view of the world. Perhaps the inner core of my being does not require that a tree hold steady as a shape against the sky or produce firewood or shade or even oxygen. It is shocking to think that every cell has an atomic structure, smaller than the eye can see and difficult for the mind to imagine without physical models in exaggeratedly large sizes. Yet they exist in the same way that planets do, now that we have created an exaggeration of our own vision in the form of powerful telescopes. Aren't these fundamentally acts of imagination?

I'm sensing that what we see and the meanings we give are really still in the realm of myth and story. The story changes as the teller accommodates new possibilities, and the exploration continues of the illusions around us, defining and explaining to make it easier to function here, or understand what we think. It is natural human behavior to attach to what we think and what we think we know. Isn't much of anger, disappointment, violence and harm coming from exactly this attachment? How much energy is spent trying to convince others that one opinion is right and another wrong, or one action is just and another hateful, or one concept is correct and another incorrect, one god is true and another false.

I attach so much of my own being to these details of memory, training, and meaning. In my yoga and meditation there are moments when there is a sense of a conscious witness beyond these attachments, watching the person I am go through these patterns of attachment. This awareness is detached from the assigned meanings, values, shapes and histories. There is much compassion in the observation, a sense of kindness and lack of judgment in this way of knowing about being myself. That in itself is deeply comforting, enabling, spacious.

Functioning in the world is not a detached condition! My feelings soar and plummet, my thoughts zoom around, my head fills with details and observations, critiques and comparisons. Even my body continually sends a variety of messages, never to be exactly as I might expect or assume it to be. Even without really detaching, I can watch this happening and actually function with more equanimity while the whirlwind whirls. That tree branch is still thrashing out there, yet has not changed the tree. Even if the limb falls, the idea of tree can remain or the idea of tree can include limb-on-the-sidewalk. This is a state of mind, rather than one of the tree itself. My attachment to meanings and definitions is not required for that tree to continue in its relationships to the conditions around it, the wind and the sidewalk, to photosynthesis and the air I breathe.

Right Here, Right Now

A clump of preschool children were cluttering the sidewalk today on my walk to teach. There was a group of three or four of them hunkered down in squats picking at leaves with little sticks. There was one going back and forth through the standing legs of a supervising grown up. Several others were drifting near a large tree trunk. Two were poking their fingers through an ornate iron fence. What were they doing there? The three women in charge of them were standing in relaxed postures and chatting. Is this mid-block stretch of sidewalk the destination of the group? Weren't they on their way somewhere? The most marvelous thing was, the kids were quite clearly present right there right then. A pause in the group's travel became the place they had traveled to be.

I was walking along. At each moment I was right there, too, on the sidewalk, moving in the world, just like the children. My gaze moving, feeling the movement of my hip joints and my shoulders, exploring the textures of the sidewalk under my sandals. Breathing in and breathing out.

Perhaps the destination is always simply being fully where we are right now.