November 30, 2009

How My Yoga Neighbor Teaches Me Yoga

This is a story I posted a few months back of a situation I encountered in yoga class one day. I have re-worked and it is much better flowing and more clear. Please send your comments!

Yoga class (unspoken) etiquette rule #1: Do not enter the yogic space of your next-door yoga neighbor. Your presence is not welcome. Thank You.

After three agonizing days of a sketching intensive in my summer design fundamentals course at Carnegie Mellon University, I had an intense craving for a vigorous yoga class. I had just moved to Pittsburgh from Los Angeles, the yoga capital of the US. While in LA, yoga had developed into a platform for my sanity. The focus on the droplet of salty sweat trickling from my brow to my cheek to my lips; the intense Ujjayi breath stinging the insides of my nose and throat, energizing my entire body; the ease of meditative bliss after 75 minutes of intensity - all contributed to my dependence on this trendy, spiritual path.

It was a lukewarm Tuesday in Pittsburgh. My body was tired and my mind was racing. I trudged up the stairs of the Amazing Yoga Shadyside studio juggling my block, yogamat, towel, and water-bottle. I dropped everything down in my usual spot - middle center, between two people - and went to sign in. Everything was normal. The instructors sat in the front gossiping subtlely as they waited for 5:45 p.m. The smell of the incense burned through the air as the heat magnified its smoky aroma. I handed my ten-class punch card to the desk-receptionist and turned back towards my space.

A curly redhead had placed her mat down next to mine and because I was preoccupied setting my intention for class, I disregarded her over-sized neon-blue beach towel breaking rule #1 of good yoga etiquette - it touched every adjacent mat, including mine. Deepening my inhalations I spread my Yogitoes towel onto my mat and collapsed into Child’s pose. The bustle of people slowed down and the instructor took attention.

Suryanamaskar A.
[inhale] Arms reach high.
[exhale] Fold.
[inhale] Halfway lift.
[exhale] Chaturanga.
[inhale] Upward-facing Dog.
[exhale] Downward-facing Dog.

I melted into non-thinking. The soothing oceanic waves of breath through the classroom; the choreographed lightness of the chaturanga jumpback; the throaty vibrations of sound exiting the instructors lips - all reinforced successful meditation.

[inhale] Step the left foot forward. Warrior I.
[exhale] Open the arms. Warrior II.
[inhale] Lift the right leg up. Ardha Chandrasana.

“Yes! Half-Moon.” I thought. Ardha Chandrasana is a balancing pose capable of disclosing years of tension while allowing the heart and spine to open and be free. When achieved in all its glory, Half-Moon feels phenomenal. However, the focus must remain on a perfectly still object while the breath is deep and the abdominal muscles are tightly engaged. Elated, I began the search for my Drishti. Typically I locate a well-formed lump in the drywall. I balance. Stare. Engage. Breathe. Then I step my gaze up until it has reached the ceiling. Once there I find a hole in the acoustic paneling to stare at, and then my arms and legs can soar into Half-Moon. Today of course, Rule-Breaking-Yogi - you know, the curly redhead - wobbled back and forth obstructing the view to all drywall lump Drishtis. Not being unusual to teeter in Half-Moon, I tried to ignore her and brought my gaze straight to the ceiling. I hardly reached my Half-Moon climax when my foot obnoxiously crashed down with a loud thud. Oops.

[exhale] Release the right foot next to left.
[inhale] Switch sides. Ardha Chandrasana.

To my left was a strong Half-Mooner. She obviously practiced yoga often, so I had no worries this time around. My left leg rose. Lump #1. Lump #2. Hips stack. Lump #3. Inhale. Exhale. Abdominals tight. Inhale. Exhale. I had almost taken my gaze to the ceiling effortlessly when I noticed steamy, humid air blowing onto my back. Oscillating-Redhead had her mouth wide open and she panted every last bit of her hot, sticky breath over the line into my yogic space. Rule #1 broken again. “Breathe through your nose,” I wanted to say. The sound of my foot crashing again disrupted my thoughts. Usually, I don’t notice a single person in the room when I practice, but today was especially a challenge. Out of desperation, my mantra changed from the usual “Ham-sa” to “She does not exist.” I chanted this over and over again. She does not exist. She does not exist. Class continued on and despite the breathy gasping next door, I managed to return to the present.

Ahimsa - one of the five Yamas of Patanjali’s eight-fold path - means non-violence. It can pertain to anything from eating strictly plant-based foods to denying negative thoughts towards another. Sometimes Ahimsa is effortless - like abstaining from swatting a fly or kicking someone. However, in certain annoying situations, Ahimsa-deficiency is highly likely.

Class finally reached its pinnacle and I was exhausted. My hair, shirt, pants, face, towel, block, watch, and everything else within a one-inch radius of my mat was doused in secretion soup. For today, my clarity of mind was not going any deeper.

[exhale] Float the hips back. Child’s pose.

Aaaaah. The room sighed in utter relaxation and then, of course, the stillness was broken with a loud whisper. “What a tough class.” It came from the mat to my right (from Redhead / Oscillating Half-Moon / Hot-Breath - pick a name). Humorously annoyed, I thought, “Who would have thought after all the puffing and panting, she would be so worn out?” I caught myself: “Okay Sarah. Positive thoughts. Ahimsa.”

[inhale] Come to standing
[exhale] Lower down. Crow.

I prepared for another of my favorite poses. As I steadily lowered my hands to the floor, Hot-Breath plotted her final disruption. She sucked on her water-bottle waiting for the stars to align in perfect synchronization. And then as she finished her last gulp, an intestinal water-y belch exited her mouth and went straight for my Ujjayi inhale. “Sorry!” She loudly whispered as she looked up at me, mortified. I chuckled and as I floated into Crow I whispered, “It’s okay.” And it was.
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November 10, 2009

Teaching Yoga is like Ustrasana.

Teaching yoga is like Ustrasana. Ustrasana, or Camel pose, can provide 1 of 2 ‘good’ outcomes - the liberating in-the-moment-back-opening-feel-good ‘good’ or the exhausting I-think-I’m-going-to-throw-up-or-pass-out-but-I-know-this-is-good-for-me ‘good.’ For me, moreso than not, it’s the latter. And on the rare occasion that it’s the former, I bask in all it’s glory. As a newly certified yoga teacher - 7 months into my teaching practice to be exact - I find this analogy to be enlightening. In the classroom, some days feel good and some not so good. But all, inherently, are ‘good’ because I learn to breathe through my shortcomings and sacrifice the self. When energy is high, my students and I are on the same wavelength working, together, through the practice. Teaching is liberating. On other days - when the energy is low and my pace is off - my students look at me like I’m a nut. I have to stir up enough positive energy left over from the previous liberating class to pull us all through this next one. Teaching is exhausting. I need a really long Sivasana when I finally make it home.

In these early days of teaching, I’ve learned that the teaching is just as difficult as the doing. It takes focus, attention, discipline, energy, time. A day in the classroom, either teaching or practicing, can tell all: liberation or exhaustion. Is it me? Or is it just me today? Yoga tells me to breathe through it and next time, it will be better. It usually is. Click Here to Read More..

November 2, 2009