DHANYA

learning to live with risk, uncertainty, awkwardness

I am seeing more writing dealing with issues of older Ashtanga practitioners. Recently, I was thrilled by the resonating words of KPJAYI authorized teacher Karen Cairns. I must share some of her wisdom. 

Karen and I both started Ashtanga very late. She in her fifties; I, much later. I  think the advantage is that we cannot say, "Oh, my practice has changed (implied/stated: for the worse) with age." We have no comparison to an early practice self—It's ALL "progress!"

In Ashtanga Yoga: It’s Not Just for the Young!, I particularly relate to Karen's thoughts about empowerment from facing fears (including death), praying to stand up from backbend (oh yeah!) and viewing the practice as seva or service, free from monetary or teaching goals.

Thank you, Karen Cairns, for expressing your thoughts and feelings so beautifully and putting words to many of mine! 

Here are three quotes for yogis and people of all ages from her essay (boldface, my addition):

Is my difficulty with this pose due to a physical limitation...or is it a psychological limitation or both?  Many of my limitations have been due to fear, I know.  Facing these fears empowers me beyond belief.  So many things I do not know how to do and have never done.  I am learning how to live with uncertainty, with risk, with awkwardness.  And because of this I am less afraid to die- just one more thing I don’t know how to do and have never done. 

Many of the challenges of this yoga are the same no matter what age one is:  issues of youth and age, definitions of “progress” or what it means to be “good” at this yoga, facing one’s limits both physically and mentally, and facing one’s own mortality.  What would be “success” for me with this practice?  These are good questions, the best questions.  For me my success is found in the quality of my daily life off the mat [but this doesn’t mean that I don’t pray, Dear Lord, please let me stand up out of a backbend!]. 

As an older student, often the oldest that has not been practicing ashtanga for years and years [since they were much younger], my ideas of personal success and my “goals” for myself may be quite different from younger students.  Certainly it is easier for me at this life stage to live a quieter, more contemplative lifestyle; I am past the householder stage of life.  Many young students want to teach in a yoga studio and perhaps own their own yoga studio or shala eventually.  These are not my goals.  I do know that I want to share this practice with others, however I can.  At this life stage, since I am retired, I want to do this as some sort of seva or service with others, rather than for profit or to “make a living.”  I know I want to continue my practice, to daily stand on my mat and face all my issues and questions about my life, death, body, mind, what do I consider a life well-lived, and what brings me joy.  When I am at my clearest, most of the time, I know without a doubt that success is here right now for me with how I feel and how I am living.  I am already blessed.  Dhanyo aham.  I am blessed.

—from "Ashtanga Yoga: It's Not Just for the Young. For complete essay, go to: 

http://ashtangapictureproject.com/teacher-started-ashtanga-fifties-now-authorized/

Metta
I am blessed. 
We are blessed! 

Poking a Stick at Life and Death (A Silent Retreat)

red bud

ROADKILL

I want to see things as they are

without me. Why, I don’t know.

As a kid I always looked

at roadkill close up, and poked

a stick into it. I want to look at death

with eyes like my own baby eyes,

not yet blinded by knowledge.

I told this to my friend the monk,

and he said Want, want, want/

—Chase Twichell

I want to see things as they are without me. 

Love this poem—big meaning in little space. 

Plus, it makes me laugh.

Yes, and the retreat was another good joke on seeking. There were some moments.... 

During meditation, I had been struggling between aggravation, frustration, despair and numbed, hazy headed mental states, specifically—nodding off again (and again) and futilely fighting it. 

At one point we had been very gently directed to look for a stillness—and sleep was definitely not the kind of quiet intended. 

I fought through one afternoon meditation, and then another. At the third, things got interesting. Something stopped, and even when "it" wasn't silent, there was a bright and lucid awareness. 

Walking back toward my room I passed a lovely tree that I'd enjoyed many times. This time it looked different, new.  Stunned, I stopped on the steps at eye level with the tree's raging pink-red blossoms, lay on my back on a ledge, and gazed. 

The tree was alive with color, energy and sound! It  emitted an intense hum, an entomological aum as millions of bees moved from flower to flower fixated on their "work." 

Here was another universe, gorgeous, zealously active, and as relevant as my own. 

I want to see things as they are without me. 

I got up, walked past the yoga room, took a shower, and went to dinner.

This too is yoga.

Want, want, want!

smile 
chuckle 
— gratitude!

Euphoric Yogi in a Fiberglass Boat

March 26, 2014, Waynesville NC

ICEBERG ILULISSAT*

by Jean Valentine

In blue-green air & water God

you have come back for us,

to our fiberglass boat.

You have come back for us & I’m afraid.

(But you never left.)

Great sadness at harms.

But nothing that comes now, after,

can be like before.

Even when the icebergs are gone, and the millions of suns

have burnt themselves out of your arms,

your arms of burnt air,

you are with us

wherever we are then.

April 2, 2014, Waynesville, NC

Which came first—the euphoria or this poem? 

Did the poem generate elation or did bliss enable me to see its exquisite beauty? 

Either way, each new-eyed-me has read it over and over. 

The harms in burnt arms, our fiberglass boat—you are with us eternally in hot, cold, sadness/hurt/fear, comfort, and rapture. But we forget.

Jean Valentine, I thank you for articulating the contents of both your heart and mine! 

And this too is yoga.

Metta

*Poem published in the New York Times Style (!) Magazine 2/23/24 and found there last Friday 3/28/14. 

Vata* Feet

Door handle at Bayalakuppe, Tibetan settlement near Mysore which is the largest in India after Dharamsala

Must we not first have freedom to discover? There can be no freedom if our action is ever enclosing. Is not the action of the ego, the sense of the 'me' and the 'mine', ever a process of limitation?  - Krishnamurti

On the way to led yoga class this morning, I was weary from the previous night. Straining to sleep in makeshift Asheville sleeping quarters, I had not been graced by even one minute in dreamland. Too cold, bed losing air, snoring bed mate, the litany was lengthy. I had moved the bed, added air to it, put on a hat, laid my jacket over my feet, and jabbed my mate... 

It was 32 F degrees, the heat was blasting at us in the car, and I thought of those chilly Mysore mornings sitting on the pavement outside the Shala.

Discomfort feels different here. 

It can be removed or dealt with easily. I can control stuff here. 

But can I really? Or does it just seem like it? Does the safety of knowing one's surroundings mean less angst in difficult situations? Or in what I perceive as difficult?

Or does safety sometimes act as a veil, a buffer from being aware of a reality I prefer to  avoid?

And as for sleep, I have been surprised to learn that the number of hours I sleep or don't—has little to do with my practice (and therefore my daily activities). I can have 9 hours of sleep and have a lousy practice or get no sleep and have a great practice (or not.) Go figure.

Good or bad, practice is just there. Mind adds limitations to the mix.

Practice is. Life is. Everything is. 

And sleep or not, the sweet under tempo pulses on. 

AND my feet are still cold.

We are trying to find out, are we not, if the process of self-expansion leads to reality or if reality comes into being only when the self ceases.
- Krishnamurti

How to calm the mind—is called yoga.
- Sharath 

Everything should be accepted equally. 
- Sharath 

*Vata is one of the three body types in Ayurveda - one of its characteristics is cold extremities.

Bird Song

March 3. 2014: somewhere in Canada heading south toward Atlanta

I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in the most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

For here

am I sitting in a tin can

Far above the world

Planet Earth is blue

And there’s nothing I can do

I’m feeling very still

--David Bowie, "Space Oddity" 

What is all  this—winter browns and grays, 60 degree temperature drop, the orderliness, the quiet, the snow?

Where are the cooling, not freezing(!) breezes, coconut vendors, tropical fruit, bright colors, disorganization, raucousness, yogis, friends, irritants, and general messiness of India?

Where is my teacher? My classmates?

Where am I?

Body is here, but apparently spirit was in my suitcase lost in Bangalore or London, and unlike my bag, is still missing.  Floating somewhere.

Where is the ground?

Long before dawn, high above the crocus and snowdrops, a cardinal is singing a speculative song.

Ground Control to Major Tom.

True yogis want to go further, to realize yourself—that becomes sadhana.  
--- Sharath, Conference notes March 2, 2014  

Metta  

Moon Water

Kaveri River, considered sacred as the Ganges by South Indians

Take me to the river, drop me in the water
Dip in to the river, push me in the water 
Hold me, squeeze me, love me, tease me 
'Till I can, 'till I can, I can't tell 
Come on and take me to the river, drop me in the water 
Dip in to the river, push me in the water
-- Al Green

Yesterday was Shivaratri, a time when Shiva devotees fast and go to the temple all night to pray and chant.

Take me to the river!

My devotion was a to make a farewell offering to the cats and dogs at the People for Animals shelter/hospital. In the cat enclosure I found a dying cat, paralyzed from the waist down. (Cannot write more about it...) The healthy dogs and cats looked good, and as I sat with Ginger kitty I fantasized about fostering her and others less fortunate on our next visit.

Drop me in the water

It is a New Moon Day when the sun and the moon are aligned and their pull on the earth's oceans and us (90% water) is at its greatest. And so I rest. 

Hold me, squeeze me, love me, tease me

By the way, there is no crying in baseball, cricket, or Urdhva Dhanurasana — "only an excess of water."  This patched aphorism is part "A League of Their Own"  and part Sharath Jois who (loves cricket and) often shouts "No crying!" during  Mysore and led class back bending.

In class, Sharath does not talk much to students, but he repeated one word three times as he assisted me in Urdhva Dhanurasana recently. This mundane word spoken by the right person at the right time - a moment of openness, had an instantaneous effect. Magical.

Push me in the water

Oddly, I feel most connected to two people here with whom I have never exchanged more than a few words, if that. It is remarkable what can be shared and felt without speech.

Come on and take me to the river 

I cherish all the people I've met here in silence and otherwise, each one a teacher. I will miss the early morning group crunch as we all move toward the Shala door and the steamy shared energy of daily practice. 

But I will not miss bucket baths!

Push me in the water!

Impermanence*

*Anicca (in Pali)

Saturdays and Moon Days (full and new) are days of rest for Ashtangis and a great time to allow body and spirit some quiet time. The moon has waned to half today, so this Friday it will be new again.

A few nights later, in the gently waxing moonlight, I will begin the series of trips leading to another continent, another world, and yet I may still be in the same place. Although, the "same place" is ever different, as stable as quicksand....

Here, the changing feel of mornings and evenings is without its cool edge, and some of us are grateful to have a canopy of clouds between us and the sun at midday when we are walking to a painting class, haggling with an auto rickshaw driver, and/or rushing to an Ayurvedic cooking class.

I've always been amazed by the ancient Indians' predilection to categorize all things. It certainly is apparent in Ayurvedic medicine. The positive of all that naming is that it can assist us in looking at the world from a neutral, non-judgemental point of view. An example is the three energetic categories of sattvic, rajasic, and tomasic - peaceful, active, and slow. We need them all to function. (Though sattvic/peaceful for most people usually takes on a more desirable aspect than the other two.)

I am feeling sattvic and tomassic at the moment, a good time to meditate, do a drawing, and rest before tomorrow's 3:15 AM rising for 4:30 AM led class.

I read that if you struggle against quicksand, it gets worse.

Metta

3 healthy pals from People for Animals shelter and hospital, Mysore India

A Difficult Post

Clear mind is like the full moon in the sky. Sometimes clouds come and cover it, but the moon is always behind them. Clouds go away, then the moon shines brightly. So don't worry about clear mind: it is always there. When thinking comes, behind it is clear mind. When thinking goes, there is only clear mind. Thinking comes and goes, comes and goes. You must not be attached to the coming or the going. - Seung Sahn

India can be so intense, like being on the mat: you can't run away from what's inside OR outside of you. This week I sucked it up, bit the bullet, and did not run away from a heartbreaking place.

I went to an animal "shelter" in Mysore with a small group of yogi volunteers.

It may be natural to avoid what pains us. I know there is suffering in the world, but because it makes my heart ache, and because I feel helpless to affect change, I have always turned away from such things, certain that my heart and emotions would break. Sure, I sign internet petitions and even march for what (I believe) is right, but rarely have I looked at suffering directly.

When we entered the enclosure of People for Animals, we were greeted with great excitement and enthusiasm by a horde of  happy dogs, eager for attention - to play and be petted.  These dogs, about 50 of them, were normal in every way except most of them had only 3 legs. No one told them they were handicapped!

Then I moved on to the cats which is where the heartache began.

I had planned here to write descriptions of the horrendous and painful afflictions some of the less fortunate cats, dogs, and birds are enduring. But I can't.

Well, one dog jolted me to the core.

I walked back to where the cats and some of the sick, chained and/or isolated (by necessity) animals were. During the time I spent in the cat enclosure, there was a caged, wailing dog nearby. Walking past him without really looking, I returned to my 3 legged friends and then circled back to the cats. Still the dog wailed. This time I noted a horrific, gaping wound on his underbelly. He was in great pain. I was told that the vet would operate on his cancer the next day.

By Western standards the conditions are not good, but the vet and the organization do the best they can, and animals do get adopted. This week I will bring treats for dogs and cats, paper to wad up into balls for the cats (who are able) to play, and some fabric to make chew or throw toys for the dogs.

This visit was something I never thought I could do. Yes, I wept a few times and yes, I survived. And I like to think that if I did not turn away from this, I will not turn away from scary, unpleasant, difficult energies - physical or otherwise - present in myself and others. Can I remain steady when facing anger, hate, ugliness, pain and suffering in myself and others? 

Can I accept truth (without the lens, prism, prison?of my ego) -- in whatever form it may take?

tears
heartache
LOVE

The initial work of yoga, therefore is to carefully observe your mind as you begin to stretch out the breath...as the whole spectrum of a mind-created heaven and hell unfold in actual meditation practice. By learning to stay attentive and focused within these aspects of yoga, you discover the true work is fervent passionate inquiry into the present moment, into what is actually arising, as it arises. 

 - Richard Freeman, The Mirror of Yoga

Everything

When nothing is sure, everything is possible.

- Margaret Drabble

Days grow warmer as life here moves into the brilliance of midday and the certainty of all things - classes, meditation, meals, connecting with others, reading, washing clothes, bucket baths, and all the mundane activities that provide structure to the day.

At the same time, whether it's the " magic " of  India or shedding the buffers of one's comfortably controlled life at home - my ordinary routes of escape and retreat have been removed, and I am left open and vulnerable to what does Margaret Drabble say? --- to EVERYTHING. 

Everything! 

Do I gotta love it?

No end to the possibilities!

From moments of suffering (Dukkha) to peace/surrender (Sukkha), it's all being observed. The cockroach and butterfly syndrome (see below) exists within the background hum of it ALL.

And so not knowing sets me free to find out what happens if I eat this, go there, ask for that, rise for yoga in the middle of the night, or try another back bend? 

Ah, beloved/dreaded Backbend, are all my stories about you true? Do I really resist you as much as I say I want you? Is my intense focus on you causing me to futilely grasp? Am I doomed to frustration? And uh-oh, might I be too old?

 And can I substitute a noun for anything I want in place of  "backbend" and ask the same questions?

Maintaining my practice and living with curiosity seem to be the only way to find out. There is a saying that what is true on the mat is true off the mat. 

I want to know Truth.

Metta

dancer from Somanathapura (near Mysore) Chenakesvara Temple, from 13th C

note:2 small mridungam players at her left and right

Mud and Sky

By 8 or 9 AM in Mysore there is a consistent hum established. The pre-dawn Adhan (Islamic call to prayer) and the vendors' chants have given way to layers of sounds. The roar and rumble of motorcycles, auto rickshaws, bird calls, scooters, barking dogs, and human voices crowd into morning's empty spaces just as yogis are silently surging into the Shala's large practice room for their led Sunday class.  

While the cool air still has an edge, the students move in one mass up the steps toward the outer door where they are sifted one-by-one into the shala. It is high season here, and some yogis end up in the ad hoc practice spaces—the atrium or the dressing rooms. 

Today I arrived late (5:30 for 6AM class) with low energy, so I easily accepted my spot in the atrium next to the outer door, a site that just happened to give me a front row seat to a small melodrama. 

At about sirsasana there was burst of laughter in the main room, (not unusual—Sharath has a great sense of humor that eases energy/intensity). As Sharath entered the atrium holding a towel, he said "Anyone would like a cockroach?" More laughter. Stepping across my mat with an apology, he handed off the swaddled roach to someone in the next batch of yogis with the polite imperative—"Don't squeeze!"

It pleases me that such a creature was so carefully treated and apparently has a place of respect equal to just about anything else in the Shala. My status and that of a cockroach is what it is—equally valued!

Equality and equanimity,* both were mentioned in Sharath's talk and Q&A session (called Conference) last Sunday.

"There are some good and bad practice days. Experience both good and bad.... Take "sukkha and dukkha" (happiness and sorrow) equally,"  

Soothing and wise words.

"When we start yoga we experience many things—ups and downs in our practice. If there is pain, enjoy the pain also.... Practice brings mental stability," 

He then compared yoga to a 4-wheel drive vehicle to much laughter. "Yoga is terrain management." 

I hear it. Yes. Regard the cockroach and butterfly (experiences) equally. 

And the hummmmm, the underlying consistency of life goes on either way.

AUM! 
Shanti!

*Sharath is a Libra, by the way

Mysore mornings are sweetly tentative —all soft pastels before shadows, sounds, colors, and—life solidify. In those early moments near dawn, the street vendors begin their calls. My morning is not complete until I hear my favorite cry, an achingly plaintiff one. It sounds a little like "hwhaaaaai"with the sound dropping at the end. And it makes me want to go out and buy whatever this vendor is selling (which could be anything from eggplant to plastic buckets!)  

Other calls are shorter and more urgent or aggressive sounding. Sometimes you can hear three or four calls in serendipitous concert from various parts of Gokulum. It is the most beautiful way to wake up!

I've had plenty of time to enjoy these performances. On the flight over I sat next to a young guy, probably in his early teens who sneezed and blew his knows for the ENTIRE 9 hours. Since I am invincible (ha!) and healthy, I thought no problem. Oh, so wrong!

Lying in bed without a choice—for a few days was not fun, but it was a great way to step back from the energy of the "world" I have entered here. All the aches, coughing, headaches, fever certainly put me in the present moment. Grounded now, when I return tomorrow to my first class in a week, it will be without the unnecessary anxiety/energy I had before falling ill. 

 It will probably take at least a week to get back up to speed. 

Another blow to ego. 

You gotta love it. 

HWHAAAAAAAAI
(I will buy something from this vendor no matter what he's selling.)

KPJYRI in Mysore

Inspiration

On the day we arrived in Mysore after over 30 mostly sleepless hours on the road, I was pretty much fried. However, at the appointed time I went to the shala (photo above) to register, pay, and find out my practice times.  

There was a large crowd waiting to be interviewed briefly by Sharath himself and most of us sat on the floor of the entry way outside the practice room, which one crosses to get to Sharath's office.

My eyes were red and sore from lack of sleep, and I closed them and made note of my acute  discomfort.  I could see through the open door of the practice room where Saraswati was teaching an afternoon class, and I watched the practitioners off and on until my eyelids would sag and close or a judgmental thought arise. The waiting group changed positions as people left for their interviews. At one point I was sitting  directly in front of the open door, and I noticed a lean Indian male practicing. (I thought at first he was Sharath.) 

I was fascinated and astounded by his practice. He was quietly doing very, very advanced asanas, but it was if the poses were doing him. How else can I put it? There was no flash nor flourish here, no concern with or awareness of a viewer, only the quiet light of devotion. Here it seemed was a yogi who —whether temporarily or not—had transcended ego. And dare I say it? Someone who appeared to have reached Pantanjali's 8th limb: samadhi. 

Seeing this man practice made me realize why I have come to Mysore. It is not to "get" poses or achieve anything other than deeper, clearer awareness. 

 What an amazing beginning to this journey and what an auspicious gift.

Gratitude

Garuda Flying Off with a Tree Branch Full of Yogis

(see the yogis hanging upside down in branch at upper left)

The time has come! Two weeks from today we will be flying, two would-be yogis being carried by Garuda (OK, carried in a tin can—BOAC). I will be posting images and reports from India here, including notes on the weekly lectures, and just stuff about yoga, Mysore, news about whether we will get to attend the Dalai Lama's dharma lectures at Sera Monastery (near Mysore), and what ever else comes up. 

We will arrive in Mysore on January 2, so please if you are interested, check back for the nitty gritty in early January. 

The days have been so packed (buying a house, applying for a job, working, and more) that my practice has suffered. The backbend —that golden apple— still eludes me! I shall be happy with where I'm at and grateful to be there. Age has done (at least) one thing for me: I  am so humbled by and grateful for the practice that I do believe the ego I (probably would have had if doing this stuff when much younger) is just not there. 

Below are some amazing links.

The first is an article written by Richard Freeman's wife, Mary. It is a beautifully thought out response to a question about yoga and aging. 

http://yogaworkshop.com/blog/2013/11/20/is-age-slowing-down-my-practice/
Here's the last paragraph (italics mine): 

So as you age you may find it harder to do certain poses like you’ve always done them, to move so swiftly through the forms as you did 10 years ago, or that you are actually feeling lazier than you used to. All that’s good to see and to work with, with a sense of kindness and curiosity within the context of breathing, and an integrated practice. Once you’re hooked, (and 12 years counts) yoga is with you forever—it’s already ruined your life! Short answer: Always look again.

Finally here are two very interesting, lovely posts about practice in Mysore. 

http://www.charmcityyoga.com/blog/practicing-in-mysore/
Some nitty gritty information

http://patricknolanyoga.blogspot.com
Dealing with arrival in Mysore, ego, and acceptance at the Mysore shala
(Look for the December 18, 2013 post)

So! Wish me luck! The adventure begins (always) now!

Namaste!

video overview of exhibition—Yoga: the Art of Transformation at Smithsonian
pose is listed as Garbhasana...Garbha Pindasana(?) (but it also looks a bit like Marichasana D

A few weeks ago there was a flurry of posts about Ashtanga and aging. Well, not exactly a flurry—three (which actually is a lot when one considers the dearth and silence of older yogis.) 

Reading the first post, it was very gratifying to know that someone else is thinking about these things:

ashtanga-as-a-woman-ages



The second—
surrendering-to-ashtanga-genny-wilkinson-priest/

was somewhat interesting - perhaps less so than the first because the writer is still quite far from my age, and because of that, I may have dismissed her concerns (as if  they were from a whiny child.)  


The third—I lost track of and can't find the link. Alas! It was a good one. Will post when I find.

****

Did I say I discounted complaints? Here's one that you can blow off: I now have what the internet calls "golfer's elbow." The knobs on the inside of my elbow are ridiculously sore and the many chaturangas in First Series are not helping. They're killing me! 

Backbending got some help in a workshop recently, but fear I will not have lift off from floor by lift off from airplane in late December. That's when journey to Mysore and KPJAYI begins.

The trip is coming together, and I am both scared and excited. Two months!

More on all these subjects to come.

Namaskar