All About Yoga ~ blog

I’m not certain how many times this scene has occurred, but enough that I
can recount it with vivid precision :

I’ve just finished a series of sun salutations, moving inside of my
breath.  Inviting it’s pattern to begin and end each movement as if were a
protective shell. I can feel something start to stir in my arms–each
muscle takes on a light, electric feeling.  My internal rhythm of
heartbeat base starts to fill my ears  and I can feel it accelerate slowly
like a car engine coming to life after being left in the cold.  The events
that happened before class start to dwindle in importance and I am able to
recognize my physical body for what it is.  I have feet.  I have arms.  I
have a sore back and tight hamstrings. I am present in this moment and
listen carefully for the instructor’s next cue.  She asks the class to
step back into downward facing dog for five breaths.  A pose that feels
enough like home that I don’t really have to think about it.  My body
simply finds it.  And then it happens– with my fingers pressed evenly
onto the earth and energy teetering between my hands and feet in the tug
of war that is the pose, my arms begin to shake–rather violently.  This
disruption sends me right back into the spiral of my “thinking mind” and I
begin to judge this experience.  Can anyone else see? Why is this
happening?  I should be strong enough by now that my muscles shouldn’t
shake doing this pose?  How embarrassing!  Arrrggghhhhh.

This is the moment that takes me right out of the experience and into the
crescendo of judgments and expectations.  It is becomes and issue because
I let it take over.  I see it as an imperfection, a stumbling block, a
hinderance and embarrassment.  After all, I am practicing for perfection,
right ?

I hadn’t even realized that, despite everything I know and teach, I was
creating and feeding into my own illusion.  I tell students in every class
that we are not on our mats to perfect, rather to be present to the
experience.  Perfection isn’t a great teacher, but presence is.

I had not been taking my own advice, and I was getting away with it.  My
teachers couldn’t possible see what was happening in my stream of
consciousness ( although I’m pretty sure my physical body was reflecting
it), so there wasn’t anyone outside to call me out on my own misstep.

That’s what books are for.  Good books anyhow.  In a lot of ways, they
tackle and direct internal dialogue and perspective.  And it just so
happened that I stumbled into one ;  Claire Dederer’s book “Poser”.  For
all intents and purposes, it found me. In it, Dederer illuminates that,
“Shaking is a sign that you have awoken the prana body.  Meaning, you’ve
unleashed energy that was previously dormant.  Shaking is a sign of life.
Shaking is a sign of humanity. The energy flowing like crazy through your
nadis, and your subtle body is waking up.  Shaking is a sign that you are
not quite perfect-and therefore you are not dead yet. “

This passage stunned me–to the very core.  It was if she had crawled into
my brain, searched around for the crossed wires and adjusted.  As simple
as that.  Maybe my muscles weren’t tired ( they certainly didn’t feel that
way), maybe I was simply waking up dormant prana.  Or maybe, my body was
relaying a message that my brain had been refusing– you are imperfect and
alive.  You are human, so shake away. Get over it.

I no longer approach downdog that same way.  Now, I invite the small
earthquake to rattle away and instead of tightening mentally and
physically, I smile and enjoy the ride.  What I thought was a weakness,
was really a celebration.  And just in time for the new year.

~Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A.

I would have to place sticky notes on all of the places on my body that
require attention and opening as a reminder to be kind, or exercise there.
They would all read, simply, here.  And I would walk around, ridiculously
covered with tacky yellow squares, from head to foot, like a road map with
markers waiting to be traveled or explored.

People would stare, they would give the kind of inquisitive look that
doesn’t want an explanation, only an answer to the question–should I be
afraid?  Are you a lunatic? Fearful mothers would shield their
children’s eyes.  No one would allow me to sit next to them on public
transportation, hold a door open for me, or even–gasp!- share a friendly
exchange, much less a smile.

I wouldn’t be able to wash my clothing, in fear of losing a reminder. And
when I woke up in the morning, my body stiff and unwilling to bend, I
would have to double up in places like my hips and neck.

I would have them placed around my heart in that very shape, as a reminder
to think and act from that sacred space.

I would have one on each corner of my mouth to force a smile, at least
once during the day.

And I would have to create a special hat, with a hanger growing out of the
brim to dangle a sticky note, much like a carrot, before my eyes, so that
every time I read that word, here, I would remember to be fully present.

It might sound extreme, but I often have nightmares about this very thing,
about what kind of human being I would be without yoga in my life.

What about you?  What would your life be like without yoga?

-Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A

Ahimsa

At the park the other day with my son, I noticed that a group of kids had
formed around a patch of astroturf, with my son in the middle–arms spread
out as wide as two year old arms can reach, feet stubbornly planted.  He
was doing his best to defend a spider that the other kids were trying to
squash.  I laughed at his resolute “No !”, proudly recalling the numerous
times I have explained to him that we practice non-harming and that all
living creatures have a right to exist, just as we do.  Unfortunately, the
other mother at the park subscribed to a more common theory–spiders are
creepy, can bite and if spotted should have a terminal encounter with the
sole of a shoe.  When I protested, she told me there was only one option-
we had to kill it.  As a College English Instructor, I recognized that
this error in logic fell under a category called a “False Dilemma”– when
the author presents an either/or situation (in this case, life or death)
without consideration for alternatives.  So, I provided one–I found a
fast food napkin on the ground, scooped up the spider and moved him to the
grass.  The kids returned to playing and the other mother made sure to
keep her distance from the “crazy, spider loving hippie”.

The practice of Ahimsa, or non-harming, can be confusing at times.  We
live in a dynamic world, where not every decision is a simple as yes/no,
right/wrong.  As explained in the article Yoga Philosophy – Guidelines for
Life,  “The word ahimsa literally means not to injure or show cruelty to
any creature or any person in any way whatsoever. Ahimsa is, however, more
than just lack of violence.  It means kindness, friendliness, and
thoughtful consideration of other people and things.”  At times, there are
as many considerations for “non-harming” as there are verbal cues for
Downward Facing Dog.  However, with both, we must decide which are the
most appropriate for our individual bodies and lives.  It’s our quiet,
reflective time on our yoga mats, or in meditation, that help us to filter
through the thoughts clouding our minds so that we can see and understand
all angles of the situation, and possibly more creative alternatives.
Importantly, the practice of Ahimsa inspires us to respond to situations,
instead of quickly react. In this way, we avoid clinging to those habitual
“False Dilemmas” and instead act with intentional kindness for every
creature we meet along this journey.

Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A.

I was in a yoga class the other day–a themed yoga class.  The group had
been moving through Judith Lasater’s book “ Living Your Yoga : Finding the
Spiritual in Everyday Life”, chapter by chapter, each one evolving into
the theme of that particular week.  It was my first time in that class and
to be honest, I have not read the book, but was immediately captivated
when the Instructor began a discussion about “perspective” and how it can
be a stumbling block to opening into a deeper practice.  I was transported
right back into a previous and similar discussion I had years before in a
writer’s workshop.  Sitting in a room encased by dusty books and looking
out the sixth story window, we debated the much celebrated poet Gertrude
Stein’s standout line “ Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.”  A very zen
concept, which was for me, utterly life changing.  I understood this
brilliant idea to mean that a rose is simply that–a flower, complete
within itself and in existence without our understanding or experience of
/with it.  In fact, it’s our classification of it that even makes it a
“flower”.  It’s our perception that adds the symbolism, history, or
classification to that object.  As a society, we tend to see that rose as
a romantic gesture, or a passionate promise– a symbol of love.  We tack
on a deeper significance or story, when in fact– it’s really just a rose.

So, how does that relate to yoga ?  Well, what if the next time you came
into your most challenging, or favorite asana and the instructor said,
“Hanumanasana is Hanumanasana is Hanumanasana”?  Period.  In truth, the
pose existed well before you were aware of it and will continue to exist
despite your feelings about it. The relationship that you have developed
with that pose exists only in your head.  It doesn’t matter that you are
only able to move into it with props, or if you can move into the full
extension of the pose– it’s just a pose.  It’s our perspective that adds
the color, or the story, to what we are presently experiencing.  It’s our
perspective that fuels the self talk of  “oh, I hate that pose”, because
it has been a previous struggle,  or “ I am a hanumanasana rock star !”
because it’s easy to move into.

If perspective is an accumulation of all of our past experiences, then
it’s no wonder we have trouble engaging with the present moment.  We’re
too busy looking through those attachments, symbols, classifications and
stories to allow what is unfolding in front of us to, very simply, unfold.
It’s also our perspective that elicits either a smile, or a groan when we
recognize it’s approach, or guides us to move into it the very same way
every time.  It may be our perspective that prevents us from moving deeper
into our entire practice.  Sounds grim, but the encouraging news
is–awareness is half the battle to finding freedom.  And by freedom, I
mean being fully present.

So, the next time that you come onto your mat, instead of summoning an
intention, maybe picture a rose– exactly as it exists.  Allow you mind to
release any stories, or feelings trying to attach to that rose. With your
first breath, let the thorns be thorns, not symbols of potential danger.
With your next full breath, let the petals be petals, without the sensory
experience of touch or smell.  Then, let the color be the exact shade it
is, without naming it.  And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to truly see
something unfold  before you for the very first time.

~Megan Merchant, RYT-200, M.F.A.

You’ve done it.  After moving piles of books and laundry, you’ve managed
to clear just enough space in your home to roll out your mat.  Feeling
dedicated and productive, you take a deep breath, find the ground beneath
your feet, raise your arms to the sky and….

If you are anything like I am, you immediately begin obsessing about what
type of practice you’re going to create.  You start to attach your
awareness to visions of floating  arm balances, sweet hip openers, maybe
even some core strengthening for that summer bikini hanging in your
closet.  Or, you take the opposite route, completely check out and embark
on a journey of sun salutations followed by the same sequence you did in
last night’s group class.  And after you’re done, even treated yourself to
a few peaceful moments of savasana, you feel pretty good for taking the
time out of your crazy schedule for a personal practice. But how much of
what you just did was “personal”.

It’s an easy trap to fall into. After all, we are creatures of habit.  But
as any yogi (yogini) knows–every day on the mat is different.  You may be
facing tight hamstrings on Monday, feel fluid and strong on Tuesday and in
need of a more restorative practice by Wednesday.  And on Thursday, you
may experience all of the above in a single hour.  Your body, mood, energy
level and perspectives are at times unpredictable, seemingly schizophrenic
by nature.  But this doesn’t mean you should abandon hope.  In fact, it’s
in recognizing these fluctuations that your yoga practice truly begins to
unfold.  By paying attention and tuning into your body, mind and breath,
you begin to learn to recognize what you need to bring yourself into
balance, in that space, at the moment.  When you begin to explore
modifications, new sequences and props, you start to become your own
greatest teacher.  Taking that time out, for yourself, means really being
with yourself.  Accepting where you are at, moving in ways to feel strong,
safe, tension free and open. And maybe you find yourself in a modification
or position that doesn’t “technically” exist, but feels amazing; If you
are breathing, moving and present–then you are practicing yoga.  Don’t
worry so much about being able to retrace your steps, tomorrow you may be
on a completely different path.

-Megan Merchant, RYT 200, M.F.A.