Doing, Overdoing, and Undoing...

I am a yogi…but in "other" lives I am also a scientist, friend, sister, daughter, gardener, and homebody. I try to live my life mindfully---mindful of my actions toward others as well as myself, mindful of the energy I bring to a situation, mindful of consequences. I practice yoga, I eat healthily, and I try to practice non-harmfulness, or in yogic terms, ahimsa, towards others as well as toward myself-- to the best of my abilities right now.

All that being said, I have this tendency to overdo things…I am very excitable and if something sparks my fancy, I will over commit myself wholeheartedly. This leads me to worry, stress, and generally feel overwhelmed too much of the time. It’s not that I don’t want to contribute, it’s much more the opposite—I want to be a part of EVERYTHING, I never want to miss a thing! In fact, as I write this, I am sitting in the lab gathering data on a lovely Saturday afternoon! Why? Because I “need” these data—and for some reason, I have convinced myself that it can’t wait until Monday.

So, maybe I overextend myself in ways I love, but I do take time to enjoy those things that make me feel whole and rejuvenated. Beyond yoga and my brand-spankin’ new daily mediation practice (finally! It’s getting easier to sit still for five minutes!), I love to eat, I love to laugh, I love (most) people (haha), and I really love some vino. So, while I enjoy these things most of the time in joyful moderation, but as I mentioned, sometimes I overdo things. Sometimes I overindulge in food and drink, waking up with a groggy head and hints of remorse from a night spent in revelry. As a medical researcher, I know exactly what chronic excesses of fat, sugar, alcohol, and other indulgences can do to a body not only physiologically, but also at the molecular level, and it ain’t pretty, folks. However, our cells are built to handle acute assaults, provided that these incidents of overindulgence are isolated and not every day events.

However, what does this say for my spiritual health? Have I gone against the concept of ahimsa because I sat outside with friends, drinking wine, and listening to music? Am I less of a yogi because I woke up with a headache and stained feet from dancing on the rain-soaked wood of our deck? Certainly not. I am aware of myself and I am aware that those glasses of wine were perhaps not the best prescription for a chipper, early Saturday morning. It’s when we lose sight of ourselves and derive our sole happiness out of these indulgences when it becomes a problem—both physically and spiritually. In fact, one might argue that the food and drink were a remedy for the stress of the busy week, but I would not take it that far. Spending time with my friends was from where the real nugget of soul satisfaction came. Indeed, practicing self-love and non-harmfulness doesn’t mean being a saint, it means staying engaged and aware— and it’s remembering that all of life is part of a practice. Ahimsa means that we practice non-harming in our thoughts, words, and actions. We forgive ourselves. We pick ourselves up and we move on, we move back into our natural rhythm and tendencies. We detox. We “undo.” The same holds true for overtaxing ourselves, our time, and our emotions. These occurrences are not the things that define or nourish us. So, although I woke up with a head full of rocks, I managed to squeak out a few asanas before heading to the laboratory this afternoon, and tonight we will make dinner with veggies from our backyard garden---the grime of last night long gone, but not the memories of friends and laughter.

UTI, This Down Dog's for You!

Pratyahara, the fifth principle of Ashtanga (eight-limbed) Yoga, means "to withdraw the senses."

Urinary Tract Infection, a common infection involving extreme fever, chills, and pain, means "when the senses give you the finger."

There has to be some kind of curse on this blog. Dana picked the theme for June and blogged about it, and her dog went missing. I picked the theme for July and blogged about it, and I get a freak infection that I've never had in my entire life.

When I get sick, I get the cold. Once I got the flu. I only stopped teaching for three days. I've never had to go to the hospital, and that damned flu was the only time I ever had to go to the doc because I was sick in my entire adult life.

Last Thursday, my body betrayed me. Last Thursday I began a roller coaster of fever as high as 104.9, chills worse than a chihuahua, nausea, sweats that would put Niagra Falls to shame, and headaches that made me want to curl up and die. My poor addled brain felt assaulted. I was supposed to go to New Orleans for the weekend!

By Sunday, I had found a rhythm, a pattern, and a mantra. (My body is at peace; I will heal myself.) In a state where even most restorative asana was beyond me, the yoga found me. Instead of being mad at my body, feeling personally affronted, and obsessing over how awful I felt, I began to observe myself. I became hyper-aware of my temperature (sans thermometer), my heart rate, my digestion, and my pain, and in doing so found most of it to be more tolerable than I had previously thought. I would lie in the dark, awake and alert, cataloguing the idiosyncrasies of my physical body.

It is always exciting to reach a new height of meditation, but I still would've given it back if I could have avoided my week from Hell.

I finally went to the doctor on Monday, received the dreaded shot, had some blood work done, and got a prescription for antibiotics. (Now I get to observe myself trip over my words and lock my keys in my car.) By Thursday, the fever had gone for good. Friday I began to feel human. And I started teaching again today, Monday.

I began to do more asana over the weekend, slowly coming back into my body. It helps me feel normal again. As I take a downward facing dog and my heels don't touch the ground (never-ending battle) and the backs of my legs feel like they're being reborn, I wonder how people can live without doing this. And I'm reminded of why I do it, and why I teach you to do it. I'm not trying to get in touch with Vishnu or become enlightened or win my yogi angel wings. I have a deep respect for the philosophy, and it is a very spiritual practice for me, but I really do it (and teach it) because it makes life better.

An Excerpt from Dave's Blog

David Chatel came to Kula around December, if I recall correctly. A more accurate statement might be that Dave jumped into yoga via our community and has stayed immersed ever since. This is an excerpt from a blog he posted on July 2, 2011. You can read it in its entirety here. You can find Dave practicing in various Kula classes by day, being musical in various venues by night, and teaching Yoga 101 on Mondays at noon at Government Plaza.

Like music, Yoga cannot be an identity, but for me, it is serving as a catalyst for personal growth. In some ways, my Yoga practice is like a workshop for life. In Yoga I am challenged to be in the present moment… to sit in the now. I am challenged to find the leading edge of physical resistance and be in that moment… to feel what is happening and not resist the sensation… to breathe… to redefine those sensations as positive and helpful, and to recognize that I am separate from these things. What’s more, I’m challenged to lean in. With each breath in and out I am given a choice to stay with the sensations I’m experiencing. Within each moment of that process there are opportunities to make small movements… to deepen and extend, and to discover that I’ve come further than before. During my practice I can simply be aware of what is happening with each passing second. Everything that has to be done in the day can wait. In some strange way that I have yet to fully understand, Yoga shows me that there is potential in me for abundant life that is not defined by anything I do, but by who I am. Consequently, it helps me to rediscover that who I am can only truly be defined by my connection to the Essence of Life… the One who is beyond form and beyond time and geography.

Yoga 101 at Government Plaza

We will be holding a 6 week session of Yoga 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays 12-1pm at Government Plaza beginning Wed, July 13 and ending Mon, August 29. This is a perfect series for anyone who has wanted to try yoga but may be a bit intimidated. Class will focus on basic poses, alignment and transitions, and some meditation and breathing. Like all Kula classes, this class is Pay What You Can.

When you enter the front doors, the elevators will be in the center of the building on the left side. You have to go through the metal detector, which isn't a big deal. Just be sure you don't have any pepper spray or sharp objects, because they won't let you take those and they will not hold them for you, but they will confiscate them. Take the elevator to the 8th floor, go down the hall to the right, and yoga is in the second door on the left.

Here is a map to Gov Plaza.

July Theme: Moving from the Inside Out

The theme for the month of July is "Moving from the Inside Out."

When I first began practicing yoga, my main ambition was to look as good or better than other students. I loved the outer beauty of the poses, and was determined mine would be the most beautiful. I would push my body past its limits to go deeper in poses. My natural hyper-flexibility, which I always assumed was an advantage, was slowly becoming my enemy as I contorted my joints beyond what was healthy. To the untrained eye, my practice was a work of art, something you might see on the cover of Yoga Journal. To anyone who knew better, I was creating injuries that I will probably be working around my entire life.

Due to hyperextending my knees, I now have minor hip and hamstring issues, but the real victim is my shoulder. From the combination of hyperextending my lower back into deep backbends (instead of opening the upper chest) and overworking my shoulder in chaturanga and handstands, I now heavily modify my practice. I have gone from mirroring the "best" yogis in class to standing out as "weaker" because I don't extend my arms in Warrior 1. But my practice has never been safer, deeper, or more consistent than at this moment.

I had to retrain my body to move from the inside out, to align myself with what I knew was going on inside and then allow the outside to reflect that. To physically move from the core body instead of my limbs, to move from intuition instead of ambition, to move from the soul layer instead of the physical or mental layer- this is moving from the inside out. Just as everything else in yoga, it starts in the physical practice and spills out into how we live, how we treat ourselves and others.

In (Amanda's) classes, we'll be exploring poses in slow flow and aligning from the core body, possibly incorporate some Yin yoga. Philosophical emphasis will be on pratyahara (inner body awareness) and the panchamayas (five layers of existence). We'll also delve deeper into the practice of pranayama.

Want some homework? Heart of Yoga by TKV Desikachar. We'll be discussing it in the blog later this month.

How do you move from the inside out?

Cranking Up the Dimmer Switch from Resistance to Allowing

I recently took the 30-day challenge at the local Bikram Hot Yoga studio, completing 16 classes in 30 days. The practice is challenging: 90 minutes, 105' heat, and 26 difficult poses (no props, no modifications). I started with the intention of detoxing – physically – but found that the real need for cleansing was in my head. No surprise there, huh?

I struggled with back pain in Hero pose, nausea in Camel pose, and found myself unable to place my arms under my body for Locust pose. Lifting my feet in that pose? Not even a consideration. All simple issues, right? Any yoga teacher would tell you to give it time, that all things come through practice.... but it got tougher with every class. I found myself wanting to avoid class altogether. I even began struggling to stay present in each given pose as I began the countdown to locust, followed shortly by hero, then camel. Just slogging through waiting for it to all be over... What was going on? I love yoga!

As so often happens, the answer appeared when I was ready to learn it. A friend sent me a CD set, The Science of Enlightenment. I was struck by information I heard in the section that describes the benefits of meditation (that mindfulness reduces suffering.) Here is the formula:

Suffering = pain x resistance.

Notice that the 'x' represents 'multiplied by', not 'plus', meaning that pain increases exponentially when it is accompanied by resistance. So, if you have 10 units of pain and 10 units of resistance, it becomes 100 units of suffering – instead of just 10 units of pain.

Interesting, no? So, I looked back at my response to exploring new depths in Hot Yoga. I had begun describing the practice as “my own personal hell.” Maybe a little dramatic, but not far off from what I felt I was experiencing – coming face to face, over and over, with the same issues. So, was it possible that the suffering was caused by resistance? The CD program defined resistance as negative thoughts and/or physical tension. I had plenty of both.

As most classically trained yoga teachers will tell you, the Bikram dialogue (what the teachers say throughout the class) is …. contrary.... to how we are trained. When I didn't like the language that fuels the practice, I just rephrased it in my own terms (not lock the knee, but lift the knee.) I spent lots of energy translating. I also questioned the wisdom of not allowing modifications (after all, if I could only curl my toes under in camel, that 2'' would allow me easy access a pose that felt just fine).

In reviewing my mental approach to the practice, I could see that I came into the practice with pre-conceived notions that created a mental resistance. No surprise, I suppose, that my body set up a firm response of physical resistance to the very poses that open the heart and put us in a position of feeling vulnerable.

OK. Got it. I entered the next practice (number 11) with a clear intention: stress relief – no judgment, no expectations, no resistance... and no translating. I announced my intention (stress relief) to a friend when I arrived (he jokingly replied that I might be in the wrong place) and I rolled out my mat and towel. Exploring each pose with the intention of replacing resistance with equanimity, I found space in every pose that had not been there before. Balancing was easier. I felt less reactive and less judgmental. Camel was emotional, but the reaction was less vomit-inducing.

Next step, I approached my teachers and began asking questions. Their advice was always on target: press your hips forward in camel before you bend back, keep your eyes open during transitions to avoid dizziness, align your body correctly and approach each pose to the best of your ability today – no judgments, no expectations.

So, I decided to explore this topic a little more – the power of resistance to exacerbate pain – the power of acceptance to lead to equanimity, to create internal change. I set my class themes for June and posted Resistance vs. Allowing, including topics like 'Lean into the pain' - sounds like a fun class, huh? In response to a comment to that post, I replied:

“Disassociating from fear and pain may be a 'natural' reaction to discomfort, but that resistance pulls us out of the present moment. So, maybe we really learn life's lessons only when fear has us cornered, everything falls apart, and we run out of options for escape. 
I'm glad that I have yoga to practice these skills; to change reaction to response, resistance to allowing, disassociation to mindful awareness. I think the practice makes us more present in the experiencing of our own lives.”

The response was taken from the idea of leaning into the pain suggested by Pema Chodron, who wrote When Things Fall Apart. I was in the middle of a personal crisis of pain at the time. My dog, Napoleon, disappeared on June 11^th. He was my faithful companion of 5 years, and the emotions surrounding this incident were painful on so many levels.

I went through the experience with eyes wide open; journaling, meditating, seeking counsel from friends. I can now tell you that when fear has us cornered, we are forced to choose. We can live our yoga, choosing to stay present, to experience the pain and make conscious decisions about how we respond, or we can fall back into old patterns of avoidance and blaming. But whatever we choose, it is done in awareness.

We learn from our physical practice, not just the details of the poses, but how to face adversity with mindfulness and equanimity, how to respond to crisis with compassion and courage, how to let go. And it changes us.

The old patterns don't feel as comfortable as they used to. The new patterns are worn deeper than you may think through our hours on the mat.

I'm glad to close with a happy ending. Napoleon came home battered and bruised, 3 days (and 3 nights) later, but he is home safe and healing (a story for another time). I'm still practicing Bikram – cranking up the dimmer switch from resistance to allowing, and finding physical space in my body that perfectly contours to the new space in my mind.

Acceptance v. Resistance v. My Mom

My mom is terribly sick. To anyone who knows me, this is not news.

It started with fibromyalgia when I was beginning college in 2003, and from there she gradually declined into a shell of her goofy, cake-baking, thrift-shopping, registered-nurse-for-25-years self. She makes frequent visits to the hospital, and three years ago she suffered a seizure which left her with brain damage after being in a coma for five days. Today she has often has difficulty walking and talking coherently, and her memory and decision-making skills are not what they were.

As my mother's health first started its downward spiral, I fought like hell. I encouraged her to seek new treatment, eat better, try yoga, do more or be more than she was truly capable of in an effort to heal her, to save her. I tried to make her meatless spaghetti with five different vegetables, and I encouraged her to walk more and watch less TV. I even resisted the family visits themselves, attempting to return my childhood home to its impossible former glory and mold my brother and father into people they weren't.

My struggling and judgement was helpful to no one and did not improve my mother's condition. As I began yoga teacher training, this battle was what my teacher encouraged me to focus my energy on. And I learned that I cannot save my mother, but I could save our relationship. I could stop pushing veggies and lean protein, and enjoy fried chicken and ice cream with her with a smile on my face. I could stop badgering her to rest or exercise when I deemed it best and allow her to function as the fully capable adult she still believes herself to be. I could stop this battle by, at the risk of sounding heartless, embracing her condition instead of fighting it off. So gradually I did.

(Mom and me before she had gotten very sick, around 2006)

When I visit my mother now, we do what she wants and eat what she wants. It's not easy for me, but I allow her to be a sick woman with a questionable diet who refuses to try yoga and has energy for nothing but baking cakes out of a box until she drops , and in doing so she seems to feel better during my short visits. Broccoli may cure the body, but peanut M&Ms and orange soda cure the soul.