yoga shoes

You can tell a lot about a person by the shoes that they wear. "Where they've gone, where they're going..."

I'm walking down the street and all I see are New Yorkers covered with fall garb. Peacoats. Shawls. Boots. Leg warmers. Wool hats and scarves. Nowhere do I see light hoodies like I am wearing. Nor do I see calf-length leggings or flip-flops.

In Mysore, I remember how shocked I was to see a friend leaving. It wasn't that they were leaving, so much as there was something different, something changed. Shoes! They were wearing white, closed-toe sneakers! After days and days of seeing and feeling nothing but lightly sandaled feet, it was as if they had been living a lie and their true nature, their alter-ego was revealed to me for the first time.

Now here I am in New York, the only one wearing flip flops. It got progresively colder that day, so that every time I went outside, I wore another layer, until, at the end I gave in and put on a pair of "shoes". By this time, the bottoms of my feet were bruised from all the walking (thanks to the life a freelance yoga teacher), and by the very end, I had cuts on my achillis tendons. The next day, I hobbled everywhere, and the sandals went back on, but this time, I wore the chacos. They are orthopedic.

A friend from Mysore is in town now, and we laughed when we both looked down and saw the other wearing closed-toe shoes.

Fly out of that nest, bird, fly!

Everyone is asking me two things.

1. How was it (India)?

2. What's it like being back [with widening eyes]?

India was India. What else can I say? There were cows.

Being back is like jumping into a pot of hot water.

I'm practicing at home. I feel like if there is one thing I've learned about practice, it is how to be self-sufficient. They give you a pose and you practice it. There aren't any therapeutic massage adjustments or pep talks or in depth discussions on where you should focus, etc. Here is a pose, now practice. And I am. Every time I roll out my mat, its me. Its the same me that rolled out that mat at the Shala in Mysore. People said that it would be hard to practice on my own after being in Mysore, but I really couldn't see myself doing it any other way right now. Plus, rent is due and pay checks are pending.

In Mysore, I learned how to stand on my own two feet. Or, to put those feet behind my head, hold my leg up in utthita hasta, drop back myself, and practice like I mean it.

The Movie Life

It has been two weeks since Mysore and I'm nestling back into New York City life.

I'm baking, reading, walking around looking at tall buildings while listening to saxophones in cafes.

I haven't gotten out of the city because living in a movie is too intoxicating.

Yesterday at a studio's "teacher meeting", I sat in a circle with other teachers and staff. We filled out questionnaires and shared them with the group. One woman said that she always talked about leaving the city because she loves nature so much and here all you get are house plants and house mice. But once she was standing amongst the trees she realized that what she missed were all the people.

Drop Dead

Since returning from Mysore/the mountains of California, my entrance strategy has been to stay as soft as possible. I think of drunk driving and how the driver doesn't often get badly injured because they are so relaxed, there is no resistance. That's me. Walking the path of least resistance down the streets of New York.

Its around 8am. I just taught my first class of the day, and am softly filing into a subway car. I feel a stead round of pointy jabs in my arm. I ask the stooped old man next me if that is really necessary, the elbowing me in the side. He tells me to "drop dead". I laugh out loud.

I am equal parts drowning and rising to the surface in a body of thick blue water.

A few days earlier, that same train was delayed. It stood in the station long enough for people to start making eye contact with each other. Some one did drop dead, sort of. They had an epileptic seizure on the platform. Were people running to help, to watch, or to find a different mode of transport to get to wherever they were going?

In the works

Still wrapping up mysoremusings...

Hopefully, I'll get writing tomorrow.

Epilogue: One Week Later

I'm sitting in a chair. Really, a chair. Everywhere, there are chairs. I ask myself, every few hours, "Is this culture shock?" Or alternately, "Is this jet lag?"

I was walking through a food co-op in San Francisco. Aisles and aisles of organic food. Bulk food bins with every kind of rice, every kind of gluten-free wheat alternative you can think of. A woman was pushing her daughter in a stroller, reassuring her every few minutes, "Its okay, you're with Mommy...Its okay they aren't real." I looked up and saw that the little girl was sulking away from the Halloween decorations that spilled over the tops of the shelves. I knew how she felt. So much. There's just so much.

I stood at the edge of a cliff, looking over the edge for a long time before I finally said, "That's it! I'm doing this!" and jumped into this journey to India. It wasn't that I was scared, as much as I just had no idea what to do or how to do it. Anywhere I looked, I found no roads, and all those who had blazed the trail before me were keeping its secrets to themselves. "You'll figure it out," they told me. 

What finally gave me the kick in the pants was thinking about my life, thinking about how nothing is permanent, and realizing that the chance to practice with the aging teacher would never come again. I had to do it. I had to go. It was one of the best decisions I've made.

Reading over my blog entries, I've laughed, cowered with embarrassment, and smiled at the me that embarked on the trip and the me sitting in this cafe. This has been one amazing journey, and I am so happy to have been able to share my experience here through Mysore Musings.

I had never read a blog before this trip, and it took some convincing to get me to start one up. I never thought anyone would read it and I didn't and still don't have any idea what I am doing. And still, each time I sat down, I wrote from my heart, and the next day, I was surprised and pleased to find that people were reading. I've met and received support from so many people through this blog. It has been amazing to feel the sense of community that has surrounded this project, and I look forward to doing something like this again.

I am, for now, closing this blog. I feel like it is time to open a new chapter, and I look forward to my next project, ashtangainspired. This new project will look at life starting from the mat, while exploring a path less travelled. Or something like that. Me, Yoga, New York City, Life, and Everything in between...

I'm also working with some people on launching an online Mysore Yoga community. This is going to be an amazing resource for ashtanga people in Mysore and around the world. It will feature a local Mysore community board for posting for roommates, ride shares, trades, and other local info. The board will also have an area to post and find yoga-related jobs and volunteer work around the world. The board should be up and running shortly. We're also publishing an online ashtanga mag written by voices from the ashtanga community. Your comments, questions, and suggestions are more than welcome. Additionally, we are looking for pictures of you practicing for our site, as well as article submissions.  We aim to launch the website by November 1st!

Thank you for reading, writing, and helping me along the way. Mysore has been an amazing experience, and I look forward to returning soon!

Lokah Samastah Sukino Bhavantu
May all beings be happy and free

The End

I've taken a week to reflect (a little) on possible endings, yes, endings, for this blog.

Romantic

I enjoyed a long, leisurely breakfast surrounded by a circle of new and old friends. We ate fresh, hot muesli, curd, dosas. We ate fruit salads of every variety. We ate two different types of eggs. We had fresh milk and tea. We sat around a large wooden table on soft floor cushions, stretching our beings, trying to learn how to soak up small moments in time. The car arrived outside. It was white. Cars are usually white. And because it wasn't a rickshaw, I knew it was for me. As I waved goodbye, a light switched off inside of me, and I turned to look ahead to the road to come.

I slept the whole ride to the airport. I walked to the Kingfisher counter. I stared at the woman asking me for a ticket. She kept saying it and saying it and saying it and I kept not giving it to her.

The light turned back on.

"Actually," I said. "Can I change my ticket?"

I've never missed a flight and I've never tried to rearrange a ticket. For me, I start cooking a meal, I cook the meal, and then I eat it. But this time I was surprised to find how easy it was to just stop cooking. A friend recently told me about this San Fran mouse that can jump like 12 feet and mid air, turn 90 degrees. That's me. Born the year of the rat.

So this rat turned 90 degrees away from the USA. This rat jumped back into India.

Expected

I sat in the car going to the airport. I was amazed to find that I was at the exact limit of permit luggage weight (25 kilos). The plane took off and I was in a daze. I landed in Mumbai. The plane took off and I was in a daze. I landed in New York. I had no keys to my apartment. I had 25 kilos of luggage. I had jet lag. So, I went to practice.

I didn't know exactly where Eddie's was, but somehow, managed to navigate my way to the unmarked, second floor studio. My body buzzed from lack of sleep, airport funk, 24 hours of unused muscles, and the adrenaline of the "fight or flight" instinct surging through my veins as my body shifted from one side of the world to another, from one culture to another, from one teacher to another. And in that torrent of energy, I practiced. My body carved the air and I could feel the boundary where New York met the cloud of Mysore surrounding me.

Cop-out

As the car drove further and further from the place I've called home for the past few months, I thought of all the people I've met, all the things I've seen, all the things I've learned. I saw the landscape outside the car as if it were the first day again. I tried to pick out the things I was fascinated with on that first ride. As my eyes jumped from one thing to the next, I slowly drifted to sleep.

My eyes began to flutter open. I could see someone rolling out their mat to the right of me, and someone else beginning to walk away on my left. I arched my neck and moved to see the clock on the wall behind my head. I struggled to read what it said. "No, really?" I asked myself. I had been asleep for an hour. I sat up on my mat. There was one last person finishing up in the front of the Shala in New York.

I was so excited about my upcoming trip to Mysore that I had dreamt about it during what was supposed to be post-practice rest (savasana).

What is real? Maybe a little of all of them, maybe none of them. I have to keep a little of this magic to myself...

:)

My last class, my last day

I woke up this morning in the middle of a dream, interrupted. Was that really my alarm? Did I really have to get up? Just as I was convinced that ignoring the blaring sound and journeying back into dreamland was a viable option, something inside said, "Wake up! This is your last class!" I'm not sure, but I can probably say that as I turned to roll out of bed and switched off the alarm, I was making the grouchiest, most pained expression I was capable of. Sometimes I wish I had a hidden camera. I'm such a clown. I'd see myself and think, "Oh no, really?"

I did all my morning rituals, just the same as before. I trotted to class, avoiding eye contact, eyes burning to stay open, just the same as before. I fidgeted on my mat until Saraswati walked in to start class, just the same as before. And when she started the chant, I could hear and feel the vibration of the room, just the same as before, but this time, I realized that it wasn't forever. That, tomorrow, I wouldn't be here standing in this spot, listening to this chanting, feeling the breeze from that window. I realized that even when I wasn't here, someone else would be in this spot, and the chanting would still go on, just the same as before. For a brief moment, I could feel the presence of all the people in the room, and then all the people that had been in that room since I arrived in July, and then all the people who had ever been in that room, and then all the people who ever practiced with Guruji, and then Guruji practicing with Krishnamacharya...I know that there is no question, I have to come back, and me and Mysore, well, we'll be waiting for each other.

As for my last practice, it felt like my first day in that I was hyper aware that something was special, and different, and deserved really being paid attention to. I noticed how at once, my body was so tired and also so ready for anything. I noticed how my body has changed. I'm much stronger than before, and my body shape has developed accordingly. Some poses are a little harder than before, such as hands down in prasarita c, because of all the new muscles in my upper body. In the last three months, my strength has really developed, but my flexibility hasn't changed dramatically. I think that part of this is because I don't really get any adjustments, and that extra push is often going to take you deeper into something that you might otherwise just stay comfortable in.

I've learned so much practicing with the family and living in Mysore about myself, people, and the world. I feel like I was in a life rehab program and I'm about to step out the front door to see if anything really changed, or if the developments of the past few months will fall away from me like post-it notes when the sticky wears off.

I feel happy. I feel content. I feel like I have direction, and love, and friends, and family, and good health. I feel like the astrologer was right. That all the cards are there, we just have to be brave enough to play them. And I think that I can and I will and I think that I'm so glad that I made it out here at all. I think that if you have that spark somewhere inside you, that little voice that says, "I wonder...", you should listen. I think you should go for it, because it will change your world.

I'm taking a car from Ganesh at Anu's at 1pm this afternoon to the Bangalore Airport. From there, I fly to Mumbai/Bombay where I catch my overnighter to New York City!

"Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first." --As spoken by Tina on Friday at our cooking class.

Things that fly

I could hear a rattle outside my window this morning and it wasn't the scratching of those Indian brooms on the cement. I tried to ignore it, but couldn't. I inched to the side of the bed and reached over to move aside the blinds. A dragonfly was stuck between the window and the mosquito screen. What I heard was the sound of a creature reaching for a chance to live, or rather not to die. I let go of the blinds and fell back into bed. It would find its way on its own. It didn't. The sounds were fading as the poor creature was slowly losing strength. I reached over again, lifted the screen, and pushed the window open. The dragonfly that was lying prone on the ledge was out the window in an instant.

I spent the day with friends at the salon getting everything on the menu that I possibly could manage. It felt like the right way to perform the ritual of leaving.

I remember when I first arrived in Mysore that I was in awe over how many butterflies I saw everywhere. Really, they were everywhere. I hadn't noticed their abundance until recently when the everyday became extraordinary again. As I waited at the gate this morning for Petra, I watched as a little green caterpillar inched across the ledge toward my chin, which was resting on one end of the gate. He had feet in the back and feet in the front and seemed to be in a great hurry.

I feel myself clinging to the warmth of this place, the safe chrysalis that I've slowly grown inside. At the same time, I'm filled with the anticipation of knowing that tomorrow I'm going to fly away.

Tomorrow morning is my last class here in Mysore, and in many ways, it feels like its going to be the first.

Last days

Remember the nineties? Do you remember those little glass containers filled with colorful oil and water that you would turn upside down to watch as one changed places with the other? And then when they successfully divided, and all was calm in that little world, you would turn it over to watch the chaos unfold once more? When I first arrived in Mysore, my life in New York slowly drifted away. I tried to cling onto a few pieces like my boyfriend, being vegan. Others I had to let go. Now, as I inch towards climbing into that car to the airport, my mind is slowly letting more and more of my life in New York back in. It seems very clear right now that I am here, not there. I've come full circle. I'm smelling all the smells again, hearing every scraping broom, looking for the details, so that I can pack them with me as I go. I think that maybe I'll realize that I'm trying to pack too much and that I'll never be able to fit Saraswati in my overhead carry on. Maybe I've become a little part of this place, and in that way, it will be easy to pack, because it is me.

Saraswati taught a really beautiful led class this morning. Some days you feel whatever it is that could hold you back, but you just keep going. You don't listen to it, you just breathe, you just move, and even though it feels like it, you don't die. For a moment, you realize that. You realize that you can do it, that what you're feeling is just that--a feeling. You watch in amazement as you do all the things that you couldn't do three months ago (or what about 3 years ago?), the things you thought were so far out of reach. You notice how much you've grown, how strong you've become, and how you (in a way) always were. You see the faces and the glow of all the people just arriving and you smile to yourself because you know they are in for one hell of a journey.

Today I've talked Tina into doing one last cooking demo/lunch for me. I'm treating it as my going away fete. Tomorrow and Sunday I'd rather not be stressing about putting together the social event of the season, so I thought this would be great. Tina organizes her kitchen so that there is the main table where she cooks, with chairs set up so that we can watch. I think of it as the Food Network live. She tells you about the spices and cooking techniques. She tells you about history and customs. And then, when you feel like you can't take it anymore, the smells have you so intoxicated you feel like you might go out of your mind, she hands you a sample that she set aside just for that moment. This goes on for more than an hour-Tina working up your appetite and then feeding you a little just at your breaking point. This culminates with a delicious feast that leaves you completely incapacitated for the next few hours. I love that woman.

The smell of Mysore

Today was my last Mysore class. I wondered what I would remember from this trip. How the morning smelled like burning sugar. How a cockroach walked toward the kitchen, stopped when it noticed me, and then continued on its way. How my shoulder felt in ankle grabbing--like the whole world was tied in a knot next to my left ear. The way I feel like I'm walking on air when I step out of the shala, and then get a little nervous of falling down the stairs. The ugly dog that hangs outside of the shala, and how I avoid it as I walk up the hill toward my house. How lying in my bed after practice, I drift off to a half-sleep where the sounds of birds become like voices and I wake up feeling like I should know the words. Or even if I could put the feeling of getting used to a new pose into a jar: the wave of sensation that lingers over the body as it adjusts to the new challenge.

I am not sure if I'm getting a little sick or if I caught some back bend fever. Yes, this really happens. After intense back bends you get sick for about 24 hours with flu-like symptoms and then you're good as new. I've gone through it a few times in my life as an ashtangi. I feel like maybe it is happening again. I feel super tired and drowsy, my back is sore, everything is achy, my throat scratches. A friend told me that she actually went to the doctor for this and he told her that this was as very real diagnosis and that it happens because the muscles in the back have a huge spasm. Sometimes this spasm around the spine is so big, that it affects the nerves and this could effect the immune system.

We said goodbye to Pete yesterday, who had been here for about a year. He was the last person who has really been here the whole time that I have. Its easy to get very close to people here. It is like dog years or summer camp. Its this violent explosion of relationships that last for a week or a month or sometimes just one special day. It seems strange to paint the picture of this place in my mind without the people that I have met in it. I can understand how it is very hard for the people who really live here long term. All the time it is like the ghosts of the people you were close with are always floating in the air, just beyond your reach. Their house hovers in the direction you remember, but the weight of knowing the emptiness weighs on your heart. It is so amazing to me how you can come here knowing no one, and leave with a network of friends smiling as they wave goodbye.

I still have four days here in Mysore and two more led classes with Saraswati. I'm slowly crossing things of my Mysore to-do list, and also deciding that some of the things aren't really important to do. Mostly I'm just being here and totally in awe of this crazy life as I look down to my feet, through the earth, and imagine myself and everyone I know standing on the other side.

Ramblings

Yesterday I had a Thali lunch with John in the city center. It was a restaurant inside this hotel that reminded me of a hospital. I can't remember the name at the moment, but it started with the letter "D" and is quite popular. (It is called Dash Prakash...thanks Jody!) A thali meal is kind of like a chinese pu pu platter in that it consists of a variety of different dishes for you to try. In the more traditional variation, the meal will be spread on a banana leaf (like at Guruji's birthday party), but most of the time (for me at least) it has been served on a metal tray. I love these trays! Sometimes they are round and about the size of a pizza (like at 6 Main) with a bowl of rice in the middle surrounded by small cups filled with curd, and a few other soupy treats, a sweet treat, pickles, and a few pieces of bread. Other times the metal tray is rectangular with geometric compartments for each part of the meal. At this restaurant, we had the circular tray.



The real clincher, however, is that you are supposed to eat this meal with your hands! there is a spoon tucked into either the curd or the sweet dessert (but not always, as in the case with Guruji's Birthday) that you can steal to use for the rice and "sambars", or you can do it "Indian style". First, you dump the bowl of rice onto the center of the plate, then you dump some of the soup stuff on that. Then you plunge your fingers into this soupy mess, squish it together and toss it into your mouth. You have to get used to the feeling of wetness and pieces of rice lingering on your skin. It takes time. You also have to get used to watching other people eat...I'm still working on it. I still have a few minutes of shock before I can actually dive into the meal and be okay with it.



This restaurant was fascinating, it was so dynamic and fast-paced, it was great just to watch the organized chaos. You paid at a counter before you sat down, then you sat wherever you wanted, even at a table with people you don't know. You wait a couple minutes, maybe go and wash your hands, and before you know it you see these men wearing what look like veteran or GI uniforms bringing stacks of silver trays out of the kitchen. They bring you yours and your meal begins.

There was a hair in my food. A small one. I still ate the meal without a thought. One's view towards food changes after being here. For instance, once people get into it, they tend to prefer eating their meals with their hands. They say that it increases the awareness that they have of their food. It also helps develop a connection with the meal, instead of the metal or plastic utensil acting as an intermediary.

I got two poses today: Bhekasana and dhanurasana. Bhekasana means frog pose (see the above pic). In this pose you are lying on your belly with your legs bent so that your heals are moving to the floor just outside your hips. Your elbows face behind you as your hands press your feet toward the floor. At the same time, your chest lifts and back arches as you look toward the tip of your nose.

Dhanurasana means bow. Still on the belly, the legs bend as you hold the outside of your ankles. Then everything comes off the floor.

This is the part where I am glad I have a yoga rug. I never understood why people used them until I started second series. Doing a bow once in a while is one thing, but doing it every day really starts to wear on my hip bones. Also, I was dealing with a little back "kink" that made moving pretty unbearable, so doubling up the mat for all those rolling postures in primary became essential. (Before the "injury" I could practice full primary on the wood floor with no problem.)


So today we are saying goodbye to Pete who has been here for a year. Its going to be hard. But he said we'll say goodbye "Indian style". That is, we look at eachother and say, "okay bye". We're meeting at 6 Main for lunch and I am hyped to get my favorite meal: North Indian Thali.

Growing pains

My body is so sore. I just want to spend the whole day horizontal. But when I stop moving, all the muscles, bones, and organs begin to settle and the aching begins to crawl through my skin. I look in the mirror now and I feel like a brand new person.

The changes have happened gradually, of course, but they've happened. I'm stronger physically, and I've noticed that mentally there have been a lot of shifts as well. I feel like I have a strong sense of direction and mental clarity. My practice is different. How I look at life is different. My dreams when I sleep are different. My feet are different. My appetite and digestion are different.

I feel like I've cleaned house and noticed all the wonderful, terrible, and interesting things I have that were either tucked under something else or covered by layers of dust.

I feel at once frightened and excited to go back. Part of me cannot wait for the journey ahead, and the other part is so comfortable with the lifestyle here that it never wants to leave.

My friend, Michael, went home two days ago. I think I had asked him how he felt. He said that most people are very sad when they leave and live their "normal" life again because they leave Mysore behind. He said that wouldn't happen to him because he is going to take Mysore with him.

I cant predict what will happen with me exactly, but I do know that for a long time, I'll be able to smell Mysore radiating from me and that over time the smell won't fade, I'll simply become used to it.

When I go swimming, I usually stick my toes or finger into the water first to see just how cold this will feel on my body. I cringe and then slowly inch myself in, ugly faces all the way. But that day I saw the water and I just jumped. As I sat, dripping on my towel, my friend turned to us and said, "I don't know how you guys just jump in like that." I lied down on my chair and smiled to myself. For just a moment, in this very small way, I truly felt that anything is possible.