No--seriously, I am in India

I had a hard time going to sleep last night. It could have been the new moon. It could have been "the roots" (my roommates are crazy hippies that constantly promote the wondrous miracle of their special root powder). It could have been the loss of another close friend to the transient nature of Mysore. When I finally got to sleep, my dreams were intense and fiery. I awoke with electricity and snoozed with gusto. I kept asking myself what time I had to be up, at practice, in the shower. Everything felt off. I slept with my eyes open as the hot water beat my back in the shower. Were my eyes open when I brushed my teeth? It was all like a dream. But when I jumped on my scooter and the wind blew the sleepiness off my face, all I could hear was some Bob Marley song from earlier the previous day. "Wow I'm in India!"

Was I in a David Lynch movie? It could have been. Before I had left the house, I was online looking for some human connection, reading emails, and skimming the front page of the New York Times. Packs of wild digs were howling outside like I've never heard before. I was almost scared to go out there. A car horn was letting out a steady honk. The headline reads:

BAILOUT FAILS; STOCKS PLUNGE

After Vote, Dow Closes 777 Points Down

And further down:
For Stocks, Worst Single-Day Drop in Two Decades
I imagine the end of Fight Club when all the financial institutions are crumbling to the ground.

In front of the shala there are a fraction of the scooters that there were last week. On the steps, there are less sandals. Inside, there were so many open mat spaces that I had a hard time choosing. I eventually rolled out next to Mauricio, Alex, Nuno, and Francisco. Nothing abnormal about practice except perhaps that the standing postures are beginning to feel more natural like when I was at Guy's. (I'm starting to think that this is an effect of second series only--the shoulders aren't as bulky? Also noticeable difference in back bending...read below.) I tried to take my time and to lengthen my breathing in the poses that make me uncomfortable to do so such as pasasana, bhekasana, etc.

I had worked on some eka pada and dwi pada strategies with Alex. With the eka pada's, I really felt a difference, and with the dwi pada, I was more even, however, I didn't remember until I was already finished that I had planned to come into it a different way. Oh well, there is always tomorrow. I felt fairly comfortable in yoga nidrasana--my feet felt pretty even behind my head. But then, down the tip of my nose, I could see Sharath hovering above me like those movie images of doctors hovering over a patient which has just reached consciousness. I lifted my head, he wedged his feet between mine and started wiggling them away from each other so they went deeper behind my neck. Then, I pressed my head back and my neck was practically on the floor. After, he told me "dwi pada like that". He said it a few times because I think I looked at him with this dopey blank stare that I probably have before 5:30am. I asked him if I should take dwi pada again and he said nope--tomorrow.

Sharath stood in front of me during all three of my back bends and all three of my drop backs. Now when I'm dropping back, I'm hovering until I can see my legs and bending my arms as if I would grab and then lightly landing on the floor. I think this helps me. When I went for chakra bandhasana (because let's just admit it, those aren't ankles anymore), Sharath took my right hand just behind my right knee. When he took my left hand, I was like "yeah right" because usually it is "yeah right" but today it was: Yeah. Right. I straightened my legs and brought in my elbows. He inched my left hand higher and then my right. He said to straighten my legs and I tried. He said to balance and I just stood there. It was a moment of total silence like that space before a car crashes where you see everything happening in slow motion or when you are about to fall. It was just me hovering there while the rest of the shala sped by. When I came up, I stood there for a second, completely winded. My body could not figure out what had just happened. I think Sharath was saying "good good". I was overwhelmed with...maybe it was emotion. I hobbled to the dressing room and just lied there for a while wondering if I should cry but by wondering, scared back the tears.

I feel great.

Sunday Led Second Practice

I'm still reading The Other Boleyn Girl. It never ends. It's about sisters who are rivals (because apparently sisters always are). It's about the wives of King Henry VIII and the role of women etc. It is very tedious and never ends. The gossip. The scheming. The charming. The games. This is what happens when people don't have to work either in the office or in the home. They start to work on their social stuff. Sometimes it feels like that here. All these people with all this time and lots of talking. It's like summer camp or Desperate House Wives or High School.

I'm spending more time with myself even if other people are around. I was thinking about how sometimes I feel a little hurt when I'm not invited to something or somewhere, but then realized that that is all temporary, and what I am learning to create here is something perfect. It's like Goa. Around this time of year there is a mass exodus of AYRI students to practice with Rolf in Goa. At first I was a little jealous. I wanted to go too. Everyone described it as such a paradise, how could I not? But this time around I realized that that paradise is fleeting. Maybe I go to Goa and have a fun time but then what? Will the people I meet still be my friends 20 years from now? Will the practice I have with Rolf be about me or about Rolf? I prefer to stay here. I have a teacher who I trust. I have myself. I have my family and friends and I'm here for the practice. More and more I feel like "the practice" is learning how to create a paradise within myself. This is permanent.

I'm learning how to stay focused and not get distracted by other people which is harder than it seems.

Tomorrow is Sharath's birthday. This french woman had a bunch of people sign a big card that she was giving him today after the led second class. I practiced in the same spot as last week--front and to the left. I was really shaky. I think perhaps I didn't have enough water. However, it was also really hot and humid in the room today and there was some guy taking photos (I emailed him asking for a copy). I tried a new method for dwi pada which didn't go as planned but certainly taught me much. Yoga nidrasana was fine. For back bending, I was feeling particularly "open", but I felt strong. On my second back bend, I hovered with bent arms and could see how that with some time this could be me grabbing my own ankles solo soon. I kept feeling these really happy feelings like "wow! I'm here in Mysore in led second! Wow!"

I took my time in finishing postures and woke up from resting to find that I was the only one left resting while the more advanced students were still being led by Sharath. I rolled up my mat and headed for the dressing room to change. When I came out, I stood to the side while Sharath received presents and flowers from students (the led students were still in resting but were peaking to see what was happening). I put my mat on the floor and waited for Sharath to turn toward me. When he finally did, I spread my arms gave him the "you come here" hand gesture, wrapped my arms around him and gave him a huge hug. I squeezed him and said "Happy Birthday Sharath!" All the students resting laughed and Sharath smiled.

Later at breakfast, I heard some students saying that everyone was hugging Sharath after that. I don't know, for me it just felt like what I wanted to do.

Ashtanga works, apparently

As my friend Rachel has asked: what is it about this ashtanga that just, well...works? We know that it is a system of set postures. We know that you learn progressively. We know that you need a teacher. We know that it is a tradition that has been passed on from teacher to student. But why is the sequencing put together the way it is, and why is it so effective?

A Brief History of Time:

Back in the day--maybe turn of the centuryish--there was this sanskrit scholar named Krishnamacharya. Apparently he had a dream where he met a long deceased Guru who transmitted the information of a long lost text called the Yoga Korunta. The Yoga Korunta was pretty much the only vedic text that mentioned asana (yoga pose) practice. And according to the ashtanga yoga of the Yoga Sutras, doing yoga poses was one of the 8 steps to enlightenment. So apparently the Yoga Korunta had lists of postures which became the 6 series of ashtanga yoga.

So Krishmacharya teaches and debates and gets pretty famous in India because until then, yoga was for Saddhus. If you weren't in a cave with dreadlocks, you weren't doing yoga. But for Krishnamacharya, yoga was a catalyst for enlightenment as it made the body healthy and the mind happy so he got everyone into it (eventually even girls gasp).

He had many students over the years like BKS Iyengar, Indra Devi, Desikachar, and of course, Pattabhi Jois. Technically they all were teaching ashtanga yoga in subsequent years as ashtanga yoga refers to the 8 fold path in the Yoga Sutras, however, they weren't all teaching the precise sequencing laid out in the Yoga Korunta. Well, all except Pattabhi Jois.

When you look on a yoga schedule today, you'll find names of classes like Iyengar, power, hatha, jivamukti, bikram, etc. But when you see Ashtanga, you know it is referring to the physical practice still taught by the family of Pattabhi Jois in Mysore, India.

As legend has it, the text of the Yoga Korunta was possibly seen by Jois, possibly disintegrated, possibly eaten by ants. Did Jois and Krisnmacharya make up the sequences? Maybe. But hey, they work! The question is: why?

Case Study:
Growing up in a US suburb, I attended your average middle America public school, complete with traumatizing Phys Ed experiences. Every few years was the "President's Challenge" or something like that, where we had to take a series of physical fitness tests. How far could you reach over your toes? How many sit ups? How many push ups? Girls should run a mile under 10 minuets, boys--7. How many bench presses? How many pull ups? The girls had to do one--just one and I couldn't do it. I was even in Gymnastics and everything. So for us losers, we had to hang there for a certain amount of time while everyone made fun of us. It sucked.

Flash forward a decade or so and I'm in the backyard of a friend having a going away to India brunch. There's a bar and I'm hanging saying I've never done a pull up and then I begin to magically levitate. I was shocked. I did it again. 2 pull ups! And I'm older and heavier and apparently in the best shape of my life. What is it about this ashtanga that makes it work?

Reminiscing on LBH of yesteryear

I couldn't get my mind to stop. You'd think that with very little sleep, an early wake up, the meditative time of the morning, etc., I'd be easily jettisoned to yogi yogi land, but alas, this was not the case. I was going through the movements while the ticker read off every ridiculously insignificant bit of information it could gather and throw into my peaceful lake of a yoga mind. Yet at the same time, I was really focusing intensely on my practice. I guess this is what my first yoga teacher (if you don't count the Crunch yoga and Jane Fonda VHS tapes) patiently explained to us while my mind was who knows where. She'd say to picture your mind like the sky and in this sky (like any sky) are clouds. These clouds are your thoughts. You can't just make them disappear. Instead, you let them happen and actively allow your self to watch them float by rather than involve yourself with them.

It is surprising how much the body can learn and so quickly. Even just from yesterday, even though I felt tired and sore, I could really notice a difference in each pose. Or maybe it was just a full day of lounging poolside with Grace at the Lalita Mahal... Even therapy has its drawbacks. My whole body is a little too sun-kissed. Twisting hurt the skin on my stomach. Chaturanga hurt the skin around my armpits. My thigh skin--ooh.

With all the leg-behind-the-head postures I was knotting myself into today, I also got to thinking about my "LBH" history. I was never able to put both legs behind my head as a kid or anything. I could sometime touch one foot behind my ear, but that was pretty much it. In college I took a yoga class with Mary Flinn and I remember one day she just put me in supta kurmasana:


And then lifted me by my feet into dwi pada sirsasana:

It was the craziest feeling ever! I felt like someone dumped water over my head or if I was a bathtub filled with water, someone pulled the plug. It was intense and amazing and I didn't know how to get out! And now I'm tossing my legs over my shoulders every day like a bag of potatoes.

New pose: Yoga Nidrasana

In Yoga Nidrasana, you lie down on your back and cross your legs behind your neck while clasping your arms behind your back. The name of the pose translates roughly to "yoga sleep" or some people like to call it "sleeping yogi". It is pretty challenging, but when you get to a place where you can rest into it, yoga nidrasana can be such a relief.

Some days, like yesterday and the days surrounding it for instance, I wonder why we have to do this. (This, of course, happens to follow Sharath's conference talk on Sunday about getting rid of fear and doubt.) I had finished my practice in the main room (all of my finishing--cool down-- postures after back bending take place in the ladies' dressing room) and was weaving my way through the sweaty bodies when I heard/saw this girl Cat yell super loud and shout "fuuuuuuck!" Everyone in the shala stopped mid pose, breath, walking, flying, what have you, to turn and see what happened. It sounded like more than a "release" or an "opening". It sounded like Saraswati had ripped her arm out of the socket. I continued hobbling to the dressing room, rolled out my mat, and reclined as my back (my core, really) radiated electricity to every cell of my body. I couldn't move.

Not long after, Cat threw open the door, sobbing, and trekked up the stairs to the second floor of the dressing room. It's like when you smell vomit, or see someone yawn--I almost started sobbing too. And why not? This entire experience is very strong. Eric just went back to New York. I left everything and everyone. I'm in a totally foreign place. I'm alone. I'm working my body every day to its limits. I have no idea where I'm going. I have dwindling funds. I can't even choose when I practice, what I practice, what I eat. I'm in a whirlwind of change and for once I feel like I don't even have a choice in the matter--I am playing the witness. I'm watching all this stuff unfold and it is all so new and rich that I don't even know how to begin to participate at all.

I slid on my slippers outside and could overhear Cat laughing and chatting with friends by the coconut stand. Guess nothing ripped after all. Guess it was a huge release or something. Wow. Is this normal? Some days I see it all from the outside and I think to myself, "Wow. We are really REALLY crazy."

Everything is sore. The growing pains are back. With the changes in practice come the changes in body. I have this nagging cold feeling like I want to throw up. A few days ago I was feeling something so intense I was shaking. My arms were shaking and I couldn't stop it. I don't know what the feeling was exactly, but it had to do with Eric leaving and it shook me from the core. I'm trying to keep everything in perspective. But sometimes I get a little overwhelmed by it all. It is interesting how much of what is happening in the mind and in the heart directly affects what happens in the body. With ashtanga yoga, the repetition day after day allows one to see these changes as they unfold. If it is that obvious to me, is it that obvious to everyone?

All in all, I'm in good spirits. I don't think I'll be heading back to painting class for a few days though. I don't think I could quite bear going alone right now. Too strong for sure. I got some really great shoes. I found some perfect practice shirts. I'm keeping myself ridiculously occupied. I upgraded my scooter to an Activa. It is bigger, heavier, better. I'm reading The Other Boleyn Girl. It is tedious.

I almost forgot. New post today--yoganidrasana. I wonder if I look as crazy as this guy. For me, it seems that on the days where I just give up, the days where I just say "whatever I'm focusing on my bandha or breath" because I can't even fathom bending are the days when I get a new pose.

Some notes on that: In dwi pada sirsasana (the pose before yoga nidrasana) Sharath told me to jump to a sort of tittibhasana position rather than bhujapidasana. He wasn't specific, but said to not cross my legs. I was jumping into a bhujapidasana-like position and then lowering down to my butt and taking position, but he said to just jump straight. I think it is more like this:

Before Sunrise

the sex and the city movie was ridiculous.
I'm spending more time at the southern star hotel eating than swimming.
the bf leaves tomorrow and we're enjoying our time together.
first day back to practice since Wednesday and it was the led second.
feeling surprisingly comfortable in class like it's just me and my mat.
when I was doing my drop backs, I thought I heard Sharath say "Elise, chakra bandhasana!" But didn't believe it because he was in the middle of leading the led second series class. Also because that would mean doing it on my own. Also because I've never heard him call "ankle grabbing" anything. so i didn't do it. and now I'm home on the internet and seeing that he was talking to me.
off to meet the bf at the southern star for breakfast.

Hey Mira--"I'm down"

The internet was down for a couple of days. Just a lot of reflecting and Indian adventures since then. The bf is leaving on Monday and all that comes with the event is occupying a good amount of my time. And rightly so I suppose.

Last night we had dinner at the Lalita Mahal. We didn't know at all how to get there so we just asked people along the way. This led us on a wild ride through the night on the outskirts of the city. We really couldn't believe our eyes when we saw the place. It was beautiful and the food was tasty and there was live sitar music. Sometimes I love India and sometimes I hate it.

I don't feel much like writing right now. I just had breakfast and am curling up on the bed solo to watch a really bootlegged copy of the Sex and the City Movie. There isn't much that could compete with that.

Leech foot and other fun stuff

A Leech Was Here


Coffee Beans! (They harvest them in January)




The 20-Minute Jeep Ride--Hold onto your hats!

My package

Just some illustrations of last week



package arrived in "excellent condition"

at least the provisions were in tact!

What I did on my Indian vacation

We took a rickshaw (the four of us -- three is already tight) to the bus station. When we were almost there, the driver turned off the rickshaw and was alternating between giving it pushes and letting it roll. Once the downhill slant stopped, he turned to us with a smile and gestured "no breaks". Nice.

We walked the rest of the way--just a half block through dozens of huge buses. Our Indian friend from Chennai came with us and seemed to know more of what to do than us, or had less patience for our antics. She darted between buses asking drivers and conductors hanging out of doors "Madikeri? Madikeri?" We slowly, from one bus to the next, were led to a bus on platform 6 that was rolling out of the station. "Madikeri? Madikeri?" He asked us. "Madikeri, Madikeri!" We replied. The bus looked stuffed. They told us to get on. We told them to wait because Leena had darted back into the madness for an ATM. She reappeared just when the conductor lost patience and we teetered onto the bus, down the aisle, and into four empty seats in the back.

The thing that people always tell you and the thing I forgot was so great in elementary school is that when you sit in the back, every bump that the front of the bus feels gets multiplied by 10. We bumped our way through Mysore and south toward Madikeri.

The scenery changes quite a bit, it turns very green and lush with tall trees. Coorg is an area that is famous for spices and coffee. Madikeri is one small town in the area. Our driver from the home stay was to pick us up there.

About three hours later we arrived--battered and weary. It was chilly and we wore long sleeves and it was raining but we brought umbrellas. The driver pulled in right away and we stuffed ourselves inside. "Hungry?" He asked. We all thought that a nice home cooked meal with tons of coffee was waiting for us. Confused, we relayed our Indian takeout order. This took a while. Finally, we were on our way to the home stay. Leena chatted in the front seat with the driver. Apparently, he was the brother of the lady who owned the homestay or something and that maybe tomorrow after work he would possibly take us on a tour of the plantation. Huh? I looked out the window at the crappy little houses on the side of the road and thought about how funny (not) it would be if one of these was our home stay.

We rolled up in front of a less than piece of shit, but for sure not, a 1020 rs per double room without food home stay. We all thought this was dude's house that we were going to eat at before heading to the home stay. But when we stepped inside, a lady started showing us the rooms and the sparse furnishings. "Do you want hot water?" They asked. Obviously. We were stunned. 1020 rs for two people with food not included and an unstocked kitchen and no one to cook for us and no electricity and no transportation included and no tours and not located in a scenic mountain/plantation and most of all no coffee. Not even a coffee maker. Not even a tea pot. Nothing. You have got to be kidding me. Oh and it was possibly going to rain all night so we could imagine ourselves sitting angrily in this crappy house with no food or electricity. No way.

"No way I'm paying that for this guys sorry." But where would we go? What would we do? I pulled out Lonely Planet and told someone to get out their cellphone and we started to make some calls. We found a place--Honey Valley--which sounded promising.

The home stay people didn't take the news graciously. Of my friends, one was silent, the other two apologetic. I was like--I'm sorry but you're crazy. I wouldn't have any of it. They were obviously trying to rip us off outrageously and they knew it. These were really rich people trying to pull one on us and I couldn't figure out what the point was and really just didn't have the patience for the whole production. To add insult to injury, the guy walked IN HIS SHOES (which were wet and dirty from the weather) through the house, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom to use the toilet. Grr.

We took a cab out of there to a place called Kakkabe. We listened to Indian hip hop and the driver would stop the car periodically to show us cardamom, coffee, and pepper growing in the fields that framed the winding road. It took us about a half hour to meet the jeep to take us the rest of the ride. We found out why the jeep was necessary as we were thrashed about--bags flying--for 30 minutes.

The home stay was at a lovely little lodge nestled amongst lush vegetation. Our rooms were nothing special and a little pricey for what they were, but we were happy to be in the environment we had envisioned and yes, there was coffee.

We went for hikes, we ate food, we had a fire. It was basically posh camping. Our room was, um, fun. There were leeches in the bathroom. Our bed was damp. There were no mosquito nets or screens. There was no hot water in the shower. We got leeches on our feet from the hike. We drank coffee. We ate food. We read and slept.

We came back the "authentic Indian experience way". One rural bus crowded with locals and screaming school children. We ran after a bus on its way to Mysore. We ran to the front of the bus to stop them from leaving our friend who went to pee behind.

All in all, good fun.

Got back last night about 8pm. Slept. Practice this morning. That's it.

Sunday I'm stuck to the side of a blender.

I stormed down the block wanting to push over every parked scooter. I wanted to kick every Indian guy with tight eighties acid washed jeans in the crotch. I swung my arms into the air and yelled. I kicked up dirt and stomped on all things that would crunch. I wanted to give India a good kick in the balls. Some moments are like that. You're trying and trying and trying and India just says no and that is it. You have to give up, you have to surrender, you have to let go. And even moments like that pass and are quite comical in retrospect.

This morning was the led second series class which is supposed to begin at 6:15, but seems to really start at 6:30. I ran from the toilet to find everyone else standing on their mats listening to Sharath's announcements: conference today at 9:30am followed by tabla performance, and then "samastitihi!"

I practiced between Leecha (friend and fellow Tina's breakfast "server" [I was working at Tina's during month 1]) and Mauricio (the practice twin). I confess that I did a few pre-practice stretches. My rationale is that in New York I move a lot more than I do here and so I'm trying to level the playing field. But whatever, who cares anyway? I wore the long pants so that bakasana b was more guaranteed (I have to jump my knees to perch on my arms and balance and slippery arms make a crappy landing base). Boy could I feel my arms working in the next two postures and then came my last pose--eka pada sirsasana. I began to roll up my mat and Sharath stuck out his finger "one more". I quickly rolled out my mat once more and took the next pose--dwi pada sirsasana.

1. From down dog, jump legs into bhujapidasana position (legs crossed around arms while balancing on hands)
2. lower butt to ground
3. take legs behind head
4. take hands into a prayer position
5. breathe 5 times
6. lift butt off ground while balancing on hands
7. take 5 breaths
8. take bakasana -- crow pose
9. jump back chaturanga
10. I go back.

Off to the coco stand to meet fellow travellers to Coorg. Hoping to take a bus. Coffee and mountains here we come!

What Saturday Morning Feels Like

With the roommates gone, the animal life has taken over. The mosquitoes in the living room are downright arrogant, the ants in the kitchen are persistent, the spiders in the hallway are multiplying, I'm still waiting for an update from the roaches. And I just got a memo that the fruit flies are declaring war. So we do the only thing we can--we leave. For now at least. These infractions call for drastic measures. Are there exterminators in India?

There was no practice today as Saturdays are usually rest days (except for Saraswati students who rest on Sunday). Tomorrow there are the two led classes (primary and secondary) with Monday off for the moon day. Tuesday it's back to Mysore classes. Complicated.

The master plan for the weekend trip is Coorg (images of coffee, mountains, crisp air, and train rides). We'll leave after tomorrow's practice and return Monday evening. That's assuming that we figure out how to get there and back. Trains? Buses? Automobiles? All to be determined.

Plans for the coast were washed out by the idea of meeting continuous rain and off season closures. That, and the travel time. Hampi was an idea, but again, the whole overnight train business seemed a little excessive. Apparently Coorg's neighbor, Ooty, is too commercial. So Coorg it is (maybe?). Coffee, mountains, toy trains.

More catching up

Just got out of Friday's led primary series class feeling refreshed. It is a little strange walking out of the shala and just kind of standing there now that Beg is gone. Used to be that everyone would gather for a post-practice coconut. Right where the truck used to be, there is a framed portrait of the man along with many flower garlands. I didn't usually stick around for a coconut this time around because I didn't really have any interest in talking about my practice in that sideways comment sort of way, but it was always nice to share a smile with Beg on my way home. I hope this benefit dinner tonight raises a good amount of money to help his family...

Practice was practice. What can I say? I've got some things that are good and some that aren't, some things that are fun and some that aren't, and so on. I got kicked in the head by the person in front of me--that was fun. No apologies either. This guy is now working on third series. Just to put it out there again--the ability to do more advanced postures does not a good person make. But hey, it happens. I'm just glad that a) there was no poop on his foot and b) the point of impact was not my eyes, teeth, or nose.

I'm not sure what's happening for tomorrow's supposed safari trip. Our roommies said they had it all planned out, but they just mentioned the prospect of ditching us for some rumored waves on the west coast. Me and the bf can obviously make our own way, but it would be nice for someone else to plan everything and I guess they are pretty fun to hang out with...I guess. Today we've got to sort that one out.

All in all, things are good, I'm happy and healthy, India is fabulous/terrible India, and I'm just taking it one masala'd little day at a time.

Some interesting youtube videos with my friend, Anne:

Yeah roommates just got home and are like "we're going to the coast...so are you guys still going on safari?" Um thanks guys you said you were planning everything...

Well I guess this opens up the opportunity for us to sort something out for ourselves. I think that situations like these are when fun things happen...

Notes, thoughts, ramblings -- a post practice conversation

My package was at the post office after all and as expected, it was like the black lodge. The poor thing had definitely been through quite a bit and if we could trace the life of the package from the USA to here, I'm sure it would be an interesting voyage that would include car rides, plane rides, boats, being dropped, elephants, mistaken identity, being used as furniture, the night as a pillow, etc. Or maybe that's just how it looks. Note to senders: when mailing packages, I recommend the "divide and conquer" method in which items are all sent individually, thereby increasing the odds that at least one package will make it to the addressee.

We're still hearing drums. The Ganesh festival was last week and I think officially just one day--I mean, we got one day off from the shala. I remember last year that there was a night around the time of the festival that I heard what I was certain was an angry mob that was bringing a riot to Gokulum. Later, my roommies and I found out that it was actually a parade (we had practice the following morning and weren't about to go gallivanting into the night to see for ourselves). But this year, we're still hearing the drums. We heard them outside the window last night. It's this wild raw sound. We went outside and saw a crowd of men dancing (almost capoiera style) and drumming madly around a huge Ganesh statue on a truck (I suppose this is a float) that was lit with twinkling "Christmas" lights. Oh, and they were lighting fireworks/small explosive devices. This was all in the middle of the road and definitely without a permit of any kind (I'm imagining the kind of attention this would get in the streets of New York). We all stood outside of our house watching as vehicles happened to drive right next to or over the explosives just as they would go off. We laughed as the drivers spooked their cars and scooters almost off the road and into the ravine. Removing obstacles?

I'm still settling into this new routine. Is practice getting worse, is it changing, or is my body adapting? Hard to tell, but it still feels awkward. Even as I recognize these reactions, the majority of me feels incredibly grateful/blessed/honored/humbled/etc. The whole time I'm thinking one part "full power" and one part "this is amazing". I feel so lucky that my arms and legs work, that I am alive, that I am fortunate to be able to do things like this, and I only hope that I can remember that feeling the rest of the day because it makes me want to do better, think better, help more...

There are two main coconut men in the "Gok". The first is the coconut guru who runs the official coconut stand where everyone meets up and uses as a point of reference for directions. The other is the coconut man who works outside of the shala during practice hours. Yesterday in painting class, Tomasz told me that he died the previous night of a heart attack. It was so sudden. The only thing I could think of was what was going to happen to his family. So we planned a benefit dinner for them on Friday.

Back to practice: Holding supta vajrasana for a long time as I wait for Sharath or Saraswati to hold my legs down sometimes makes my arms go to sleep. It is actually quite uncomfortable. Then right after that pose I have to do bakasana which is fine but in b where I have to jump into it, I sometimes have trouble (like today for instance). Then in bharadvajrasana--oooh paining!

I feel horrible for even talking about that practice bs next to someone passing. How lucky I am to even be uncomfortable. Really, the pain is a reminder that I'm alive.

On being divided

I love that this is starting right where I left off in February--eka pada sirsasana and the second series split.

"How do you feel now that you're divided?" Ewa asks Mauricio over spilled fruit salad at Tina's. Mauricio is what I now call my "practice twin". I practiced next to him in a led primary series class a few weeks ago and it was so funny because we had all the same little nuances and practice styles. Olivia said it was like watching the boy and girl version of the same practice (nice drishtis Olivia). Afterwards we both admitted that the energy practicing next to each other was really strong. To be corny, it was like a horse being released to the wild and running with the wild pack naturally or something else really ridiculous. We vowed to practice next to each other in the led classes from that day forth but it hasn't happened. We aren't ever there at the same time so we promise each time that next class will be the day.

And even though last Friday we were practicing at different corners of the classroom, like twins, we both got "the split" the very same day. Saturday we had off to think about what was coming, and on Sunday at 6:15 am we had our first second series led class. (Search "led second series" on my MysoreMusings blog to see my thoughts last year on this event--it is funny!) I was so nervous because many people sit in the doorway to watch. I remained a little nervous and shaky for awhile and then finally started to let go and have fun. Sharath stopped both Mauricio and myself at Eka Pada Sirsasana and told us to "go back" which I learned means to take our mats to the back of the class and start finishing postures.

This is day four of second series only and it feels strange. My shoulders are tired. I feel heavy. My back muscles are sore. I'm shaky. I have bursts of energy and emotions followed by irritability, hunger, and naps. I feel really flexible some days while others I feel very tight. I think Ewa got it right--how does it feel being divided?

But I don't think it is just the yoga. I have a new practice time that I'm getting used to--4:45am. This means I'm up by about 3:15am--fun! Saturdays I get to sleep in though and Sunday's class is at 6:15 so I'm up by 5:15. Except that this Saturday I think I'm going to be up just as early as the roommates and I are planning a trip to Bandipur to go on a safari! Apparently elephant sighting are guaranteed...I'm getting used to being in India, of course, and my new apartment and roommates. I'm getting used to my boyfriend being here. I'm feeling like ladies' holiday is around the corner and that is throwing the whole mix to a new level of discomfort.

In other news, ex-evil landlady surprises yoga student with -- what's the word? -- generosity? Honestly? Non-greed? Me and the bf rode down to the old house and I rapped on the mail box while their evil little mutt glowered at me. Mrs. Bhat waddles out wrapped in her "house sari" with a surprising smile and kind eyes. I tell her I'm just here to pay for the laundry and I'm sorry I forgot and that I was giving extra for that and because the house cleaner also washed some of my "double occupancy" occupant's clothes. I gave her 350rs. She handed me 150 back and said that she (the house cleaner) had only asked for 50rs extra. I was stunned. And the package did not arrive at their house but she agreed to leave it with Anu and Ganesh (they run the internet cafe/restaurant down the road and are apparently good friends with the Bhats--go figure). But as the package was sent on the 18th and was supposed to arrive in 7-10, I'm obliged to begin some unwanted detective work. Dealing with the local Greenpoint, Brooklyn postal service is hell on earth, but this--this is being stuck in the black lodge on Twin Peaks. Wish me luck!

Bad Lady

That's what Guruji (Sharath's Grandfather and living master of ashtanga yoga/director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute) used to say all the time to people in class. Sometimes he meant it because you weren't doing a pose correctly, other times he was just being cute. My teacher, Mary, says that Guruji thinks that is her name. You don't hear "bad lady" anymore. So now anyone who was ever called that holds onto that moment like a treasure and those who caught the train late dream that maybe one day Guruji will teach and call them "Bad Lady" or "Bad Man" too. In a crowd of around 80 people in one batch, it means something to be pointed out, even if it is to be called out for doing something "bad". It means that Guruji noticed you.

Guruji had lots of other little sayings like "$50 dollar fine". I read somewhere that on a trip to New York, he saw all these signs for fines and he thought this was the funniest thing. So from then on in his teaching when someone did some sort of breach he'd say "$50 fine". Yesterday, I heard the words "$100 dollar fine coming from Sharath over the sound of feet hitting the ground and breathing.

Somethings are the same, but some will never be. Guruji, Sri K Pattabhi Jois is still listed as the Director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute (AYRI) in Mysore, India. However, he hasn't taught a class for some time. You see, early last year he had a number of major health problems. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but word has it that he has diabetes (type 2 is quite common in India) and didn't really take care of it (he is a notorious chocolate lover). He got an infection in his foot which spread and he ended up in the hospital. I think something else happened as well and I might recall that he was in a coma or something like that. This caused the cancellation of his only US visit in 2007 to Florida. I talked with Saraswati (his teaching assistant and daughter/Sharath's mother) who said that Guruji had recently undergone bypass surgery. Well, he is old--94 I think.

So, he isn't teaching anymore. Sometimes students will see him sitting in the office or shuffling in and out doors. He doesn't talk to anyone. It is sad. It is a bit selfish, but still, I wonder what those who haven't had the chance to study intensely with Guruji have missed out on. Now his Grandson, Sharath, is the head teacher. He is in his thirties and has a family and an interesting sense of humor. I like him very much.

AYRI is no longer called AYRI, but instead KPJAYI (K Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute). As they have taken the word "Research" out of the name, I wonder does this mean that they have completed their research into the benefits and effects of ashtanga yoga practice? If so, will the be publishing their findings any time soon?

Thus far, my findings include the fact that it is now day three of only second series practice and I definitely feel different from last week. My back and front side feel very open and long. I have lots of extra energy that I don't know what to do with. I feel so lucky to have limbs that can walk and move and do this stuff. Second series makes me feel intensely frustrated/angry/loving/caring/giving. I was really miffed by this guy who said some real mean things to me and I was thinking about what a jerk and hypocrite he was and then I had the thought in Surya Namaskar that even he was God and that I was going to dedicate my practice to him. I mean, even jerks are people too no?

And even people are jerks. In the shower this morning, I realized that I forgot to pay my last apartments house cleaner for a month's worth of laundry. They must think I'm such a deadbeat! I feel awful about this because one month of daily laundry service costs me 150 rs ($3.40). This amount really means something to this poor woman and I forgot. I am such a jerk! So today I have to remember to go to my old apartment and grovel so they'll give me the package from my mom that has maybe arrived even thought I refused to pay them extra for double occupancy (that's another story) and the fact that they thought I called them dogs (which I didn't--it was a misunderstanding). And pay my laundry bill. Should be fun. Humbling at the very least. This is my yoga.

A time for change

I'm going to spend some time on the private route. Might still write here. Not sure yet. This is a trial run.

www.ashtangainspired.blogspot.com


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Do you remember?

"For the Brain, Remembering Is Like Reliving"
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/05/science/05brain.html?_r=1&oref=slogin


"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief."
-Aeschylus

"Memory is funny. Once you hit a vein the problem is not how to remember but how to control the flow."
-Tobias Wolff

"An angel has no memory."
-Terry Southern "Happiness? That's nothing more than good health and a poor memory."
-Albert Schweitzer

Yoga Sutras of Patanjali:

1.5
Vrittayah pancatayah klishta aklishta: Thought-forms are categorized into five varieties, of which some are painful and others are non-painful (neutral).

1.6
Pramana viparyaya vikalpa nidra smritayah: These (the categories) are: Correct knowing; Incorrect knowing; Imagination; Sleep; Memory.

1.11
Anubhuta-vishayasampramoshah smritih: Memory is the recollecting or retaining of previously experienced impressions.

Don't bug me

It is getting harder and harder to write at the moment. Partly I don't know what to say and partly I feel to self-aware to say it. Looking back at last year's entries during month two, I see a similar pattern. Things start to get very internal where language starts to disappear. Or maybe now I feel differently about the whole thing. I don't really want to share things with everyone, just a few people...

So then, what does one write about when you want to share something personal but can't spare the details? Bugs. I can write about bugs.

We have an ant problem in our house. (Is it really a "problem"?) We followed the ants from the grains shelf to a few different possible entry points. My roommate poured muesli over his pancakes only to be disgusted by the multitude of ants crawling in out and around the oat clusters.

Last night on my way out of the bathroom I spied a second cockroach. I couldn't bring myself to kill it. I looked at it, it looked at me. I wonder where the little guy was headed...

I'm covered in mosquito bites from head to toe. Not even the bottom of my middle toe was spared. I now have maybe the shortest practice in the shala--or so it seemed--as I found myself in the women's dressing room all alone with the breeze and the mosquitoes. There I was in shoulderstand variations waving my arms like a mad person at the mosquitoes that buzzed around my head. I read in National Geographic that 1.) mosquitoes know the target they are heading for from an impressive distance 2.) hot, sweaty, lactic acid infused post-vigorous exercise bodies are their favorite victims.

I tell myself that I am going to withdraw my senses, that everything is God, that if I don't acknowledge them they don't exist. But then I hear the buzzing become louder and louder and I can't hold it in any longer so I swat and swat and swat.

PS-Again, yesterday in conference, Sharath emphasized that part of the practice is reading yogic texts. Specifically, he said it was a good idea to start with the Bhagavad Gita.

More lessons from the monsoon--when it rains, it pours

Oh my god what is that?
I'm leaning over my friend's toe with a "sterilized" needle digging in an open wound.
I think that's glass!
I get the little needle under the glass (or possibly clear plastic) and behind the flap of skin, straight into the pink gooey open wound toe flesh and out it pops.
There is a reason why you don't see anyone driving when it rains. She was riding home full speed ahead to get less wet I suppose. She knew there was a speed bump before the chip man and after the sweet stall. But this time she forgot. She hit the breaks and kept her hand on the accelerator and this time the mix of the wet earth with loose dirt sent the bike skidding and her flying. People came out from under their monsoon shelters.
Madam Madam are you okay?
She got up quickly (anyone read the bit on car accidents in Shantaram?) brushed off and got back on the bike.
Yes I'm okay I'm fine.
She looked down as she revved up and saw the blood running down her arms. But this one is a strong, independent woman, who didn't cry until hours later when applying the burning antiseptic powder to the open wounds. White powder all over the room and she cried.

what to do when you aren't being a pretzel--paint!

This whole week has been a blur. Between visitors and -- and I'm not sure what, I don't really remember what I did yesterday. I forget how intense practice is here. I think that oh it is just a couple of hours, but when I am ready to start winding down by 3pm, I see that even if I don't notice it, I'm working very hard.

Besides morning asana practice, cooking meals, running errands, etc., I am also taking painting classes. Here is my article on my experience for the September issue of Living Mysore Magazine. It hasn't been published yet...

Besides the freshly baked breads and massive coffees, breakfast at Santosha means dining in a room surrounded by beautiful traditional Mysore paintings where Hindu deities dance and recline in colorful backdrops sprinkled with 22-karat gold leaf detailing. I see a poster on the wall indicating that, yes, I too can learn to paint in this unique style. Count me in!

Classes begin two days later on Monday. I'm given all the supplies I'll need to begin (a pencil, pencil sharpener, eraser, and drawing pad), chai, and apple muffins. Anand, our teacher, draws a one petal lotus and instructs me to fill the page with the same. After the ninth or tenth try, he laughs a bit and gives me something else to sketch. Just like this we learn, line by line, detail by detail, until we are ready to learn something a bit more challenging. I now know that when we say "Mysore style" it isn't just asana practice but painting too. And even without my yoga mat, I see that this too is a yoga practice. "You see him?" Anand gestures to Tomasz, the owner and chef extraordinaire at Santosha. "You should see him before painting! Any person," Anand continues. "After ten paintings will become much calmer."

Can painting really make such a difference? Can it really teach us as much about ourselves as our asana practice? As my friend and I learn to draw the more challenging hand and feet variations and I throw down my pencil in frustration, I see how similar the two practices can be. Anand puts his hands on top of my head and takes them away as if he touched a stove, "So much heat! Be cool." He smiles. As lotuses, hands, feet, and flowers slowly unfold on our notebook pages we see that like asana practice, things come slowly, slowly.

Painting classes with traditional Mysore painting master, Anand, are offered on an ongoing basis. The average time to complete a basic painting is about one month. All levels of students are welcome to attend. Classes are held Monday through Friday at Santosha between 12 and 2 pm. If you are interested in attending a class, simply show up during class hours to talk with Anand.

Visit Santosha's website for more information on painting classes and other events.

Samskaras/ My Conditioned Experience/ Batman

I didn't know there were bats in Mysore. I thought those silhouettes of frenetically flapping wings were birds. I didn't give them much thought. My brain processed the thing that was flying as "bird" and left it at that. But then my friend jumped and yelled "bat". Until that moment, for me, bats did not exist in Mysore.

I'm riding on a scooter with my friend who just arrived and who kindly moves to the side when other vehicles come into the way. "You have to honk!" I shout into the wind. We're learning to drive like how bats fly--by sound. We're learning to define space and our position in a new way. We pass on the right. We honk when we are approaching. We move to the left when we are honked at. We place ourselves on a grid two honks forward and one to the left.

In this body and in this life I'm reminded/realizing that I have to remember to listen for the honking. Where I am in space changes and can always be different and new. There are things I never thought were physically or mentally possible that I am now doing. On a physical level I know that means something but it is on a mental level where the interesting stuff is happening. Is my body making the change or is it my mind? If it is my mind, then where is it taking me and why? I know we are working to the point of just observing, but right now I feel like there is so much happening like breathing and blinking that I have no control over and I'm just witnessing. Is this me doing this posture? Is this me lifting up? Is this me exhaling? Is this me as an intermediate student?

To be something do you have to believe it?

How to disappear completely

Where to start? How about where it ends or where it is right now. Right now I have just consumed a delicious home cooked western-style dinner at Santosha which is a local Canadian-owned restaurant. (Yes, I do eat.) I'm using the internet at my new house which I have just helped to stock with stuff to make us all a bit happier--bowls, shower squeegees, laundry cords, etc. We're all hippie, live-off-the-land types that appreciate a good granola and so have vowed to make an honest use of this kitchen. I'm listening to a mix of Indian music and political speeches coming in from outside. These sounds are all coming from the commotion around the various makeshift temples that have been built over the last week in honor of a very special Indian festival. Apparently, Mysore goes wild this week for the Hindu deities Ganesh and his mom Parvati.

A few weeks ago a friend told me why we see little elephants representing Ganesh on all the vehicles. "You see, Ganesh stickers and statuettes are there to remove obstacles". But I digress.

So everywhere this week are images of Ganesh in all sizes--from freakishly massive to teeny tiny. I've heard that many of them are made of materials that dissolve when submerged in liquid which is an answer to the baffled image I had in my mind of thousands of techni-colored elephants floating in various bodies of water around Mysore. (Part of the festival involves throwing Ganesh in the water.)

What else? Right now I am getting over a small cold (is it?) or maybe it is just a small case of back bending fever. Either way I'm tired and achy and irritable but this will pass. Just like the time. I've already been here for some time. I've already managed to not post for quite some time. It's funny how easily each day can pass into the other. Or how everyday I'm dancing on the line between avoiding myself and looking deeply into the mirror.

I'm practicing earlier and earlier and it is getting longer and longer and hopefully I'm getting stronger and stronger. Or something like that. After at least a month here you start to notice how everyone is doing the same stuff you just did. And after this second trip I'm seeing how I've forgotten how new things were last time around. And even as much as I thought I could slide back in, there is so much that is still shocking to bear. It is much like jumping into a body of cold water. I know it is water and I know it is fricking cold, but I don't really know how to dissolve until I'm up to my neck and dunking my head.