I found myself plugging to-do items into my computer's calendar, realizing that really, takeoff is right around the corner. Diligently typing items into each day's allotted square, I also realized that I had succeeded in completely distracting my mind from what had just happened.
(This reminds me of a movie I saw not long ago about a supercomputer that went evil (of course) and the only way to stop it was to shut it down. Like any typical story, the beast had a weakness and the characters figured out a way to have one person get its attention while someone else pulled the plug.)
...What just happened was my daily asana practice. It started tamely enough, but as I waded deeper I swear I could feel something undigested from yesterday and my arms just burning, burning, burning. My mind paused for a moment to take note "sore arms are the worst kind of sore" and then I continued on to debate whether or not that was true. Perhaps the stomach was the worst kind of sore instead?
Next, I promise you that my thighs were melting off my femurs. They really were. Like runny Jell-o right onto my rug.
I carried on with practice -- breathing, moving, bandha-ing, etc., but with this really cumbersome backpack of "observations". Sometimes the bag is all one can think about. How heavy it is. If it were possible to take just one thing out, how much less suffering one might have. How ours is the heaviest pack, and wondering a) when will the bag get lighter and b) what if it never does?
And that is when the panic sets in-- "if I don't stop now, I will surely die or some equally horrific fate will certainly befall me and even if I do stop now, it will still be a disaster of the worst kind, but at least not the certain death of continuing my full practice. Maybe I should just start finishing or just rest and call it a day". Of the times where that was what I chose, I never felt half as awful as how I pictured I would. I try to remember this when the panicky freak-out moments arise.
Perhaps the scariest part is not the fatigue or soreness, it is of not knowing where to find the willpower to keep going. It is more and more clear that it is actually more simple than we make it out to be and the answer was there from the beginning: tristhana.
Defined as "three places of attention", this is a mainstay in the ashtanga yoga method. Breathing/bandha, dristhi, asana. So, when these thoughts come up (such as "oh, here comes that really tough posture that I really do not enjoy") if I keep these three things going, my mind goes there instead of to the thing(s) that are troubling my body or mind.
At first I think it is more like "distracts" the mind from the troubles, which implies that the mind places priority on the chase of unpleasant sensations. Over time, I feel that this has changed significantly. It is more often that the tristhana is the priority and the troubles attempt to distract. It isn't easy to not follow the troubles. They are sweet and salty and the sensation is something I am used to so it almost feels comforting ("I miss the comfort of being sad" -Nirvana) and I gravitate toward it until I'm stuck in it again and wondering how I got here.
I have the opportunity everyday to walk over to that edge and decide whether or not to jump and gradually, I start to remind myself of the day, week, month, years before.
Yes, this is scary.
Yes, I'm sore.
Yes, this is hard.
Yes, I'm tired.
Faith. I grab onto that tristhana and jump!
Without knowing it, I am placing my mind on something bigger than "myself" (immediate experience/the list above). I am now the possibility, image, fantasy, or dream of "me" jumping. When this lesson starts to integrate, I can apply it in order to make something happen (such as keeping the vinyasa or not succumbing to the freak-out/dropout).
And then maybe, sooner or later, it is not so much about the pleasant and painful, the can and can't, the good and bad, the backpack, Jell-o legs, or the come on just jump. Maybe it starts to become something else entirely.
(This reminds me of a movie I saw not long ago about a supercomputer that went evil (of course) and the only way to stop it was to shut it down. Like any typical story, the beast had a weakness and the characters figured out a way to have one person get its attention while someone else pulled the plug.)
...What just happened was my daily asana practice. It started tamely enough, but as I waded deeper I swear I could feel something undigested from yesterday and my arms just burning, burning, burning. My mind paused for a moment to take note "sore arms are the worst kind of sore" and then I continued on to debate whether or not that was true. Perhaps the stomach was the worst kind of sore instead?
Next, I promise you that my thighs were melting off my femurs. They really were. Like runny Jell-o right onto my rug.
I carried on with practice -- breathing, moving, bandha-ing, etc., but with this really cumbersome backpack of "observations". Sometimes the bag is all one can think about. How heavy it is. If it were possible to take just one thing out, how much less suffering one might have. How ours is the heaviest pack, and wondering a) when will the bag get lighter and b) what if it never does?
And that is when the panic sets in-- "if I don't stop now, I will surely die or some equally horrific fate will certainly befall me and even if I do stop now, it will still be a disaster of the worst kind, but at least not the certain death of continuing my full practice. Maybe I should just start finishing or just rest and call it a day". Of the times where that was what I chose, I never felt half as awful as how I pictured I would. I try to remember this when the panicky freak-out moments arise.
Perhaps the scariest part is not the fatigue or soreness, it is of not knowing where to find the willpower to keep going. It is more and more clear that it is actually more simple than we make it out to be and the answer was there from the beginning: tristhana.
Defined as "three places of attention", this is a mainstay in the ashtanga yoga method. Breathing/bandha, dristhi, asana. So, when these thoughts come up (such as "oh, here comes that really tough posture that I really do not enjoy") if I keep these three things going, my mind goes there instead of to the thing(s) that are troubling my body or mind.
At first I think it is more like "distracts" the mind from the troubles, which implies that the mind places priority on the chase of unpleasant sensations. Over time, I feel that this has changed significantly. It is more often that the tristhana is the priority and the troubles attempt to distract. It isn't easy to not follow the troubles. They are sweet and salty and the sensation is something I am used to so it almost feels comforting ("I miss the comfort of being sad" -Nirvana) and I gravitate toward it until I'm stuck in it again and wondering how I got here.
I have the opportunity everyday to walk over to that edge and decide whether or not to jump and gradually, I start to remind myself of the day, week, month, years before.
Yes, this is scary.
Yes, I'm sore.
Yes, this is hard.
Yes, I'm tired.
Faith. I grab onto that tristhana and jump!
Without knowing it, I am placing my mind on something bigger than "myself" (immediate experience/the list above). I am now the possibility, image, fantasy, or dream of "me" jumping. When this lesson starts to integrate, I can apply it in order to make something happen (such as keeping the vinyasa or not succumbing to the freak-out/dropout).
And then maybe, sooner or later, it is not so much about the pleasant and painful, the can and can't, the good and bad, the backpack, Jell-o legs, or the come on just jump. Maybe it starts to become something else entirely.
-New York, Tuesday
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