Moonday

Sometimes after the philosophy class, I have hard time sitting down to write.  I feel like someone is shining a bright light in my eyes and all I can do is alternately look back and shy away.

But the last few days it is all those small everyday things that I've been noticing.  I'm definitely a bit nostalgic already and I still have almost two months before departure.  

Small things, like how the practice works itself out.  How, without thinking, and just trusting, somehow, it all works out in the end.  Watching students struggle like babies learning to swim in uthplutih and remembering how not long ago that was me.  Feeling at peace with the world and myself and then receiving a pile of checks from the government and student loans.  (Money won't make me forger, Bush.)  How sweet it is to have no obligations and to just wake up voluntarily on the moonday and feeling the same way when I have to wake up to go to practice.

There is a pile of stuff to give away/sell growing behind the couch.  Everyday, I throw a little bit more back there.  It is this stuff that weighs me down; it is throwing this stuff behind the couch that makes me feel closer to flight.

Currently reading:  A Model Summer.  I really am. 

Working your edge

Jason writes:

"u recently spoke about how your teacher would talk about 'working your edge'. Do you have new any insights on how that is done in Mysore style since you have now been in Mysore for a while?"

Response:

I remember once when she said that. She had just gotten back from Mysore. She was darker than before. She was wearing a tank top that was supposed to be tight, but she was so fit it almost looked loose. I remember seeing her arms and being in awe with how fit she was. Before class she told us that she was completely inspired--

No, that's not it. That was a later time that she said it.

Guruji was in New York. She was going every day to practice. It was a vinyasa class and beforehand she told us that she was feeling completely inspired by Guruji being in town. We didn't know what that meant at the moment, but as we moved through sun salutes, she mentioned how you do what you need to do to save energy. So we tried not to fidget in the downward dogs. We tried to use an economy of movement in the vinyasas. Some people would drop their knees and sink their hips back in a child's pose to rest in downward dog.

As we clumsily tried to move with grace, she was asking us to analyze what pain is and to find our edge. (It felt like a class full of hippos trying to do yoga.) What could we work through or past? What could we breathe into? What were we capable of? What was the difference between good pain and bad pain?

Sometimes it feels like there is a line in the sand between those who are flexible, strong, those who seem to easily perform the poses without breaking a sweat and those who struggle and pant and sweat and give up and shake. I remember this line was drawn when she asked us to jump from downward dog, through our arms, to a sitting position. I bawked at this. Everyone in the room did except my friend Susan who is one of those ex-dancer, super fit, beautiful and amazing types. My teacher laughed and asked us to watch as she demonstrated a jump through. She was so light and soft as she floated effortlessly though the air, landing in a seated position with her legs straight in front of her. "How do you know that you can't do this?" She was asking. "Find your edge." She kept saying this, "find your edge?" I kept asking myself what that meant.

(Watch the jump backs and jump throughs in this video. For a second, he his hovering, suspended in the air like a balloon. A Jivamukti teacher once compared the jump throughs and the hovering balloon effect to dance a similar experience in dance. "Ballon [is] the appearance of weightlessness and of being airborne. A dancer is said to have ballon if (s)he seems to be in the air constantly with only momentary contact with the floor.")

This phrase has stayed in my head ever since. Like a mantra, it echoed in the back of my mind when I started to back out of a pose, or to tell myself something was not possible.

It seems funny imagining me being able to find my edge here in Mysore where my practice has been shortened significantly. It seems like it would get boring like I was repeating 5th grade, three times. And on some days, I admit, it was. I would run through my practice, doing the things I was always comfortable with doing. But then, I started to watch other people and to see how far you can take things. The edge means a different thing for everyone. For me, it comes up often in regards to strength. It took me so long to even be able to do a bad chaturanga dandasana (see picture on left). Really, I mean like a whole year. And even then, I was not looking forward to struggling through it.

So here in Mysore, finding my edge was seeing people fly, and being able to believe that it was possible. It was. It is. All I had to do was try and keep trying. And it has been so hard, but for me, that is the edge. How can I make this vinyasa soar? How can I maximize this stretch or this extension? How high can I lift up and how softly can I jump back? How closely can I get to the edge without falling over?

Working just in primary has been ideal for this transformation. I'm comfortable in primary. I feel like I've explored all the nooks and crannies and then discovered that there is a secret passageway leading here or there and there are more nooks and crannies to explore. That's the edge. Being brave enough to follow the passage into the unknown. To be willing to be surprised.

It hasn't just been physical. The edge has also been being able to leave the comfort of daily life to come here in the first place, alone. It has been getting up every morning and not giving up. Finding the edge has been about exploring what I've got inside and opening my eyes even when I don't see what I like.

Ever heard of parkour? I love this quote that describes parkour as "a playground for strength, freedom, courage and discipline". But its also so much about finding the edge of what we think is or isn't possible. Like walking on walls. Or jumping from roof top to roof top.

So, back to the original question: "how have I found my edge in mysore style?" I have made an effort to do everything full-blast, even if I haven't done it before or thought I couldn't. Like literally looking at my nose in nasagrai drishti. Why not? Or trying to work towards (and sometimes succeeding in) jumping back and forth in sun salutes with straight legs. Or lifting up between navasanas with the left leg on top even though its my weak side and I can't lift as high as with the other side. I've been looking for my edge by asking "why not?" and really understanding that here, everything is possible.

I think more and more about what my teacher said about how she came to ashtanga yoga because she wanted to learn how to fly. Finding your edge is about seeing your body and your capabilities and limitations and saying you're going to try anyway. It is about jumping out of the nest and trusting that your wings will work, because that's why you have them. It is about not seeing your body or your past or anything else as a limitation. It is about seeing possibility and making small or big steps toward it. It is about returning to your practice every day and noticing that you have a clean slate and that maybe today will be the day where something impossible will happen.

Flying dreams

News from Mysore:

It is official. A new heir to the ashtanga throne has been born! Today after the opening mantra, Saraswati announced that Sharath is the proud father of a baby boy!

On to the blog:

We often forget our dreams. The dreams that we remember sometimes stick with us, especially those where we are flying. I've read that dreams of flying are categorized as "lucid dreams", which are dreams where the dreamer is aware that they are dreaming. We are aware that we are doing the impossible, we are soaring through the sky, or hovering over the earth, or gliding above the ocean. When we are flying, everything is possible. These dreams are often described as carrying a feeling of freedom and joy.

Lying in bed after class, I was taking an extended savasana (rest). I stared from underneath the blanket, up into space. I was daydreaming of birds. (Maybe the sound of the early morning tweeting and squawking planted some images.) I dreamt of trees towering above the ground with warm nests filled with the anxious, flapping wings of baby birds ready to figure out what they were made for. The mother bird pushes them out one at a time. There is no lesson, just a push, and the confidence that the little creature will be able to figure it out. Yes, there is technique involved, but really, the point is just to stay in the air, the point is to fly and it doesn't matter how the little creature does it, so much as he or she does.

I saw Rachel standing up from urdhva dhanurasana today. She did it for the first time yesterday. I watched as she negotiated the weight distribution between her hands and feet. I watched as she inched her way to the very edge. For a second, I thought she would give up even though she was so close. I wanted to shout across the room, "go for it! you got it!" And then, all the hesitation washed away and she stood up, just like that.

What I love about ashtanga (and what a lot of people don't like) is that it is so much about just doing it. Just stand up. Just lift up. Just jump back. Just fold. Just...fly. Over time, as you soar, you figure out that you can twirl and dive and spin and a million other things once you conquer everything that tells you "no" and you are doing it--you are flying. It is like constantly looking into your own face as a child when you figured out how to do something. Little you gazes warmly up at current you and exclaims, "I did it!" Maybe, big you can do the same thing. Sometimes in practice, we are all like happy little children shouting, "I did it!" As I write this, I can honestly say that I'm smiling because it is so simple and because this little drop of happiness is such a gift.

I've found myself in a few conversations recently about how people wish they were birds, and in particular, eagles.

Sometimes in flying dreams, we feel like we are beginning to lose altitude or that we will crash into something. This happens to me when I realize not that I'm flying, but that actually, I can't usually do this in real life. For me, its the "possibility" or lack there of that I cling to and allow to weigh me down all the way to the ground.

I want to remember a dream in the back of my mind where I begin to lose altitude but then, I do the impossible and I "pick it up!" "Pick it up" just happens to sound familiar because that is what Saraswati and Sharath will tell you and those around you who begin to lose altitude in flying poses such as headstand or uthplutih. Today I had the feeling that Saraswati was pushing all of us out of the nest and now it is up to us to fly.

Daniel Johnston

Worried Shoes - Yip / Jump Music (1983)

I took my lucky break and I broke it in two

Put on my worried shoes

My worried shoes

And my shoes took me so many miles and they never wore out
My worried shoes
I made a mistake and I never forgot
I tied knots in the laces of
My worried shoes
And with every step that I'd take I'd remember my mistake

As I marched further and further away
In my worried shoes

My worried shoes

And my shoes took me down a crooked path

Away from all welcome mats

My worried shoes

And then one day I looked around and I found the sun shining down

And I took off my worried shoes

And the feet broke free

I didn't need to wear

Then I knew the difference between worrying and caring

'Cause I've got a lot of walking to do

And I don't want to wear

My worried shoes

Links to dream dictionaries (when is the last time you tried to analyse a dream?):

http://www.mysticalblaze.com/DreamsFlying.htm

http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/

http://www.dreamdoctor.com/dictionary/