I've been feeling a bit betrayed by my body usually. I had gotten to a point where if I asked it to do something I could pretty much feel the muscles that I needed to engage in order to make that happen. Not that I'm an advanced practitioner, but I was starting to feel a little bit more ease in the primary series - like I might get my feet over my head in Bhujapidasana soon, or stand up from back bend. These things seemed within reach. Which might be the problem - I reached.
I had that one really bad practice and I backed off and did yin for several days. It seemed like all of my Ashtanga muscle memory went out the door of the studio. No air in my jump backs, my back bends are flat and my old hamstring attachment feels like it's on fire. Today I was trying to practice without pain in my hamstring and I was struggling to even grab my foot in forward bends. The day before I had been next to this new woman who had hamstrings of noodles and thank god I had read about egolessness right before class because if I hadn't kept telling myself to put my ego aside I would have run crying from the room.
Today my teacher told me that it was o.k. to lean into the pain a little bit. Sort of mindfully go into it, rather than grip and tense up and try to get around it. I tried it tonight for a short while and completely understood what he was saying and I was able to to let go in some places and work with the pain so that it was more discomfort than "OH MY GOD THIS KILLS!" Besides today was the full moon so I think that got into my head that I shouldn't be practicing and I was just there to be there.
Tomorrow, I'm leaving my ego at the door and doing my full practice. Peeling away the layers like an onion to find true consciousness. Mindfully approaching the practice so that it can nourish my body and my mind. But not gripping or grasping, not reaching or trying to attain. That does truly cause all of my suffering and if I can't learn to do yoga without learning those lessons then I might as well not do it at all. That is how important it is to lose the ego and just breathe.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Getting Ready for Class/Finding the Way
When is the full moon? I thought it was yesterday, but then someone told me it was tomorrow. I was reading Thich Nhat Hanh "Understanding Our Mind" and everything he says seems to validate how I feel about the path I am on. Then I was going to send a friend a stupid e-mail and I had to delete it because it would have been in violation of the 8 rules or whatever (help me I'm a newbie at being a Buddhist.) But it felt GOOD! I was practicing right speech and at the time I deleted the e-mail I just knew that it could be hurtful, or at the very least casually cruel - spiteful. And in the middle of writing it, my dad logged on and accepted my invitation to g-mail so that we could chat. And even though my dad has this thing where he is the only person in the world sometimes that can make me cry, I also love him very much. And when we started chatting that was when I deleted the e-mail. And the passage that I had been reading was about being careful who we surround ourselves with which has been a big topic with me lately. More on that later. Thanks for getting on g-mail dad.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Emerald City
So how many lifetimes does it take us to learn the lesson of boddicitta? To become enlightened like the Buddha and to be relieved from the endless cycle of death and rebirth, to be released from samsara? None can say. It only took Dorothy one lifetime to realize that all she had to do was to click the heels of her ruby red slippers and she would be granted her greatest wish - to go back to Kansas. That being her greatest wish can be the subject of a different debate. But how many times, how many self-inflicted injuries will it take me before I begin to listen to and trust my body? None can say? No, I think I have to start learning this lesson here and now.
Before I came to yoga I ran. I ran marathons and half marathons. I ran thousands and thousands of miles, not particularly fast, but fast enough that I would have qualified for the Boston Marathon in my next marathon - that being my goal - my dream. Running long distance was more than just exercise for me. It was meditation. I got in the zone. I got my body in alignment, arms and legs pumping in rhythm and my neck loose so that my mom said she could always see my ponytail bobbing distinctively down the road.
I had my share of aches and pains, but nothing major; shin splints were corrected by orthotics. An IT band injury was fixed by a little rest and some stretching and ice. Then one day I noticed a bump on my left tibia. I was slightly painful, but not that bad. Not as bad as you would think a stress fracture would feel. I worked in a physical therapy clinic at the time and I asked one of the therapists what the bump could be and they said they didn't know but that I should definitely have it x-rayed. I made an appointment, but then canceled it because I convinced myself that it went away (oh my goodness, ever heard of denial?). I ran a half-marathon in April of 2004 and after that it hurt everytime I tried to run. That deep bony ache that finally I listened to that told me something was most definitely wrong. They diagnosed a non-union stress fracture on x-ray, which is somewhat uncommon, and recommended that I see a surgeon who said that the only way to really fix it was to insert a metal rod into my tibia after drilling out the bone marrow. After that I would be able to return to running. So I agreed. I wanted to get to the Emerald City of Boston even if it meant I had to submit my body to a very painful medical process.
In the meantime I found yoga. I friend dragged me to an advanced vinyasa class at a new studio in our neighborhood. I'm sure I looked a fool, but it didn't matter. At the time I wasn't even allowed to walk for exercise. I was allowed to swim, but there were always college kids making out in the lanes. I could bike, but I would break down and cry whenever I was on the path that had been the training grounds for those marathons. So... yoga. I never would have thought in a million years. And I approached it like a runner. Pushing through the hard parts like going uphill. Straining when my body was tired. After I had the surgery it quickly became apparent that running was not the same - and if it wasn't going to be the same, I didn't want to do it anymore and by that time I loved yoga.
But maybe I loved it for the wrong reasons. I loved it because someday I wanted to be able to do the splits, or do handstand in the middle of the room, or put both feet behind my head. Always a goal, always a hardness, always pushing. Until my aunt died and I pushed way, way, way too hard to get through Primary Series in Mysore class one day. The teacher kept telling me not to push it, that I would only hurt myself, but I wouldn't listen. I had to kill that witch and take her broom to the wizard. The next day I woke up and I couldn't sit up. I had to roll over and find a way to get out of bed. It was the day of the funeral. Everything hurt. After the funeral and wake I went to a restorative class, and it was almost as if the teacher had told me to put on my ruby slippers and click my heels three times and I would be home.
The next morning I woke up feeling considerably better. I realized that I had been exacerbating a hamstring attachment injury for a year because I refused to rest or really even back off - always trying to go further - that's how you go 26.2. So when a friend came over to practice Primary Series, I did yin and felt wonderful and didn't wish for a second that I was sweating and jumping back and through. And today I woke up feeling even better and knowing that I have to heal this hamstring attachment as well, not just work through it, but really heal it.
My teacher recently told me that she can still see a hardness in my practice; pushing through poses that she doesn't like. I have been trying to overcome that for at least a year, maybe longer. I feel like sometimes you have to push or pull a little. But after that Monday class, I realize that I was still running through my practice and a lot of the poses are uphill! Now I must be ready to listen, to soften, to stop running.
And I do get to go to Boston - The Emerald City - to see one of my favorite yoga instructors, Bhavani Maki, whom I met while on vacation in Hawaii. Who could have known?
Namaste
Before I came to yoga I ran. I ran marathons and half marathons. I ran thousands and thousands of miles, not particularly fast, but fast enough that I would have qualified for the Boston Marathon in my next marathon - that being my goal - my dream. Running long distance was more than just exercise for me. It was meditation. I got in the zone. I got my body in alignment, arms and legs pumping in rhythm and my neck loose so that my mom said she could always see my ponytail bobbing distinctively down the road.
I had my share of aches and pains, but nothing major; shin splints were corrected by orthotics. An IT band injury was fixed by a little rest and some stretching and ice. Then one day I noticed a bump on my left tibia. I was slightly painful, but not that bad. Not as bad as you would think a stress fracture would feel. I worked in a physical therapy clinic at the time and I asked one of the therapists what the bump could be and they said they didn't know but that I should definitely have it x-rayed. I made an appointment, but then canceled it because I convinced myself that it went away (oh my goodness, ever heard of denial?). I ran a half-marathon in April of 2004 and after that it hurt everytime I tried to run. That deep bony ache that finally I listened to that told me something was most definitely wrong. They diagnosed a non-union stress fracture on x-ray, which is somewhat uncommon, and recommended that I see a surgeon who said that the only way to really fix it was to insert a metal rod into my tibia after drilling out the bone marrow. After that I would be able to return to running. So I agreed. I wanted to get to the Emerald City of Boston even if it meant I had to submit my body to a very painful medical process.
In the meantime I found yoga. I friend dragged me to an advanced vinyasa class at a new studio in our neighborhood. I'm sure I looked a fool, but it didn't matter. At the time I wasn't even allowed to walk for exercise. I was allowed to swim, but there were always college kids making out in the lanes. I could bike, but I would break down and cry whenever I was on the path that had been the training grounds for those marathons. So... yoga. I never would have thought in a million years. And I approached it like a runner. Pushing through the hard parts like going uphill. Straining when my body was tired. After I had the surgery it quickly became apparent that running was not the same - and if it wasn't going to be the same, I didn't want to do it anymore and by that time I loved yoga.
But maybe I loved it for the wrong reasons. I loved it because someday I wanted to be able to do the splits, or do handstand in the middle of the room, or put both feet behind my head. Always a goal, always a hardness, always pushing. Until my aunt died and I pushed way, way, way too hard to get through Primary Series in Mysore class one day. The teacher kept telling me not to push it, that I would only hurt myself, but I wouldn't listen. I had to kill that witch and take her broom to the wizard. The next day I woke up and I couldn't sit up. I had to roll over and find a way to get out of bed. It was the day of the funeral. Everything hurt. After the funeral and wake I went to a restorative class, and it was almost as if the teacher had told me to put on my ruby slippers and click my heels three times and I would be home.
The next morning I woke up feeling considerably better. I realized that I had been exacerbating a hamstring attachment injury for a year because I refused to rest or really even back off - always trying to go further - that's how you go 26.2. So when a friend came over to practice Primary Series, I did yin and felt wonderful and didn't wish for a second that I was sweating and jumping back and through. And today I woke up feeling even better and knowing that I have to heal this hamstring attachment as well, not just work through it, but really heal it.
My teacher recently told me that she can still see a hardness in my practice; pushing through poses that she doesn't like. I have been trying to overcome that for at least a year, maybe longer. I feel like sometimes you have to push or pull a little. But after that Monday class, I realize that I was still running through my practice and a lot of the poses are uphill! Now I must be ready to listen, to soften, to stop running.
And I do get to go to Boston - The Emerald City - to see one of my favorite yoga instructors, Bhavani Maki, whom I met while on vacation in Hawaii. Who could have known?
Namaste
Monday, July 23, 2007
We Are Family
When a family member dies it brings out the best and the worst in the rest of the family. Saturday, July 20th, my aunt died. It was very peaceful and all of our family was there. I had never actually witnessed someone die before. I was quite awestruck.
She had been quite mean to me in the couple of months up to her death. She had blamed me for ruining Christmas because I wanted to have a Christmas brunch since a lot of my family was traveling to Germany in the afternoon and she didn't want to get up early. She disowned me for trying to get her to see a doctor when her leg was all swollen. She'd hung the phone up on me countless times if I didn't give her the answer she wanted right away. She rejected my offer to quit my job and take care of her full time and then when she died she left everything to my brother and my grandfather.
When she died I was crushed. I remembered all of the good times from when I was a little kid and I would spend weekends at her house. How she took in unwanted animals and even children. But then gradually I remembered how mean she'd been to me over the past year, how she'd rejected me. Then my dad told me that my grandfather had told him not to expect a dime when he died; he wasn't getting anything. In all of this I felt a horrible lack of compassion. I was losing compassion for my family, I felt that they didn't have compassion for me or each other.
Meanwhile my yoga practice is like a yoyo. Sunday, the day after she died I connected with all of my bhandas and I was flying. My only problem was backbends. This old injury came back - literally right in the middle of my upper back where you really need to open and it prevents any sort of liberating movement in the upper back whatsoever. I managed to work it out a little bit without pushing. Then Monday morning mysore; I felt like I was made out of bricks or wood. Nothing wanted to move and I kept trying in hopes that it would open up. Nothing. I felt like I was doing battle with my body and I couldn't give in or I would have just ended up lying on the floor. I would have been better off. I should have found some compassion for myself, but instead I struggled to find the poses.
Later I struggled to find compassion for my imperfect family. No families are perfect. No one is perfect. But I felt like their blatant lack of compassion was making it that much more difficult for me to find compassion for them. And that' s when I realized I had to stop struggling and just let the compassion be there. Because the compassion is there, whether I feel it or not, it's just about letting go of the resistance and walking the right path.
She had been quite mean to me in the couple of months up to her death. She had blamed me for ruining Christmas because I wanted to have a Christmas brunch since a lot of my family was traveling to Germany in the afternoon and she didn't want to get up early. She disowned me for trying to get her to see a doctor when her leg was all swollen. She'd hung the phone up on me countless times if I didn't give her the answer she wanted right away. She rejected my offer to quit my job and take care of her full time and then when she died she left everything to my brother and my grandfather.
When she died I was crushed. I remembered all of the good times from when I was a little kid and I would spend weekends at her house. How she took in unwanted animals and even children. But then gradually I remembered how mean she'd been to me over the past year, how she'd rejected me. Then my dad told me that my grandfather had told him not to expect a dime when he died; he wasn't getting anything. In all of this I felt a horrible lack of compassion. I was losing compassion for my family, I felt that they didn't have compassion for me or each other.
Meanwhile my yoga practice is like a yoyo. Sunday, the day after she died I connected with all of my bhandas and I was flying. My only problem was backbends. This old injury came back - literally right in the middle of my upper back where you really need to open and it prevents any sort of liberating movement in the upper back whatsoever. I managed to work it out a little bit without pushing. Then Monday morning mysore; I felt like I was made out of bricks or wood. Nothing wanted to move and I kept trying in hopes that it would open up. Nothing. I felt like I was doing battle with my body and I couldn't give in or I would have just ended up lying on the floor. I would have been better off. I should have found some compassion for myself, but instead I struggled to find the poses.
Later I struggled to find compassion for my imperfect family. No families are perfect. No one is perfect. But I felt like their blatant lack of compassion was making it that much more difficult for me to find compassion for them. And that' s when I realized I had to stop struggling and just let the compassion be there. Because the compassion is there, whether I feel it or not, it's just about letting go of the resistance and walking the right path.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
So I mentioned to a friend that my practice has felt heavy lately and she said that "maybe heaviness in your practice correlates to the weight you're carrying for other people...I realize you're on this path of service and compassion but it isn't necessary to carry other people's suffering...no matter how much you love them." I really felt like she hit the nail on the head with that one. I've felt like I have to bridge the gap between my aunts atheism and my grandparents concern for her soul and my parents' lack of concern for the issue at all. I feel like everyone loves her and wants to help her and wants what is best, but that somehow compassion - what goes beyond love and makes you willing to do whatever it takes - is somehow being lost. In order to bring compassion to another person, you must first feel it for yourself and I think we are all getting lost in the suffering.
As heavy as I felt I actually slept through mysore this morning. I had done a lot of heavy duty quad stretching last night, so perhaps it had something to do with that, but neither my alarm, nor two dogs, nor my husband could budge me at 5 a.m which is odd. But maybe it was meant to be, because I got the message about carrying other people's suffering this afternoon. So I went to a led class. The teacher had been a friend of mine with whom I'd had a pretty major falling out and I thought "here is an opportunity to show up with no expectations, no agenda, just a willingness to practice and an open heart." The practice was wonderful. She adjusted me a few time, not excessively. I could feel things I had worked on in mysore coming together, feel little shifts and things starting to open in very subtle ways. I felt very light and at ease for the first time in a while. Thank you for the advice my friend.
As heavy as I felt I actually slept through mysore this morning. I had done a lot of heavy duty quad stretching last night, so perhaps it had something to do with that, but neither my alarm, nor two dogs, nor my husband could budge me at 5 a.m which is odd. But maybe it was meant to be, because I got the message about carrying other people's suffering this afternoon. So I went to a led class. The teacher had been a friend of mine with whom I'd had a pretty major falling out and I thought "here is an opportunity to show up with no expectations, no agenda, just a willingness to practice and an open heart." The practice was wonderful. She adjusted me a few time, not excessively. I could feel things I had worked on in mysore coming together, feel little shifts and things starting to open in very subtle ways. I felt very light and at ease for the first time in a while. Thank you for the advice my friend.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Tonglen for Aunt Donna
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
I inhale your hot dark suffering and exhale cool, clean compassion.
I rub your bald head and cover you with the blanket.
I remind you how you took me to see The Wiz.
I love you.
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
Om mani padme hum
I inhale your hot dark suffering and exhale cool, clean compassion.
I rub your bald head and cover you with the blanket.
I remind you how you took me to see The Wiz.
I love you.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Loving-Kindness Meditation
Last night in teacher training meditation I experienced a true release so profound and so lovely that it has to be chalked up there with those moments when you find ease in a pose that you have always struggled with, or when you are finally able to bind in Marichyasana D or Bhadda Padmasana.
I love teacher training meditation. It is on Friday's after a long week and we always start just with a basic sitting meditation 25, 30, 35 minutes. I always feel refreshed and relaxed afterwards. This week I had to do my "book report" as did another student and we both picked books by Pema Chodron. I had told her which book that I had chosen so that she didn't choose the same book. The other student's presentation was much more lighthearted, whereas mine was much more serious which was interesting to note. No judgement, just an observation. Then we began the guided meditations.
The first was a walking meditation with was interesting and enjoyable enough. Not what I might choose for my own meditative style, but well executed and different. The second was sort of moving through different yoga poses in a meditative style, something I might do myself. Finally we came back to the person who had done the other Pema Chodron book report. She offered up a meditative technique taught in the book, as I was going to do (Tonglen meditation is taught in "When Things Fall Apart.") Apparently in her book there was a teaching of a loving-kindness meditation.
It began with a seated meditation and asked us to close our eyes and offer loving-kindness to ourselves. Then it asked us to imagine a person of whom we are very fond - I immediately imagined my husband- and to offer them loving-kindness. Immediately my hands came into the heart mudra and I began to cry - not out loud, but tears were streaming down my face. Then she asked us to imagine a friend and offer them loving-kindness. I imagined a nice, good friend and that settled me down a little bit. Then she asked us to imagine some random person whom we had met during the day. I imagined someone I had spoke with on the phone. That was actually the hardest, as I just felt neutral, like, "o.k., I can offer you loving-kindness and believe in your basic goodness, but eh." Then she asked us to imagine a person with whom we have been having difficulty. I knew just who would pop into my head and there that person was. And we were asked to offer loving-kindness to that person and I felt almost the same overwhelming feeling of loving-kindness that I had felt take over me as when I had imagined Tim, as though my heart had wanted to release all of those negative emotions, but hadn't known how.
Afterwards I was speechless and overwhelmed. I had not been prepared for the level of feelings that I would experience. I know that I am capable of love and of loving-kindness, but I didn't expect it to completely overtake me like it did. How can I take these feelings that are apparently lying below the surface and "water those seeds" so that they grow into more and more compassion?
I love teacher training meditation. It is on Friday's after a long week and we always start just with a basic sitting meditation 25, 30, 35 minutes. I always feel refreshed and relaxed afterwards. This week I had to do my "book report" as did another student and we both picked books by Pema Chodron. I had told her which book that I had chosen so that she didn't choose the same book. The other student's presentation was much more lighthearted, whereas mine was much more serious which was interesting to note. No judgement, just an observation. Then we began the guided meditations.
The first was a walking meditation with was interesting and enjoyable enough. Not what I might choose for my own meditative style, but well executed and different. The second was sort of moving through different yoga poses in a meditative style, something I might do myself. Finally we came back to the person who had done the other Pema Chodron book report. She offered up a meditative technique taught in the book, as I was going to do (Tonglen meditation is taught in "When Things Fall Apart.") Apparently in her book there was a teaching of a loving-kindness meditation.
It began with a seated meditation and asked us to close our eyes and offer loving-kindness to ourselves. Then it asked us to imagine a person of whom we are very fond - I immediately imagined my husband- and to offer them loving-kindness. Immediately my hands came into the heart mudra and I began to cry - not out loud, but tears were streaming down my face. Then she asked us to imagine a friend and offer them loving-kindness. I imagined a nice, good friend and that settled me down a little bit. Then she asked us to imagine some random person whom we had met during the day. I imagined someone I had spoke with on the phone. That was actually the hardest, as I just felt neutral, like, "o.k., I can offer you loving-kindness and believe in your basic goodness, but eh." Then she asked us to imagine a person with whom we have been having difficulty. I knew just who would pop into my head and there that person was. And we were asked to offer loving-kindness to that person and I felt almost the same overwhelming feeling of loving-kindness that I had felt take over me as when I had imagined Tim, as though my heart had wanted to release all of those negative emotions, but hadn't known how.
Afterwards I was speechless and overwhelmed. I had not been prepared for the level of feelings that I would experience. I know that I am capable of love and of loving-kindness, but I didn't expect it to completely overtake me like it did. How can I take these feelings that are apparently lying below the surface and "water those seeds" so that they grow into more and more compassion?
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
I need an easy friend
So sometimes people create drama and you have to wonder - am I prolonging this drama or am I just caught in the middle? Right now all I can feel is compassion. I can't feel anger or disappointment or anything else. If I feel a little fear I stay there with it. It really does work. It dissolves and opens and becomes more and more compassion. We are all scared. Unless we are truly enlightened then we want to protect our fragile egos. I love the Pema Chodron quote that says "The kinds of lessons that are learned in practice have nothing to do with bravery, they have to do with having the courage to die, to courage to die eternally." And then the Thicht Naht Hanh quote that says "Suffering is not enough." Meaning we must also find joy, compassion, pure happiness. How do we open ourselves to these two seemingly different, yet similar pairs of thoughts? How do we become an easy friend.
I've been told that I can be a difficult person to deal with. Being stuck inside my own ego, I can't see it. I see myself trying to be a good person, I see myself going overboard a little bit. I see my sarcasm at times, some cynicism. I see a harshness that needs to be tempered by compassion. I see a person who works with cancer patients every day and wants to cry for every last one of them. I often practice Tonglen for all of my patients, for my friends and family who I feel might be needing it. I see someone who has much to learn on this road and who isn't afraid to try, to fall, to admit a mistake and get back up again. I see someone who needs the help of friends.
Today is our nation's Independence Day. I've also been told - not by the people who say that I am difficult, that I need to learn to trust my own intuition. That I need to go inside myself, meditate, withdraw. That's not in my nature, but it speaks to the truth of my heart right now. Go inside, reserve your energy for those who need it. Widen the circle of compassion. Bring the mind back home. It all gets lost and scattered in the hall of mirrors that is our modern society. We do indeed have to be careful to stay on the right path.
I've been told that I can be a difficult person to deal with. Being stuck inside my own ego, I can't see it. I see myself trying to be a good person, I see myself going overboard a little bit. I see my sarcasm at times, some cynicism. I see a harshness that needs to be tempered by compassion. I see a person who works with cancer patients every day and wants to cry for every last one of them. I often practice Tonglen for all of my patients, for my friends and family who I feel might be needing it. I see someone who has much to learn on this road and who isn't afraid to try, to fall, to admit a mistake and get back up again. I see someone who needs the help of friends.
Today is our nation's Independence Day. I've also been told - not by the people who say that I am difficult, that I need to learn to trust my own intuition. That I need to go inside myself, meditate, withdraw. That's not in my nature, but it speaks to the truth of my heart right now. Go inside, reserve your energy for those who need it. Widen the circle of compassion. Bring the mind back home. It all gets lost and scattered in the hall of mirrors that is our modern society. We do indeed have to be careful to stay on the right path.
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