There is a beautiful traditional Sanskrit chant that captures the feelings of loss and the aspiration of hope.
Please lead me from the unreal to the Real.
Please lead me from the darkness to the Light.
Please lead me from death to Immortality.
Peace, peace, and peace to all.
This past year has been a global experience of losses. I could recount them here but I would only be stating the obvious. You know personally what your 2020 losses were but what makes this year exceptional is the fact that whatever you have lost has also been lost by so many others. Your experience is not unique, not this year.
Fortunately, traditional yoga philosophy offers many guidelines to use during challenging times. A potent set of principles are found in the second chapter of the Yoga Sutra of Patanjali. These are the Klesha, the afflictions.
Here they are with brief comments. If you spend a minute or two with each one, I predict that you'll discover how they relate to you and to us in 2020 and onward through 2021.
Avidya is translated as spiritual ignorance and the suffering that results when we don't acknowledge the mysteries of life and the awesome forces of nature. Countering avidya promotes adopting a 'big picture' point of view that includes everyone and everything as interconnected spiritually and interdependent relationally.
Asmita translates as egoism. When I live as if I am the only one who matters, I am afflicted by asmita. Healthy self esteem is essential for inner peace but selfishness is not.
Raga is translated as attachment to pleasure. Pleasure takes many forms. In 2020 we've discovered our attachments to gathering with friends, going to a restaurant or movie theater, attending an in person yoga class ... name your pleasure here ____. We know we're attached to our pleasures when we are denied them.That upset feeling is raga.
Dwesha translates as attachment to displeasure. Hmm, what's that? Every time in 2020 you declared that you can't stand wearing a mask and expressed that repeatedly to friends and family, dwesha was active. OK, saying it once is fine, but can you let go of your need to constantly complain or express your opinions about something you don't like?
Abhinivesha translates as fear of death. This one often has the commentary, "The wise ones are also afflicted with this." With 2020 and 2021 in mind, we can use this organic fear of death to inspire us to live consciously, patiently and ethically with each other now with the goal of preventing deaths caused by the pandemic.
Even though you might be new to yoga training and focused on the postures, these principles and others are the true foundation of Yoga practice, including asana. Adopting the kleshas as a way to process your motivations and feelings can help you make decisions about what to do next. When you are being honest about what afflicts you, you can counter it with an opposite action, including not acting or reacting.
For example, if you feel depressed when you can't go to a studio for a class with your yoga friends, you could practice at home. It will feel different but your practice could be revelatory, personal and even inspiring. Without the external motivators (the teacher and the other students), you'll feel your body directly and hear the guidance of your inner voice clearly. You might even linger in that nourishing silence at the end of savasana, resting pose, instead of quickly vacating your mat. Making these kinds of conscious changes with sincerity and acceptance is to genuinely live your yoga on and off the mat.
Impermanence is the underlying groundlessness of our experiences, personal and impersonal. Buddhism, especially, brings this to our attention. When we try to make something or someone a permanent fixture in our life, we often feel upset when our expectations are hijacked by a deeper truth. Nothing is static. Everyone and everything changes. Flowers blossom and wither, trees leaf out and then drop their leaves, human bodies change and they also change their minds ... when life is beautiful we want it to stay that way and when life is difficult, we 'can't wait' until it changes for the better. We're dealing with impermanence, like it or not.
Transformation is also about change but has a hint of willpower in it, as in "I want to transform myself". It can also be observed from the outside as in "She transformed before my very eyes!" Transformation tends to be described as a positive event that many yoga practitioners aspire to.
I'm wondering what a negative transformation might be called? Regression? Failure? Those would be harsh labels and especially so when Mother Nature itself is in play, which she always is.
Yoga practices put us in touch with these experiences when we are willing to be curious about and receptive to change. Starting with the body practices (asana), you begin to realize that there is the mass of this body, its structure and range of motion, and yet the body's tendencies are not the only components of asana. There are also my perceptions, my concepts, my emotions, my breath, and my energy, all involved in the asana. When you really feel these pulsations within yourself, practice is profound in the most personal way.
"How can you move your body without your mind?" - BKS Iyengar
Just as profound is the yoga asana experience over time - years and decades. When the body/mind is my meditation 'object' I will witness the transformations and impermanence of nature from the inside out. While I might practice to transform my weaknesses into strengths and stiffness into agility, I will also notice when heavy waves of fatigue drag me down or how the side effects of sorrow constrict me. I will notice the quirky physical sensations of joy and how the breath naturally calms during moments of serenity.
Daily asana and pranayama practice is like maintaining a diary of experiences. Stepping onto the mat, whether inspired or obligated, I begin the practice and immediately sense something very basic - how I feel - and explore it through movement, stillness, and awareness.
My posture practice might strengthen me and stretch me. I could discover that I'm becoming physically weaker in some ways but mentally more focused in other ways. My practice will reveal what is true now. Tomorrow might feel similar to today but I know for sure that a month from now, a year from now, changes will happen. The question will be, can I accept these changes courageously and gracefully?
Today I was listening to a palliative care physician speak with Oprah about what he observes and feels during the end of life for individuals in his care. His comments reminded me of what the ancient Yogis were acknowledging while constructing their practices. Instead of only celebrating the Life Force, the earthly prana, the Yogis also included the reality check of Savasana, the corpse pose.
You would think that reclining face up and relaxing is the easiest thing to do but it turns out not to be true for all. Sometimes at the end of an asana class, students are reclining because the teacher told them to do that and maybe their eyes are closed, but their minds are busy - planning, emoting, daydreaming - and not at all deeply relaxing. No amount of skillful instruction can convince the person who is afraid and resistant to 'letting go' to relax. That person can't 'hear' the teacher.
I know because I was like that early on ... reclining there and thinking/fearing that if I really relaxed I would lose my sense of self. If I profoundly relaxed, would I sink to the bottom of the pool of Life?
Today I would compassionately label this gripping onto the ego and smile but back then, decades ago, it was my secret. Genuine relaxation and acceptance of the mysteries of life was beyond my reach then because I was in control mode. Blame it on the immaturity of youth but that would not be correct because, frankly, many humans will try to avoid the ultimate letting go well into old age, sickness and death.
OK, so you might have clicked on my website looking for an uplifting account of the benefits of Yoga and now you are bummed. I have good news for you - if you are smart and lucky enough to choose a traditionally trained teacher who studied with Indian or Tibetan yoga masters or those Westerners who did that, you will be guided to learn to be comfortable with the full range of human experiences, from birth to death.
"A good fire burns itself completely." - Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind
I was speaking with a trainee today. She shared that she had recently read an article about the economic reality of being a yoga teacher. In that article (one that I remember reading previously) the author stated that relying on your weekly classes to provide an adequate income is not wise and went on to encourage diversified sources of income. For yoga teachers who don't have another career or family support (inheritance or spousal), this would mean sources such as private classes, workshops and teacher training.
My response to this was, "Well, you must have something to offer."
Teaching any subject or skill with depth and wisdom requires experience that only a longterm commitment can provide. The process cannot be hurried, especially for yoga asana teachers - those who teach the physical practices. My clearest first memory of an authentic yoga class was this: It feels like physical therapy and psychotherapy in one session. I loved it! But think about that - physical therapists and psychotherapists do extensive training to prepare for their careers. The same is true of yoga teachers, or should be.
Earning a living as a yoga teacher is not impossible but it is rarely easy or abundant. It's important to know this if you have aspirations to teach. Here are a few thoughts about categories of teaching situations.
Group classes are quite variable. When we start out, new to a studio or new to students, we'll be very lucky to make much money at all. I did plenty of these classes and came to look at them as a way to gain more experience and, most importantly, build community. If a particular class brought in enough money for weekly groceries I was pleased and still am - 30 years later.
As time goes on, if you develop a strong network of regular students, and you have a reasonable agreement with the studio, you could do well teaching these classes. Just don't fall into the trap of trying to teach more than 6 group classes per week to pay the bills. That's how yoga teachers burn out.
Private classes are intimate in nature. It is just you and the student. In that setting it is all about that particular student and how you can best provide yoga techniques for him or her. A teacher also quickly learns to respect privacy issues, establish healthy boundaries, and see clearly what an individual can do safely. Private sessions tend to be slow in pace and progress, thus requiring patience.
I've also learned from doing hundreds of private sessions that they are just as demanding and tiring as group classes. When you and the student are well matched they are fun sessions but when there isn't much rapport, they can be tedious - sorry, but it's true.
Workshops come in many forms - half day, full day, weekend, multi-day and retreats. This way of teaching requires a clear message (a theme) that is chosen in advance, organized by the teacher or the host, and presented as advertised. The best aspect of workshop teaching is the element of time - a teacher has more time to develop a theme and guide the students to explore the theme. It's the difference between a quick shower and a long luxurious tub bath.
When students go to workshops they are willing to spend time with you, lots of time, so it is important that you take their confidence in you seriously and give them a learning experience. You must have something to offer - certainly, your own learning experiences are something that you can share.
In other words, "Don't teach what you do not know."
Teacher Training was another suggestion in the article and I can't dispute that it has been a reliable source of income for me since 2005 but it definitely is not something a new teacher should think about. Even a naturally strong practitioner and gifted teacher has to go through several years of on the job training (teaching) before she can dream of doing this type of mentoring.
My advice on this topic is practical : teach weekly group classes, many private classes and a few workshops for 10 years and then maybe, after all those experiences, you might have something realistic to offer to those who aspire to teach. You'll get hints from your students, the ones who attend your classes regularly, who will give you feedback and ask for "more". The more is what you have to offer.
Mr. Iyengar, also known affectionately as Guruji, is seen here during a delightful moment in front of the camera. One of his favorite words was "vast" and I feel certain that he felt the vastness of this natural setting. He was a force of nature himself, as playful and strong as the wind swirling around him.
You can see his good will and sense of humor in this photo. These qualities were interwoven into the foundation of his teachings - even when he was strict about paying attention to the details of what we do in the asana. While I never journeyed to India to study at his institute, I did study with him here directly for a combined time of four weeks over the years when he travelled to the US to teach. I am so grateful that I did that because I witnessed first hand the twinkle in his eyes, his infectious laugh, and when a student was struggling, his wise empathy.
I had a few interactions with him in various situations - in classes, during lectures, and at social events. Treasured memories. One interaction that I had was a letter exchange with him. He was known to be a good communicator, especially letters, and during his last tour of the US to promote his book, Light On Life, I decided to write to him about something he said during a fireside chat with us, his students. In response to a question, he said that teaching children is different from teaching adults and it's important to change the approach to meet their natures and needs.
I won't go into details but will say that I was seeking his advice about a teaching situation I had in 2005. I told him what was happening and that perhaps I had mistakenly assumed that college students are adults. I was teaching them as if they were adults. Was my assumption at the root of a few problems that were manifesting in those classes? I sent it off with the hope that he would read it but I didn't expect an 88 year old man to respond to someone he didn't know.
But I was wrong - he wrote back within 2 weeks! He addressed me as "My Dear Suzanne Newton" and then went on to give me a few suggestions about teaching children ages 17 - 24. He raised six kids of his own and taught hundreds more, so his words were based on experience, not theory.
The tone of his response was generous and supportive, even though he diplomatically confirmed that I had made a mistake and he was happy that I was seeing some positive changes based on his talk. He closed the one page letter this way: "With love and affection. Yours Affectionately, BKS Iyengar".
Some yoga students and teachers like to differentiate yoga methods in simplistic ways, as if styles of practice are exclusive. Breath centered yoga versus heart centered. Precise alignment versus continuous flow. Mr. Iyengar's practice and teachings embodied the integration of breath, heart, precision and flow. If you've heard otherwise, please scroll up one more time and look at his smiling face, a man and a method that have touched yogis world-wide.
Today is the first winterish day in north Alabama - grey, colder, and wet. It is mid-autumn but feels, at least for a day, like we shifted into the next season.
One of the many reasons I love traditional yoga practice is the recognition that we humans live within the natural world. We are not separate from it. We are interwoven into the web that is life. Nature affects us and we affect nature. The yogis call this prakriti.
Prakriti has three primary qualities that are collectively known as the guna. Tamas, rajas, and sattva. Tamas is the grey, cold, wet quality. Rajas is the bright, hot, dry quality. Sattva is moderate: warm, pleasant, balanced and equanimous. Sattva described by one word would be peaceful.
Many traditional yoga teachers say that the essence of yoga practice is the cultivation of sattva - by skillfully counterbalancing tamas and rajas, the sattva manifests.
How do you know that you and the guna are well balanced by an asana sequence? You feel better by the end of practice. It's that simple.
If I am feeling cold and down (like today), doing some hot energetic poses could be the answer but if I am deeply withdrawn and struggling to get into my car to go to class, maybe a combination of restorative poses and supported inversions practiced at home would a better alternative.
In a past blog I wrote about the positive force field of classes and the sangha that forms in a class of regular attendees. In this post I want to say, hey, it's OK to stay home.
What's a yoga practitioner to do?
Practicing at home is becoming more and more rare. I know because I ask my students and friends about this. Practicing at home can sometimes feel lonely and tamasic, especially if you live alone. Yoga can also become one more item on the 'to do list', if you let it. Feeling overwhelmed by your to do list items - the dusty floors, the dirty laundry - and not practicing because you have so many things to do is a tamasic result. But here's a question - are you dusting and doing laundry to balance that overwhelmed feeling or did you just pick up your cell phone to text a friend or watch a youtube video instead?
If being alone is reinforcing that 'down' cut off feeling, then yes, go to a class. If alone time at your house is a very rare thing, then, yes, go to a class for some 'me time'.
On the other hand, perhaps you could balance tamas by selecting a sequence that you can do at home. One that feels right for you - maybe standing poses, maybe backbends or maybe restoratives that open your heart and lungs. Play with a prop - how many postures can you do with 2 blocks? A chair? Turn off the cell, walk away from the computer screen and step onto the mat.
The ultimate place to balance that tamasic feeling is at home. Going to class is external - you have to go there. I'm grateful that you attend my classes, don't get me wrong, but being willing to practice where you are (at home base) often requires genuine rajasic will power. You, your mat, the sequence, and the most important ingredient - your curiosity. Who am I today and how does this practice make me feel after I am done?
It can all add up to sattva.
Today is my mother's birthdate. She was the primary reason I returned to Huntsville in 2011. My husband passed away that year in California and then I turned my attention to my mother who was caught up in a similar struggle. After a few months she died in early 2012. That is how my teaching life began here - with significant losses.
My identities of wife and daughter were forever altered that year. While I can still relate to these roles, the flesh and blood people are no longer available to interact with. So, today at my mother's grave, I spoke a few words of concern and comfort towards her and then left, making plans to prune the Indian Hawthorne bush and plant some irises at her gravesite.
What does this have to do with Yoga practice and teaching? Actually, more than you would think. Asana classes end with Savasana, the corpse pose. I remember Geeta Iyengar progressively guiding us into Savasana for several minutes and ending with the words, "Let loose yourself, let go yourself." She was speaking of the ego, without saying it directly and I am certain that most of us were able to trust and deeply rest as if 'dead to the world'. The enormous auditorium full of 900 students became silent and peaceful.
Ego is what makes me feel and think that I am different from you. Even if it is illusory, it is a way of creating a boundary, a safety zone. Perhaps it is a link to the survival instinct and yet can be willingly sacrificed in a situation when saving another human or animal is more important than saving yourself.
The yogis described human consciousness (citta) with these words: manas, ahamkara, and buddhi. Our consciousness is a blend of these three mental capacities. The yogis didn't insist that the ahamkara (ego) is a bad thing to be permanently excised. Like a mask or a shield, it is useful when needed.
When I loosen my grip on what makes me different from you, I can sense an expanded world with delineations and boundaries that are mutable and permeable, not rigid.
As a teacher, how do I convey this experience of relaxing the ego and expanded awareness to new students?
Today I asked my fall semester students to lay out their mats and perhaps stretch a little before class. It was their first active class. When they all instinctively faced the big floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall I was bemused but also understood what was happening. It was a learned response to having a mirror in the room - when one is present, you tend to face it, like it or not.
Before roll call, I directed them to turn their backs to the mirror. It was a clear message that Yoga is not about looking at a mirror image of yourself. Yoga is not a performance. Let go of using a mirror to be self-critical, let go of assessing how well you are doing compared to others! We didn't look at the mirror for the next hour and won't for the next few classes.
Letting go of dependency on mirrors to give us performance feedback is one way to loosen our grip on our egos. Instead of looking out, we learn to sense what is going on from the inside out.
At the same time, I could see that each student has her own unique persona. Generally speaking, some are extroverts, some are introverts, some are sincerely curious and a few are not sure if this is really where they want to be. Being a class of women, I know that they are all daughters and they are all students. In time I might learn a little more about each individual, although this isn't necessary. One of my responsibilities is to bear witness to all of these variations of the human spirit while teaching the asana - establishing common ground and step by step guiding the group and each person onto the path of yoga.
When I describe a student in a certain way, such as an introvert, it isn't a negative label. I simply see a student who is shy. Next week she might relax a bit and be a little more outgoing or she may be the same. It is not my role or responsibility to remove her mask of shyness (mask being another way that ego is often described). Instead, I let her be who she is. It is through the asana, pranayama and traditional philosophy that I can communicate with her while she absorbs the experiences of the practice. If she is inspired by Yoga to make changes, that is up to her.
By the end of a yoga class each student will have an opportunity to relax enough to loosen her attachment to her ego and let go for awhile during Savasana. This is a private, voluntary and personal experience that can never be forced from the outside. It is an inner process of release.
Long ago the yogis in India used the term sangha to describe a community of like-minded people. The Buddha was a yogi who developed buddhism and sangha is one of the essential components of his teachings. In other words, it's one thing to diligently practice yoga and meditation by yourself but spending quality time with other yoga practitioners is equally important.
When you reflect on this term, sangha, you will probably realize that you belong to several groups that share a common bond. Family, friends, co-workers.
What distinguishes the term sangha from a common bond group is the phrase like-minded. When I ponder like-mindedness I recall moments of genuine agreement, as in, "Yes, I feel that way, too." Or, "I agree that this is the way to do this." Or, "I have some questions and doubts but I basically agree that our common goal is the same."
Weekly yoga classes often become a sangha, especially if there is a core group of students who attend a class regularly. You'll know that sangha energy is present when you step into the studio and someone smiles and nods at you ("I see you. Welcome.") or perhaps calls your name and asks how you are today. Nothing more needs to happen beyond that - simply, here we are together doing this class.
Sanghas aren't competitive or judgmental spaces. You could say that sanghas are safe havens for the trial and error moments that are inevitable in asana or pranayama classes - attempting a pose, a technique and perhaps not achieving it today. In a sangha, you feel safe and secure while 'failing'.
You also feel safe when you have break throughs, moments of success within a pose or an affirmation from the teacher. Your fellow students are genuinely happy for you, even though no one has to say a word. You feel it.
And then there are all those classes where you know you are traversing a wide plateau of faith in the practices but not much is changing. Your sangha understands because each one has had that experience, too.
We live in paradoxical times - so connected by computers, cell phones and apps but also oddly disconnected when we rely on the technology too much. Instead of attending a local yoga class, we think that 'doing a class' in front of our computer monitor or TV screen is an equivalent experience - but, it isn't.
Watching a streamed video or DVD can provide useful information and experiences that get you going or keep you going when taking a class in person isn't possible but it can't provide a teacher who sees you, responds to you personally and who supports your development step-by-step.
Taking class in front of your computer screen won't provide a community of like-minded people who share your affinities and aspirations. You have to be willing to leave your home, go to the class, introduce yourself and for an hour or so, be in the presence of people who are dedicated to Yoga, just like you.