From Liz: Line Your Bones Up.

There are days when I feel that my entire practice is an attempt to just get "get to the point." (I just read a funny little list where the author suggested that the whole practice is just foreplay for savasana. That's not what I'm getting at, but it's what got me thinking.) Those days, each pose is an attempt to decipher the meaning of the whole endeavor.

But I had one of those mini-awakenings in my Iyengar class the other day. My teacher D kept making small adjustments to my poses. Little tiny tweaks that made a huge difference. In Down Dog, rather than splaying my fingers out, she asked me to line my pinky finger up with its metacarpal. It's the tiniest shift inward, but it took the frantic strain out of my fingers. I was no longer gripping at the mat, I was rooting down into the floor. She also reminded me a couple of times to draw my arms up into my shoulder sockets, both in D. Dog and in a couple of backbends. It all amounted to her simply trying to get me to LINE MY BONES UP, and PUT THEM IN THEIR SOCKETS.

We throw the word "alignment" around so much, that it loses all substantial meaning. But at the heart of it is a simple idea: asana practice is designed to line your bones up, so that there is a support structure for your muscles to do their job (which, funnily enough, is to keep your bones aligned and your limbs in their sockets) and then the energetic body will slide into place accordingly. For those of us "blessed" with flexibility, this can often amount to lazily hammocking into our joints. In my body, it's the perfect storm of vata flexbility and kapha laziness, and it makes for some loosey-goosey poses. Also, D reminded that my shoulders are a support structure, and not, as I tend to treat them, a barrier to push through (a notion that I've found instructive in balanced inversions like handstand or forearm stand).

On the heels of your post about surrender, this is a counter-point. I surrender too much, or rather, I kid myself into thinking that I'm surrendering. In fact, I'm hiding in the depths of my own "open-ness," cowering under my shoulders and avoiding building strength. There is no ease in my "surrender," just limp acquiescence to the status quo. So, my work is to pull myself together and earn my ease.

From Anna: The flip side of freedom

It strikes me that we are on two vastly different sides of the spectrum. You have a young child and are, as you said, tethered to your home. Securing childcare to take an hour and a half class is unrealistic at best and so you are left utilizing books and dvd's, and making the best of the space available in your home. I have deep respect, admiration, and even a touch of envy towards your dedication and flourishing home practice.

Meanwhile, I find myself in quite the opposite predicament, although predicament is far too strong a word. After moving cross-country for the second time in 16 months (but who's counting?... ) I'm in a new city with all the time in the world, studios to explore, teachers to meet, and so much flexibility in my schedule that I don't know where to begin. One would think that this would be a dream for me - that finances permitting, I would scamper around town from class to class, pausing only for nourishment and caffeine. But I'm not, and I have to wonder why.

Back in the days when I worked multiple jobs and ran around commuting, my scheduling constraints would leave me with one or maybe two do-able class options. It was a simple non-decision and incredibly easy to get myself onto the mat. But now, as I settle into a new city and life, my lack of schedule overwhelms and engulfs my intention to practice. Despite an agenda of my own accord and responsibility for no one but myself- many days I don't go to class at all. My freedom has become too much of a good thing.

I know that we all go through phases of more and less practice and that this doesn't make me negligent. I also know that throughout my transition, yoga has served me off the mat in plentiful helpings, and perhaps that accounts for some of the divide. But hearing about your home practice and the clarity it has brought you, gives me the perspective that I sorely needed. I have always inserted my practice into available slots of a busy life. But for the first time, I can organize my life around my practice. Even writing it feels luxurious to the point of indulgent. But I know I should seize the opportunity while I can, since it's only a matter of time before life gets hectic and I'm right back where I started. In that overly-scheduled but cozy place, where I can only make it to the 7:30 class.