From Liz: If Practice Makes Perfect, Then What's the Harm in Props?

What did I learn from a rug burn on my butt? Well, that there must be easier ways to practice svadyaya. But I faced reality: I am simply not clearing the floor on my own. So, I'm investigating the meaning of "do your practice, all is coming." If I'm nowhere near accomplishing the jump-through on my own, then I'm not really "practicing" it at all, right? In order to at least get through the actions, I started using blocks again. I told my ego to shut it and admitted I needed help.

I'm not just using the blocks for the sake of checking the vinyasas off my to-do list. I'm working on jumping back and through, as SLOWLY, and in as controlled a fashion as possible. One of my favorite Iyengar influenced teachers once told me that the slower you move, the stronger you get. So that's my focus for now: almost motionless motion. Quiet, orderly, civilized movement. In service of kick-ass delts. Haha.

The prop talk leads me back around to your prenatal class. Of all classes to not have props in....! :( I've only taught a little prenatal myself. (It's not my thing really. But it's really some people's calling, in fact, I'd bet it's yours.)

But I have taught in some pretty grotty gyms. I'm looking at you, Bally's. It makes you develop a really thick skin, doesn't it? You become MacGyver Yogini. You get really creative with walls and chairs, and learn to ignore the creepy weirdos leering through the glass. (Nothing makes you butch up like having to chase away a couple of 'roid heads who are harrassing your students.) Or, in your case, you learn to ignore the unflattering lighting.

By the way. Where you get inspiration from? I've been really pushing myself to seek out and plumb new resources. Not just yoga stuff either. I've gotten back to reading a lot of fiction. And a lot of just really good writing (M.F.K Fisher for starters, the woman could write about a garbage pail and make it elegant and concise). Also, design blogs: clothing, interior design, etc. There is something about seeing people practicing their craft well that really drives me out of bed and onto the mat in the morning. And of course, the cyber-shala. Maybe I'll put together a list of my current faves for next post.

From Liz: Where's my drishti?

I won't overthink my own intentions with regards to this blog (since they are always shifting anyway, darned vrittis). I know that I want to hold myself accountable for my yoga practice and teaching. And I want an excuse to geek out over yoga with you, my dear Anna, in a structured setting. You've been my sister yogini since we met, and this pranic exchange is just a continuation of that relationship.

So... The state of my home practice. It feels like a huge accomplishment to say that I have a home practice. I never understood why senior teachers insisted that we cultivate one. And right out of the gate, after teacher training, I just turned my practice over to the studio. I absolved myself of all responsibilty (save showing up) and followed the leader. And I took on way too many classes. I was teaching between ten and twelve classes a week (small potatoes to come people, but too much for me). So I kind of burned out. Then I had a baby. And I found myself tethered to my home, needing a teacher, or at least, a point of focus for this practice.

And what do you know, one did appear. I (re)discovered the Ashtanga Primary series, and I finally got what a jillion ashtangis already know: "practice, and all is coming." Really... While motherhood is a sometimes haphazard and improvisational art, the consistency of this series keeps me grounded and renewed day after day. I just keep coming back to the same point, and it keeps unfolding incrementally. At least it has so far, because let's be honest: I've only been playing with about half of the series, using Richard Freeman's dvds for about a month now. But the month's end has marked a radical change in my practice, and it has been all about reclaiming my original love of yoga, the thing that drew me to teach. Now it feels personal again. The series is my meta-drishti, the point around which everything else organizes itself. It is paradoxically both structuring and liberating.