From Liz: The Limitations of Common Sense.

That clip is unbelievable. Or completely believable in that it all sort of makes sense and holds together seamlessly from a bio-mechanical standpoint. And yeah, what was that process for them? That childlike exploration? Sigh. Oh to have a little more time and a playmate with skills (who lives in-state, my dear).

These days, I'm waist deep in the Kino MacGregor primary series dvd. It's very, very different from the Freeman one. Much faster paced, but also kind of eye-opening because she is well, a woman. Watching a woman power through this relentless series gives me hope and verve. And because the pace is quicker, you don't have time to build a story or drama around what is to come. I've made progress in certain areas. Mostly in the transitions. For instance, chakrasana is starting to just happen. I still feel weird about backwards somersaulting. It is definitely an odd feeling on the neck, though not so alarming that I wouldn't do it. But then Ashtanga has sort of quelled the impulse to run from "odd sensation." Perhaps this practice is killing my common sense along with my hamstring attachments. Frankly, I'm beginning to think that common sense is overrated and that "caution" is just a euphemism for fear. Cowardice often masquerades as "theory" which, I suppose, is why Ashtanga is "99% practice."

And I'm working very hard to limit myself to 3 or 4 days of cardio a week. And somehow, I've lost weight. It may be that my appetite powers down a bit from the lack of physical exertion. It's a subtle exploration to find that balance point where exercise nourishes and enlivens, rather than depletes. I'll never quit entirely, but I am trying to have faith (in so much as one can "try" to have faith) in this system. The yoga should be enough.

From Liz: Right Foot, Left Foot.

My parents are practicing Christians. But the religious ritual that has been most deeply etched into my neural pathways is the practice of cardio. Specifically, running. My father has run every day of the year, with a few exceptions, for the past 30 odd years. (The day after he had fairly invasive surgery to remove a skin cancer, my mother had to chase him down with her car to get him to come home, as he staggered up the street, trying to get "just a quick run in.") My siblings and I have practiced with varying levels of devotion throughout our adult lives. But my dad gets up at the crack of dawn (4:30-ish) every single day, pulls on running shoes and faces the weather, the dawn, his own groggy consciousness, and once a rabid dog. (Which, of course, ended with a course of rabies shots.) Surprisingly few of his injuries are related to the actual sport. He has had many scrapes and bruises, but mostly from spacing out and eating pavement. So mindfulness is the name of the game once you reach his level. Keep vigilant, once you are athletically capable.

I run too. I try to keep it to a bare few days a week, for fear of compromising my yoga practice. But it's in me, that need to just get out there are run my brains out. My practice has illuminated my running, clued me in to the way that I can moderate and modulate around the breath, pace myself to pull through to the end. My body aligns more naturally than it used to. His body has figured all of this out after years, without too much analysis. His really is a habit of, "one percent theory, 99 percent practice." After a while, these things simply go without saying. Right foot, left foot... that's all there really is to it.

My dad has a book on his shelf called "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner." That's it in a nutshell, isn't it? Ashtanga yoga, and running. Ultimately, solitary practices. You might "share your breath" if you practice in a Mysore room. But you are really alone on your mat. Maybe this is why they both suit me so well, I'm comfortable here, alone in this space.

From Liz: Junk in the Trunk (the Body in 3D)

This will sound super stoner of me, but dude, I just realized that my body is three dimensional. I don't know why I've been living in 2D for so long. I feel like I've been practicing and moving my body as if it were flat. Suddenly, something clicked (maybe this is the mediation practice at work) and I realized that to distribute my breath and awareness fully, I have to breath into my back body, down to the depths of the junk in my trunk. I am embracing the lushness of my entire annamaya kosha. It's like having x-ray vision, the ability to full body scan (self MRI) and hold the whole in awareness. It is tripping me out...

And yes, I'm meditating in the mornings. It is not necessarily getting easier, but more fluid. I used to peep my eyes open after what seemed like an eternity, only to find that 3 minutes had elapsed. Now it's closer to 15 minutes. And where I used to drag my heels and resist this quiet "sitting," I now look forward to it. It's work, but also refuge. I'm curious to see what comes up in those few minutes. Why has it taken me so long to embrace this? And why was Ashtanga the catalyst that brought me here?

I'm off to do a little wardrobe purging. Embracing my body has led me to re-evaluate the contents of my closet. I'm ditching anything that doesn't do justice to my self-loving, emancipated booty.

From Liz: The Slow Burn of Energetic Indigestion.

Here's what's up: I guess I have a case of energetic indigestion. I bow forward (because this practice is half an act of supplication), knit my rhomboids together, and spread my lats like flightless wings. The work in the shoulders and back are chipping off the calcifications in my upper thoracic, and yeah, maybe it is a chakra opening, or finessing. I'm just not used to the rush of verve I get from this complete, unrelenting sequence of poses. You know when you have a great practice, and somehow, you're a cranky beotch for the rest of the day? That's happened a couple of times recently. Like I get so driven into myself and caught up in sorting through the energetic rubble, that I can't handle consciousness for the rest of the day. It's inconvenient when you still have to be a mom, wife and friend, and generally human and social.

In other news, I'm tinkering with my schedule. Getting up early to practice has been a revelation. Just knowing that I can do it is huge. I'm not so hopeless that I can't get on the mat and work at it for an hour or so. And I love the quiet dark time to myself, it's a gentle way to ease into the day. But I make bigger discoveries in my body when I practice later. It's simple enough: I'm more open, more aware, more precise (so less injury-prone) and ultimately a little braver. So I'm playing with doing a morning meditation, instead. And practicing during TT's nap. I think that the really transformative thing about the early-rising is not the yoga, but the simple act of being awake during that prana-rich time of day. Meditation is a great way to bathe in it. And the perfect way to start my day feeling (illusory as it may be) that I am in control, that I am making choices. I'm hoping that this will also soothe and normalize the burn from the ashtanga process. I've been using guided meditations from these people. Definitely recommend.

How was your yoga adventure? Any fresh thoughts from assisting?

From Liz: Inspire-ation.

Since you've fled the Pittsburgh gloom for sunshine in Dominica, I'll just talk to myself for a while.

So what's on my practice plate this week? Back-bends and deep inhales. I found inspiration in Ursula's notes about focusing on the inhale, and letting the exhale just flow from there. It made me realize that I am kind of a tepid inhaler. But oh... It does make for some delicious pranayama if you really take a long, slow, deep sip of breath. It makes the practice meditative. And oxygenating. This morning I feel like I had a giant bowl of chlorophyll to start my day, I'm all zingy and bright fresh and green. (This could also have something to do with the springing of Spring, and the general optimism in the NYC air.)

Beyond that: with all of this forward bending in the Primary Series, I've found myself craving some back-bending. Does this also come with the start of Spring? The desire to throw your heart open and spin around like a Wonder wheel? Probably.

But I think it's also a product of my recent shoulder-blade work. In using them guide and support me, I'm naturally broadening across the chest and firing the pistons in my upper back. And so, as like wants like, I want more opening. It's a little adrenaline junkie-ish for a mature practitioner (which I am not, but do aspire to be). But I remember that in one of my Iyengar classes, the teacher kept insisting that we "find the back-bend within the forward bend." It sounds like having your cake and eating it, doesn't it? I think it's the key to a more complete practice, though.

How does this translate? In literal terms, it means, lengthening the spine and keeping the chest open, with shoulders looped and supporting the full expansion of the chest. In emotional terms: it's work. The focus required to keep from collapsing into myself in Paschimottanasana, etc, is dredging up some "stuff." I'm in the thick of it now, so I'll let it work through me, then report back.

From Liz: The Tips of My Shoulder Blades Pierced the Glass Ceiling.

Funky elbows are great learning tools. You have to really balance opposing forces in the joint to make it good yoga, right? It's the perfect place to play strength off of flexibility. Too locked in the joint, and you lose all muscular action, you're just relying on bone stacking to keep you upright. But too much muscular action and you pull the bones out of alignment.

Recent practice discoveries on my end... A couple, yes. I was practicing on my mother's floors recently, and in an effort to keep from waking TT from his nap, I had to work extra hard to control the jumps. I mean, "I reallyreallyreally don't want to wake this baby" hard. Nothing like fear to really engage those bandhas. So that was interesting.

And I've been trying to contact my shoulder blades. As in, I need to use my shoulder blades to guide me through vinyasas. Keeping the little suckers flat against my back, slightly drawn in, opens my chest, lifts my palate and engages my lats all at once. It also keeps the head of my arm bone engaged in its socket. If I keep awareness in this way, jumps are less effort, more about breath and bandha than brute strength (which I don't have much of anyway). Now I'm beginning to see that the mechanics of ashtanga are not just available to men. This may in fact be a gender-blind practice. The secretly self-hating female in me sometimes thinks that she's playing a man's game. But it turns out that a little anatomical savvy neutralizes the field.

Which brings me to this question: do you ever think about the gender politics of this field? Both at the organizational level (teachers, studio owners, etc), and at the asana level, I mean. I need to organize my deep thoughts on the subject. Let me get back to you....

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: Early Mornings and Butt Burns.

It's been two weeks since I started this morning practice gig. Last night, Humble Husband asked how long this fugue is going to last, and I told him: forever. Every day the alarm goes off, and every day I think, "ugg, this again." But by the time I've gotten through the suryas, I'm recommitted.

It is reorganizing me. Thoroughly. I'm more positive throughout the day, more hopeful as I glide into the evening hours. The practice itself is different, more work-a-day, in a sense. I just chug along, not aspiring to too much. Maybe even holding back a little, as I let my body wake up. I'm not slamming into the forward bends. I guess just getting to the mat at this hour (6 am, not epic, but early enough) is a start, and the asana will work themselves out as long as I keep showing up.

Btw, the Dahn yoga trip was funny. It is a very umm, "energetic" practice. Is that how we refer to woo-woo practices with low impact/low alignment asana components? Sort of kundalini-esque, but with a heavy dose of love-bombing. When I called in to see about the class schedule, the teacher (who was very sweet, let me be clear) convinced me to come in for a consultation before-hand. She just wanted to know a little bit about me, chat about the practice, give me a taste of what was to come. She also kept trying to get me to buy a class card for the week that I was going to be home. I think she honestly thought it was going to work. When the class ended and she was all, "so, will we see you tomorrow?" I just said, "I loved it, but no thanks, gotta Christmas shop!"

She seemed disappointed. I thought she just needed the business, but now I find out that it must be that her overlords were going to be angry. Check out Yoga Dork on the subject.
Haha. Anyhoo. That koolaid just ain't for me.

Btw, I have my first real ashtanga-injury. And it's a funny one: A rug burn on my butt from jumping through and landing with a skid. You'd think this wouldn't be a big deal, but it makes a lot of the seated poses and navasana kind of sensitive/touchy. It doesn't help that I have a long tailbone, so I guess it's prone to, shall we say, "snags."

Oh, I've meant to ask: How's the pre-natal teaching going for you? Anything that you are learning that you think could help you along the line when you get pregnant?

From Liz: Born Again in the Blood of Ashtanga.

First off, it tickles me that you just called me an "ashtangi." Even I hadn't said it out loud yet. This is a whole other tangent, but I'm not sure at what point you can really appropriate that term. I mean, I've never even been to a true shala (though I'm practically living in the cyber-shala), I hold no pedigree. But I guess in spite of my mutt-ly orginis, I'm settling into this [false] identification. I'm a renegade practitioner of an already renegade practice.

As for the chaturanga question: I think that it gets down to a matter of intention with this pose. In Iyengar yoga, it is a stand-alone asana. In Ashtanga, it is a transition, a part of a flowing vinyasa. The in-between, the YWorks variation, performs that sun salute/vinyasa in a very slow, steady fashion. Though you are jumping back, it is a jump-back with a pause; you sort of stick the landing. So, in order to protect your shoulders, etc, you keep a 90 degree angle at the elbow. In Ashtanga, there is a lot more juice and rebound to the action; you spring through the vinyasa with bandhas engaged (which is protective, if you do it consistently and assertively). I could be fooling myself, but it honestly feels perfectly safe.

Also, personally, the tendency to dip my own shoulders forward come from the action of picking up from a seated position to jump-back. For those of us with less core/shoulder/arm and upper-back strength, you need to use simple physics to propel you legs and tush to the back of the mat. That means that while you coil up through the mid-section, you also have to nose-dive a bit to get the height to clear your legs. If you try to keep your chest as forward and level as you do at YWorks, you won't get very far. At least, I wouldn't.

All of this YWorks chat has actually brought up an interesting (and sort of catty) series of thoughts for me. Did you see this article? I have complained to you about this before. Here it is again though. I'm glad for the teacher training that I had at YWorks. I appreciate the teachers who put up with my crunchy self-indulgence, and made my practice more honest. But I have to wonder if this corporate structure hasn't somewhat diluted the yoga. Since leaving the fold, I've been on a quest for inspiration and definition. I hit a wall with the power-yoga, fitness-oriented, "protect the risk factors" brand of practice. Am I being a snotty ingrate? Perhaps. But it's nice to feel like a true believer again. I'm loathe to claim religious affiliation, but I'm a born-again Yogini since striking out on my own.

From Liz: Enjoying the Sights.

Funny, this sounds a lot like "do your practice and all is coming." ;-)

And I agree. Sometimes I get really caught up in the outer aspect of a pose, commodifying the end product for my own consumption. But reading your post reminded me to be truly interested in the process; the pose is not a fixed object, but a forever unfolding and fractal experience. The series offers me direction, but only as a framework, the poses are not cages, but springboards for discovery. (Do I sound a bit like a yoga bumper sticker machine?) You know that moment when the pose sort of clicks? Like, "oh yeah, there's trikonasana." It's smug. And ultimately, it's a snake eating its own tail moment: noticing my alignment means that I'm away from the breath, dristhi, "dharana-ness" of the practice. This self-satisfaction is short-lived, because I'm not practicing for the sake of trikonasana (or say, something more virtuosic, to show off like a party trick, in place of lampshade wearing... not that I haven't been guilty of both.).

In a vinyasa sequence, such as the one that I follow, it's easy to just slide from one asana to the next, like each is only a step towards savasana. But I need to stop and see the sights along the way, or I'll get bored with this song and dance. It's like they say about raising kids, that you should "enjoy it now, it goes really fast." You get so caught up in day to day survival mode that you lose sight of the sweetness of each moment. The next thing you know, you have an ornery teenager who won't let you kiss him in public. Terrible Toddler got his head stuck in the wine rack today (don't ask) and I just laughed and thought, "guess this is one of the sights I should enjoy along the way."

In his dvds, Richard Freeman reminds us that "ultimately, this is a breathing exercise." It sounds like an off-hand remark, but it's kind of like footnoting a brief sermon with, you know... the entire Bible. Which reminds me of watching this clip.

Listening to the breath in the room made me cry. Does that make me a big cornball?

From Liz: Saucha and restorative: a.k.a. tidying and resting.

I fell off the daily practice wagon right into "sit-on-my-asana." I could blame stress and fatigue and discouragement. But to start honoring my "no victims" intention once more, I'll just own up to lazyness. Our deal on the house that we were buying has fallen apart in an ugly way. Here's a non yoga tip: don't sign a contract before having a thorough home inspection.

It will be fine. We will be okay. But the whole mess had me fearful (read: full of fear, too full to eat or sleep, or focus on the mat, like mental indigestion that weighs down your whole psyche).

The apartment is a mess, my body is a mess; I have felt disconnected from my domestic space, and the space of my own body. How to fix this? Saucha and restorative yoga. Yes, clean the F up, and simmer down for a while. The simple act of puttering around, picking things up, putting things AWAY, has the effect of organizing my brain, soothing my soul.

And today's practice was a new beginning. I started with a few slow, steady sun salutes, then just slid into prop heavy, drapey, restorative yoga. The sun salutes reconnected me to my breath. Those steady rhythms pulled me away from the frenetic and stacato energy with which I was self-victimizing. And then, settling into Supta Baddha Konasana, with an eye pillow grounding me, I felt like I was settling back into myself. I was like a skipping record, just out of groove, scratching and repeating. But the restorative practice knocked me back on track. This is a practice with gravitational pull. How can anyone possibly have an effort-based practice without the complement of a surrender-based practice? I went through a series of poses, and, as mellow they left me, I also felt like I could climb mountains.

I even feel like I can raise a toddler.

From Liz: No Victims.

This will be short. I've just incorporated a kind of tone setting intention into the beginning of my practice, a personal mantra/dedication. It's a little cheesy and vague on the face of it: "no victims." But it has been serving me well in practice and off the mat. In fact, it has kind of become the bridge between the two realms.

Obviously, I'm not the first to use a mantra to start my practice. But when I thought of what I'd like to use, sanskrit or otherwise, this is what bubbled to the surface. Humble Husband and I are buying a house, and feel kind of at the mercy of inspectors, brokers, contractors, etc; so setting the intention of not being a victim has been really important. Also, mothering a toddler is kind of kicking my butt right now. I need to remember that Terrible Toddler and I are on the same team: he is not my enemy. And in my ashtanga practice, I need to remember not to be a whiny girl, a victim of my own biology, thinking, "I can't do jump backs, I'm too weak in my upper body and I'm tiiiiiiiiired..." This practice serves me, and vice versa. This is my choice and I will deal with each issue and challenge as it arises. I can tell that I'm getting into a weepy victim place easily enough; it manifests physically as a sloppy drishti. So I tidy it up, focus my eyes and pull myself together, and off I fly.

Finally, it's kind of a non personally specific mantra, my way of offering this intention outward: "no victims," means not me, not you, not anyone. It makes this both personal therapy, and service (at least I'm flattering myself into thinking that my physical prayer is making a tiny dent in the cosmos).

Now that you are out of your brief hiatus: how do you set the tone when you step on the mat?

And btw, are you ever going to call me out on my cardio fixation??? ;)

From Liz: Confessions of a Cross Trainer.

In response to your quandry: is this one of those "mat as microcosm" moments? I find resistance to my practice is actually resistance to something else in my life (if you'll forgive the facile insertion of the idea of "tranference" into our wee dialogue).

For instance, I've just come off a nightmarish first family vacation with Humble Husband and Terrible Toddler. I packed my mat, but was so caught up in the drama of difficult travel that I only ended up using it as a changing pad. I was too scattered, pulled by my inherent vatta tendencies to focus and step onto mat/into practice mode. I think this is where the yamas and niyamas would come in handy, if I were to apply them dutifully and consistently. I know they are referred to as "constraints" and "observances." But I think the whole set acts more as an energetic funnel, harnessing prana, rather than a barrier. The ritual act of tidying my kitchen becomes an offering, etc. Maybe set up new rituals related to the yamas and niyamas in your new home??

Anyway, I am back to my routine now. First practice was predictably leaden, but it has gotten better since. In my ashtanga practice, I'm learning to trust my hands. I realized recently that a big part of my problem with jumping back has been that I don't trust my hands and arms to hold my weight, so I never really shift it completely into them as I try to transition. The more faith I've put in the palms of my hands, the smoother it has become. Still a lot of work to do, but "practice, practice..."

And I took an amazing Iygengar class where the teacher focused on having us lengthen our psoas muscles, all while broadening and wrapping our quadratus lumborum (deep back muscle) as we did a bunch of forward bending, and eka padas. For example: in eka pada sirsasana (the version of headstand where you lower one leg parallel to the floor, not this one), he had us lengthen the psoas on the lifted leg side, while wrapping the quadratus on the descended leg side, in order to stabilize. But I noticed that this action has the effect of creating a little uddiyana bandha. Which I got really way too excited about. This must be what Mark Whitwell means when he says, "asana creates bandha."

At any rate, the realization also kind of made me feel vindicated. I've heard a lot of people say that you can't mix styles of yoga, that you really should pick one thing and stick to it. But I really believe that some styles are complementary. I walked away from that Iyengar class feeling like it nourished my private ashtanga practice.

Now I just have to figure out a way to justify my love of cardio, and we'll be all set....

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.