tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84842243393178176452024-03-19T08:54:52.659+05:30realizing mysoreMysore is more than a town in Southern India. It's a community, a process, a pressure cooker; it's state of mind. This is my adventure while studying ashtanga yoga at KPJAYI...as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-58092634831243365082018-07-08T15:56:00.002+05:302018-07-08T20:20:13.919+05:30little locker room unraveling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every so often, from the shadows of the ladies’ changing room one might hear the somewhat laboured breath of someone unraveling; so much happens in the main room of the shala. There are countless triggers for such moments: a difficult drop back, a deep catch, a great practice, a challenging one, possibly anything in there could trigger a breakdown of sorts. Each soft sniffle has its own story, some are laced with joy, or catharsis. Others are much heavier. It is the norm to respectfully leave the person to it, it’s an incredibly private moment happening in kind of public space. Taking finishing postures in the locker rooms can wrap things up beautifully, it is the deneumont of that day’s practice, most of the time it’s like clockwork, but if things need to be resolved, this is often a good moment to quietly take stock. If that happens with tears than so be it. One early morning, last week, the thinly veiled muffled sounds of emotional release were coming from me.<br />
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It was my first real cry inside the shala this season. It’s not such a biggie as I’m kind of a cry baby anyway. I must admit that I was born an emotional being. I’ve already had some teary-eyed moments after conference or at the end of led intermediate or at home, but the ones that come at the heels of a deep self-practice—especially here—have a certain potency.<br />
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In truth: nothing “big” happened, I wasn’t hurt, nor taken to new depths. I hadn’t been given a new pose—which could be, in part, what brings me to this moment. I had a pretty unextraordinary practice, by certain standards, there were no new physical breakthroughs, but something more subtle had shifted.<br />
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Last month was about landing the practice, settling in, harmonising with the Mysore rhythm, the pace set by Sharathji and those around me. At home, I self-practice on my own. When I’m lucky I can practice with a friend. When I get a chance to practice with a senior teacher, I take it. But, actually, opportunities are rare and my biggest chunks of guided study is here with my teacher. Solo self-practice, which I also love nowadays, is challenging in its solitariness. Having fortitude, devotion, self discipline is of massive import. For me, it is also incredibly comfortable, when it’s just me, when there is no one to rile me or motivate me to to go beyond my comfort zone. I realise that I often coast, feeling self-satisfied enough that I got on the mat and finished my practice amidst the bustle of teaching and navigating life in Cairo.<br />
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Thus, coming here is so important for me, it energetically pulls me back into a more directed practice. Maybe it’s not all Mysore magic as it is the Mysore magnet. I am pulled back here, the energy of the place draws me in and brings me back into the source flow of energy. It magnetically pulls me out of my comfortable places, but that also means meeting the hard edges of my own practice. Here, we go straight up to our limits—and not just physically.<br />
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Being near my teacher triggers my need for approval and my desire for more. Our wants and expectations are amplified. Likewise, it is tough to enter a room with so many accomplished āsana practitioners, it’s hard to keep the drishti from wandering, and to fall into the traps of comparison, which can give birth to a variety of lesser feelings. The ideal is that we mind our own practice, but even this is a process. I’ve heard commentary on how competitive it can feel in the shala, for example. These feeling of competitiveness belong to the practitioner, the practice merely reveals it, and can be a tool when used properly to override it. In my perspective, when such feelings arise it’s also evidence that the practice is working, the question is: what do we then do about it?<br />
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Practicing here is so effective, it pulls these feelings straight out, so much so that sometimes the air is thick with it. The choice becomes ours, do we get consumed by it or do we transmute it into something light and positive? Do we let the practice aggravate or soften it? For me, this is one of the powerful examples of the purification that can happen while practicing here; we meet our ego, our dark bits, we acknowledge them and we send them on their way. And when they return, as they often do, we go through the process all over again.<br />
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What I realised was that I was chasing something, running after my teacher’s approval, running after my fellow practitioners who all seemed to be literally faster than me, running towards some elusive end goal. In my chase to finish, I was loosing sight of something. What reduced me to tears that morning was that I’d shown up for myself in many good ways, that I was present in as many poses as I could muster. I took my time, repeating any posture I knew I could do better, I focused on my own breathing and my own pace. I’d done my best, not for my teacher but for myself, and it was good enough. Perhaps this is the way to honour our teacher: to do the very best we can not for his sake but for our own. I felt a wave of self-acceptance and relief, remembering I don’t have to be like anybody else, there was nowhere to be, there was no one to catch up to.<br />
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It was a small victorious moment—relatively sweet in the range of releases that can be felt in there. I had no idea when I started this physical practice that my biggest achievements would be making space in my mind and heart. The interesting thing is that I did move forward after this moment. It’s not the first time where a break in my perception is followed by a pass by my teacher. It could be random but somehow I don’t think so. The following day I was given something new to do. Irregardless, a whole new adventure/challenge/lesson is waiting around the bend, definitely not just for the body but for the mind and heart also.<br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-3538873488765600722018-07-02T19:05:00.000+05:302018-07-03T18:49:46.577+05:30adventures in assisting continued <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wasn’t keeping track of the time in there anymore, but based on the thinning number of students and the widening gaps of flooring, I knew we were nearing the end of morning classes. My fellow 6:30am shift co-assistants had already left the room and I resigned myself to being there to the end. I stopped looking at the clock above the door after the conference where Sharathji joked about assistants who were more interested in being dismissed than facilitating drop backs. I was horrified, although I have my moments of being exhausted and wanting to go home to rest, I genuinely love being in the room, assisting my teacher. <br />
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“Kaz, go home,” I hear in a different, lighter tone from all the other previous dismissals. I look towards him to see one of his epic wide grins, even his eyes are smiling, he’s laughing as he shares with the room, “I forgot.“<br />
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Was this different from the other times he had kept me back? At least twice I’ve been in the room till the very end, and over the month my shift seemed to end closer to two and a half to three hours. Was it intentional? Or just more forgetting? Did he think I wanted to get out of there? Or was there a greater purpose for these extraordinarily long shifts? Maybe he wanted me to get stronger, maybe he wanted to break something in me, or maybe nothing.<br />
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I feel like all the trips are filled with little moments such as these with Sharathji, slightly discombobulatingly awkward exchanges that are also filled with some strange sweetness. Lessons in disguise that are either incredibly crafted or ridiculously random. However they come about, what’s important is that I’m actually learn something.<br />
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For four seasons, I’ve assisted my teacher here in the shala. Except for the first time in 2013—another funny moment when I was asked by him upon registering to assist even though I was not yet authorised—I have requested every other time. Some friends and fellow practitioners have called this crazy or called me a masochist, and there may be some truth in this. But some of my most memorable moments on those trips were less on my mat and more being in the room, learning from my fellow students, and most of all, from my teacher. <br />
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My month of assisting is up. In the past, I would have been happy for it to last forever, but right now I look forward to having the opportunity to focus solely on my own practice, to have that extra bit of time to rest, to have breakfast with friends, and to have some leftover energy to enjoy being in India. I also know that it will be bittersweet; I will miss those hours spent in the hot and heady mist of practice, being in the bustle of a room in motion, having my teacher personally direct my energy, learning to speak with my co-assistants with eyes and gestures only, and having the privilege to witness the transformational work that unfolds here every morning. It is amazing to see the room evolve, to see a person change. <br />
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Over the last month, I have stood beside so many folks as they faced their fears, as they found their courage. Some developed more strength, while others cultivated more softness. For some, the struggle is an ongoing process but no matter where one might be in the spectrum, there was this overwhelming feeling of acceptance, grace and gratitude. <br />
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I, too, have grown so much in this room, both in my own practice and in the practice of assisting, I remember feeling so uncertain and insecure that first time, I was so unseasoned then, and because I was awkward so were some of my assists, I must admit. It’s important to remember that the shala is a teaching space, teaching and learning is happening here in so many levels. Sharathji isn’t just teaching, he’s learning about us, about our bodies, about our emotions, each person brings a new angle to the practice. We are learning from him, of course, from the practice, from India, from each other and from ourselves. And we assistants are doing a huge chunk of learning also. <br />
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This shala is a different kind of classroom, there’s a lot of independent work-study, there are no real goals other than to do the work and yet assessments are ongoing, pretty much all the time, it’s a little trial-by-fire pretty much moment to moment. Sharathji is sharp, quick to point out gaps in our attention, issues with our performance, this is how we learn, this is how he keeps students safe also. Sometimes it’s stressful or heartbreaking when you’re called out or you have an awkward moment with another student. Assisting here is like practicing here, buttons will be pushed, barriers will be broken, surrender is still on the agenda.<br />
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It is amazing to watch my teacher in action, how he tirelessly gives, how even-minded he remains for pretty much six and a half teaching hours—and usually this is even longer—how present he is throughout the morning, he sees so much, he looks out for those who are struggling, he knows just when it’s time to facilitate depth, he’s able to recognise that precious moment when potential and ability can actually meet and then really holds space for it. It’s really inspiring to be in the room with him. I know some students might think assistants are like barriers between them and their teacher, I think we have to give our teacher more credit than that, he has shooed me off so many people and directed me to others. I believe he chooses when it’s the right time for us and we should trust in that. <br />
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Overall, however, I have to say the student culture here this last month has been incredible. It’s been such a good experience; the feeling of acceptance and surrender towards assistants was unparalleled in my small experience. When I first started coming to Mysore, assistants were a new concept and there was a fair bit of resistance. We seem to be finally getting used to this feature. And with less resistance there is more ease in the help given and received—and, thus, in the room at large.<br />
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Honestly, there is so much to say about the experience of assisting that it’s been hard to write about it. I’ve been working on this article for a couple of weeks now and it’s been difficult. I think, ultimately, words cannot capture what happens within these shala walls; practicing here, as with assisting here, is to be felt deeply, rather than talked or written about. The lessons take time to gestate and outcomes are often revealed slowly long after leaving this place.<br />
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I guess the masochist in me just wants to bring more of this into my mysore space in Egypt—or, maybe, I’d love for all this teaching to just live inside me, to move through my body, through my practice, through my hands and actions. Being in the room is cozying up to all this juicy parampara and assisting here is like learning through osmosis, the room is dripping with the system, it is full of the presence and attention of our teacher, it is a laboratory of opening bodies, breaking shells, pushing boundaries. I always knew the method worked for me, but being in there makes it so clear how it can also work for everybody.<br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-74605340214213882252018-06-22T19:05:00.001+05:302018-06-24T09:19:01.147+05:30starting third<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">“Tomorrow, don’t do headstands,” I hear from my teacher across the room just this last Wednesday. I can barely process information at this point, having just sweat what seems like my total body weight as I finish the last postures of intermediate, 7 headstand variants each with their swift air-cutting transition to chatvari, chaturanga dandāsana—these are the last postures he gave me nearly two years ago. I nod, though, I don’t think I understand exactly what he is saying and wonder who in the room I might be able to harass for verification later. I also wonder how he does it, that distressing mind reading thing he seems to do so very well. Just minutes before getting on with the headstands I had sighed silently to myself and wished I that didn’t have to do them anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">But...was there more? It seemed like he had said more, but whatever passed through his lips was slightly muffled under the bit of cloth he’d pulled over half his face as he started dropping a student back—I’m getting used to this back-bending-bandit look of his, and I’m glad he is taking better care of himself in there, but it’s definitely hard to distinguish words through it. Luckily, a friend was much more aware of his instructions and filled me in on what I had missed: aside from omitting headstands I was to do vishvamitrāsana, the first posture of Advanced A, series 3 out of 6 in the āsana portion of the ashtanga method. In a way, it’s no big deal, it’s just another posture in another series of poses. I had a brief moment with the first few postures of Third with a senior teacher, but it didn’t feel right at the time, it was so intense, both my body </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt; font-style: italic;">and</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> my mind had serious doubts about moving forward. I felt strongly that when it was really time for me to move forward, the go ahead would come from my teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">So, when I finally had a moment with myself and this bit of news, I turned on my iPad thinking that I might start to write about it—instead, tears came streaming down. I wish I were cooler, more unaffected, but the truth is it is kind of a big deal for me and I’m excited and scared for the new challenges that lie ahead. More so, new postures, when they come, are like landmarks on a long and beautiful path. They help gauge where we are, what are needs are, and what lessons are for us. They help us anchor into the practice, they keep us engaged and keep us from getting distracted. A new series is a whole new chapter, maybe a whole new book, a new way of being in the body, breath, and mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">What struck me, as I was cleaning out my tear ducts, is the sheer magnitude of the yoga journey, it is so vast and all-encompassing that I often don’t even realise that I am on it. And then a moment like this comes and it’s almost staggering to see the bigger picture. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I started this practice when I was thirty (I just turned 42), with no previous inclination towards exercise or physical activity. I was fairly uncoordinated and couldn’t even come close to touching my toes. This October will by my eighth year of going to Mysore, it’s my seventh trip, over which I think I’ve spent a year and a half in total studying at the shala. This alone is just fantastic—as in made of fantasy! Like how did this even happen? What weird turn did I make to end up in this alternative universe? It’s been eight years of piecing together Intermediate Series with Sharathji, over which time my body has opened, closed, stalled, gotten more flexible, gotten stronger, become less flexible, etc... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Everything is relative, of course, I know students who have spent much more time or much less time here; time here and āsana practice is not always an accurate gauge for study and self-transformation. I think everyone has their own pace and learns whatever lessons are meant for them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The challenges that I have faced, however, in the physical practice have closely mirrored the struggles in my own life. I have totally disintegrated here, I have been ambitious and distracted, I have been lost and uncertain. I have also learned what it means to be a student and how important it is to have a teacher. I’ve learned how to be more patient and forgiving towards myself. I’ve learned to have more fun. And over the recent years, I have also been more stable, joyful, more self-loving, and more accepting of myself and, thus, of those around me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Little has changed, really. Starting Advanced A doesn’t come with enlightenment. I’m still huffing and puffing through my intermediate postures. I kind of feel like I won the lottery, I get a new pose and it’s not terrifying or overly difficult AND I get to drop 7 intense headstands. It’s a great deal. Other than that, it’s the same, the same determination, same devotion to practice, the same discipline. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">But, still, I’m kind of stupefied. It’s been such a journey—and there is more, always more with the ashtanga practice. There are more postures, yes, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are more challenges, more struggles, more fun, more terror, more growth, more transformation, more to learn and definitely more to love! </span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-4274265163603115712018-06-14T12:48:00.000+05:302018-06-16T07:15:27.261+05:30led intermediate, so it begins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I lost count at how many breaths exactly, but I knew that if were to survive the rest of the class I had to somehow lower my bakasana, which I entered into with straight arms. Sharathji had called the first inhale and exhale and then paused, perhaps he started to engage with our audience, a lobby bursting at the seams with new students eager to watch last Monday’s led intermediate class. There might have been as many spectators as there were participants; it was unusually roomy in the shala and we took the liberty of spreading out beyond the red marks that designate the mat placement on the floor.<br />
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On my first trip to Mysore in 2010, led intermediate filled just about two, three rows. By the time I entered the room in 2013, the space was filling up with breakneck speed as our teacher Sharath Jois moved students forward in the practice. First, the stage filled up, then the spaces in front of the offices, finally, the passage way between the last two rows. Last season, students were even practicing in the locker room. It seems that there are less intermediate students here this time around. This will surely change over the weeks and months ahead, but for now I am enjoying the extra bit of precious Mysore real estate.<br />
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Our master conductor checks on our postures during this intense session, often students get their pass or no pass here. For three grueling seasons, I returned only to hover precariously in ekapadasirsasana (the first of the leg behind the head postures). Class after class I would receive a sign to stop and go finish in the ladies’ locker room. Once, after what I thought was a fair go at it, I looked up to see Sharathji slowly slice the air in front of his neck, pretty much the most difinitive “no” he’d ever given me, I rolled up my mat and wondered if I would ever finish the class. With time and practice, change is inevitable and I have a greater understanding with how these postures can naturally give birth to one another. Here, you are led only as far as you can truly go, and until he says so, there you will wait.<br />
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These regular checks are the main cause of some of the longest holds of my life, each overly quick vinyasa, each separated heel in dhanurasana, every flailing leg in ekapada, and flexed toe in dwipada can delay the entire flow of the class; everyone must hold the pose as if suspended in time until the the corrections are made and Sharathji resumes his counting. Like led primary, the practice feels personal (everyone has their own experience, their pitfalls, their “ah-ha” moments, their special moments of contact with the Boss). At the same time, the process is collective. We are meant to go through it together.<br />
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In discussions with fellow students after last Monday’s led, we wondered if this could be the hardest class on the planet? Even with these built in “stalls”—there are rare moments to catch your breath, for example, in karandavasana as he lifts people out of it—the pace is pretty grueling and continuous throughout the journey of intense backbends, extreme forward bends with leg or legs behind the head, arm balances. With Sharath, there is no space or time for cheating. You cannot take a breather and then catch up with the rest of the class, each vinyasa is sharply accounted for, the transitions and postures are deftly woven together into this incredible roller coaster ride, frightening and thrilling all at once.<br />
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Despite the physicality of it, second series truly works deep within the nervous system. The movements (all the extending, flexing, twisting and straightening of the spine) seem to squeeze out so much of our excesses, there just isn’t much room in these postures for much else, let alone distractions, self-doubt, or fear.<br />
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Whatever anxiety I started out with (after almost a year of no led intermediate, I was pretty nervous), seemed to just burn off in that room. Not that it was easy; for me, at least, it was definitely <i>not</i> easy. But the amazing thing is that somehow, no matter how difficult, I did get through it, I did manage to override all the thoughts and feelings, the exhaustion, the panic, etc, emerging with so much calm and gratitude towards the practice and especially towards my teacher, who reminded me once again why I am here, why I practice, and why I continue to return to Mysore, year after year.<br />
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Somehow, I feel like this last led intermediate really helped me land in Mysore, finally. It set the pace, pulling me out of the funny rhythms of self-practice, which in my case, with life in Cairo, can be erratic at best. It’s quite a sight to behond, it’s true—I understand why people like to watch it—but I think it’s extraordiness exists in the experience of the class itself, how Sharathji pulls you out of yourself, tuning you into a harmonious moving, breathing song of strength and, of course, surrender.<br />
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I must say, before closing, that I don’t think you have to be practicing or completing intermediate to have this kind of experience. Deep practice is not exclusive to advanced āsana. And to be pushed outside our comfort zones happen a million different ways here in Mysore, inside the shala and outside on the street. What’s interesting about led intermediate is how that depth is so acccessible, so tangible in a moving, breathing mass; the method comes alive in this context, the body is our vehicle, the 8 limbs are the engines with our teacher driving us towards a greater understanding of ourselves.<br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-31056297274077260722018-06-07T12:28:00.000+05:302018-06-07T12:35:22.483+05:30monsoon mysore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">It’s monsoon in India and I’ve been regularly trying to beat the rain home. It’s far from the showers of Cairo, which is but a spittle compared to what pretty much amounts to downpour, likewise different from the wet season in South East Asia, it feels more finicky here, like somewhere up in the heavens there’s a lever and a wily temperamental Hindu god; with a flick of the wrist the sky opens like a celestial faucet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">I’ve been drying my clothes indoors, checking weather reports, carrying rain gear in my back pack and a spare raincoat in the seat compartment of my scooter—not that it matters, I always feel it coming on the road, to stop would mean being drenched completely. There is no predicting when it comes, it can be perfectly warm and sunny one moment and the next moment there are dark grey clouds overhead, shortly followed by buckets of rain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">Aside from the inconvenience, which is still pretty minor when you are living in this contained little Gokulam bubble, I love it. I love the lushness of India at this time. It’s so alive. The trees are a glowing green. The parks are pretty, all covered with a healthy carpet of grass. In the winter, they look so barren, I can’t imagine children playing there. India, which can be so dusty during the dry season, is now so resplendent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">This is only my second monsoon here studying at the shala and I can’t</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;"> help but feel the season within the walls, within practice during this period. The air is full, heavy with possibility. Practice in the shala is a different kind of humidity right now, our pours are so open and we seem to flood easily onto the floor. I’m in there between 4am to 8:30am (shala time) because I’m assisting and it is so intense after the first hour. It’s gross, really slippery and actually dangerous. We still seem to really love it. Sharathji has asked us to bring a towel just for cleaning up the liquids we have deposited on the floor around our mat. Not that it helps much in the long term, dryness seems to be a very temporary state of being in the shala these mornings. It’s been two years since I’ve been here but it just seems like a different kind of heat, a different kind of moisture, the body seems to want to give up all its reserves of water. Having said all that, like the trees around Gokulam, I also feel alive and vibrant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">The grey clouds when they come provide so much shade, the moist air is pleasant. It feels like great conditions for this kind of transformational work, it makes me want to go in. Go in doors, go into my practice, find shelter in the most solid parts of myself. I love South India in the winter too, but the weather is almost too good, it invites one to go outside, to go adventuring and exploring, I always end up out and about. But maybe this is just who I am right now, the kind of trip that I am having. Every Mysore trip is different, determined by so many factors aside from the weather. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">The rain feels cleansing. Mostly, it feels really soft. Until it doesn’t, that is. So does the deluge within the shala. And when it’s not raining the expectation of rain seems to still be on us. I know we are supposed to overcome expectation but there it still is. I suppose regardless of the season we come like this, with this feeling that something will change, move, shift, grow while we are here. Inevitably, it happens. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17.41pt;">All the same, I feel even this is changing in me. Not that I have exhausted the amount whittling down this mind/heart/body can muster—but I do think the process becomes more refined. On my first trip to Mysore, I wrote about Mysore being a pressure cooker. I think that’s also still true. But, what if, over time, this pressure is like a passing tropical depression, we sweat a bit more, get a little bit more wet, and do our level best to keep our head above the water. We’re not necessarily cooked but definitely more tender, more purified? Being here is tapas, travelling all this way, surrendering yourself into the hands of your teacher and leaving your excesses on the floor in puddles...</span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-59732069150772833602018-05-31T21:31:00.000+05:302018-05-31T21:51:14.899+05:30one more, self practice <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today, I rolled out my mat on my living room floor here in Mysore, knowing full well that it would be another two months before self-practice became a solo flight once again. The night before, I had thought about messaging some friends here and inviting them over to practice. Why practice alone when you’re in Gokulam? One could throw a rock out here and easily hit an ashtanga practitioner. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to savour this last self-practice, the strange quiet of a room with just my breath and the occasional (ok, more than occasional!) murmur of my thoughts interjecting themselves in the funniest of places.<br />
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Somehow, it felt important to honour the fact that mostly I’m on my own. And while I saw Sharathji a year ago for a week of led classes in London and have been fortunate enough to piece together a whopping three weeks with some very special authorised and certified teachers, it has been two years almost since my last Mysore trip—an incredible two months during the last teachers’ course which was too precious to even write about. Barring getting together here and there with a couple of my fellow ashtanga teachers in Egypt (I’m so grateful for this), I’m a lot on my own, and so many of us do it.<br />
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I do feel guided daily by my teacher, supported by the thought of him, but largely the grind of daily practice has been on my own shoulders. And so I practiced, just me, me and all my flourishes, all my extra breaths and extra stretches. Even though it’s been like this for a while, I’m amazed that I can get on the mat not just when it’s easy (and there many beautiful times when it is), or when there’s a teacher (which is so awesome when it happens), but also when it’s just me and all of my heavy inflexible thoughts join in, and it’s hard and everything is a struggle and I have all these bad feelings because I’m tired, or I’m hungry or because students aren’t coming. I think I must be doing ok because these moments pass, <i>sukkha </i>and <i>dukkha </i>are like waves, maybe—for now—we are just meant to ride them.<br />
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Of course, today’s self practice was also special because I know what’s coming next: two months of a heaving energetic room, community, my teacher. I am starting now to see the sustainability of maintaining practice in Mysore and practice wherever it is we are meant to live, that one thrives off the other. That not only does the time spent here in Mysore, India fuel all the other days, but also visa versa. All those solo flights ultimately bring us back here, they return us to this surreal alternate universe that is also kind of home. </div>
as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-73065741950849676152016-02-08T15:40:00.001+05:302016-02-08T15:45:14.841+05:30between dark and light<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post practice chai means seeing the sky change from dark to light. </td></tr>
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It's Saturday, after Led Primary, the first batch. We come out of the shala and it is pretty much as dark as when we came in around 4 in the morning. Not an extraordinary occurrence here for those with early start times. But over the course of post-practice chai, the sky changes, color slowly returns to the street, structures become more and more defined by the minute. </div>
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I know not everyone can relate as many are starting later in the morning, coming to the door when it's pretty much daylight out. For me, however, this time of the morning, the hours that straddle the dark and the light really remind me of what it's like to practice here. It's a medium for the dualities, good and bad, dark and light, love and fear, they all have a place here. </div>
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This yoga bubble is also a magnifying glass for the real, which we get to see extremely up close, whether it's that sweet opening, so soft and light that it feels blessed by a divine shower of flower petals falling from <i>Devaloka </i>or that moment of grappling with your demons in the dark, that struggle of epic-like proportions. Both extremes exists here, sometimes simultaneously or, at the very least, in remarkably close succession of each other. </div>
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It has been bright returning to India, to once again be a student, to be in the presence of my teacher, to check in with myself, and to meet old friends, fellow journeymen and women, who I have seen throughout the years. The interactions with the later have been particularly special already. To see people change and grow over the year or years is a testament of time and practice. All around I see evidence of transformation, the evolution of human life, which plays out though the year, in our work, our relationships and our general state of being, all skillfully fueled by <i>sadhana</i>, or spiritual practice. All this is also a reflection of the many changes in my own life over the years. </div>
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Even those who I do not know personally but have assisted in the shala since last year or in 2013--it is also really special to see these fellow-students again on their mats in the shala. I am inspired and honored that I get to see the changes in their practice albeit without any life context. It's a pretty amazing thing to experience as an assistant. </div>
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Of course, the more light it is, the more visible the shadows. This first week here has also been about seeing the shadow sides of being in Mysore, the bits of dark that hide in this or that corner of my own ego. </div>
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Sitting in observation of heavier feelings and energies is not my favorite, it makes me feel raw and uncomfortable, though I also have a growing appreciation for it, a better understanding that there is no running away, that there is no real way of covering that which needs to be seen and recognized. </div>
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This first week has been about adjusting to the shifting light and nodding respectfully to the shadows. What comes next, I cannot say! But I look forward to seeing the light change, and the dark too. </div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-16178530939358392762016-02-01T08:21:00.001+05:302016-02-02T18:15:42.376+05:30the honor and the privilege<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Photo: (c) </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Barbara Süss</span></div>
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It's 3:10am and my friend and I arrive at <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">the Shala gates, there's </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">already a healthy number of people waiting there, somewhere between 25 to 30. It used to be that going that first morning meant seeing many familiar faces. I counted, 4 or 5, most of whom I met last year. Later more familiar faces arrive but the ratio is fairly unchanged. Mostly it is a sea of new faces. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">This is ok, of course, this is how Ashtanga is growing. It is a different time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Because of the growing numbers vying for a spot to practice at the source of Ashtanga yoga, however, a good many long time or returning students could not get in this month or the months previous. I myself got a deny for January and feel blessed to be here now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I'm amped, and surprised to feel nervous and excited on my first day back at the Shala</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">. Time has not calmed that; I'm glad because it reminds me that it still matters a lot to be here, to practice in that room, to be led by my teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">The rugs are gone, the floor is springy, Sharath teaches with a microphone tucked into the neck of his t-shirt, but the count is the same, if not speedy. So is that incredible wave of energy that just picks you up and carries you through led primary. There's no frills, just straight up practice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Afterwards, I down my coconut and swiftly, without engaging in any conversation, walk back to the place where I am staying. This time feels sacred. I get half way there and break the silence between me and my friend, "I'm so happy to be here." There is a little crying, I must admit, I'm soppy like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">What I'm feeling is this: it is a privilege and an honor to be here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I feel this more now than ever because of the new challenges with applying, there are just no guarantees. But the truth is that it has always been an honor and it has always been a privilege to be a student here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I realize that even if I profess to understand this, I have over the years lapsed in really living up to it. So many trips doing too much or doing too little; not resting enough and spending too much time at the coconut stand; not studying properly or taking too many classes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">It's a process, of course. Every season is an opportunity to find a better balance that is healthy and sustainable and respectful of this really intelligent practice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">There's the coming here, all open hearted, surrendering to the feet of the teacher. Then there's walking his walk, talking his talk. I honestly can't say I've totally done that. I don't think I'm a "bad lady," I'm just learning like everyone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I know that I am not the only one to make googly-devoted eyes at Sharath during conference, eyes in samadhi-like concentration or hands busily note-taking so that I might might absorb as much wisdom, only to step out the door and do exactly the opposite.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Surrendering isn't breaking open your chest bone to grab ankles, it is really trying to live the eight limbs, it is listening to our teacher, it is doing as he asks us. Before we act (not just on our mat but during our entire time here) we should ask ourselves, is this in keeping with the great tradition that I've come all this way to learn from? I like to think I'm ready for this way of practice, if not long overdue...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Again, I cannot say it better than: it is an honor and privilege to be here.</span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-49483254577926774322016-01-29T16:15:00.001+05:302016-01-29T16:15:31.880+05:30coming home<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lYsTJH9zzJA/VqtCyex1qBI/AAAAAAAABtI/eHlaaj59Ots/s640/blogger-image-1803094474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lYsTJH9zzJA/VqtCyex1qBI/AAAAAAAABtI/eHlaaj59Ots/s640/blogger-image-1803094474.jpg"></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>One flight down, one more flight away from Bangalore, then one car ride to Mysore. Really, I travelled all of yesterday, as well. I left San Francisco for Asia mid December. It feels like getting to Mysore has been particularly long this time around. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Tallying it up, I feel the craziness of it all, that it's kind of absurd that one of the most stabilizing factors in my life has also fed my mad compulsion for movement. Ultimately<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">, the feeling of heading to Mysore now feels a lot like coming home. </span></div><div><br></div><div>After six years, five seasons, it is about returning to the familiar, it's about reconnecting with friends (it's a lottery, to be sure, but whoever makes it at the same time, whoever I meet year after year, it definitely feels like a reunion); it's about reconnecting with my teacher (and with its weird sort of dysfunctional parental-like issues, like wanting approval yet wanting to be beyond the wanting of approval or wanting to be noticed yet wanting to be confident and cool enough to be that ignored middle child<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">); and, of course, it's about reconnecting with India, which is also a wise but wily teacher. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Coming home is also about meeting myself, it's where I get to stand with my back against the wall and mark my height over the years. Mysore is a measurement for change as much as an agent for it. It is where I get to feel how different I was from last year, or from my first trip in 2010, or the change between the me that arrives tomorrow and the me that leaves at the end of March--because I will no doubt be different. </div><div><br></div><div>It is the place where I often find THAT thing (you know the one!). The one that I think I'm so over, that old issue that hasn't presented itself in ages but inevitably resurfaces in a way that can't be overlooked or easily hidden--because that's also where some of my most persistent ghosts live; <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">they live at "home." </span></div><div><br></div><div>Coming home to Mysore is as complex as returning to my family home or my home town(s)<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. It is both a celebration and a reckoning. I have had amazing experiences and I have also cried through entire trips, the amazing and the difficult are often rolled into one. Sometimes there is more amazing than difficult, sometimes it is only amazing, sometimes only difficult. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Either way, I'm glad to be on my way. As transitory a place as it is, for that flash of a moment, it is home--with all of it's crazy, with all that I love about it and all that I find fault with, where I exist between this strange friction of belonging and being uncertain of my place in it all. In any case, like the times I return home to visit the places where I've grown up, each time is more beautiful than it is confronting.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">It's hard to go home without any expectations, still, here I go. Mysore, coming... </font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><br></div>as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-12303854764678626312015-04-04T20:47:00.001+05:302015-04-04T20:53:01.303+05:30Boat builders<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I build a boat. There are reeds and leaves and colorful powder. Picked buds along the road. And country coins that I've fished out of my purse: a rupee, twenty-five centavos from the Philippines, a penny, and an Egyptian pound. The peso coin I place on the stern of the boat, this is where I come from. The penny I place at the bow, because I know that is the direction I am going, I am returning to--also where I am from. And the other two in the center, Egypt and India, my heart openers. And I sprinkle my vessel with color, placing just a piece of tamarind on top--for sweetness, for this is the best description for this time here: it has been incredibly sweet! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The four of us: boatbuilders, stealing a few precious moments before parting ways, packing up, boarding trains. So, here we are, constructing metaphorical ships, great carriers of what has transpired, of the great work of the last three months, of new hopes and clear(er) intentions, along the ceremonial ghats of the Cauvery River, exactly where we wanted to be, though we didn't exactly know it as we set off in a mad rush from Gokulam in search of flowing water.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Each boat means something special for each of us. Each are similar and each are unique. Each resonate. And in the end, the river swallows each of them; their journey is not meant for the surface. And I trust that regardless of the currents, their essence will empty into the sea.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For me the boat is the practice, it is my vehicle, my life raft, my home. It has carried me to so many places, some awesome destinations and some less than glamorous corners of the world. Then there are the other places: dark recesses of mind and ego, and then there are the expansive heart spaces... All together, they have made up the most incredible adventure of my life. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So the season ends. Three months in Mysore closed. The practice, however, continues. The building, the traveling to new lands whether that is in miles or in kilometers (or in complete stillness) continues. We continue to build, to grow, to flow. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><i>Incredibly grateful to my fellow boat builders, particularly those who set sail with me on April 1. Louise, thank you particularly for this special and potent ritual. Even the local man at the ghat appreciated the sanctity of it as he helped us guide our boats into the water. I am grateful to ALL the boat builders, the dear friends and strangers that have made this experience called Ashtanga Yoga incredibly special. And to the Captain, the Boss, there are no words ample or subtle enough to express my gratitude. </i></span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-72051315384562823702015-03-13T20:48:00.001+05:302015-03-14T07:25:59.700+05:30shivaratri and the spirit of yoga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Barbara capturing the light show at Srikanteshwara Temple in Nanjangud. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish I actually had her photo of the light streaming into the stone structure, truly divine! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">It is Shivaratri and we assemble a group to make the road trip to Nanjangud, where Srikanteshwara Temple has drawn Shivite devotees and Hindu pilgrims since ancient times--harrowingly, on scooters. There are busses and large trucks with sugar cane. There are rickshaws and cars. There are livestock of all sorts, on foot and on wheels. All of which stirs up the dirt on the road and just sticks on skin. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">We get there, dodging vendors, and </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">we wait in line. We buy a ticket, which is kind of odd, after all, surely, there should be no express lines to see gods. No one complains, however, because it is definitely faster. Much faster. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">Still, there is waiting, the eagerness to get to the holy of holies, to bow before the representation of the Divine, make for anxious crowding, in which there is no room for personal space, some que-snaking is there, and any movement forward must be filled in immediately otherwise there will be unhappy glaring or, worse yet, the loosing of one's place. It is ok, we laugh (reminded of how we actually duplicate this on led mornings) and we wait patiently until the jolting moment of being quickly shuffled in and out, allowing only the briefest glimpses of the inner sanctum, where a golden head of Shiva shines. And as I'm spit back out into the inner courtyard, I feel that it certainly was..something... but I also cannot help but wonder: what was all that about? Did we really travel, braving Indian holiday traffic, all that way for that so-called sacred moment? Anticlimactically, it seemed to have come and gone so quickly.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">And then we walk. Slowly, dazed a bit from all the hubbub. But now there is space. And we take our time, stopping at our leisure, viewing lingam after lingam, dropping bills, and sweeping blessing-filled smoke onto the crown of our heads at smaller stations that hold related deities that dot the temple complex, resisting the urge to capture the moment with our phones/cameras in exchange for being in the moment. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">Despite the previous rush and chaos, all around us now is the sanctity of the present: motes of light drawing lines across the stone structure, the earnestness of devotees as they pray, as they light candles, as they circle Nandi and whisper into his ear their deepest desires for the year, as we ourselves admit our secret wishes to the stone bull, as women in their saris roll their bodies across the mid-day heated concrete in front of the temple--how I love this unabashed reverence for God. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">And we sit and we watch, all around us Indians of all ages: the young, the old, babies, teenagers. We take it all in, because it is both so strange and yet so familiar. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">And it happens: we sink into the spirit of the festival celebrating Shiva, Yogeshwari, the god of yoga because isn't this why we are really here in Mysore in the first place?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">That despite the human whirlwind that we create around this place, despite the occasional rushing--not just of bodies trying to secure some spot but of our egos begging for recognition, despite the stirring of deep practice that on more than a few occasions can cause more chaos than peace, at least in the beginning, being here is a quiet celebration of the human spirit which is constantly transforming with practice, it is a reminder that nothing is impossible, that we are always more than what we think we are, that each layer we burn/destroy/peel away doesn't just bring us closer to ourselves but also closer to something so undefinably greater than ourselves, call it Shiva, or God, or Source. </span></span></span></span></div>
as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-19043708500972748082015-01-31T22:01:00.002+05:302015-01-31T22:04:09.330+05:30the dance of practice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I have seen the lovely Julie Alagde-Carretas dance this stunning number twice before last Friday. The first time--four or so years ago--at the Temple Shala in Boracay she wowed me, the second time also on the Philippine island of Boracay I felt incredibly inspired. But here in Mysore, as she </span>presented her yoga-inspired dance to an intimate group of friends and fellow practitioners at the Chakra House, I understood it on a whole new level. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I cannot possibly describe the movements of this Filipina contemporary dancer, the fluidity of her, the strength and subtlety of her yoga sadhana interpreted as dance. It is something to be seen, felt, experienced. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But for that short moment I can say that Julie captured so many of the emotions that I have been experiencing this month--and I reckon not just mine but many others in the room as well, more than a few were tearing up by the end of it.</span><br />
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It feels to me that we are all dancing with this practice.</span><br />
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For me, it is an intimate dance. It is so close, close to the body, close to the heart and mind. It is a solo dance, true. But also one done with many partners: the people in the room, the teacher, the breath, the thoughts, the actions, the self. It is a dance with the elements, fluid like water, lifted by air, supported by ground, fueled by that deep internal fire.</span><br />
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Julie drew us into our own dances. I felt the deep longing for practice and the even deeper longing that practice creates. I felt the desire and the pull of the ego, the whirlings of the mind, and that precious stillness that is golden even when it lingers only for the briefest of moments. I felt the sweet frustration of practice and the richness of pain. I felt this deep well of love for this dance. And of course, I felt gratitude, so much gratitude that I get to also dance this dance.</span><br />
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<i>To Julie: Thank you! It was a very special experience. I am so happy that you are finding your place here on this your first trip. It's beautiful to have you here! </i></span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-90208843674385903542015-01-19T09:51:00.000+05:302015-01-27T12:44:11.047+05:30foyer yoga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Coming into the shala in the morning is an experience in itself. Any time after the 4:30am start time, there is a process: stepping into the foyer, taking your place amongst the students that share the same start time, feeling the anticipation for practice, meditating, intention-making or watching those already moving inside, feeling inspired or anxious, and slowly/sometimes swiftly sliding towards the door, waiting for <i>your</i> "one more."<br />
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Mostly, when I look around at this time in the morning, I see how we all strive to be good students. How we come prepared, ready to get in there, in the shala proper, to "practice," to do our work, whatever that is--which is awesome and inspiring! <br />
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I realize that this is not a one-size-fits-all yoga practice, and everyone approaches practice in different ways--but I cannot help but notice (and yes, often over the last couple of weeks, get frustrated, admittedly an issue of my own ego) how, at times, our zeal to be such good students get the better of us. We get so fixated on wanting to practice ourselves that our vision narrows and we see only that bright tunnel between us and the door into the shala. Sometimes this happens quite by accident. Sadly, at times, quite on purpose, and we fail to see or be conscientious of the others around us.<br />
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I know this is a gross generalization--and for this, I apologize in advance to the innocent bystanders. Most students during my time are lovely and thoughtful. A precious few come in smiling. Many inquiring after each others time, making certain that folks with earlier time slots or those who arrived before them go in first, happily giving way to the mothers with children here with them; the moms are a beautiful exception to the waiting rules, they do not have to cue. There are some that appear calm throughout, non-plussed any aggression--and I so wish, I was one of them.<br />
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But the small number who push their way forwards before their turn, changes the energy of the room. And at times, the foyer is tense.<br />
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So, I take the liberty to use the pronoun "we" because we are not just individuals practicing alone on our mats, we share this room, this incredible collective prana and energy; we are a community. We should collectively preserve this community by respecting not just the sanctity of our personal sadhana but also by respecting each other's. <br />
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Sharath really drove this home for me last conference as he answered a question regarding ego. "First you stop. Avoiding 'I' 'I' 'I'... 'I know, I know', 'I don't know'..."I'm better than you"...action should always be humble action, inside it should be very humble, compassion, everything, this is what our life is."<br />
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When we fixate in the getting into the shala, doing our thing, how much of it that is the "I" that Sharath speaks of, I wonder.<br />
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In my growing frustration, I have also wondered, what my responsibility when I see someone behaving in a less than fair manner. I recognize, however, that my own reaction is also a form of I-ness, it is also ego, a representation of how much <i>I </i>also want to be in the room to do <i>my</i> thing.<br />
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Sharath, as usual, breaks it down for me, "Nobody can change the world, but you can change yourself. Your change, which happens within you. Then once you change yourself, the whole world will change. If you care for people, if you care for trees, if you care for animals, if you care for everything--caring is very important....once you care for others, that is the meaning of this life, you have to care for everyone then your practice will change. That is the purpose of your practice. Not only will you take, oh! ekapada, oh! kapotasana." He quips on, "You are so excited, everyday, you go here, oh I practice four times kapostasana...your purpose here is for kapotasana? Or to gain good knowledge, clarity within you? Kapotasna should help you get that. Not to grow your ego."<br />
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He concludes, "Whole practice is to change yourself." (Right, that's why he's the Boss.)<br />
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I cannot say that I will not call out the next person that cuts the morning line-up. But I will certainly look into my own frustrations, rather than attaching them to the actions of others. I will take responsibility that my defensiveness and ridiculous fear of loosing out adds to the negativity in the foyer. I will re-enter the waiting game after the moon day, not only refreshed from rest but also with the spirit of caring, not just for myself but for my fellow students as well. I will come into the space, not just prepared for practice, but practicing already. But enough about me. What if we were to do this together, how great would that be? How much quicker would we change the world?<br />
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<i>(Aside: I hope that this article doesn't give any wrong ideas about ashtanga or yoga practice. What I am observing is not an issue of ashtanga yoga, it is an issue of the human condition. And moments like these are simply opportunities to deepen our practice. Ashtanga and Mysore often has a reputation for being extreme. Mostly, I feel both are extremely effective mirrors. What we choose to see, is wholly up to us.)</i><br />
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FOYER UPDATE:<br />
(27 January 2015)<br />
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It’s been a month, nearly. And I feel how
overtime, things always find a balance. The change in the mood of the foyer at
my time has noticeably shifted. More people seem conscious of the process and
conscientious of each other. Some have stepped up to maintaining peace, others
have chilled, and whoever else seems out for themselves each morning, well, the
collective seem to bother little about them now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;">I feel much more chill about
the whole thing, having aired out my issue and trying to come into the space myself with a
lightheartedness and excitement for practice. I remind myself each time I enter the
room that everyone is like everyone else, eager to do the work, trying our best
to find the yoga in it all. This I feel is a testament to how yoga does
work, that the "</span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">citta</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;"> vrittis" calm eventually and everyone finds their place in this
heaving movement of practice around the KPJAYI shala. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;">
I know as the month ends, old friends will go, new friends will come, and the
cycle somehow continues. I hope that the energy of yoga before and after
“practice” prevails, that we continue to be conscious and mindful not only of
ourselves but of each other. That we bring the steadiness of the asana practice
into the patience of the wait, that as tight as it might get in there, there is
always room for everyone. </span><br />
<br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-289333503560247432015-01-14T20:48:00.001+05:302015-01-17T19:36:53.672+05:30the upside of broken<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not been easy to sit and write. Actually it’s not been
easy to sit in general, to stand up from the ground, to put on leggings, to strap
on sandals, though each day this too is changing…</div>
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<br />
My back has been hurting and it’s not just been challenging in practice but
also in pretty much every activity. It’s taken a certain amount of time to
admit this to myself, to allow myself the mental, emotional and physical space
to actually feel it, and thus examine it--and it’s taken a bit more time to
admit this to my teacher, who I’ve traveled all the way to India to study with. Sharath has actually been amazing and compassionate, he suggested I stick to primary and has been supportive of me scaling back even on that. As for my own acceptance, well, this is a
work in progress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
While the trouble with the back did not apparently happen in yogasana
practice, the way I’ve been practicing with whole-hearted Mysore-inspired gusto
has not helped it, and, if anything, has made it feel even more tender. After a
week of practice, I had to re-examine my hopes that the deep stretching would
work out whatever kinks there were. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I’ve had to remember that my “best effort” is not always the same across the
board. That my optimum is different when I’m healthy and able bodied, than when
I’m hurt or injured, or when I’m busy or under-slept, or when I’m stressed and
emotional. <br />
<br />
So my biggest challenge has been this: to let go of my own ideas about my own practice,
particularly about practice here in Mysore where I am used to jumping into the
deep end. Right now, my best effort is about wading gently in the shallows,
allowing the back to expand and loosen, giving it space with the breath. <br />
<br />
Returning home exhausted after a mindful led primary last Saturday, I realize
how hard this is, that I am used to exerting a certain amount of effort to go
deep in a forward bend, for example. And how much harder it is to be cautious,
to scale back my own practice, to override my attachment to the postures and my
desire to go deeper, to appreciate the energy of a room in motion but to also
to not be driven by it, to be content to walk forwards and backwards on the
mat, while all around people are floating and flying, to be unashamed and
forgiving of myself as my knees touch ground in upward facing dog because doing
it this way it isn’t painful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once again, the Mysore room is humbling me, albeit in
different ways from previous trips and only after the first two weeks since
arriving—record time really for this place to make me feel so tender, so
vulnerable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It’s been a great teacher this thing with the back. I’ve been through the
motions with it. I’ve been disappointed and upset. It’s been hard to be
comfortable, and there's nothing much to do but to sit patiently with the discomfort. More recently,
I’ve been hopeful. I’ve felt the thrill of being able to practice mindfully
with little to no pain, even in a led primary class. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel I am getting to know my own body a little
differently--and my mind too. While I know that the depth of the practice is
not determined by the depth of the posture, I have to admit that I often think
of a great practice as one where I am closest to what I consider “the full of
expression of the posture.” If I were to fold forward in the same fashion as I
might have a month ago, I may come close to the visual ideal of
paschimattanasana, but if I were to do that today, I would not only be
endangering the health of my back, but I would also no longer be practicing
yoga. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;">And while the challenges continue, and practice is an unending roller-coaster, with ups and downs, twists and turns, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">loop-de-loops, highs and lows, I am grateful that </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;">I am getting to watch my own preoccupation over
asana and my crazy patterns: how hard working I usually am, and how this is at times to my own detriment, how all too often I have a
hard time giving myself a well-deserved break. Every day is a great lesson in letting go as much as in acceptance. </span><!--EndFragment--><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: small;">(As of publishing the article, happy to report that the back in doing much better. Everyday is a marked improvement. Pain is less acute and more dull. Most likely some micro-tearing due to excessive travel/crazy Christmas schedule/on going saga with leg behind </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">the head postures have caused the back muscles on the left side to spasm. There is no damage to the spine, disks are good. Taking rest, practicing lightly, and a healthy amount of great advice from friends and professionals have helped immensely. I feel incredibly supported during this time and cannot think of a better place to heal than in Mysore where Guruji prescribed primary series as yoga therapy. I am amazed that even with adjusting to my current limitations, nothing is lost in the practice. It is so ... how else can I say it, for me, it is still so perfect!) </span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-24586172080477210112015-01-05T07:26:00.000+05:302015-01-05T07:33:16.092+05:30mysore reception<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Demon slaying at Chamundi Hill yesterday--pretty much sums up practice </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Before my first trip to India, Mysore was a mythical place, a pantheon where ashtanga superheroes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> were said to practice. Thus my hesitation for making my first trip. I felt that I was not ready--and that feeling lingered, like I could never be ready enough. When I was finally convinced to make the trip with my friend Clara in 2010, we took preparing for it like it were the Olympics. We were "training," getting on the mat every morning for 9 months, putting our whole heart into it. Those beautiful days practice was my soul's purpose</span></div>
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Fast forward to the present day, I am at the led class, practicing to Sharath's precise count in the ladies' changing room and I want to laugh at the idea of ever being ready for Mysore because, for me, at least, there is no such thing. My soul's purpose... well, it's still practice, but practice has evolved and expanded and I feel that I am least prepared now than I have ever been.<br />
<br />
And that is totally OK!<br />
<br />
This is my fourth trip to India and to KPJAYI. Within the first two days, I had moved into an apartment, rented a scooter, applied for a mobile number, registered and attended class--all possible with a certain amount of collected know-how. I'm no longer a newbie to Mysore or KPJAYI, but each day I am here only affirms that there is no prescribed preparation, no precise steps to follow.<br />
<br />
The truth is I feel physically challenged at the moment. My physical practice has suffered from all of the awesome blessings of the year: all the amazing yet destabilizing travel for work and for family. I saw two sisters get married, one in NY, another in the Philippines. I've spent more time with family and seen more old friends, from so many different segments of my life, this year more than any year since I started practicing ashtanga yoga. All topped off with a three week visit to my home city Manila, during THE maddest season of the year, what I call the "Christmas Cray Cray," an all-out-eat-shop-party extravaganza, where the closest to a moment of peace and quiet might be found as you are sandwiched between cars and buses in holiday traffic/gridlock. Safe to say, I am currently not at my best physical shape.<br />
<br />
So here I am, come to Mysore, travel-weary, breathing through back pain (potentially caused by long-haul flights and sleeping on couches), feeling what I can best describe as this incredible sense of acceptance, that no matter what state I am in I am welcome to lay down my mat and practice here. That the practice and the shala and, of course, Sharath, is all-accepting, no matter what your trip is, no matter what your issue, no matter what your state of mind or heart or body so long as you're willing to get on the mat and do your very best.<br />
<br />
As I hobble through led primary, I feel such gratitude for being here. Perhaps in the past, Mysore was about advancing in practice. But right now, it is the place to come home to; to unpack my bags, my pains, my ego; to heal and to rebuilt; to remember what I am about and to truly, deeply refine that great sense of soul purpose. </div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-8741627271488629282014-12-08T23:31:00.001+05:302015-01-01T19:23:41.726+05:30new year's eve countdown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Gate 109, Terminal 3<br />
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At the stroke of midnight, Manila time, I should be flying somewhere above India.</div>
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This has somewhat baffled friends and family. Would I not prefer spending at least one more day in Manila to enjoy the fireworks and the parties? Or at least be on the ground when the clocks strike 12. </div>
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<i>Perhaps</i>. It's true, I'll be in a foreign land <i>again</i>, far away from family <i>again</i>. But as I sit here waiting for my flight out of Manila to Bangalore, I know there is no place I would rather be. I also know that I am returning home, because India has been a great home for me. I have grown so much from my time there. It is where I get to return to myself through the deep process that is practice. </div>
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Without <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">planning it, there will also be friends there (even now I don't know exactly who), and some of these friends, well, they're family too--just the kind of family we discover along the way. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Ganesh emailed that I am the first student to be picked up by his taxi service on the 1st of January 2015. I doubt that I will beat the throng of students at registration, but I feel happy to touch ground in India so soon after the New Year begins because Mysore has always been about bringing in the new for me. It is about accepting change, letting go of what needs letting go of, and, of course, manifesting the new. </div>
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Realizing Mysore continues to be unending journey. The count down starts, this is the beginning of a new chapter in this--my favorite--story. </div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-3889230581839183562014-05-18T23:35:00.000+05:302014-05-18T23:36:32.537+05:30Remembering Guruji<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, Guruji. </div>
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July 26, 1915 - May 18, 2009</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here's to a light that never extinguishes!</div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-62144348447241072762014-03-19T17:45:00.001+05:302014-03-19T22:15:07.338+05:30being a student, mysore in london<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jMG5BKAkXXA/Uyl9bH7sYkI/AAAAAAAABmI/c0GjbU0yt58/s1600/IMG_1879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jMG5BKAkXXA/Uyl9bH7sYkI/AAAAAAAABmI/c0GjbU0yt58/s1600/IMG_1879.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very non-descript placard beside the door of the shala. <br />
From outside, you would never guess the magic going on in there!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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“One more,” calls Hamish Hendry from the main room. I come up from uthita trikonasana, fold my mat and walk into the steamy room, condensation on the
walls and windows, steam rising from hot bodies in practice. I can feel the
humidity on my skin but also in my lungs. It might be on the edge of oppressively hot but I
love it, I am so happy to put my mat down. I take a few moments to inhale and exhale in
samasthitihi, getting used to the thickness of the air in the room before
restarting my practice. Ekam…<br />
<br />
These months of being on the road have been beautiful lessons in self-practice,
in learning to motivate myself, to be patient and sensible when it comes to the
limits of the body, to forgive and be loving towards myself when necessary. I
have relished the time on my own, but I have to admit, it’s been difficult, and
also a little lonely. <br />
<br />
Being on a mini-holiday to visit with friends in London, with no particular
agenda, has been a great opportunity to go to class, to step into the cauldron, so to speak, to be a student. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In late 2013, when I last breezed through London, a trip to Dharma Shala was on my agenda. I only managed a couple of days but attending class there left a strong impression on me. Returning this time around, taking class super-ceeded being a tourist. It's been nearly a year since my last Mysore trip. A year of self-practice. So entering a warm room again, one buzzing with the energy generated by bodies moving with breath and thoughtful intention...It's like magic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Dharma Shala on Drummond Street is a gem of a shala, where the connection to Mysore, India feels very alive, so tangible you can feel
it. I’ve not practiced in so many places, but it’s at Dharma shala where I feel
Mysore-mysore the most outside of India. It’s the similarity in the process, the continuously
rolling in and out of students, finishing postures in another room, the practice-generated
heat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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And then, there’s Hamish, very down-to-earth, friendly but also straight to the point sort of man who is among the small number of certified teachers in the tradition. In Mysore, it’s impossible to not meet a student of Hamish’s. And if you speak to them, impossible to miss the
tone of love and respect they have for their London teacher and shala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> His presence, very much his own, is not so dissimilar to Sharath's non-obtrusiveness. I felt very much how he gave me space, knowing full well I need to do my own work. But I also felt his compassion, how knowing I have not practiced with anyone for a long time, he tried to give me as much support as I needed, inviting me to try new things, giving me something new thing to work on. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
I've been told that Hamish is a teacher's teacher, with many London ashtanga teachers attending Mysore either before or after their own classes, many assisting him as well. And you can feel that in the assistance, very skilled and sensitive. And you can see that in the room: some really amazing practices, intermediate A, B, not uncommon. The depth of practice, no matter what level, the concerted effort, full deep breath is truly prevalent in the room. And it was a joy to be there myself, even for a handful of days, practicing in the thick of it.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">This morning, I returned to my mat, returned to my solo practice. Again, not easy. I couldn't even break a sweat with this fresh spring air in Barcelona, my body stiff from travel yesterday. But I feel good, that even that bit of time in such a room, with such a teacher, has given me some "homework"to stoke my practice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FpkEJqsXk88/UymHWH9IKtI/AAAAAAAABmY/hKRXNun58dM/s1600/IMG_1736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FpkEJqsXk88/UymHWH9IKtI/AAAAAAAABmY/hKRXNun58dM/s1600/IMG_1736.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wonderful companion to yoga practice:<br />
It starts: "Before you start reading this book breathe long and deep. <br />
This in the only practice in this book and may be the most important."<br />
Yes!<br />
<br />
Yoga Dharma is on sale at Dharma Shala.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-26755785225496119532014-01-16T04:57:00.000+05:302014-01-16T04:57:19.053+05:30new openings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2m-Q91FMpc/UtcTjZYUmKI/AAAAAAAABjk/qTHmZxmImYA/s1600/IMG_8553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2m-Q91FMpc/UtcTjZYUmKI/AAAAAAAABjk/qTHmZxmImYA/s1600/IMG_8553.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Maybe it's the inspiring airy, light-filled Espacio Vacio, where I practice in the mornings after class, with its high ceilings and wood floors...<br />
<br />
Maybe it's Barcelona, the newness of it and the change of pace that it's allowed me...<br />
<br />
Maybe it's Cairo with its unfathomable intensity, perhaps this is its parting gift...<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the season and my body is simply used to being pushed to its limits right about now were it in Mysore, India--that somehow I've developed an automated response to diving into the deep end this time of year because for the first time in my life of solo self-practice, I feel like I'm really going for it...<br />
<br />
Maybe it's a combination of all these factors.... Or maybe it's just finally time...<br />
<br />
Whatever the cause, it feels as if something is once again shifting. But in a very different way from what I'm used to. I don't feel exhausted, or pushed or frayed. I'm eating right, I am sleeping enough, I feel loved. I'm not having a hard time of practice. I'm not wracked with internal egoic debates nor am I plagued by the usual issues of fear or self doubt. I don't feel delicate, though admittedly some tears have come recently but they feel largely like an emotional release, a catharsis without much attachment.<br />
<br />
Were I a heaving mess, I'd understand it better. I've been through the process where it felt like practice was slowly prying me open. I, likewise, am familiar with the all-the-sudden bam! sneaky sledge-hammer style it can have at times. I am used to being broken, cracked like an egg, having my guts spill out onto the sidewalk. Used to the dirty process of picking up the pieces in order to put myself together again (albeit better than when it all started).<br />
<br />
This. This is new. First of all, I feel well. I know that's a strange one to note, but it's definitely notable. More than anything there's this new awareness, a strong sense that something is happening in my body. On the gross level, there's a deep muscle soreness--not so unusual with practice. Beyond that, there's this more subtle feeling that within my body things are being rearranged, the process of which has resulted in both a lovely yet strange new spaciousness in deep down areas I've never felt before and a quivering sensation, like there's a certain weakness in the limbs, as if they don't quite know how to hold themselves. What in the world?!<br />
<br />
Whatever this is, I'm excited. It's thrilling to feel changes in the body. Having been in a practice plateau (physically) for sometime, the prospect of an opening in the body makes me want to celebrate, throw a party, send out announcements--instead, a blog entry will do. Moreover, it's amazing to be able to be aware that something within is moving. Staggering, too, to experience it so calmly, so steadily.<br />
<br />
What exactly is happening, I can't really say. One thing is certain: shifts will come and I have a feeling this might be the one I've been waiting for and for quite some time.<br />
<br />
It's especially reaffirming to feel how deeply the practice works. That the spirit of Mysore, the movements it inspires, is not a fixed experience. It exists wherever one practices, whenever one practices. </div>
as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-74744422940325356702013-12-11T02:22:00.001+05:302013-12-11T02:25:14.639+05:30mysore withdrawal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For me, 'tis the season for Mysore. It's not been so very long for me but since 2010, I've spent this time of year in India to study with Sharath at KPJAYI. Until now, that is.<br />
<br />
When the season started in Mysore this October, it made me smile to know that the shala life around Gokulam was restarting, that even from afar I felt I could revel in it.<br />
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The more time passes, however, the more I feel the shakes for shala practice, for that intense energy that goes into practice, preparing for practice, eating early for practice, pre-practice coffee, post-practice chai...<br />
<br />
There's this itch to check on the Ashtanga Mysore Community Facebook page--just to see what's going on--or to stalk friends who I know are there now or are headed that way. Then, there's this deep down feeling of longing that I feel when I see a Mysore shot on Instagram or an update on my newsfeed. <br />
<br />
Mysore withdrawal symptoms, all of them, confirming my (healthy! at least on most days) addiction to Mysore, India. (The informal definition in the dictionary for "addict" is "devotee" incidentally, which I think applies well here.)<br />
<br />
My body, heart, mind, spirit are having a Pavlovian response to this time of year! I'm not salivating, thank goodness, but am definitely having an interesting reaction to shots of random cows walking the streets, coco stand portraits and especially wide-angle shots of the packed room and expectant faces at conferences. There is a craving for depth of practice with my teacher, the camaraderie of friends who understand similarly the experience of yoga practice in their muscles and their joints and the intensity of the more subtle clenches and the openings that come with it.<br />
<br />
And it's not just the practice. Missing Mysore in so many different levels, from the most mundane simple acts that typify a day in the life there, (i.e. morning post-practice chai, Sri Durg Indian breakfast or trip to the Chocolate man for curd) to special Sunday afternoons a capela kirtan in Saraswathipuram leading to conference at the shala with Sharath.<br />
<br />
It's interesting now to observe how my attention is drawn to that part of the world, all the way here in Egypt, how connected I continue to feel despite skipping a season, but also how that connection constantly craves for more...how to explain...deepening--which I think is a pretty good kind of addiction. </div>
as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-56297334554449209282013-11-23T16:00:00.003+05:302013-11-23T16:01:41.105+05:30committed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CbZ3H9w819w/UpCDJ6ofY-I/AAAAAAAABis/SUxketS5tCg/s1600/IMG_6091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CbZ3H9w819w/UpCDJ6ofY-I/AAAAAAAABis/SUxketS5tCg/s320/IMG_6091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portable portrait of Guruji (Sri K. Pattabhi Jois), which travels with me.<br />
Makeshift altar at La Zone, Maadi in Cairo, where I am subbing for friend Iman Elsherbiny. </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">It's not perfect. But I've stuck to it--out of some deep internal compulsion, out of a great need and desire, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">out of love</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">. And even though, on occasion, especially as the alarm harps on at crazy o'clock in the morning and there is this small sense of drudgery, that oh-here-we-go-again! feeling, mostly I wake up joyfully knowing that I will be met with both its unpredictable spontaneity and steady consistency. My eyes open and I am happy to breathe with it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">The longing does not abate. I know that i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">t is there for me, waiting and welcoming. Mostly, I can't wait to be with it, to spend the hours touching an intimacy like no other.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">After seven years, <i>this</i> is the longest relationship I have ever had, this partnership with this mad beautiful ashtanga practice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">I realize that I've never been so committed; that no other part of my life has ever received such attention, such loyalty, such love and devotion. And while that in itself may be flawed, I cannot help but feel gratitude that something has inspired me so, calling me on to act day after day with remarkable presence. Even if the sense of fullness is sometimes fleeting, it has made me look upon each day as filled with the potential for growth. It has inspired me to love in so many levels--to love yoga, to love the practice itself, to love my teachers, and to love my fellow beings. Most of all it has helped me cultivate a profound sense of self love that I hadn't realized was even missing.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">A couple of years ago, I wrote an article likening my relationship with the ashtanga practice to dating, that we'd moved beyond flirtation and how we were properly, happily seeing each other. And what a beautiful time that was, how joyful to see our bond blossom.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">We've been through a lot more since then, the practice and I. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">There have had some golden moments. The last couple of years have taught us to be easy and comfortable with each other, more forgiving, more patient. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">But there have been difficulties too. Being with practice is not easy. Frustrations at feeling stalled have played on me. Things don't always move forward at the same lightning pace. Being unable to move beyond one posture, for example, made feel as if we'd reached a plateau, that nothing new was coming and I feared the stagnancy of routine. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">I phased through moments of doubts. I scrutinized our compatibility. I wondered whether we were truly right for each other, whether it could truly satisfy me, and whether I could truly represent it and be the kind of practitioner/teacher that I felt like I needed to be for it. I feared its rejection, that I wouldn't be good enough. And then there were times that I felt fidgety and nervous and craved for more. I had to ask: could I truly commit? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">And, yet, here we are: wandering the world together, navigating the strange unknown with remarkable strength and flexibility, adapting to different cultures, coping with the stress of work, travel and movement, being mutually supportive but allowing each other the space to be. I could not imagine this life of mine now without it. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">The question of commitment, a non issue at this point, as I survey my life of, well, commitment to practice. The challenges come and go, yet the practice remains, however sweet, however difficult. It would not have stuck around if I hadn't willed it. If I hadn't stepped on to the mat and breathed it into my body day after day.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">These days, I feel committed on a whole new level. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">That while the practice continues to be deeply personal, it has also become greater. That by teaching, my relationship with my own practice now extends to others. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">The authorization, the blessing from Sharath Jois to teach, I must admit, has brought a new sense of commitment to it. Fear, as well. Like a marriage, it feels a great deal more official. More serious. There is a greater sense of responsibility and accountability on my part. That comes with its own set of worries. But this, too, we are navigating together. The practice seems to understand my deeply ingrained fear of commitment and makes no demands. It accepts me just as I am. It bends to my need for independence, it allows me to be the autonomous, creative being that I need to be. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">And what I've realized is, that despite the piece of paper, the intricacies of our relationship is up to us, that we create the kind of loving, respectful exchange that works, that allows love to simply flow easily. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><i>Want to read more about the evolution of this constantly changing relationship to practice? To read the "dating yoga" blog article:</i> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://realizingmysore.blogspot.jp/2011/12/dating-yoga.html">http://realizingmysore.blogspot.jp/2011/12/dating-yoga.html</a></span></div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-38530596011020848252013-11-17T16:01:00.000+05:302013-11-17T16:10:17.391+05:30a skip season<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guruji's portrait in the shala. </td></tr>
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I would not have thought it possible. Towards the end of my first trip, so certain was I, so gung-ho, so totally obsessed with Mysore, that I was sure I would spend a portion of every year of my life in Mysore, India to practice at the shala--at least until my brittle bones would prevent me from doing so!<br />
<br />
And now... as friends and, yes, my yoga family converge in India, I sit during spare in-between-teaching moments reading updates on facebook, viewing photos on instagram, and breathing--I breathe into the space in my heart that tightens because I long for it so: India, the shala, the energy and the practice there, the grace of the teacher, the community in and around Gokulam, the yoga folks, the chocolate, the random livestock wandering around the streets. Oh my goodness, I miss it all!<br />
<br />
I've been in Cairo over three weeks now, my coming here has allowed another, my friend and fellow ashtangi Iman Elsherbiny, to go and study with Sharath in KPJAYI. The last three months has been this way, me holding space for others. Before this I was in Japan, subbing for a mysore program in Osaka. After this, I will be doing the same in Barcelona. And the current Mysore season will have come and gone by the time I am done with the commitments that I have made.<br />
<br />
I have chosen to skip a season, I have to remind myself. I am the architect of this anomaly.<br />
<br />
This was not so methodically planned. I do have a ticket leaving London in the end of December going to back to Asia. My intention was to be in India by the new year, in keeping with my "tradition" of spending the eve at the Shiva temple in Chamundi Hill, giving puja, burning old karmas, making new intentions. But so much has changed since I left South East Asia in early June. And life has challenged me to be flexible off the mat as well.<br />
<br />
As the year ends, my puja, my offering is my life. Burning old patterns writ on paper isn't enough anymore. I simply need to stop cycling into them. And the intentions, well, my plate is still full there as I toil over the ones from previous years.<br />
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Ultimately, I know it doesn't matter where I celebrate the new year. It doesn't matter where I practice, or where I bow to the teachings of my teacher.<br />
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Still, I am missing practice at the shala and Sharath's stealthy hawk-eyed gaze. I can feel my body miss the deep down soreness, the depth of self-discovery, the intensity of moving amongst the breath of 70 some odd students, that indescribable push to the edge. But this time, choosing to teach, rather than to study, also seems right.<br />
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While studying regularly with Sharath is important to me as a human being and as a student, I can't help but feel his hand in my learning now, that it is because of his blessing that I am out here. That this is my "off-campus" self-study; it is also a part of my expanding education. And when it's time to return to the mother ship, Mysore will still be there. It will still be the same crazy, pressure cooking home away from home.<br />
<br />
Life, I try to remember, is an extension of this practice. That "realizing mysore" is not exclusive to being physically in Mysore the Karnatakan city in Southern India. It is a state of being, a process and a tool for living. We go to Mysore to experience it and when we leave, we don't forget its lessons, which have seeped into our muscle memory, into our bones and into our cellular beings. When we leave, that energy goes with us.<br />
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And even though I am missing Mysore very much at the moment, I also know that like the practice, Mysore is always with me. </div>
as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-61776260788769428532013-08-18T16:14:00.002+05:302013-11-17T16:19:18.913+05:30wandering student to traveling teacher<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sw_8BtrPNv8/UhCiCxbGv4I/AAAAAAAABaE/lVkNcL3-Ors/s1600/IMG_1580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sw_8BtrPNv8/UhCiCxbGv4I/AAAAAAAABaE/lVkNcL3-Ors/s320/IMG_1580.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my first mysore-style classes <br />
at Spirit Yoga, Osaka.</td></tr>
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A couple of weeks ago, I arrived in Osaka and met up with two people I had met very briefly in Mysore: Rosangela and Simon from Brazil. I had just arrived to cover two months for one mysore program and they were a day shy of leaving after two months of covering another program in the city.<br />
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Such meetings are not unusual within the community of ashtanga-practioners who go in and out of Mysore. What was different, however, as we traded stories about the months since the shala closed in March, is that I was like them, I realized. They'd been moving around Asia and were then going to Europe to cover another program. And like them, I was traveling <i>and</i> <i>teaching</i>. Properly. Not just when I was at home in the Philippines. Not just on the side. Not by accident, which was a lot last summer. I was moving intentionally to teach and share.<br />
<br />
I had been to the Philippines to assist after India, followed by teaching in Spain. After Osaka I'll be heading to Egypt, again to cover a mysore program. I had made a transition without being fully aware of it. I was a little shocked at first, then amazed, then grateful...<br />
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In 2010, I took my first trip to Mysore. Realized I knew so very little. The director of KPJAYI, Sharath Jois emphasized a lot during conference those months the importance of being a student first. It deeply resonated. And even though I had been teaching already, I felt that it was time to drop the idea that I was a teacher and simply embrace being a student.<br />
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And the Universe was good, complying and giving me the opportunities to move about, learn from amazing master teachers, from friends, and from loved ones. When the opportunity arose, I would teach but it was not my focus. I returned to Mysore again. <i>Svadyaya</i>, was a key word. I was constantly, it seemed, self-studying--on the mat, off the mat, from books, and from experience. I often emphasized how I was a student first. But what of teaching?</div>
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I still wanted to teach but didn't hanker for it, content to take the time to learn. Perhaps there was a part of me that took refuge in being the student, that my lot wasn't to teach--not yet! maybe never?--but instead to simply prepare. In the beginning, I honestly didn't believe I was ready. But in recent times, I think maybe I was scared. There was safe-ness to being the student. As a student, I was accountable mostly for my own learning. I was responsible to grow and expand for my own good only. And what if... what if I didn't make a good teacher?</div>
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I realize now how much I stepped away from the role of teaching. How I was happy to be the student around other great teachers, how I stepped aside for them, not just my seniors but my peers too. But if I were totally honest, I guess there has also been a certain amount of dissonance in this act, because I have learned a lot, because I also have things to share now--and because, I am coming to realize, I've always had to something to share.</div>
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Yes, I am a student. Yes, I will always be a student. I will always honor and respect and give time to my own teacher. To my Guru. And that there is always time and space to humbly be the student. </div>
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But, yes, I am also a teacher. And am feeling my teacher-ness more now than last March when I received my teacher's blessing to teach. The authorization from Sharath matters to me, of course--the reasons for which could be an article in itself but I had wondered sometime in June as I blundered nervously through a guided class, whether I was really really ready, had Sharath made a mistake, had he misjudged me, perhaps I hadn't ripened? </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Yet, here I am. In Osaka. Called here to teach. Teaching. I get up very very early so that I can practice for myself but also for the students who will come and lay their mats down after I've finished. And when they come into the 6th floor studio of Spirit Yoga, t</span>hey are under my gaze and guidance.<span class="Apple-style-span"> For a brief moment, their practice is an extension of my own, their breath is my breath. And I try my best to be present in order to help facilitate the subtest of movements. </span></div>
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Maybe Sharath's blessing is a part of an initiation, this coming of age that we perpetual students must also go through. </div>
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Perhaps being really ready entails stepping into the role, not running away from it or being scared by it. Instead, accepting the responsibility that being a good student now also includes working towards being a good teacher. That all that self-study has to be good for more that just one person, that knowledge so dearly earned is meant to be shared.</div>
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And this fear of teaching? Trying to face it, to stare it down. I still freak out <i>just</i> a little bit here and there, I get nervous--about stupid stuff, really, like forgetting the opening prayer midway, or the counting, oh God, the counting! But those evil, little nagging moments of self-doubt, they are coming less and less, they are loosing their power. Last June, after my train-wreck of a class (mind you, the students were fine, only the teacherly were critical, god bless them!), my friend Paul was giving me feedback, I needed to simply practice teaching, he said. I guess that time was also a part of this transition. And, yes, I am reminded that everything comes down to practice. </div>
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So, here I am in Osaka where students call me "<i>Sensei </i>Kaz," which for an American like myself is just so odd and yet so obscenely cool because I learned that word from the movie "Karate Kid." But it's also weighty. It comes with this new sense of responsibility. I'm not in my comfort zone anymore, but it's ok because I know that this is also the place where the magic happens. So, bring it!</div>
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-16921370583729901352013-08-14T00:26:00.001+05:302013-08-16T08:28:12.284+05:30new shala registration process<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The buzz word continues to be change. And even with Sharath on tour this summer, the world continues to turn. Mysore is no exception. Saraswathi started to teach in July or June. And now she too is conducting weekly conference for her students. And the shala, well, the shala rules on registration is as fluid as ever.<br />
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For some of us on the ride, it feels a little like a raging rapid what with the ever changing rules in registration for the next season: trips starting only at the 6th of every month, registration changed to the first of every month, and a glut of applicants filling up an entire month all in two days.<br />
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December was full by August 3. And the fall months which are usually considered quieter months filled up quickly too. And the question "Do I go to Mysore?" has been edited by the new circumstances into "Can I go to Mysore?" Will Mysore accept me, will I even be able to register? We'll see once September rolls around.<br />
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Non-attachment. I've not been going to Mysore so long that I have old-school expectations. I'm actually pretty new school. Still, change is unrelenting. And I am fighting the reaction to have any resistance to it. Relax, I remind myself. Be steady but relax also.<br />
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With ashtanga growing so rapidly, with more and more people wanting to come and study with Sharath in India, we must be prepared that the Mysore experience will continue to change, evolve, grow, this is yoga in action, isn't it?--and if we are really practicing, how we too must also expand with it.<br />
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<i><u>Some useful tips for first timers: </u></i></div>
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<i>1) Make sure your photo is sized properly and is in the right format</i></div>
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<i>2) Applications sent before the 4 month mark of the month you are applying for will most likely not be counted</i></div>
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<i>3) After registration you should receive an automated response that the shala has received your application. This is not your acceptance letter into the program. But it is important that you receive this </i></div>
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<i>4) You will receive an acceptance letter from the shala. This may take a little, sometimes a lot of time. Also important, if you do not receive this, I suggest you follow it up</i></div>
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<i>For updated rules on registration process, see www.kpjayi.org.</i><br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484224339317817645.post-66104907315242557872013-08-12T11:55:00.003+05:302013-08-12T11:55:49.002+05:30assisting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The whole assisting thing was new on my first trip to Mysore. Not just for me, but for everyone involved. And though I had no prior experience to compare it to, no old impression of the shala to hold it against, I couldn't help but feel like I was witnessing a little bit of shala history. There was Sharath working the room, not on his own but with the shala's first foreign assistants. My first back bend in the shala was by an assistant, and she took me to ankles. I was startled--maybe even a little disoriented--yes, but I also felt very supported. I didn't even know such a feat was possible.<br />
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Fast forward to late January. I'm reregistering for month two when Sharath tells me in his usual matter-of-fact way, the same manner he says most things, authoritative but somehow strangely off-key, like the way he might inform you that your time has changed, like somehow you had it wrong all along, "You assist for me next month."<br />
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I wish I could report that I'm the kind of person that was just totally cool and even minded about it. When in reality, my mind went blank and I think I went all bug-eyed. My mouth might have dropped. I was just glad I was sitting down, else I might have actually fallen over, so much was the mixture of shock, excitement, and joy that he thought I might be ready.<br />
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Then reality set in, "Next month, which is...?" Next week, he answered. That's just about when the anxiety chimed in.<br />
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What to say about assisting? I've been trying to sum up the experience now for some time now. Maybe there's just no summing it up. There are so many layers to it. So many different lessons-- about the shala, Sharath, myself, my practice, my abilities--and all my issues that have to do with said abilities or my perception of them.<br />
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It's a unique opportunity to learn, to share, and to serve at the shala in Mysore, under the guidance of Sharath, with the energy of the seriously devoted practitioners that come and practice there. It was an incredibly intense experience, ridiculously tiring that I would repeat again in a heart beat.<br />
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But if I <i>could</i> sum my experience up with one word, it would be "gratitude." To the boss man Sharath, to the students who trusted me with their bodies/practices, to those who gave me good feedback, to the friends who encouraged me, to my first yoga teacher and to every person who helped me along this path. Thank you, thank you, thank you.<br />
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as always kazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08056805975190045903noreply@blogger.com0