being split

I sit, nervously, in front of Sharath at his office today, explaining that I have a question about Sunday led class.

"You stop at your pose," says Sharath, a.k.a. Man of Little Words.

"Of course!" I think to myself. But I still can't grasp the information. It's slippery. My mind asks for definite confirmation. It's somehow not enough having him tell me to just do intermediate this past Thursday. The concept won't stick.

"But which class do I come to on Sunday?"

"Come 7:30," says the Boss, ending another less than 15-second conversation with him.

But who cares! That's it. It's really real. I've really been split, and on Sunday I will be attending my first led intermediate class.

Part of me wants to play it all cool and just be ok, it's just another day. (I just want to say here that everyone's practice is different. That in the end, it doesn't matter where you are, primary, intermediate, whatever. It's not the postures that are important, but the process. Right now, however, in my process, this is where I'm at.)

So there's another part of me and that girl, she's doing cartwheels! I'm--and I really have to sigh with relief when I say this because it's been a rough 3 weeks--happy! It's a landmark.

The practice of ashtanga is one with little fanfare, at least not in this shala. You come, you do. There's no hand-holding. It's tough love between Sharath and most of his students. He doesn't give hugs. He sparsely gives validation. He's watching all the time, but sometimes it feels like he looks straight through you. An occasional "very good" is golden. I actually got a look of total disgust a couple weeks ago, with matching sigh/grunt after a tight backbend with him--which oddly enough is one step higher than no feedback at all.

There's little to feed the ego here. It's all about us and our individual practice. Sharath quite skillfully stays out of the way, appearing only at the most crucial moments. He lets us do the hard work. In fact, we have no choice but to do it, this work that is really ours to do. It's a special sort of guidance. He's present but not. He understands where we are in our practice, most of the time without knowing who we are. His energy is there zigzagging across the shala floor from 4:30 in the morning to past 11am, even if he pays us no mind. His way forces us to take responsibility for our practice and our bodies, for our routines, our rest times, and our self-study. And though he does his best to inject discipline by seeming severe, he doesn't baby us. He treats us like adults--even when we sometimes act a little like children.

For me, getting split by Sharath is a pat on the back, a serious form of validation for the energy and time I've put into my practice, the longest and most serious commitment I've ever made.

It's also like a dream. How in the world has this happened? Last year, I watched intermediate led from the lobby with awe. And while I'm still far from doing many of those awesome poses, I cannot help but feel the sweetness and gratitude for the opportunity to share in that energy. For me, this Sunday will be a testament to the powers of yoga and it's ability to change a person. I am so much stronger and so much more flexible than when I started. And not just in body. This practice has transformed me in ways I can hardly explain.

I can't help but feel like this is a new chapter in my yoga adventure/life. My experience in the shala is about to shift. My practice will get shorter as I drop primary series from my daily practice, but I will have more energy to devote to the intense intermediate postures I've already been given. Led primary on Friday takes on new significance. Sunday led is about to get really tough. There will be no room to dilly dally in intermediate, no means to procrastinate getting into a pose, no time to wipe the brow, or to squeeze in extra breaths. I'm totally freaked out and really looking forward to it at the same time.

Slowly, slowly the mysteries of second series will start to open. And so will I with them. I am happy to do so with Sharath's blessing. I will take comfort in knowing that despite my fears and self-doubt he believes I'm ready.

release

Once in a while, you hear the sounds of muffled sobbing in the Ladies' Locker room in the morning. This practice is intense. What with deep back bending and stiff body parts opening, emotions shift, epiphanies come, waterworks seem to swiftly follow. Pain is there; whether its surface pain, or a deep down sort of soreness that through all our twisting, forward and backward bending moves up enough to see the light of day.

Yesterday, the girl sniffling through her finishing sequence was me--well, at least one of the girls. Luckily, it's dim in there in the mornings. It's easy to cry cloaked in darkness, to have a "private" moment with myself and my emerging emotions.

Some of it was good. I felt overwhelming gratitude towards Sharath as he told me to skip my nemesis of a pose ekapada and go on to backbend. That somehow he has my back--and literally too by helping care for the poor, stretched out thing!

Some of it was not so good. I'm well into my 3rd month now. The body is fatigued. The practice is long. The subtle body is tired too. It's worked and tender. Issues long past resurface. Unfinished business pops up. Layers of self flap in the wind and it's hard to get a really clear view.

I remind myself (all the time, it seems!) that the important thing is getting the emotions out there. Let the tears fall. Be honest. Release it. See it for what it is, understand what it means to you, and, finally, let it go.

moving

Literally: moving. I am in the balcony of my old 2 bedroom apartment as I write, the last of my bags finally packed. Most of my things are already at the doorstep of my studio, perfect for one.

In a way, it's like easing back into an old home. It's the studio that I lived in for a month and a half last year. It's a cozy space with lots of light and rooftop in a very quiet part of Gokulam.

In another way, it's marking yet another shift in my time here.

Mysore, depending on how long you manage to stay, is full of shifts. Many times, it's subtle like a bit of an attitude adjustment or a change in the routine. Sometimes, the ground even slips entirely away from you and your entire perspective changes. Mostly for the good. Though there are other times...

I am moving in the New Year. I'm on my own now. I also have a feeling it isn't limited to just accommodation. Can't help but feel that there is much movement all around, not just in my own life but in the lives of practically all the people I know. I don't entirely get it. I don't exactly know where its taking me. I'm just trying to go with the ebb and flow.

What I do feel is that it's positive. That change, whatever form it takes, is good. That it is the nature of things, of people, of our planet, of the universe to change.

So as I sit here overlooking 8th Cross, enjoying the view for a few more brief moments, I think how nice it has been to see this view for the last two and a half months. However, I look forward to seeing things from a different vantage point. I'm ready to see things in a different way.

letting go and embracing change, new year 2012

Puja for Sri Maheshwara.

My past patterns and samskaras burning up--
well, at least on paper, for now.

Forecast said rain today and so did the sky, which was a soupy gray. I think it's fitting to have rain on New Year's Eve. I like the idea of washing away all the ills of the passing year, clearing out the air, starting 2012 fresh.

Mysore in general has this magic quality, which when you tap into it has a very potent power. People who come here leave somehow transformed. Even if you don't intend it, the practice seeps in deep. And change is inevitable.

Now, combine this potency with the power of intention, then multiply this by the amount of folks practicing yoga here with their minds focused and hearts open, bent on surrendering to a higher purpose, on a day full of wishing, praying and intention-making. It's an amazing combination, an alchemical solution, a very special energy that can inspire real, tangible change.

Last year, I had one of the most beautiful--and as it turns out, the most powerful--of New Year's Eves. The sun had just set on Chamundi Hill, and I'd written down all that which I wanted to let into my life: love, true connections, the opportunity to come back to Mysore and study at the shala, closer bonds with family and friends, a healthier life and outlook. It was a very general list but a far cry from the reality of my life a year ago. Now, a year on, I'm amazed at how much of what I hoped for during that night came true.

Today, I wanted to observe the coming New Year in a way that would manifest the changes I want in my life. So, I piled into a rickshaw with a beautiful posse of girlfriends and rode up to Chamundi armed with pens, paper, candles and incense sticks. There, we made a swift beeline to the quiet and grace-filled Sri Maheshwara temple a little behind and above the over-crowded Chamundeshwari Temple, the true highlight of the sacred hill. We broke our coconuts in the "Coconut Breaking Station," presented our offerings, then found ourselves a covered corner where we wrote the things that we were letting go of and the things we were inviting in the new year.

The sheet paper with things we wanted to manifest went in an envelope, while the things that we wanted to release, we burned--which didn't come easy with the density of the paper, the dampness caused by the steady drizzle, and the breeziness of midday. We fumbled with lighters as we re-lit the candles over and over. I guess, it's hard to undo our habits and patterns, not just literally but figuratively too. If last year's ritual was about surrendering, this year's is about letting go.

Afterward, I went to a special themed kirtan on "Rebirth," which was being led by dear friends James Boag, Paul Millage and Raddha, which went on an unprecedented 4 hours--an hour longer than the advertised time. And though our numbers dwindled towards the end, the space was charged with song, frequencies of love and devotion, bhakti at its very finest.

It was an emotional kirtan for me. One, because it was just plain old beautiful to sing with so many open-hearted people. Two, because change, as much as I try to embrace it, is hard to do, difficult to accept. And for the last year, I have lived in a world of change, transformation that I myself manifested, but have not, until now, realized the full scope of. I can't help but cry at the discomfort of such a metamorphosis, I can't help but mourn that which I feel attachment for, I can't help but feel the struggle that comes with letting things go.

It's now just past midnight. Fireworks are raging all over Mysore. It's pretty tame in Gokulam, but there is an occasional shout, "Happy New Year!" Standing on my rooftop, I watch the sporadic light show over residential buildings. I inhale the brisk air. I open my arms up to the night sky, quietly embracing yet another new day, another new moment, my heart hopefully ready for the next wave of change.

(Click here for last year's ritual)

new year singing

Paul Millage, Radha and James Boag at Mumuksha.

Ganesh providing the beats on tablas.

When I was growing up, I loved watching musicals. And I formed this idea that in a perfect world people would spontaneously break out in song, just because! I know its silly, but there's something really irresistible about it.

There's something incredibly joyful about singing and I really like the idea of singing into the New Year. Actually, singing and chanting (I've been taking voice lessons with Ranjini and Sanskrit lessons as well) has been a big theme for this trip. Though I've had very little to do with the kirtan events in and around Gokulam for the last month or so, I feel like taking myself and my voice out for a spin.

Luckily, there's plenty of kirtan on offer for this weekend, thought I'd share the events here for anyone else who wants to break out in song:

Friday, 30 December, 5:30-7:30
at Kumar's Mumuksha
386, 2nd Main, 3rd Stage
with James Boag, Ganesh on tables, Radha and Paul Millage on Harmonium

New Year's Eve Kirtan on "Rebirth"
Saturday, 31 December 2011, 2-5pm
at James Boag's place at Saraswatipuram
(first house behind Palace Honda Motorcycle showroom
off 1st Main in Saraswatipuram)

1 January 2011
Regular Sunday Kirtan, 1:30-3:10
at James Boag's place at Saraswatipuram
(first house behind Palace Honda Motorcycle showroom
off 1st Main in Saraswatipuram)
also with Paul and Radha on harmoniums

new pose puzzlement

Everyone has a pose that stumps them (most will have their lion's share over the course of a lifetime of asana practice), which either physically or mentally eludes them. The struggle that ensues takes on epic proportions. Two and a half weeks ago, I got one such new pose, ekapada sirsasana. And since then, it is working me to no end.

Now, it may seem to some that this might be the start of an asan(a)ine tirade, pardon the pun. Here goes another ashtangi railing about the physical aspect of yoga. I'm not going to pretend that it is not an important component of this yoga practice. It's absolutely the vehicle for this practice. But for me, the practice goes somewhere beyond the mat. That mat and what I do on it is like a magic carpet.

But first: ekapada sirsasana.

In a way, it's a landmark for me to work on this posture here in Mysore. Not just because it's challenging and totally not suited for my tight-ish hips. It's the last pose I ever received from another teacher, a little more than a year ago. Any new poses will be given to me by Sharath, sealing my student-teacher deal, the one that I myself have chosen, which defines the respect and trust that I have for my teacher.

Though I have only been working haphazardly on this pose until now, I knew it would be challenging to take on in Mysore. I had no idea, however, to what extent. Its amazing how one new pose can utterly alter--ahem, mess with!--one's practice.

On the grossest of levels, there are certain physical drawbacks. I currently have a long practice, full primary followed by my intermediate poses. By the time I get to ekapada I'm usually two hours into it. I'm fatigued. My arms are like jelly. I've lost all composure at this point, gone is the steadiness of breath, gone is my count, what vinyasa!?!

Then there's stopping at ekapada, which is an extreme forward bend. The back is compressed as the leg sits on the back/neck. Not exactly the most ideal last pose before opening the back into urdhva dhanurasana, followed by drop backs.

Last week, I witnessed the total disintegration of my back bending. I could barely come up from lagu vajrasana, I collapsed at my first try at kapotasana, and could not grab ankles in backbending. Sharath had nailed it on the nose after he had to walk me into my ankles, my elbows dragging on the carpet, "Mmm, back tight from ekapada." Really? I hadn't noticed.

That's when my emotions kicked in. The new pose had already filled me with anxiety. Now it was making me fearful. What if my backbends continued to deteriorate? What if I ended up stuck in ekapada for all eternity, the pose mocking my left hip ad infinitum? I was tired and moody. My practice was abandoning me. No one was helping me in the pose. I felt frustrated and alone. My morale had dipped and the dark cloud in my head seeped into the rest of my practice, which for the later part of the week seemed to falter all around.

Self-doubt coupled with missing my family for the holidays made for an emotional Christmas cocktail. Sporadic waterworks interspersed holiday merry making with friends in Mysore. I was happy one moment, some kind of sad another. I felt a little deranged.

The weekend was a good break, though I could feel the tightness persist in my back during the led classes. I did what I could to be nice to myself. I ate what I wanted. I enjoyed the festivities. I watched some feel-good movies on my laptop. I also talked to friends, some of whom had their own tales to tell.

These intermediate poses are intense. They do not have the same sort of gentle healing properties of yoga chikitsa or yoga therapy that primary series is known for. Intermediate is linked to the nervous system. These poses push one to his/her limits with extreme back bends, extreme forward bends and gravity defying arm balances. And when pushed we become vulnerable. Whenever we dig, something comes up.

The body is this frightening repository not just for things we eat but also the thoughts we imbibe and the emotions we experience. Some of these things pile up, sit, and calcify. They can harden and numb us. And now, I'm finding these old stories and feelings are popping up, possibly being dislodged from my sacral region, the seat of svadisthana chakra which governs creativity and my ability to relate with others. It should be a place of union--though the riot in my head as I try to get my right leg into ekapada definitely disagrees. But even this says something.

So, right now, even though I'm "stuck" in this pose, I know something deep within is moving. These emotions are part of this movement. It's too early yet to say where exactly it's taking me, but I feel like the inner part of the work has at least begun and that the external will catch up at some point.

That's the beauty of this practice: what starts with the body subtly works its way into the heart and mind, while the knowledge uncovered there reflects back out into the physical practice, we become stronger, we become more flexible, we take one step closer to becoming free of that which restricts us.

christmas in mysore

Anokhi Garden Christmas tree.

Christmas Day. My second Christmas in a row in Mysore. This marks the half way point of a 5 month stay in India. And to be perfectly honest, I'm worn out. I've spent part of the holiday weekend close to tears--the other part indulging in sweets and chocolate in a gross attempt to chase away the blues.

It's tough to be away from my family during the holidays. And the practice...well! the practice is challenging me in whole new different ways. I feel fatigued, I feel stretched, I feel pushed, I feel a little out of my element. It is stirring me up in whole new ways, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Still, the holidays, though not so vibrant and festive as at is at home, is very special here too. I've really seen the best in people this weekend.

At Anokhi's Garden last Friday, some beautiful friends got together to raise over Rp80,000 for Ashadayaka Seva Trust and Operation Shanti by doing the things they love: cooking, baking, master-minding. The Christmas Party that they organized not only brought people together but benefits the children in this community. Everyone who attended the festivities, who bought tickets, who gave raffle prizes took part in this wonderful event full of good intention.

In one Gokulam Christmas Eve gathering, I saw again the amazing camaraderie that forms between people that come out to practice here, that even in a primarily Hindu country like India, the Christmas spirit lives in the action of people, in a tree cheerfully decorated, in the cakes and pastries that were baked, the food that was prepared, and the time we share with people we care about.

Christmas here is a no frill event. The decorations are at a minimum. There are no carols blaring out of storefronts. There is no massive drive for gift giving and mass consumerism. What drives the holiday spirit, however, is the human connections that makes the Mysore experience so rich and varied.

For me, this year, Christmas is waiting at the gate of shala with joyful anticipation. It's greeting my mat mates a Happy Christmas before practice. It's seeing Sharath come out of his office with a Santa hat and wishing us a Merry Christmas before launching into the opening prayer. It's having Christmas Chai after practice at the steps accross Amruth's. It's about waking up this morning and feeling -- despite all the intensity of being here and being pushed to my limits -- that there is no other place I would rather be this special morning.