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Pearls of Wisdom

I came across this reading in Rachel Naomi Remen’s beautiful book My Grandfather’s Blessings and it felt so apt for this time. Can we treat coronavirus as a grain of sand? This experience will inevitably have a lasting effect on every one of us. Perhaps it will teach us about what we choose to value in life.

Some of the oldest and most delightful written words in the English language are the collective nouns dating from medieval times used to describe groups of birds and beasts.  Many of these go back five hundred years or more, and lists of them appeared as early as 1440 in some of the first books printed in English. 

These words frequently offer an insight into the nature of the animals or birds they describe.  Sometimes this is factual and sometimes poetic.  Occasionally it is profound:  a pride of lions, a party of jays, an ostentation of peacocks, an exaltation of larks, a gaggle of geese, a charm of finches, a bed of clams, a school of fish, a cloud of gnats, and a parliament of owls are some examples.  Over time, these sorts of words have been extended to other things as well.  One of my favorites is pearls of wisdom.

An oyster is soft, tender, and vulnerable.  Without the sanctuary of its shell it could not survive.  But oysters must open their shells in order to ‘breathe’ water.  Sometimes while an oyster is breathing, a grain of sand will enter its shell and become a part of its life from then on.

Such grains of sand cause pain, but an oyster does not alter its soft nature because of this.  It does not become hard and leathery in order not to feel.  It continues to entrust itself to the ocean, to open and breathe in order to live.  But it does respond.

Slowly and patiently, the oyster wraps the grain of sand in thin translucent layers until, over time, it has created something of great value in the place where it was most vulnerable to its pain.  A pearl might be thought of as an oyster’s response to its suffering.  Not every oyster can do this.  Oysters that do are far more valuable to people than oysters that do not.

Sand is a way of life for an oyster.  If you are soft and tender and must live on the sandy floor of the ocean, making pearls becomes a necessity if you are to live well.

Disappointment and loss are a part of every life. Many times we can put such things behind us and get on with the rest of our lives. But not everything is amenable to this approach. Some things are too big or too deep to do this, and we will have to leave important parts of ourselves behind if we treat them in this way. These are the places where wisdom begins to grow in us. It begins with suffering that we do not avoid or rationalize or put behind us. It starts with the realization that our loss, whatever it is, has become a part of us and has altered our lives so profoundly that we cannot go back to the way it was before.

Something in us can transform such suffering into wisdom. The process of turning pain into wisdom often looks like a sorting process. First we experience everything.  Then one by one we let things go, the anger, the blame, the sense of injustice, and finally even the pain itself, until all we have left is a deeper sense of the value of life and a greater capacity to live it.

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Lessons from Lucy

I was talking to a neighbour this week about how I’d cried on my mat that morning. “You’re so not selling yoga to me,” she replied.

I’ve just done a week of Ashtanga Mysore practice with Lucy Crawford at BAYoga in Berkhamsted. Since giving birth to Jacob almost seven months ago, I’ve managed to get to a handful of Mysore classes. My home practice has mostly involved soft bolsters and cosy blankets.

Lucy was wonderful as always. She talked a lot about coming into relationship and how to live and practice according to the yamas – the yogic principles for right living or ‘observances’.

This resonated deeply. I have a new body and I don’t recognise it. Looking after a baby takes its toll physically, let alone coming to terms with the physiological changes that happen during pregnancy and breastfeeding. My rib cage has expanded outwards in all directions, my shoulders and hips are broader. I’ve lost a lot of strength and a friend called my breastfeeding boobs “magnificent” the other day. I’m doing my pelvic floor exercises as I type this.

Lucy talked about ‘sukha’ or joy. Was I able to find joy in my practice? The first three days felt distinctly lacking. It was all an effort – sorting childcare drop-offs and pick-ups, getting to Berko for a 9am start… and then I had to do sun salutations?!

She spoke on ‘satya’, the yama relating to honesty. I feel really tired at the moment so why push it? As a result, my Monday practice was surya namaskars and standing poses followed by some yummy restorative poses. Lucy: “Right Clare, this is what we’re going to do with you. Let’s put this bolster here…”

And can we let go of the grasping – the yama ‘aparigraha’? The wanting: wanting to be ‘better’, wanting the pre-pregnancy practice. Lucy spoke about when Guruji would give her a new pose, she’d feel anything but excited (“Ugh, not another one!”). She said she’d much rather hang out in restorative poses although she knows her body needs to move. I can relate to this.

On Wednesday morning the tears came even before my first surya namaskar A. Steamy tears falling silently down my face during our breathing practice. More tears after attempting purvottanasana – feeling like I’d left my cervix on the mat as I lifted my hips up. “You’re very wobbly around that whole area,” said Lucy with loving eyes and a gentle smile. “That’s to be expected. Give it time.” The yama ‘ahimsa’ has various translations including non-violence and non-harming. Essentially it’s about being kind – to ourselves and others.

I was trying to explain the tears to my neighbour. I said about how we move and breathe in the poses. The emotions we’ve been holding in our bodies are released. It’s almost like a wringing out of all the stuff we’re carrying around. It’s cathartic. There’s no hiding on your mat. Everything comes out. It’s very positive.

My yin teacher Norman is fond of saying “shift happens”. And it certainly did for me. After Wednesday’s tears, I found my rhythm. There was a lightness, I had more energy both during and after practice and I was smiling more (sukha).

I had come into relationship with myself. I found ‘me’ again. My body is more open and I am less creaky. My thoracic no longer feels stuck. My jaw has softened. There’s a spring in my step. I feel stronger picking Jacob up and my happiness makes him happy. This body is slowly recovering.

I have so much gratitude for this practice. I bloody love yoga.

 

Two more yin workshops in 2017 before I go away on a little adventure:

Sat 2 Sept at BAYoga, Berkhamsted: info
Sat 9 Sept at The Studio, Mid Herts Golf Club, Wheathampstead: info

I’ll be back teaching regularly from January 2018.

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A pregnant pause

A quick search on Google produces various definitions of this familiar idiom. My favourite is:

A pause that gives the impression that it will be followed by something significant.  (www.en.wiktionary.org)

 

I am now 15 weeks pregnant and I paused for nine of these. I’m now coming out of the other side and safely into my second trimester.

During my nine-week pause, I didn’t teach a yoga class. Making it into London for my freelance work felt less like a step too far and more like an entire staircase out of reach.

My world shrank. On a good day, I had the energy to make cheese on toast and who knew it was possible to throw up so unexpectedly and forcefully!

I found myself sharing the contents of my stomach with a motorway hard shoulder and then refuelling at a service station with an emergency Nando’s.

When I told this to a friend and yoga student, she said how she’d thought she’d be doing a modified ashtanga practice and drinking green juice during her pregnancies. Instead, she found herself lying on the floor eating peanut butter on white bread and bags of crisps.

And the changes your body goes through! In the very early days, I had such intense muscular sensations across the sacrum and back of pelvis, I could feel everything stretching and moving to make space for what was to happen over the coming months. The only thing that helped was child’s pose with a hot water bottle across the area.

At ten weeks I looked pregnant and I’ve been told that my ever-expanding boobs are now the temperature of the sun – by my fiancé, Rob, I hasten to add.

Although anything more than child’s pose and the occasional cat/cow eluded me for the length of my pause, the lessons of yoga were ever-present. Never before had listening to my body been quite so important. If I tried to get out of bed before 10am, I was sent running to the toilet, head over bowl, and then straight back under the duvet and my ginger oatcakes.

I concentrated on my breath when any pregnancy fears rose to the surface and the ‘what ifs’ threatened to take over.

I had to accept what was possible for me on that day as there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. This beautiful little being inside me has been totally running the show, gradually making its way through bigger and bigger fruit-based size comparisons (‘this week, your baby is the size of an avocado’).

In the ancient teachings of the Bhagavad Gita, on a battlefield, Krishna teaches Arjuna to do his duty. He’s a warrior facing a battle that doesn’t appeal. My duty right now is to do what’s best for our baby. And that has nothing to do with trying to advance through advanced ashtanga poses.

Now I’m able to leave the house more, I am appreciating the little things. I’ve made it to a yoga class and enjoyed being back amongst familiar faces. Just being able to move with my breath in a sun salutation has been an utter delight.

“The practice helps me to process things in life more effectively; that is important, as during pregnancy and the aftermath there is a lot for us, as mothers to process. The changes in our bodies – the hormones alone – can alter our perceptions and experience of life enormously.

 

… We are all so lucky to have this practice as a central and stable resource, bringing awareness and light into our lives and into our being.”

 

Lucy Crawford, taken from Yoga Sadhana for Mothers.

 

I am so grateful to Celia, Louise, Niki and Sam for covering my weekly classes. I’d also like to say thank you to my regular students who’ve known I’ve been pregnant for what feels like ages! All your emails and texts of support and congratulations have meant so much.

I will be back teaching from Monday 8 August. View the classes schedule to see what’s going on with classes during the summer.

In light of being in bed by about 9pm every night, I have decided to give up my Thursday evening yin class at The Yoga Hall, St Albans. It hasn’t been an easy decision and I thank all of you who have attended the class over the years. I have enjoyed our after-class natters over tea and fig rolls. I hope to see you soon and keep up the practice.

If you’d like to get an extra dose of yin, ashtanga or gentle yoga, Cathy and I have places on our October retreat near Bedford. View details.

baby scan pic

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How has yin yoga influenced my practice?

I’ve written this in preparation for an advanced yin teacher training I’m doing with Norman Blair in June…

‘Practice’ is an interesting word. For me, it means:

  • moving in this body
  • being in this body
  • living with this mind.

That’s how I’ve structured this piece of writing.

Moving in this body

Yin has undoubtedly had an impact on how I practice ashtanga yoga. Although I pretty much discovered both simultaneously, it’s been more recently that I have considered how one affects your attitude towards the other.

I’ve seen people so focused in their ashtanga practice. They throw absolutely everything at it. It’s an attack or an assault and there’s no ease. I used to be a bit like that but now I try and bring the yin to the yang. I try not the force the asana.

Michel Besnard taught me on my 500 hour training and his favourite phrase is “who cares”. Who cares if you don’t get your head to your shin in paschimotanasana. Who cares if you don’t jump through. A good mantra if ever I heard one.

So I think about how I can create space. I listen inwardly and there’s less striving.

As a result, there’s more connection to breath. It really feels like a moving meditation and I feel more. I certainly notice more. How does my lumbar and glute medius feel in supta kurmasana? Am I really engaging my adductors in navasana? What’s going on with the bandhas?

Moving slowly suits me. Given half the chance, I’d happily lie in bed all morning. I’m a naturally tamasic person. I find it more challenging to gee myself up to practice ashtanga at home. But yin? I’m there in a flash – sprawled out across the living room carpet – I need to be peeled off with a spatula.

Being in this body

I remember being at university one day and walking across campus only to be brought to a standstill by the sight of a huge flock of Canadian geese flying overhead in formation, above the spires of the neo-gothic buildings. The sky was bright blue and they stood out against the grey Yorkshire stone.

I looked at all the other students scurrying around me, anxious to get to their morning lectures on time. No-one else saw this natural beauty. The geese were so peaceful and elegant, quietly making their way to wherever they were heading. The encounter inspired me to create scribbles in my sketchbook.

At that point in my life I’d never even been to a yoga class, didn’t know what yin meant but that act of noticing the little things has always been in me. I was brought up with a father who made me look at the tiny flowers growing on dry stone walls on country walks and I’m pretty good at spotting a typo. I’m all about the details.

But at the same time, I’d say that I’ve lived my life quite detached from noticing the subtleties of this body and what’s going on inside.

In my twenties, I got terrible anxiety. I couldn’t eat in some social situations and I got really stressed about it. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I remember going to see a lady for some cognitive behavioural therapy. She said, “You’re going to do a yoga teacher training? Oh that’ll sort you out!” She was right. It was through yoga that I realised it was tension-related – where do I hold my tension? In my stomach. It made sense why I struggled to eat.

While the process of looking inward can be scary at times, I’ve learnt that it’s so beneficial. Being still in a yin practice facilitates this. You notice the sensations. It’s a practice you can take off the mat and into your everyday life.

I had a run-in with someone not too long ago and there were a few very tense phone conversations where I had to make it clear that I wasn’t a happy bunny. Every time I came off the phone I spent a few breaths noticing the impact on body – the tightening, the holding, the shortening of breath. I wouldn’t have thought to do that before I’d discovered yin or Martin Alyward.

Living with this mind

Yin has allowed me to reconnect with a meditation practice.

Having done my initial teacher training with Sivananda, I was given a mantra and for about six months after coming home from India, I’d religiously get up early, silently chant my mantra for 20 minutes and then get on with my day. And then winter crept in, I got busy at work and the Sanskrit went out of the window.

Ryan Spielman introduced me to the teachings of meditation teacher Martin Alyward and I began doing my yin practice at home listening to his podcasts. So much of his teachings resonated. They applied to a yin practice and to life in general.

I began a sitting practice again and went on a five-day silent retreat to Gaia House with Martin last October. Since then, I’ve made time to sit during the week. For me, it feels right to spend this time noticing my breath – its nuances – and noticing sensations. I notice how distracted my mind is – and that’s ok. An insight meditation practice does exactly that: it provides insight. I notice what is instead of filling my mind with something else like a mantra.

My mind now appreciates the quiet. My boyfriend Rob likes listening to BBC Radio 5 Live and it’s a lot of talking. I struggle to have a conversation with him if it’s on in the background. I like eating in silence and enjoying the taste of food. I like listening to birdsong and watching the squirrels.

Yin has taught me about acceptance – again, the softening around the striving – accepting situations and people as they are, not willing them to be different. Of course, it’s a work in progress.

Martin talks about how we’re so fixated on ‘letting go’ and that it’s an overused phrase in today’s yoga and spiritual industry. He says we should focus instead on ‘unclinging’. I like this. There’s the unclinging and softening in yin poses and then how this translates into the everyday.

I’ve been a cling-on. In the past I think I’ve verged on the control freak end of the spectrum. My organisational skills have been praised in past jobs and I’ve taken pride in being on-the-ball. I’ve tried to find the ideal man that ticked all the boxes. But since practicing yin and finding this softening, I’ve been able to open up – physically and mentally.

I’ve relaxed my tick box exercise and now I’m engaged to be married. Would I have dismissed Rob in the past due to his love of football and for having never stepped foot on a yoga mat? Probably. But now I’m able to see deeper and recognise his wonderful goodness.

Recently I met with a friend of a friend who was considering resigning from her safe, well-paid but boring job to try freelancing. She was full of ‘what ifs’: What if I don’t get any work? What if I’m no good at it? I was talking to a mirror. I was looking at me from a few years’ ago.

I talked to her about fear. I told her that she had good skills and experience. If freelancing doesn’t work for her, she can get a job doing something, anything. Fear can paralyse us. I wouldn’t know this stuff if I hadn’t practiced yin and worked on unclinging.

I could go on talking about the way yin has had an impact on my life, but I’ll stop now. Suffice to say, it’s all about the noticing. I’m much happier as a result. And for this I’m truly grateful.

I’ll leave you with Roger Keyes’ poem about the wonderful Japanese artist, Hokusai:

 

Hokusai says look carefully.

He says pay attention, notice.

He says keep looking, stay curious.

He says there is no end to seeing…

 

He says everything is alive –

Shells, buildings, people, fish

Mountains, trees. Wood is alive.

Water is alive.

 

Everything has its own life.

Everything lives inside us.

He says live with the world inside you…

 

It matters that you care.

It matters that you feel.

It matters that you notice.

It matters that life lives through you…

 

Look, feel, let life take you by the hand.

Let life live through you.

 

Hokusai

How has yin yoga influenced your practice? I’d love to know. Feel free to leave your thoughts below.

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The value of friendship

These past few weekends I’ve seen various old friends. And by old friends, I mean people who I’ve known for about 15 years – since I was a teenager and a fresher at university.

I am very grateful for these friends. As we get older, we might not see each other as much as we used to, but our friendship deepens. We’ve seen each other when we’ve been happy and we’ve been there for each other when we’ve been very sad.

Some friends come and go – I know I’ve made conscious decisions to let go of friendships that no longer serve me – friendships where I’ve felt that I’m not getting anything back. I believe we need to surround ourselves with people who make us feel good about ourselves. Our time becomes more precious and we must spend it wisely.

Many of my best friendships started out through drinking and partying. I’ve seen these people grow up, mature, and deal with some pretty heavy shit.

Who’d have thought. And that’s the beauty of knowing someone for any length of time. You grow together. Your lives interweave and become richer in the process.

Friends can provide opinions grounded in experience and an understanding of you. They can pull you up on inaccuracies. And they know way too many embarrassing anecdotes about your past (and they’re not afraid to use them).

I’m interested to see where the next 15 years take us. I know there will be plenty more laughter (and anecdotes) and probably a fair number of tears but you’ve got to have the lows in order to appreciate the highs.

Thank you to my friends.

In true friendship, mutual love produces a constant upward movement of the two souls. There is nothing in the world too precious to give to win a friend with whom you may tramp together around the universe of the sun and the universe of the soul.

Sri Ananda Acharya

 

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It was an honour to teach you

I’ve just taught my first weekend retreat. It was a yin and Ashtanga retreat and many of you were new to Ashtanga. Some of you were new to yoga!

When assisting the led Ashtanga classes I noticed lots of stuff going on throughout the room: glances and voiceless looks of “I’m in pain, come and rescue me” and whispers of “I can’t do this.” There were baffled looks of “you’re expecting my body to do what?!”

Yin and ashtanga yoga retreatWhen we go about our every day lives, we encase ourselves in a suit of armour. We smile broadly and up goes our facade. We have our coping mechanisms.

We might be successful at work, we might have a wonderful loving family. On the surface it might look like we’ve got it made.

But we all have issues with our bodies and minds. They carry our habits and histories.

I’ve heard it said that we’re at our most honest and ‘authentic’ when we’re on our mats. We’re laid bare. We’re vulnerable. There’s nowhere to hide.

Ashtanga, without a doubt, is a demanding practice. Moving your body in unfamiliar ways is challenging. Finding your breath in these postures can feel near to impossible.

How do we approach these situations? What goes through our minds? There’s fear, feelings of not being good enough, worries about getting it wrong or hurting ourselves, thoughts of being the worst in the room. Do we give up or do we give it a go?

You all did so well. You experienced the Ashtanga primary series. And maybe this weekend you weren’t able to sit in half lotus (let alone full lotus) but that doesn’t mean you never will. You just can’t do it… yet.

But to be at your side, listening to your fears and concerns, and offering little words of encouragement while you took your first Ashtanga steps was a privilege. It’s wonderful to pass on bits of knowledge I’ve had shared with me over the years.

Thank you for letting me in. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for giving it a go and exploring and playing. You’re amazing.

yin ashtanga retreat

 

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You are better than you think you are.

Recently I’ve been reminded of a situation that happened a couple of years ago on my 500 hour teacher training with Michel Besnard.

Every morning we’d spend two hours making our way through our tailored version of the ashtanga primary series. I was new to the practice and found every day hard. The breath was different, the poses were different, the intensity was definitely different. The strength and stamina required for the practice in the Thai heat was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

I was surrounded by people from all over the world and some were very familiar with the practice. Michel drip fed second series poses to them whilst others like me looked on gawping.

Revolved Utthita Parsvokonasana
Revolved Utthita Parsvokonasana. I wouldn’t have needed the leg warmers in Thailand. Image thanks to www. elsiesyogakula.com

One morning I was struggling to lift my back knee in the twisted version of Utthita Parsvokonasana. Wobbling ridiculously, bringing my palms together in prayer, attempting to open my chest upwards, I sensed Michel approaching me.

Now imagine this: A cheeky Frenchman in his seventies, over six feet tall. He’s got steely blues eyes and the ability to make me laugh simply by calling me ‘Fromage’ on account of the cheese jokes we both enjoyed over meal times. But this time he looked deadly serious. There I was twisting, wobbling and sweating, trying to stay focused.

He crouched down by my side and brought his face very close to mine. He stared into my eyes and said, “You are better than you think you are.”

Immediately I lost it. Hot tears streamed down my face. My pose went out of the window.

It’s funny, I’ve listened to a podcast recently with Ryan Spielman and other Mysore teachers where they say that when you see someone practicing on a mat, that’s the real person. When people practice, it’s an opportunity to see the person as they really are – their true self – compared to the person you may have a chat with at the end of a class.

Michel knew that I needed to hear those words. And for this, I am grateful.

Who would you like to say this to?

 

“We have to learn how to be non-violent towards ourselves. If we were able to play back the often unkind, unhelpful and destructive comments and judgements silently made towards our self in any given day, this may give us some idea of the enormity of the challenge of self-acceptance.

If we were to speak these thoughts out loud to another person, we would realise how truly devastating violence to the self can be.

In truth, few of us would dare to be as unkind to others as we are to ourselves.”

 

Donna Farhi

 

Michel Besnard
Michel adjusting me in Baddha Konasana

 

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Even the Women’s Institute can’t stop the happiness of yoga

“Contentment comes from mental well-being that moves us to consider the positive in all beings and situations.”

This was the reading on which I decided to base this morning’s gentle yoga class in Wheathampstead. And how apt it proved to be.

I arrived early to the little Mead Hall in Wheathampstead village to find a hive of activity. Normally it’s silent but there were people inside arranging tables and making tea. I peered through the door, dragging in my bags of mats and props only to be told that it was a WI (Women’s Institute) meeting and they’d had the booking in the diary for months.

“Bugger!” I thought. Of course, it was only a matter of minutes before regulars started arriving for the class. I explained the situation and we stood in the car park debating the options. The park was ruled out as they didn’t want to be watched by dogwalkers… living rooms weren’t big enough… what to do?

My yogi mum volunteered her back garden and so it was decided. Directions were given and five minutes later we were at Amwell Lane and people were marvelling at the beautiful flowers and the lush green lawn.

“Oooh I daren’t walk on the grass, it’s so immaculate!” said Liz. The joys of having a dad who’s a landscape gardener. I’ve been saying for ages that they should open it to the public.

We progressed through the class. When we did our sun salutations, we really did stretch our fingers towards the sun, and when we ended our savasana, we brought our awareness to the sensation of every blade of grass touching our fingers and the backs of our hands.

It was a lovely class and here’s the full reading:

“Contentment comes from mental well-being that moves us to consider the positive in all beings and situations. Often our frustrations come from regrets, agitation, suffering or comparing ourselves with others. Focusing on what others have – or don’t have for that matter – instead of nourishing gratitude leads to everlasting discontent.

Contentment is a dynamic and constructive attitude that brings us to look at things in a new way. It calms the mind, bringing a flowering of subtle joy and inner serenity that are independent of all outside influences and perishable things.

It is very difficult however to sustain contentment. Though it may be easier to be happy when we are successful, only an exceptional soul remains positive in the midst of adverse currents. Contentment means looking at every event with a smile. It helps to have a sense of humour too.”

Bernard Bouchard defining 2.42 in the Yoga Sutras (Santosha)

We sat on the swing seat afterwards drinking herbal tea saying how special the class had been. People loved feeling the breeze and hearing bees buzzing around them.

And so I’d like to say a hearty thank you to the ladies of the WI. If they want to book the Mead Hall again on a Monday morning, please feel free. But just make sure it’s on a day when the sun is shining…

Yoga in the garden
The newest yoga venue in Wheathampstead

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Funny bones and happy babies: Acceptance

Last weekend I taught a yin workshop at BAYoga Studio in Berkhamsted. We did happy baby pose and I suggested to students that they took hold of the inside of the soles of their feet, allowing their knees to relax towards their armpits.

Happy baby pose
Happy baby pose. Image courtesy of truestar.com

Afterwards, a friend in the class mentioned that it feels much better for her to take hold of the outsides of her feet. Holding the insides made her shoulders and chest feel restricted. “That’s odd”, I thought. Trying it at home, my shoulders and chest felt open, no problem. And then I thought about my hips. I have very open hips so my knees are wide enough apart to allow for my shoulders to relax in the space between my knees. Her hips aren’t quite as open as mine and so by holding the outsides of her feet,  her chest broadens and she feels the benefits of the pose.

This got me thinking about different people’s bodies and how we approach poses. Not too long ago, someone asked me whether I could get my heels down to the mat in down facing dog. I said yes and they looked amazed. But is that due to having super stretchy hamstrings or just because of the way I’m built?

Perhaps my hamstrings have lengthened somewhat through practice, but getting my heels to the floor has never been hard. It’s surely got more to do with the fact that that I have a wide range of movement in my ankle joint due to the shape of my bones.
Likewise, I’m restricted in movement in my wrists. When I stretch my hand backwards, it hardly comes back. So when I try to do handstands, I need to place the edge of a cushion or a wedge between the heel of my hand and the floor to lessen the angle and pressure on my wrists.

The elbow of Katharine Wener
The elbow of Katharine Wener

Take my sister’s elbows as another example. She hyperextends through her elbows meaning that when she stretches her arm out, palm facing up, her elbows bends beyond 180 degrees. There’s no pain, it’s just how she’s made. When she practices yoga, some of her poses might look a bit odd. Ok, so she may never make it into a book of beautiful yoga poses (sorry Katharine, I still love you), but it works for her.

It’s just how we’re built and we need to work with the body and bone shape we’ve been given. We might feel a need to strive to create the ‘perfect’ pose, but for many of us, our bodies can’t do certain things because of ‘compression’ i.e. the range of movement we can achieve due to the shape of our bones and also how they meet at joints.

Regardless of how many hours of practice we put in, we can’t change this. It doesn’t mean that her pose is ‘better’ than yours, it’s just different and yoga teaches you about gratitude and acceptance: accepting where you are in your practice and more broadly who you are as a person.

If this sort of thing interests you, check out Paul Grilley. He talks a lot about anatomy. His DVD ‘Anatomy for Yoga’ is rather good too.

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Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together

Some of you may be wondering how I’m settling back in to life in the UK after five months away. Well, I can say that’s going alright. I went away to deepen my yoga practice and I feel that it’s paying off.

Gratitude

Last weekend I skyped my thumb chum Laurie who I met in Thailand doing my 500 hour training. We talked about how our five weeks of learning ashtanga has benefitted our yoga practice immeasurably.
Michel adjusting me in class
Michel adjusting me in class

A year ago I was tentatively dipping my toe into a beginners ashtanga course prior to going away.  Now when I practice ashtanga, it feels like a pure meditation. Every movement flows with the breath and, ok, so I forget the sequence from time to time but it works. It makes me feel so alive.

Since being back in the UK, I’ve had teachers come up to me at the end of classes telling me that they could watch me practice all day. They’ve asked me where I learnt ashtanga and I tell them to seek out Michel Besnard. I am so grateful to him and Roslyn.

I remember him saying that the gift he was giving us was an ashtanga Mysore self practice but really he’s given me so much more than that. I’ve learnt so much about myself and I love Michel’s motto of ‘who cares!’ Who cares if you can’t do a backbend/sit in lotus/ lift your leg as high as the person next to you etc etc. Just enjoy your practice.

Laurie was saying the same thing. She’s based in St Louis, Missouri, and is now on the teaching faculty of a 200 hour yoga teacher training at the studio where she works. We feel so lucky to have had the experience.

Yoga Hall St Albans

This week I covered my first class at the Yoga Hall in St Albans. Run by Laura and Finlay, they follow a disciple of Swami Vishnudevananda’s, Faustomaria Dorelli.

I feel that everything that I’ve learnt over the past few years is coming together in my teaching. Before my time with Michel I would never have focused so much on standing postures or suggested to

Swami Sivananda
Swami Sivananda

students that they lift their middle toes to engage the muscles in their legs. In the class at the Yoga Hall I threw some yin postures into the mix, whilst also teaching some Sivananda-based pranayama and relaxation.

While students laid in savasana, I speedily made herbal tea in the kitchen for everyone after class. Swami Sivananda looked on with his reassuring eyes from a picture on a cupboard door, and a postcard of Swami Vishnudevananda was blu-tacked onto the wall above the mugs. It’s a lovely place and I feel at home there. Their satsang/chanting evenings once a month are wonderful too.

Yoga Harpenden

I’m also lucky to have met an ashtanga teacher out near me in Harpenden who is fast becoming a good friend. In jolly proper Harpenden you’d be hard-pressed to find many Californians who’ve lived in  ashrams and follow silent gurus… but I found one! April is inspiring me to keep up my daily practice and we have plans to run a local ashtanga/yin yoga workshop together.

I’ve also decided that after ten years, I’m done with living in London. I’m happy to work in an art gallery there for a couple of days a week but it feels too busy and stressful. Hertfordshire’s fields, fresh air and friendly people are a-calling. I just need to work out how I can afford a car and a flat. I can’t live with my parents forever…

Any of my 500 hour training buddies reading this? How has the training affected your practice and teaching? Feel free to leave your comments below.

Om shanti.