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.

Jivamukti yoga: am I missing something?

 

Jivamukti yoga's founders: David Life and Shannon Gannon.
Jivamukti’s founders: David Life and Sharon Gannon. Image from holly-troy.com

Last week I went to a Jivamukti yoga class at Indaba yoga studio in Marylebone. I went with an old Sivananda buddy and my, how far we’ve strayed from our roots.

Before now I’ve told people I practice Ashtanga and they’ve told me I’m hardcore/mad/nuts etc. But I guess I just like a class that enables me to move and stay with my breath.

Perhaps it’s because I’m unfamiliar with the sequencing in Jivamukti but I was all over the place. It was so fast. I’m told it was a particularly challenging class but it just felt repetitive. So many chaturanghas followed by lunges or warriors… I couldn’t keep up, I kept losing my breath and child’s pose was a-calling.

I enjoyed the chanting of what I knew as the Sivananda meal prayer and the teacher busted out the harmonium which was fab.

And indeed, the Jivamukti London website describes the style as thus:

Jivamukti Yoga is a method of yoga that was created by David Life and Sharon Gannon in1984, which reintegrates the physical, philosophical and spiritual aspects of Yoga. The emphasis in the west has been on Yoga as mostly a physical practice. More and more people are achieving firmer bodies through regular yoga classes.

But many are finding something more: what starts out as a purely physical practice creeps into the hearts and minds of even the least spiritual practitioners.

David and Sharon became teachers because they were passionate about communicating Yoga as more than just a system of exercises, but also as a spiritual practice; a path to enlightenment. From their earliest classes, they have taught a living translation of the Indian system of yoga in a way that western minds can comprehend. That is why Jivamukti Yoga emphasizes vigorous asana as its primary technique, but other practices such as meditation, devotional chanting and study of the ancient texts play an important role as well.

I like trying new classes and styles of yoga but when I lose my breath, it simply becomes an exercise class.

Has anyone else tried Jivamukti? I’m reluctant to judge an entire style based on one class and I’m keen to hear other’s thoughts.

 

Indian tales: The highs and lows of Goa yoga

Earlier today I had my last yoga practice in Goa. I was on the roof of a one-storey building – the kitchen for the beach huts where we’re staying. As I went through my standing postures, an old bloke was shimmying up the surrounding coconut palms, sending ripe coconuts crashing to the earth below. I faced the ocean and breathed with the waves.

Tomorrow we leave Goa and head to Mumbai for two nights before flying home to London. I’ve been thinking about the yoga I’ve practiced over the last two weeks. Here are some things I’ve learnt and perhaps you’ll find them useful too.

Drop-in classes: a mixed bag

You just really don’t know what you’re in for. On Christmas Day morning I went to a led Ashtanga class with an Indian guy called Deepak. His adjustments were a little unconventional (verging on dangerous) and I felt my body tense whenever he moved near me. He was as bendy as the bendiest bendy thing and didn’t seem to show much empathy for Westerners in their first ever yoga class.

Other classes were lovely but just going to one class then trying a different class the next day doesn’t allow a student/teacher relationship to develop. Consistency is key.

Immersion is good

Katharine and I stumbled upon the Indian Shanti Yoga Festival and it became one of the highlights. At a plush beach resort in Ashwem, we spent three days surrounded by yoga addicts and a schedule that ran from 8am to 10pm… all for £25.

I reconnected with Sivananda yoga through classes with Nataraj, the Director of the ashram in Kerala where I’ve spent time previously. Witnessing him in his baggy Sivananda yellow t-shirt and white trousers just made me feel so happy. He looked a bit at odds with girls wearing tiny lycra shorts but the atmosphere was very welcoming and inclusive.

There was a lot of bhakti (devotional practices). The festival opened with a homa (fire ceremony) to Lord Ganesha. We all offered something to the fire – something we wanted to cast aside for 2014. Swamis from various Indian ashrams taught classes and led the chanting of Sanskrit bhajans.

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(Anand led the Ganesha homa.)

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(Swami Sugoshananda: “Everything happens as planned and it is for our own good.”)

I also went to a Bhagavad Gita talk, taught by an elderly New Yorker with a huge white beard, long hair and piercing blue eyes. He reeled off the slokas (verses) in Sanskrit. Hearing the words of Krishna to Arjuna with his accent: “Hey Arjuna, so you gotta fight people you care about. But you just gotta do your duty!”

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Acroyoga is awesome

Acroyoga founder, Jason Nemer, taught at the festival.

With one person being the base, another the flyer, and another the spotter, we did some therapeutic flying. We practiced giving each other massages in ‘folded leaf’ and worked on backbends suspended in the air in ‘high flying whale’. We did handstands holding onto the backs of your partner’s ankles while they were in a high plank.

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(Me being a high flying whale.)

I like the philosophy behind the practice. It’s about building trust and confidence through letting go. The flyer has to resist any urge to control and you are totally in the hands (and feet) of your base. It’s playful, fosters closeness and you learn a lot about your partner. The sessions open and close with kirtan – chanting in a circle, developing togetherness.

Jason will be teaching five days of acroyoga at Triyoga in London later this year.

The final day included four hours of Thai Yoga Massage run by the acroyogis. Thai massage is seen to be a complementary practice to the more acrobatic side. I like this. It’s the yin and yang idea. The massage is the yin (calming, cooling, slow, soft) and the acroyoga is more dynamic, energising and fast-paced.

Summing up

Some of my most enjoyable yoga moments have been my self practices but I’m also looking forward to going home and getting back to classes – both teaching and being a student.

I know this trip has been about relaxing, spending time with my sister and also doing some yoga, but if I were to return to India for yoga, I’d do a period of study with someone who can help develop my practice. I’ve got my eye on David Garrigues’ intensive in Kerala in 2015, a trip to Mysore or even a retreat with David Keil at Purple Valley in Anjuna.

That’s the joy of yoga. There’s always more to learn and India is always calling.

Classes start back in London and Hertfordshire from 12 January and the first yin/yang workshop at Breathing Space in Harpenden will be on 18 January. My first BAYoga Studio yin workshop is on 1 February.

Happy new year everyone.

Om shanti.

Parting thoughts

I’m on the beach at Kovalam watching the sun set on India for the final time. I recognise a middle-aged couple from the Sivananda ashram standing in the shallows watching the sun too. They both wear silver om necklaces and look sun kissed.

I walk towards them and they welcome me like a long lost friend. We didn’t speak once at the ashram. They say in broken English that they speak no English. I tell them that I leave for London tomorrow morning. They leave for Berlin in two day’s time.

She mimes singing and points at me. They must have heard me leading a chant during satsang. “Sing… engel” she says pointing at me. She points to her forearm and mimes what can only be goosebumps. “Singing… engel” she says again. She beams at me and touches my arm tenderly.

I thank her for such a wonderful compliment and we part. I continue to walk along the beach letting each wave wash over my feet. Tears spring from my eyes. India is beautiful. Whatever you offer to Her, she returns it ten-fold.

I walk further along the beach. The glamorous girl who played terrible Russian pop music in the dorm is sitting on the beach watching the scene. We wave to each other from afar.

Groups of Indian boys throw sand at each other and boldly ask me how I am. Young couples in love take photos of one another. Indian women in drenched salwar kameez sit on sun loungers waiting for their daughters to finish playing in the water.

Stephen from the ashram is throwing a frisbee in the air, trying to catch it. He goes to the Putney Sivananda Centre from time to time and lives in Plymouth. He talks enthusiastically about how yoga saved him from an unfulfilling life down the pub. “Pubs contain such dark energy, don’t you think?”

The End?
Thinking about my time away since July, my goal was to practice and increase my knowledge of yoga and I certainly feel like I’ve achieved that.

From my five weeks in Koh Samui with Michel Besnard and the gang, I learnt so much about Ashtanga yoga, my own body and about other types of yoga such as Yin and Acro. My teaching will never be the same again.

20121219-164535.jpgThe Absolute Yogis

I learnt what it means to be ‘yo-glam‘ on Koh Phang An, and I can now give Thai Massage based on the time I spent in Chiang Mai.

Koh Phang An gang
Koh Phang An gang
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Thai massage girlies

I was also glad to have the opportunity to catch up with my yoga buddy Sherylee and her husband in Sri Lanka.

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During the two months I’ve been in India, I witnessed the madness of Osho’s glitzy ashram and felt Amma’s love through her ‘darshan’ or blessing. In Goa I was barked at for two weeks doing Iyengar and I got to see the big man himself in Pune.

20121219-165131.jpgHangin’ in Goa

I’ve had a go at learning the harmonium and gained insight into the daily life of an Indian family courtesy of Babaji and the Dhabolkars in Arambol, Goa.

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And I ended it all back where it started in 2009 in the Sivananda ashram in Kerala. It was wonderful to share some of it with my Mum and Dad and my sister.

20121219-170153.jpgWith Mum and Dad in Kerala

20121219-170348.jpgWith Kaths in Thailand

The sun has set and it’s time for my final meal. I feel sad but happy and blessed to have had this entire experience. I know I’ll be back. India does that to you. The yoga helps too. It certainly brings people together.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my blog while I’ve been away. Thank you for all the comments, encouragement and the personal emails prompted by my witterings.

From next year I’ll continue to write about yoga related things. Have lovely Christmases and New Years and remember to stay positive and follow your dreams.

Hari om tat sat.

Inhalar y exhalar: Spanish Sivananda

I was Madrid recently for a few days and I’d thought that if I had time, it would be great to visit the Sivananda Centre there.

And so, on a wet and windy Spanish afternoon, I emerged from the Metro into the suburbs, avoiding the splashes as cars whizzed past through puddles. Struggling to hold my printed map, bag and umbrella I walked down a side street and found a familiar orange sign saying ‘Sivananda Yoga’ outside a residential block.

I was buzzed in, left my shoes on the shoe rack and I instantly relaxed. I was greeted by a lady in her 60’s wearing white baggy trousers, a trusty yellow t-shirt and a smart black blazer. And she started babbling away in Spanish. “Habla Ingles?” I replied in my best GCSE Spanish. “Si, si un poco, you are here for the class?”

I went into the class and she was teaching. She pointed to a space next to her and we sat to chant the Dhyana Slokas. A couple of people joined in including myself and through my closed eyes, I sensed someone looking at me. I peeked and she was looking straight at me.

It’s funny, if it was me teaching, having someone turn up at the last minute, with only a schoolgirl’s grasp of the language, I may have had tiny pangs of panic: How will she understand what to do in the class? Has she even done yoga before? I have 11 other people to pay attention to!

But, as I joined in with the om shantis, I hope I reassured her that it was all going to be ok. The class covered the breathing exercises, the sun salutations and the 12 basic postures and it was great. There were a few subtle differences but it all made sense and it was fortunate that I know my Spanish left from my right.

After the class, I wandered round the reception area/shop taking in the familiar books (in Spanish), postcards, pictures of Swami Sivananda and Swami Vishnudevananda and even a graduation photo from the last London teacher training course. The Centre was more modest than the London one but just as welcoming.

As I was sitting on the Metro going back to my hotel, I thought about how lucky I was to be able to rock up to a yoga class in a foreign country and feel totally at home. There most definitely is an international Sivananda family and I feel very blessed to be part of it.

Om shanti.