"Polymers are forever" - that is a chapter title in Alan Weisman's new book The World Without Us. The book is a grand thought experiment exploring what would happen to the Earth if humans just disappeared one day. Surprisingly, New York City would be gone quickly, turned back into a swampy marsh once the electricity quits running its 753 pumps that relieve the city of the more than 650 gallons/minute of groundwater. However, the ancient underground cavernous complexes in Cappacocia, Turkey would last for millennia. But that's not quite as long as our plastic bottles, bags, and coffee lids made up of synthetic polymer chains. Currently, they would last forever.
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean is a place called the North Pacific Subtropical Gyre. It's a mass of mostly plastic refuse washed out to sea that spirals around a water vortex. Oceanographers call it the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. It's the size of Texas.
For several weeks when I would walk in to the studio's back door I saw a plastic six-pack can holder lying on the ground. I thought every time, I'm going to pick that up when I come out. And then I'd walk out thinking about class and pass it by. Eventually, with a heavy rain, it would make it's way into our sewer system, maybe even into one of our Clintonville streams, perhaps settle on the bottom of the stream bed and stay there until several ice ages from now evolution would finally produced a species that could digest plastic polymers. But last night I picked it up and put it in my recycling bin. Perhaps that small act will offset my greed of all things convenient in some tiny way. Like "Bob" said, "Baby steps. Baby steps."
*****
Aparigraha to me is Freedom within our minds. Not
attaching or grasping onto things. Sometimes when we
are attached, grasp, or even crave to things we can
eventually be disappointed, as for one day it may not
be there. Then what would you do?
*****
When first contemplating the idea of Aparigraha, I don't think it applies much to me. I have few possessions that I care about. I love to read, but I'm just as happy with a book from the library that I can return for someone else's use. Clothing and shoes are a necessary evil, and while I can take pleasure in them, I wouldn't mind giving these things away. There are, however, many ideas—mostly ones I hold about myself—that I hoard greedily. About a year ago, a friend with whom I work at the coffee shop told me that he felt I was always qualifying and justifying myself. He said that I feel an obsessive urge to have myself understood, rather than allowing others to see me from their own perspectives. Basically, he told me that I constantly try to control others and the view they may have of me. I was completely taken aback and for a few moments I tried to argue with him. He shut the conversation down with a few familiar words: "You're right. You're right."
The coffee shop is a dangerous place to work, one that needs to be negotiated with finesse, knowledge and grace. First of all, the shop is very small. In this tight space, elbows seem to elongate to deadly dimensions and counter tops can provide a blow to the hip that stays with me the rest of the week. Mild to serious injuries can occur if the partners of the coffee shop are not aware at all times of the space around their bodies. Second, there is hot coffee everywhere and, like the warning at the bottom of the cup tells you, it's very hot. Hot coffee grounds are especially dangerous. One needs to know the movement habits of each partner to navigate a 4-8 hour shift safely. In the beginning, I burned myself, spilled hot milk everywhere, exploded not quite empty whipped cream bottles, and once elbowed a partner in her head. The lesser dangers of the store are angry customers, impatient customers, and miserable customers who have been waiting a tenth of a second longer than usual.
When a mishap occurs, whether it is a mixed up order, grounds in the coffee or burning mocha spattered on legs, we have a game that we play. It's called the "I'm right" game. All partners take part, though some may be unaware of their participation. This game operates on a point system. When a mistake is made, all partners chirp the rationale for why what happened has happened. Then I take it upon myself to look at the evidence and proclaim one person right. That person gets a point. Partners accumulate points and whoever has the most points at the end of my shift wins the "I'm right" game. It's not so much that we partners are unable to own up to our mistakes squarely. It's not so much that we want to be right all the time. What we don't want is to be seen as wrong. Being wrong has got to be the scariest, most awful thing. Right? Most mistakes that occur at the store occur through joint effort. When we are busy, we operate as one whole organism, not separate entities. The mistake I make one moment will be made a few customers down the line by a different partner. So all the mistakes become the same mistake and they are one. The "I'm right" game, if taken seriously, can slow our progress and frustrate our efforts. Animosity forms and before you know it, fun storms out with compassion and objectivity. It's a sad, sad state to be in. We are, after all, only serving coffee and defrosted pastries.
Unfortunately, as the points accumulate, no prize is distributed. There is nothing productive or useful or joyful to be gained from the "I'm right" game. It is easy to indulge ourselves by playing this game. It is easy to quip, to make excuses and to deny responsibility, but in the end all it does is waste time. So, for just a few seconds, one person is awarded the preservation of the idea he or she has about themselves, but this security does not last. In fact, as points accumulate, and we each take our share of rightness, other things go wrong. The shop becomes more vulnerable to mistakes, elbows, and angry customers. A fractured coffee shop disorganized by finger pointing is a dangerous place. So what do I do when a partner tells me I haven't put enough coffee in Carolyn's cup? What do I do when I'm told that the correct abbreviation for the strawberries and cream frappucino is STCF and not STCRF? (I'm not sure which one is right, actually.) What do I do when I put non-fat milk in Gary's Venti Mocha instead of 2%? I practice. I practice Aparigraha, the act of non-greediness and non-hoarding. Each day I work to let go of the explanations, the excuses, and the "I'm right" points. I smile and I re-pour, re-write, and re-make. Sometimes I have to let go a few times. These things tend to grow back like weeds. Each instance of discarding my rightness, my "I already know that," my "well, if you hadn't done this, then this wouldn't have happened" is a painful moment. Afterwards, though, my mind feels clear and open.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Brahmacharya
Of the many interpretations of brahmacharya I have come across, I like this one the best,"emphasizing inner Ecstasy over outward focus of sensual/sexual energies" - Bruce Bowditch, Certified Anusara Teacher
Brahmacharya, rather than an act of repression and denial, is an act of stoking the fire of connection to something bigger than ourselves. Like the bandhas we use in asana practice, brahmacharya means being more aware of how I channel my energy – are we making choices in our daily liives to move closer to connection with Source energy or are we moving further away. As with all of the yamas and nyamas, it helps me to think of them not in terms of black and white or right and wrong, but in terms of what brings us closer to our true nature.
Brahmacharya can be practiced in every moment. For example, when I'm out at a restaurant and order that decadent cheesecake at the end of my meal, am I practicing brahmacharya? It depends. Surely it will bring me that inner ecstasy. I'd be following my bliss, as they say. However, if I'm already completely stuffed to the gills and only want to taste it to satisfy an overwhelming craving and then leave half of it on my plate, then no, I'm not practicing brahmacharya. I'm wasting all of the energy that went into making this beautiful dessert and I'm wasting my own energy trying to satisfy myself from the outside in. However, if I have mindfully eaten less dinner in order to make room for this delectable dessert and order it from a place of contentment (not desperation), then proceed to enjoy every bite with gratitude, then yes, I am practicing brahmacharya and eating cheesecake becomes a spiritual experience. So I must ask myself frequently, where do I concentrate my energy? Am I stoking the fire from within or trying to fill myself up with outside pleasures. When I feel lonely, anxious, scared, what choices am I making? Am I quelling the unpleasant emotions with sweets, TV, shopping? or am I stoking the fire, reinforcing the connection to Source through other means like asana, meditation, or simply sitting with the emotion and going through it rather than circumventing it with sensual shortcuts.
When we make the choice to embrace whatever emotions are arising and go through them, our connection to Source becomes stronger. The more often we make that choice, like a muscle, the stronger our discipline becomes and the easier it is to practice brahmacharya in each moment.
******************
In our fast-paced society where stress is predominant, we are surrounded by convenient and quick fixes - coffee, chocolate, fast food, TV, etc. and it is tempting to indulge in desires that can lead to obsession. We crave comfort in many forms and forget the simple pleasures in life as
we strive for more and more. I don't look at brahmacharya as a practice of denial or of giving up what gives us pleasure. Instead, it is a practice of seeing the divinity of who we are and recognizing the pleasure in what we already have.
I read somewhere that the practice of always wanting will always leave you feeling unsatisfied. It's so easy to see what we don't have and to ignore and not appreciate what we do have. The practice of brahmacharya can be practiced on and off the mat. On our mat, knowing what will serve our body, mind and spirit at the present time can help us to not push ourselves beyond what we need. Overextending, overstretching, overachieving, going beyond our limits can lead not only to physical injury but also to an unsatisfied mind and deflated spirit. Off our mat, we can become obsessed with an ideal that doesn't align with our own truth. We may want to be thinner, taller, richer, smarter, "fill-in-the-blank"-er, and our obsession leads to disappointment in ourselves. The practice of brahmacharya helps us appreciate who and
what we are at the present time without judgment. It is recognition of our own unique and individual needs which in turn teaches us that our own truth is indeed the ideal we strive.
******************
This is the yama that gives me the most trouble. As a woman, some commentaries on the yama bharmacharya simply don't relate. So I go back to considering what was said in the context of to whom it was said to glean some meaning that might be more applicable. As one of my cool yoga teacher friend says, "What I love about Patanjali is the permission to essentially not take someone else's word for it... But to kick the tires for yourself..." The inevitable flaw in this, of course, is that we incorrectly interpret these teachings based on what we most want to hear - extrapolating and then molding it to our own ego-driven way of thinking - and miss the point entirely. Nevertheless, fear of failing shall never hold me back (as witnessed by my many failings), so here goes:
Is it possible to extrapolate and allow this understanding of brahmacharya to unfold in such a way? Methinks, this was probably not what Patanjali was originally guiding his young disciples towards. However, it seems very applicable for the here and now.
Food and moderation: Entire careers have been built on this concept. And the growing (literally) number of cases of obesity in the US speak to the urgency of heeding this advice. It's simple, really; dessert doesn't have to be at every meal, half of the sandwich can satisfy me better than stuffing in the whole no matter how good it tastes, and treating myself to coffee doesn't need to be multiple times a week. Small steps. Just like in playing with awareness in asana, it requires visiting over and over again, a moment to moment, day by day practice.
Food and moving towards the source: We are now far removed from our ancestors' hunting & gathering lifestyle and it's obligatory diet, but the Clintonville Farmer's Market is returning soon and I am so looking forward to it. I've often courted a vegan diet, but we've yet to make the commitment to one another. The CFM gives me a chance to use the fresh fruits and veggies available to make vegan recipes and get creative in the kitchen, all while supporting local farmers and eating closer to the source as I define it. The "moving towards the source" piece of this yama regards all of our energies. Does this action take me away from or towards God? Defining God is the subject of another reflection all together, one that is a lifetime's work, but it seems worth it to ask ourselves "does this food choice take me away from or towards my understanding of God?" It's a rich question, full of other richer still questions.
And, as I frequently do, I turn to my friend Hafiz, for further guidance on the subject:
Bramacharya (Haiku)
******************
For me, bramacharya (abstinence or self restraint) is about focus. It is about knowing and nurturing our greatest strengths, not wasting energy on activities or relationships that aren't beneficial to our personal growth. If we are overly reactive to environmental stimuli, or cater too much to the needs of others, we spread ourselves thin, and can no longer put our best talents into the world. Bramacharya means truly loving and respecting oneself, and staying focused on that difficult task.
Brahmacharya, rather than an act of repression and denial, is an act of stoking the fire of connection to something bigger than ourselves. Like the bandhas we use in asana practice, brahmacharya means being more aware of how I channel my energy – are we making choices in our daily liives to move closer to connection with Source energy or are we moving further away. As with all of the yamas and nyamas, it helps me to think of them not in terms of black and white or right and wrong, but in terms of what brings us closer to our true nature.
Brahmacharya can be practiced in every moment. For example, when I'm out at a restaurant and order that decadent cheesecake at the end of my meal, am I practicing brahmacharya? It depends. Surely it will bring me that inner ecstasy. I'd be following my bliss, as they say. However, if I'm already completely stuffed to the gills and only want to taste it to satisfy an overwhelming craving and then leave half of it on my plate, then no, I'm not practicing brahmacharya. I'm wasting all of the energy that went into making this beautiful dessert and I'm wasting my own energy trying to satisfy myself from the outside in. However, if I have mindfully eaten less dinner in order to make room for this delectable dessert and order it from a place of contentment (not desperation), then proceed to enjoy every bite with gratitude, then yes, I am practicing brahmacharya and eating cheesecake becomes a spiritual experience. So I must ask myself frequently, where do I concentrate my energy? Am I stoking the fire from within or trying to fill myself up with outside pleasures. When I feel lonely, anxious, scared, what choices am I making? Am I quelling the unpleasant emotions with sweets, TV, shopping? or am I stoking the fire, reinforcing the connection to Source through other means like asana, meditation, or simply sitting with the emotion and going through it rather than circumventing it with sensual shortcuts.
When we make the choice to embrace whatever emotions are arising and go through them, our connection to Source becomes stronger. The more often we make that choice, like a muscle, the stronger our discipline becomes and the easier it is to practice brahmacharya in each moment.
******************
In our fast-paced society where stress is predominant, we are surrounded by convenient and quick fixes - coffee, chocolate, fast food, TV, etc. and it is tempting to indulge in desires that can lead to obsession. We crave comfort in many forms and forget the simple pleasures in life as
we strive for more and more. I don't look at brahmacharya as a practice of denial or of giving up what gives us pleasure. Instead, it is a practice of seeing the divinity of who we are and recognizing the pleasure in what we already have.
I read somewhere that the practice of always wanting will always leave you feeling unsatisfied. It's so easy to see what we don't have and to ignore and not appreciate what we do have. The practice of brahmacharya can be practiced on and off the mat. On our mat, knowing what will serve our body, mind and spirit at the present time can help us to not push ourselves beyond what we need. Overextending, overstretching, overachieving, going beyond our limits can lead not only to physical injury but also to an unsatisfied mind and deflated spirit. Off our mat, we can become obsessed with an ideal that doesn't align with our own truth. We may want to be thinner, taller, richer, smarter, "fill-in-the-blank"-er, and our obsession leads to disappointment in ourselves. The practice of brahmacharya helps us appreciate who and
what we are at the present time without judgment. It is recognition of our own unique and individual needs which in turn teaches us that our own truth is indeed the ideal we strive.
******************
This is the yama that gives me the most trouble. As a woman, some commentaries on the yama bharmacharya simply don't relate. So I go back to considering what was said in the context of to whom it was said to glean some meaning that might be more applicable. As one of my cool yoga teacher friend says, "What I love about Patanjali is the permission to essentially not take someone else's word for it... But to kick the tires for yourself..." The inevitable flaw in this, of course, is that we incorrectly interpret these teachings based on what we most want to hear - extrapolating and then molding it to our own ego-driven way of thinking - and miss the point entirely. Nevertheless, fear of failing shall never hold me back (as witnessed by my many failings), so here goes:
Brahma - God, the SourceThis leads me to thinking about food, something I think about much of the time. Indeed, perhaps I was already thinking about food when I started thinking about brahmacharya. Food, moving towards the source, moderation. When I asked (read: begged) my yoga teacher for instructions on the yogic way of eating, he essentially gave me one very brief teaching, which was what was given to him: Eat close to the source. Or, since this was a spoken instruction, maybe it could be: Eat close to The Source. Here is our 5000 or more year-old tradition herding us back to what most of us Mid-Westerners already know. A tomato picked from our own backyard is a thousand times more delicious than even those organic ones flown in from California, supporting a non-local economy and gobbling up gallons of gas and oil along the way.
Charya - to move
moving towards the source
or, as found in many commentaries, moderation
Is it possible to extrapolate and allow this understanding of brahmacharya to unfold in such a way? Methinks, this was probably not what Patanjali was originally guiding his young disciples towards. However, it seems very applicable for the here and now.
Food and moderation: Entire careers have been built on this concept. And the growing (literally) number of cases of obesity in the US speak to the urgency of heeding this advice. It's simple, really; dessert doesn't have to be at every meal, half of the sandwich can satisfy me better than stuffing in the whole no matter how good it tastes, and treating myself to coffee doesn't need to be multiple times a week. Small steps. Just like in playing with awareness in asana, it requires visiting over and over again, a moment to moment, day by day practice.
Food and moving towards the source: We are now far removed from our ancestors' hunting & gathering lifestyle and it's obligatory diet, but the Clintonville Farmer's Market is returning soon and I am so looking forward to it. I've often courted a vegan diet, but we've yet to make the commitment to one another. The CFM gives me a chance to use the fresh fruits and veggies available to make vegan recipes and get creative in the kitchen, all while supporting local farmers and eating closer to the source as I define it. The "moving towards the source" piece of this yama regards all of our energies. Does this action take me away from or towards God? Defining God is the subject of another reflection all together, one that is a lifetime's work, but it seems worth it to ask ourselves "does this food choice take me away from or towards my understanding of God?" It's a rich question, full of other richer still questions.
And, as I frequently do, I turn to my friend Hafiz, for further guidance on the subject:
The Vegetables******************
Today
The vegetables would like to be cut
By someone who is singing God's Name.
How could Hafiz know
Such top secret information?
Because
Once we were all tomatoes,
Potatoes, onions, or
Zucchini.
Bramacharya (Haiku)
Continence practice:
I see what sits on my plate
And stop writing here.
******************
For me, bramacharya (abstinence or self restraint) is about focus. It is about knowing and nurturing our greatest strengths, not wasting energy on activities or relationships that aren't beneficial to our personal growth. If we are overly reactive to environmental stimuli, or cater too much to the needs of others, we spread ourselves thin, and can no longer put our best talents into the world. Bramacharya means truly loving and respecting oneself, and staying focused on that difficult task.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Summer Reading
Elizabeth Miller:
The World Without Us by Alan Weisman
"A great thought experiment exploring what would happen to Earth if humans just disappeared; narrative non-fiction; not a 'light' read but immensely interesting."
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
"A wonderful read about a young boy crossing the
Alex Ferm:
The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner
"This book is a fun, but somewhat educational read that takes you all over the world on the travels of a grumpy journalist. It's a light read and made me laugh frequently."
Annie Tenwick:
Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
"I loved Eat Pray Love because it was funny and touching and I could relate to everything on some level because the author is so human."
Vanessa Mosier:
Girl with a
"I read this a little while ago. I loved it. Most people have heard of this one but may have never taken the time to read it. It's a good read if you like art and romance—set in Vermeer's days as a painter."
Katie McKee:
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
"I'm not exactly sure why I love this book so much, but the jumping in time forces you to really pay attention to the story. I just liked it."
Tom Griffith:
American Gods by Neil Gaiman
"A truly great story teller; the kind of book you just blaze through."
No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July
"A collection of short stories that helped to remind me about the mysteries and joys of life."
Sylke Krell:
Into Thin Air by John Krakauer
"A harrowing story about an ill fated climb on
Donna Winters:
The Inspector Lynley series by Elizabeth George
"All these books are great!"
Angela Dancey:
The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy
"This rediscovered, republished classic about a young American woman in
Queenpin by Megan Abbott
"A fantastic contemporary hard-boiled crime novel about an aging mob moll told from the perspective of her young, cynical protégée."
My Booty and Bakasana
My Booty and Bakasana
By Sylke
How do I put this delicately? You know what? I won't. I am big. I have always been tall and on the larger side. But right now, I am the heaviest I have ever been in my life, and I am finally okay with saying that out loud. I won't say exactly how heavy I am (a true lady never reveals her age…or her weight); I will only say that when I recently looked at the physical stats for the Pittsburgh Steelers I was shocked to discover I might have qualified for the team. Because of my hourglass proportions and propensity to gain weight in the lower half of my body, I am currently packing a little extra heat in the backside, which makes practicing yoga a slightly hilarious and somewhat scary endeavor.
I got this way after suffering a back injury while uninsured and living in New York. For about two months I wasn't able to walk without numbness in my right foot and for a year I couldn't walk or climb stairs without serious pain. Since my circumstances didn't allow for any extensive treatment, at first I got annoyed with my body, and then I just got lazy and let go, figuring I would always hurt. I also had a lot of stress in my life that made it easy to shift my focus onto other things, and away from my body. Then there was living in New York, which means an endless supply of great food that can be delivered directly to your door at all hours. Before I knew it, I had gained 20 pounds.
When I moved back to Columbus to start classes at OSU in the fall of 2007, I made a vow to start exercising. Because of my back injury, I gravitated to yoga. I came to Balanced Yoga on a friend's recommendation. I started in Hatha classes. The first three or four kicked my butt. Slowly, I became stronger and more confident, and eventually joined Vinyasa classes. Here I was confronted with the scariest pose I had ever seen, bakasana, that crazy arm balance where you rest your knees in your armpits and lift your feet off the ground.
Other yoga poses don't make me feel my weight the way bakasana does. The thought of putting the heaviest part of my body, my derriere, onto the weakest part of my body, my arms, is just plain embarrassing. When it came time for bakasana in class, all I could think about was falling, and the loud sound it would make. I felt like my weight was a serious physical limitation and that I would never get my butt in the air. I noted all the students around me, who I perceived as much smaller than I, could get into the pose with no trouble at all. There they all were, floating above the earth, and there I was, frozen to the ground.
I have a supportive therapist with whom I discuss everything, including my struggles with weight. She has been pretty insistent on me "owning" my body. But when I tried to explain bakasana to her with a demonstration, even she said, "Oh no. No way."
I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that yoga is for everyone. But it is a hard thing for me to remember when I am in a room full of people who seem much smaller and therefore much more adept at it than I. So, burdened with my own weight, I figured the "everyone" bakasana was meant for was everyone else, and I gave up on the pose. I wasn't ready to test my own strength.
As I progressed in yoga classes, I was slowly seeing results and even managed to knock out a couple of balancing poses that I initially found really difficult, specifically Half Moon and Tree. I found that as I created these poses for myself, I felt my weight less and less and feared falling less and less. Boosted by the confidence of finding balance on my legs, I eventually set my sights back on bakasana. I practiced plank and chaturanga dandasana with diligence, trying to improve my arm strength. When bakasana appeared in class, I forced myself to put my shins on my bent arms and stick my butt up to get over my embarrassment and actually feel the pose. Eventually I could come all the way up on my tiptoes, nearly balancing my full weight.
Then one night, alone in the privacy of my bedroom, fired up after a great class and convinced that I had finally arrived at my moment, I got into my baby bakasana, sure that I was going to fly. I gingerly lifted one, then two toes off the floor, only to tip forward and land with a solid thud on my forehead. Ambitious, but not very smart and definitely painful. In that moment I became convinced that in order to lick bakasana I needed to lose weight. So for a few months I labored under that assumption. I managed to completely defeat myself and became resentful of my body, and as a result I had to really force myself to keep going to class.
Finally, I decided to break my silence, stop the guesswork and ask some knowledgeable folks about the pose. I assumed that they would tell me in the most polite way possible that I was too heavy and too weak to achieve a full arm balance. Much to my surprise, every inquiry I made netted me the same answer: "It's not about arm strength--it's about core strength.'" Impossible, I thought. How the hell can my core hold my arms and legs together and keep my giant butt in the air? But, wait a minute. Doesn’t my core support me and hold me upright every day just walking around? I figured if it can do that, then maybe this whole bakasana thing was worth looking into again.
So with a new perspective on the pose and with a real emphasis on my concentration in class, I have finally gotten to the point where I feel like lift off is imminent. I no longer blame my weight and all my bad decisions for not being able to get into bakasana. Instead, I am working on making a really long spine, a super strong core and some seriously well integrated shoulders so that someday, hopefully soon, and at my current weight, I can get my feet off the ground without falling.
I guess for me, bakasana has become an exercise in creating strength through acceptance. And I have the sneaking suspicion that arriving in my first bakasana will be only the beginning. If that pose follows the rest of my yoga experience, it will become an action of acceptance, with observable results, that I will only want to repeat over and over again. Hovering over the earth balanced on my arms will become a part of my practice that has nothing to do with the work of balancing my butt, and has everything to do with the joy of supporting my booty.
By Sylke
How do I put this delicately? You know what? I won't. I am big. I have always been tall and on the larger side. But right now, I am the heaviest I have ever been in my life, and I am finally okay with saying that out loud. I won't say exactly how heavy I am (a true lady never reveals her age…or her weight); I will only say that when I recently looked at the physical stats for the Pittsburgh Steelers I was shocked to discover I might have qualified for the team. Because of my hourglass proportions and propensity to gain weight in the lower half of my body, I am currently packing a little extra heat in the backside, which makes practicing yoga a slightly hilarious and somewhat scary endeavor.
I got this way after suffering a back injury while uninsured and living in New York. For about two months I wasn't able to walk without numbness in my right foot and for a year I couldn't walk or climb stairs without serious pain. Since my circumstances didn't allow for any extensive treatment, at first I got annoyed with my body, and then I just got lazy and let go, figuring I would always hurt. I also had a lot of stress in my life that made it easy to shift my focus onto other things, and away from my body. Then there was living in New York, which means an endless supply of great food that can be delivered directly to your door at all hours. Before I knew it, I had gained 20 pounds.
When I moved back to Columbus to start classes at OSU in the fall of 2007, I made a vow to start exercising. Because of my back injury, I gravitated to yoga. I came to Balanced Yoga on a friend's recommendation. I started in Hatha classes. The first three or four kicked my butt. Slowly, I became stronger and more confident, and eventually joined Vinyasa classes. Here I was confronted with the scariest pose I had ever seen, bakasana, that crazy arm balance where you rest your knees in your armpits and lift your feet off the ground.
Other yoga poses don't make me feel my weight the way bakasana does. The thought of putting the heaviest part of my body, my derriere, onto the weakest part of my body, my arms, is just plain embarrassing. When it came time for bakasana in class, all I could think about was falling, and the loud sound it would make. I felt like my weight was a serious physical limitation and that I would never get my butt in the air. I noted all the students around me, who I perceived as much smaller than I, could get into the pose with no trouble at all. There they all were, floating above the earth, and there I was, frozen to the ground.
I have a supportive therapist with whom I discuss everything, including my struggles with weight. She has been pretty insistent on me "owning" my body. But when I tried to explain bakasana to her with a demonstration, even she said, "Oh no. No way."
I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that yoga is for everyone. But it is a hard thing for me to remember when I am in a room full of people who seem much smaller and therefore much more adept at it than I. So, burdened with my own weight, I figured the "everyone" bakasana was meant for was everyone else, and I gave up on the pose. I wasn't ready to test my own strength.
As I progressed in yoga classes, I was slowly seeing results and even managed to knock out a couple of balancing poses that I initially found really difficult, specifically Half Moon and Tree. I found that as I created these poses for myself, I felt my weight less and less and feared falling less and less. Boosted by the confidence of finding balance on my legs, I eventually set my sights back on bakasana. I practiced plank and chaturanga dandasana with diligence, trying to improve my arm strength. When bakasana appeared in class, I forced myself to put my shins on my bent arms and stick my butt up to get over my embarrassment and actually feel the pose. Eventually I could come all the way up on my tiptoes, nearly balancing my full weight.
Then one night, alone in the privacy of my bedroom, fired up after a great class and convinced that I had finally arrived at my moment, I got into my baby bakasana, sure that I was going to fly. I gingerly lifted one, then two toes off the floor, only to tip forward and land with a solid thud on my forehead. Ambitious, but not very smart and definitely painful. In that moment I became convinced that in order to lick bakasana I needed to lose weight. So for a few months I labored under that assumption. I managed to completely defeat myself and became resentful of my body, and as a result I had to really force myself to keep going to class.
Finally, I decided to break my silence, stop the guesswork and ask some knowledgeable folks about the pose. I assumed that they would tell me in the most polite way possible that I was too heavy and too weak to achieve a full arm balance. Much to my surprise, every inquiry I made netted me the same answer: "It's not about arm strength--it's about core strength.'" Impossible, I thought. How the hell can my core hold my arms and legs together and keep my giant butt in the air? But, wait a minute. Doesn’t my core support me and hold me upright every day just walking around? I figured if it can do that, then maybe this whole bakasana thing was worth looking into again.
So with a new perspective on the pose and with a real emphasis on my concentration in class, I have finally gotten to the point where I feel like lift off is imminent. I no longer blame my weight and all my bad decisions for not being able to get into bakasana. Instead, I am working on making a really long spine, a super strong core and some seriously well integrated shoulders so that someday, hopefully soon, and at my current weight, I can get my feet off the ground without falling.
I guess for me, bakasana has become an exercise in creating strength through acceptance. And I have the sneaking suspicion that arriving in my first bakasana will be only the beginning. If that pose follows the rest of my yoga experience, it will become an action of acceptance, with observable results, that I will only want to repeat over and over again. Hovering over the earth balanced on my arms will become a part of my practice that has nothing to do with the work of balancing my butt, and has everything to do with the joy of supporting my booty.
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