Beginning Again on the Mat: The Yogic Practice of Resurrection, from Chris Warner

 

from Chris Warner, Easter Sunday, April 4^th, 2010

 Resurrect:  (a back-formation from resurrection) to raise a person from the dead or from the grave;  to restore to life or to view again  (Oxford English Dictionary)

On the yoga mat, the most obvious way in which we practice resurrection is during the final asana in any class:  Shavasana (or ‘śavasana’).  Literally translated as ‘corpse’ pose, when we lie down on the mat at the end of physical practice, we practice death:  stilling the limbs, slowing the breath, quieting the mind.   B.K.S. Iyengar, in Light on Yoga, notes that ‘by remaining motionless for some time and keeping the mind still while you are fully conscious, you learn to relax.  This conscious relaxation invigorates and refreshes both body and mind.  But it is much harder to keep the mind than the body still.  Therefore this apparently easy posture is one of the most difficult to master” (p., 422).  Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, founder of Ashtanga Yoga, also noted “Most difficult for students.  Not waking, not sleeping.”  As a meaningful way in which to end our practice time, shavasana, on an energetic and psychological level, indicates our receptivity to integration—allowing a time of stillness for the lessons learned during our practice to sink in, to permeate and percolate through our being;  it indicates our willingness to let go of what we no longer need or what may no longer be of use to us, to shed old skin, old thinking, old habits;  and then, at the sound of the bell, shavasana signifies our opportunity to rise again—to re-emerge afresh, anew, from the ‘death’ of corpse pose. 

However, we really begin again, practicing resurrection, each and every time that we come to our mats, each and every time that we bring our hands together at heart center to begin our practice by setting an intention—our small prayers for ourselves—each and every time that we notice the in-breath, and notice the out-breath, and each and every time that we allow breath and movement of the body to become one.  Our daily yoga practice itself is synonymous with resurrection:  each time our feet contact the mat represents a new opportunity for opening, each posture a new possibility;  each time we catch ourselves caught up in comparing and contrasting represents a new chance to come back to the breath, to settle into the life that is the present moment, to let go of old habits and old thinking and to  ‘view again.’

Practicing resurrection on our mats, for some of us, might mean that we face and then release our tendencies towards perfection, our continual striving and straining for some ideal pose or some ideal body;  for some of us, it might mean that we acknowledge and release our habitual patterns of avoidance, of denial, of giving up.  For some of us, it might mean that we begin to open ourselves to all of the possibilities that yoga offers, not only the physical ‘work-out.’  And for some of us, it might mean recognizing that while yoga offers us the opportunity to cultivate happiness and peace, we also need to address our physical well-being through asana practice, in order that our human bodies might support us in health and with strength as we progress on the spiritual path.  Our practice offers us all of these things—the possibility of being restored to a life that is happy, healthy, and free.  Rising again, rising anew, to a life of freedom from suffering.

Suggestions for practicing resurrection on the mat:

1. Given that all things are always changing, and that our suffering in life is generally a result of our resistance to change, choose to create deliberate change in your practice.  For example:
   1. If you always sit in sukhasana (cross-legged, or ‘easy’ pose) with the right leg on top, the next time you come to the mat, sit with the left leg on top, etc.  Take note of  and be with whatever arises from whatever small change you choose to make—resist adjusting or fixing or reverting back to the former habit (at least for one class).
   2. If you tend to automatically take the most advanced or most effort-ful option offered by a teacher, try taking the beginner version—explore there.  Notice the thinking—note, with one word, ‘comparing,’ ‘contrasting,’ ‘judging,’ ‘disdain,’ etc.  DO NOT go to the next level—that of spinning a storyline around the thinking.  Just note what kind of thinking, and come back to the breath.
   3. If you tend to give up after just one breath in a posture—maybe Revolved Prayer, or Warrior 1—explore taking just one more breath than normal, or maybe two more…  And see what it is like to do so with ease—checking in with the face, with the jaw, with the breath, releasing tension, releasing strain.
2. Sometimes, we become impatient in practice—either at the outset, if the teacher doesn’t ‘get to the point’ (a.k.a., move into Sun Salutations, etc.) as quickly as we’d like, or during a longer-held pose with which we might be struggling (‘Warrior 3,’ for example, in Power Yoga, or during ‘Saddle’ pose in our Yin Yoga practice).  When you notice you are caught up in thinking, try this—a short gatha modeled on those used by Thich Nhat Hanh:
   1. As you breathe in, note ‘Begin’
   2. As you breathe out, note ‘Again’
   3. On the in-breath, ‘Here’
   4. On the out-breath, ‘Now’
   5. On the in-breath, ‘I am happy’
   6. On the out-breath, ‘I am free’
   7. All together:  ‘Begin again;  here and now;  I am happy;  I am free.’
3. Try something new.  If you avoid meditation, take a meditation class, or join a group for a sit.  If you avoid practicing anything active, take a more vigorous class—a moderate Hatha or Flow class, or even Power Yoga or Ashtanga.  If you are a ‘power junkie,’ take a Yin Yoga or Restorative Yoga class, or even just a more moderate Flow class.  Whatever you choose, take note of what arises.  See how you might allow yourself to open to a new experience—cultivating ‘the beginner’s mind.’  You might even note what happens in a yoga or meditation journal—even if your note is just ‘I hated this class, will never do this again!’  And then, maybe a day or so later, go back, read over what you wrote, and perhaps explore what gave rise to the reaction you noted.
4. If you avoid Shavasana pose—leaving class before final relaxation—commit to staying for at least 2 weeks.  Shavasana is equally as important as every other posture in our physical practice;  it allows the body time to integrate all of the movement and energy;  it allows our breathing to find its own natural rhythm.  It allows the body, mind, and spirit time to rest.  More importantly, if we tend to leave a class before Shavasana, or if we fidget through it, we might also ask:  What is that we are avoiding?  What is it that we are denying ourselves?
5. If you avoid arriving to class on time, thus missing the centering and the setting of intention for the practice, personally commit to timely arrival for at least 2 weeks.  Allow yourself the experience of joining your community, your yoga Sangha, in arriving for practice, settling into the breath, to the body, to the time and space set aside for practice, and then, begin with your deepest wish for yourself.  Arriving and centering to begin your practice not only brings vibrancy and meaning to your practice, and allows the practice to extend beyond the rectangle of your mat, but also allows you, in that time, to cultivate stillness—essential for the arising of insight and wisdom.  If we’re always racing, always busy, always arriving late and leaving early, there is little opportunity to look inside, to get to know ourselves, and then to begin the process of letting go of what may not be helpful, and to cultivate new ways of seeing, new ways of thinking that may truly be of benefit.

“The architecture of savasana requires us to continually let the ground we are lying down on, literally the ground of our thoughts and our bodies, to fall away, until the constructs that frame our experience pass on.  This is an act of both dying and being born.  Our imagination makes us very busy exploring the world of choices.  In the end, there will be no choice, just death.  So in the center of your bumbling human life, where you are always looking around for something better, notice how the present moment is just a small death away.”  Michael Stone

Wishing everyone the energy of beginning again,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 of rising anew, of freedom from suffering;                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Wishing everyone the receptivity of the beginner’s mind, the possibility of resurrection.                                                                                                                                                                                         Wishing everyone the happiness and peace available in this breath, in this present and precious moment                                                                                                                                                                —the only moment that truly is.

Happy Easter to all,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Namaste, Chris

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Every Teacher has Something to Offer, Every ‘Needle,’ an Opportunity for Growth, from Chris Warner

“I only like you—why doesn’t this new schedule say who is teaching which classes?” Student question to teacher, Santi Yoga studio, February 2010

Many years ago when I began to practice one-on-one with my first teacher, my lead-up conversation to taking my mat—each time we met—went something like this:  ‘Can you turn the heat down? It’s too hot.’ ‘Can you turn the heat up—it’s too cold.’  ‘I’m tired today—can we just take it easy?’  ‘I don’t like this Yin Yoga—can’t we just work on Sun Salutations?’ ‘What happened to the music today?’ ‘Can you turn the music down today?’  ‘I’m too tired today.’ ‘I’m too depressed today.’  ‘It’s too nice today—can’t we just walk on the beach?’

On my first yoga retreat, about 6 months into practicing, I arrived at the retreat center late Friday afternoon, and, upon viewing the weekend program schedule, my first comment was:  ‘I can’t get up at 4:30 in the morning’ (and, inside, I fumed, ‘I will not get up at 4:30’).  My second comment, attempting a humorous tone—despite clenched jaw and crossed arms—was:  ‘And I won’t be doing the morning or the evening meditations—I’m here for yoga, I don’t like meditation, and it does say ‘optional!’’

I also recall:  if my teacher was going to be away on vacation, I did not practice.  If for some reason, scheduling did not permit us to meet for a few days, I did not practice.  I refused to go to any other teacher’s classes—I didn’t ‘like’ any of them.  And once, when I did get to a class, and a different teacher was substituting, I spent the entire 75 minutes on my mat inwardly grumbling, complaining, comparing and contrasting, angry and displeased.

One day, having been practicing fairly consistently for about 5 years, I noticed something:  My aversion to heat was gone.   I also noticed that the internal chatter—‘I hate this’  ‘I can’t do this,’ ‘is she ever going to say, ‘take 2 more breaths?’’  ‘is she ever going to stop talking?’ ‘is it time yet for Shivasana?’ ‘this is too easy,’ ‘this is too hard,’ ‘it’s too cold in here,’ ‘it’s too hot in here,’ had stopped.  Stopped.  The sound of silence inside was like a shock of clear cold water.  I could feel the breath flowing through my body.  I could feel the lines of energy flowing.  I could sense my spine lengthening, the energy in my fingertips.  I could feel the connection between my body and the mat, and I could feel the crown of my head rising as I stood firm and grounded in Tadasana.  The sound of that silence allowed me to let go, to let be, to be in my body, at home in the rhythm of the breath.  The sound of silence, the cease of chatter, allowed me to find my own practice, to be present, for the very first time, in my body, on my mat.

While I still, sometimes, hear the sound of my first teacher’s voice in my head, particularly within certain poses, and am happy for the comforting sound of her voice, I am no longer attached to that voice—craving only that voice, only that cadence, only those word choices, and thus, of course, disliking everything else.

Today, I am very grateful for my first teacher, Janine Grillo-Mara, who introduced me to and guided me along this path, and who, sometimes gently, sometimes sternly, sometimes sharply—like a needle—reminded me time and again, to come to the mat, to come to the cushion, and who never failed to point out to me my ‘chatter,’ forcing me to take a look, forcing me to pierce through the noise.

Today, I recognize that my early aversion—to all things!  Heat, cool, stillness, activity, any teacher other than my own, etc., etc., etc.—was simply a manifestation of my own fears, my own sloth, my own restlessness, my own inflexibility.  An inflexibility that, although unconscious, was constricting not only my practice, but also my life.  An inflexibility that, along with that of my physical body, continues to open, to stretch, and to soften, allowing me to continue to cultivate the beginner’s mind.  Allowing me to open to the wisdom that my current experience has to offer, if only I will let it;  allowing me to come to every class, to every teacher, with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child, for whom all things are new, for whom all things are wondrous.  And I have come to realize that my preferences—what I ‘like’ and what I ‘don’t like’—are not necessarily positively correlated with what is of benefit to me.  Today, I practice Hot Power Yoga and Ashtanga, I practice Yin Yoga, I practice Basic Hatha, and I practice everything all around and in between.  I also sit daily, in meditation, even when I don’t ‘feel like it.’

As a young teacher, I’ve felt the sting of student comments; I’ve felt at times the lack of interest; I’ve contended with judgment and comparison.  And despite my own practice, at times I’ve lost my center—getting lost in concern with having students ‘like me,’ ‘like’ my classes.  Concerned with creating the perfect class, the perfect sequence.  However, through the wisdom of another teacher, an amazing Yogini, and a beloved friend, Connie Glore, I’ve come to learn and to understand that, as teachers, it is not our job to provide students with a ‘Disneyland’ experience—that Yoga is not about arriving at a lavish park in your best outfit, paying your money, taking your ticket, and getting on the ride.  That our job as teachers is to be fully present, to provide safety and to offer guidance, but, most of all, to provide a space in which students can find their own practice.  As students, we may want to just ‘get on the ride;’ and we may like to only get on certain rides.  But through my own mindfulness practice, I’ve realized that just getting on the ride that we like relieves us of any opportunity to open and to grow.  Always getting on the ride that we know and like has very little to do with our own intentionality or effort or wisdom—in other words, very little to do with getting to know our innermost selves—and, instead, has everything to do with the external entertainment and safe familiarity provided by the ride.

A heroin addict may ‘like’ her needle.  But using that needle, getting on that familiar ride, is probably not skillful and probably not of benefit.  And heedlessly using that needle, reinforcing habit and conditioning time and again, most definitely will not lead that addict to freedom from suffering.

This does not mean that we should not have a primary teacher, a teacher to whom we are drawn, with whom we can practice and study and learn and grow.  Rather, it simply means that we might take a look at what might be yet another area of rigidity, another area of  ‘attachment’ in our lives, and examine whether or not this attachment is skillful or useful, whether it serves to help us to open, or whether it serves to bolster our suffering, keeping us closed off from each other and closed off from experience.

Today, on your mat or cushion, and off, ask yourself:

In what activities or mind-states do I mindlessly engage?  What is my ‘needle’?

And then explore:  Is this of benefit?  To me?  To my family?  To my world?

Ask:  Where am I ‘shut down’?

And explore:  How might I take that first step to open to wonder and possibility?

Wishing you contentment and ease, and that your practice be of benefit to all.

Namaste,  Chris

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New Moon

A new moon teaches gradualness
and deliberation and how one gives birth
to oneself slowly. Patience with small details
makes perfect a large work, like the universe.

What nine months of attention does for an embryo
forty early mornings will do
for your gradually growing wholeness.

–Rumi

This past Monday marked the New Moon. A New Moon is when the moon is between the earth and the sun, therefore it is said to be in conjunction with the sun. You could say it has the least amount of pull on our watery constitution. Being on the extreme of the moon’s cycle, the Ashtanga tradition of yoga advocates for not practicing on the new moon or a full moon.  On the other hand, the new moon is the beginning of the month within Hindu, Hebrew  and Buddhist calendars. It is a time of reawakening and a fresh start. A time to set intentions or begin a new practice. It is a time to plant seeds for growth. Within Kundalini yoga, when starting a practice or meditation, on the new moon, full moon,  or at any other time,  it is advised to continue for a period of 40 consecutive days, which yoga science argues is the time it takes to create a new habit or pattern.

You can use the new moon to meditate on what it is you’d like to bring more of into your life. More peace, more abundance, more love. What would make you more fully embrace and enjoy your life? When we put a request out to the universe, we acknowledge our part as co-creators. We move into the driver’s seat. One reason we practice yoga is to recognize the union between ourself and the universe. And if we are one with the universe, well then, why can’t we choose what to receive more or less of? Putting a request into the universe is not to be confused with grasping (aparigrapha) but rather opening to the abundance which is all around us. If you say, “I don’t want to be really successful, I just want to get by”, well, that’s what you’ll get! What we are looking for is already there. We only have to become conscious of it and then open to the flow of grace and our actions will manifest that request. On the new moon we set our intention and on the full moon, we offer grattitude for what we have received.

Try the following meditation and see what happens!

New Moon Meditation

1)  Sit in Sukhasana (Easy Pose), Lotus or Half Lotus or on a chair. Rest your hands in your lap, stacking your hands with the left hand on top of your right with palms facing up.

2) Close your eyes.  Visualize whatever it is you’d like to bring into your life, flowing into the cupped palm of your hands (peace, wealth, abundance, healing energy, etc.).  The moon is waxing, meaning your “request” is expanding and becoming more powerful with the expansion of the moon.

3)  Spend a few minutes or longer sitting then bow your head.  Offer gratitude for that gift from the Universe, as if it has already been given. Press the palms together. Namaste.

Jai Bhagwan…Christina

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