…it’s not the teacher — it’s the method.  And it’s you.

“Do not try.  Trying and struggling to achieve a level of meditation always brings the opposite results.”

~ Pandit Usharbudh Arya

I love this quote but…surely there must be some effort right?  Maybe the key word here is “struggling.”  It shouldn’t be a “struggle.”  But finding the appropriate mindset and level of effort is proving to be a challenge on many (but not all) days.  Little glimpses here and there…

In the interest of full disclosure, I feel kind of obligated to list my own practice schedule.  The orange indicates my practice time, blue is when I teach classes, and green is when I’m at my day job.  It’s a rather simplified version of my schedule.  Things change month-to-month at the studio, and I often find myself attending the classes of other teachers or manning the front desk.  Notably absent is my exercise schedule.  A couple of the classes I teach (Wednesday/Thursday at 5:30 pm) are fitness classes…so I get an hour of movement in those classes.  I also occasionally attend some of the other fitness classes at the studio, but am finding this harder and harder to fit into my schedule.  So, my regular exercise is crammed into whatever time I can find available in my day.  Usually 15-20 minutes.  I’m a big fan of plyometrics and high intensity interval training — and it’s not necessary to exercise for an hour using that style of training.  I also didn’t include my yoga reading time…which is right before bed (not ideal…but it’s all I’ve got now).

Anyhow…that’s about it.  Looking over my planned schedule for February, it seems as though I’m almost spending as much time in my sitting and pranayama practice as I am in my asana practice these days.  Couldn’t say the same for my practice a couple of years ago.

Life is busy…and I don’t even have a child.  But it’s super-important to make time for your own practice — whatever that practice may look like.  Even if it’s just 5-10 minutes whenever you can fit it into the day.

It was only a matter of time, I suppose.  Haha!

A little something to bring a smile to your face on the start of a new work week!

~ Kathryn

Just something interesting to watch on a Sunday morning.  Always fascinating to hear experienced practitioners and teachers talk about their early yoga experiences…and what drew them to their practice.

Enjoy!  Now…to get dressed for Sunday morning group practice…something I look forward each week.  I haven’t checked the weather yet…but I’m hoping for a cloudless sky this morning.  Nothing quite like watching the sun rise during practice.

xoxo Kathryn

My apologies in advance for the yoga rant.  It’s been on my mind for a while…might as well let it out.

I don’t think anyone would disagree with the idea that teachers should practice what they teach.  This isn’t a revolutionary idea.  And when it comes to yoga, a student deserves to attend class with a teacher who has a dedicated personal practice outside the teaching space…who is committed to their own journey in the yoga tradition.  This practice looks different for different people and even different yoga traditions.  My practice doesn’t necessarily look like your practice, and vice versa.  If a teacher does not have a personal practice…then I have to ask the question, “what exactly are they teaching?” And, “are students better off watching a yoga video at home?”  After all, there are live yoga classes you can watch in the comfort of your own living room.

Some teachers develop their own personal practice while they are teaching a class…as in, at the same time they’re instructing students.  Who’s the teacher, and who’s the student in that situation?  As a student, I would think twice about returning to a class where the teacher flowed through sun salutations at the front of class while he/she taught.  I would wonder why the teacher feels compelled to make the teaching experience a personal practice experience for himself/herself.  How is it possible for the teacher to really observe the students and, thus “teach” the class if he/she is caught up in his/her own breath and drishti?

There are situations (i.e. demonstrations) and even styles of yoga (yin yoga, for example), where it makes sense for a teacher to perform asana with the students.    But these situations are limited, and still allow for interaction with and observation of the class as a whole.  If I were to lead an Ashtanga or a vinyasa class from the front of the room, it would be nearly impossible to observe the class while moving through the postures.

One more thing…lest I sound totally insensitive.  I do understand and empathize with new yoga teachers who feel more comfortable teaching while moving with the students…but, with time and greater familiarity with the practice it’s important to move toward teaching outside the comfort of the yoga mat.

Okay…that is all…yoga rant over.  I shan’t say anything more on the subject.

p.s. The beautiful image in this post is of Kino MacGregor.  Photo taken from the Yoga Shala’s photostream on Flicker, which you can access here.

If you have time, check out the link to David Garrigues’ latest blog post – Variance in the Breath, Effort, and Receptivity.  His blog should be on your RSS feed if it isn’t already.  Always good stuff.  In fact, I won’t post any of his quotes or videos here with the hopes that you’ll click through and discover his amazing site. 

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in this idea that it’s the breath that drives the movement in a yoga practice…well, not just the breath…but rather, a controlled and regulated breath that drives a practice.  And maybe some days it does.  There may be days when you want to experiment with the effects of a long, drawn out, rhythmic breath.  There may be other days when you adjust the pace and quality of the breath to inquire into any possible effects.  Personally, I find myself often drawn toward sustaining a specific rhythm and quality of the breath throughout the practice — which can have dramatic implications in movement.  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with experimenting in this way — perhaps it is part of the learning process.

In his post, David talks about not only becoming aware of the breath, but also becoming receptive to the forces behind the breath.  When you become aware of…well…yourself, you open up the possibility of having this awareness direct the breath.  Instead of placing some sort of contrived rhythm and quality to the breath, you can allow that quality to spontaneously arise from within.  This may mean that sometimes the breath is slow and deep while other times the breath may be quick and shallow.  It’s a subtle dance…between effort and receptivity…and it’s something I’m still just learning.  I have a feeling I’ll be learning more about this dance throughout the rest of my yoga journey.

Amazing how something so simple as the breath can lead to such powerful insights on awareness.

~ Kathryn

Oh boy…is this where group yoga classes are going?  Attending a yoga rave is about as appealing to me as going to one of those classes with 100+ people.  What’s the allure?  Like….the “energy” or something?  Think I’ll pass on this trend.  I don’t have any cool dance moves anyway.

If you’re interested in these sorts of things…there’s actually a website (of course there is):  http://www.yogarave.org/us/

Here’s more about what to expect if you should stumble into such an event.

At the party one can enjoy both music & silence. It all begins with some Yoga to warm up the body & continues with an easy guided meditation that leaves attendees in the ideal state to hear So What Project!’s opening chords & slowly begin connecting with the music. At the end of the night there is another meditation. The party, which lasts 4 hours, is accompanied by a bar offering exotic & energizing drinks that are completely alcohol-free plus gourmet vegetarian food.

This post is a long time coming…must be the new theme of my blog seeing as how I only post about once a month now.  Ha! And it’s a strange one to write because what I’m about to say flies in the face of everything I’ve known about myself and my practice since the first day I stepped on the mat.

I remember my first year of yoga practice — complete fascination with not just the asana…but with what would come next…the next posture…the next big thing.  Progress.  Moving forward.  Reaching for more.  It was completely awesome!  Sometimes I had to wait a while for the next posture to become available to me, but that was okay.  That waiting process presented a variety of learning opportunities —  many of which I’ve already written about.  But the waiting was always there…hmmm, maybe not “waiting”…more like a desire for something else.  As my practice developed and became deeper, I found myself mentally repeating the phrase “it’s not about the asana.”  It’s a nice quote I found in a book somewhere that jived with the yoga philosophy I’d been reading about.  I’d even say it to my classmates and yoga teacher colleagues.  And we’d all nod our heads in agreement.  Of course this was always said kind of tongue-in-cheek because, lets face it, it was about the asana for me.  I said this to myself for years.  I’m no dummy…I was intellectually aware of the underlying truth to the statement.  Yoga is not really about the asana — duh.  But believing something in your mind and feeling it in your heart are two entirely different things.  So I went about my practice — searching for the truth in books or from workshops, while still chasing after the next posture on my mat.

Why does it take so long for something that’s known in the mind to be embraced by the heart?  And what’s the process for this transfer?  I don’t know.  But somewhere along the way my heart listened to my mind and let go of its desire for more asana.  I wish I could say when this happened — but I really have no idea.  Unfortunately, I suspect it happened a while ago but my mind only recently got wind of what was going on.  What can I say?  My heart and mind have some serious communication issues.

A bout a year (or so) ago, sense of softness began to permeate my practice.  I found myself working on deeper levels in existing postures.  And I found myself becoming more interested in what I like to think of as crazy-hippie-stuff (no need to elaborate — we all know what that stuff is).  It was only recently that my mind stepped back into the picture and realized what was going on — that I wasn’t trying for new postures.  Sure, I was still working hard in my practice, but the effort was in a different place.  For example, I’m still working on opening up my backbends — but not in an effort to conquer a new pretzel shape — I continue working out of a sense of curiosity.  Curiosity about how the mind functions (or malfunctions) in backbends and how the body feels energetically.

I won’t lie, asana practice lately has been tinged with a sense of loss — the loss of that desire I once had for “progress” in the postures.  And although other things have stepped in to take the place of that striving, I don’t feel like the void has been completely filled.  So where does that leave me in my practice now?  I don’t know.  This is new territory for me.  Maybe in another month I’ll have something more to add…

I’ve had an epiphany of sorts in my yoga practice, although it’s one of those things I feel that I’ve known all along but only recently came to the surface.  The majority of the actions I take in life seem to revolve around a series of goals or desires — big or small.  I used to want to have a prestigious job, make a lot of money, and feel “successful” in the eyes of those around me.  I went down that road, worked as an attorney, and discovered that life wasn’t for me.  I spent years (too many years) unquestionably working for a goal — but without stopping to enjoy the moment.  I found myself so caught up in schoolwork, clerkships, and passing the bar exam that I never stopped to check in with myself and see how I was doing.  I was too busy chasing the goal.  And in the end, I suffered for this lack of present awareness.  I ended up working in a career that wasn’t right for me — I was downright miserable.  And it literally took an act of God to break me out of the patterns I’d locked myself into.

When I discovered yoga, I thought it was the answer to my counterproductive behavior.  Somehow my yoga practice would liberate me from decades of bad habitual reactions…as if the sequencing of asana or the ratio of breath had some sort of magical power.  All I had to do was show up on the mat and do my practice, right?  I wanted to believe it.  But as the years went on, my pattern of chasing after goals continued.  The grooves that these patterns carved were deep, and there was nothing “magical” about the yoga practice to break me free.  These samskara slowly but surely worked their way into my yoga practice, and I found myself setting little goals — dropbacks, arm balances, leg behind the head postures, etc.  When I started a sitting practice (with good intentions, mind you), I eventually found myself chasing after certain sensations or lack thereof.  The same thing started happening with pranayama — I’d discover a sensation or thought or pattern, and I’d look for it again.  Always chasing after something — always looking forward to the next thing.

I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with setting goals.  Goals are what help us move forward, to progress, to make us “better.”  But sometimes we have to step back during the process and ask ourselves why we’re always grasping.  Because too much grasping can lead to a loss of the present moment.  If we’re always reaching for something (the next yoga posture, the bigger raise at work, a bigger house, etc.) then we may wake up at the end of our lives and realize that these patterns of chasing goals and grasping for the next big thing caused us to miss out on enjoying life.

So that’s what I’m trying to bring to my practice these days — a sense of enjoyment and/or awareness of whatever is going on.  If I find myself forming a goal, I try to stop and ask myself “why.”  If it’s a valid reason, I’ll move forward…but not blindly.  In this process, I’ve found that many of my previous goals have fallen by the wayside.  They no longer have any importance to me.  And I feel  like I’m left in some sort of in-between place where I’m just practicing being present.  It’s not always enjoyable, but it seems like the right place to be at this moment in time.

xoxo  Kathryn