Tag Archives: Yoga

“Fear in itself, will reel you in and spit you out, over and over again”

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I’m getting some worthwhile music education lately from all the time spent in my car stuck in traffic. This one is Blue October that seems to be gaining frequent airtime lately. Don’t mind the guy that is screaming into the sea. I think he’s just letting go some of his own fear while shooting for this video.

I have been dwelling on the idea of fear since I heard this song. Perpetuated by some conversations that transpired during and after my yoga classes this week. There is a woman that comes in the morning at a small studio in the quiet neighbourhood of Shah Alam. Amongst the many obvious emotions I see surfacing up is fear. And though this is quite common to observe as someone who leads the class, it is also one of the most valuable lessons there is to learn about the human mind and its instinctual abilities to react to the unknown.

Across the spectrum of human emotions, fear is one that I remember growing up with a lot – fear of doing something wrong, fear of not bringing back the good grades, fear of watching the eldest brother ‘pay’ for having the courage to thread around the edges of ‘something wrong’ and a fear, I clearly remembered as a child sitting at the top of a slide, and frozen in place because I was so afraid to slide down.

Lately I have realised, with the recent shoulder discomfort in my Ashtanga practice that fear is like the shadow which exist at the heels of pain. Where there is pain and discomfort, there is a level of fear attached to it. Similarly, beyond the physical pain, where there is emotional suffering, fear would present itself in one form or another. That same question that popped in my head during practice at Dynamics about 2 weeks ago, how far should I go into this posture? How far beyond the pain should I be looking at in order to finish my practice today? and that motherload question of “AM I EVEN MODIFYING THIS CORRECTLY?!” became a daily conversation I have with myself while on the mat since this whole little adventure into discomfort started.

Because everything is an adventure isn’t it? Even the most uncomfortable ones always bring you down a road of discovery; revealing more about the world and its infinite perspectives. Sometimes your role as the observer, the outsider who is not even feeling these range of emotions is enough to teach you a thing or two. I remembered a conversation with I, who had assisted me into a backbend one morning when he said “I could feel your fear coming into that backbend. It was really cool!” I can tell you it was NOT cool to be the one dropping back, never quite sure whether I will break my back on the way down or slam my head on the floor or both, but it made me realised how precious these moments of vulnerability are in forming our understanding of ourselves and those around us.

Usually having been in the same shoes before makes it all that easier to empathise. So each time I see some students hovering their toes on the floor on top of their head, surrounded by hesitation, and that inevitable fear of breaking their neck, I let them explore this dimension while I stand behind them for assurance. And even as this one fear is eventually conquered, there are plenty more that each of us will come across over and over again, whether it be within the series or off the mat. Even as we think we merge as ‘victorious’ having finally crossed over that valley of fear, there must be a constant abiding knowledge that there are many more similar valleys to be crossed. Because as long as there remain possibilities of pain, injury, or emotional suffering, there will always be more of these dimension for us to plunge into with the sole purpose of revealing more of our inner world to ourselves.

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..and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart

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Time is rather fascinating, from hours, to months and years – one can’t help but wonder what life would be like without any concept of time? Without any regard of time there will be no such thing as New Years no? But the concept of time, amongst its many other function serves as a tool of reflection, consolidation and integration of experiences into something meaningful. Because man is always out to find and attach meaning to everything that happens to them, Viktor E. Frankl certainly got famous from it, and I am not far behind in agreement.

This year has been nothing short of magical. Cliche I know, but it is one word that I can use with all honesty and still feel that it falls short of encapsulating the essence of 2014. Since it is also the end of my twenties, that “defining decade”, it feels really good to be exactly where I am today, to look back on all the big life decisions I have made to bring me here, and to feel a sense of excitement entering into my thirties.

If there was a word I could use to sum up my entire year it would be blessings. I am infinitely blessed and for this I am endlessly grateful to the Universe and the Higher power that governs it. From the opportunities that came in a steady stream and watching Mind Body Breath grow from strength to strength (with the 2 coolest thing to happen to it was the appearance on TV3 Berita Utama and coverage in Her World magazine), the kindness of strangers, the meeting of beautiful souls and mind blowing connections that transcends all my understanding of what it means to really and truly connect with another person, and ultimately the expansion of a group of people I hold close and dear in my heart.

Delivering a report and having a Vietnamese translator by my side (and discovering that having your presentation translated actually gives you plenty of time to calm that public speaking nerves – woohoo!), appearing on their national news, embarking on this teaching thing full time, sharing my written thoughts with others and seeing on it print, sharing what I love and what I know to others and watching them experience similar benefits and positivity, that maiden trip to India, falling in love with Saraswathi and her energy, discovering the value of parampara, falling head over heels with the entire practice and discovering an entirely new world around it, kick starting a business partnership with a person who is so similar to me in values yet so utterly different in certain worldviews and looking forward to the kind of boundless beauty that will result from this communion.

There were a couple of lessons that became really clear to me which affirms some of my understanding of the world or whatever it was that I may have read from before. I understood the concept of making space by first releasing the things that doesn’t serve you anymore. Magic happens in those spaces. They really do 🙂 I understood every quality that which we love, admire, hate or detest in other people are merely the reflection of the exact same qualities within ourselves, shedding an entirely different light and meaning on my understanding of ‘one-ness’ and the self. And I have also come to understand that the Universe awards you with many, many gifts in different forms and that you would only have to be present and aware when it happens to fully appreciate it. Of the biggest lesson in this though, I have learned that sometimes this gifts are not meant to be kept, sometimes to be let go as immediately as they came, sometimes to not be owned but appreciated as they are, and on other times, to be experienced and then to allow distance from it and to admire it from afar. The challenge that remains for me at least is to learn not to grow attached to any of these wonderful gifts.

Equally as the affirmation occurs, so too did the disintegration of certain beliefs that was accompanied with a lot of questions that was really uncomfortable leading to days of unease and sleeps underlined with meaningless nightmares. I am still questioning a lot of things but I have managed to find comfort in this very uncomfortable process, to make peace with certain things that remains unknown and to embrace fully my ability to question the very foundation of my faith and trusting this entire process in and of itself. Certainly these questions arise from within for the mere purpose of drawing one closer to the self.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
E.E Cummings

Why Do You Feel?

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I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it. – The Invitation (Oriah)

This morning’s conversation began somewhere around Dandasana. His touch was alternating between firm pressure and cautious sweeping of his fingers on the area that has been responsible for an uprising of many introspection and emotions and a perpetual discomfort when it comes to breathing while lying down.

“Go easy with your practice. I can feel some tiny tears,” to which the hypochondriac in me instantly kicks into overdrive “but practice the way you are doing now. Exactly as you are doing now”, and that little child in me is quickly pacified though what really means are modifications, removing jumpbacks, jumpthroughs and chakrasana, and employing a version of half chaturranga that makes me feel like I have just taken 2 huge steps back in my own practice.

And if that is not sufficient enough for this ego that sits within me, the real sense of dread and fear for the upcoming seated postures, the Marichyasanas variations started as soon as I stepped on my mat and stayed with me all throughout. How does one avoid the inevitable? A clear example of humans being humans and demonstrating their aversion to pain. At home, during a self-practice away from the watchful eye of a teacher, perhaps it is always that much easier to press on for a couple of breath, sigh a little, struggle a little, grunt a bit more and then give in to that feeling of “fuck it, let’s just go to closing from here”, but in a Mysore room and a teacher that seems to hover around when he knows you are struggling the most, giving in to that feeling is akin to exclaiming out loud in a class full of other students that you’ve finally had enough, rolling up your mat and storming out of the room. Never. Going. To. Happen.

At Marichyasana C, I was teetering on the grey but very real line between practicing with awareness and the actual fact that I could really hurt myself. The kind that would usually send many PTs and Osteopaths shaking their heads at your own stupidity. But I caught my fingers and thought that is enough for today, at least in this posture. At Marichyasana D, that was when I felt like I am standing in front of an emotional water-dam that is brimming with tears. Partly not knowing if I should keep moving through the discomfort and complete the pose, partly feeling the full effect of helplessness and struggle, and fully thinking “OK so how FAR should I take this to??” while questioning every angle of this concept of surrender.

The entire time he was hovering close of which I am pretty sure exercising his superpower abilities of listening into every thoughts I had going in my head at that moment. And then he suddenly appeared, sat down, straddled close to assist me and said “Don’t identify with the pain. Just try. Slowly”. And when I caught my fingers he added with a smile “next year, it will be gone”. Next year it seems is less than a week today. I wonder if it will come that soon.

Later at the reception outside, he pointed out those tears weren’t new, that they were ‘old’ and it is just surfacing up to release itself. Now thinking back, few conversations in the last few months seems to make sense. Like that time when S was going on and on about blockages stored in parts of your body, and Akash talking about his Thai massage that made him cry (and in his own words “like a baby”). I have ABSOLUTELY no idea what kind of old injuries I’ve done to myself or unknowingly stored and equally as clueless why it is surfacing up in the form that it is now. Frankly I much prefer if it was just traded into 1 hour’s worth of sadness, so I could cry it out, and get it over and done with. It’s not a matter of patience and waiting to ride this out, but rather the discomfort that is opening up all sorts of introspection that is leaving me quite overwhelmed.

Why do you feel? What is the purpose of all these sensations and feelings? I’m not too sure myself – maybe next year I will find out.

Moving through the pain

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Pain, when it comes to yoga practice always presents itself as a topic of inquiry that leads to endless debates and opinions. What is a safe yoga practice? Is it normal to be experiencing pain during or after a yoga practice? Does the presence of pain indicate injury? and if so, does it mean that yoga should not be practiced at all?

A widely consulted physiotherapist and an advocate of myofascial trigger points in Mysore whom I had met and learned a few things from during my last trip addressed the last question succinctly – “Yoga in and of itself does not lead to injury, it is the individual that comes to the practice with his or her own pre-existing conditions, imbalances and tightness without first being aware of these that leads one to eventually experience some level of pain and injury”

I have always approached my yoga practice with a lot of awareness to a point sometimes it borders toward cautious rather than trusting the process itself. My belief was pain during and after practice is unnecessary. These feelings are meant to be heeded by easing off or backing off, resting during periods of prolonged pain until it subsides before resuming your daily practice ultimately acknowledging and honouring the sensations and the limitations of your body.

My views on this however are changing. The more I begin to observe the 6 times weekly practice, the more I talk to other practicing Ashtangis and their own experienced challenges in the practice, and as I begin to lay down my hands on more texts, opinions and views of long-term authorized and certified Ashtangis, there is another worldview that is opening up to me of this thing we call pain.

Gregory Maehle even has different categorisations to pain of which I feel could be information that is largely hard to digest and wrap the head around for those without a consistent yoga practice. This week I have somehow managed to end up with a persistent pain on the left shoulders – the palm sized area around the infraspinatus and somehow, i don’t know how this is even possible, a sensation that wraps around from behind to the front pectoralis. My suspicion is leaning towards rushed chaturangas, falling out of the correct alignment in an effort to maintain breath to movement and a botched, i’m-still-working-on-it chakrasanas.

In the past 2 days it has greatly intensified perpetuated by the fact that I still have to demonstrate these poses in my own classes that I lead. For the first time in all these years of practicing various systems of yoga asanas, I have decided to show up on my mat, however intense the sensation is. Mostly out of curiosity, like volunteering myself as the lab-rat to my own experiment on my mat. What happens if I allow myself to move through the pain instead of identifying with it and cooling off for a few days? What if this is an opportunity to turn inwards further and refine my own understanding of body awareness and limitations?

Before everything else though, there is a clear disclaimer here that I draw the line on the above approach only to myself. And under no circumstance would I ever push such ideals, or even worse my own curiosities to other people who are new to the practice or anyone that comes to me to learn yoga asanas. These are obviously just my own pondering of which I have yet or ever will draw any clear conclusions from.

And so it is, this idea of moving through the pain rather than just sitting with it. Yesterday’s practice was horrible. Today’s painful. Let’s not even talk about how many times I woke up throughout the night every time I needed to turn or move. It is humbling to be assisted into postures that I have never needed help in. Even more interesting to coax past the initial body’s reaction to tense up at the first tinge of pain. And yet the most surprising discovery out of the last 2 days was that my headstand was lighter, less cautious and that much more stable. Perhaps it is the heightened awareness to move through my chaturangas, sometimes modified, sometimes slower, to skip the jump backs and jump throughs and take the beginners version. (And I believe this is where the grey area lies between introducing modifications to minimise further aggravation of those irritated muscles and tendons, or bulldozing your way through the pain with complete disregard of what the heck it is you are actually doing to your body). Perhaps it is the energy reserved through less jump backs and jump throughs that gives me enough at the end of the practice to almost effortlessly come up (to stay up is another story by the way).

But it occurred to me that pain and ease are really two sides of the same coin. I love the Quranic verse that says “Verily, with every hardship there is ease” (94:5) In its simplest form what is implied is that ease comes after hardship. But what if they both exist together, at the same time? And without one, the other cannot be experienced? Or that both are meant to be experienced together? That verse used to imply hope, the temporality of what is, the idea of ‘this too shall pass’. But today I am awarded with a different perspective. Sitting with it implies stagnancy, moving through it on the other hand implies quite the opposite. Moving through the discomfort of pain allows for lightness to be experienced, and when it comes it is that much sweeter.

A love affair

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I woke up this morning with a clear thought, it felt like someone was actually narrating to me in my head out loud. “Do not force anything to happen, you will injure or hurt yourself in the process”. And of course that incredible feeling of me getting into a supta kurmasana on my own during yesterday’s self practice washes through followed by a dull discomfort on my right hip rotators. Achievement not to be seen as one, pain not to be understood simply, and practicing through all of these as it rises and fall is something that I am beginning to relish more and more.

I had been sitting with this topic for a little while, to allow it to simmer and gain further depth before attempting to put it down into words. Reflecting on this growing love affair that constantly surprises me with delightful insights, like little candies found in the most unexpected places, my relationship and journey into Ashtanga yoga has been to a certain extent predictable given the company that I have grown close to in the second half of this year, but the intensity of which was completely unplanned. Sometimes I catch myself thinking how different my classes would be, my views of teaching, my commitment to a daily practice – how different my entire daily structure of life – my world would be without my current practice.

And that sounds really drastic doesn’t it?

Last night’s dinner with some good friends from high school, the ones that I have walked with through the better and worst part our twenties, made me realise that I am currently inhabiting an entirely different world. A world that seems both removed yet a part of reality. As soon as I sat down on the table of 4, I knew I had stepped into a different world where conversations would be different, not any better nor worse, but just different. Like the different perspectives of 2 different person looking at one single painting. Same subject, different ways of interpretation and understanding. I love these 3 people equally, when they hurt I feel their pain, like that time when A cried while relating a personal story to us right in the middle of Rasta while having dinner. But I also realised, the capacity of understanding each of our unique experiences are limited to the extent of what they know and have experienced themselves. And hence, trying to relate the story of that deepest backbend I got into last Friday (which is a BIG deal for me) felt at best a feeble attempt of trying to describe to them the taste of an exotic food that neither of them has ever tasted.

It got me thinking, what is it about Ashtanga and the practice that feels like I am walking through a ring of fire in which at the opposite end is an entirely different view and understanding of the world around me. Why do I do the same sequences over and over 6 times a week but never once has it felt the same as yesterday? Why do I keep diving into it further and further without a clear sight of an end nearby? I don’t know if this time next year, I would even be saying the same things about the practice. I don’t know what to expect or even if there is a need to have any expectations at all from the practice. Going into this, I remembered thinking – cool now I have a set of tried-tested and proven sequence I can memorise,  and do this over again instead of feeling like I’m plucking random yoga asanas out of thin air and do it when I feel like it, or do it because that famous practitioner on IG does it and it looks beautiful. There are 840,000 yoga asanas known to man, like come on – certainly there has to be some logic and reasoning to performing these asanas. The Type A in me is tickled and pacified currently with the Primary series.

And perhaps, this love affair is fuelled by a sheer feeling of wonder, curiosity, novelty and awe. Much like how most other relationships begin. But there is an additional dynamic to this. It goes both ways. Just as the practice and commitment of others floors me, so too the transformation that I am observing within myself. The physical changes are obvious, but these I believe are only the secondary benefits. J. Krishnamurthi’s explanation on relationship seems to have shed an entirely different, better and brighter light to my own understanding of it. His articulate thoughts have put into words everything I knew and understood of this thing called ‘relationship’, in all perspectives, romantic, platonic, with a person, an idea, a system or whatever else that allows one to ‘relate’ to the other. The idea of communion. Of falling into the one-ness, when the observer and the observed disappears, and all that remains is the present moment. The moment that is neither being experienced nor being process into an experience, a memory.

It is exactly this that I feel has been the construction of my world lately. When I step onto my mat, heels and toes together, palms in front of my heart just before uttering the opening mantra. The moment I close my eyes and bow down, the physical world around me slips away. And then it is just the breath, the movement and the occasional awareness of others around me. Of course on days when focus seems non-existent, there are conversations going on with the Self, or wandering drishtis. Similarly outside of practice, it is when I enter into an engaging conversation, a topic that I genuinely identify with or passionate about, the moment when there is an indefinite locking of hearts and mind, when thoughts arise not only from logic, but understanding that comes from the heart. That, I believe are one of those beautiful, rare but entirely possible moments of communion. It is a world that I am much happy to be pulled into deeper and deeper, though it is also a world which has left me wondering if I am able to reintegrate back into ‘the other world’ where the majority idea of ‘drop back’ is literally being physically dropped back to ones house from another location. And if I can’t, what would it mean to my existing friendships and social circle?

It feels painfully familiar, like discovering the similarities and amazing connection with a person of the opposite sex and being so incredibly enchanted by it that you want to allow all parts of your life to be entirely drawn into this world, to be lost in its wonder, and at the same time to have the parts of yourself be revealed like turning over the stones from the bottom of a river one by one. It is not so much the experience of ‘falling’ in love, but rather ‘drifting’ into this strong pull of love and allowing all previous understanding of yourself to be unearthed, burned, and renewed. And perhaps this is one of of its valuable lessons, to allow myself to be moved by the pull, without resistance, without force, without wanting something to be a certain way at a certain time, but rather to allow more moments of being absorbed into the present, engaged, aware and at ease. With ease there is openness, and when one is open, magical things happen like moving into that one asana that you once thought was completely impossible. And that I believe is the essence of all romantic, poetic love affairs, on and off the mat.

Day 21 – Around the corner

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Has it really been 3 weeks already??

I was looking at the calendar yesterday and realised that I have only 2 Sundays more before I board that plane back home. Although, this little town right here has always feel like a second home to me the minute I arrived at the doorstep of my landlord’s (ok ok fine, if we were strictly speaking factual stuff, it took me a few hours after that arrival and some sleep before I actually felt like it’s second home to me).

Reflecting on my experience so far, it felt like the first 2 weeks was spent feeling like I don’t want the 1 month to end. Which is kinda self defeating because that felt like I had wasted the initial 2 weeks worrying about the inevitable, which is going to come anyway. It was only towards the tip end of the 2 weeks that my highly strung “oh my god this wholesome awesome goodness is going to end SOON” mind began to relax and accepted the fact. I think it had mainly to do with allowing my mind to soak in and process everything that is happening. Even if from the outside, a person who has no idea of the Ashtanga practice much less the daily in and outs of being a KPJAYI student might feel like there is not much going on aside from the 6 times weekly practice, there is a LOT that is happening within that short space of 1.5-2 hours in the shala every single day and that alone was enough to keep me overwhelmed for the rest of the day, on some days.

In my first 2 weeks of arrival, my challenge was merely trying my hardest to draw in all my senses inwards during practice. In a downward dog, I’m easily distracted by that girl with the splaying arms in her chaturranga. My mind was kept busy thinking “oh girl, you are going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that”. It took me a while to be able to remove and humbly place down my ‘teacher’s’ cap. Here I am the student. 100%. And my perspective needed to change as observer without a wanting to correct, change or share my opinions about someone else’s practice. Because frankly, as a student, it is not my place. And then there was the constant instructions coming from Saraswathi, calling out to the next student, “you catching?” referring to Marichyasana D more often than not, or “you, what are you doing?” and that “you” was always enough to make feel “is she talking to me??” followed by that 50/50 indecision of whether I should look up and towards where her voice was coming from, risking altogether looking like the distracted, kaypohchi student that I was or not looking up at all and just continuing with whatever I was doing like as if the comment might’ve been for someone else.

9 out of 10 times it was meant for someone else. The one time I decided to continue, the girl on the next mat had to turn around and nudge me whispering ‘I think she’s talking to you’ which of course resulted me in sitting up as quickly as I could (the correct term would most probably be popping up) followed by a meek ‘sorry?’. Because truth be told, my level of respect for her is deep enough that she actually infers some sort of a mixture of respect/fear/awe towards me. It turns out, I got my next pose on that day. “Tomorrow, you do Garbha”.

I have been doing Garbha a few times in my Mysore practice back in KL. So it wasn’t an entirely new thing for me. But just that feeling of being handed the next pose by this respected woman, I felt like I wanted to go skipping down those stairs pumping my fist in the air crying out WOOHOO to the coconut man standing outside.

I love it here, There is no doubt about that. But I also have a life back home. And that can’t possibly stop while I am here. And so after practice, there are days where H and I will be locked in intense discussions about where we are taking this little “baby” of ours, or I will be sorting out my November teaching schedule, or answering someone’s Whatsapp about an upcoming class.

And it occurred to me, my biggest 2 challenges became so crystal clear while I am here. Allowing myself to be entirely present in the moment (without thinking about tomorrow, next month, or WHEN I am coming back here), and secondly, practicing non judgement when I finally get into the zone of the present moment. Like when I am finally paying attention to the group’s conversation and it veers to a specific pose, a specific something about the practice, and I think “practice, practice, practice, why is everyone talking about their practice again?”

Sometimes I believe, these are just the knee-jerk reaction to cope with new environments. new people and new experiences. I do believe the mind in some ways need to be able to link back an experience to an understanding which already exist, it demands new things to be categorised neatly in a box so that it doesn’t become too overwhelmed. And because of this, more than ever, it is a time which demands keen observation of the mind.

Life in Mysore has been gentle. Like a warm cradling arm of a mother to a child. The days melt and blend into one another that somedays you forget what day or date it is. Most days that doesn’t really matter. It allows me to truly pin point the things that I needed to focus on. 2 weeks is a long time to allow the mind to settle in, even if from day 1 physically I fit right into the place. But it is what it is, and it is a nice feeling to finally accept that as with all things, this too shall pass..

Day 9 – When is it coming?

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Part of what made me fell in love with the practice was the idea of commitment, consistency and perseverance which Ashtanga demands before you are rewarded with the fruits of your labour. These fruits come in the form of self-accomplishment, and a deeper understanding and acceptance of your own possibilities.

Guruji was known to have said this to his students when he was alive, “practice, practice, practice and all is coming”.

I was excited when I saw glimpses of this truth manifesting in my practice when I begin my daily Mysore classes at Upward. From Navasana (boat pose), I was given, and this I am describing in my own words and perception, the notorious Bhujapidasana (shoulder pressure pose). One of the gate or ‘peak’ poses in the Ashtanga Primary Series. I lost count of the number of times I had to awkwardly untangle myself from the pose because my body just could not register the level of strength required to pull myself out of it into a Bakasana (crow pose) AND jump back from there.

A few days later, I figured out how to come up without untangling myself. But I kept falling on my bum. And believe me, with my bony frame, it was literally bones against the mat over and over again. Thank God for those well padded Black Pro Manduka mats. My head would come up and I would move to the instruction of either of my teachers (“straighten your legs, pick up your bum, straighten those legggsss”) and BOOM I would fall. And there are days when doing one of those was enough and I would much rather lie flat on my mat after and she would smile slightly and say, “try, 3 more times”.

THREE more times?! My wrists felt like it was about to detach itself and run away to be the understudy for Idle Hands movie.

But I did. Grunting. Breathing like my life depended on it. There was no ease in that pose. Definitely no sukham in those few long minutes. A little over a week later, I came up. Bum up. Stayed up. And I eased (or at least tried to channel some ‘ease’) into something that resembled a Bakasana, and stepped back. All in a little over a week of 6 times a week practice, plus a few more moon days in between.

And so I had thought, by coming here, and being so close to the source itself would help me progress faster. I am coming into week 2 of my 1 month stay. At the back of my head I am filled with a slight but very real pressure of returning home having completed the entire Primary series. But my practice seemed to be just at Supta Kurmasana and everyday I am hoping Saraswathi would say “Tomorrow you try Garbha” which is the next pose in the series. Everyday I approach my Shirshasana (headstand) with a deep resentment and a splinter of hope because I know how it will be. Halfway and I am stuck. That hope is mostly a little bit of courage to try to balance on my own. But mostly it fizzles out as soon as I am on the tip of my toes. Or these days, I catch the attention of David, her assistant, and he kindly helps me with the full headstand and the pike headstand. Supporting me and ensuring I don’t go flipping backwards and shock the entire room with a big bang.  I feel like I could write a whole entire book about my journey into trying to stand and balance on my head. It has been 2 years and I can’t help but feel that typical ‘dang! is there something inherently wrong in my physiology that it’s taking me this long? When is it coming already??”. What took others a few days to learn (I have seen this happening personally), I am still struggling with. 2 years later and I have progressed forward at the rate of a very sleepy tortoise. Maybe that is the challenge that I have to face. To detach myself of the desire to progress at MY own timeframe, but rather allowing it to happen on its own. Perhaps.