Either karma or simple hubris has given me a smackdown: in exchange for bragging to my Ontario friends that I rarely get sick, both M and I have caught this weird, feverish cold complete with cranial pressure that could restore a punctured inner tube. [AUTHOR'S NOTE: This proved to be a virulent strep throat in between writing this and posting it, details are available here.] It is not in my nature to be able to stay home guilt-free without accomplishing *something*, so I’m lurching around doing the dishes and rewatching Star Trek and trying to let the thoughts and inspirations of the holidays congeal into something intelligible. There were many thoughts and many inspirations so this is a bit daunting: I’ve elected to choose a frame for them that I hope will encompass them all. Good luck, Sjanz.
this is, apparently what little boys are made of
This frame was inspired by an episode of NOVA that my Mom PVRed, about fractals and their applications. If desired, and I recommend it, you can watch the whole thing here. I fell in love with fractals in late elementary school/early high school, and it turns out M did as well, only across the country from me. I felt the whole show was a good primer on how this sort of geometry works, and it also explored what I found the super-fascinating element: how fractal geometry was considered this maverick, outlying concept, voodoo mathematics if you like, when we now consider it quite conventional. That’s an old story, that you can’t keep ‘em down on the mental farm after they’ve see Paree, but I’m going to use the P word and say that the paradigm of fractal geometry represents a guideline for how we are to proceed as a species into the future with any sort of integrity. And not just in math and science, because what I know about true mathematics can be inscribed with a blunt crayon around the inside of a shot glass. No, I’m talking about creativity, spirit, healing and consciousness, and I’m going to try to keep my skull well-attached as I do so, because these are subjects that tend to inflate and become overly grandiose. NOTE: I own no tie-dyed clothing and only one pair of MEC sunglasses that are NOT blue or pink coloured and do not flip up like Dwayne Wayne. I just wanted to make that clear.
I was so stoked to have something to post that I left most of the good bits off of this post, making it pseudo-controversial and sparking some good comments and conversation. It’s hard to keep all my rants in alphabetical order. This one, for instance, was under “H” for “toy”.
A fascinating conversation with a long-time student and friend yielded the following contemplation: What is the purpose of cultivating diversity in asana practice, apart from impressing your friends and intimidating your enemies? L-TS&F was pondering why they [apologies for the third person plural, but there we have it] felt naturally drawn to certain families of poses and not to others, and wanted to know whether the overall intention of Anusara Yoga was the most well-rounded practice possible.
The Rhodes not taken
See, this is one of those conversations that seems pretty simple on the surface and then the bottom drops out. I pictured the Anusara Syllabus poster in my mind, which is basically a Mandarin All-You-Can-Eat Buffet of yoga asana and so of course I’m thinking right off the bat, Yes, the overall intention of Anusara Yoga is the most well-rounded asana practice possible. Sounds good, right? A part of your nutritious breakfast. Philosophically speaking, we are taught that it is through diversity and expanded experience that the Divine comes to know itself better, and by creating more forms, we create more consecrated expansion of the Supreme Spirit. Phew. Not bad for a morning’s work.
Then we get into it and they say, Well, if that’s so, why do I experience resistance to certain poses or groups of poses, and why do I delight in others? Should I be choking down these other forms because they’ll be good for me [the Broccoli Theory of yoga] even though they make me not want to practice, or bum me out? They told me that they used to be “up for anything”: that is, the novelty of their practice ensured that there was a little adventurous spark and receptivity in every single class, and now that their sensitivity and self-honouring was increasing it was becoming more and more challenging to acknowledge the good in classes that favoured these less-pleasant poses. Sure, they could window-dress it in the dowdy frumpiness of classical philosophy: discipline and mindfulness and all that other bushwa, but if they honestly addressed their inner condition [which presumably a seeker is being asked to do], it wasn’t the same and it wasn’t pleasant. (more…)
I can’t believe it’s only been a year since I started the ol’ Heavy Metta digs. After David Foster Wallace’s death and my increased participation in the Yoga4Kidz relay I realized I couldn’t hide under the bed in this life anymore; at some point I was going to have to venture out and say what I wanted to say. Well, I’m saying it! I’m saying it so loudly and so often that my throat gets a little sore and my I feel like I have no skin on my body. This, dear readers, is a sign of misalignment. My sluggish posting rate is not due to any distrust in the blog-medium or a lack of desire to connect and reconnect with the Tubes and my friends thereon: it’s because, as the seasons change, I feel that desire to hide under the bed again [especially after purchasing my new wool duvet...snuzzle!], and maybe [given the massive transformations of '09] that’s not such a bad thing.
I’m also preparing some weapons-grade rant-casseroles that I’ll serve up when they’re hot and the cheese is browned.
Everybody in this world has a big “but”. I wanna talk about your big “but”. I wanna talk about the thing that keeps you from committing fully, from living fully, from speaking your truth; the thought that keeps you hedging your bets and hemming and hawing.
Chris Chavez is finished Vancouver’s Teacher Training level 1 and the teachers-to-be are DEADLY good. It’s going to get wild up in here, I’m telling you. Authentic, hilarious, creative. I’m kind of surprised I still have a job.
There is a thread that occasionally runs through their discussion and it came up today during the difference between active and passive language. Active commands, of course, tell people to do stuff [not something we're generally very comfortable with], and passive language invites people to feel/investigate/notice stuff. Passivity sneaks in teaching in other ways, by way of using infinitives as commands in disguise ["lifting your arms overhead, extending out through your arms" &c.] or even describing the actions of the pose as if they’re happening to somebody else ["the back leg straightens, the arms reach overhead"]. PARENTHETICAL BLOG READER EXERCISE: If you practice yoga, notice the way these different sorts of language work on your body.
Generally speaking we’re not comfy with active commands, because, ew, commands. We don’t want to be bossy. And we know what it feels like to arrive on the mat after being told what to do all day long. I get it, I do. Women especially don’t want to be bossy and so many of us have raised passive-aggressive behaviour to a high art: “You may notice that the back leg loses some power if it is not fully engaged. If you wish to, consider engaging the back leg more fully. A little bit. Sort of. Never mind, I didn’t say anything.” As opposed to: “Straighten your back leg fully”. What is the difference, if there is a difference? Is one way of speaking ever appropriate for teaching….anything, never mind yoga?
People keep asking
“What was it like?” I say, “It
changed everything”.
The spiders appear
much smaller here in darkest
Canuckistan.
Remember: Be Here Now.
Even if you are, sadly, not
still in Maui.
What am I doing writing Haiku Haikus when I’m on the ol’ futon back in Canada’s frosty autumnal clutches? I had some pics left on the camera and I also wanted to synopsize [if possible, criminy] the insights of the week in some sort of intelligent way without gassing on and on about the fruit and the scenery. Not that it isn’t rad to do that but some people started to narrow their eyes at me a little and I realized that if you can’t *go* to Maui, for whatever reason, it’s not exactly equivalent to just have your hippie friends TELL you about it.
I’m pretty sure this is my new favourite movie. I watched it a couple of months ago but its genius only just descended to meet me when we rewatched the other night.
As an aside, I am an obsessive rewatcher. I’m not content until I memorize all the dialogue of a movie so I can then irritatingly repeat it at only vaguely contextually related times to my friends, who are already sick of said movie having been forced to rewatch it WITH me for the duration.
So we rewatch Kung Fu Panda and my God, it’s beautiful. Apart from the pure aesthetic satisfaction at some excellent animated mise en
An unlikely hero
scène and some kickass sound editing, I’m blown away by the fact that it’s basically a yoga class. The best kind of yoga class: a hilarious, passionate, physically challenging, heartwarming one. The kind that lets you walk away thinking, Wow, something really happened there. Only it’s a movie. An animated movie. What’s the connection, you, my edumacated blogreadership ask?
I was chatting with some of the YYCCTT immersion students when Chris was last in town and we were discussing my ambivalence towards the Bhagavad Gita. Yes, it’s true, I can really take the BG or leave it. I read it years ago and it left me actively cold, especially the bits about women. I’m on my way to a Gita intensive with John and Ram Dass and I’m hoping that in spite of their uterally-challenged status they can lay some more insights on me; after all, that’s what I paid for; I promise to be as open-minded as I can be. In the meantime, it remains opaque. It actually remains opaque in the same way that a lot of these Dramatic Princely Hero Saves The Day stories leave me cold. So much overblown language, so irrelevant to my circumstances, which are neither princely nor heroic. I have rarely been inspired by such stories. It just occurred to me that this might be why Tolkien is so inspiring to a certain segment of the population, but perhaps that’s a post for another day. (more…)
Well yo yo yiggity yo, as the BFF in “Juno” says, I think wisely. Here’s me poking my pointy little head up after diving deep through layers and layers of yogic craziness, including the ol’ certification exam [which, whoa]. I’m literally in between my greatest teachers as the 3 day therapeutics training with John concludes and Immersion III with Chris commences. Don’t tell Chris this but I packed almost all the homeworks from 6 weeks into after dinner on Monday and tonight. My typing fingers are sore.
Today marked my first unassisted Urdhva Dhanurasana to standing, and my first assisted Handstand to Urdhva dropover. And then my second and third. This week marked my first Kala Bhairavasana attempt, which yielded me doing it backwards [which is way harder TBH] and my first motions towards Valakhilyasana. In addition to my typing fingers, my obliques and forearms are sore.
And of course Flow Yoga reopened, the most anticipated diva in YYoga’s harem of superstar studios. Variously described as “yoga heaven” and “a space station”, the place is cool, ginormous, and crammed full to bursting with great hearts and brilliant minds, including a whole passel of wellness staff, ready to palpate you into oblivion at a moment’s notice. Maybe I should see them about my fingers, obliques and forearms.
In honour of my 33rd birthday, one month ago today
But seriously folks. Is this thing on? This summer has been a workout of spirit more than any other body part. By which I mean the aspects of myself that are being tested are not the physical [although 14 classes a week definitely make my feet a bit punchy] but my ability to abide in a place of spirit while facing a pendulous email inbox and a hyperactive BlackBerry, while navigating the seemingly random and exquisitely pointless Granville Street construction, while taking notes on treating fibromyalgia while my eyelids are so heavy from unfiltered sake that they blur the already illegible text I’m trying to create. What is this vigour that arrives where no vigour should be? What is hauling my butt out of lovely bed every morning to go hand out nametags and practice fascia massage?
John, as is his wont, was disarmingly perceptive in his ability to dial into exactly what we are accessing when we attempt to teach and to heal…and what fire is there when we choose to be more disciplined in our study and commitment. Man, I don’t know where I’m going to get the juice to assist for 4 days looking at people’s feet but I am completely confident that it will happen. And as I expand what I believe is both possible AND desirable, my soul’s fortitude is increased and reinforced. So as I keep leaning on a bigger energy, hoping against hope that when Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” comes blaring out of the Sony DreamMachine tomorrow at 6:30 and I have to pick through the foyer table’s change pile for the “Add Fare” to use my 1-zone transit pass to get to Burnaby, it’ll all feel very natural and in fact quite pleasant and exciting.
This is grace, because it will be all of those things, and the less I try to finagle it into some sort of ideal balanced diet of work and rest, te more the work becomes the rest itself. I guess it’s the difference between doing a million abdominal crunches and Headstand. The strength [virya] is also the courage to let things be zany, to be upside down and just address the upside-down-ness on its own merits without hardening or putting up little tree-fort walls against spirit. As long as I can remember what I’m doing this for [smrti] I will feel myself borne along on a cushion of brightness, hardly holding myself up at all. This is being supported by the “muscle” of the soul. The more you work it, the stronger it becomes.
We arrived home on Sunday night, refreshed and looking so relaxed that [as Christine pointed out] we looked Botoxed. What should one do after a week’s holidays on Vancouver Island? Why, go on another trip to Vancouver Island, of course. I wedged a week’s worth of work into a 54 hour period and now the laundry is in the washer, the suitcase is packed [I found some underpants I left behind from Costa Rica, which was surprisingly pleasant as the resort laundry staff there had folded them into cute little balls with Central American panache] and I’m going to end up making the cross-Strait journey once again.
At SPL there’s no internet: THE AGONY! THE ECSTASY! so this is a little bit of a catch-up/holdover post until I return from the wilderness.
You can't really see this, but he is barely touching her...go Val go!!
It’s been an exhilarating couple of weeks in the Vanusara community, and we don’t stop, don’t stop the rock. After the whirlwind of Chris Chavez’ visit our Inspired teachers are basically getting that knock on the door that tells you to step up the majors. It’s a weird feeling after centuries of Calvinist inculcation to be told that the best thing you can do for everybody around you is to commence some major butt-kicking, but there it is: excellence waits for no yogi: the time is now. I keep having these little spazz attacks where I think I can’t handle it, that there’s no way this can last, that the bar is set too high for me to keep this up. It’s like a cultural lifetime of anxiety and feeling inadequate keeps pounding away at me, like the waves in Ucluelet hitting the basalt shore.
Luckily Mr. and Mrs. McInnis didn’t raise no lily-livered fools, and I am starting to see that these little voices of inadequacy are just that: little voices. They get amplified by life and circumstance, but there’s no particular logical reason to pay more attention to them than to any of the OTHER little voices, most notably the one saying, “Hurray! Awesome! Let’s do it!”
That's our view. That's my JACKET for God's sake. Can you stand it?
So now that our newest YYoga studio is opening soon, and that I’m formally on the path to Anusara certification, and I have two retreats to teach in two weeks, and my 33rd birthday is impending, and John Friend is arriving in mid-August, and Chavez’ Immersion III immediately follows, and I want to make the next Big Friday on July 24 the m0sT aWeS0mE BiG r0cK EVAR [requests welcome!], it doesn’t really help me to crawl into bed with a bottle of Amaretto and start twitching and sucking my thumb. I would have no method, no way of approaching a time of this intensity without breaking down if I didn’t have this practice. It’s such a gift, not just to keep you treading water in your life but to help you dive deeper than you ever thought possible. It’s kind of rainy now here in Vancouver and yesterday’s classes were packed, but while I’m gone, keep hitting the mat, rain or shine. See you in a week…
Woohoo, day 5 of Chris Chavez‘ Immersion II and I’m only one sleep away from holidays in Ucluelet. Uclulet? Uceluelet? Ulcluet? Dang.
He's actually eating a Fisherman's Friend in this picture
I could probably create an entire verbose blog around just the discussions we’ve been having in this immersion. Every day is full of fertile conversations and multiple possibilities; I always end up with a bunch of things I want to say and anyone attending the immersion would be surprised to know I only put up my hand about 27% of the time, considering how much I end up talking, which, sigh…An old friend of mine once said, when asked why he was so quiet, “If I talk I know what *I* think, and I already know what I think. If I listen, I know what everybody else thinks”.
I’d like to try and stick with one particular point about the teacher/student relationship this time around. Periodically, after going deep inside the anatomy of the psoas or dissecting the relationship between shin loop and thigh loop, we’d all have to stumble, reeling, back to our higher priorities: feeling good, being bright, connecting with something greater. It’s like coming out into the mall after watching the Matrix. Not only are the flourescents way too bright but you’re fairly convinced that every civilian you see is after you. Once you’ve gone that deep, the simplicity of the purposes of practice seem too sophomoric to be real.
A couple of examples: A. Let’s say you get a big adjustment from your teacher that lets you know you are in alignment in Tadasana. He stands you in front of a mirror you can see that this is in fact absolutely true. Only problem is: IT FEELS INSANE. Like grade-A certified cuckoo insane. In alignment you feel like your butt sticks out or your shoulders are too active or you’re working too hard or you feel like you’re going to fall over. It seems preposterous that this is how you should stand, and yet you can clearly see in the mirror that this is in fact centre, also you trust your teacher, so your sense of yourself shifts…you think, “well shoot; anything is possible now. This feels so crazy that I doubt my own sense of proprioception, and I’ll definitely try to incorporate it into my practice and just standing around, except that apparently I’ll know it’s right because it goes against every normal instinct I have”.