For several weeks now, I have been nursing a sore lower back, which means I am very aware of every twitch in my lumbar region. The soreness is due to my progress with the Intermediate Series of ashtanga. Yeah, I know. If I'm making progress, then, why am I sore? Ashtanga's Intermediate Series--or Second Series--is known as Nadi Shodana, which means "nerve cleansing." Nadi Shodana is all about the spine because the spine is the equivalent of nerve central in the body. Our overall health and flexibility, both physical and mental, are determined by the health of our spine. According to ashtanga master David Swenson, the Second Series practice is intended to create and maintain a suppleness and flexibility of the spine on the physical level, while opening energy channels on a subtler level to allow for the free flow of prana, or breath. Yes, it's true. We not only breath into our diaphragm, we breath as well into the back body. Or, rather, we should be breathing this way. So, when our breathing becomes labored, shallow, or tight, particularly in response to an emotional experience, these constrictions can show up later as tight places in our bodies. If we're lucky--and diligent, and patient, and observant, and willing--our yoga practice will help us to discover where these tight places are. The result: An opportunity to learn how to release the energy knots built up over time.
Needless to say, the second series can be an intensely emotional practice. The yoga asanas of the Intermediate Series, combined with the focus on the breath, are uniquely designed to expose those spots in the body where we have chosen to hide and nurse old wounds. Our breathing acts as a diviner's rod, seeking out those places in our bodies where the breath, the energy, wants to flow again.
One would think that with the solemnity that naturally develops with a routine ashtanga practice that the ego would learn to stay home. Not so. But, then again, this is why we continue to practice. After all, the quickest path to more enlightenment is to begin where we are right now. When the ego does show up with us to practice, we understand we must listen more. This way, we avoid injury, and we learn to remain humble about any advancements we do make in our practice. "Stop being the show," Itay would routinely caution, because there is ample room for playing the role of the peacock, showing off what you believe to have mastered. It does not matter how long you have been practicing, or how much attention you have received for your skill and relative ease in flowing through the multiple series. As Swenson says, "the depth of the asanas is not as important as the knowledge of how to approach them at a personal level." Balance will manifest; alignment will prevail; but, awareness must come first.
Several weeks ago while practicing my newest poses, dwi pada sirsasana A and B, my back began to hurt a little more than usual, so I backed off. Sure, I want to advance through the Intermediate Series. I would like to "enter the seven headstands," which signals the final asanas of the series, but I wish to bring my awareness with me. And this is the hardest part. We practice alone and with our teacher, but our teacher can only guide; he or she cannot tell us precisely what our bodies are telling us. We have to decide, individually, how much to push forward, and how much to back off. "Dare to trust your deepest feelings," Erich Schiffmann told his retreat participants last month in Ojai, CA. This is a much more challenging way of understanding our role as listener. However, I think, too, that it provides more clarity. Listening, like our breath in practice, is never meant to be passive.
Los Angeles Times T.V. critic Mary MacNamara wrote the following bit of wisdom in one of her recent television reviews, "Most things worth doing are nine parts hard boring work, and one part Big Moment." This has become a useful personal mantra for me in my ashtanga practice. Actually, it's become useful for just about every area of my life. We're so conditioned and accustomed to expecting greatness from ourselves and others, and we're all too easily disillusioned when the greatness doesn't happen when we think it should. Our consumer attitudes have thoroughly invaded our sensibility about all things. While it is important to applaud the Big Moment, it is, likewise, important to remember that the path moving us toward it is honorable and worthy of our admiration and respect.
Needless to say, the second series can be an intensely emotional practice. The yoga asanas of the Intermediate Series, combined with the focus on the breath, are uniquely designed to expose those spots in the body where we have chosen to hide and nurse old wounds. Our breathing acts as a diviner's rod, seeking out those places in our bodies where the breath, the energy, wants to flow again.
One would think that with the solemnity that naturally develops with a routine ashtanga practice that the ego would learn to stay home. Not so. But, then again, this is why we continue to practice. After all, the quickest path to more enlightenment is to begin where we are right now. When the ego does show up with us to practice, we understand we must listen more. This way, we avoid injury, and we learn to remain humble about any advancements we do make in our practice. "Stop being the show," Itay would routinely caution, because there is ample room for playing the role of the peacock, showing off what you believe to have mastered. It does not matter how long you have been practicing, or how much attention you have received for your skill and relative ease in flowing through the multiple series. As Swenson says, "the depth of the asanas is not as important as the knowledge of how to approach them at a personal level." Balance will manifest; alignment will prevail; but, awareness must come first.
Several weeks ago while practicing my newest poses, dwi pada sirsasana A and B, my back began to hurt a little more than usual, so I backed off. Sure, I want to advance through the Intermediate Series. I would like to "enter the seven headstands," which signals the final asanas of the series, but I wish to bring my awareness with me. And this is the hardest part. We practice alone and with our teacher, but our teacher can only guide; he or she cannot tell us precisely what our bodies are telling us. We have to decide, individually, how much to push forward, and how much to back off. "Dare to trust your deepest feelings," Erich Schiffmann told his retreat participants last month in Ojai, CA. This is a much more challenging way of understanding our role as listener. However, I think, too, that it provides more clarity. Listening, like our breath in practice, is never meant to be passive.
Los Angeles Times T.V. critic Mary MacNamara wrote the following bit of wisdom in one of her recent television reviews, "Most things worth doing are nine parts hard boring work, and one part Big Moment." This has become a useful personal mantra for me in my ashtanga practice. Actually, it's become useful for just about every area of my life. We're so conditioned and accustomed to expecting greatness from ourselves and others, and we're all too easily disillusioned when the greatness doesn't happen when we think it should. Our consumer attitudes have thoroughly invaded our sensibility about all things. While it is important to applaud the Big Moment, it is, likewise, important to remember that the path moving us toward it is honorable and worthy of our admiration and respect.
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