Here I am at the keyboard, and I am working overtime in my attempt to be mindful of my spine, my shoulders and the broad space between them that is my upper back, and all the while I am assessing whether I am seated squarely on my sit bones or dumping into my lower back. This, my friends, is not the chatter of a brain afflicted with OCD. This is what it feels like to sit in dandasana, also known as staff pose or seated pose. If I were to write as Hemingway did, standing at a podium, I would adjust my awareness accordingly, shifting from my sit bones to the soles of my feet where I would end up in tadasana, mountain pose (samasthiti) or standing pose. Let's face it, if I really attempted to write while in tadasana, I'd break a sweat before I wrote the first adjective. Writing is tough enough. In yoga, if done correctly, standing and sitting can bring on a sweat as well.
As an advanced yoga practitioner, it is good to be mindful of the basic and most essential poses. Here is where all things begin, after all, and where all things return to in the end. When we learn how to stand and to sit properly in our yoga practice, we gradually become aware that we are working with the natural intelligence of the body. Over time, this intelligence becomes intuitive, part of the body's muscle memory, and the chatter referenced above tends to fade into the background. Once the yoga practitioner learns how the body should feel when seated in dandasana and how the body should feel while in tadasana, the practitioner can go anywhere with her practice.
From the roots of the sit bones and the actions of the legs and feet, the spine is free to grow upwards and outwards from the pelvic basin. This is the foundation that teaches the student how to lift both sides of the waist. Proper alignment in these foundational poses is the key to the practitioner's movement of both body and breath. The practitioner's awareness begins and returns here because all standing poses in yoga grow out of tadasana, and all seated poses grow out of dandasana.
I like to think that this is how one begins to move mountains. Last year I learned from a substitute instructor the importance of Mountain pose (tadasana) to the dedicated practitioner. A very advanced teacher had become injured. At the moment, the nature of her injury has slipped my mind, but it was severe enough to prevent this teacher from practicing for some time. When she was able to resume her practice, albeit in a limited manner, she began by simply standing in tadasana. She rolled out her mat every day for three months and stood in tadasana, allowing her body to remember the proper actions of the legs and feet, the proper lift from the waist, how it feels to grow tall from the roots of the feet and out through the crown of the head. Day after day, standing in tadasana, this teacher felt her strength return. She remembered and practiced the body's proper alignment. More significantly, she learned the immense patience the image of a mountain projects. In hearing this story, I heard a lesson of great strength and humility combined, and I was impressed in the way that I have been both impressed and humbled standing at the foot of many a mountain.
Sure, it feels great to progress through poses. In the ashtanga tradition, this progression goes hand-in-hand with a recognition and reward by your teacher. Your teacher recognizes your dedication and hard work, and you, in turn, are rewarded with a new pose. Your fellow ashtangis take note as well. And yet, it is all too easy to get caught up in the progression and the advancement and forget the very simple yet regal nature of the Mountain and the Staff.
Let's face it. Every day, both on and off the mat, I have ample opportunity to honor the significance of standing and sitting--tadasana and dandasana. When I find myself sitting in traffic or standing in line, standing at the front of the classroom or seated with my family and friends at dinner, annoyed, anxious, wondering whether the food is good enough, I recall the Mountain and the Staff. In that moment, I have the opportunity to let the worries and the agitations fade to the background and remember that my presence at the feast or in the car or with my students is all there really is. Like the mountain, I am simply there.
As an advanced yoga practitioner, it is good to be mindful of the basic and most essential poses. Here is where all things begin, after all, and where all things return to in the end. When we learn how to stand and to sit properly in our yoga practice, we gradually become aware that we are working with the natural intelligence of the body. Over time, this intelligence becomes intuitive, part of the body's muscle memory, and the chatter referenced above tends to fade into the background. Once the yoga practitioner learns how the body should feel when seated in dandasana and how the body should feel while in tadasana, the practitioner can go anywhere with her practice.
From the roots of the sit bones and the actions of the legs and feet, the spine is free to grow upwards and outwards from the pelvic basin. This is the foundation that teaches the student how to lift both sides of the waist. Proper alignment in these foundational poses is the key to the practitioner's movement of both body and breath. The practitioner's awareness begins and returns here because all standing poses in yoga grow out of tadasana, and all seated poses grow out of dandasana.
I like to think that this is how one begins to move mountains. Last year I learned from a substitute instructor the importance of Mountain pose (tadasana) to the dedicated practitioner. A very advanced teacher had become injured. At the moment, the nature of her injury has slipped my mind, but it was severe enough to prevent this teacher from practicing for some time. When she was able to resume her practice, albeit in a limited manner, she began by simply standing in tadasana. She rolled out her mat every day for three months and stood in tadasana, allowing her body to remember the proper actions of the legs and feet, the proper lift from the waist, how it feels to grow tall from the roots of the feet and out through the crown of the head. Day after day, standing in tadasana, this teacher felt her strength return. She remembered and practiced the body's proper alignment. More significantly, she learned the immense patience the image of a mountain projects. In hearing this story, I heard a lesson of great strength and humility combined, and I was impressed in the way that I have been both impressed and humbled standing at the foot of many a mountain.
Sure, it feels great to progress through poses. In the ashtanga tradition, this progression goes hand-in-hand with a recognition and reward by your teacher. Your teacher recognizes your dedication and hard work, and you, in turn, are rewarded with a new pose. Your fellow ashtangis take note as well. And yet, it is all too easy to get caught up in the progression and the advancement and forget the very simple yet regal nature of the Mountain and the Staff.
Let's face it. Every day, both on and off the mat, I have ample opportunity to honor the significance of standing and sitting--tadasana and dandasana. When I find myself sitting in traffic or standing in line, standing at the front of the classroom or seated with my family and friends at dinner, annoyed, anxious, wondering whether the food is good enough, I recall the Mountain and the Staff. In that moment, I have the opportunity to let the worries and the agitations fade to the background and remember that my presence at the feast or in the car or with my students is all there really is. Like the mountain, I am simply there.
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