Infrequent visitors to the yoga blogosphere may not be aware of the recent kerfuffle surrounding a NY Times article about how yoga will hurt you, but there also has been some mainstream media coverage on the safety of yoga.

While the article seems to have broken a few glass jaws in the broader yoga community, practitioners with a therapeutic orientation have been sounding alarms about questionable practice for years and getting nothing but flak in return. Those with the courage to take a stand and level public criticism of overly aggressive and guitar-hero-like approaches are usually written off as haters who are just jealous of the cool kids with their feet on their heads.

I’m not going to address the article directly. This has been done well enough already by voices more qualified than mine (I recommend watching Leslie Kaminoff’s three-part video response.) But I am interested in people questioning what they are doing and whether or not it is safe, even if it is a byproduct of a sensationalistic and irresponsible ploy to sell books.

Unfortunately, the subsequent conversation has largely been dominated by a reach for easy answers that avoid deeper issues. More often than not, injuries in yoga are being attributed to a lack of proper alignment or understanding of anatomy. It is said either that practitioners are not doing the poses in a technically correct way or that their teachers are not educated enough about anatomy to instruct students how to do the poses in a technically correct way.

When it comes to alignment, I find it curious to notice teachers who are are usually quite rigid in their instruction are now bending over backwards to explain how they respond to the needs of students. Specifically, I was reading an excerpt from a new book, written by a senior teacher in a classical tradition, who was considering the instruction to “straighten your leg.”

Without referring to any particular poses, the author asserts that the instruction is a “very coarse truth [that] new students need to hear” and that the way to accommodate different capabilities is to offer different “levels of truth” in the form of more detailed directives (i.e. lift the quadriceps, resist with the calf muscle, root the three corners of the feet, etc.) The suggestion is that different students need different details as they develop the fully realized truth behind “straighten your leg.”

The problem is that finding different ways of articulating the same arbitrary configuration is not an example of how to adapt to the needs of students and certainly will not make the practice any safer for the large majority of people who benefit from bending their knees. The concept of “technically correct” is open to interpretation and much of what is considered proper alignment in the classical forms is contraindicated for huge portions of the population. Thus, it is possible to have perfect alignment and still hurt yourself.

For those who are inclined to rely on science, I have written a full length article for Yoga Therapy Today magazine entitled: Does Studying Anatomy Make Yoga Safer? In the piece, I ask several prominent anatomy for yoga teachers to weigh in on the role of studying anatomy and science in making yoga safe. What I think most people might find surprising is that even the experts in the field do not agree that anatomy is the key to ensuring safety in yoga.

As Neil Pearson, clinical assistant professor at the University of British Columbia and the chair of the Pain Science Division of the Canadian Physiotherapy Association, put it: “In the end, it is not Western scientific knowledge of the human body that will make Yoga safer. Changing the students approach to the discipline of yoga and the practice of asana will create the greatest shift.”

Instead of looking to alignment and anatomy as a panacea for what ails the yoga profession, perhaps we would do better to foster a different mentality around the physical work of yoga practice that minimizes any potential risks and encourages smarter choices.

Most of the professionals I have spoken to agree that the key to safe yoga boils down to the sensitivity and adaptability of the instructor, his or her capacity for dialogue with and responsiveness to a student, and the humble confidence of knowing what you know and what you don’t know.
 

Owners of yoga centers know that some welcome maximization of profits can be had by working the new years resolution angle, offering a special deal that counts on the fact that most people are not going to make good on it. But exploiting human insecurities for financial gain goes against my broader purpose. Such are the ways of a reluctant businessman.

I’m not nay-saying new years resolutions or transformation. If some change is warranted and the mental will to help bring it about can be summoned then, by all means, be bold and go forth with a true intention. However, in my experience, transformation rarely comes in a flash from some flamboyant push. Real and lasting change tends to occur in a gradual and subtle way as a result of persistent effort, often recognized only in retrospect.

Instead of touting transformation, I propose we celebrate survival.

Like the modern equivalent of a Shakespearean fool, Chris Rock astutely noted that little credit or praise is bestowed for simply “banging out the rent.” The notion of success has become so linked to an emaciated body and a bloated bank account that it becomes difficult to recognize or appreciate the many small and profoundly important feats we accomplish daily.

In last months’ consideration of The Daunting Work Before Us, I attempted to stare down life’s hardship with stark honesty and a whimsical tongue. While this may have made for some needed catharsis and empathetic reading, it did not provide much solace or inspiration.

Fortunately, I since had the pleasure of hosting a friend and fellow teacher from San Francisco named Chase Bossart. He is the co-founder of a not-for-profit organization called the Healing Yoga Foundation and a genuine scholar of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra. He proffered that we don’t actually have as much control over what happens to us as we might like to think. In many respects, we are just along for the ride.

The suggestion is not that life is predetermined or that we have no say in the matter, only that our ability to influence events is limited. Chase compared the way yoga practice affects change to a gardener growing a tomato plant (some may remember the theme from Mind-Body Connection Optional?.)

The gardener has no way of knowing if the plant will thrive or how many tomatoes it will produce but if the seed is planted in fertile soil and tended to carefully, providing the right mix of water, light and patience then, chances are, the plant will produce more tomatoes than otherwise.

Yoga does not transform anyone. Life does that all by itself.

All we can really do is tend to our gardens and hope for the best. Some years, unforeseen drought or swarms of parasitic bugs may wreak havoc and leave us with only roots. Other years, we have abundance. Regardless, we can always plant anew. Even a skeptic like myself can’t deny that the cycle of life carries on nonetheless.

This morning, for the first time, my two year old daughter said: “I love you Daddy.” Her sweet little words of unadulterated affection left me in awe at the actuality of how things are taking place. The work ahead may be daunting but there is no doubt that the rewards, when they come, are worth our efforts. Joy behooves us to survive.
 

Is it just me or did 2011 feel like a complete wash? Nothing particularly horrible or great stands out. The small triumph of not letting daily mundane tribulations get the best of me may not rank high on a scorecard but I am nonetheless grateful for having managed to get through relatively unscathed.

An ever-increasing work load that has yet to yield exponential fruits has created an eerie sense of foreboding that makes it difficult to be optimistic. I simply can’t bear any more dashed hope.

This season usually brings with it a strange mix of good intentions, capitalistic undertones and some sort of promise for the future. January is always the biggest attendance month for yoga centers as everyone becomes resolute to do more. I too am usually inclined to take advantage of a turn in calendar to bolster a rosier-colored lens.

Not this year. Idealism has its limits and if the last year is any indication of the rate of change and prosperity going forward then I think we need to prepare ourselves for a long haul. I plan to keep expectations low and bide my time until pleasant surprises are forthcoming.

Recently, I had a dialogue with a fellow yoga teacher who questioned the wisdom of suggesting that we “not push ourselves.” She comes to yoga from a more structural anatomy standpoint and her contention was that this measured sentiment amounts to avoiding “hard” work that needs to be done.

The capacity for yoga practice to effect anatomical change is an interesting topic for another post, but what is relevant here is that attempts to impose anatomical restructuring on a body, divorced from the life situation that is its context, is largely a futile effort.

No amount of strong asana is going to bring in some more money or magically rework the family budget so that my wife and I can explore having a second child without feeling irresponsible. The careful refinement of alignment that I have cultivated for so much of my adult life doesn’t unclench my jaw while I sleep at night.

Right now, most of the folks I meet are working harder than ever before. They don’t need a kick in the ass. They just need to catch a break, which seems to be in awfully short supply these days.

So many of us are already totally over-extended. We keep unreasonable schedules and then blame ourselves when we are not able to do all we want. Something has got to give.

I am a proponent of consistent practice. Given all the experiences that we have no control over but that shape our lives, the benefits of a skillful means to affect our own system favorably are invaluable. I don’t know how I would be getting through without my breathing and moving exercises.

I just think it’s important to be clear about where the real work is, and keep the role of physical practice in perspective. If we make Yoga practice about poses instead of about people then we miss the whole point.

Of course we want to make every effort to encourage change and fashion things more to our liking; however, there is only so much effort that is actually useful. If our efforts are untimely or misdirected then we end up just banging our heads against a wall.

Maybe this year, instead of blowing whatever new years motivation we have in one desperate push that barely makes it to February, let’s keep that motivation close to the chest and dole it out incrementally.

At the intersection of innermost wishes and life’s stark hardship is where the daunting work before us lies. The “hard” work of yoga takes place wherever life is most pressing, when we are confronted by that enigmatic obstacle to a sense of harmony despite the uncertainty.
 

Flipping through the catalog for a big name yoga and retreat center, I was shocked to notice that they advertised their yoga teacher training programs as “Yoga Alliance Approved.” Misrepresentations like this are the dirty little secret of the yoga industry. No one really wants to admit there is no accreditation for Yoga.

Anyone who claims to be “approved”, “certified” or “licensed” by the YA is either grossly uninformed or disingenuous. The YA maintains a registry of yoga teachers and training programs. In filling out the paperwork and paying the fees, yoga teachers and training programs purport to follow a vague set of curriculum guidelines that are posted on the YA website and assume a service mark of RYT (Registered Yoga Teacher) or RYS (Registered Yoga School.)

What no one ever seems to acknowledge or mention is that the YA provides no oversight whatsoever. No one checks to see if anyone is actually doing what they say. Everyone is on the “honor” system. Consequently, the registry amounts to a digital rubber stamp or paid advertising. Not to mention, the YA does not disclose what they do with the money they collect from the Yoga community.

Even if everyone is being true to their word, referring to the YA guidelines as “standards” is quite a stretch. For example, being registered at the 200 hr level is said to have 20 hours of yoga philosophy. Generally, this entails a cursory reading of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra’s and a written test, kind of like reading the chapter and answering the summary questions in my 9th grade social studies class.

Given the profound diversity of texts and interpretations that exist within Yoga philosophy, simply designating 20 hours of time means absolutely nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel strongly about Yoga teachers and schools being held to high standards. My point is that Yoga is not an academic pursuit. Attempts to standardize Yoga training into a set of requisite hours completely undermines yoga pedagogy, which is not contingent on time.

“Standards” implies greater quality, not a specific quantity of time spent on who knows what. If we want to encourage more qualified yoga teachers, lets start talking about “competencies” instead of hours and, more importantly, lets be straightforward with the public so they can make informed choices.

Brian Castellani, founder of yoganomics.net, has been leading a personal crusade to hold the YA to account for its misgivings. Initially, he was hoping to bring integrity back to the YA but, as he has continued to dig into the YA’s activities and policies, his sentiments have changed. He recounts a conversation with Jeanine Frest, the longest standing employee of the YA up until she quit in 2010, where she said, “Maybe it would be better to scrap everything and start over.”

I can already hear my wife’s criticism of this post. When I mentioned to her the topic I was taking on, she said, “Oh really? I think its better when you stay ‘positive’ like last month’s thing on Nurturing.” She thinks I do myself a disservice by inviting controversy and she is probably right.

I almost heeded her call until a recent exchange with an editor at the megalith of yoga-related publishing. She told me that the credo for their bloggers is “What are you adding to the conversation?” I didn’t think it wise to speak my mind as freely as I might but what I really wanted to say was, “What conversation?”

As far as I can tell, there is not much of a real conversation happening. In risking the ire of others, I suppose I’m hoping to get one started. I don’t think holding the Yoga industry’s feet to the fire by shining a light on hypocrisies and inconsistencies is negative. In fact, Yoga encourages this sort of discernment.

Yoga also encourages truthfulness. The fact that the only trade organization offering a title to Yoga professionals is not an example of being truthful does not speak well to the profession of Yoga.

At the very least, any trade organization that wants to represent the yoga community must operate with complete transparency and accountability. Members of that organization must also do the same. Anything less is a discredit to Yoga and deserves scrutiny.

Trolling yoga blogs and the comment threads that ensue reveals a prevailing sentiment of tough love. Sure, there are a few hold-outs from the sixties still hanging around but the new breed of yogi is way too savvy to be fooled by any fluff and seems more interested in what you can do than how what you do makes you think or behave.

A musician friend and student was telling me about his last tour. He was at a party after a show with some of the other bands that played on the bill. Apparently, a guy from another band was into Yoga and heard that my friend was also a practitioner. The conversation went something like:

“Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey.”
“I heard you do you Yoga.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Can you do headstand to crow?”

In and of itself, two dudes hanging out at a party after a rock-n-roll show talking about Yoga is a testament to Yoga’s new status in our culture. Back in the day, I was consistently the only man in class and, if it ever came up at a party, my inclination for Yoga was usually met with little more than a blank stare. Few people, men or women, had any frame of reference for Yoga much less a knowledge of headstand to crow.

When I chose to make Yoga my life direction, it was a decidedly un-cool thing to do. In fact, Yoga represented letting go of a need for external approval or recognition in favor of a greater sense of personal well-being and fulfillment. Sometime in the last fifteen years, my decision to abandon cool kid status has backfired. Yoga is the new hip.

Yoga teachers are headlining Lolapalooza-like events and referring to variations of downdog as “rockstar pose.” There are talent agencies for yoga teachers, celebrity endorsements and reality TV shows in the works. Yoga is now an undeniable marketing demographic and has spawned a muti-billion dollar industry.

Unfortunately, what is selling yoga as cool is not really all that cool.

I suppose its understandable that the grander displays of physicality found in classical Yoga marry well with advertising exploits and western workout mentality. Certainly, yoga poses can be used to challenge people to do more than they think possible. However, suffering through rigorous, sometimes injurious, practice routines with the idea that we will potentially accomplish some unknown something at some unknown point or perpetuating a subtle form of body dysmorphia around ideas of alignment and perfection is patently not cool.

For me, the key to making my practice effective was cultivating a nurturing sentiment. Whenever I suggest the importance of a nurturing sentiment, even right now, there is a voice in the back of my head that says, “Really? A nurturing sentiment? That’s the best you can do?” Nurturing is not generally thought of as all that cool, it definitely doesn’t look as neat as a flying crow pose.

The case against nurturing always seems to get chalked up to discipline. Thus, the tough love model. Yoga requires discipline and some find this is best achieved by overbearing means. I cannot deny the proven efficiency of austere practice in imposing discipline. For those so inclined, this may be the best route to take.

However, for a whole lot of us, discipline achieved at the forceful hand of an outside suggestion is often short lived. Just as a caring parent might discipline their child in a different manner than a drill sergeant does a soldier, nurturing and discipline are not mutually exclusive.

My two year old daughter has recently begun to require some discipline. I can get her to do what I need her to do by being stern and forceful with her but it usually requires a great deal of effort, involves some considerable whining and is only so good as I am standing there and making sure it is so.

If I have my wits about me a bit more than I can often achieve the same ends by merely setting the proper conditions and allowing enough space for her to arrive at the decision to do what I need her to do herself. Then, the next time, she often will do the right thing because she is the one who decided to make it so.

Regardless of how we choose to bring about the discipline needed to be well, most of us could probably benefit from some nurturing. If nurturing is considered to be somehow weak, naive or cheesy then I think we are really in trouble. I contend that Yoga is best when it feels unconditional and nurturing. Nurturing is what makes Yoga cool.
 

Ever heard the one about the Dalai Lama and the hotdog vendor? Make me one with everything. This has always been my favorite joke. Recently, I was made aware of how, like a lot of effective humor, the punchline is based on a not so funny premise.

As an astute Shakespearean scholar once pointed out: “As long as there is pain and suffering in the world, there will always be something to laugh at.”

A few weeks ago, my dear friend and teacher, Mark Whitwell, came to town. He always seems to get right to the heart of matters. He turned to a woman sitting in the front and asked:

“Are you one with Life?”
She hesitated, half rolled her eyes and responded:
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
When pressed for a yes or no answer to a simple question, she relented:
“Sure.”

I imagine that many of us would be equally reluctant to answer “yes” to the question of whether we are one with Life. Probably because it often seems otherwise.

When I came to yoga as a young man, I didn’t like myself much. I thought there must be something wrong with me because I had all this pain and confusion I was experiencing. I did not think of myself as a whole person and was striving to achieve or find an unknown something that I perceived to be obviously lacking.

Torturing my body made perfect sense. Seemed like the right thing to do and, frankly, there were approaches and philosophies in Yoga that certainly encouraged me to treat myself in a less than nurturing manner.

Fortunately, I’ve come to understand that my practice needs to be “actual, natural and non-obsessive.” By making my practice more measured and patient, less about pushing my physical boundaries and more about feeling and enjoying the immediacy of my breath and body, my thinking changed.

Ultimately, as I embrace the notion that there is nothing wrong with me, that the pain and confusion I feel is not an indication that I am somehow lacking but is simply part of being human, torturing my body no longer makes any sense. In fact, it seems like kind of a dumb thing to do.

There is a correlation between how I am with myself in doing breathing and moving exercises and how I am with myself in general. If there is a whole lot of struggling, straining and having a bad time in the practice, the same tends to be true about a person in general. By cultivating a model of greater ease in my execution and having pleasure in my efforts, the same translated out quite seamlessly.

When life starts to feel less like a story of existential longing and more like a grand blessing of experience, a sense of oneness in the universe becomes a perfectly rational determination.

The question is: Why are we not taught that we are one with Life in the same way that we are taught that 2+2=4? Both are facts. Yet, the math equation is a given and my sense of self worth and place in the universe is relegated to naivete.

We all started as a single cell that split and duplicated and formed into blood and bones and lungs and hearts and skin and eyes and it’s all quite fantastic really. The pain and difficulty that life presents does not make our existence any less miraculous. Shouldn’t this be taught and understood by everyone as a matter a fact as reading, writing and arithmetic?

If we were all taught, from an early age, that we are nothing but the extreme intelligence of the Universe and one with Life, the joke about the Dalai Lama and the hotdog vendor would cease to be funny. It would no longer make any sense. How can someone be made to be one with everything when it is already the case?
 

Exploitation of yoga in advertising is nothing new. When a product wants to associate with a low-stress or healthy lifestyle, invariably, the commercial features people doing yoga poses. Increasing popularity of yoga makes the marketing demographic undeniable.

A recent Advil campaign has taken this phenomenon to another level. Instead of merely showing imagery of yoga practice, there is an actual yoga teacher addressing the camera directly as spokesperson. She says:

“If I have any soreness, I’m not going to be able to do my job. Once I take Advil, I’ll be able to finish my day and finish off strong. I always find myself going back to Advil. It really works.”

In a previous post, Mind-Body Connection Optional?, I expressed views regarding appropriate practice and drew some distinctions between physical fitness and Yoga. I want to acknowledge that, even in the course of an appropriate practice, there is sometimes an amount of soreness that is felt as a body is conditioned. Also, I don’t think there is anything fundamentally wrong with taking Advil. In fact, I’m sure there are occasions when two Advil might be quite a blessing.

However, if a yoga teacher’s work is making them sore to the point that it actually impedes their ability to do their job then I feel compelled to suggest that something is awry in that teachers yoga. I can’t escape the strong opinion that effective yoga practice would prevent a need for taking Advil, not create it.

In talking with some students about the commercial, the question of Tapas came up. The Sanskrit word, Tapas, is usually translated as “burning” or “fire” and is often associated with the heat that is generated in practice and the notion that this heat is burning away impurities in the system. The term is bandied around a lot in “hot” yoga classes and attributed to all the sweating. Some suggest that pain is Tapas.

In my experience, there is an amount of warmth that a practice produces but I don’t think that sweating means all the toxins are going out of a persons body and I question the wisdom of conflating pain with Tapas. I tend to think of Tapas in a broader sense. Like many Sanskrit words, Tapas is not just a literal meaning but a principle: “The removal of difficulty.”

Overworking a body to the extant that a healthy functioning is impeded, requiring Advil to get through the day, and referring to discomfort, that has been needlessly created, as Tapas is the kind of thing that makes me crazy.

Don’t we already have enough self-inflicted problems being utilized to exploit people these days?

In many respects, Yoga and Advil don’t make sense together. Masking pain may be warranted in some circumstances but, generally speaking, Yoga is a means of addressing pain. That’s going to be kinda hard to do if I’m popping Advil all the time.

If I treat myself with care and a nurturing sentiment, I tend not to be sore in the least. This may not sell many pain killers but is a much safer bet in the long run.
 

I have only been in one fight. It was in the third grade. I don’t recall what the impetus was but it ended up in a war of words between me and another boy on the basketball court. I remember deciding to hit him but when I went to strike my arm went slack. It was as if my body overrode my minds directive and I was incapable of trying to harm him.

The other boy did not have the same issue and I was quickly pinned and squirming to be free. The only black girl in our class, La Tisha, came to my aid and pushed him off of me before he got any punches in. We were friends and no one messed with La Tisha.

I can trace my inclination for yoga back to that day. I learned something important about myself. I am not naturally inclined towards violence. Even as a boy, I recognized that this was not true of everyone. As an adult, it makes sense that I embrace a life philosophy that puts a premium on nonviolence.

The first yama of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra’s is ahimsa, often translated as “non-harming.” Aligning myself with Yoga turned something that I had always seen as a weakness into a strength.

Yet, somewhere along the way, an unconscious loophole developed. While I was incapable of intentionally doing others wrong, I seemed to have no problem doing considerable inadvertent harm to myself. In fairness, I was under the impression that I was working towards enlightenment and did not grasp the full extent to which I was mistreating myself.

I remember a particular occasion when I was teaching one of my trademark power vinyasa classes. I was barking out my well prepared sequence and, instead of my usual attention to everyone’s alignment, I happened to be noticing the facial expressions of the people in my class.

They looked miserable. They were filled with struggle and strain, just doing their best to get through and not enjoying themselves much in the process. There was a distinct lack of joy.

Afterwards, several students came up to thank me and tell me how great the class was. It made me feel uncomfortable. Walking home, I kept thinking: “What am I doing?”

Fact is, I was proficient in the practice I was teaching but it was not really helping me feel well. I had a lot of chronic pain that I rarely admitted to, even to myself. I was convinced it meant “opening.” Shortly thereafter, I blew my knee out doing Baddhakonasana with a belt and an assist. For all my diligent studies and abilities, super yogi couldn’t walk.

Around that same time, a friend of mine attended a large yoga event in NYC with a venerable teacher, considered to be a living “master.” She was one of a very small percentage of the 600 participants to have the guru assist her in one of her poses, only to have her hamstring connector popped at his forceful hand. I remember seeing her several days later, she was still in considerable pain.

Experiences like this have often left me feeling horribly disenchanted with the yoga community. The issue of overly forceful assists aside, how can yoga teachers who espouse ahimsa not be held accountable for harm done under their auspices? Adding insult to injury, common in hip yoga circles today is to cite ahimsa as a case for veganism. Basically, Patanjali says that if you want to be a real yogi then you can’t eat animal products.

I have been vegetarian for twenty years. I was vegan for three of them but it left me somewhat anemic. Introducing eggs and cheese into my diet made me feel better. I continue to maintain a lacto-ovo vegetarian diet because that’s what feels right for me, not because I think eating meat is wrong. I do try to eat organic but I don’t know exactly where all the eggs and cheese I eat is coming from, nor do I know the treatment of the animals who provide me this food.

While it would be nice if this were different and modern food production was not so dictated by corporate profits, I still think it strains common sense to suggest that my eating habits constitute violence. Especially, when the assertion comes from teachers who do not take personal responsibility for injuries that readily happen in their classes.

Another way ahimsa can be translated is “loving kindness and compassion.” There is a big difference between simply being nonviolent and actually being kind. I figure, if you can learn to show yourself and others genuine kindness, which most certainly includes not over working and harming your body in practice, and you enjoy eating meat, you’re still gonna be OK with the yoga powers that be.
 

In Yoga, the principle of Adaptation refers to the ability of a practice to meet the individual needs of the student, not just in physical terms but in every sense of the person. Adaptation in yoga is not only considered a good thing but the hallmark of a skilled teacher.

In the physical fitness realm, the principle of Adaptation refers to the concept of when an exercise is repeated often without variation, the body assimilates and the benefits are diminished. Adaptation in physical fitness is considered an impediment to continued growth and is the basis for another principle, Overload, which states that a greater than normal stress or load on the body is required.

My intent here is not to parse semantics. It’s just that there seems to be a lot of yoga classes that embrace the physical fitness sensibility. The enticing arsenal of classical yoga asana has made for a perfect marriage. Many yoga teachers are less concerned with any interpersonal realities that exist in their classes and instead see their role as someone to forever challenge students to do more with interesting sequences and playlists.

After a recent class of mine, a vinyasa teacher asked: “If we don’t take ourselves to the edge and beyond, how will we ever grow?”

I think of growth in yoga like I think of growth in plants. Watering a plant more does not necessarily make it grow faster or better. In fact, over watering plants will kill them. In order to grow, plants need the right amount of water on the right days and it happens over time like the way wind and water shapes mountains. Granted, some plants require more water than others.

I embrace a measured engagement in my practice. I’m not interested in pushing mine or anyone else’s physical limits. I discovered that it’s possible to be very strong and flexible, have amazing asana alignment, accomplish all kinds of miraculous feats with your body and still have lots of pain and feel miserable in life. It makes no sense to me that the body needs to be pushed, stressed or imposed upon in order to serve a persons growth. In my experience, forever taking the body to its “edge” leads to chronic pain down the road.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to take anything away from anyone. If you enjoy physical challenge and want to provide that to yourself by forever changing up and increasing the intensity of your work out, rock on I say. I’m merely suggesting that yoga practice is not cross-circuit training. These two things can be complimentary but are not the same. Although, going to most yoga classes today, folks would have no way of knowing.

In layman’s terms, the aspect of yoga that makes it different then just working out is often referred to as the “mind-body connection.” This is a rote acknowledgement that the health of a person cannot be objectively measured in physical prowess. Recent studies in exercise science state that: “Low intensity exercise improves health but may not be very beneficial for improving physical fitness.”

When it comes to physical fitness alone, the “mind-body connection” is optional. If you’re training for a marathon or particular sport activity, you need to tough it out and do that boot camp stuff if you want your body to be conditioned properly for the task. How your feeling, whats going on in your life or whether or not your enjoying the work out are largely irrelevant.

I maintain that yoga practice is not concerned with developing physical fitness beyond what is necessary for a healthy functioning body. If we use the forms beyond that, for physical fitness purposes alone, then I think it ceases to be yoga practice and becomes something else. Lose the mind-body connection and you lose the yoga.
 

The title of this post is a perfect example. You see, I really wanted to call it “F*** Union with the Divine” but I decided to exercise my better judgement. Indulging in my taste for irreverence is immensely satisfying; however, incendiary language can easily put folks off and the intended sentiments are lost in my fancy for stirring the pot.

That I have matured only so far is evidenced by the fact that I still can’t resist finding a way to get it in here anyways. At least, I didn’t drop an f-bomb straightway in the title, asterisk-coated or not.

I have traced my relapse back to an email I recently received from Yoga Journal Magazine. The topic of the newsletter was Bhakti Yoga and the opening paragraph stated:

“It’s ultimate goal, like any other form of yoga, is self-realization and union with the Divine.”

I can accept that Bhakti Yoga, as defined classically, may have an ultimate goal of self-realization and union with the Divine but to assert that all other forms of yoga also subscribe to this notion is not only inaccurate but perpetuates a view of yoga that runs contrary to my understanding.

I suppose the editors at Yoga Journal Magazine are not reading as deeply into their newsletter copy as I am, nor do I fault them for using catch phrases to sell magazines. All the same, when yoga is made out to be an abstract thing that has no bearing on people’s real lives, it kinda pisses me off.

When I’m dealing with health insurance companies, real-estate markets and babysitters, don’t talk to me about union with the Divine. For people living in the world, it is not useful to think of yoga as some gargantuan undertaking that has the power to bring about a grand realization or transform us into something we are not already.

To suggest that such things are to be striven for, in today’s culture, generally amounts to self-abuse more than realization and defining a singular Divine inherently casts a disparaging shadow over the glory that is our mundane existence.

An important distinction needs to be made: Monks do yoga practice for different reasons then moms and dads.

I got lots of life stuff going on right now and I know that I am not the only one. A beautiful thing about sending out these intimate bits is that people who read them get to know something about me personally and when I see them at the center and ask: “how’s it going?”, they often feel license to give me an honest answer.

We all got jobs and apartments and relationships that require a lot of effort. Getting all that going in a good way is the yoga of a house-holder. I have belabored a consideration of dualistic and non-dualistic frameworks for yoga (see The Steps We Take and Discernment is Vital.) Instead, I will state my point here plainly:

The ultimate goal of yoga is to be well and appreciate life. The breathing and moving exercises we do are nothing more than a way of easing discomfort and encouraging conducive perspective. In turn, practice also tends to facilitate intimacy, strengthen relationships and make life more enjoyable. This practical application of yoga has always existed and ought not be obscured by zealots or profiteers.

Of course, this is just my opinion. Others may disagree.
 

All the dishes will be clean before they get back.  I value my marriage too much to allow my wife to ever see our kitchen sink in such a state of disregard.  This is a testament to the benefits of partnership.  Pleasing my wife makes me a better person by mitigating my tendency towards sloth.

The dishes in the sink are really only a symptom of a deeper strain.  This week also marks 22 years ago that my mother died.  I have written about how reconciling her passing led me to Yoga and an appreciation of life’s inherent worth (see How I Came to Yoga) but the pang of grief and the uncertainty in life that death so starkly reveals can just as easily trigger a more foreboding outlook.

My sense of life’s inherent majesty can sometimes feel at terrible odds with the injustice and suffering that life also encompasses.  The pressures of being in the world and meeting the responsibilities that that entails can overshadow my fragile certitude and color me bleak.  Some part of me resents the way the world is.  I feel frustrated by the insidious folly of our politics.  I am saddened by the short-sightedness and lack of humanity that so poisons the well.

I am working hard and doing my best to make an honest living.  If I want to leave some dirty dishes in the sink then, gosh darn it, I damn well will.

I realize this may be a convenient excuse.  I’m not trying to justify the behavior.  All I’m saying is that, for those who have chosen to walk a straight and narrow path, there are few safe outlets for rebellion.  When events begin to weigh heavy, I think its OK to let a few things slide.

I am struck by how, given the opportunity, my old ways can reemerge like no time has passed.  Fortunately, time has passed and I have managed to cultivate some alternative patterns of behavior.  The old pattern of self- doubt, fear, living like a slob and thinking life’s injustice means that nothing matters is not my only option.

Exercising some executive authority over my patterns is kind of like this optical illusion.  The red dot can appear on the inside or the outside of the box, depending on how you see it.  If you concentrate on it enough, you can get it to change back and forth at will.

The ability to make these sort of shifts is contingent on some awareness that there is more then one way to see it.  Without engaging new patterns first, we have no choice but our default settings.

An important thing to note is that just because I have new patterns doesn’t mean that the old ones are gone.  A friend once told me about a Yiddish saying that translates roughly as:

“Scrub the tub before enlightenment, scrub the tub after enlightenment.”

Even after we manage to affect some positive change in ourselves, there is often maintenance work to be done.  Whatever peace of mind and perspective on overcoming challenges I might be able to breath and move my way into, I still have to do the dishes.
 

Let there be no doubt that life can be severely ironic.  Two weeks after I sent out remarks on the sacrifices my wife was making for our family, she got laid off from that soul-sucking job that was providing us health insurance.

She worked at the same company for more than six years.  They gave her three days notice.  Corporate management sure is cruel in its inhumanity.  The health insurance racket is even worse.

Fortunately, our situation is not dire.  We’ve been biding our time and planning for her to leave that job eventually.  Proactively changing a situation that is currently working feels foolhardy, even when the need is obvious.  The forces that be must have felt we were dragging our feet a little too much and decided to intercede on our behalf.  Funny how life does that sometimes.

Brings to mind a line by Bob Dylan.  My daughter has taken a shine to a childrens book made of his song Forever Young.  She makes me read it to her over and over again.

“May you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift.”

Indeed.  Question is: what constitutes a foundation that provides the fortitude to weather unforeseen changes when they come?  Clearly, the foundation must be internal.  Any foundation built in the external world is subject to the temporal nature of passing things.

Change and setting new goals is a common subject for yoga newsletters and publications in the month of March.  What dismays me some is that the changes and goals most commonly spoken of always seem to be about poses:  “This Spring, my goal is to work on forearm stand.”

I can’t help but think that making a goal of poses is misguided.  Not to mention, trying different poses in your practice does not necessarily amount to any real changes of consequence.  If we are going to set goals in practice, I think they want to be more important then displays of physical prowess.

When I have faced challenges in my life, my ability to execute difficult body positions was of no help.  However, utilizing breathing and moving exercises to establish self management skills and a sense of inner poise has proven invaluable.

Its understandable that our tendency is to gravitate towards goals that can be more easily measured.  There is no objective metric for how we feel about being alive or our sense of self-worth.  Its not always clear how engaging our breath and body would have anything to do with such subtle nuances in our person.

One thing is clear.  Couching practice (or life) in a success or failure dynamic, characterized by ambition and accomplishment, undermines the inner foundation of self love that is our birthright and reinforces a social imprint of shame.

Tenderness and self-care leads to self-worth.  The empowerment that comes from knowing how to make yourself feel better and appreciate life’s inherent miracle is not contingent on the shape of events or the external identifications and definitions we choose to indulge.  Consequently, we become less subject to the whims of stature and life can be embraced however it unfolds.

My most recent essay, Thinking About Pain and Health, went to print in the Spring 2011 issue of Yoga Therapy Today (published by the IAYT – International Association of Yoga Therapists) and is now posted on the website.  Some may remember the advanced e-copy I sent out at the end of last year.  The piece ended up undergoing a considerable rewrite and further editing.  The final version speaks more directly to how we can ease pain and thinking conducive to health.  Please enjoy.

Does life ever get easier?  Short answer: no.  I realize that doesn’t sound altogether yogic.  Not to mention, it was only last month that I waxed poetic on living through the difficulty of winter as the fertile soil of new possibilities.  While those ideas hold true and offer some useful perspective, I must admit, they are of little comfort when the rubber meets the road and the tires are running a bit flat.  Thereafter has not bloomed quite yet.

Maybe its because taxes are looming or because I have been watching too much cable news but I can’t seem to shake this proverbial carrot from dangling out in front of me that says if only I made more money than everything would be so much easier.  Despite the common moral stories to the contrary, it sure seems like more money would solve some issues.

I’m under no illusions about the relative nature of wealth and its relationship to a sense of fulfillment in life.  I know lots of people who make a lot more money than me and they are not necessarily any more at ease for it.  I accept that life is difficult by nature.  When life feels easier its because of a combination of circumstances, often not in my control, and my ability to manage and mitigate the challenges that life presents.

How do I manage and mitigate the trade-offs that come from making yoga my profession with the fact that my wife has to work a job that depletes her well being so we can afford health insurance for our budding family?  My ability to address the most pressing issues before me is where my practice is required.

Fact is, the question of whether my life would be easier if I had more money is entirely irrelevant.  We are doing fine and there really is nothing more I can do about it right now.  If there was, I would most certainly take action.

In the meantime, dwelling too heavily on the situation amounts to, what yogis like to call, a big fat “mental fluctuation.”  Striving for some future change that is beyond my control only serves to cast an exacerbating shadow and reinforce the downside of things.

The whole story has to include the countless blessings that are bestowed upon me everyday.  The sun rose.  I am alive.  I have love and friendship to share.  As long as my immediate needs are being met then gratitude is the only appropriate response.

I will continue to do whatever I can, within reason, to make more money so I can spare my dear wife the sacrifices she is currently making on our behalf.  I will make extra efforts to help her in any way I can and shoulder more of the burden at home.  Most importantly, I will express my love and appreciation for her every day.

Before I was a yoga teacher, I spent some time as a starving musician.  I play the electric bass.  There is this turn of phrase I remember from those days that seems particularly apropos here:  When you are playing a song in a band and the drummer starts to lose the beat or the guitar player is out of tune and it starts to feel like the jam could unravel, you just put your head down, tap your foot with a little more conviction and “hold it down.”

Usually, it all comes together in the end.  If it doesn’t, there is always more music to be made.

This time of year I always recall a passage from an obscure little book called Light On the Path:

“Look for the flower to bloom in the silence that follows the storm; not till then.  It shall grow, it will shoot up, it will make branches and leaves and form buds, while the storm continues, while the battle lasts.

Then will come a calm such as comes in a tropical country after the heavy rain, when nature works so swiftly that one may see her action.  Such a calm will come to the harassed spirit.

And, in the deep silence, the mysterious event will occur.  Call it by what name you will.  Its a voice that speaks where there is none to speak, it is a messenger that comes – a messenger without form or substance.  It cannot be described by any metaphor.  But it can be felt after, looked for, and desired, even amid the raging of the storm.

The silence may last a moment of time, or it may last a thousand years.  But it will end.  Yet you will carry its strength with you.  Again and again, the battle must be fought and won.

It is only for an interval that nature can be still.”

I usually stay away from war terminology but the fall into winter often feels a lot like a battle.  My work load increases just as the weather turns bitter and uninviting.  The overriding impulse is to withdraw and avoid the daunting burden altogether.  Honestly, I just want to sit on my couch and watch bad t.v. until March. There was a time when I could get away with doing just about that but those days have since past.

Nowadays, I have a few useful directives that get me through:

I never use the word “depressed” to describe how I feel.  When I’m depressed its like my state of mind is a terminal disease that excludes all other emotions.  There are many other words I can choose, maybe sad or overwhelmed, but my default setting is “melancholy.”

Melancholy makes my suffering seem more romantic.  Being in low spirits doesn’t have to just be about feeling miserable, it can also be reflective and creative.  Sadness can be beautiful.  I can feel overwhelmed by my situation and still have joy.

How I am thinking about what is happening affects what is happening.  Choosing my words carefully helps encourage constructive thinking.

Also, my health encompasses the full range of emotions and experiences, including the ones that I wish to avoid.  Feeling a bit down once in a while is a perfectly healthy thing.  Living through the challenging periods is how I strengthen my personal fortitude and resilience.  My facility is not measured by how many great days  I have in a row but by how well I manage the not-so-great days when they come.

When the cold does set in, my recourse is to take simple comfort in my practice and forge ahead with a measured effort and a nurturing sentiment.  The weather will start to turn in no time.   Just have to keep my wits about me till then.  That’s how we earn our Spring here on the east coast.

Many of you have been privy to the evolution of these posts over the last year.  Somewhere along the way, I started thinking of it less as advertising and more an honest inquiry and exchange of thought.  My inspiration has been largely fueled by your responses.

That anyone even reads this much less takes a moment to send me a note of appreciation feels like some small triumph of the soul, awash in this sea of zeros and ones we call the internet.  In particular, two recent correspondences have spurred the sentiments I wish to finish this year with and carry into the new.

One pointed me to a physicist named Richard Feynman.  He asserts that uncertainty is a fact.  Anyone who tries to present something as though it were a certainty is deluding themselves and potentially others.  He goes on to say that the purpose of studying physics, and I would add yoga, is not to solve Life’s grand riddle but merely to have some greater sense of what is actually happening.  Forever searching for an answer that would provide some hypothetical certainty that does not exist is absurd.

The second led me to a researcher named Brene Brown.  She looked into the concept of “whole-heartedness” and why some people seem to live out their lives with a feeling of fulfillment and others do not.  She determined that the key was vulnerability.  Those who enjoy harmony and meaning embrace sources of fear and shame as the place from which they also derive strength.

For me, the two ideas connect.  Having courage and compassion is what makes it OK that I don’t know whats going to happen.  In fact, Life is much more interesting because it remains a continual mystery.

This time last year, as I was anticipating becoming a new dad, the uncertainty of my situation felt overwhelming.  I remember talking about FEAR-TENSION-PAIN cycles and easing them with RITUAL-RHYTHM-RELAXATION.  The things I was worrying about then are now mostly irrelevant and there are all sorts of new things I can worry about if I let myself.

In yoga, teachings suggest that its best to cultivate a state of contentment.  I used to think that meant everything would be perfect and was striving to make it so.  Now, I think its just a matter of being fine with the way things are, perfect or not.

As Feynman says, “Whatever way it comes out, nature is there and she’s gonna come out the way she is.”

Maybe I can accept that Life is fundamentally uncertain and not be paralyzed by the fear that is inherent in that.  Instead, face the challenge with poise and take wonder in how it all plays out.

My daughter is the best yoga teacher ever.  Observing her as she comes into the wonderment of her own body for the first time is the ultimate example.  She has learned to bring herself to standing by holding on to the side of her crib and hoisting herself up.  Now, whenever she is placed in her crib she must practice.  We have difficulty getting her down to sleep because she is so enthralled with her new sense of facility.

She looks at me as if to say, “Isn’t this amazing?”And I say, “Yes. It is. Isn’t it?”

Since my previous note post about the adage: no steps need to be taken, I happened into some deep philosophical debate on this topic with several prominent yoga teachers of another bent than myself.  The sticking point between us represents a fundamental difference of view.

Using terms loosely, the “qualified” non-dualist believes that in order to be liberated and realize oneness we must first transcend the seeming duality around us.  Patanjali’s eight-limbed path is taught as steps that lead towards states of meditation where we experience ourselves as no longer individuated, often referred to as the “ultimate reality” or “true self” or “enlightenment.”

To the “radical” non-dualist, there simply is no duality to begin with so nothing needs to be transcended, only appreciated and enjoyed.  Patanjali’s sutras are considered a valuable and interesting source of inquiry but not a prescription for some future goal.

From the “radical” perspective, the “qualified” notion that freedom requires rigorous effort is based on the assumption that we are currently not free.  The goal implies its absence and practice becomes an attempt to get somewhere or gain something that is currently lacking.  If there is nothing that needs to realized or attained, because life has already been perfectly given, then practice is merely a ritual of participating intimately with the fact of what is actually taking place.

Honestly, debating this fine point with my fellow teachers got a little testy.  The “radical” view does inherently call into question much of the foundation on which classical yoga has been built.  It’s impossible to get around.  Yet, I would be remiss if I did not admit that passion sometimes gets the best of me.  How easily I felt myself the same punk kid I’ve ever been, except the chip on my shoulder is now an OM symbol.

When it comes to the character and purpose of practice, there are important distinctions to be made.  Depending on the viewpoint, the experience of yoga changes drastically.  At the same time, if I compare yoga teachers of any sort to say Sarah Palin supporters, we are still in harmony in more ways then not.  I would not want to let my zeal for discernment foster division.  I have maturing yet to do.

Nonetheless, I stand firmly in the belief that discernment is vital.  Knowing what we are doing and why we are doing it is utterly important.  Putting people on a spiritual merry-go-round where they have to work really hard to get to some unknown future place that they never get to, only strive for, is a cruel dysfunction of social mind that has been thrust upon us throughout time.  Yoga practice is a means to undo this terrible disservice.

My daughter is a totally free and realized being.  She is experiencing the sheer wonder of her existence without a filter.  As she grows and her mind develops, she will come to know difficulties and her perceptions may well end up obscuring the truth that she now celebrates.  My hope is that she will also develop a means by which to ease the difficulties and perceptions that would stand in the way of her full enjoyment and participation in life.

Anyone reading these notes who wishes to take issue with any of my assertions or express a different view, I invite your feedback.

The non-dual interpretation of Yoga that I espouse is often signified by the adage: no steps need to be taken.  I have grappled with this adage.  Mostly, I wrote it off as a cliche of sorts like “Carpe Diem” or “you could walk outside right now and get hit by a bus.”  I am intellectually sympathetic to the idea that life is best lived in the present but have found this of little consolation when the strains of life begin to bear down.

It’s hard to escape the feeling that there are things I would like to have happen in my life and efforts I might make that could help bring them to fruition.  How can no steps need to be taken when it feels an awful lot like some steps still need to be taken?

Most of the steps that feel like they need to be taken, in one way or another, involve discovering pursuits that fulfill our inspirations, providing resource to support ourselves and families, and having time to enjoy simple pleasures.  All too often, these modest aspirations seem dashed.  Fulfilling our inspirations and enjoying simple pleasures is unwittingly sacrificed just trying to make enough money to pay the bills.

Fortunately, there are aspects to being alive that are not the least bit contingent on time, money or accomplishing goals.  On some level, right now as you are reading this, regardless of your situation, there is no problem.  Whether we are making enough money, realizing our dreams or have the partnership we desire genuinely does not matter.  As easy as it is to write it off, any one of of us could have a brain aneurysm in the next minute and die.  Happens all the time.

Personal and financial responsibilities notwithstanding, the fickle nature of events makes struggling and worrying largely for naught.  More importantly, pain and confusion can never fully eclipse the miracle of your own existence.

What I am beginning to understand is that the adage, no steps need to be taken, is referring to an overarching perspective more than the events on our daily planners.  The suggestion is not that we renounce our worldly pursuits and sit in silent repose but rather an utterly pragmatic and emboldening attitude.

There is nowhere you need to get to.
Nothing needs to be done.
Then, continue doing what you’re doing.

I will continue to make every effort to create the life I wish to have and, in the absence of a clear course, I will be content with the way things are and keep an eager eye for any potential fronts.  In the meantime, I choose to give more import to what I may have some say in and meet the rest with unyielding lightheartedness.

I invite others to join me.  Nothing is better for shedding unnecessary anxiety then useful perspective.

Eventually, I’d be hurried to her bedside regardless: for fear she was not going to make it through the night. I remember the nurse coming into the waiting room quickly and saying, “She’s awake!” Next, I see my mother in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of her nose. My sister breaks down sobbing and rushes to her side. My mother is semi-hysterical, crying and exclaiming, “I am not ready to go!”

At the time, I had never exhibited much poise or depth. I tended to be somewhat hyperactive and scattered. I spent a lot of time daydreaming. Yet, in this most crucial moment, something I cannot explain happened.

In a strange flash of clarity that I have been inquiring to understand ever since, I grabbed my mother by the gown, jarring her present and bringing her eyes to mine, and said, “Mom, I love you very much and I’m going to do great things in my life and make you proud of me. I’m not going to come see you in the hospital again.” She nodded in acknowledgement and gave me a pained smile. I kissed her on the cheek and walked out of the room. That was the last time I saw my mother.

In the years that followed, disillusionment set in gradually. I moved from Los Angeles to New York, went to NYU and graduated with a degree in the fine arts. After I finished school, things got much worse. At some point, I got very low, so low that I felt I either needed to kill myself or find another way to live. Fortunately, I chose the latter.

Even after making this choice, I had no idea what to do. One of the only things I could think of was going to a yoga class. I’d been exposed to yoga in college and, even in those most cynical of days, could not deny how it seemed to make me feel better. I liked that it was ancient and sacred, and about things that are important.

First, I gravitated towards an Ashtanga, power vinyasa style. The intensity suited my struggling temperament. I gained discipline and some immediate gratification but was still largely hurting myself, only now with good intention.

Then, I explored an Iyengar based approach. I became more aware and technically proficient but the emphasis on accomplishing alignment ended up playing into a lack of self-esteem in me. There was always another variation I couldn’t do, my shoulder was never quite rotated properly and, even though I was somewhat impressive on the mat, I was still in a lot of pain.

Ultimately, I found my way to an entirely therapeutic orientation, inspired by the TKV Desikachar/Krishnamacharya tradition. By simplifying, slowing and centering my practice on breath, I was able to cultivate a more measured and patient mode of engagement and a different context for my practice where I was no longer trying to transcend my difficulties but rather learning how to ease them and just enjoy the fact that I am here.

I didn’t know it when I started but the course of my yoga practice has been the process of reconciling my mothers death. It’s difficult to explain how doing breathing and moving exercises can, inadvertently, carry with them the weight of facing mortality. Something about bringing careful attention to my breath and body, the most tangible expression of the fact that I am currently alive and the very thing that will be taken away from me in death, provides an experience that lessens the burdens I carry and illuminates life’s inherent worth.

From this standpoint, overcoming the difficulties that life presents becomes a celebratory endeavor and I feel strangely grateful for my mothers passing. The pain and sorrow I feel because of my mothers death, still just as powerful today as when I was sixteen years old, is what led me to yoga and a deeper appreciation for life’s blessings. My life has a deeper sense of purpose as a result.

As a teacher, I get to witness others as they, often unknowingly, reconcile their situations and come to the same reverence for life’s majesty. Playing some role in facilitating people discovering yoga and health makes me feel that I am of some use and reaffirms everything I hold dear.

Whenever someone comes up to me after class or drops me an emotional email to tell me how much they are benefiting from their practice, I feel the warmth of my mothers touch and know that I have succeeded in fulfilling my promise.

On more then one occasion, I have been at a social gathering where, upon learning that I am a yoga teacher, someone says, “Oh, I do yoga.  Have you ever heard of P90X?”  An appropriate response always seems to elude me.

For anyone who has never been up late channel surfing and come across the infomercial, P90X is a series of home fitness DVD’s.  The system is based on what the creator calls “muscle confusion”  and consists of a poly-circuit of varied daily exercise routines, one of which is “yoga.”  The advertisements boast a total body transformation.  Apparently, the key to sculpting the body of your dreams is to mix it up and keep yourself guessing.  The testimonials are quite convincing.

Having consulted some anatomy wonk friends, as I understand it, a muscle may lengthen, shorten or remain the same.  Technically, it’s impossible to “confuse” a muscle.  I cannot speak to whether keeping the mind in flux is an effective way to sculpt the body.  When it regards Yoga, nothing could be more counter-productive.

The yoga component of P90X does offer some introductory words about Yoga being more then just the physical but the actuality of what follows belies the sentiment.  Unfortunately, plenty of yoga classes employ much the same philosophy and present the same disconnect between word and deed.  Many classical assertions about yoga have similar characteristics.

The distinguishing factor between doing yoga positions for physical fitness or alternate purposes and utilizing yoga poses for health is the mentality that goes into the engagement of the forms.  Monks engage intense physicality to challenge their minds’ ability to transcend the difficulty and progress towards realization.  The conventional yoga goer of today subjects themselves to the same sorts of treatment as a means to escape the stresses of life and have a more aesthetically pleasing body.

Whether trying to achieve enlightenment or abs, the mentality is largely the same.  The line of argument most in favor of forever increasing challenge suggests that by taking the physicality “to the edge” and beyond, the mind becomes more concentrated and we will experience increased growth.  One student said, “When we are doing the simple exercises, my mind is all over the place.  I need something more challenging so I can focus.”

If your mind is all over the place when you’re doing a simple form then, fact is, that is what is happening.  Your mind is all over the place.  Increased physical challenge can successfully overwhelm the senses and obscure your minds’ ruminations, as in the expression “get out of my head.”  This can be enjoyable, even beneficial; however, the “high” will eventually wear off and the underlying state of anxiety remains.  The cycle of distraction/ relief will need to be repeated again and again, sometimes with unintended detriment.

One of the primary stated purposes of Yoga practice is to reduce the “fluctuations” of mind so that we can have clarity in our experience.  Engaging the physical forms intends to bring ourselves present, not distract us from it.

Its understandable that being present when we are filled with anxiety is not initially enjoyable but in order to begin the process of easing what ails us, we first need to acknowledge that it exists.  Like a cold that lasts for months instead of a few days because its been covered up by taking nasal decongestants, we have to let ourselves feel whatever it is before we can overcome it.

By embracing what is present, even when it is unfavorable, we are in a position to develop an alternate course.  Otherwise, things are likely to continue as they are despite our best efforts.  Until we can be with ourselves, doing nothing, and feel relatively at ease, the chances that we will ever feel at ease when we are doing things and being with other people are very slim.

The key to cultivating a Yoga practice that is not just another distraction is the context and mentality it encompasses.  For the most part, everyone is doing the same forms.  How and why we are doing them is making for drastically different experiences and results.

A couple weeks back, I ran into someone who attended my class regularly in the past but discontinued coming after moving to a new apartment. She told me how much she missed the practice we were doing, that she still goes to yoga classes but they are not the same. She felt compelled to admit to me that there is often injurious things happening in these classes and she has sometimes hurt herself inadvertently. She quickly added, “…..but I really like the challenge.” The statement struck me because it implied that a simple and more deliberate practice is somehow not a challenge. Actually, being consistently careful and attentive with my breath and body is no small task.

Articulating the sort of challenge that a therapeutic orientation presents can be subtle and elusive. Recently, I found an interesting way to express it in, of all places, a documentary film on “base jumping.” For those who may not be familiar with the extreme sport of base jumping, basically, you strap a parachute to your back and jump off of a cliff or bridge or building and pull the chord just in time to keep yourself from dying a terrible death.

The statistics involved in this activity are startling. Anyone who has base jumped regularly for any period of time knows someone who has died from it. Even if you execute your jump with technical perfection, a gust of wind can blow and your done.

The documentary featured a woman who had been jumping for several years and was faced with a serious dilemma. She knows that if she continues to jump, she will likely die from it and, yet, she can not imagine life without jumping. She described how overcoming the rush of fear that comes just before she jumps was empowering and left her with a feeling she could not get anywhere else. Her family was beside themselves, pleading for her to stop.

What got me thinking was that while she had the courage to overcome the immediate and arbitrary challenge of jumping off a cliff, she seemed utterly afraid of just living out her life. She took pleasure in almost killing herself but was disenchanted with the miracle of simply being alive.

Living out a long life in an honorable way, without regrets, and with some modicum of health and joy is perhaps the greatest challenge we face. Such an accomplishment rarely gets much credit, save for obituaries.

In 1998, I had the rare pleasure of spending some time in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains. One of the days I was there, we took a day trek to Amayangri Stupa (Amayangri means “the top,”) an ancient site dedicated to contemplation and reflection, marked by a modest configuration of stones and tattered prayer flags. This was the highest elevation possible given that I was not a climber and to go any further requires equipment and training.

Nonetheless, I remember the four hour hike being quite a challenge. A combination of thinning air and rigorous physical exertion brought on a strange sort of delirium. Memories, pent emotions and unusual trains of philological thought swirled in my head with an intensity that verged on panic at times.

When we finally made it to the revered spot, I felt some considerable disappointment because the sky was completely overcast and visibility was next to nothing. After all the effort to get there I was hoping for a majestic view. Instead, we stood as though in the middle of a cloud
with the surroundings completely whited out.

After I had accepted that perhaps I would be denied the coveted post-card shot and took in the fact that I was actually standing in the middle of a cloud, I noticed my mind was no longer swirling. In fact, I started to feel downright serene.

At about what seemed the same moment, there was a sudden and brief break in the white curtain that enveloped the stupa and the expansive beauty of nature peaked through. As I witnessed the sky gently peel open, I felt my mind spread out in all directions. As though I could stay there forever and not be the least bit bored. It was the first time in my life that I experienced contentment (and I managed to get a photo all the same, see above.)

Since then, the experience has been repeated. Even just a beautiful sunset or a moment gazing up at the full moon on a clear night can often suffice to bring me back to the same sense of awe and wonder. Yet, there are other times when it eludes me.

Here in our humble village of Brooklyn, it sometimes seems that my thoughts are forever bouncing back at me, ricocheting off the concrete and steel, banging around in my head and keeping me up at night. My remedy is a simple program of careful breathing and moving,
followed by a final rest (savasana.)

After easing ourselves through practice, final relaxation can readily produce the same feeling I had in the Himalayan mountains. Instead of looking outwards at the expansive beauty of nature, we drop inwards into the expansive beauty of nature that is you currently existing. In
much the same way, the mind spreads out and we can be at rest.

Being urban dwellers does not mean we are separate from Nature. The same forces are at work both inward and outward. To experience and understand the natural order of things, we need look no further then our own breath.

April 2010 marks twenty one years ago that my mother died of leukemia. Made ever more poignant with the birth of my daughter, just four months ago, who is named after her. Reconciling this loss is what brought me to yoga.

Anyone who has lost someone close to them knows how death, quite abruptly, can bring us to what is most meaningful about life. Superficial things that might normally cause some stress or anxiety don’t seem to matter as much when mom is in the hospital.

The pain and sorrow that I feel because of my moms’ death, still just as powerful today as when I was sixteen years old, has brought a perspective that encourages a greater appreciation for life’s blessings. From this perspective, I feel strangely grateful for her passing. My life has a deeper sense of purpose as a result.

In many respects, I see yoga practice as a proactive way of bringing about this same perspective. So we don’t need to have someone we love die before we then have appreciation for what and who is important to us.

I realize this is a somewhat lofty notion. I can see how someone might think it a far stretch to equate doing breathing and moving exercises to the gravity of facing our mortality.

Here is my reasoning: Our breath and body are the most tangible expression of the fact that we are currently alive and is exactly what will be taken from us in death. When we make a ritual of engaging our breath and body with due care and respect, the experience does tend to illuminate the same humble majesty that death invites. We are thereby emboldened to carry out our lives with an increased sense of sacredness.

Those who frequent my class have probably never heard me mention energy or chakras.  The reason being that these concepts have been so superficially disseminated into our pop culture as to render them almost entirely cliche.  Catch phrases like “feel the energy” or “open your third eye” often make new-age fluff of subtle ancient truths.

Yogic teachings establish that we have both a physical body and an energy body, the latter having “centers” or chakras; however, the correlation between our physical and energy bodies is not as linear as is generally made out to be.

For instance, back-bending encourages an opening across the chest which some would contend correlates to an opening of the fourth or “heart” chakra.  The fourth chakra is associated with our capacity for kindness, compassion and love.  The theory being that by opening our chests we are increasing our capacity for these desirable attributes.

Not necessarily so.  If we are going about our back-bends in an overly forceful or inconsiderate way then, regardless of how impressive the physicality, no “heart” opening is taking place.  There is certainly a  connection between our physical and energy bodies and engaging our physical body can have an affect on our energy body but the link between the two is perhaps more nuanced then direct.

I think of it like this:  If there was ever a time in your life, even just a moment, however fleeting or passing it may have been, when you felt that everything was exactly as is supposed to be.  When life felt like it was in total harmony.  In that moment, your chakras were perfectly aligned.  There may be any number of things you might do that would help encourage and maintain some degree of this state.  Hatha Yoga is particularly constructive in this regard.

Practically speaking, the term energy simply refers to how something feels.  Engaging breath and body, eating, sleeping, having friends and lovers, basically everything we do and think is playing into the equation of our experience and is expressed in how we feel and behave, or our energy body.

Ultimately, the quality and intention with which we engage the forms, be they asana or other, is what determines the affect.  In many respects, the form is irrelevant.  As I once heard U.G. Krishnamurti say, “Your physical body is your physical body and your energy body is your energy body.”

When these concepts are made out to be something esoteric or super-natural and end up being the punchline on a TV sitcom, we become blinded to what is merely natural and inherent to all of us.

Sometimes I question the merits of Yoga Journal Magazine. There are good ideas and inspirational sentiments to be found in this publication but it’s difficult to separate from the not always so subtle inclination of effective advertising to exploit low self-esteem. Magazines depicting idealized notions of beauty that make us feel worse about ourselves is nothing new but, in the context of yoga, feels inappropriate.

Setting aside the incongruity of yoga and market forces for now, when well intentioned considerations of yoga mix loosely with bottom-line business, essential principles can be inadvertently misconstrued.

The most recent issue of YJM offered the following passage:

“‘How on earth will I ever be able to do Hanumanasana? It seems so hopelessly far away from what I can do’  But you don’t have to do it in one day, or even ever.  And you aren’t a lesser person for not doing Hanumanasana.  But in your head you might tell yourself, ‘I’m going to do my best to do a version of Hanumanasana that doesn’t injure me.  It’s my goal to get to my idea of Hanumanasana.’”

Ostensibly, this sounds encouraging. I concur that its best to work incrementally and safely, with a tempered relationship to end results.  The question is whether it’s sensible to make a goal of asana, especially Hanumanasana (full splitz.) We are told that “you don’t have to do it in one day, or even ever” and that the goal is to get to “my idea of Hanumanasana” but there is still the implication that it would be favorable to do the fully realized form.

In my early years of practice, I made a goal of Hanumanasana.  I worked patiently and with great determination over time without injury and, eventually, was able to perform this feat. I spent another several years celebrating my ability with much satisfaction.

Unfortunately, it’s fifteen years later now and I am prone to inflammation in my right hip. Sometimes it can flare up pretty bad and even be a bit debilitating. Fact is, Hanumanasana is an expression of “hyper-mobility” which often leads to a range of conditions characterized by inflammation.

From a standpoint where the purpose of Hatha yoga is to facilitate and maintain a healthy functioning body, there is no reason why a person would ever need to be able to do Hanumanasana. However unattached we may be in working towards it, the goal belies our better purpose. This goes to last months post about the “perceived need for arbitrary challenges” and a tendency towards goals with “presumptive or defeating premise.”

Touting images of flashy classical asana demonstrations as examples of “mastery” has led to a gross exaggeration of physical practice, beyond the point of practicality, and has fueled a physical fitness industry that is more concerned with aesthetics than health. I realize that I may be taking a hard view of things but seeing past the cultural sensationalizing of just about everything can be a daunting task given the deeply ingrained mores stacked against it. Some amount of push back seems necessary.