#self-practice

Permission to Indulge in a Profound & Healing Practice

Jiyu supports me in one of my deepest practices in a long while… Amazing description of an honest and beneficial personal practice by Angela Farmer

About 4 years ago, a therapist recommended that I practice with the sole intention of healing in mind. It’s fascinating to watch how I resisted that for so long, believing that I…

easter practice at AYInstitute Ulm.

so i injured my knee climbing... not yoga-ing. but it keeps me from practicing full primary or anything close. so it’s about time to throw in some postures to work on shoulder opening and eventually backbending. or maybe rather front-lengthening.

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Deane Juhan, Job's Body, p 5

I don’t show you this picture as something to strive for, or as any mark of achievement. The fact is that some of you will see it as such and some of you will not - it all depends on your own frame of reference, physical and otherwise. I post it as an honest representation of myself and my practice, today, sleeping clothes and unwashed hair included. Someday, maybe soon if the words come, I will tell you more about how I feel about photos of myself in yoga postures and why I’ve been playing with it a bit more lately, but that’s not for today.

Today, I feel the need to tell you that this is not my natural, everyday range of motion. This is post-physical practice, after lots of intense hip-work and sometimes angst-ridden yin-style holds. I’ve been practicing for a long time, and for the first couple of years, I had a disc issue that prevented me from folding forward. When I was finally able to do so without danger or pain, my flexibility grew like the slow glide of a glacier. Strength has come more easily maybe, but that too, is slow. There is not one aspect of this practice that has come easily to me. The result, the benefits, they arise naturally, often joyfully, but never without work. They come regardless of the depth of my forward bend or the ability to lift my own body weight, they come not as a result of an opening in my hips, but as a result of the challenge, the work itself. It’s hard to say whether I am happier in savasana now, with a bit more range of motion and lots more strength, than I had 10 years ago. I doubt it. Every time, if I’ve done the work, the resulting relaxation of my my body feels much the same.

Sometimes we think unkindly on individual challenges in our physical work. As if we might ever be in an asana without feeling some sensation or effort. The challenge is not bad. The sensation tells us we’re alive. It’s all just information. We often say, “I am not that flexible” or “I am not strong” or “I couldn’t do THAT” as if having some particular range of motion, some amount of strength is a measure of the worth of our practice. We often say these things as if we could achieve a particular position, it would mean something (what, I’m not entirely sure, although I have not been immune from striving). We seem to assume that our practice should get less challenging over time, and if anything, I find it’s the opposite. My practice has grown both more challenging and more rewarding, and it’s certainly not a result of any sort of physical achievement (other than feeling generally much healthier).

This morning, I found myself lying around in bed for a good while after I awoke – feeling both cozy and lazy. By the time I slid out of bed and my feet touched the cold floor, I was already hungry, another item in the mounting argument to forego my morning practice. “I’ll do it in the afternoon…” Despite my good intentions though, my practice rarely happens if don’t do it first thing, so I decide to just do it now, to “get it out of the way”.

I start with deep abdominal work – stability has been a theme lately – along with resisting my practice. I work through sun salutes, strong standing poses and balancing. I practice shifting my weight and my center of gravity. I jump and lift, searching for that stable center, to find some control over the momentum. I find suddenly, that a subtle action in my arms increases the support – and remember that I knew this once (days ago? Weeks? Or longer?), but had forgotten. It comes together again and a more integrated, softer lift follows. Then I turn away from the wall and promptly lose my nerve. “Not today, Love. It will be here tomorrow.” I stretch and fold, hips, shoulders, neck. I soften – no, I flop down. Arms splayed, legs too. I rest.

After my practice I make some notes in my journal, about the results of my time on the mat, how I feel – physically, mentally and emotionally. I record what I’m working on and learning, physical details and this, which I want to share with you:

This morning, after a longer sleep in than intended, I am tempted, so tempted to skip my physical practice and head straight to my computer. I’ve already lost a precious hour, I’m already behind on writing, following up with clients, building tools. I recognize this mindset though, and luckily I remember that it rarely does anything to boost my productivity. Getting to the busy work right away only ever exacerbates the feeling of overwhelm. And so I resolve to “lose” another hour.

I pile layers on top of the clothes I slept in and head straight to my mat. Wool socks, hat, long sleeves and sweatshirt, mitts too this morning. I start on the ground, child’s pose, curled in, arms even tucked in tight underneath me, sinking in for a good long while, until I realize with a wry smile that this morning, I must work against that inclination to settle in, to stay. The best way to deal with any sort of stuck-ness in my life is to begin by working my body, a fiery practice as the antidote to these winter blahs, cold dark mornings and an almost unquenchable desire to hide under the covers all day. So I burn it up. Not a raging backdraft, but a clean, focussed burn. I work slow and steady, holding strong poses with a nod to my desire to stay, quivering muscles and controlled breath. As the heat builds, the layers shed. And as I connect with that fire, my sense of adventure slowly returns and I watch that process, that shift. THIS. I work through transitions I cannot do smoothly, poses that I cannot do well, that require more strength or flexibility than I have. I work them carefully, attentively - modifying as needed - but playfully too. I get low to the ground, support myself on my hands - I extend my legs and I laugh when my cheek meets the floor.

This is the sort of practice that reminds me of the possibilities. Observing myself is an ongoing practice, and it’s easy to confuse what I want with what I need. It helps to remember that my ego generally craves comfort or achievement over the uncertain, in between places where my work resides almost always. At times, I need to indulge that need for comfort, to rest and process and acclimate to a new way of being. And other times, I need to turn up the heat.