Silence Please

Today we did a silent practice at the yoga studio. This just means that instead of talking us through the routine, the teacher does the practice with us, saying nothing. We all do the practice in silence. If you lose track of what you're doing, what's up and what's down, you just open your eyes and have a look at what's happening, or listen to the change of breath that accompanies a change of posture, then get back in the groove.

When we had the silent practice in the last two series, I was ready! I knew those sequences off by heart, so moving from one posture to the other was straightforward. Today it was a bit disorienting, only because I've been pulling my attention away from the "what's next" approach, fostering myopia. In spite of my not being able to recite the full play list, the un-assisted-by-instruction practice was lovely. It encourages us to move deliberately with our natural breathing rhythms, make adjustments based on how things feel inside... and that's yoga right there.

Silence also draws a distinction between what we know in our heads and what we know in our bodies. It's quite possible to operate independently of sequential thought -- for the body to move in one direction, then the other, naturally and unthinkingly, just because it's the right thing to do at that time. Weird, I know, but that's how it is.

I found myself not completely without chatter-thinking in today's silent practice. Is there a yoga Barbie? One that does back bends, bridge pose. I wasn't allowed to have Barbie dolls when I was a child (such big breasts being so immodest), so I asked a colleague who grew up on a steady Barbie diet. Is there a yoga Barbie?  One that can do back bends. No. There's aerobic Barbie. But when you think about it, all Barbies are essentially yoga Barbies. Back bends, front bends, side bends, bridge pose, camel, squat, whatever you want Barbie to do with that amazing body of hers, she can do it. And she does it in silence!

We have joked about getting touch with our inner Barbies, but until now I've never thought about that as getting comfortable with a pliant and silent body. But it seems likely, somehow, that silence is the secret to understanding, and the smart new manoeuvre is holding your tongue.