Day 3 and 4 Folding Inwards

There is something decidedly uncompetitive about this sadhana practice. Slowly, gently folding in. I feel competitive though, being me, being one of the oldest in the class. I'm working on giving myself permission to be slower, more bent. It's quite difficult to be one with an uncompetitive activity. Gently does it, second by second. If the knees are bent, they need to be bent.

Day Two Folding Inward

I am stronger, more balanced and more flexible than I think.

Day One Folding Inward

Energy. I have heaps of it. Even after an early start, a demanding day at the office, a brisk walk home and cooking dinner--I'm lively, wired even. I remember this from earlier sadhana practices; feeling bulletproof from fatigue.

I also managed three pretty intense and potentially volatile meetings with ease and humour.

And my inner thighs ache like you wouldn't believe. There will be arnica rub tonight.

The Next Forty Days

Today marks the last day of a two week break from yoga practice. My body did feel like it needed a rest after four x 40-day practices since January. But strangely, over the two weeks of sleeping in and resting physically, some of my old aches and pains have come back. It will be interesting to see if they flee when I get back on the mat tomorrow.

Maybe more importantly, someone at work asked me last week, "Are you still doing yoga every morning?" I said no, we've got a break for two weeks. He said, "I thought so!" In the kindest possible way. I know what he means. 

This writing practice has been a bit of a non-event, but there's a piece of me that knows I want to do this, can do this... write about more than what's going on out there in the garden, in the kitchen. Write about what's going on inside. So during this sadhana practice I will write something every day. It may just be a sentence. (I don't always need to write an essay.) I just commit to it being honest and aware. The focus is folding inward.

Transformers

My shoulders are giving up, very slowly by the millimetre, the crampiness, scrunching, and gripping that they've become accustomed to over the years. Sounds good, but I'm discovering that they weren't just scrunching for the hell of it. They were working hard to compensate for injuries, provide balance, and generally try to restore normalcy in an otherwise messed up body... sounds a bit like me and life at large.

Anyway.  About 20 years ago, I had a pretty spectacular fall while I was skiing down a steep off-road trail in my long, slick track skis... not the gear for the job. My right arm got wrenched out of its socket and it wouldn't lift up of its own accord for ages. Eventually it "healed" and got back to "normal". Not. Now I realise that the shoulder adjusted to help the injured wing flap again, and in the process, got itself all out of sorts.

This journey into the body is amazing. This week the right shoulder finally gave up its grip on the injured arm. Consequently the arm couldn't lift, not without a lot of pain; right back to square one on the icy trail under Crown Peak. Wow.

So twenty days into the arm practice, I'm rehabilitating a 20 year old injury on the yoga mat. I do feel like a doll or a transformer, moving piece by piece, millimetre by millimetre, joint by joint, into a new body.

Playing Dolls

Playing dolls was the only unconditionally accepted leisure activity in my childhood. Well, playing with anatomically acceptable dolls. Baby dolls were OK. Young girly dolls were OK. Barbie was not OK. Barbie had breasts, buttocks, high heels and a boyfriend. She was bad. Skipper wasn't OK either -- she'd hit puberty.

So it is with great amusement that I lie on the mat in yoga class, preparing for yogi lifts by making Barbie feet. I can see my mother in heaven, looking down at me, and I imagine she's probably still scandalised by Barbie.

I was thinking the other day, as I did slow motion windmills, that the yoga practice is quite a bit like playing dolls. In this version, my body is the doll. I'm moving her limbs around, putting her in different positions, seeing how far the various body parts will twist and bend. It's not always a fun game, but I remember dolls being quite a serious activity when we were kids. There was endless feeding and cleaning, dressing, bedding, waking up, pushing around in prams, educating, talking to, telling off... I'm feeling queasy!

Anyway. There's a lesson here somewhere, if I can peel away all the weird layers.

When I played with dolls as a kid, I was under no illusion that I was me and the doll was the doll. We were connected, but not the same thing. In the daily yoga practice, I'm getting a similar vibe with my body. The body isn't me -- well not all of me. I embody the body -- inhabit it. And I'm learning to master it -- how it moves, how it reacts to different stress and situations. I'm recognising how emotions smack into it or flow through it, depending on its frame of mind. How it sleeps, and how it's started to adjust itself when it's asleep, gently moving the shoulders down, giving the neck some space.

I like this relationship with my body. It feels healthy. It's as if I've become a caregiver to my physical self. And that is a very good thing.

I'm a doll. What more can I say?

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.

Doing Squat

I mean squat the yoga posture, not squat nothing. Today I did squat for the 94th time. Yes, I am counting. In spite of yesterday's musings about dropping expectations, squat remains my achilles heel, so to speak, and it's starting to do my head in.

In squat, you start with feet about a mat's width apart, you bend the knees into a squat, you keep your spine straight, chest open, shoulders back and down, head up, arms wide with the elbows helping press the knees apart. So far so good.

Then you put your heels on the floor. This doesn't seem to be a problem for people. They squat, balance there as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and then they stand up.

If you're me, the second you move your heels down, you do a slow-motion backwards somersault and get the giggles. It's less disruptive to the class if I just stay up on the balls of my feet and fake squat.

They say it might take some time till you can get your heels down. But 94 times? That can't be normal.

Here are all the possible explanations why I can't do squat:

• I haven't had children. Nope, neither have most of the class.
• I've had too many children. Nice try.
• I'm too old. Nope, older people do squat.
• I'm too small? Nope, the very small can do squat.
• After all this time I expect not to do squat? Maybe that's it.

Perhaps I'm just no good at doing squat. That would be correct. Always making a soup, digging a plot, planting a seed, washing or wiping something.

Here's an experiment. I will allow myself more time to do nothing, and see if that helps me do squat. I have a feeling it just might.

Expectations

I've been thinking about expectations this week -- how they are really just another way we make judgements -- judgments pushed into the future, another thing that takes our attention away from what we're doing right now.

Take this blog. I expected it to be easy to write about not spending money, yoga, an attempt to live more consciously. It's not easy at all. I'm a natural at writing about what's going on our there -- in the kitchen or garden, for example, but I feel shy and vulnerable writing about what's close or inside. But because of my expectation for it to be easy, it's now feeling like a failure, and consequently I've been avoiding it. Don't we all hate hanging around with failure? But aren't we our own worst enemies by courting failure relentlessly?

If I didn't have any expectations, and simply wrote one word after the other, focussing on this word, this blog post...  there would be no chance of failing. Or succeeding in my own mind. And I reckon I would be free!

I was walking down Taranaki Street to the yoga studio on Tuesday, and I realised that the current 40-day practice was feeling a lot different than the previous two. I wasn't feeling any anxiety about it, I was just going, day after day, and doing it. I was lacking expectation. And consequently I was relaxed and happy.

Let me give you a bit of history.

The first 40-day practice, I was expecting to find it super hard to get up and go to yoga at 7.15am day after day. I did find it super hard, but I suspect only because I was constantly thinking about how hard it would be. I was focussed on and anxious about getting through it. On the mat, I was anxious about the postures, which ones I "could" do, which ones I "couldn't", what was easy, what was hard, what I was getting better at, what was still really hard work. This translated into wishing the hard ones would be over and looking forward to the easy ones. I knew the sequence off by heart, in turn dreading and welcoming, depending on which one we were up to. It was all an ordeal, because I was focussed on a whole lot of expectations: finishing the practice, learning the postures, getting through the pain, getting to the end. Failure. Success.

On the recent walk down to the studio, I realised I've pulled my attention in a lot closer in the current practice. Now I just go to the studio every day, listen to the instruction and do the postures. I'm not thinking ahead either, to the next posture, to the end. If you asked me the order of postures I don't think I could tell you. I'm not thinking about them. I haven't got any expectations, positive or negative, and I'm simply doing the practice. My mind wanders a bit, but it's not locked into a pattern of expectations, good and bad, right and wrong.

This has just happened out of the blue. I'm grateful not to be working towards an end. It feels peaceful and easy, like calm, even breathing.

Starting Out

A new blog is just like a new yoga practice. Difficult to fit in for the first few days, a struggle to maintain... and hopefully something to look forward to with uncharacteristic commitment once it's engrained in daily life.

I've had a full working week back in the office, and can report the following statistics:

• went to yoga every day before work
• lost my temper once on day three
• packed my lunch every day
• saved approx $29 per day by bringing lunch, making coffee and walking to and fro
• spent $32 on lavish Friday lunch
• used three bus ticket credits on old snapper card because too tired to walk home

These days I'm sensing a strong co-relation between the yoga mat and life at large. First, you need to turn up. Second, you do the routine. Third, doing the routine can be tedious beyond belief, or wonderful and adventurous, depending on your mood and attitude. You move from one posture to the next, one task to the next. It's better if you're aware of what you're doing, the movements, responses. You can make adjustments to line things up, breath easier, go deeper, go easy.

On the mat and off, what's going on in the mind pretty much sets the climate. Struggle. Cruise. What's the state in between those two? Where you're feeling you're making progress but not hurting? That sweet spot.

The current yoga practice is focussed on the throat and expression of the truth. That's hard for me. Very hard. But today when we were singing the mantra, I heard my voice surging louder and clearer than before. That was liberating.

Little Voices

Only five minutes into the yoga practice today, I caught myself thinking "jeez, this is a hard one. My arms are aching. I don't like this posture. I can't hold it much longer. Screw it, it's too hard. I'll never be able to get my leg straight..."

These niggly voices live comfortably and permanently in my head. Sometimes they're having the raging arguments and screaming matches I would never have in person. Sometimes they're reminding me how much happier (and attractive and interesting) I will be when I've bought that new pair of boots -- boots that I deserve because I work so hard. Sometimes they're little grumpy bums whining "I don't wanna get up. I'm still tired..." And often they're sneering and being rude to complete strangers. They're actually quite embarrassing. Thank God nobody else can hear them.

I know this is normal. Maybe what's not so normal is becoming aware of them. A regular yoga practice does a lot of good things to my body -- makes it stronger, more flexible, more coordinated and graceful, particularly more aware of how I sit or stand (or slouch and scrunch). But it's doing a lot of the same things to my mind. Like making it notice how much idle, useless chatter-thinking goes on in there. Chatter-thinking is just an interference, but it stops me from fully experiencing what I'm doing -- and I suspect this prevents me from really enjoying what I'm doing and doing it well. It really is the mind version of a slouch or habitually scrunched up shoulders. Limiting strength and flexibility, restricting movement, causing pain. Your body doesn't move as well as it should if you're slouched; your mind doesn't function as brilliantly as it should when it's constantly noisy.

I imagine we can control our thoughts in the same way as we correct long-term postural problems. I prefer the kind and gentle approach -- the one I'm taking with my shoulders. It starts with noticing when they're scrunched up around my ears, and gently moving them down onto my back where they really belong. It's taking months, but slowly, surely, I'm getting so much benefit from this realignment. Breathing deeply is easier, standing and sitting up straight is possible, my neck and shoulders don't spasm any more... I'm taller. I'm also more vulnerable now that I don't feel "protected" around the neck and chest, but that's another story.

Can I apply this approach to chatter-thinking? Noticing it is easy... it's when I feel resistant to everything and all my energy is in my head. On the yoga mat that's the "this is too hard, I'm never going to... " message. Or the "what on earth is the time?" message. The gentle approach is to check in and see if I'm breathing deeply and smoothly. (I'm not. If I was, I wouldn't be having a whinefest in my head.) So start breathing deeply and smoothly. This pulls the focus from my head into my body, so I can feel what's going on in my trunk and limbs, hands and feet. Honestly if you focus on getting your whole body engaged in even the simplest yoga posture, and keep breathing, you have no room left in your head for idle thinking.

The practice that starts and finishes with no sense of time or resistance is a wonderful example of how good it is to be 100% in the moment. It's only 45 minutes in a much longer day, but if I can bring any of that strong quiet energy and focus into the rest of the day, it will be a big improvement.

The Deep End

When I made a resolution to take a yoga class in 2011 I wasn't expecting it to take over my life. I just wanted to go to a class on the way to work a couple of days a week, do something healthy for my body and mind.

Myoga was the only studio in town that offered classes before work, and it's conveniently enroute to the office. The only problem was that the morning class is a 40-day sadhana practice. That's 40 consecutive days of the same yoga practice.

I knew I would struggle with that kind of commitment, but I also quite enjoy diving in the deep end, so I signed up.

The pain of dealing with a strict morning routine (oh how I struggle with the discipline of doing the same thing over and over!!) quickly transformed into an eagerness to get up and get to class every day. The yoga itself was quite challenging for me, but the benefits of the daily practice were impossible to ignore.

I quickly lost the sense of time that has always plagued me. "How long is this going to take? What time is it? When is this going to be over? What time is it?" At some point this line of questioning disappeared, the practice happened and was over. Did I sleep through the whole thing? No. I started to get focused on the job at hand -- not clock watching, but being in this body as it moves and rests. It's a bit like conducting a science experiment... or playing with a doll.

Each 40-day practice focuses on a different part of the body. The first one was the stem/core. The second was the heart. This week we started on the ear, nose and throat. With each practice, new parts of the body are challenged and woken up. I hurt all over, all over again. My throat hurts, particularly, which isn't really surprising. But after the first week the sore muscles will become strong and flexible.

Today as I sat on my purple mat with the scratches inflicted by Snoopy the cat and looked down at my tights covered in dog hair from the last night's big cuddle with Lucy, I felt totally at home, with these people I hardly know but feel very comfortable among. The practice has taken over my life, and I'm very grateful.