Actually, I know exactly where I am. Happily settled in a rented two-bedroom townhouse, right around the corner from the subdivision where one son lives with his family, and only an hour or so (in good traffic) across town from another. Having spent a good part of my life in this area, I was zipping around quite comfortably within 24 hours of arrival. But that's not the kind of lost I'm talking about.
In spite of being happy in so many ways here, for a while I just felt "off". Lost is as good a way to describe it as any. At first I wrote it off to the change, pure and simple, but on examination it went deeper, right into something I've struggled with in my yoga practice, and in my life - attachment. It's an important discovery, because in both instances attachment can hurt you, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
On an intellectual level, I get it, get it, get it. And I've always thought it wasn't a big issue for me, because I moved often during earlier years. But there was something about moving away from where I've spent the past 30 years that threw me. And it isn't missing the house itself, because I don't. I miss my friends, but thanks to social media and even good old snail mail, I feel like they are still right around the corner. I miss my yoga students, but I know that they are in good hands. And I still have way too much stuff I'm dragging around to really miss any possessions. The problem is what those things represent, and therein lies my attachment. A rental just doesn't feel secure, like my own house did. It doesn't seem permanent. Everyone around me seems pleasant enough, but they are not my old friends. Face it, things like homes and friends help define who we are. So now I have something new to chew on - giving up the things themselves isn't as difficult as learning not to depend on the security they give me. Who am I without them?
Attachment may not seem particularly dangerous on the surface. Being attached shows you care, right? But look at it from the yoga practice perspective. Suppose that I consider shoulderstand to be an essential element of my yoga practice; leaving it out would make my practice incomplete. It's so important that I practice, 20 minutes per day, trying to broaden my shoulders just a little more, to lift my hips just a little higher. Then I pinch a nerve in my neck. Or develop GERD. Or break my collar bone. How will my attachment effect me now? Possibly, push me to go into shoulderstand anyway, doing myself much more damage. Or make me quit practicing all together because now it "just doesn't feel right". Without the attachment, what would I gain - a newfound appreciation for the struggles others have in certain poses, maybe; or for the benefits of meditation and pranayama that I neglected before. An attachment to a certain pose, or a certain teacher or studio or style, limits us, and takes the focus off the process of growth and change that, hopefully, drew us to yoga in the first place.
Of course, we all want and need, close, loving, healthy relationships. And all humans require certain basics - food, shelter - to survive. They aren't bad things, and feeling sad over loss isn't either. My problem is letting my identity be tied up in them. Things I'm attached to are a source of security, a source of pride, but they are not me. And as I struggle to just "be", without my thoughts and possessions defining who I am, I am just as likely to feel like there is nothing under me as I am to have a glimpse of what it is like to be truly free. It's scary, but it matters.
"Overcoming attachment does not mean becoming cold and indifferent. On the
contrary, it means learning to have relaxed control over the mind through understanding
the real causes of happiness and fulfilllment, and this enables us to enjoy life more and
suffer less." - Kathleen McDonald
Friday, October 4, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
A Yin for Action
There is a phrase I repeat to my Yin Yoga classes, almost a mantra, - "patient endurance." It is to remind students that there is much to be learned from resting in discomfort. As we spend three, then four minutes in the pose, I can often see them begin to relax and breathe easy. Other times I see signs of strain - a tightness in the jaw, a constrained breath. As we work through the tension, the lessons learned are as much mental as physical. While the deep tissues stretch the mind is trained to rest and observe the discomfort, not to "fix" it. (Please note I'm not talking about serious pain here, just the stretch we may feel, or the uncomfortable breath - things we can play with. If something really hurts, stop!)
There are times, however, when the whole Yin-patience thing needs to be tossed in favor of working up the equivalent to a full-blown mental Yang sweat. In a flowing, active Yang class, we move with any discomfort. We focus in, locate the source, breathe and let go. We listen to our bodies, asking ourselves questions: "If I rotate my upper arm in, is that better?" "What happens if I widen my collar-bones in this pose?" But through it all, we move, breathing in, breathing out. To both practice safely and to experience the union that yoga's ultimately all about, we have to be constantly mindful of what's happening in the present moment. We learn then to adjust as we go, knowing that if we are mindful and respectful of what's happening inside us we can make the best choices. That's the coolest thing about a yoga practice - how the physical practice of the asanas and meditation enhances our lives off the mat.
Throughout life, we come up against discomforts over and over again. If you have lived any time at all, you know you don't reach a point in life where everything is perfect. If you are lucky, there are always new things to see and do that challenge your old way of thinking and being, and put you right back in the discomfort zone. There are also things that could hardly be considered lucky in the worldly sense, things that shake us down deep in our soul. Things happen where the cultivation of patient endurance pays off, while having a cardiac scan, or sitting by a hospital bed, for example.
We all experience times when a Yin response is the only option. But just like our bodies sometimes tell us we really need the release of a few extra morning sun salutations or a good 90-minute flow class, we learn to recognize the times for action in our life. Not of the heedless, "throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bathwater" kind, but of the Yogic kind. If I alter this - change jobs, move, take this trip - how does that feel? What does my heart tell me? Can I breathe? Is there something in my life that doesn't serve me anymore? Just as there are times in our practice when we have to let go of a particular asana because of injury or age, we recognize situations calling for us to just let go and move on.
There is some thought in yoga that as a person grows older, more of the practice should be Yin styled. Personally, I'm not sure about that. Keeping a balance of the two, we are more intuitively aware of the need for movement, to take action, when age or circumstances make us fearful of change. That is one of the greatest things about a yoga practice - we aren't really late bloomers. We're perpetual bloomers.
There are times, however, when the whole Yin-patience thing needs to be tossed in favor of working up the equivalent to a full-blown mental Yang sweat. In a flowing, active Yang class, we move with any discomfort. We focus in, locate the source, breathe and let go. We listen to our bodies, asking ourselves questions: "If I rotate my upper arm in, is that better?" "What happens if I widen my collar-bones in this pose?" But through it all, we move, breathing in, breathing out. To both practice safely and to experience the union that yoga's ultimately all about, we have to be constantly mindful of what's happening in the present moment. We learn then to adjust as we go, knowing that if we are mindful and respectful of what's happening inside us we can make the best choices. That's the coolest thing about a yoga practice - how the physical practice of the asanas and meditation enhances our lives off the mat.
Throughout life, we come up against discomforts over and over again. If you have lived any time at all, you know you don't reach a point in life where everything is perfect. If you are lucky, there are always new things to see and do that challenge your old way of thinking and being, and put you right back in the discomfort zone. There are also things that could hardly be considered lucky in the worldly sense, things that shake us down deep in our soul. Things happen where the cultivation of patient endurance pays off, while having a cardiac scan, or sitting by a hospital bed, for example.
We all experience times when a Yin response is the only option. But just like our bodies sometimes tell us we really need the release of a few extra morning sun salutations or a good 90-minute flow class, we learn to recognize the times for action in our life. Not of the heedless, "throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bathwater" kind, but of the Yogic kind. If I alter this - change jobs, move, take this trip - how does that feel? What does my heart tell me? Can I breathe? Is there something in my life that doesn't serve me anymore? Just as there are times in our practice when we have to let go of a particular asana because of injury or age, we recognize situations calling for us to just let go and move on.
There is some thought in yoga that as a person grows older, more of the practice should be Yin styled. Personally, I'm not sure about that. Keeping a balance of the two, we are more intuitively aware of the need for movement, to take action, when age or circumstances make us fearful of change. That is one of the greatest things about a yoga practice - we aren't really late bloomers. We're perpetual bloomers.
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