Yoga-gogy / Yoga-cation

Pedagogy is not a word that we associate with yoga classes.  We use the word in higher-ed like the Smurfs use smurf—as the answer to both what we do and the reason we do it. But, like inconceivable, I do not think it means what you think it means.

Pedagogy is the art and science of teaching.  From the Greek pedagogos, slave who takes children to school (Merriam Webster online).  Technically pedagogy refers to teaching children, not adults.  We’ll forgive correct usage in favor of common usage here.

We go to a yoga class, implying there is some sort of education happening. Both students and teachers should know the objective of the class.  Patanjali defines yoga as “The cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.” (PYS I.2)  For a class to be called yoga, it must specifically involve an investigation into:

1.       The mind

2.       Its fluctuations

3.       Methods leading to the cessation of these fluctuations.

A class which does not involve all three of these items can be safely laid aside as choreographed stretching.

Yoga classes are primarily focused on asana, to a much less extent pranayama, to even less of an extent concentration (dharana).  Asana is a great investigative tool when used correctly.  The role of the teacher is to present the physical movements as a microcosm for the movements of the mind. If we can apply attention and focus to make our bodies move in ways we don’t normally move, we can develop the same attention and focus to observe the mind and stem its movements.

The physical movements of the body are the means, not the end. When the teacher teaches asana from this perspective, then they are teaching yoga.

We have the teachings which are valid, and (presumably) a teacher who knows what they are talking about.  The last element needed in the triad which, like the legs of a milk stool, supports education is the student.

The student has a much harder job than the teacher—the teacher presents possibilities, the student must accept, internalize, and apply these possibilities on their own.  

Education in any form is not a concierge service. 

The money paid for a yoga class, like tuition, is not a tip.

Quality educators and quality facilities carry a price tag. As well they should. Do you really want discount teachers and discount facilities?

The teacher can do their best to present the teachings in an engaging manner, but if the student is not ready or willing to receive them, no amount of interaction, attention, bells or whistles is going to make any difference.  As teachers, we should not dumb down the material so everyone can get it.  We need to continue to present the teachings as they are.  When the student is ready to receive, they will.

That logic may not make sense from a business point of view, which screams get as many people through the door as possible.

From my point of view, I would rather provide one willing person with a quality yoga-cation than lead a room full of bodies through some choreographed stretches.

From a pedagogical point of view, we, as teachers, will best serve our students' educations by being diligent students ourselves: increasing our knowledge and implementing the teachings through our own continuing practice. 

 

Side Effects II: Doing the Unthinkable

We all have our little bit of crazy.  Mine is OCD about time.  Lateness, even the thought of being late, leads to an adverse physical reaction--agitation, increased heart rate, quickening breath.  I remember it starting in 2nd grade.  At 3 (or whatever time dismissal was) each class would line up to get on the buses. If it flipped 2:45 an we weren't already cleaned up, I fell to pieces.

I suppose I could go all psychobable and try to dissect what circumstances drove me to that state at such a young age.  But I am not going to  pin it on any outside force.  It is what it is.

How did I cope?  I never did. I worked for years in professional kitchens. 15 minutes early is 15 minutes late. I did not acquire a "kitchen mentality." I flourished in these jobs because the mentality was already there.

Last week I did something unthinkable for a time OCD person like myself--I over slept.


Frequent readers may remember that I get up for practice at Brahamamuhurta--the Hour of God 0400. I could write out the breakdown of my practice to nearly the minute--finishing The Chalisa? 0432. Savasana? 0527.

Imagine my surprise when my wife woke me up at 5:30.

Guess what?  The world did not end because I got an extra 1.5 hrs. of sleep.

The funny thing is that I did it to myself.  I have 2 alarms, the coffee maker which wakes me up when it starts, and the alarm on my phone set for 5 minutes later.

I set up the coffee maker.  I set the delay start.  I never turned it on.

I woke up in the night and realized I left my phone in another room.  I got it and placed it on my dresser.  I never turned the alarm on.

And yet, water is still wet.  The sky is still up.

Imagine my surprise to discover that I didn't really think twice about 'missing' a practice session.  I did not even feel very rushed, having to do my morning out of order.

I credit consistent practice for this. Without consistent practice, the whole day would have been shot from the get-go. But that practice, over time, gradually is making me a little more flexible. A little more ok with my neurosis.

Don't get me wrong, I still have 2 alarms set. But if I happen to get a little more sleep, well that is ok too.

Side Effects

One of the nice side effects of my yoga practice is that it has helped to cure my insomnia.  By getting up at 4 AM I am, in essence, messing with my circadian rhythms before they mess with me. I am man down by 10 PM if not earlier.  This is exactly what Swami Sivananda prescribes for sleeping: in bed by 10, up at 4.

I still have vivid dreams about zombies, things coming to get me that are lurking just outside the door, outside and cabinet doors that will not stay shut, papers due for books I haven’t read. 

But, you see, I used to dream about these things when I was awake.

It all started when I was 3.  My bladder woke me up. I rolled over and saw a monster at my door.  Logic says it was my mom or dad, they were backlit, and my eyes had not adjusted so I saw the outline of a black figure.  I never slept well after that. 

Logic means squat to a 3 year old.

Somewhere along the way I read about a certain type of demon that appears before sleeping children. I was old enough to know that was not true.  At least during the day.

The house we lived in when I was in college was very nice, but I did not sleep a wink there.  I could not fall asleep in my room.  The physical space creeped me out.The same feeling of being in a nightmare while wide awake.

I needed sleep, so I drank. A lot.

I used to have reoccurring dreams about the house I grew up in.  It was on a dirt road off of a dirt road. The kind of location where movies whose 6^th installments are named “So-and-so Returns” are set.  The dream starts off normally enough, then I can’t lock the door.  Or I close the door then turn around to find it opened again.  And there is something in the woods.  The last time I dreamed about the house I actually saw what was outside the window.  I will never go back to those woods.

I would come out of these nightmares hyper-aware.  The knowing that something is over there, around the corner, outside, in the shadow above my head remained at the same intensity. I was up for the rest of the night.

I used to dream that I woke up facing the wall (I always go to sleep facing the door of the room, never with my back exposed). Every time I tried to turn myself around and get out of bed, the room would revolve and I remained facing the wall. I screamed myself awake.

Thankfully this pattern that has plagued me for 35+ years has diminished.  Going to bed tired is one element. Japa of mantra before bed and immediately upon waking is another. I have had nightmares that have been turned around because I start shouting mantra in my dream.  The pattern did not change in an instant; gradually, every so gradually things changed.

Yoga is “The cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.” (PYS I.2) The effects of practicing yoga take longer to realize and are much more subtle than the effects of practicing postures alone. Postures will give you nice shoulders and a shapely bum, but a sustained yoga practice will re-wire your very being. I have experienced it in a very real and practical way.

It is nice not to be scared to go to sleep anymore. 

A Good Book

For 20 some years, the phrase "pray incessantly" has been in my head.  Since I first read Franny and Zoey (number 1 on my top 10 books of all time). Zoey references 1Thessalonians 5.17, where Timothy instructs "Pray continually." He also instructs "Always be joyful...give thanks for whatever happens; for this is what God wills for you." (5.16,18). Salinger wants you to look this up.

Until very recently, I considered prayer to be begging.

Groveling.

For intercession.

For material gain.

To make right some dumb ass decision or other. (Fight Club is #3)

Through my practice, I have discovered that prayer is none of these things.  It is much more  simple:

It is an act of adoration.

The beauty of prayer is that it does not have to be formal. Or done at a certain time.  It can be done all of the time.  The beauty of prayer is that you do not have to have any faith to do it.  From Swami Sivananda:

"The name of God chanted in any way, correctly or incorrectly, knowingly or unknowingly, carefully or carelessly will give the desired result." (Swami Sivananda, Easy Steps to Yoga p.6).

Prayer, true prayer, adoration, can begin as a purely mechanical action. You just train yourself to say it. Repeatedly..  It can be any Name.  The Rig Veda says "Truth is one, the wise call it by many names."  If the Divine is omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, then the Divine created a multitude of ways of worship that are all equally valid.  (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas #4)

But you just can't say "Steve." Or "Sally." (Moby Dick #10).  Established prayers work best because the name, meter, words were developed to create certain vibrations.  The beauty of Sanskrit is the perfection of the sounds and the ability to create specific vibrations attuned to the Divine.

The significance of Gen. 1.3 is not "Let there be light."  It is "God said." (Dune #9).

I don't know when I replaced the focus on ujjayi breathing in asana with focusing on Ra (inhale) and Ma (exhale) (Ramayana #2).That is how I learned to make asana an act of prayer rather than just stretching. It is also when I knew the Ashtanga system was no longer right for me.

I forget to pray most of the time, usually during the main part of the day when I get caught up in work and it feels like there are unknown forces acting against me (anything by H.P. Lovecraft #5). I am still in the mechanical phase, having to remind myself to say the words over and over.  But I remember to say them when I wake up and before going to bed. Even when I forget, it is still in my mind somewhere, like a light across the bay that is always calling. (The Great Gatsby #6).

Praying incessantly is a good book. It doesn't matter if you are reading it, can analyze the symbolism, or even remember all of the characters. It matters that it is sitting on the shelf, there when you want to read it. It matters that flipping through the pages and reading one sentence is enough to snap you out of the funk you are in that moment. It matters that I can't choose #s 7 and 8 because they are all good books.

The Art of Not Adjusting

A lot of money can be spent on (and made from) learning (and teaching) how to adjust students in yoga asana.  This topic comprises a large amount of time in teacher trainings and is covered extensively in workshops and books.  Often these adjustments are taught as ways to guide the student to go “further into the pose,” to do the pose more “correctly,” or even to <blurg> “MASTER” / become “MORE ADVANCED” in the pose.

I want my students to do asana safely and to challenge themselves, however, I do not like to give many adjustments in my classes. I am not afraid to adjust; I do not doubt my ability to safely adjust. Not adjusting is a conscious decision I have made which is in line with my teaching philosophy:

The student learns best when they figure it out for themselves.

In the traditional guru-student relationship, the guru will instruct and admonish, but they do not magically bestow enlightenment on the student. They provide tools, support, and opportunities for success, yet the student maintains sole responsibility for putting those items into practice.

My thoughts on this topic are largely influenced by two things. The first is that I have a rigorous, disciplined home practice. I have not been to a yoga class in nearly 4 years.  This opportunity to practice under no immediate supervision has required me to learn pay more attention to where my body is in space and to self-recognize the differences between lazy/just right/too far and stay where you are/it’s time to go to the next step.  Such awareness is lessened when you put your practice in the hands of another—you feel, consciously or sub-consciously, that the teacher is looking out for you.

The second influence is comprised of the horrible adjustments I have been given by experienced, Yoga Journal featured teachers, who wrenched my body in to their interpretation of the pose.   The last classes I went to were at a conference at The Omega Institute.  I was adjusted in the same pose (Gomukasana, with the right arm up) by two different teachers. The first guided me to where my arm could go, and talked me through what was happening (Sri Dharma Mittra).  The other came up behind me and torqued my arm violently to where he thought it should be(shall remain nameless).  Very easy to see who taught for the student, and who taught for themselves. [On a side note, when I took a class at the later teacher’s center, I was violently adjusted several times in class by a different teacher. Unfortunate, in my opinion, that senior teachers who fanatically preach non-violence toward animals teach such violent techniques of adjustment to be used on humans.] 

Every asana has a multitude of expressions and substitutions. The preparation for any pose equals the pose itself.   Each student needs to figure out for themselves where their expression of the pose is today.   

Again, guidance so that the pose is done safely, good.

Forcing students into your idea of what the pose is, bad.

Letting someone put your body in a place where you cannot get to yourself is not a progression is your practice. Progression in practice is taking control of your own practice. 

Passivity and complacency, bad.

Persistence and analysis, good.

I seek to guide with fairly light adjustments, hinting at the direction of movement so the student can begin to learn where they are in space.  An example: In paschomottanasa, a rounded back is fairly common—my back rounds as well.  One adjustment is to lay on the student’s back, even putting your feet on the wall to apply your full body weight onto the student.  Yes, the student will fold.  They will also hurt tomorrow. In the lower back.  In the hamstrings.  And when you go away, the student will spring back into the shape they were previously.

Compare with having the students enter the pose with bent legs, keeping torso to thighs, and gradually straightening the legs.  When torso comes away from thigh, stop.  Now I can, with only two fingers, guide the student’s shoulders away from their ears; then, with light touch on either side of the spine (again with only 2 fingers),from hips to shoulders, encourage the student to straighten their spine. Now the student knows how to enter the pose safely, identify where they can work, and understands that the movement is primarily forward not downward. They can progress deeper into the pose at their own pace, yet still maintain the sensation of "working" in the pose without having to match exactly what the more flexible teacher can do.

As a teacher, lessening the amount of adjustments you do helps the students to learn more.  Again, offer correction so they are not injuring themselves, yet let them work in the pose.  Instead of adjusting every pose, guide them through example. Tell them what you want them to do, offering different places to work along the way so all levels can find some expression.  Show them (yes, this means you yourself have to have practiced what you are teaching).  Let them do.  Let them work. Let them be challenged.  Let them know they are in charge of their education.

Let the student know this is their practice.

This is teaching to the top of the class, setting the benchmark that the students’ are in charge of their own education.  You, the teacher, are there as a guide; the students are there to practice.

I Can Do That! Hanuman Jayanthi 2013

From Sanjay Patel's Ramayana: Divine Loophole. Chronicle  2010
Buy and read this beautiful book!

Happy Birthday to Hanuman, the white monkey, son of the god of the Wind, the 11th incarnation of Shiva, the breath of Rama.

Seriously, you have to love a tradition that places such reverence upon a flying monkey--they know how to do worship right!

Hanuman appears in The Ramayana as an exemplar of how a devotee should act.  All of his actions are done in faith and service of the Lord.  As a divine being, when young, Hanuman used his powers to annoy some meditating sages (he was a good little monkey, but always very curious...). So they placed a curse on him that he would not remember his powers until someone reminded him.

Even without his powers, he still acted in faith.  When reminded, nothing was impossible for him. Jump across the ocean (twice)?  No problem.  Carry a mountain in the palm of his hand?  I'll take two, they are small.  But this was all done in service, never to egotistically display his power.

When Rama asked "How did you cross the ocean?" Hanuman did not say "I'm the son of the wind, I am powerful!"  No.  He only said "By the power of Your name alone was I able to cross the ocean."

Hanuman as the embodiment of faith is very dear to me because I have very little faith.  I say "Goddamn" often, very rarely "God Bless." I am not often accused of looking on the bright side of things.

Over the last few years, reciting the Hanuman Chalisa has become the most important part of my practice.  The Chalisa is a recent prayer to Hanuman written in +/- the mid 1500's ("recent" being a relative term, when one thinks in terms of millions of lifetimes, 600 years is but a drop in the bucket).  The poem is meant to remind Hanuman of his powers, so that he can never forget.  It concludes by asking Hanuman (and the faith he represents) to dwell in our heart.

I don't say the Chalisa to praise Hanuman.  What does a divine being need praise from me for?  I say it as a reminder to myself.  If Hanuman can do the impossible, through faith alone, then I can remind myself the I can do that too.

Even if for only 7 minutes twice a day when I am saying the Chalisa the world does not feel so heavy, the swine aren't closing in, I'm not saying "Goddamn," then that is 14 more minutes of peace in my day I did not have before I learned this poem.

Having an ideal to work towards, even with a long, long, long way to go to reach it, gives me the strength to make it through.

Want to learn more about Hanuman?  Have a listen to these two songs by MC Yogi, and you will find your self saying "God bless that monkey he made my day, God bless everybody, peace and namaste" right along with me.

For Ramnavami 2013: How Poetry Came to the World

Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram

On Saturday, April 20^th, 2013 the birthday of Lord Rama is celebrated as the festival Ramnavami.  In the past, I have presented some stories about Rama and summarized the epic tale of his life, The Ramayana. Today I would like to spin a yarn about how this epic came to be.  It is the story of how the gift of poetry was given to humanity.

So with great reverence to Valmiki, William Buck (who wrote my  favorite retelling of the story), and the spirit of the tale, my version of how poetry came to the world:

Once upon a time, in India…

There lived a lowly thief, a highwayman, named Ratnakara.  I guess with a name like ‘Ratnakara’ your career options are pretty limited; certainly does not sound like the name of a pillar of the community.  One day he spied a lone traveler walking down the road.  Thinking this was easy pickings, Ratnakara stopped the traveler and demanded all his money and possessions.

Unbeknownst to Ratnakara, the traveler was the divine sage Narada. Narada was not scared or surprised by Ratnakara’s threats, nor did he respond in his usual manner (Narada reportedly was, shall we politely say, um, someone who makes Gordon Ramsey look like the world’s best boss).  Instead, he said very kindly to the thief:

“I have the power to give you anything that you want.  I can make plants bloom in winter and lakes freeze in summer. I can turn the sky green and the grass blue. Indeed the gods themselves jump to do my bidding when I am happy and hide in fear when I am angry.  Creating piles of wealth is a simple parlor trick for me. But first you must answer for me two questions.  Tell me, why is it you steal?”

Ratnakara’s bravado had disappeared. He stood hypnotized before the sage. “I steal to provide for my family,” he mumbled.

“Will your family accept their share of all the negative merit you have accrued from this life of crime?  If so, I will turn this very ground into gold for you.”

“I don’t know,” stammered Ratankara.

“Well go ask them.  I will wait right here.”

Without any conscious thought about his actions, Ratnakara walked to his home. Upon opening the door he was greeted by his family “Father, husband, have you brought us food?”

Ratnakara surveyed his wife and children. “I have been taking from others to provide for you. Will you accept the punishments I will receive in this life and the next for stealing?”

“Oh father, do not tease us with this philosophical talk. We do not care about the next life, we are hungry now. Give us food now!”

Ratnakara stood once again before Narada.  He fell at the sage’s feet.

“They do not care.  They only want for themselves.  They do not care what happens in the future.”  Ratnakara sobbed. “Oh glorious sage, teach me how to break from this life of theft and violence.  I am you pupil!”

“Well said, my son. Salvation is only one word away.  That word is ‘death.’ Meditate on that one word alone and you will be saved.”

“Death death death…” Ratnakara mumbled.  He sat up and focused his entire mind on repeating that one word.  “Death death death….” Ratnakara became still. The world disappeared.  The one thing that remained was the word “death.”  He became so still that the ants on the ground beneath him thought he was just another rock and they built their anthill (valmiki in Sanskrit) over the top of him.

Here is where English fails us.  Not just because of my horrible grasp of the language, but because of the perfection of the Sanskrit and the imperfection of English.  I mentioned that the word for death is mara, which is composed of two syllables, ma (म) and ra (रा). When it is said over and over, you get:

ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma….

 म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा 

               

Go ahead, say it out loud.

                By shifting the focus slightly (and the stress—our habits in English cause us to stress the first syllable, but Sanskrit does not have this problem), you get:

ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma…

रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म

The word for “death” (mara) is really nothing more than the name of an incarnation of the Divine (Rama).  Our good friend Narada knew that he could never convince such a corrupt individual to say the name of the Divine, so he gave him a focal point that was much more applicable. Narada also knew that the name of the Divine, said correctly or incorrectly, knowingly or unknowingly, with feeling or without feeling, will give the correct result. Through billions and billions of repetitions, the one-time scoundrel purified his soul.

Some time later (years, eons, lifetimes, who can say?) Narada whispered into Ratnakara’s ear that it was time to wake up.  Regaining his consciousness, he emerged  from the anthill cocoon. What had been a deserted back road had transformed to a hermitage.  The power of the repetition of the divine name Rama sanctified the area.  The person who was the criminal Ratnakara rejoined the world as the sage Valmiki.

Valmiki went to the river to wash the dust and ants from himself.  He began splashing water on himself when he became distracted by the beautiful mating song of two birds on a nearby tree.  As he watched and listened, a hunter’s arrow pierced and killed the male bird.  His mate’s song instantly turned from one of joy to one of lament.  Valmiki saw the hunter emerge from the bushes.  Without any though, Valmiki uttered a curse upon the hunter.  

मां निषाद प्रतिष्ठां त्वमगमः शाश्वतीः समाः। यत्क्रौंचमिथुनादेकम् अवधीः काममोहितम्॥'

mā niṣāda pratiṣṭhāṁ tvamagamaḥ śāśvatīḥ samāḥ

yat krauñcamithunādekam avadhīḥ kāmamohitam(1)

You will find no rest for the long years of Eternity

For you killed a bird in love and unsuspecting(2)

( 1 Sacred-Texts.com IAST encoded transliteration modified from original source to accurately reflect sandhi rules.

2 Buck, William and van Nooten, B. A. Ramayana. 2000, page 7)

 The curse came out in perfect metered verse.  It was the first time language had been spoken in this way by a man.

The hunter’s heart immediately exploded.

Valmiki contemplated what he had done.  Brahma, the god of creation, saw the whole thing. He appeared before Valmiki.

“Valmiki, you have work to do.  You have uttered the first poetry of man.  You will use this gift to give mankind the story of Lord Rama, whose exiled wife, the sinless Sita, now approaches the hermitage.  I give you the gift of divine sight.  Every aspect of Rama’s life, past, present, and future will be revealed to you as if you were there.  Look—“ he motioned to the water cupped in Valmiki’s hands.

In that water Valmiki saw the comings and goings of Rama.  In his mind the story was expressed in verse, and the world’s first epic poem was composed.