Hers: With My Feet in the Air and My Head on the Ground

Just a few days ago I took my first Kundalini Yoga class. Wow. What an experience. Very different from what I know yoga to be. I had little idea of what to expect, just the usual and general understanding that a yogi might have of other traditions - which can be no understanding at all. My expectation included a lot of intense breath work and arm flapping, but other than that...I didn't know what was coming.

One of my ongoing moment to moment goals is to experience life as it happens, with no expectations and preconceived ideas of how things should be. I sometimes talk about this in class - can we (can I) take a pose like it's the first time ever taking that pose. Can I feel it new with each new approach? Can I maintain what the Zen masters refer to as "beginners mind?" For me, this allows an open curiosity to life, a beautiful naivete that keeps the cynical and judgemental side of myself quieter. It's not always easy, especially when I know about something, as in: I know about yoga, I've been teaching it for many years. This is how it should be done...Luckily, I have a fairly loud voice somewhere within that REGULARLY lets me know that I don't know much at all. So with this new Kundalini experience, I was able to just let myself go, listen to what the teacher told me to do, and be with whatever happened.

This captures how I felt in class...on a path,
a magical path, upward, elevation 9,900 ft
and climbing, explosive,
right out the top of my head...

At first I felt weird, like - what the heck's going on - everyone's probably watching me and I look like a total dork, I have no idea what I'm doing. (Welcome back to being a new student Jennifer; this is how each new student taking their first class feels!) But soon, I forgot about everyone around me. I started to feel my breath and then my body and its movement, at first controlled and a bit stiff, slowly becoming more fluid. I felt the movement of breath moving body moving energy, all synchronized;  the strong and forceful beat of my arms generating heat and more energy. Eyes closed - keep the eyes closed she said. Lift your inner gaze, upward, upward with the gaze. Repeating the mantra SAT NAM, SAT NAM, SAT NAM. Each breath faster, then slower, hold, release...on  it went, arms up, arms down, crossing arms overhead, tiger claw hands, lifting hips, lowering hips, folding over leg, lifting, lowering, breathing, holding, SAT NAM, SAT NAM........and away I went. Up, up, and away. Rising, rising...I was air rising, helium; spacey and ethereal, I was on my way to the heavens and the elusive higher realms of existence.

I can definitely see how one can get swept away with the practice. It was something else.

Like I said, it was very different, yet... at the same time, somewhere within all that breathing and movement, it was very much the same. Chanting, breath work, posture work, more breath work, more chanting… all in a day’s yoga class. It’s all the same, just mixed together in a different way with a little more focus on some things rather than others. It's like sitting down with a map in front of you deciding which road to take to where ever you are going...Kundalini Yoga is just one road of many.

It was a fun road that night, but for me, that upward movement physically and energetically - I have lots of that naturally. I can easily pass a day dreaming, lost in thought, lost is space. In fact, it wouldn't be unusual for me to stop and spin and flap my arms around just because. Not that we were spinning in class, but sometimes it felt like we were. I know my understanding of the practice is still very limited and I could have it all wrong; but I also know I need ground. I need earth. I need to root down into some solid standing postures and hold them for awhile. But I’m glad it’s there – Kundalini Yoga and its approach – for those times I just want to be up in my head, in the clouds, in the heavens…

 

Hers: Beyond 54 Days

One of the many wonderful uses
for my very smart phone.

The last days of my metta practice included glimpses of desire; the desire to finish this project, the desire to stop repeating the same phrases over and over, the desire to return to my breath, the desire to just breathe...

Well, here I am, just breathing. I woke a few days ago with an excitement. Last days always bring first days. And I was excited about my first day of returning to simple breath awareness. A sitting practice focused only on the breath, nothing else. Without my beads, I use a timer. I sit for 15 minutes, 5 less than my metta practice consisted of. Why? I don’t know. I just do. Another habit maybe?

Watching my breath...it was nice...this subtle movement, in and out, sort of...

 

In my asana (yoga posture) practice I often use a soft and steady yogic breath called ujjayi. It has a way of settling and focusing my mind as I move. It also allows me to gage where I am in my practice; as my breath changes, it also teaches. Strained breathing might mean I’m pushing too hard. But this breath is light and gentle, not forced in its control. As my teacher writes, “Do not overly control the breath. Breathe through your nose with a light ujjayi pranayama breath. Not every breath is the same; allow the breath to be organic. By overly controlling the breath we become fixated on control and mastery of the body.” So I breathe soft, easy ujjayi breaths, until I don’t and then I do and then I don’t and on it goes.



About 2.5 minutes left...

And on it went in my sitting practice. Without even realizing it, I begin to develop this subtle breath control. Until it’s not so subtle and I notice my groins are tight and my legs rigid, as though I'm trying to hold my body just slightly above the ground. And the soft whisper-like sound of my breath, audible only to me is now like a roiling ocean heard a mile away. What’s happening here?

...We become fixated on control.

 

My days with the metta practice gave me something to do. Something constant, maybe a way to control my sitting practice. Over and over. May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well. May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy. There was a focus; yes, thoughts came and went, but there was clearly things to focus on, images, words. Now, just the breath.

 

If you sit and watch your breath for any length of time without controlling it in any way, you might notice that there are spaces between the breaths, little pauses before the next breath begins. I’ve noticed in these pauses that I often feel a sense of timelessness, a space being created that has the potential to hold all things, all possibilities. It’s a silence that is more than silence. It’s a space that allows for hearing, listening. That space then grows and extends into the movement of the breath. It’s here that “things arise," (said in a deep and authoritative voice). Habits and tendencies, deep and not so deep understandings, answers to questions I may be mulling over, a growing self-knowledge, an ability to see things with a bit more objectivity...

Yet, it seems I'm a little lost without my metta phrases, I'm having a hard time finding this silence. Instead, I'm forcing things, exerting my control over something that will only flourish if I let go of control. I see it in my breath, I feel it in my body. I'm reminded of a trip I took by myself many years ago. I drove from Rochester, NY to the west coast by myself. I took 6 weeks and stopped to visit a number of friends along the way. Before I left, I was so excited to set out on my own with no one to comprise with, no one else to focus on. Still each time I moved on from a stop I found myself feeling so alone, scared, and a bit sad. I had no one but myself. I feel that now without my metta phrases, alone, scared, and a bit sad. But as I learned on that trip, feelings pass and the silence of being alone becomes comforting and calming, a place of refuge, a place where I can listen to whatever arises....it just takes a little bit.

Hers: Reflections on Last Days

One of the last photos taken on our trip out west this summer...
the end of one adventure brining us into the beginning of another.

First days are exciting and last days are bittersweet…the last day of school, the last day of a job, the last day of a yoga training, the last day of sitting down with my husband to review his last self-created yoga sequence (we’re not quite there yet, but we will be some day!), the last day of my metta practice experiment…

 

...Today’s practice began like any other in these past 54 days. I woke, I flossed and brushed my teeth, I made my way into our yoga room, and I took my seat...

My metta phrases flow easily. I sync them with my breath. Inhale. (May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well.) Exhale. (May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy.) Over these days what began as about an 18 minute meditation has turned into about 23 minutes. My breathe has grown longer, my phrases drawn out. Often, Gary joins me. He sets a timer for 20 minutes. We begin our practice with three short bells; he ends his practice with two short bells. But I continued on, repeating my phrases until I come to my last bead.

From what I understand, there is a Zen tradition where a firm slap on the shoulder with a long, flat, wooden stick is used to bring the meditator back to the present moment. These bells that signal the end of sitting practice for Gary have become my sharp slap bringing me back to the moment for the last few repetitions of my metta phrases. I’d like to say that I don’t need them, that I am able to stay present with each phrase, but alas, I cannot.

Today though, on this last day, with my phrases and breath flowing easily and my focus single-pointed, I finish before the bells. I sit in total stillness, total silence, and feel the effects of my practice. I feel the calm, I feel the openness of heart, I feel glad to have completed my goal.

Has it changed me, these days of metta practice? Am I different from when I started 54 days ago? I don’t know. I’ve had some amazing experiences, some small insights. But they are so fleeting…I learn something and then it’s gone. I have some small realization, surely meant to change my life forever and then it slips away. What if everything we learned was like that?! As in, yesterday I learned how to tie my shoes; today I forget how. But, I suppose that's the way it is for a small child. And perhaps that is what we, who are on this path, are like, small children – learning more and more each day, yet repeating the same mistakes over and over, until one day, finally, what we learn sticks and our lives change just a little bit; we grow just a little bit. And so the adventure continues...

Today is the last day of this designated experiment, but not really. It's also the beginning of the next. Each day a first day, each day a last day.
 

His: Still Flowing Stream

9/20/13

Every year I assign my middle school students to write for five minutes without stopping; it’s a way to free up their thoughts, letting them know that whatever topic their brains are thinking about is okay to write about. The mind works easily, nonstop, and the job of the writer is simply to record what the mind is thinking. The only rule of the assignment is to keep their pencil or pen moving. I will attempt to do a similar writing here, but on the typewriter—I mean computer.

Yesterday, I felt the pressure to get a sequence done.  It turned into a chore; something I had to do. The resistance was centered in my stomach, and I felt like a high school student who didn’t want to do their homework. I kept telling myself it’s not supposed to be like this. This should be something that you love. Yet, yesterday, I hated sequencing.

I see no point in it. Why should a beginning teacher have to design these steps for their students to follow?  It should be the job of the advanced teachers to come up with the subtle, beautiful, free-flowing, rejuvenating, and, especially, safe sequences. New teachers aren’t capable of coming up with sequences.

As I write this, I realize I am avoiding the responsibility of a teacher, even a beginning teacher who is learning. How does one become an advanced teacher? Capable teachers all begin somewhere. And the best way to learn is to make mistakes. Jump in, childlike, and have fun. Who cares? Enjoy. This is the attitude that I am striving for anyway.

9/22/13

After I finished my third sequence, Virabhadrasana II, Warrior Pose, Jen reviewed it with me.  And I feel like I’m making some progress:

 

Hers: Challenging Adventures and Realizations

New Adventure #1:
I woke lazily today. No alarm, no set plan for the first few hours of my day. I languidly slid out of bed at 7:30 to brush my teeth. Gary and I decided to walk downtown and check out the farmer’s market. Ahh, but no. “I can’t leave yet. Let’s sit first. Let’s not disrupt this newly formed habit.” Gary often sits with me, but not today. He took a pass. With my jeans and t-shirt on, I went into the yoga room, pulled out my beads and took my seat. I truly believe this is the first time I’ve ever sat in jeans. I’m usually in what I consider my pajamas or maybe yoga pants, or sometimes even a lounge-about skirt, but never jeans.

New Realization #1:
I started just as I usually do – directing loving-kindness thoughts toward myself. It’s almost like warming-up before a good run. I start slowly, focusing on myself, sensation, breath. So many days into my practice, almost near the end of my experiment, I’ve come to realize the importance of starting with myself. I’m not only wishing thoughts of love and kindness toward myself – that I may feel love, that I may feel kindness, but, and maybe more importantly, I’m cultivating the open-heartedness to direct these thoughts toward others, to behave with loving-kindness in all my relations. May I be filled with loving-kindness has become May I be filled with loving-kindness toward others.

New Adventure #2:
I mentioned to someone recently, “It’s been too easy.” I’ve learned over the years and through experience that as I set out to “work on” something, the universe has a wonderful way of presenting opportunities for me to practice whatever it is I’m working on. And it’s been too easy. Until this past week that is. Nothing crazy, nothing life threatening, but challenging experiences nonetheless. No need to go into detail, but suffice it to say, the universe has come through.  And more than once. Lucky me, I got to practice over and over until I got it (almost) right.

New Realization #2:
Each challenge that presented itself made its way into my practice. Really, it’s the presenter of the challenge who's been getting my attention. After warming up by directing loving-kindness toward myself, I bring to mind the image of my challenger. (I think of two opponents stepping into an Ultimate Fighting cage!) I then direct and direct and direct: May they be filled with loving-kindness. May they be well. May they be peaceful and at ease. May they be happy. Over and over. Minutes pass, the image fades, but on I go. When I really feel as though I’ve lost connection to my intention, I return to myself. Then back to my challenger, and on it goes until I finish. And I think it’s over. A day goes by, another, and then a new challenge…The entire process begins again. The thing to know is that these experiences, these challenges, they stay with me. There’s a reason they even make their way into my practice. It’s because I have yet to let them go. I feel bad. I am directly loving-kindness toward another in order to make myself feel better. 

New Adventure and Realization #3:
My most recent challenge occurred only just yesterday. And I think I'm getting the message. Loving-kindness doesn't just happen on the cushion in meditation practice. It happens, must happen, ALL THE TIME. In each moment and with every opportunity that is presented to us. It makes no sense to continually react to situations from a place of fear (read anger, defensiveness, antagonism) and then go home, meditate, and some send loving-kindness thoughts to someone after the fact, expecting never to be challenged again by them or anyone else. We've all heard the cliched definition of insanity....The only way I'm going to get different results is by behaving differently in the moment. And the only way I can behave differently in the moment is to actually be present in that moment. Present and available to whatever challenge is set before me. Present with each challenge or challenging person that is sent my way. Can I treat them with the spirit of loving-kindness in that moment? When I do, there's nothing to feel better about later. Can I see their suffering and respond with love? When I do, I can then direct loving-kindness thoughts and energy with ease and from a place of truth. I've had many opportunities this past week to do just that. Some of the times I failed, some of the times I didn't. But with these new realizations, I'm looking forward to my next adventures....

Hers: 40 days in...

Me waiting...
(In Ouray, Colorado: Bear Creek Trail)

40 days ago, I sat on my mat and began a 54 day metta practice. In the beginning, most mornings, some part of what's usually a 20 to 25 minute sit would be spent contemplating what I might write about and how that particular morning’s practice might translate nicely into a blog post. After shaking that thought from my mind (over and over and over), I'd find myself wondering if anyone read what I already wrote. Or wondering about what my day would be like and what I had to do. Or analyzing, analyzing conversations and experiences; deconstructing and reconstructing. Finally, I’d find myself waiting. Waiting for something that might translate nicely into a blog post. Or else just waiting, waiting for something interesting, maybe even spectacular.

Now 40 days into this experiment, I find myself just sitting down and repeating my phrases.
  May I be filled with loving-kindness.
  May I be well.
  May I be peaceful and at ease.
  May I be happy.
The blog is there, but it can wait. Work is there, but it too can wait. All of the things that hammer away on the door of my mind, they’re still there, but they can all wait.

 

Instead, as I sit and repeat my phrases, I’ve grown to know the feel of my beads. I know the feel of the spaces between them. I know for about how long I’ve been sitting by that feel. I know that only a few more repetitions are left when my right foot begins to tingle slightly. I know I’m about half way through when I have a single moment, perhaps a breath’s length of time, when I feel as though I could sit in this spot for eternity. In truth - it’s just after that moment escapes me and I reflect on it that the knowledge comes. And I mindfully return to my phrases. Drawn away from them only by the sensation of and in the moment, a growing intimacy with myself, my beads, my phrases. It's not exciting in the ways I thought it might be. It's not spectacular like the mountains of Colorado in July. But there's a deep calmness, a comfort.




Birdy taking her place on my computer,
although she generally prefers Gary's chest.
 

It reminds me of that sweet heavy feeling I have on those days I wake early, early, and roll over to find Gary and Birdy. Pile on, I say, pile on; Birdy on half of Gary's chest and my head on the other. All of it a miracle, an infinite wonder, like the feel of small, carved sandlewood beads between my fingers.



His: Sequence #2

Jen writes every evening. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap, taptaptap, tap. I hear those keys. I better get writing. Good motivation.

A friend visited this weekend. We taught middle school together for 6 years, rooms side by side, until he retired to The Villages last year. We play golf. Then drink and eat, and drink a little more. 

I wondered how this partaking in sake and beer will affect me. I had stopped the alcohol and caffeine. The accumulative effect of these pleasures tends to fatigue the mind and body, especially during the school year.

But I woke up at 4:30 AM and practiced for a couple of hours and feel grateful for the practice. It centers, relaxes, rejuvenates, and restores. When I practice on Monday morning, I know it will be a good week.

Today’s practice encourages me to teach yoga—maybe sooner rather than later. Here is my second corrected sequence with notes:

 

 

Before practice, I read. This quote jumps at me: “The problem with desire is that you do not desire deeply enough! Why not desire it all? You don’t like what you have and want what you don’t have simply reverse this. Want what you have and don’t want what you don’t have. Here you will find true fulfillment.” The answer.