Hour-long gentle yoga practice intended to reconnect students with the wisdom of their bodies. Letting go of the mind, the control, learning to surrender to the body helps us heal physically and emotionally / mentally.
So many have influenced me and thus this video: Swami Kripalu, Jurian Hughes and Carolyn Sudha, Vandita Kate Marchesiello, Rudy Peirce, Dana Moore and Bessel Van der Kolk. Thank you, Jai!
Showing posts with label Kripalu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kripalu. Show all posts
13 August 2014
08 July 2014
Defining Myself as a Teacher of Yoga
I currently teach a range of yoga classes. In a single week, I may teach (in order of advertised difficulty): restorative or chair yoga, gentle yoga, hatha yoga, vinyasa flow yoga, and hot power yoga. Currently the former classes occur mostly at a studio; the latter at various local gyms.
What I often hear from students at the gyms is that my teaching is "slow". Most quickly follow that description with smiles and gratitude, telling me how much they appreciate it. A few seemingly present it to me with some disdain, as if I'd somehow gotten in the way of their intense stretching workout. Yet even when I create and offer faster and more challenging sequences for the super fit gym yogis, I watch as they consistently:
- Don't align themselves in the postures correctly, regardless of my cues
- Can't keep up with the speed of the flow
- Take respite in child's pose (which is awesome, by the way!)
- Are dripping sweat
- Can't focus their attention
- Can't coordinate their breath with their movements
- Scrunch up their faces and hold their breath
- And so on....
A former dance instructor was able to relate to my confusion. He said, "you are trying to teach people to dance, and they just want patterns." Meaning, the point at which a dance move or a yoga posture can be executed correctly (physically) is not the END of the learning process; rather, it's just the beginning. Yet many people who have difficulty executing even the basic physical shape in yoga classes--e.g. those who would be aided greatly by the use of props but refuse to use them--keep wanting more, to "skip ahead" to...I don't know what. Maybe it's just cultural: everything in our lives is so quick these days; slowing down to really feel into our bodies, our minds, our emotions, our souls is the real challenge, and it's too much. We'd rather continuing to distract with speed. (Believe me, I can relate.) However, truly advanced yoga students understand that this is the real intensity of their practice: yoga as a "work-in" (as opposed to a "work-out")*.
Regardless of where I teach, what my title or the official class title is, creating a safe space (through my languaging, my use of the environment, and my pacing) that allows students to explore themselves not just physically, but also mentally and emotionally is of utmost importance to me. That is how I define myself as a teacher of yoga, how I feel most authentic and true. It's how I maintain my integrity, and it's the kind of relationship I always want to cultivate with my students.
Teachers of yoga, have you experienced similar contradictions? Students, tell me your thoughts on "slow" classes.
An endless student of yoga,
Kali
*As stated by Judith Hanson Lasater
27 June 2014
Ring ring ring, the Universe is calling!
Last weekend, my boyfriend's Aunt mentioned she
was doing yoga therapy and told me she heard that yoga was about more than
just physical postures. I was horrified when I realized I could no
longer rattle off all 8 limbs of yoga. This motivated me to go back to
my yoga philosophy and study. (I was relieved to find that I just blanked on some and OF COURSE I still incorporate many into my teachings and my practice. Still, it's good to refresh!) As part of reviewing my Kripalu Yoga Teacher Training notes, I found a little blue index card on which I'd written: "SIGN FROM ABOVE see/hear 3x".Universe: "Bring more of your study back to yoga."(1)
The next day I was asked to take over a yoga class at a new facility because their best instructor had to give it up. I took this instructor's class the following day and she was AMAZING, incorporating all things yoga in a fun and energetic way. I learned in talking with her that the class would be another large group of dedicated students who are all physically active and fit, which is not the audience I've typically served. While hot power yoga is and has been more my personal practice and style, the idea of taking over for this instructor was (and is) terrifying.
Universe: "I'm challenging you to become a stronger, more confident yoga instructor." (2)
The day after that, I got a request to sub a yoga class at a nearby gym for every Wednesday night in July and a couple nights in August, which was originally in conflict with my "6 weeks to relaxation" offering.
Universe: "Share more and more yoga."(3)
Now, all this local, in-person yoga teaching isn't directly in line with my "plan" of building a virtual client base for yoga, meditation, and eating psychology. However, I feel like these opportunities are banging down my door, and that perhaps the Universe is calling me to re-focus on yoga. I decided to continue my studies, and am enjoying going back through my Kripalu yoga training materials and reading a book about Swami Kripalu's life; I am going forward with the new teaching gig, although I'm still working through some of the fear. I decided I'd regret not trying more than I'd regret trying and failing. And, I moved the time of my relaxation program back 30 minutes so I can still offer that while subbing more classes.
I've noticed more over the past few years that whether it's the beginning or ending of a relationship or a job, there are often 3 things I see or hear that can serve as guidance for me when I don't override my intuition with "clever" thoughts. I'm going to dance with the energy that's coming into my life this time. What's the worst that could happen?
Can you think of a time when the Universe was calling (or warning) you? Did you notice? Did you listen? I'd love to hear your story!
02 June 2013
"A Journey into Health" Web Site Release!
I'm pleased to announce the official release of my new A Journey into Health web site at http://www.ajourneyintohealth.com. After several weeks of hard work, I now have a dedicated site for my gentle yoga, meditation, and Reiki offerings!
Stay tuned for more updates in the near future, and feel free to shoot me any comments or suggestions. Also, please feel free to forward this along to friends, family, and colleagues who may be interested in these services in the Boston, MA area.
Stay tuned for more updates in the near future, and feel free to shoot me any comments or suggestions. Also, please feel free to forward this along to friends, family, and colleagues who may be interested in these services in the Boston, MA area.
18 February 2013
10 Tips for Digging Out of the Winter Blahs
Punxsutawney Phil may have predicted an early spring this year, but if you're anything like me, the end of February and slog through the long month of March ahead can feel daunting. Whether you're daydreaming of a vacation break in Maui or toying with ideas for how you might incorporate your snow shovel into your morning sadhana, here are a few less radical things you might try to pull you through and set you up for that promised next season:
- Keep up your neti / nasya routine. There are still some nasty cold/flu bugs floating around out there! Plus, your sinuses will be all nice and shiny and clear, giving you a jump on springtime allergies.
- Use every long, cold day on the calendar as a new opportunity to practice mindfulness. (Yeah, I know.)
- Start or renew a meditation practice. Especially with March coming up, you have 30 days (plus a bonus one!) to get into the habit. Meditation, or any habit for that matter!
- Make an appointment to try a new alternative therapy, such as Reiki. Open your mind and your heart to what it might do for you. Consider it an experiment, self-care, whatever. A pedicure for the soul!
- Research and consider some cleanses for the change in season. One I particularly like is from If the Buddha Came to Dinner. No starving, good food and easy to do. Forget about that New Year's Resolution? No big deal. Begin again.
- Take up a simple mindful eating practice, like the one I learned at Kripalu: focus only on three things: chew every bite completely; put the utensil down between each bite; breathe. Start with the first one, and add the other two as you are able.
- Mix up your own yoga practice. Teaching too much and neglecting your own? Get yourself to a class for YOU. Doing the same old routine? Incorporate a new posture each time, or pick one to really hone in on. Could it be the month of the crow? The handstand? The child? You decide.
- Valentine's Day has passed, but why not reach out and find a way to cultivate one relationship you've been neglecting? Appreciate a friend by sitting down and really listening to them, do a small favor for a stranger, learn what love is for yourself. Or surprise your significant other with the game of Seductive Couplets!
- Purge something. A friend of mine recently took a few days for a stay-cation, and took the opportunity to reorganize her kitchen for a more efficient workflow. It had been something that was driving her crazy, but she never had time to fix it. She started this project but stopped whenever it stopped "being fun", then picked up when she got a new idea of how to solve a problem (and it was fun again). And voila! Now it's one less thing for her to think about every day.
- Explore a new or lost creative activity. When's the last time you colored? Wrote a Haiku? Danced to a fun song when no one was watching? Find a playful, joyful expression of you and go for it!
04 February 2013
Assisting others: thinking more critically about when & why we do it
I recently attended a weekend yoga workshop, and felt so grateful to get back into my own yoga practice. I've been teaching like crazy, and as a result, I don't think I've taken a class for myself in months. It was fabulous, and an experience that, with another recent one, got me thinking about when and why we assist others.
First, the yoga class experience. Picture me in a 90-minute hot yoga class, one of those where mats are about an inch apart from each other and sweat is flying everywhere. I'm thrilled to be there but have been suffering mentally / emotionally and physically, literally getting 3 hours of sleep the night before, and going through a lot of personal "stuff".
I'm in down dog, playing with the posture the way I've been trained (in the Kripalu style). In this particular moment, I had my palms slightly turned out to be able to breathe more comfortably into the posture and take care of my wrists and shoulders. One of the instructors at the studio that was hosting the workshop came over to me, repositioned both my palms to face forward, and pressed my hands down. I looked up at her and said, "actually that variation feels better for me", and (perhaps stubbornly) put my hands back where I originally had them.
Now when I was trained, I loved assisting. And, I hardly do it in my classes, because there's a part of me that always feels like it's an invasion of the students' personal experience. (Of course, if something is a potential health risk, I give verbal cues to get them to realign.) This instructor just appeared (vs. approached me slowly to let me know she was coming in), didn't ask if she could help, etc. So OK, that's one thing, the initial assist.
However, what I experienced after that made more of an impact on me. I found myself distracted by her walking around the room, watching to see who she assisted, feeling slightly worried that she was going to come up to me and adjust me in a position that would have been more detrimental (e.g. the time she pressed down near someone's ankle/foot in Warrior II, which for me would have been awful as I'm recovering from an Achilles injury, or the time she touched a woman in a tentative balancing posture). I also noticed her touching the shoulders of a woman who was taking a break, sitting simply in Vajrasana, which made me wonder what her motivations for assisting where. Was she simply doing it to feel like she was doing something? Obviously I don't know for sure. And, as a yoga instructor not teaching the workshop, it's easy to see how she might feel that she needed to play a role.
Second, a friend recently posted an article to Facebook called "Please don't help my kids". Knowing nothing about raising kids, I decided to comment on his sharing of the article, noting: "As someone who probably knows less than you and is/has been stubbornly independent, I can't help but think there's a balance to be found in there too: i.e. learning when to ask for help, and being able to accept it when it's offered."
It was one of those posts that after I commented, I realized I had no business doing, and given the responses, totally regretted that decision. But why did I feel the need to comment? Because I felt had a different point of view to contribute: as a child who was raised without much nurturing assistance, knowing as an adult how that has hurt me in my relationships.
What I was trying to communicate (perhaps poorly) is that as in all things, there's probably a right "balance point". When and why we choose to assist others is something we need to think about, beyond the initial "helping" experience. Because, it's quite possible (and likely), that our assistance can leave lasting impressions.
First, the yoga class experience. Picture me in a 90-minute hot yoga class, one of those where mats are about an inch apart from each other and sweat is flying everywhere. I'm thrilled to be there but have been suffering mentally / emotionally and physically, literally getting 3 hours of sleep the night before, and going through a lot of personal "stuff".
I'm in down dog, playing with the posture the way I've been trained (in the Kripalu style). In this particular moment, I had my palms slightly turned out to be able to breathe more comfortably into the posture and take care of my wrists and shoulders. One of the instructors at the studio that was hosting the workshop came over to me, repositioned both my palms to face forward, and pressed my hands down. I looked up at her and said, "actually that variation feels better for me", and (perhaps stubbornly) put my hands back where I originally had them.
Now when I was trained, I loved assisting. And, I hardly do it in my classes, because there's a part of me that always feels like it's an invasion of the students' personal experience. (Of course, if something is a potential health risk, I give verbal cues to get them to realign.) This instructor just appeared (vs. approached me slowly to let me know she was coming in), didn't ask if she could help, etc. So OK, that's one thing, the initial assist.
However, what I experienced after that made more of an impact on me. I found myself distracted by her walking around the room, watching to see who she assisted, feeling slightly worried that she was going to come up to me and adjust me in a position that would have been more detrimental (e.g. the time she pressed down near someone's ankle/foot in Warrior II, which for me would have been awful as I'm recovering from an Achilles injury, or the time she touched a woman in a tentative balancing posture). I also noticed her touching the shoulders of a woman who was taking a break, sitting simply in Vajrasana, which made me wonder what her motivations for assisting where. Was she simply doing it to feel like she was doing something? Obviously I don't know for sure. And, as a yoga instructor not teaching the workshop, it's easy to see how she might feel that she needed to play a role.
Second, a friend recently posted an article to Facebook called "Please don't help my kids". Knowing nothing about raising kids, I decided to comment on his sharing of the article, noting: "As someone who probably knows less than you and is/has been stubbornly independent, I can't help but think there's a balance to be found in there too: i.e. learning when to ask for help, and being able to accept it when it's offered."
It was one of those posts that after I commented, I realized I had no business doing, and given the responses, totally regretted that decision. But why did I feel the need to comment? Because I felt had a different point of view to contribute: as a child who was raised without much nurturing assistance, knowing as an adult how that has hurt me in my relationships.
What I was trying to communicate (perhaps poorly) is that as in all things, there's probably a right "balance point". When and why we choose to assist others is something we need to think about, beyond the initial "helping" experience. Because, it's quite possible (and likely), that our assistance can leave lasting impressions.
28 October 2012
Opposite Ends of the Yoga Spectrum: Bikram vs. Kripalu
The other week I got a wild hair and decided to try out Bikram Yoga at Yoga Crossing. After having a brief conversation about my yoga experience with the instructor at the front desk, I entered the heated, silent studio about 10 minutes early. The room was notably hotter than what I'm used to at Inner Strength Yoga, but as always, very welcoming to me as the constantly freezing chick. The floor was made out of a material I'd never seen before, and it already felt slick as I walked to an empty place to set up my mat. Within that small time frame, I was able to enter into a yoga nidra-like state, which felt wonderful.
When the instructor entered, she flipped all the bright lights on, which was kind of jarring for me. I noticed there were mirrors in two directions, which was kind of nice. (At home, I have a mirror and use it to check my alignment.) We started with Seagull Breath, which is where you interlace your fingers with the palms together, placing them under the chin. On the inhale, you lift the elbows up and as you exhale with the sound "Ha", you slowly lower the elbows while tilting the head back, pressing the chin up with the hands. (This is how Kripalu teaches Seagull Breath anyway, as a Pratapana, or warm up.) What struck me about how the instructor at Yoga Crossing guided it was that she strongly encouraged us to really "push" our heads back, and to bend our backs so we could look at the back wall. This warmup is challenging for me because my shoulders are tight, and what she lead seemed kind of intense right off the bat. Although my perfectionistic part wanted to keep pushing, I was feeling pain in my back and in the compassionate style of my Kripalu training, gave myself permission to make it gentler that I interpreted the instructions to be.
We then proceeded through each of the 26 Bikram postures. The sequence started with several standing and balancing postures, which the instructor didn't ever model. (I model most of the time in classes I teach because many of my students don't have enough experience with the postures to know what they should look like, plus my cuing can still sometimes use some work!) One interesting posture for me was what she called Triangle, which had a very bent knee and felt more like a Side Angle Lunge. But what really struck me throughout the class was how quickly the instructor was speaking. At times, I couldn't even understand her, she was talking so fast! I got exhausted just having a moment's thought about teaching this way. She also stated--and several times, in a drill sargent-like tone--that we should "feel pain" in various areas of the body, that we should "lock our knees", that we should "push". This felt like the complete opposite end of the spectrum to me from what I teach as a Kripalu instructor--which is to honor your body's limitations and never feel pain. She also had us keep our eyes open at all times, which prevented me from cultivating some of the blissful introversion I often reach while practicing yoga. Because of the speed of the class, there was little time or space to sink into the postures. At one point I did feel my heart beating fast--there's no doubt in my mind to the cardio effect of this practice, which is often a debate about yoga.
After an intense first half, we received a two minute break in corpse pose, with our head facing the instructor. We were again told to keep our eyes open. This was so foreign to me, but I tried to experience it as a new, more active way of doing the posture. We were then told to roll up to sitting, to grab our big toes with our peace fingers, and (what I think was) to bounce, but honestly it took me several round of this (with some looking around the room) to decipher what to do, since I couldn't make out her rapid words. We then rotated back around to face our instructor on our bellies, and did a back bend two times. Then back to shavasana for a mere 30 seconds! I soon learned this was part of the sequence for part of the second half: a posture two times facing the instructor with a 30 second corpse pose in between. Transition-wise this seemed inefficient to me. However, the limited time in shavasana did encourage me to relax everything as quickly and efficiently as I possibly could. It kind of reminded me of an extremely abbreviated progressive muscle relaxation exercise. I enjoyed the instructor's imagery in full locust pose, which was to create one leg by pressing our two legs tightly together. And before I knew it, I was put in shavasana and allowed to close my eyes. As soon as that cue was given, the instructor told us we could stay as long as we like, said "namaste", and left the room. This also surprised me, that there was no guided relaxation.
I could immediately hear other students putting away their mats and leaving. Given how intense the practice was, however, I was determined to stay and relax my body. Even though I didn't feel as though I stayed long, I was one of the last ones to leave.
On my way out, the instructor told me I'd "done well" for my first time. She said I clearly knew my body very well and adjusted appropriately whenever I was told. I mentioned to her that I usually use a strap for some of the postures where you need to grab the foot, not always because I can't reach, but sometimes because all the sweat makes it difficult to hold onto the foot with the hand. She told me that it's part of building up my grip--I imagined it meant my fingers, hands, and wrists could use some strengthening, which is likely true. (There were no props of any kind available that I could see.)
Since a single drop in was $19 and a week's worth of classes for newbies was $20, I had opted for the extra dollar and went back the next day, figuring I would see if I had any different thoughts after having gone through it once already.
The second time through I had a different instructor, who I liked better than the first one. She still spoke quickly but she was clearer in her instructions and actually seemed to take a breath between words. Also, knowing the sequence and what to expect made it a little easier. I did get "called out" (by name) for changing my grip on my foot when I couldn't keep my fingers from slipping, which I wasn't thrilled about. There was still a lot of talk about how this "hurts", to "hold it", "feel the pain", "this will be uncomfortable", and to "push it", without a lot of mention of using the breath. It still felt like a lot of forcing rather than allowing the openings to occur naturally, though I will say that sometimes I was surprised at what I could do when mindfully moving into postures that did bring me some pain, such as steeple position with my hands (especially in Balancing Stick position). In some postures, such as the Wind Removing and Rabbit poses, I thought I started to feel the benefits of the opposition in the stretch that I created with my own body, but it was over so quickly I couldn't be sure.
I caught myself several times closing my eyes (especially in forward folds), and had some difficulty keeping the fingers tight together instead of spreading them wide apart for a better base. One thing that worried me a bit in the cuing was about Cobra and the lower back. I don't remember exactly what was said, but if there were other the perfectionists / people-pleasers in the room who were still in their ego during the class, I would be afraid of them injuring themselves. As I looked around, I noticed several students dropped down into Child's pose though, so maybe they were self-aware enough to stop when it got to be too much. Personally I stopped once as well, since I felt my heart pounding again with a slight bit of nausea (I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast, so I'm not sure whether that's why or not--though I couldn't imagine having eaten prior to class!) Again I noticed the lack of space between poses to transition, integrate, or even grab a sip of water. It occurred to me that the rollups from corpse pose could really help strengthen my core, and that the quick moving aspect of Bikram did keep my mind focused. I really didn't have any space to think about anything else!
Would I go back? Not sure. I've tried doing more traditional Ashtanga primary series sequence from time to time, because there is something about a regimented sequence and pace that does attract my busy mind and my competitive nature. But lately I've started to appreciate the gentler forms of yoga like Kripalu, Restorative, and Yin; although not what I gravitate to naturally, they really are more balancing for me.
Isn't it great that there's a yoga for everyone out there? Write in with your experiences and/or your favorite style of yoga. And if you are curious about yoga but don't practice because you're worried you can't do it, or haven't found a style that's right for you, don't fret. Keep trying. You'll find the yoga you're meant to find!
When the instructor entered, she flipped all the bright lights on, which was kind of jarring for me. I noticed there were mirrors in two directions, which was kind of nice. (At home, I have a mirror and use it to check my alignment.) We started with Seagull Breath, which is where you interlace your fingers with the palms together, placing them under the chin. On the inhale, you lift the elbows up and as you exhale with the sound "Ha", you slowly lower the elbows while tilting the head back, pressing the chin up with the hands. (This is how Kripalu teaches Seagull Breath anyway, as a Pratapana, or warm up.) What struck me about how the instructor at Yoga Crossing guided it was that she strongly encouraged us to really "push" our heads back, and to bend our backs so we could look at the back wall. This warmup is challenging for me because my shoulders are tight, and what she lead seemed kind of intense right off the bat. Although my perfectionistic part wanted to keep pushing, I was feeling pain in my back and in the compassionate style of my Kripalu training, gave myself permission to make it gentler that I interpreted the instructions to be.
We then proceeded through each of the 26 Bikram postures. The sequence started with several standing and balancing postures, which the instructor didn't ever model. (I model most of the time in classes I teach because many of my students don't have enough experience with the postures to know what they should look like, plus my cuing can still sometimes use some work!) One interesting posture for me was what she called Triangle, which had a very bent knee and felt more like a Side Angle Lunge. But what really struck me throughout the class was how quickly the instructor was speaking. At times, I couldn't even understand her, she was talking so fast! I got exhausted just having a moment's thought about teaching this way. She also stated--and several times, in a drill sargent-like tone--that we should "feel pain" in various areas of the body, that we should "lock our knees", that we should "push". This felt like the complete opposite end of the spectrum to me from what I teach as a Kripalu instructor--which is to honor your body's limitations and never feel pain. She also had us keep our eyes open at all times, which prevented me from cultivating some of the blissful introversion I often reach while practicing yoga. Because of the speed of the class, there was little time or space to sink into the postures. At one point I did feel my heart beating fast--there's no doubt in my mind to the cardio effect of this practice, which is often a debate about yoga.
After an intense first half, we received a two minute break in corpse pose, with our head facing the instructor. We were again told to keep our eyes open. This was so foreign to me, but I tried to experience it as a new, more active way of doing the posture. We were then told to roll up to sitting, to grab our big toes with our peace fingers, and (what I think was) to bounce, but honestly it took me several round of this (with some looking around the room) to decipher what to do, since I couldn't make out her rapid words. We then rotated back around to face our instructor on our bellies, and did a back bend two times. Then back to shavasana for a mere 30 seconds! I soon learned this was part of the sequence for part of the second half: a posture two times facing the instructor with a 30 second corpse pose in between. Transition-wise this seemed inefficient to me. However, the limited time in shavasana did encourage me to relax everything as quickly and efficiently as I possibly could. It kind of reminded me of an extremely abbreviated progressive muscle relaxation exercise. I enjoyed the instructor's imagery in full locust pose, which was to create one leg by pressing our two legs tightly together. And before I knew it, I was put in shavasana and allowed to close my eyes. As soon as that cue was given, the instructor told us we could stay as long as we like, said "namaste", and left the room. This also surprised me, that there was no guided relaxation.
I could immediately hear other students putting away their mats and leaving. Given how intense the practice was, however, I was determined to stay and relax my body. Even though I didn't feel as though I stayed long, I was one of the last ones to leave.
On my way out, the instructor told me I'd "done well" for my first time. She said I clearly knew my body very well and adjusted appropriately whenever I was told. I mentioned to her that I usually use a strap for some of the postures where you need to grab the foot, not always because I can't reach, but sometimes because all the sweat makes it difficult to hold onto the foot with the hand. She told me that it's part of building up my grip--I imagined it meant my fingers, hands, and wrists could use some strengthening, which is likely true. (There were no props of any kind available that I could see.)
Since a single drop in was $19 and a week's worth of classes for newbies was $20, I had opted for the extra dollar and went back the next day, figuring I would see if I had any different thoughts after having gone through it once already.
The second time through I had a different instructor, who I liked better than the first one. She still spoke quickly but she was clearer in her instructions and actually seemed to take a breath between words. Also, knowing the sequence and what to expect made it a little easier. I did get "called out" (by name) for changing my grip on my foot when I couldn't keep my fingers from slipping, which I wasn't thrilled about. There was still a lot of talk about how this "hurts", to "hold it", "feel the pain", "this will be uncomfortable", and to "push it", without a lot of mention of using the breath. It still felt like a lot of forcing rather than allowing the openings to occur naturally, though I will say that sometimes I was surprised at what I could do when mindfully moving into postures that did bring me some pain, such as steeple position with my hands (especially in Balancing Stick position). In some postures, such as the Wind Removing and Rabbit poses, I thought I started to feel the benefits of the opposition in the stretch that I created with my own body, but it was over so quickly I couldn't be sure.
I caught myself several times closing my eyes (especially in forward folds), and had some difficulty keeping the fingers tight together instead of spreading them wide apart for a better base. One thing that worried me a bit in the cuing was about Cobra and the lower back. I don't remember exactly what was said, but if there were other the perfectionists / people-pleasers in the room who were still in their ego during the class, I would be afraid of them injuring themselves. As I looked around, I noticed several students dropped down into Child's pose though, so maybe they were self-aware enough to stop when it got to be too much. Personally I stopped once as well, since I felt my heart pounding again with a slight bit of nausea (I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast, so I'm not sure whether that's why or not--though I couldn't imagine having eaten prior to class!) Again I noticed the lack of space between poses to transition, integrate, or even grab a sip of water. It occurred to me that the rollups from corpse pose could really help strengthen my core, and that the quick moving aspect of Bikram did keep my mind focused. I really didn't have any space to think about anything else!
Would I go back? Not sure. I've tried doing more traditional Ashtanga primary series sequence from time to time, because there is something about a regimented sequence and pace that does attract my busy mind and my competitive nature. But lately I've started to appreciate the gentler forms of yoga like Kripalu, Restorative, and Yin; although not what I gravitate to naturally, they really are more balancing for me.
Isn't it great that there's a yoga for everyone out there? Write in with your experiences and/or your favorite style of yoga. And if you are curious about yoga but don't practice because you're worried you can't do it, or haven't found a style that's right for you, don't fret. Keep trying. You'll find the yoga you're meant to find!
21 October 2012
Emotional Chutes and Ladders
Kripalu Yoga teaches us to "ride the wave" of emotion using a technique abbreviated "BRFWA" -- Breathe, Relax, Feel, Watch, and Allow. But what happens when your waves seem more like endless pits of darkness and despair?
I've sometimes found it difficult to relate to the wave analogy, but I've come full circle back to it, and wanted to offer several other analogies one might call to mind when standing in the face of strong emotions.
Moods move (if you ALLOW them to)
First, I see parallels of this wave analogy with several forms of therapy that focus on emotion regulation, including cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT). These teach us that moods always move. Positive and negative, they're like a sine wave graph--up and down, up and down. Like the weather in New England, our moods always keep us on our toes! But knowing that moods naturally shift can provide us with a sense of freedom. Feel bad? If you WATCH patiently it's very likely that your mood will naturally shift.
Unfortunately we humans have several tendencies that make this whole process difficult:
One of my friends from yoga teacher training once told me that even if I dig my own hole, I know how to get myself out, and that I would. While this made me feel a little better at the time, it didn't quite capture the depth of what I was going through. In conversations with a another friend who seems to experience her emotions as deeply as I, I started to think of it like this: instead of a hole, it's really a well--I visualize something like the one from the movie "The Ring". And when things are bad and I start to feel myself falling, I have two choices.
What about you? Is this the first time you've heard about BRFWA and riding the waves? Do you simply ride the waves like an expert surfer? An awkward beginner? Do you find this as challenging as I do? I know a lot of people currently who are going through difficult times--what analogies have you created to help yourself (or a friend) get through them?
I've sometimes found it difficult to relate to the wave analogy, but I've come full circle back to it, and wanted to offer several other analogies one might call to mind when standing in the face of strong emotions.
Moods move (if you ALLOW them to)
First, I see parallels of this wave analogy with several forms of therapy that focus on emotion regulation, including cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT). These teach us that moods always move. Positive and negative, they're like a sine wave graph--up and down, up and down. Like the weather in New England, our moods always keep us on our toes! But knowing that moods naturally shift can provide us with a sense of freedom. Feel bad? If you WATCH patiently it's very likely that your mood will naturally shift.
Unfortunately we humans have several tendencies that make this whole process difficult:
- We reinforce bad moods with automatic negative thoughts (a self-harming behavior)
- We assume our moods are dependent on changes in the outside world (though these internal states of mind would change regardless)
- When we're in a low state, we're more likely to recall all the other times we felt the same way--this is called "mood congruent bias", and it reinforces the thought that we must always feel this way (an over-generalization as well as technique used to avoid the present moment)
- We fail to trust in the process--for moods we label "bad" in particular, we try to "solve the problem" (rather than radically accepting what is)
One of my friends from yoga teacher training once told me that even if I dig my own hole, I know how to get myself out, and that I would. While this made me feel a little better at the time, it didn't quite capture the depth of what I was going through. In conversations with a another friend who seems to experience her emotions as deeply as I, I started to think of it like this: instead of a hole, it's really a well--I visualize something like the one from the movie "The Ring". And when things are bad and I start to feel myself falling, I have two choices.
- I can try using my nails to claw at the dirt on all sides, flail my feet and my legs to try and find some footing to prevent it from happening, scream in terror at my misfortune, etc.
- Or, I can let go and surrender --using my BREATH to RELAX my whole body until I land with a splash at the bottom. I can take in my surroundings (FEEL), maybe learning something new or discovering some message I'd left myself the last time I was down there. I'll trust that I'll find the stashed rope ladder when I'm ready to, and then with the energy I've conserved from not fighting the fall (brahmacharya!), I'll use it to climb back up into the sun.
What about you? Is this the first time you've heard about BRFWA and riding the waves? Do you simply ride the waves like an expert surfer? An awkward beginner? Do you find this as challenging as I do? I know a lot of people currently who are going through difficult times--what analogies have you created to help yourself (or a friend) get through them?
07 October 2012
Chanting Your Way to Joy
My First Kirtan Experience
My first kirtan happened over 12 years ago, probably among one of the first couple of times I visited the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. Back then, they had a long weekend program that included elements of yoga and Buddhist practices, both of which I was starting to explore. If memory serves, most of the four days involved an hour of yoga, an hour of seated meditation, a meal. Rinse and repeat, multiple times a day. In the evenings (before we practiced loving silence) there would be a special event of some sort, such as a lecture or group discussion. One evening, there was something called a kirtan.
I had no issues with the silence. I was shy and loved not having to worry about "making friends." Although I was getting better at meditating for an hour at a time and tolerating the caffeine-withdrawal headaches that thumped my skull against my head to the point I feared others could see it, I anticipated these evening events; they were somehow more engaging than what was going on in my thoughts or in my body. Even though I'd been forced into music by my parents as a child, I welcomed listening to music as a distraction to all this, and was curious about the strange instruments, such as the harmonium, which I saw before me on the makeshift stage.
Looking back, I realize now that while I did yoga (asanas) to strengthen and stretch my body, and meditated to focus my mind, kirtan was the third point on the triangle--the one that got at my emotions and caused me to question who I really was. I enjoyed the music, and sang along though I had no idea whether I was saying the words correctly and had no idea what they meant. But what stood out to me, which I still remember, was the spontaneous dancing. Sure, my foot was tapping, and I may have even clapped a bit. But every now and then, someone would stand up, move to the outside of the room (maybe), and dance freely, in whatever way the music moved them. It was as if the song animated their bodies from the inside, and they were oblivious to things like, say...how they might look to other people. As someone who had always enjoyed dancing, I was envious, but completely self conscious. What would people think of me if I got up and started moving in "weird" ways? I had only ever done ballet--where I was shown the steps and like most other things in my childhood, told many times when I got them less than perfect. I just couldn't do it.
That was when I saw her. A woman had stood up from her back jack and pink square cushion, and started dancing in place. She had long gray hair (which may have been in braids, breaking multiple other "rules" that I had learned about women and aging). As I watched her, my thoughts began to shift. I felt admiration toward this strange woman. In that moment I asked myself, "how do I want to live my life?" "Do I want to be the kind of person who cares so much about what others think of me that I won't do something my body is aching to do, something I know I will thoroughly enjoy?" After a few more moments, I got up and let loose.
I still don't always pronounce the words right. I still don't know what many of them mean. And I've never lasted long in a chair or cushion at a kirtan since. I'll say "thank you" to that woman, whoever you are. That night, you were my guru (teacher).
Benefits of Kirtan as a Spiritual Practice
I attended Krishna Das' "Heart of Devotion" workshop, where we chanted and he talked about how kirtan was his primary spiritual practice. He told us he chanted because he HAD to, describing it in a way that sounded as though his very life depended on it. Given that I've been going through my own personal hell recently, I could relate.
So what makes kirtan such a powerful antidote to people's "dark places in the heart", as Krishna Das describes? What is it about chanting that an help us find the happiness that resides within?
For starters, it can be an alternative for those who have trouble meditating while sitting still, in silence, or who fear yoga as something that requires twisting their bodies into pretzels. Focusing just on the sounds from the instruments and people singing has a way of drowning out unwanted and automatic negative thought patterns.
Additionally, some believe that the very practice of sounding (of which vocalizing the Sanskrit language is one possibility), has healing properties--correct pronunciation is helpful, but an open heart is more important in order to receive the benefits, which include inner peace and a sense of joy.
And then there's the sense of community and belonging that attending a kirtan with friends (and even strangers) can help one feel again. In an age where communication happens primarily via technological devices and where in many cases, regular "church going" has fallen by the wayside because of the unpopularity of religious dogma, it's just NICE to sit in a room with other kind, compassionate human beings and sing. Plus, there are now some scientific studies in contemplative neuroscience that help explain why rituals like kirtan can create a kind of "buzz".
Is Kirtan for Me?
If you're interested in learning more about kirtan, the best advice I can give you is to just jump in. Listen to music online, buy a CD for your car (in my opinion, kirtan is fantastic for helping one handle traffic jams!), or find a meetup near you. For those in the Boston area who are up for an experience, check out the Boston Yoga and Chant Fest coming up in a few weeks! It's sure to be a memorable experience.
My first kirtan happened over 12 years ago, probably among one of the first couple of times I visited the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. Back then, they had a long weekend program that included elements of yoga and Buddhist practices, both of which I was starting to explore. If memory serves, most of the four days involved an hour of yoga, an hour of seated meditation, a meal. Rinse and repeat, multiple times a day. In the evenings (before we practiced loving silence) there would be a special event of some sort, such as a lecture or group discussion. One evening, there was something called a kirtan.
I had no issues with the silence. I was shy and loved not having to worry about "making friends." Although I was getting better at meditating for an hour at a time and tolerating the caffeine-withdrawal headaches that thumped my skull against my head to the point I feared others could see it, I anticipated these evening events; they were somehow more engaging than what was going on in my thoughts or in my body. Even though I'd been forced into music by my parents as a child, I welcomed listening to music as a distraction to all this, and was curious about the strange instruments, such as the harmonium, which I saw before me on the makeshift stage.
Looking back, I realize now that while I did yoga (asanas) to strengthen and stretch my body, and meditated to focus my mind, kirtan was the third point on the triangle--the one that got at my emotions and caused me to question who I really was. I enjoyed the music, and sang along though I had no idea whether I was saying the words correctly and had no idea what they meant. But what stood out to me, which I still remember, was the spontaneous dancing. Sure, my foot was tapping, and I may have even clapped a bit. But every now and then, someone would stand up, move to the outside of the room (maybe), and dance freely, in whatever way the music moved them. It was as if the song animated their bodies from the inside, and they were oblivious to things like, say...how they might look to other people. As someone who had always enjoyed dancing, I was envious, but completely self conscious. What would people think of me if I got up and started moving in "weird" ways? I had only ever done ballet--where I was shown the steps and like most other things in my childhood, told many times when I got them less than perfect. I just couldn't do it.
That was when I saw her. A woman had stood up from her back jack and pink square cushion, and started dancing in place. She had long gray hair (which may have been in braids, breaking multiple other "rules" that I had learned about women and aging). As I watched her, my thoughts began to shift. I felt admiration toward this strange woman. In that moment I asked myself, "how do I want to live my life?" "Do I want to be the kind of person who cares so much about what others think of me that I won't do something my body is aching to do, something I know I will thoroughly enjoy?" After a few more moments, I got up and let loose.
I still don't always pronounce the words right. I still don't know what many of them mean. And I've never lasted long in a chair or cushion at a kirtan since. I'll say "thank you" to that woman, whoever you are. That night, you were my guru (teacher).
Benefits of Kirtan as a Spiritual Practice
I attended Krishna Das' "Heart of Devotion" workshop, where we chanted and he talked about how kirtan was his primary spiritual practice. He told us he chanted because he HAD to, describing it in a way that sounded as though his very life depended on it. Given that I've been going through my own personal hell recently, I could relate.
For starters, it can be an alternative for those who have trouble meditating while sitting still, in silence, or who fear yoga as something that requires twisting their bodies into pretzels. Focusing just on the sounds from the instruments and people singing has a way of drowning out unwanted and automatic negative thought patterns.
Additionally, some believe that the very practice of sounding (of which vocalizing the Sanskrit language is one possibility), has healing properties--correct pronunciation is helpful, but an open heart is more important in order to receive the benefits, which include inner peace and a sense of joy.
And then there's the sense of community and belonging that attending a kirtan with friends (and even strangers) can help one feel again. In an age where communication happens primarily via technological devices and where in many cases, regular "church going" has fallen by the wayside because of the unpopularity of religious dogma, it's just NICE to sit in a room with other kind, compassionate human beings and sing. Plus, there are now some scientific studies in contemplative neuroscience that help explain why rituals like kirtan can create a kind of "buzz".
Is Kirtan for Me?
If you're interested in learning more about kirtan, the best advice I can give you is to just jump in. Listen to music online, buy a CD for your car (in my opinion, kirtan is fantastic for helping one handle traffic jams!), or find a meetup near you. For those in the Boston area who are up for an experience, check out the Boston Yoga and Chant Fest coming up in a few weeks! It's sure to be a memorable experience.
17 June 2012
Looking for a Kripalu Yoga Teacher?
Hello Everyone,
I'm happy to announce that I'm back home after successfully completing the second half of my Kripalu Yoga 200-hour teacher training, and I'm now certified to teach!
Please check out the new Kripalu Yoga Instruction page on my web site, and let me know if you or someone you know has any interest in organizing a group class or booking a private session with me. I'm eager to share the gifts of this beautiful yoga tradition and help others live more peaceful, loving, and joyful lives.
Namaste,
Jen
I'm happy to announce that I'm back home after successfully completing the second half of my Kripalu Yoga 200-hour teacher training, and I'm now certified to teach!
Please check out the new Kripalu Yoga Instruction page on my web site, and let me know if you or someone you know has any interest in organizing a group class or booking a private session with me. I'm eager to share the gifts of this beautiful yoga tradition and help others live more peaceful, loving, and joyful lives.
Namaste,
Jen
09 June 2012
Certification, Here I Come!
As you read this, I'm about to start the final week of my 200-hour Kripalu yoga teacher training. Being optimistic and practicing Ishvarapranidhana, I'm going to believe that by the time I write again next weekend, I'll be a fully certified yoga instructor!
As a result, there will be no "real" post today, just a request for your kind and loving thoughts as I close out this tremendous experience and begin what will hopefully be a whole new chapter in my life. :-)
Thank you for reading.
Namaste,
Jen
27 May 2012
Green Smoothie Recipes
I hope those of you following my "Yoga's Place in the Workplace" series won't be too disappointed if I digress this week and post two smoothie recipes. Although I am still waiting for my Vitamix, I'm having a lot of fun playing with these green concoctions. I know I've probably been influenced by recipes posted in the past by Rebecca Pacheco and Daniel Max, so thanks guys, for inspiring me to play! Also, a great big thank you goes out to Russo's, the best place I know to get a ton of fabulous produce at a reasonable price.
Recipe #1
2 c raw baby spinach
1 c raw watercress
1 c unsweetened almond milk
1/4 c chopped raw mango
1/2 banana
1 Tbsp ground flax seeds
~219 calories
Variations: One time I had some leftover parsley and threw some of that in too. It was lovely! I also substituted 1/2 avocado when I ran out of mango. This was a slightly thicker consistency but still very tasty.
Recipe #2
This is the one that just made me write this blog, since it was somewhat different but still came out yummy!
2 c raw collard greens
1/2 c raw dandelion greens
1 c unsweetened almond milk
1/2 banana
1 1/4 Tbsp raisin sauce*
1 tsp wheat grass powder
~181 calories
*The raisin sauce I used was actually to get rid of leftovers from a Kripalu recipe I made last week. However, I found this almost identical raisin sauce recipe online to share with you.
Instructions & Tips
Instructions: For both recipes, blend on low until you reach the desired consistency. Both are around the same, although I found #2 to be a little thinner.
Tips:
Recipe #1
2 c raw baby spinach
1 c raw watercress
1 c unsweetened almond milk
1/4 c chopped raw mango
1/2 banana
1 Tbsp ground flax seeds
~219 calories
Variations: One time I had some leftover parsley and threw some of that in too. It was lovely! I also substituted 1/2 avocado when I ran out of mango. This was a slightly thicker consistency but still very tasty.
Recipe #2
This is the one that just made me write this blog, since it was somewhat different but still came out yummy!
2 c raw collard greens
1/2 c raw dandelion greens
1 c unsweetened almond milk
1/2 banana
1 1/4 Tbsp raisin sauce*
1 tsp wheat grass powder
~181 calories
*The raisin sauce I used was actually to get rid of leftovers from a Kripalu recipe I made last week. However, I found this almost identical raisin sauce recipe online to share with you.
Instructions & Tips
Instructions: For both recipes, blend on low until you reach the desired consistency. Both are around the same, although I found #2 to be a little thinner.
Tips:
- Sometimes the banana I use is frozen because it was getting along and I tossed it in there to save it; I just defrost it in the microwave for a few seconds before chopping it up.
- Pre-wash and chop everything, and store in Tupperware / bags for easy access.
- If you're really feeling a need to be efficient, put everything but the almond milk in the blender jar and store in the refrigerator until ready to blend. (I sometimes do this the night before if I want a smoothie for breakfast the next morning.)
29 April 2012
An Experience of Trust and Surrender
Freshly back from part one of my yoga teacher training at Kripalu, I'm feeling puzzled about how to convey a fraction of what I experienced during the past two weeks. Although I typically love to write about my experiences, several of them seem to lie just beyond words. However, in the interest of inspiring just one other person in the world who might stumble upon this post, I'll share a story that might illustrate some qualities of my time there: my first practice teach.
The Set Up
The second Monday, each of us was asked to lead a small group (2-3 other students plus a facilitator who would drop in for parts) in a 30 minute class. In this short time, we had to incorporate all 8 elements of a complete Kripalu yoga class. We were required to teach two different breathing techniques and one required posture, but the rest was up to us. Because I was comfortable with my group and what I'd learned so far, I was excited about the opportunity to put together and practice leading a class, but for the most part, an atmosphere of anxiousness permeated the larger group. During lunch and dinner breaks, students asked each other "are you nervous?" and "how are you feeling about your practice teach?" After a little while, I started to question why I wasn't feeling nervous.
My default is typically to be an extreme planner, an over-practicer, and a learner who memorizes perfectly for evaluations and then promptly forgets everything. However, I had decided going into this training that I was going to approach it differently. For example, I:
The Small Enlightenment
The Meditation Room has long been one of my favorite places at Kripalu. It's a simple room with a small altar, adorned with one photo of Swami Kripalu and random trinkets and flowers left by visitors. It's ridiculously silent and peaceful. Alone in the room, I grabbed a cushion and sat down close to the altar, taking in the photo of Bapuji (as Swami Kripalu was affectionately called). In it, he has one hand outstretched with his palm facing out--given that it's closer to the camera than the rest of him, it appears large and detailed. I closed my eyes and started to repeat a mantra, following along with my mala beads.
After a few rounds, something happened. I first noticed myself sitting a little straighter on my cushion. Next, my ability to take a full breath up into my chest (which is often difficult for me) seemed to just open up. Then my heart started to feel...well, just a little bit stronger. The words "courage" and "bravery" came into my mind, and I started to sense powerful beams of energy radiating from the palm of Bapuji's hand moving directly into my opened heart. I thought, "I need to teach the Warrior 1 posture, and I am a brave and courageous warrior." I sat there taking this in for several minutes, extremely grateful and in awe of the seeming infusion. When I opened my eyes, I thanked Swami Kripalu profusely, and left feeling even more centered and grounded than I had before anyone had asked about my feelings around the practice teach.
The Follow Through
My first practice teach went well. I wove the theme of bravery and courage, which I felt Bapuji had re-revealed to me during my meditation, throughout the class. When I stumbled to remember which warm up I was going to teach next, I calmly glanced down at my notes at the title to remind myself, and continued on. When what I'd planned took longer than I expected, I decided to bag the transition to the Warrior 2 posture, and instead gave my group the gift of a longer relaxation. When I realized I probably could have fit the posture in anyway (especially when another member of our group was told she brought people into relaxation too quickly, much as I had), I didn't feel shame. Rather, I felt proud of how I had trusted my instincts, and believed that over time, I would hone them to be more accurate. Overall, I felt a deep peace about what I had done. I had let go of my need to control every last detail--I had surrendered, and not only had nothing catastrophic happened, but I had flourished.
The Set Up
The second Monday, each of us was asked to lead a small group (2-3 other students plus a facilitator who would drop in for parts) in a 30 minute class. In this short time, we had to incorporate all 8 elements of a complete Kripalu yoga class. We were required to teach two different breathing techniques and one required posture, but the rest was up to us. Because I was comfortable with my group and what I'd learned so far, I was excited about the opportunity to put together and practice leading a class, but for the most part, an atmosphere of anxiousness permeated the larger group. During lunch and dinner breaks, students asked each other "are you nervous?" and "how are you feeling about your practice teach?" After a little while, I started to question why I wasn't feeling nervous.
My default is typically to be an extreme planner, an over-practicer, and a learner who memorizes perfectly for evaluations and then promptly forgets everything. However, I had decided going into this training that I was going to approach it differently. For example, I:
- was not going to stress about not having time to do all the readings from the manual in between sessions
- would pay active attention (possibly taking less notes) to try and really absorb the material
- was going to plan and practice at a higher level than usual, then wing it, trusting that it would come out just fine
- would let go of my need to be perfect, and be okay with making some mistakes as part of the learning process
The Small Enlightenment
The Meditation Room has long been one of my favorite places at Kripalu. It's a simple room with a small altar, adorned with one photo of Swami Kripalu and random trinkets and flowers left by visitors. It's ridiculously silent and peaceful. Alone in the room, I grabbed a cushion and sat down close to the altar, taking in the photo of Bapuji (as Swami Kripalu was affectionately called). In it, he has one hand outstretched with his palm facing out--given that it's closer to the camera than the rest of him, it appears large and detailed. I closed my eyes and started to repeat a mantra, following along with my mala beads.
After a few rounds, something happened. I first noticed myself sitting a little straighter on my cushion. Next, my ability to take a full breath up into my chest (which is often difficult for me) seemed to just open up. Then my heart started to feel...well, just a little bit stronger. The words "courage" and "bravery" came into my mind, and I started to sense powerful beams of energy radiating from the palm of Bapuji's hand moving directly into my opened heart. I thought, "I need to teach the Warrior 1 posture, and I am a brave and courageous warrior." I sat there taking this in for several minutes, extremely grateful and in awe of the seeming infusion. When I opened my eyes, I thanked Swami Kripalu profusely, and left feeling even more centered and grounded than I had before anyone had asked about my feelings around the practice teach.
The Follow Through
My first practice teach went well. I wove the theme of bravery and courage, which I felt Bapuji had re-revealed to me during my meditation, throughout the class. When I stumbled to remember which warm up I was going to teach next, I calmly glanced down at my notes at the title to remind myself, and continued on. When what I'd planned took longer than I expected, I decided to bag the transition to the Warrior 2 posture, and instead gave my group the gift of a longer relaxation. When I realized I probably could have fit the posture in anyway (especially when another member of our group was told she brought people into relaxation too quickly, much as I had), I didn't feel shame. Rather, I felt proud of how I had trusted my instincts, and believed that over time, I would hone them to be more accurate. Overall, I felt a deep peace about what I had done. I had let go of my need to control every last detail--I had surrendered, and not only had nothing catastrophic happened, but I had flourished.
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