yoga rant

Since last fall, I've been co-teaching a pranayama/meditation/dharma discussion group on the first Sunday of every month. We started out strong with about a half dozen participants, but quickly the number dropped, and this month no one showed up. My ego wasn't bruised much (I wasn't really expecting anyone to show up, based on the great weather and the low turn out in recent months), but the more I think about this, the more frustrating it is. I also teach moderate and "advanced" yoga classes. The moderate classes are definitely the big sellers, but there are always students in the advanced classes as well, so clearly there is local interest in advanced yoga practice. And what is more advanced than moving past asana practice and working on the other seven limbs? Where are my "advanced" students on Sunday night, when we're doing the real advanced work? Everyone wants to look good flopping around on a sticky mat, but no one wants to sit still and work. It's a lot easier (I know this from my own experience) to be driven to work hard physically by an external task-master (the teacher) than to have to sit and deal with your own insatiable internal task-master (the mind). So I understand why no one shows up for our first Sunday sits, but it frustrates me anyway.

I'm going to be teaching classes this Sunday morning. I'm mulling over my options for the "advanced" class. Option one: business as usual. Option two: work on pranayam and sitting for 75 minutes. Option three: start by asking everyone, one by one, what "advanced" yoga practice means. Option four: tell everyone to roll up their mats at the beginning of class, put their shoes back on, and go outside to pick up litter from the street while contemplating saucha. Probably I'll stifle my frustration and go with option one. I can't force my students to do advanced practice. But neither can I stop being bugged by the fact that what we're calling advanced practice really doesn't amount to much more than calisthenics with Sanskrit names.

click

Someone asked me today if I had three channels to watch - the anger channel, the misery channel, and the sunshine channel - which would I choose to watch? It was an unfair question; obviously I was supposed to choose the sunshine channel. But just as obviously, I guess, I don't think that's the choice I'd actually make. What possible benefit could you glean from closing yourself off to certain inevitable avenues of human experience, unsavoury though they may be? We are all going to experience anger and misery in our lives; being open to them allows us to figure out how to work with them more intelligently and sensitively than by just running away. There is an emotional rawness which can only be tapped through anger, and there is a sweetness on the other side of fully-realised misery that you will not find anywhere else. So I wouldn't choose to watch just the sunshine and puppies and lollipops channel. I would watch all three. And so I do.

CBC - Backbencher

There's a new radio drama on the CBC - Backbencher. It's about a brand spanking new MP in the House of Commons from a riding in Nova Scotia. I'm quite enjoying it so far; it doesn't have the action/drama of Afghanada or the comedy of Canadia 2056, but it's near sight more entertaining than Monsoon House. I can't imagine what Backbencher's target audience is, though; is there really a swell of interest for Canadian Parliamentary drama? I would have figured I'd be more or less the only person interested in this sort of thing.

In other news, I'm toying with the idea of combining two of my interests and writing a radio drama/comedy set in a yoga studio. I have a few rough ideas in mind, but haven't put pen to paper yet.

story

I heard the story of a famous Buddhist monk who was visiting an ashram to give a talk. The ashram was very excited to have the monk come, and asked him to send a bio so that they could advertise his talk. They didn't hear back from him for a while, so they asked again. Still nothing. They asked again. No response. Finally, the day before the talk, they asked one final time for a bio, or resume, or whatever, and at last they received a reply. Four words: "One mistake after another."

Mother. Pus. Bucket.

Now I have to find a whole new name for myself. Bastards.

ahimsa

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread..." thus do I enter into the thorny issue of yoga and vegetarianism.

There was an interesting article in the New York Times recently about yoga and food, and how some studios and restauranteurs are bringing them together in surprising (and somewhat icky - who wants to use their sweaty, nasty yoga mat as a place setting for an after class meal?) ways. This, of course, raises the question of what sorts of foods are fit for us yogis to eat. Patañjali's Yoga Sutras list ahimsa as the first part of the first limb of yoga - he is clearly making a statement of importance here by listing it right up front. Usually, we translate ahimsa as non-violence; not hurting each other. For a lot of yogis, this means adopting a vegetarian or vegan diet. The reasoning, I believe, is as follows: If I'm committed to not hurting other people, why would I be willing to benefit from the death of other animals? Especially when it is certainly possible to survive without consuming any animal products?

Well... I'm not completely sold on the idea, and my basic argument against it boils down to, ironically perhaps, my appreciation of the incredible complexity of life. How do we draw the line between what we can (ethically) eat and what we can't? Is it a simple division based on kingdom? If so, then why are animals more important than plants, or fungi, or protozoa for that matter? We all started from the same biological miracle; we all have 4.5 billion years of evolution behind us. It's not as if we can pretend that non-animal life is less advanced or more primitive than animals are, and therefore less worthy of survival on an individual basis. We all, essentially, share the same birthday and are growing old together.

It's a fundamental truth that animals need to feed on other life. If we live on plants, we're still eating something that once lived and was killed for our benefit. Something needs to die in order for me to live. This can't be avoided.

When I think about the idea that the only ethical diet is a vegetarian or vegan diet, it also brings to mind the diets and lifestyles of other cultures. Traditionally, the Inuit lived on a diet that consisted exclusively of animal products. They did so because these were the resources available to them - in the far North, there are no edible plants. There are birds, there are sea mammals, there are polar bears, there are caribou, and that's about it. Does this make the traditional Inuit diet unethical? No, and I don't think anyone would claim that it does. Let's progress into murkier territory, then - other foods are now available to many in the far north, foods that have been grown and processed in the south and flown to the Arctic at great expense. Now, does this recent availability of plant based foods make contemporary adherence to the traditional Inuit diet unethical? Is it wrong for the Inuit (or anyway, those among them who can afford the imported foods) to continue to adhere to their traditional diet when other options are now available? I'd argue that the answer to this question is also No; to answer it otherwise would be to suggest an inherent inferiority of the traditional Inuit culture, which is ridiculous. To suggest the superiority of one's own culture or belief system is paternalistic at best, patronizing at worst.

A lot of the argument around vegetarian/vegan diets for yogis strikes me this way - paternalistic. Why should I let someone else decide for me what ahimsa means? Isn't it my own responsibility to make peace with my decisions and with the world? Isn't that part of svadhyaya, self-study, which is also listed in Patañjali's eight limbs of yoga? I did not become involved with yoga to become pious and superior, nor to kowtow to those who are. I'm involved in this practice because it helps me find meaning and beauty in the world.

Is it possible to practice ahimsa as an omnivore? Is it possible to eat meat and practice non-violence? I think this question is far more nuanced and complex than many in the yoga community admit. The answer cannot be reduced to a simple yes or no.

Ugh... this post definitely needs more editing, but frankly I'm tired of working on it. These ideas have been on my mind for a long, long time, and I will probably return to them at some point in the future.

As always, comments are welcome and encouraged, especially if you respectfully disagree with me or find flaws in my arguments.

Poised for Grace by Douglas Brooks - a review

I finished reading Douglas Brooks' Tantric commentary on the Bhagavad Gita last night, after struggling with it for about two weeks. Well... it wasn't terrible, but it was in dire need of editing. There were a few sentences that didn't make sense even after repeated readings, and there were a few very obvious errors, like subject-verb agreement. I don't fault the author; these things can creep into anyone's writing. But the editors could have done a better job.

Regarding the content - it was interesting, but I don't know if I buy the basic Tantric belief that everything is god or comes from god. I have never found that to be a satisfying philosophy, and usually when it gets fleshed out, it starts feeling circular. On a positive note, though, the book did give me a much better understanding of the Gita. Whereas Patañjali's Yoga Sutras is a philosophical treatise, the Bhagavad Gita addresses the more vital question of how to practice yoga in the morally ambiguous full blown disaster of the world. The description of Arjuna's breakdown on the battlefield is especially striking, and will be hauntingly familiar to anyone who has ever lost their footing in the world and didn't know what to do next. Krishna's advice is all the more poignant for the familiarity of Arjuna's self doubt.

Dahn Yoga

There's been a fair bit of talk in the yoga blogosphere lately about Dahn yoga, so I thought I'd weigh in with my own experience.

It was November 2005, and I was spending a few days in Ottawa; I'd driven up for the weekend to visit my best friend (as I used to do every spring and fall). She was working the day after I arrived, so we couldn't hang out, but she'd received a flyer at work announcing an open house at a new yoga studio and she passed it along to me. Dahn yoga. I'd never heard of it, but I was willing to go and find out what it was all about.

The open house was partly meet and greet, partly sales pitch, partly practice session. Regarding the practice itself, it was unlike any other yoga I'd practised before. No reference to Patanjali, or even to India; totally unfamiliar poses. Strangest of all, we ended the session with 30 seconds of forced laughter. I remember sitting there in the circle at the end, forcing laughter along with the rest, thinking "This is crazy."

Regarding the sales pitch; well, they were certainly quite heavy handed. I had an out, of course, because I was only in Ottawa for the weekend. Still, they persisted in suggesting that I pursue Dahn yoga back in New York, and they really wanted me to return the following week for some sort of an aura reading.

I don't recall if anyone (apart from me) from outside the Dahn yoga circle came to the open house; most everyone else there was from Dahn yoga's Montreal centre. That, of course, was the real highlight of the open house for me; sitting there listening to people talking in Korean, French, and English, with a smattering of Sanskrit thrown in (names of other yoga studios in Montreal). I didn't understand the Korean, of course, but I understood a fair bit of the French. There is little that makes me happier than being surrounded by conversations in multiple languages, some of which I vaguely understand. I felt so cosmopolitan. I felt like I was in the Tower of Babel.

Is Dahn yoga a cult? I guess that depends on how you define the word cult. Is a cult just a religion without any political clout? I find this definition tempting, but ultimately insufficient. I think there needs to be a proselytizing aspect as well, which is common but not inherent in religion. Also, my sense of cults is that they are intractable; once you are in, it is difficult to leave. So given this very informal definition of cult (religion without political clout, proselytizing, intractable), does Dahn yoga fit the bill? Perhaps. I leave it to greater minds than my own to decide.

There is, perhaps, a second issue here, and I only raise it because I suspect the question will be asked (and answered poorly) by mainstream media if it ever addresses the Dahn yoga story. Is yoga a cult? Obviously I don't believe it is, else I would not be involved in it. But let's apply my three point definition here as well for the sake of argument. First, I disagree with the suggestion that yoga is a religion (though some in the community do present it as such, and would probably take umbrage with me for disagreeing). Although we talk about goddesses and gods, no one in the yoga community has ever suggested to me that I need to believe in these deities as anything other than mythological beings, and no one has ever suggested that I need to pray to them. Neither is there in yoga (at least, the forms of yoga which I practice) a hierarchical power structure or a supreme leader. Yoga, in my experience, is a bottom-up enterprise; yes, there are big names and leaders of sorts, but I am free (and encouraged) to build my practice out of my own experience rather than relying on anyone else's. Also, I have never experienced anything akin to proselytizing in yoga. Those involved in the practice have found their own way there, and remain there (or not) because of the meaning that they find in it, not because of the meaning that anyone else attributes to it. Finally, the question of intractability. People leave (and return to) yoga all the time; it's almost a joke among yoga teachers. We run into former students outside the studio, and the first thing they want to tell us is that they're sorry they haven't been practising. Not to sound insensitive, and not at all to suggest that I'm uninterested in their practice or personal struggles (nothing could be further from the truth), but whether and how to practice is the student's decision, not her teacher's. We are not shepherds. We are not baby sitters. Just as we all find our own way into the practice, we are all free to find our own way out as well, and I don't think I have ever met a teacher who does not understand or respect that.

meaningful

Ever since I made my monster list of New Year's projects, I've been totally freaking out from the enormity of it all, and the thought of all the things I left off the list. So while I'm winnowing down, revising, and prioritizing the list, here's a post on an unrelated topic.

I sometimes find myself wondering why I am here. Like everyone else on the planet, I know that I am ultimately headed for the big dirt nap, and will probably get there sooner than I expect and much sooner than I'd like. Before that happens, though, I wonder if there's something important that I'm meant to do; not in a paranoid-schizophrenic-delusions-of-grandeur sort of way, rather, I'd like to think there is something I can do with my time here that would be of benefit to others and also meaningful to me. At first I thought that it would involve writing, or some obscure interest or fascination of mine, but I have never been able to figure out what to do with any of that. Most of my interests seem very peculiar to me, and probably not of great import to society at large.

Frustrated, I thought about Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Buckminster Fuller, and their respective struggles to find purpose in their lives. Goethe found his answer in writing; Fuller, in devising creative new ways of living. Both ideas resonate with me in different ways, but neither seems to be my path, per se. Writing is certainly something I love to do, but I don't think I could view it as an end, only as a means. The fundamental drive for me lies somewhere else.

Then I realized I was thinking too much about it, and if there really was something I was meant to do, it was probably right in front of me and not something that I had to dig very deep for. And then it came to me. Yoga. Of course it's yoga; what else could it be? This practice, more than anything else, has been the thing that has helped me unfold as a person. If there is anything I am meant to do, at least at this point in my life, I am certain that this is it; studying, practicing, teaching, living yoga. And there is great comfort and relief in that realization, because this is something I am already involved in and already love.

Projects for the new year

I don't like making resolutions, because they only end of being broken, but at the beginning of the new year I do make a list of projects to work on. Here is (most of) this year's list:

1. Train for a triathalon.
2. Asana: work on abs, forward bends, back bends
3. Pranayam: I'd like to decrease my resting breath rate to one per minute. I don't know if that's physically possible.
4. Drastically cut back on my television watching
5. Eat local/organic meat only
6. Writing project? Not sure what. Maybe one that I've contemplated in the past but haven't had the courage to start.
7. Visit Berlin and/or Paris and/or Ireland and/or... somewhere else
8. Read all of Jane Austen's novels

This is a much larger and more complicated list than I usually make. Fortunately, I'm not much attached to whether I accomplish these things. I do seem to be happiest when I have challenges to work on, though.

Welcome, 2010. Arthur C. Clarke would be so disappointed.

asana sequence

I taught this on Sunday, and I think most of the class didn't know what hit 'em, so I want to record it for posterity (and so I can teach it again):

Start in down dog. Inhale forward to a plank.

Take side plank (vasistasana) on the right side. Left hand grips left big toe in yogi toe grip, and left leg is extended to the ceiling.

Inhaling, lunge the left foot forward and come onto the ball of the right foot. Take a few breaths in the lunge, both hands on the floor.

Then lunge the right foot forward and past the left foot, taking the right big toe in yogi toe grip with the right hand, and extending the right leg forward as you come up to stand. (padangusthasana).

Inhale - open the right leg up to the right, bringing the gaze to the left. Breathe.

Exhale the right leg forward, back into padangusthasana, then inhaling, sweep the right leg behind you, taking hold of the top of the right foot and extending the left arm up to the ceiling. (dancer pose - natarajasana).

Breathe.

Transition into half moon, ardha chandrasana, by releasing the right leg, extending the right hand to the ceiling, and bringing the left hand to the floor. Hips stack, shoulders stack.

After a few breaths, bring the right hand to the floor and the left hand up towards the ceiling for parivrtta ardha chandrasana.

Then bring both hands to the floor, and extend the back leg (right leg) up towards the ceiling for standing split (can't remember the Sanskrit - something eka pada something).

Then, bending in the left knee, jump back to three legged down dog, move through a vinyasa, and return to down dog.

Repeat on the left side.

Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler - a review

So, I've once again been chewing my way through Drawing Down the Moon, by Margot Adler. This is my third try; I first picked it up in spring of 2001 (inspired by liner notes for a Dar Williams song), but was soon distracted by an immediate and unforeseen need to leave the place I was living at the time. I started reading it again a few years ago; can't remember why I didn't make it all the way through that second time. Anyway, this is attempt #3, and I'm making good progress. I'm further into the book than I got on my prior attempts, and a lot of it is sinking in and making sense (or in some cases very clearly not making sense).

I just finished the chapter on "Women, Feminism, and the Craft". The first half of the chapter didn't do much for me; I'm reading an old edition of the book, and a lot of it seemed dated. Second wave feminism. I understand (at least, I think I understand) the importance from a historical context, but it all seems a bit reductionist/dualistic to me. I'm glad we've moved on.

With those caveats in place, there are some really rich passages in this chapter. Let's start with these two quotes from page 210:

Despite what some psychologists say, no one really has the slightest idea what a woman (or, for that matter, what a man) is.

"...the great mystery of our society is that men and women are exactly alike and this truth is hidden from us under an incredible load of bullshit."

That second quote gets right down to the heart of the matter. Politics, religion (which is just another word for politics), and 99% of what we call gender - they are all based on the bullshit of false dichotomies and a fearful desire to call things Other. Apart from the gross physical level of genetics, hormones, brain structures, and plumbing (important to note that the last two list items are wholly dependent on the first two list items), is there any inherent difference between men and women? (For the moment, let's pretend that these two categories are mutually exclusive and exhaustive.) And how amazing is it that this dichotomy that every one of us buys into to some extent is almost wholly fabricated? We as humans have the capability to invent something that orders our entire universe and never, ever gets questioned. Wow. I'm not saying that's either good or bad. Mostly it's just amazing.

Also, quoted from Robin Morgan's Sisterhood is Powerful on page 206:

If you are a woman and dare to look within yourself, you are a Witch. You make your own rules. You are free and beautiful. You can be invisible or evident in how you choose to make your witch-self known. You can form your own Coven of sister Witches (thirteen is a cozy number for a group) and do your own actions...

Your power comes from your own self as a woman, and it is activated by working in concert with your sisters...

You are a Witch by saying aloud, "I am a Witch" three times, and thinking about that. You are a Witch by being female, untamed, angry, joyous, and immortal.

Part of the reason I started with the discussion of gender was to lend this description of witchcraft some degree of universality. What I love about this quote is that it makes it very, very clear that witchcraft/neo-Paganism is not about superficial action; it's about essence. You can't convert. You either are or aren't, and if you aren't, there's no way in, and if you are, there's no way out (stakes and bonfires notwithstanding). Also, modern witchcraft, unlike conventional religion (and much of the rest of neo-Paganism), is independent of power structure, hierarchy, bureaucracy. It is wild, untamed. "You make your own rules."

Another element of witchcraft/neo-Paganism that's really struck me on this third voyage through the book is the idea of imminence rather than transcendence. The divine is not off floating in the clouds shooting the shit with saints and angels. If it's anywhere, it's right here. Where else could it be? And here's where the connection to yoga comes in. (You knew that was coming, right?) The first line of Patañjali is atha yoga anusasanam - now, yoga instruction. The key word is NOW - not yesterday, not tomorrow, not in the afterlife. Now. Here. Imminence. Not transcendence.

The risk with a philosophy of imminence is that the divine has nowhere to hide; it's all out in the open, immediately available to everyone. This is a threat to traditional religion because traditional religion is based on hierarchical power structures. If those at the bottom of the hierarchy have equal access to the divine as do those at the top, it obviates the need for the hierarchy. Also, the game of "I know god's will but you don't so you need to listen to me if you want to go to heaven" becomes impossible to play. There is no heaven, there is no hell, and we all have access to divinity.

This post is dedicated to the memory of my friend Byron, who would have been 40 today, and probably would have humoured me by listening to all these musings.

yoga quiz

I took a quiz over on Yoga Dawg's website; got a nice chuckle to start the morning with (although, knowing Yoga Dawg (or his/her website, anyway), probably everyone gets this response):

You are God. You love to sit back and watch the deluded masses do yoga. You love making snarky comments with the ascended yoga masters about what is going on in the yoga scene in America today. The Holy Yogis are the most amusing to you. You have a good old time every time you hear a Yoga Star spouting philosophical hooey, hokum, hogwash, hype and hocus-pocus regarding yoga. Most amusing of all is how you set up the GreatTranscendentalYoga SuperStore to see who was smart enough not to fall for all the cheap tricks of the Yoga-Industrial-Complex (not many and those that don’t seem to live in Kansas and Iowa).

You are endlessly amused from the scandals involving Yoga Stars and the rivalry between the style of yoga and especially all the crazy branding of yoga that is being invented daily. But most amusing of all to you are the yoga zealots who claim to have all the answers but somehow turn out to be complete ass-hats who are drowning in their self-piousness.

Well, if that doesn't hit almost all of my yoga buttons, I don't know what does. I love the fact that there are (other) yogis out there who recognize the deep irony of yoga marketing (the yoga-industrial complex) and who don't hesitate to call others in the community "ass-hats" when it's warranted.

"Drowning in their self-piousness" - that's going to have me smiling all day!

PS - I'm back. I think.

Enlighten Up - a review

I wouldn't have thought that it would be possible to make a funny, touching documentary about yoga that really got into the heart of what yoga is. Well, apparently it is possible, for it has been done. For those of us who take this practice seriously, but have some curiosity (and perhaps some reservations) about some of those who take it even more seriously, this was a fine, fine film. There were very funny scenes (kundalini = kundalooney!), and there were quite moving scenes as well (eg, when Nick and Kate are in India, and he starts crying when he talks about his mom). The film really confirmed my suspicion that Indian masters are teaching a very different discipline than many of their well known American counterparts (the long and the short of it: it doesn't matter what you're doing; what matters is how you're doing it - this is yoga).

I also found it quite interesting that as Nick (the subject of the documentary) began delving further into yoga, Kate (his friend and documentarian) began getting frustrated with him for not being able to articulate his experience and evolving belief in the terms that she was expecting. At least, this was my take on it. It struck me that perhaps she was looking for a greater understanding for herself about yoga and trying to acquire it vicariously through Nick, the neophyte, though she didn't seem entirely aware of it. But perhaps I'm just projecting.

BKS Iyengar made the poignant observation that you can't start thinking about philosophy until you're in a good state of health. That is what links this physical practice of sticky mats and tank tops to the deeper practices of dharna, dhyana, and samadhi. First prepare the body; then proceed from there. This question comes up so often (what does twisting yourself into a pretzel have to do with the headier philosophies of yoga?), and I'm glad to finally have an easily digestible answer from none other than Sri Iyengar.

So yogis and yoginis - go see this film! You will love it.

my new favourite thing ever

So, so wrong:

reunion, revelation

I ran into and old friend of Byron's on Friday. The last I knew, N was living in Ireland, and I didn't expect to see him again, so it was a pleasant shock to find him at the Bakery. He's in town for the summer. When I asked him what he's been doing, he said biking and hiking, so I gave him my number so that we could get together.

Later on Friday, I discovered that one of my friends grew up right down the road from me (albeit a few years earlier). We had all of the same elementary school teachers and graduated from the same high school. Very, very weird!

I am glad to have finally made the real world acquaintance of one of my fellow bloggers, Pam, this past weekend, and I am happy to report that she is as interesting and funny in real life as her blog has led me to believe. She was in New Paltz to climb, so we met at Bacchus and I bought her the beer that I promised her almost a year ago. We both wore WFMU tee shirts (totally unplanned) and we talked and laughed about last week's episode of Seven Second Delay. It was a really, really nice way to spend the evening.

On Sunday morning, I taught two yoga classes at Jai Ma. I got very positive feedback after each, and perhaps more importantly, I felt good about the classes, both while teaching and afterward. I think I may be getting the hang of this. Students keep asking me if there are any classes that I teach on a regular basis (rather than subbing). That seems like a good sign. I'm still losing sleep the night before I teach, but not as much as I used to. I'm freaking out less beforehand too (generally).

Finally, yesterday after yoga, T and I drove to Long Island to visit with her grandmother. Unfortunately, she isn't doing very well. After a hospital stay, she is now home again receiving hospice care. The first time I met her (about six months ago), I remember thinking about what a sharp and fascinating person she was to talk to. I still see that in her, but she is struggling now, both physically and mentally. And if it's hard for me to see, I know it must be a million times worse for T.

It's not an easy thing to think or write about, but part of me really hopes that when my own time comes, it will be sudden and offer me little opportunity for reflection. I do not want to have the experience of knowing. Even as I write this, though, I know that I am curious. There are already so many realms of knowledge from which I am permanently barred. (What is it like to be a woman? What is it like to live all of your life in a third world country? What was it like to live in the 1800s?) It feels like I'm cheating myself by saying that there is yet another realm of experience from which I would voluntarily bar myself if I could.

tanked

So... pranayam class didn't go so well. I think I wasn't in the right state of mind to teach; I'd been focusing all day on writing code, and my head was still spinning with data and algorithms. So in the class, I just taught mechanics. Didn't go into benefits of specific pranayams or benefits of breath work in general. I skipped my whole planned spiel about "the first thing you did in this world was inhale, and one of the last things you're going to do is exhale, so if you want an advanced yoga practice you need to work on pranayam."

A few things I know I could improve on in the future: Teaching five different pranayams in an hour is too much. Four is plenty. Also, I need quiet time to myself before I teach, to get into the right state of mind. There's not much benefit in taking class from a teacher whose head is still reeling from his other job. Also, I need to require pre-registration and pre-payment in the future.

"If Yoga isn't pushing you outside your comfort zone, it ain't really Yoga." I came across this line late last night on someone else's blog, when I was feeling lousy about giving a mediocre class, and I immediately felt better.

Incense and Peppermint Chamomile

Last Monday, I taught two moderate classes at Jai Ma. And on Friday, I taught a demo Level I class across the river in Lagrange. The incense was so thick in the Lagrange studio, I smelled like I'd fallen into a vat of nag champa after Friday's class. Apart from that, I really liked the studio. It's in a strip mall! What a perfect place for a yoga studio!

The more I teach, the more comfortable I feel doing it; but I'm still having difficulty sleeping the night before.

I'm going to be teaching a class on pranayam, yogic breathing, on 13 May. Partly I'm doing this because I never seem to have as much time as I'd like during normal classes to teach and practice pranayam. Partly I'm doing this because I want more experience teaching, and I'm not getting it by subbing alone, and I don't feel ready to commit to a regular weekly class. At least not a regular weekly asana class. So... we'll see how this goes. Maybe if there's interest, I'll start teaching a pranayam class on a regular basis. Stranger things have happened.

I spent Saturday morning spreading manure on my third of the garden plot that I'm sharing with T and B. Does it say something about my feelings about my day job that I chose to spend my off time shovelling horse shit? My original plan was just to plant cheese pumpkins (which are way, way, way superior to sugar pumpkins for pie making), but I think I might plant pole beans as well. It'd be nice to have enough to freeze and enjoy throughout next winter, rather than just getting the meagre allotment of beans from my CSA share. I remembered on Saturday that I have a bag of chamomile seeds from a few years back, so I'll probably scatter those around too.

Emotional landscapes

I'm back from my weekend trip to Ottawa. Had a pretty good time - walked around Parliament Hill, through the Byward Market, went to the nature museum, finally saw Passchendaele. Ate way too many jelly beans. And I discovered that Canadians take Good Friday way, way, way seriously; NOTHING was open on Friday. I mean, Wal-Mart was closed. Wal-Mart! Yes, that Wal-Mart!

On the drive north, T and I talked about emotional landscapes; how the mental maps that we make of a place do not necessarily correspond to the dry, two dimensional images that we find on Google Earth; memories and perceptions colour the map and warp distances and sizes. This evolved into a discussion of the slippery slope of assigning our own perceptions to places as if they reflected inherent values. We were driving through an area of northern New York with very little in the way of industry or economic opportunity of any sort. The first few times I drove through it (many years ago), I thought about how depressed the area was and how depressing it must be to live there. Eventually, though, I began asking myself how I knew that. I was jumping to an unwarranted conclusion; I simply don't know the experience of the people who live there. I've never met them. I've never asked.

One of my yoga teachers talks about the Sanskrit concept of shri; life-affirming. A daisy sprouting through a crack in the pavement. Butterflies on a battlefield. We tend to find happiness, beauty, joy in the least likely places.

frustration

I am REALLY looking forward to that day in the far distant future when I feel comfortable teaching a yoga class. I am sick of getting so nervous that I stumble over my words, can't remember the tune of the chant that I begin class with, silently berate myself all the way through class for not knowing what I'm doing.

It has been a long time since I've done something this... different. And challenging for me. Unfortunately, at this point I'm only getting tapped to sub about once a month, so I'm not getting enough experience to become more comfortable with it.

I wrote a few months ago about feeding the mind either garbage or gourmet. I've been feeding myself a lot of garbage lately, and I think it's more apparent when I'm teaching because, as I observed when I first started teaching, this part of my practice keeps me honest. I can't hide when I'm up there. I can't go on autopilot, because I'm just not good enough at this yet. I have to be there.