A New Sensation

For the past several weeks I've been practicing yoga anywhere from 10-25 minutes daily. While I'm practicing I experience every feeling from "blah" to "ahhh" and everything in between. Sometimes I'm bored. Sometimes my mind wanders. Sometimes I forget my breath. But always by the end I'm feeling more centered.

I've also noticed a new sensation in my body as I practice. This sensation has sort of crept up on me becoming more and more noticeable with each day. It's strange and unfamiliar yet comforting. It's hard to explain exactly what it feels like, but it's lovely.

There's a yoga sutra "stirum sukham asanam" which means "steady and comfortable." The only way I can think to explain this sensation is to say that I feel like I'm now embodying that sutra. There seems to be no tension in my body and a great sense of ease within each posture.

Each day of practice brings new challenges and rewards. It seems this experience is proving to me that with daily practice the rewards are subtle and lasting.

Pretzel Anyone?

I think this is the image of yoga so many people have in their minds....pretty funny.

Heart of Yoga

After completing our two week ordeal after shaktipat Paul and I went on a much needed trip to Kripalu. He'd never been and I wanted to share with him the place that has brought me so much healing and transformation.

Back in 2007 during my yoga teacher training at Kripalu Mark Whitwell popped in to give a short lecture. What he said I did not remember exactly, but I did remember the feeling he left me with. I thought "Well he's a cool dude. Yeah, I totally identify with what he's saying."

He came to mind not long ago and I looked up his schedule. I saw he'd be at Kripalu in October and made a note of it. After reading the description of the workshop while Paul and I were in the midst of the shaktipat madness, I decided it was just what I needed....and kept my fingers crossed that Paul would benefit from it as well.

Mark basis his teachings on the teachings of T. Krishnamacharya (who was teacher to the well known B.K.S. Iyengar and K. Pattabhi Jois) and his son TKV Desikachar. It's important to note that both of these teachers had families--which is drastically different than what most traditions stem from. I haven't had the time to research the lineage too deeply, but it seems to me from what Mark Whitwell is teaching that this has a huge impact on his teaching of yoga.

I realized from his talks that a lot of 'yoga' as we know it is tied up in the Hindu religion. Ahhh, my shaktipat experience of religious guilt was made a little clearer to me. These are a few points that I walked away with from my weekend:

• Nature contains absolute intelligence and is responsible for creation. If Nature is the Source of Life then we are not separate from it.
• Yoga is union with that Source and is our embrace of the ordinary conditions of Life (our body, each other, nature).
• Yoga is also our direct participation in Life and with each other. Removing ourselves from others, or from the ordinary conditions of Life (for example living in a monastery) does not serve to bring us closer to Source.
• There is nothing we need to attain. Searching for 'enlightenment' or some other way of 'being' implies that we're not already whole, complete, and a part of Source (a perfect parable for this: have you ever been searching for your glasses, only to find they are on your head? You don't need to search to connect to Source-you already are a part of it just as the rays are a part the sun).
• Asana practice is not to be done with the goal of enlightenment or God realization, but instead to interact with Source and Life.
• The practice of Yoga is what spontaneously, naturally allows samskaras (imprints left on the subconscious mind by experience) to drop away and grace to unfold.

Here's what I learned to apply to my asana, pranayama, and meditation practice:

• Practice yoga daily and unobsessively! Mark says to do a minimum of 7 minutes a day to connect body/breath with Source, but I can't seem to do it in under 15 minutes effectively. Still, 15 minutes a day is totally do-able and this is a break through concept for me! Silly as it may seem I had myself tied to this idea of an hour long practice-which is why I never practice. Now, I'm practicing 15-45 mins/day. Usually I do it in the morning and it sets a beautiful tone for my day.
• Inhale expanding the rib cage and chest, receiving energy from above. Exhale flattening the stomach and pulling the belly button slightly up toward the solar plexus, drawing strength from below. This is different from three part breath commonly used in asana practice. I find this new breath very invigorating.
• The breath begins each movement. The asana (posture) is done for the breath-not the other way around.
• Bandha (body locks at the throat, solar plexus, root) is for the purpose of connecting with our heart center by bowing the head down while lifting the root/solar plexus up.
• Meditation is a naturally occuring state and cannot be forced. (Example: can you force yourself to sleep if you are not ready?)

After such an extreme experience with the Kundalini Maha shaktipat experience this was the message I so needed to hear. The Universe sent me exactly where I needed to be. Home. Kriplau. Mark's teachings were something that felt True to me. He helped me to reconnect to what I know in my heart. The practice of Yoga is a way to connect to Source -which is already a part of me. I don't need to look outside of myself or go to great lengths to purify that which I am in order to get to something 'more.' I am that I am.

Shaktipat

Three weeks ago Paul and I decided to receive shaktipat from Shri Anandi Ma of the Kundalini Maha Yoga tradition.

Shaktipat is the transmission of energy from a powerful spiritual leader to student to help awaken the kundalini energy lying dormant at the base of the spine. It's said to help hasten the process of working through old karmas.

After the shaktipat we were instructed to complete a (very long) mantra 108 times per day--that's one round around the mala beads--to not have sex, and not eat meat, eggs, garlic, or onions (all said to arouse agitation)....for ten days. Oh, and if I start my period I'm supposed to stop and start all over again on the fifth day of my period. Apparently it is counter productive to the kundalini rising since it is a downward flow.

So of course I started my period. Luckily I started the very day after the ceremony so I wasn't half way through....but still. It lengthened the time we had to restrain from all things good in life. I don't want to go into a blow by blow, but let's just say our household wasn't as amicable as it usually is.

For me the worst part was not eating garlic and onion. I can go vegetarian, but no garlic or onion?? As we got closer to the two week mark I was actually craving meat. I always debated going vegetarian and now I know it's not for me. Call me a semi-vegetarian--if there is such a thing. I don't eat red meat and I can go without meat for most meals. But I do need meat. The funny thing is that Paul has come out of this practice having lost his appetite for it.

The celibacy got difficult as we approached the two week mark as well. We landed up not making it till the last day. Then I sort of felt like I had failed something. Then I rationalized that we would have made it if I hadn't gotten my period and extended the whole process by four days. So there. It was my fault we "failed."


The whole thing just didn't sit right with me. I felt almost dirty for getting my period. Then I felt bad for making love to my fiance'? And on top of it all I couldn't even eat garlic and onion? Everything has garlic and onion. I'm not dirty and sex is not bad

On top of all this there was the monumental task of trying to do the mantra and meditate for an hour and a half to two hours a night. Every night it was like pulling teeth to sit down for that. It all left us feeling pretty miserable.


I tried to think of all this as purifying and an opportunity to cultivate discipline. I tried to think of it as an opportunity to confront things that make me uncomfortable (like denying myself pleasure through intimacy and food), but it really just landed up feeling like religious guilt.

In the end I felt blessed to have been given the gift of shaktipat-this energy transmission from a being who is so dedicated to helping others advance on their path....I just wasn't sure if this path was the one for me. Luckily, soon after this experience I took a trip back to "The Mother Ship"--my beloved Kripalu---where I got some much needed clarity.

To be continued....

Blonde to Brunette

(crying) “Mommmmy that mean lady made my hair brown.”

“No she didn’t honey. It was already brown underneath.”

“Noooooooo. It’s not fair. She made it turn broooowwwn!!”

As far as I was concerned I was a blonde. All of my four years on this earth I had beautiful blonde hair just like the ladies on television. I remember being at my Grandma’s house and jumping on her bed after a bath imagining my hair bouncing like the springs below....just like the lady on the Prell commercial.

“Am I pretty Grandma?” I'd ask.

I’ll admit even to this day I’m not the best with personal hygiene. I can go to bed without brushing my teeth. I shower every other day. Hey! Don’t judge me. I haven’t had a cavity in years and I don’t smell. Ask Paul.

I’ll also admit that I’m willful. When I was a little one (around the age of four) I gave my mom a hell of a time. Putting my hands on my hips and telling her “you’re not the boss of me” and “go ahead. Take my toys. I’ll just get more.” My poor mother. She must have wanted to smack me so bad. In fact, I think she did a few times. Or more.

Well you can just imagine me, Miss Willful Bad Hygiene 1981, with straight, blonde, FINE (and I do mean fine) hair that I wouldn’t brush-and I wouldn’t let my mom brush. My hair started to look like a rat’s nest. My mother-just as willful as me-told me if I didn’t get the snarls out she’d take me to the hairdresser’s and as far as she could brush was where she’d cut.

She gave me a week.

“Do you understand?” She’d ask. “See how short your hair will be?”

I can only imagine the defiant look on my face as I went to bed. I didn’t care. I wasn’t concerned.

When the day came that we went to the hairdresser’s my mom was adamant. That hair was getting cut. The poor woman charged with cutting my hair looked at me with pity that had nothing to do with me. She felt sorry for herself. She knew she’d have to hear me cry.

“Please?” she begged my mom. “Please let me try to brush it out?”

“No.” My mom said. “She had the choice. Cut it.”

At this point you might be villainizing my mother. Don’t. She was right. Yes, I was only four, but I did this to defy her. I can remember that far back. I did it as a fuck you to her. The problem was that I was too young to see that it would only hurt me in the end.

One thing I’ll tell you about my mother is that she follows through. There are times I know she’s regretted it, but if she says something-you can be sure it will happen. And you know what? I really respect that about her as I got older. She always gave a warning, but if I decided to keep up with my shit, I had only myself to blame. Even if I didn’t agree with the consequence-I usually knew what it was before it happened and it was my choice to go there or not.

I always knew where my mother stood. I always knew what she said was what she meant and that she’d stand by it. I know that by the time I was a teenager I would think twice about what I did knowing that I’d have to face the consequences of whatever I had done.

And you know what? For the most part I don’t have a problem with my mother’s standards. Brush your hair. It's not nice to eat in front of others unless you can share. All people are equal. Be nice to animals. Work hard. Be honest. Be accountable.

Ok, so back to Miss Prell. When I walked into the salon my hair was blonde. My baby hair, that is. My grown-up Shawna hair had started growing in underneath. The hairdresser cut my hair as ‘long’ as she could. When she was done she had cut off all my blonde and left what was underneath. Brown.

“Moooommmmmyyyyy. That mean lady made my hair brown.”

“No she didn’t honey, it was already brown underneath. Your daddy and me have brown hair, so that’s what’s growing from your hair already. She just cut off all the blonde on top.”

I didn’t understand at the time that my roots had grown in brown already. My blonde hair was just my baby hair mixed with the sun bleached yumminess that spending four hours a day riding my tricycle in the sun can bring.

The hairdresser felt terrible when I started to cry. I think she might have felt worse when I told her she was a big meanie for making my hair brown. I think she was all of twenty-one. The poor thing. And I’m sure she whispered ‘bitch’ under her breath as my mother walked out of the salon.

But ya know what? I always brushed my hair after that. Always.

Thought for the Day

Death Row

It's been raining and raining. We went to the garden last week. It was really sad. I literally felt like I was walking death row.Notice how the root is dead. No coming back from this...Whatsup Doc?Yeah, that's our 'carrot.'
You disgust me carrot. You are nothing but a failure in my eyes. You reflect all that I've done wrong. And as for you 'tomato.' Hurumph. I have nothing to say to you.
I call these next few shots "Life and Death".....notice the red tomatoes peeking out between the dead vines.

Mmmmmm.....bolted lettus.
So, other than a few green beans, snap peas, and tomatoes our garden is pretty much a wash. Har har. A wash. Get it? The rain? A wash.....

I'm laughing through my tears. I had such high hopes for our garden. I envisioned fresh salsa and home-made tomato sauce. I dreamt of straight from the garden salads. I even had delusions of Chinese stir fry with our cabbage, green onions, and jalapenos. Now is a time to practice non-attachment.

I guess death didn't just knock at our door. Look at this poor fellow I found in my mother's sun room that same day....
And I swear I didn't put him on that book! That is where I found him. Isn't it ironic, don't ya think? A little toooooooo ironic.....and I really do think. It's like raaaaaain on your gar-den.

Rock on Alanis. I feel ya sista. I feel ya.