The last few weeks have been more stressful than usual. A cold-type virus which lasted nearly a fortnight, and a very heavy workload have meant that my regular yoga practice hasn't been at the top of my to-do list. Indeed, I began to think that my yoga practice could easily take a back seat for a while.
I was wrong.
For the first few days, my not practising meant that I could squeeze in a few more emails, or finish off another piece of written work. It also meant that I didn't have to slow down. But I soon began to notice how restless my mind was, and the extent to which my thoughts were occupied with nothing but work. Not good.
I also began to feel guilty about not taking time out for yoga. Why would I let something I love drift away? Where was my commitment, my discipline? What would happen if I didn't start up again?
Then I remembered this article, which reminded me what I was missing, and why it was important to restore the balance.
So today, I unrolled my mat, and came home again.
And as I began to move, and to find the breath in my body, I realised that yoga is always there, waiting for us to come back to it. There is no judgement and no demand for explanation; rather there is a welcome and the reminder that we are mind, body and spirit.
It was good to be home.
Showing posts with label yoga and life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yoga and life. Show all posts
Monday, 21 December 2015
Friday, 23 October 2015
Soaring
One of the joys of my day off is being able to take a longer yoga practice. Sometimes I revisit the poses and sequences from the yoga class I attend each week; other times I fall back on a routine of tried-and-tested poses which form the foundation of my practice. But today, I followed a video sequence from one of my favourite YouTube channels, Yoga with Adrienne.
As I follow some earth-centred paths these days, I sometimes try to link my yoga practice with things that are going on in nature: shorter, darker days in Autumn and Winter might call for a more gentle practice; the energy of Spring and Summer may invite us to open up to the energy of the Sun.
Today, however, I felt inspired by where the Moon is in her cycle, and to focus on Half Moon Pose.
Although I'm no expert at it, this is one of my favourite poses; I am always amazed and delighted when I get anywhere near achieving it. The yoga teacher Judith Lasater says of this pose:
Combining balance and stretch, Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana) partakes of the cool radiance of the moon in the midst of the heat of active standing poses... Remember the soaring feeling of Half-Moon Pose when you are stuck in the doldrums of life.
I'm glad to say that, today, I wasn't in the doldrums, but I was reminded that when we practice yoga we are there in that moment, connecting mind, body and (hopefully!) spirit. We are moving beyond the usual experience of life, reaching for something both within and beyond ourselves. We are soaring.
As I follow some earth-centred paths these days, I sometimes try to link my yoga practice with things that are going on in nature: shorter, darker days in Autumn and Winter might call for a more gentle practice; the energy of Spring and Summer may invite us to open up to the energy of the Sun.
Today, however, I felt inspired by where the Moon is in her cycle, and to focus on Half Moon Pose.
 |
| Half-Moon Pose (This not me, by the way!) |
Although I'm no expert at it, this is one of my favourite poses; I am always amazed and delighted when I get anywhere near achieving it. The yoga teacher Judith Lasater says of this pose:
Combining balance and stretch, Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana) partakes of the cool radiance of the moon in the midst of the heat of active standing poses... Remember the soaring feeling of Half-Moon Pose when you are stuck in the doldrums of life.
I'm glad to say that, today, I wasn't in the doldrums, but I was reminded that when we practice yoga we are there in that moment, connecting mind, body and (hopefully!) spirit. We are moving beyond the usual experience of life, reaching for something both within and beyond ourselves. We are soaring.
Saturday, 10 January 2015
Walking backwards to the future
I love technology. I love to keep up-to-date with which companies are bringing out new devices, or updating their operating systems. I check out new releases of Linux distributions and have tried out literally hundreds of them on my own computer over the last few years. I also use a computer and a tablet every single day, and sometimes for four or five hours at a stretch. And as I work from home, I'm rarely out of reach of WiFi.
But more than technology, I love old technology. I adore any scene in a film where, about an hour into the movie, the main character searches out the only person in the city who can help to avert the alien threat. ('He doesn't do this sort of thing any more,' says his ex-boss at the underground government facility. 'He gave up on computers when he saw where they were leading civilization. You'll never persuade him to do it.')
When they eventually track down the guy who is their only hope, they find him keeping bees or tenderly trimming a bonsai tree. Of course, they persuade him to help, and then he begins to assemble a makeshift control centre from a Commodore 64, an Acorn A410 (which in the movie is incorrectly badged as an Apple Macintosh II) and one of those telex things where you put a telephone handset into a cradle (as seen in the film Wargames). 'I still know a trick or two,' he says, as he fires up the Commodore and begins to type, 'And these machines were built to last...'
Old technology: as I write this I am burning a couple of albums onto CD so that I can play them while I practice yoga. And to listen to them I will be using a small speaker linked to a Philips personal CD player which my sister gave me as a gift 12 years ago. Why will I be doing that? Because the CD player still works, and because my iPod can no longer hold a charge for more than about an hour and is, therefore, next to useless. And the smartphones? None of them is mine. I do have a new phone, a Sony Ericsson K501i, which was released in 2008 and which I bought last week from a local second-hand exchange store for £18. That, too, still works, and the battery life looks set to be about 7 days between charges.
I'm not sure where this mixed and contradictory approach to technology comes from, but I think there is sense of romanticism there. I simply love the idea that something built years, even decades, ago can still work and be useful today. And I cling to the idea that just because something was created in the last three months and is being sold today in a new wrapper, it doesn't mean that it does a better job than the old one, or the one before that.
Of course, I know that my personal CD player won't work for ever, though I can probably search on Ebay for a replacement. And I know that, one day, there will be no CDs available for me to burn music onto. Perhaps then I will open the windows, or take my yoga mat outside. All the music and technology in the world cannot improve on the song of the blackbird, which is here for a moment and then gone for ever.
But more than technology, I love old technology. I adore any scene in a film where, about an hour into the movie, the main character searches out the only person in the city who can help to avert the alien threat. ('He doesn't do this sort of thing any more,' says his ex-boss at the underground government facility. 'He gave up on computers when he saw where they were leading civilization. You'll never persuade him to do it.')
When they eventually track down the guy who is their only hope, they find him keeping bees or tenderly trimming a bonsai tree. Of course, they persuade him to help, and then he begins to assemble a makeshift control centre from a Commodore 64, an Acorn A410 (which in the movie is incorrectly badged as an Apple Macintosh II) and one of those telex things where you put a telephone handset into a cradle (as seen in the film Wargames). 'I still know a trick or two,' he says, as he fires up the Commodore and begins to type, 'And these machines were built to last...'
Old technology: as I write this I am burning a couple of albums onto CD so that I can play them while I practice yoga. And to listen to them I will be using a small speaker linked to a Philips personal CD player which my sister gave me as a gift 12 years ago. Why will I be doing that? Because the CD player still works, and because my iPod can no longer hold a charge for more than about an hour and is, therefore, next to useless. And the smartphones? None of them is mine. I do have a new phone, a Sony Ericsson K501i, which was released in 2008 and which I bought last week from a local second-hand exchange store for £18. That, too, still works, and the battery life looks set to be about 7 days between charges.
I'm not sure where this mixed and contradictory approach to technology comes from, but I think there is sense of romanticism there. I simply love the idea that something built years, even decades, ago can still work and be useful today. And I cling to the idea that just because something was created in the last three months and is being sold today in a new wrapper, it doesn't mean that it does a better job than the old one, or the one before that.
Of course, I know that my personal CD player won't work for ever, though I can probably search on Ebay for a replacement. And I know that, one day, there will be no CDs available for me to burn music onto. Perhaps then I will open the windows, or take my yoga mat outside. All the music and technology in the world cannot improve on the song of the blackbird, which is here for a moment and then gone for ever.
Thursday, 6 March 2014
You, me, a tree
I received a short email post from The Girl God blog this morning, which drew a link between the nature of trees and that of human beings:
A tree that is beginning to grow sends roots down into Mother Earth even as it reaches and opens to the sky above, seeking nourishment from the sun and the moisture in the air and in the rain that falls. In the same way, we can envision ourselves as tree-like beings, imagining that we have roots reaching down into the earth, energetic strands that keep us connected...
Part of what I have been learning over the last couple of years, both in my yoga practice and in my participation in Forest Church, is that I am connected to, and part of, the energy of the Earth. I had never thought of this before, and had assumed that I merely lived on the Earth, and not as part of it.
The email post went on to say:
Contemplating the ways in which trees and people mirror one another brings us into alignment with the reality that we are part of Mother Nature.
One of my favourite yoga poses is Tree pose (Vrsksasana). I certainly don't find it easy: there's the balancing, to begin with, and then the combined process of both rooting down into the earth and also reaching skywards. I enjoy this pose, but I have a long way to go yet.
For me, Tree pose allows me to take the tree as my teacher, to connect myself to the Earth's energy and to bring my awareness back to my body. Occasionally, I am also able to become still enough to realise that I, too, am part of Mother Nature.
A tree that is beginning to grow sends roots down into Mother Earth even as it reaches and opens to the sky above, seeking nourishment from the sun and the moisture in the air and in the rain that falls. In the same way, we can envision ourselves as tree-like beings, imagining that we have roots reaching down into the earth, energetic strands that keep us connected...
Part of what I have been learning over the last couple of years, both in my yoga practice and in my participation in Forest Church, is that I am connected to, and part of, the energy of the Earth. I had never thought of this before, and had assumed that I merely lived on the Earth, and not as part of it.
The email post went on to say:
Contemplating the ways in which trees and people mirror one another brings us into alignment with the reality that we are part of Mother Nature.
One of my favourite yoga poses is Tree pose (Vrsksasana). I certainly don't find it easy: there's the balancing, to begin with, and then the combined process of both rooting down into the earth and also reaching skywards. I enjoy this pose, but I have a long way to go yet.
For me, Tree pose allows me to take the tree as my teacher, to connect myself to the Earth's energy and to bring my awareness back to my body. Occasionally, I am also able to become still enough to realise that I, too, am part of Mother Nature.
Thursday, 27 February 2014
The priest and the yoga mat
In my yoga practice today, as I was trying to rest in Corpse pose, I suddenly remembered that today is one of my favourite days of the Christian calendar. For today the Church remembers George Herbert, the 17th-century poet and priest of the parish of Bemerton near Salisbury.
I love Herbert's poetry for its tenderness and beauty, and for its understanding of what it means to seek an encounter with the Divine. Herbert is wonderfully aware of the motives, the hopes and the hesitancy with which human beings approach God, and also of the complete love with which God responds.
My favourite of Herbert's poems is the third poem in a short series called Love. It sums up the feelings of inadequacy humans often carry when coming into the Divine presence, and yet in every line it portrays the overwhelming welcome and acceptance which is offered in return.
And perhaps, after all, there is a connection between yoga and Herbert's poem: both are an invitation into Divine stillness and rest.
I love Herbert's poetry for its tenderness and beauty, and for its understanding of what it means to seek an encounter with the Divine. Herbert is wonderfully aware of the motives, the hopes and the hesitancy with which human beings approach God, and also of the complete love with which God responds.
My favourite of Herbert's poems is the third poem in a short series called Love. It sums up the feelings of inadequacy humans often carry when coming into the Divine presence, and yet in every line it portrays the overwhelming welcome and acceptance which is offered in return.
And perhaps, after all, there is a connection between yoga and Herbert's poem: both are an invitation into Divine stillness and rest.
Love
(III) by George
Herbert
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
Friday, 21 June 2013
Losing my religion..?
The latest blog post from Jim Palmer has got me thinking. My first thought was: Well, I'm clearly not the only one... Which quickly led to the thought: So I'm not going insane, then..!
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
Saturday, 19 January 2013
The art of avoiding
On Elephant Journal today - an article which I can identify with: Yoga is the practice of dealing with the consequences of being yourself.
Why do I recognise this? Because when I miss out on my yoga practice, I'm often thinking something like:
I won't be able to decide what practice to do (my indecisivness)
I might not get all my work finished today (worrying about being respected by colleagues)
I might not be able to do the poses (worrying about not achieving)
It might be better to do it later (not living in the moment)
....or something else!
In the article, Caroline Scherer says:
A wonderful teacher of mine once told me that yoga is the practice of dealing with the consequences of being yourself. I’ve always thought that was a beautifully simple and eloquent way of explaining it.
Besides challenging our bodies and opening our minds, yoga forces us to really live with ourselves in a way that we are not accustomed to doing on a day-to-day basis. It asks us to have honest relationships with our true selves, and embrace those selves exactly as they are.
And if that is the case, which I believe it is, then I’m not avoiding yoga. Yoga has nothing to do with it.
She ends by saying:
The beautiful thing about yoga... is that it simultaneously evokes those feelings and cures me of them. It brings about physical discomfort, then offers spiritual peace. It hurts, but it also heals.
That's what I find too. As they say: no time on the mat is ever wasted.
Why do I recognise this? Because when I miss out on my yoga practice, I'm often thinking something like:
I won't be able to decide what practice to do (my indecisivness)
I might not get all my work finished today (worrying about being respected by colleagues)
I might not be able to do the poses (worrying about not achieving)
It might be better to do it later (not living in the moment)
....or something else!
In the article, Caroline Scherer says:
A wonderful teacher of mine once told me that yoga is the practice of dealing with the consequences of being yourself. I’ve always thought that was a beautifully simple and eloquent way of explaining it.
Besides challenging our bodies and opening our minds, yoga forces us to really live with ourselves in a way that we are not accustomed to doing on a day-to-day basis. It asks us to have honest relationships with our true selves, and embrace those selves exactly as they are.
And if that is the case, which I believe it is, then I’m not avoiding yoga. Yoga has nothing to do with it.
I’m avoiding myself.
I’m avoiding my intolerance of imperfection. I’m avoiding the fact that I’m disappointed in myself for being out of shape. I’m avoiding the doubt that will inevitably sneak up on me when I get there and realize that I’m a little rusty.She ends by saying:
The beautiful thing about yoga... is that it simultaneously evokes those feelings and cures me of them. It brings about physical discomfort, then offers spiritual peace. It hurts, but it also heals.
That's what I find too. As they say: no time on the mat is ever wasted.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Any yoga in the future?
I was browsing on Elephant Journal yesterday, and came across an article on the future of yoga. It said:
Yoga is tonic for the world’s ills.
Yes, I agree with that! But the article went on to ask:
But who among us is studying yoga in the depth that the last generation did? Not me. Who is stewarding the roots of yoga, which are about “stilling the waves of the mind,” as Patanjali puts it? Is meditation a part of your typical yoga class?
And then reminded me (because I get hooked by the adverts every time..!) that:
yoga isn’t… yoga pants. It’s not young models exercising with pastel backgrounds before they get back into their SUV and pop by Whole Foods to grab some quinoa for their 1.8 children.
So, the article ended by asking:
What is yoga?
1. Yoga is a spiritual path. Yoga is about becoming a more fully present, genuine, compassionate person.
2. And, yoga is—for those who don’t want to become happy holy spiritual types—a physical exercise that will—as a pleasant side effect—open up your mind and heart so that you, yes you—are a better businessperson, saner lover, better parent, more focused athlete, relaxed child.
Ending with a challenge:
In just 10 years…who will present yoga in depth? And who will learn it?
...will you or your favorite local yoga teacher accept this important challenge and responsibility—and study, practice and teach yoga’s roots?
I would love to do this: to take up the chance to study yoga in more depth, and to help to offer it as a life-long practice (physical and spiritual) for all. So my next question is: how do I make it happen?
Yoga is tonic for the world’s ills.
Yes, I agree with that! But the article went on to ask:
But who among us is studying yoga in the depth that the last generation did? Not me. Who is stewarding the roots of yoga, which are about “stilling the waves of the mind,” as Patanjali puts it? Is meditation a part of your typical yoga class?
And then reminded me (because I get hooked by the adverts every time..!) that:
yoga isn’t… yoga pants. It’s not young models exercising with pastel backgrounds before they get back into their SUV and pop by Whole Foods to grab some quinoa for their 1.8 children.
So, the article ended by asking:
What is yoga?
1. Yoga is a spiritual path. Yoga is about becoming a more fully present, genuine, compassionate person.
2. And, yoga is—for those who don’t want to become happy holy spiritual types—a physical exercise that will—as a pleasant side effect—open up your mind and heart so that you, yes you—are a better businessperson, saner lover, better parent, more focused athlete, relaxed child.
Ending with a challenge:
In just 10 years…who will present yoga in depth? And who will learn it?
...will you or your favorite local yoga teacher accept this important challenge and responsibility—and study, practice and teach yoga’s roots?
I would love to do this: to take up the chance to study yoga in more depth, and to help to offer it as a life-long practice (physical and spiritual) for all. So my next question is: how do I make it happen?
Saturday, 16 June 2012
Wisdom from the teachers
As part of my ongoing reading on the practice of yoga, I came across a wonderful book by Donna Farhi called Bringing Yoga to Life.
The approach of this book is very refreshing. Many yoga books take the approach that there is a perfect person who should become a yoga practitioner. Or that yoga is available to those who already have a perfect practice. Moreover, very few teachers make a connection between the difficulties and imperfections of life and yoga.
However, this is where Donna Farhi's book starts. She beings by drawing out the ways in which our life, with its failures and frustrations, becomes the starting point for a yoga practice. She writes:
In essence, Farhi says that anyone can begin a yoga practice, and there is no other place to begin than where we are now. The first chapter of the book is titled We begin here. As she says later in the chapter:
Time to begin.
The approach of this book is very refreshing. Many yoga books take the approach that there is a perfect person who should become a yoga practitioner. Or that yoga is available to those who already have a perfect practice. Moreover, very few teachers make a connection between the difficulties and imperfections of life and yoga.
However, this is where Donna Farhi's book starts. She beings by drawing out the ways in which our life, with its failures and frustrations, becomes the starting point for a yoga practice. She writes:
Yoga does not pretend to be simple, quick or easy. It is a practice that takes into account the very messy and often complex phenomenon of what we call a human being and the equally challenging task of everyday living.
In essence, Farhi says that anyone can begin a yoga practice, and there is no other place to begin than where we are now. The first chapter of the book is titled We begin here. As she says later in the chapter:
Yoga does not remove us from the reality or responsibilities of everyday life but rather places our feet firmly and resolutely in the practical ground of experience.
Time to begin.
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