Except for the creaking of my fan and the occasional howling street dogs, Mysore's been quiet over the last three weeks. With no fellow students around I've taken the opportunity to catch up on work, take on a few writing assignments for causes I believe in, go gluten-free and regroup after the intense month and a half of practice with Saraswathi.
During self-practice these days I decided to revert back to the primary series. Mainly, to give myself an incentive to stand up from urdhva dhanurasana. I decided I wouldn't work on intermediate again until I could do this. I know that Sharath doesn't let anyone start intermediate till they've mastered this bit, and I figured, there must be a reason for it.
I researched online and found every possible resource to guide me through it. I found some really valuable advice by Kino MacGregor, saying that you should press the insides of your feet on the ground. What a difference that makes. A blog on the Ashtanga Picture Project said you need to believe that you can do it. A few weeks back, I'd asked a certified teacher who lives here in Mysore, Philippa Asher, how to stand up and she said you have to use the breath.
So every day, I completed the primary series, dropped back, pressed the insides of my feet on the ground, tried to believe that I was gonna spring back up, and breathed.
Nothing happened.
I wasn't anxious to get the pose or anything, there's no rush and I'm well aware that all is coming if you just keep practicing. And if it didn't, well, pura vida, at least I tried my ass off. So I stuck to my little routine. Pressing, believing, breathing.
Then last Friday, something miraculous happened. No, I didn't stand up from Urdhva Dhanurasana. The Costa Rican football team (called la Sele) beat Italy at the World Cup in Brazil. Jaws dropped everywhere. Tears were shed. No one was expecting this, not even the Costa Rican football players, I'm pretty sure. I was chatting with a friend back home after the game and we resolved that if our team had beat Uruguay and Italy, then everything was possible. EVERYTHING.
The next day, when I stepped onto the playing field of my mat I thought, if Bryan Ruiz scored a goal against Italy, then I can surely get up from urdhva dhanurasana.
I finished the series. I pressed. I believed. Only this time, I really believed. I breathed. I pushed my pelvis forward and got onto the tips of my fingers. I felt waves of electricity circling from my hands to my feet. It was like being strapped into the electric chair. I was zapped, my body collapsed to the floor. But I'd felt something. I'd felt energy moving to my legs, and I was pretty sure this was the energy that lifted you up.
The next day...
I pressed. I really believed. I breathed. I got zapped. And then my body sprang up to standing. Gooooooooooooooooool! Gooooooooooooooool de Costa Rica! Gooooool gooool goool.
Like a replay on television of the moment of victory, I repeated it about twenty times to make sure it had really happened. Yup. It was for real.
I assumed I was going to feel ecstatic all day. Ha.
After I practiced, I showered, ate and got ready to start working. As soon as I sat down in front of my laptop, I started sobbing. Uncontrollably. The tears took me completely by surprise. It couldn't be PMS. Everything was great. But I couldn't stop crying. How could one not cry, when the sky turned orange and pink and yellow at sunset. I went to the grocery store and I couldn't reach the toilet paper on the shelf so a man came and helped me. He was just so kind, so sweet looking. I walked out of the store and started sobbing again. I wanted to call my mother. Then the floodgates really opened.
The next day I felt like myself again. I finished the series, I dropped back. I shot back up. And as soon as I was standing, I started wailing. I dropped back. Shot back up. Wailed. Dropped back. Stood up. Sweat and tears were gushing out everywhere. I had to sit. I felt nauseous. I managed to get through the closing sequence. I lay down to take rest and I was still sobbing. I looked at the sky outside and understood that everything was okay out there. Everything was okay in here too. Whatever was happening did not require an explanation. It just...had to be.
Clearly, the backbending was getting intense, and it had triggered something. I googled "backbending, emotions" and found this:
"Backbending often brings up strong emotions when students first begin to practice it more regularly and go deeper. It often does not really matter whether you are flexible or stiff in your spine if you are unfamiliar with the strength, stamina and flexibility needed for most backbending movements. It takes lots of practice before you will feel confident about integrating a full backbend sequence into your daily practice. Healthy technique and anatomical awareness is crucial to the longterm practice of backbends. Be aware that when learning how to safely bend your back you may experience rational and irrational emotions. Sometimes the most flexible students have the most troubling emotions arising when they start practicing backbends." ~ Kino MacGregor
Well, I guess I don't need to be institutionalized.
I found a ton of blogs exploring the rise of emotions during backbending. I'm no scientist, but considering that the spine is a key player in our nervous system, I figure a lot of traumatic experiences must be stored in there. That time you pushed a kid in the second grade and he and his desk rolled onto the floor. That guy who crushed your heart when you really, really needed him. The finality of death. The entire journey of existence from day one. What if it's all stored in there? Inside our cells, and our spine controls it all? And when you bend it every which way, all the traumas get squeezed out. Stuff that goes beyond our own existence, from the collective subconscious. Experiences that have been handed down from one generation to the next and come prepackaged in our DNA.
Maybe this is why we have to be able to drop back and stand up before starting intermediate. If the intermediate series, nadi shodhana, purifies the nervous system, then backbending is a hell of a great way to get started. Maybe if everyone just waltzed into the second series, the shala would be full of emotionally paralyzed, wailing ashtangis.
During my online search, this is one of the most beautiful blog entries I was able to find about backbending:
http://www.yogachikitsa.net/2013/11/01/standing-up-from-back-bending-a-lesson-in-vulnerability/
She talks about how terrified she was of standing up from backbending without assistance, and then she realized what this meant: she wasn't able to stand up for herself.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to sobbing.
During self-practice these days I decided to revert back to the primary series. Mainly, to give myself an incentive to stand up from urdhva dhanurasana. I decided I wouldn't work on intermediate again until I could do this. I know that Sharath doesn't let anyone start intermediate till they've mastered this bit, and I figured, there must be a reason for it.
I researched online and found every possible resource to guide me through it. I found some really valuable advice by Kino MacGregor, saying that you should press the insides of your feet on the ground. What a difference that makes. A blog on the Ashtanga Picture Project said you need to believe that you can do it. A few weeks back, I'd asked a certified teacher who lives here in Mysore, Philippa Asher, how to stand up and she said you have to use the breath.
So every day, I completed the primary series, dropped back, pressed the insides of my feet on the ground, tried to believe that I was gonna spring back up, and breathed.
Nothing happened.
I wasn't anxious to get the pose or anything, there's no rush and I'm well aware that all is coming if you just keep practicing. And if it didn't, well, pura vida, at least I tried my ass off. So I stuck to my little routine. Pressing, believing, breathing.
Then last Friday, something miraculous happened. No, I didn't stand up from Urdhva Dhanurasana. The Costa Rican football team (called la Sele) beat Italy at the World Cup in Brazil. Jaws dropped everywhere. Tears were shed. No one was expecting this, not even the Costa Rican football players, I'm pretty sure. I was chatting with a friend back home after the game and we resolved that if our team had beat Uruguay and Italy, then everything was possible. EVERYTHING.
The next day, when I stepped onto the playing field of my mat I thought, if Bryan Ruiz scored a goal against Italy, then I can surely get up from urdhva dhanurasana.
I finished the series. I pressed. I believed. Only this time, I really believed. I breathed. I pushed my pelvis forward and got onto the tips of my fingers. I felt waves of electricity circling from my hands to my feet. It was like being strapped into the electric chair. I was zapped, my body collapsed to the floor. But I'd felt something. I'd felt energy moving to my legs, and I was pretty sure this was the energy that lifted you up.
The next day...
I pressed. I really believed. I breathed. I got zapped. And then my body sprang up to standing. Gooooooooooooooooool! Gooooooooooooooool de Costa Rica! Gooooool gooool goool.
Like a replay on television of the moment of victory, I repeated it about twenty times to make sure it had really happened. Yup. It was for real.
I assumed I was going to feel ecstatic all day. Ha.
After I practiced, I showered, ate and got ready to start working. As soon as I sat down in front of my laptop, I started sobbing. Uncontrollably. The tears took me completely by surprise. It couldn't be PMS. Everything was great. But I couldn't stop crying. How could one not cry, when the sky turned orange and pink and yellow at sunset. I went to the grocery store and I couldn't reach the toilet paper on the shelf so a man came and helped me. He was just so kind, so sweet looking. I walked out of the store and started sobbing again. I wanted to call my mother. Then the floodgates really opened.
The next day I felt like myself again. I finished the series, I dropped back. I shot back up. And as soon as I was standing, I started wailing. I dropped back. Shot back up. Wailed. Dropped back. Stood up. Sweat and tears were gushing out everywhere. I had to sit. I felt nauseous. I managed to get through the closing sequence. I lay down to take rest and I was still sobbing. I looked at the sky outside and understood that everything was okay out there. Everything was okay in here too. Whatever was happening did not require an explanation. It just...had to be.
Clearly, the backbending was getting intense, and it had triggered something. I googled "backbending, emotions" and found this:
"Backbending often brings up strong emotions when students first begin to practice it more regularly and go deeper. It often does not really matter whether you are flexible or stiff in your spine if you are unfamiliar with the strength, stamina and flexibility needed for most backbending movements. It takes lots of practice before you will feel confident about integrating a full backbend sequence into your daily practice. Healthy technique and anatomical awareness is crucial to the longterm practice of backbends. Be aware that when learning how to safely bend your back you may experience rational and irrational emotions. Sometimes the most flexible students have the most troubling emotions arising when they start practicing backbends." ~ Kino MacGregor
Well, I guess I don't need to be institutionalized.
I found a ton of blogs exploring the rise of emotions during backbending. I'm no scientist, but considering that the spine is a key player in our nervous system, I figure a lot of traumatic experiences must be stored in there. That time you pushed a kid in the second grade and he and his desk rolled onto the floor. That guy who crushed your heart when you really, really needed him. The finality of death. The entire journey of existence from day one. What if it's all stored in there? Inside our cells, and our spine controls it all? And when you bend it every which way, all the traumas get squeezed out. Stuff that goes beyond our own existence, from the collective subconscious. Experiences that have been handed down from one generation to the next and come prepackaged in our DNA.
Maybe this is why we have to be able to drop back and stand up before starting intermediate. If the intermediate series, nadi shodhana, purifies the nervous system, then backbending is a hell of a great way to get started. Maybe if everyone just waltzed into the second series, the shala would be full of emotionally paralyzed, wailing ashtangis.
During my online search, this is one of the most beautiful blog entries I was able to find about backbending:
http://www.yogachikitsa.net/2013/11/01/standing-up-from-back-bending-a-lesson-in-vulnerability/
She talks about how terrified she was of standing up from backbending without assistance, and then she realized what this meant: she wasn't able to stand up for herself.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to sobbing.
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SELF-practice |
:D
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing this, I just stood up 2nd time and it's intense for me too. :-)
ReplyDelete