Ashtangalatte

Have you ever wanted to sip a latte rather than practice? One day I did just that!


I am not sure why I am sitting at starbucks and five of my yoga friends are about to spend three hours with an internationally known ashtanga yoga teacher. I am recovering from a broken bone, but realistically, most of the practice could be modified. I have been all over the place with this decision to drink a latte rather than practice with this teacher. Hmm.

Last night, I caught a few minutes of a news story regarding letters that Mother Theresa wrote during her life here on the planet. I will need to read the book to know the rest of the story, but I heard the newscaster say Mother Theresa questioned her faith, in fact, she wrote about having lost her faith. Please do not mis-understand, I do not believe I share Mother Theresa’s qualities. Yet, I do understand this questioning, this loss of belief in something you once were sure was true. In this instance, I am questioning the dedication and hard, sweaty, mind-boggling practice of ashtanga yoga.

When I attended teacher training in Integrative Yoga Therapy it was suggested that the Ashtanga practice would be good for my dosha (ayurvedic body type). I think the suggestion was related to what was becoming clear was a fear of physically challenging practice, sort of a fear of my body. Maybe just a fear of everything.

So, as I often do, or let’s say did, I jumped right in to learning and practicing ashtanga….assuming people other than myself have some answers, or some wisdom that I somehow didn’t get when wisdom was passed out. So, anyway, I returned from the ashram and immediately found a way to learn the primary series of ashtanga yoga. We were headed to northern Washington state and I found a teacher who was willing to do a private lesson. I convinced my husband he should do the private lesson with me. As I found the private lesson,I also found out there was an Ashtangna workshop while we would be in town. I jumped in with both feet. A few hours of private instruction on Saturday and an ashtanga workshop on Sunday. I walked out of the workshop on Sunday with jello legs, sore arms and a drive to practice ashtanga yoga that can’t even be described. As we sometimes say, I had the yoga bug.

I began dedicating hours and hours to practice and study. I read and read and read. In the following year I attend three weekend workshops in Chicago and convinced my husband to make our following summer vacation plans in Vermont so I could attend a week long ashtanga teacher training. I convinced him to attend the teacher training (the story of him throwing his back out, crawling out of the hotel, lying flat on his back in the back of the volkswagon van to a local chiropractic office is for another time). Hmm. Can you believe he is still married to me? Anyway, I returned from ashtanga teacher training with a burning passion to continue practicing and to teach ashtanga. I wanted to share this amazing practice with other people. The fire inside couldn’t be contained. It was a little like being in love. Some might have said it was a little obsessional. So, the ashtanga fire spread. The power of this practice not only changes the body, it has this amazing power to change all kinds of things. Including my mind.

In my own assessment, I have found that Ashtanga has been a giant gift and a whopping challenge. There have been amazing moments of feeling like I was flying and moments where my body and mind ached. There have been moments of complete clarity on the mat and moments of very unexpected tears. There have been days and days and days of full practice and days where I just couldn’t face the mat. Through the years of Ashtanga practice, I have gained more than I can describe. I have found physical strength and balance that I didn’t know existed in this case of flesh and bones. I have surprised myself over and over what it is capable of doing. I have seen ingrained patterns and habits of thought that I didn’t even know existed.

There are people who believe if you practice Ashtanga yoga you should only practice Ashtanga. There are people who believe you should devote hours, six days a week to your practice. Historically, I have bought in hook-line-and-sinker to such rules. You see, I have been raised as a rule follower. Sometimes at work I will say to my supervisor, just tell me what the rules are and then I’ll be fine. So, as I started Ashtanga I believed these ideas to be rules. I mean if they have come out of Sri K Pathabi Jois’ mouth then they must be true, and they must be rules, and he must absolutely no more about how I should live than I know. He must absolutely know from 3 zillion miles away how it should look when I get on the yoga mat. So, there it was, the stick that I would continue to measure myself by.

After I learned what the rules looked like, I knew how to measure my success. What do you think success means in yoga? I think it is against the rules to even use those two words together in the same sentence. I wonder what type of police are about to come and arrest me in the clyborne and Webster Starbucks for using yoga and success together?

Speaking of the yoga police, I sometimes sense a rigidity and judgement around yoga. Let’s say if there is cross pollination between practices (mixing ashtanga and say Anusara yoga or Ashtanta and Bikram or Ashtanga and anything) or heaven forbid you would admit aloud that you aren’t on your mat twelve hours a week. My husband refers to this undercurrent of judgement as “yoga stink.” If you have ever smelled it you know to what he refers.

So, if you know how the inside of my head works, then you know that I set my personal standard to impress and accommodate the meanest, most critical and judgemental person in the room. I used to do this somewhat consciously. Semi-conscious. If you are interested in trying this horrid and very challenging practice, take a look around the room, see which person seems to be disagreeing with you, judging you, disliking you the most. Then, set the intention to “make” this person end up believing you are the bees knees. (I hope my wickedness hasn’t shocked you too much… If it did, then you won’t think I am the bee’s knees and then I am going to have work harder to convince you of this fact.) I suppose upon further investigation, the meanest, most critical and judgemental person in the room might be me. Sometimes what you see when you practice yoga isn’t that pretty. Maybe that is why I so often say to yoga students..it’s not what it looks like, it’s what it feels like. It’s a reminder to myself to go inside and listen. We need to listen to ourselves.

I really enjoy teaching ashtanga. I enjoy seeing people find themselves in the midst of such challenge. I like seeing peoples faces when they realize they are capable of much more than they ever imagined. It fascinates me to watch people see what their heads produce during practice. I am in awe of what some people wake up every day to face and then get on their mat to practice. It’s such a gift to see their resiliency. It is amazing to sit with people in savasana (resting pose) after they have finished the series. Their faces are flushed, their breath is deep in their belly, they are perfectly still. There is nothing like the sound of Om Shanti Shanti in a room full of people who have just reminded themselves they are the quiet they just experienced.

So, as I sit here with my latte and a hand I can’t put weight on, I wonder what it means that I am sitting here, rather than practicing with my friends down the street. Does this sitting here mean I am not serious enough, good enough, flexy enough, strong enough, skinny enough? Does it mean I must not want it bad enough? One of the riches that has come out of having had surgery on my hand is that I have really needed to look at what that means… “want it bad enough.” I mean really. Want what? There is nowhere to go with this practice, or with any practice. It’s not as if the national medal of honor is headed to me if I ever do handstand between postures. How many times have I said in class “take care of your body, there is not badge at the end of class?” Is it the belief that if I practice longer and harder I am going to be an international teacher who gets to present at International conferences with hundreds of dollars of sacred jewelry around my neck? No, maybe it’s that if I move into the next series that I am going to get the approval of said international teacher with hundreds of dollars of jewels around their neck? Hmm, maybe it’s that if I practiced harder and longer I wouldn’t feel stress, or experience sadness. Maybe it will lead to true happiness. Maybe it could lead me to win the lotto. Maybe it could rid myself of this budhha belly (actually, it might do that). Maybe it leads me right back to my self with a capital "s".

Anyway, will only certain types of practices lead to enlightenment? Are only certain people enlightened? It seems to me everyone is already enlightened. We might not recognize it, or act from it, but still enlightened. Will being enlightend mean people I love won’t get sick or die or that I won’t get hit by cars or break my hand or need surgery? Will it mean that you won’t die and I won’t die?

I suppose all of this means nothing. It means that I sit and think and type and sip a latte. I also suppose it means I have come to a moment where right now, in this moment I no longer believe I need an internationally known yoga teacher to fly across the country to inspire me to practice, or to tell me that I am good enough, strong enough and okay. These rules to live by reside inside me…right now, in Starbucks with my latte.