So where does the anger go? Well, April was "Anger Appreciation Month" so I reveled in it some, giving it space and letting it know I knew it was there and all. May was "Fear Appreciation Month," and that has been so exciting I guess I'll continue it into June. Giving Anger and Fear acknowledgment, putting those swelling emotions into words is, for me at least, a way to relieve them.
I recently spent some time with two of my most influential yoga teachers, Mary Keator and George Purvis. Out of a couple of long conversations I got a couple bits o' wisdom to share with you:
1) When talking with George about the crazy "yoga scene" and the energy of students and in classrooms these days, he said something really quite profound: that people seem to come to class because they want to "do" yoga, not to learn "how" to do yoga. Yes! "Do" vs "How." Not that there's anything wrong with that; it's just a very different vibe. There does seem to be a group fitness class mentality, which is cool, but the real work happens at home, in my opinion. In practice. There has undoubtedly been lots written about the distinctions between a) yoga CLASS and b) yoga WORKSHOPS and c) yoga INTENSIVES and d) yoga RETREATS and e) yoga HOME PRACTICE and f) yoga OFF THE MAT. But I'll add my two cents, and take a look at it myself.
I remember when I was first learning to play guitar and bass, 24 years ago, my then-boyfriend was teaching me so I could play in his band. He taught me the difference between "rehearsal," which is what we did with the entire band, and "practice," which is what I did at home, on my own. (I made the mistake of saying we were going to "band practice.") And then of course, all of that was meant to serve the "performance."
So it is, I think, with home practice, classroom study, and _______. Group practice is another topic as well. I personally *want* and *need* my yoga teacher to single me out and give me adjustments and "corrections." To tell me to do more or less or whatever. In a big group class, like at my gym, the teacher never leaves the front of the room and therefore is never really observing and suggesting. Now don't get me wrong, I go through my phases where all I want is to hide out in the back and be anonymous so I can just get my sweat on, but that kind of class doesn't advance me in my understanding of yoga, necessarily.
Something I have realized lately is that I have a gift, as a teacher, of being able to SEE. I can truly see a tiny adjustment that needs to be made and I can work with that student quickly and effectively to change their pose, which then has the potential to change their life. I didn't realize that not all teachers can do this. I think it takes practice. I have always been keenly interested in John Friend's talk of "cultivating eagle vision," the practice of cultivating the ability to SEE both the big picture and the overall energy of a roomful of students and the details in the energy of the people as individuals right in front of you. Oh I love this. I recall a teacher training with Mary K, years ago, where we really focused on seeing the whole of a student, and sensitizing ourselves so we could pick up on old injuries, or the emotional state of the student. Now, it's a hard thing to do, because obviously the danger would be that we as teachers might project our shit onto our students. So it has to be practiced with great care and love, and not with a critical eye toward "correction" but more a loving eye, as John says, toward enhancing the shri or beauty that is already there.
Back to "doing" yoga in a class rather than "learning" yoga.
Yeah, I find that I want to impart teachings. And I want to learn how to do yoga. But sometimes I just want to exercise and show off.
Good to know.
On to Mary's wisdom.
2) As we were chatting with another old friend and longtime yoga practitioner, we were discussing George's comment, and how there was something troubling to all of us about the "yoga scene" and being part of a group that well, you just really don't feel all that much a part of. My friend's comment was that she usually felt "invisible" in the group. So Mary asked her, "Is that okay with you, to feel invisible in a yoga class?" And her answer was, "Not really, but I just try to accept it." To which Mary said, "Well, if it's not okay with you then you need to own that. Because yoga is not about being invisible. Yoga is PRESENCE." It's BEING HERE. NOW.
Doh!
So I've been contemplating that. The learning. The teaching. The imparting, the partaking. What it is to be SEEN. What it is to SEE. And the many ways in which we make others feel invisible, or stroke the egos of the more visible by putting them up in front of the others.
I got a funny look from a pretty young woman as I was sitting writing at the coffee shop tonight. It was kind of...sweet, I think. But I have been enjoying myself, knowing that when I was the pretty young woman glancing at the older woman in the coffee shop I felt sorry for her. Now I know, my day has come. And those pretty young things will all hopefully grow beautifully older, as I have, and their days are coming too.
Ah, wisdom.
There's more, like how I've been setting boundaries with my son. How I feel like I already have a teenager in the house, who says he's BORED. Says he doesn't want me, doesn't like me, doesn't need me. Hates his toys. Doesn't like his house. Wants to go home. Needs a new toy. And so on. I'm trying everything I know and feel, and still could not avoid a meltdown at the toy store tonight. But I was so hungry and needed to get home. And he was so eager for adventure, and wanted to stay stay stay and play with the smorgasbord of toys. So we couldn't compromise. And he cried, yelled out that I was hurting him, struck me repeatedly, sobbed his heart out and kicked at the doors as they closed behind us. So we sat on the ground in front of the store and talked about how I needed to go, how I had to cook dinner and eat, how he wasn't hungry, how he wasn't sleepy, how he really wanted to look at the dinosaurs, and so on and so forth. I stayed calm and we talked, in the soaring Texas heat (101 tomorrow), on the hot sidewalk, in front of funky toy central, while his voice shook and his shoulders shook and I empathized and soothed and spoke honestly until finally we were able to get in the car, neither of us satisfied but resigned to the outcome.
My parenting guru says that this age is extra tricky. She says it's a good time to hire a sitter or have someone other than mom or dad come and take care of the basics, like bathing. Eating. Teethbrushing. Bedtime. Because these are the places where the battle lines get drawn, and where tired parents go crazy. I try to remember that whenever I'm getting bitten, when naked boy circles the room gleefully while I chase him down with a tiny pair of tightie whities, when he keens and clamps his jaws shut every time I get the toothbrush out.
I'm still worried about him. That he has such an intense need to know WHAT, WHEN, and WHERE. Always. Has to find ways to anchor or locate himself in space. His most heartbreaking complaint? "I'm LOST!" And when he says it, he means it in the most profoundly poetic way. Like: "But if you don't sleep in the bed with me tonight I'll feel LOST." Or when he finally did give in and accept his fate at the toy store, he mournfully said, "I'm LOST." Oh it tugs at me!
But I'm hesitant to teach him all the specifics of how we mark time. I want him to experience the freedom of his childhood without the restrictions and regulations and false sense of linear reality that clocks and schedules and closing times, deadlines, and sunrises give us. At the same time, I want to show him the maps of the world, so he'll have a sense of where he is. Where he's going. A big picture for a small boy.
Okay, that's it for now. I know, pictures must come soon.
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