Pajamasana™

Yoga for a better bedtime

July 26, 2010
by Heidi Kyser
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The Lotus in the Desert

Last Tuesday around noon, I returned home from a short errand on my bike very hot (it was 115 or so degrees that day) and irritated. I had to ride my bike because of a family transportation snafu. I’d left my car at my boyfriend Peter’s flower shop, and the next morning, he went out of town on business.

As I wheeled my bike around the side of our house toward the back yard, I passed our small fish pond. It’s surrounded by the wild-looking desert plants and bushes that Peter, a horticulturist, has planted there in his effort to nest us in foliage while conserving water. Amid the brittle yellows and papery silvers of their leaves, in the center of the water, floated a lipstick pink water lily in full bloom. Its flat leaves bobbed around the flower like adoring fans.

I stopped for a moment to consider this little miracle in the full midday sun. My irritation dissolved as sweat dripped down my sides and temples. Peter had put the plant in the pond for me, knowing the importance of the lotus (another name for the water lily) in the Hindu mythology that I love. I was overcome by his thoughtfulness and the flower’s opportune fruition.

The image of the lily and its effect on my state stayed with me all day, and as I prepared to teach my two yoga classes that evening.

The symbol of the lotus appears frequently in yoga texts. For instance, lotuses of varying colors and number of petals are used to represent each of the chakras in the subtle body system popularized by kundalini yoga. The crown of the head (Sahasrara chakra) is depicted as the thousand-petaled lotus, the seat of Shiva-Shakti.

The lotus blossom’s rise from the muck where it’s grounded is rife with figurative potential. It’s easy to see in it the human spirit’s ability to triumph over lowly circumstances and produce beauty. This was the aspect of the flower in my pond that resonated with me that day.

Because of his commitment to natural gardening practices, Peter uses no chemicals to maintain the pH of our pond. While our fish appear to adore the gnat-covered water, to me it resembles moss broth. I can only imagine what the bottom, where the lily is rooted, must be like. At the opposite end, its fragile bloom defied the blistering Mojave sun.

I’ve written before in this blog about how tough times are for Las Vegans. In May, our city’s unemployment rate surpassed 14%, and in this morning’s Las Vegas Sun, publisher Brian Greenspun opined about how many bad lists the city is No. 1 on. I doubt any resident of this city has remained completely untouched by the economic crisis that is crushing us all, collectively.

I’m aware of this every time I walk into the yoga studio to teach a class. Even in that environment, whose price of admission attests to the relative affluence of its members, I know there are people who are suffering from the loss of jobs and homes. Some have shared with me their struggles; I can see them trying to make sense of it all through their yoga practice.

Tuesday evening, as the students quieted down and settled into Balasana (child’s pose), I told them the story of the lily blooming in my pond, how its delightful contextual incongruity had melted my frustration. They moved through the practice of pranayama and asana, and I encouraged them to use the form of their breath and bodies to reflect on the unfolding of their consciousness. We finished the class seated in Padmasana (lotus pose), meditating on allowing our hearts to open, like the petals of a flower, to our inner divinity.

A sense of solace lingered in the air as the class ended and the students rolled up their mats. Some thanked me on their way out, seeming to have left a weight behind. Together, I think we learned that each one of us can plant a lotus in her own soul. When cultivated with love and nourished properly, that lotus will bloom in the most surprising circumstances – like the desert in July, during a recession.

June 28, 2010
by Heidi Kyser
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The Most Important Person Under the Sun

I’m grateful to my yoga student and friend, Steve Marzullo, who recommended the 2008 film “Enlighten Up” to me a while ago. It finally made its way to the top of my Netflix list, and I watched it this week.

As a journalist and yogini, like both the director and star of the film, I found the premise captivating. The director – documentarian and avid yoga practitioner Kate Churchill – sets out to demonstrate that yoga can transform anyone. To keep it challenging, she chooses as her subject Nick Rosen, a skeptical, 29-year-old writer with obvious conflicts that appear to stem (at least in part) from his bipolar upbringing by a shamanistic mother and materialistic father (divorced at the time of filming).

Kate takes Nick all over the U.S. and India, introducing him to the best-known living yoga teachers of our time, from Alan Finger, Sharon Gannon and David Life, to B.K.S. Iyengar and Pattabhi Jois. Her hope is that exposing Nick to what he calls the “31 flavors of yoga” will lead him to the one that transports him to a higher place.

This doesn’t exactly happen, although toward the end of his journey in India, Nick does at least appear to drop the eye-rolling dismissal and take a more thoughtful attitude toward the gurus who spend time with him.

It shouldn’t surprise viewers that Kate doesn’t get the magical “Aha!” moment she seeks. Nick admits up front that his own yoga practice had previously been superficial, that he feels no connection between the physical and spiritual, and that he is not “on a religious quest.” He stops practicing altogether after the film wraps.

What unfolds in “Enlighten up,” and how it unfolds, has been the subject of some debate among movie critics and yogis. (For examples, click here.) Certainly, Kate’s intention is clear from the opening, when she illustrates what she calls “contradictions” in the yoga world with snippets of interviews with famous American teachers such as Rodney Yee and Cyndi Lee mentioning their merchandising exploits.

Set aside criticism of the direction and story, however, and you find food for thought in this film.

My initial idea while watching was that Nick wasn’t making any breakthroughs because he approached the project with a closed heart and mind. Although bright and charming, his attitude toward classes made him seem determined to not make any progress, for reasons that were unclear, since he didn’t seem all that happy either.

This reminded me of both the first of Anusara Yoga‘s three “A”s (attitude, alignment, action), and the Hindu saying so often cited by yogis, “When the disciple is ready, the guru appears” (see for instance, “The yoga Sutras of Patanjali,” translated and commented upon by Sri Swami Satchidananda, Sutra II.40).

It’s not to say that Nick was destined to fail, but that he got out of it what he was really looking for: better physical fitness and dates with cute yoginis (not to mention an all-expense-paid vacation to practice with the best yoga teachers in the world).

This doesn’t necessarily make it wrong or mean that Nick is small-minded. It simply means that he mapped his journey himself, despite Kate’s best efforts to intervene – and much to her frustration.

In the most enlightening moment of the film for me, one of the gurus Nick visits points this out to him. The question “What is yoga?” must be rephrased as “What is yoga to me?” points out Mahamandaleshwar Pujya Swami Gurusharananandaji Maharaj (Maharajji). Using the example of pointing West, Maharajji explains that so much depends on your perspective, where you’re sitting, which direction you’re facing, and ultimately who you are.

“You are the most important person under the sun,” he says, affirming not so much the importance of ego as that of relativism. I read this as a comment on the necessity of coming to your true self, regardless of the means or the teacher, in order to live as meaningful a life as possible.

In other words, it is unlikely that Nick will spend his days bowing and placing rocks before a shrine, like one devotee is shown doing in the film. If Nick does achieve union, it will more likely be while scaling a cliff face, as he’s shown doing during the closing frames.

Does that mean it’s any less yogic? Not in my understanding. Restraint, compassion, physical discipline, focus, meditation, enlightenment – these activities and accomplishments are not restricted to yoga mats.

You are the most important person under the sun, and the sun shines on yoga studios, ashrams and the rest of the world just the same… sometimes even when cameras aren’t rolling.

March 19, 2010
by Heidi Kyser
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Embracing the unknown

Continuing my journey through Ramayana, last week I taught the theme of the unknown. I was inspired by Rama’s insistence that he, Sita and Lakshmana leave Dandaka forest to venture further into the woods, where nobody from Ayodhya would be able to find him. These parts are too familiar, he mused. We need stranger lands.

I’ve been in classes where my teacher, Noah Mazé, has taught this theme, so it was both daunting and serendipitous for me to take it on my own. Over the last several weeks, I’ve been teaching students in my class the five principles of Anusara alignment; we had done all five, plus an add-on class on balanced action, which I feel is a great way to put the five principles into perspective.

The class on the unknown followed the five principles and balanced action. In retrospect, I think I must have instinctively been reacting to the satisfaction that many regulars were feeling at having grasped — and incorporated into their practices — such difficult concepts. My life has taught me that satisfaction is often followed by a reality check. If you’re not prepared to venture back out into the wild, then the wild will find you (usually lounging on your couch).

That’s not to say one shouldn’t pause to savor what he’s learned, accomplished. In my class, we’ve been working on handstand for weeks. I’ve seen people who thought they were too old, scared or stiff to ever turn upside down on their hands clap with elation after their first attempted adho mukha vrksasana. I encourage them to to feel that power; recognize that it is in them. Then try it again.

Like Rama, we have to be aware enough of ourselves and our surroundings, to see clearly when we should stop to reap the bounty and when it’s time to move on. And when the time for moving on comes, go. Step over your fear, your reluctance, your worry, and embrace the unknown.

January 8, 2010
by Heidi Kyser
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Fear and hoping in Las Vegas

Several themes from my yoga classes and the rest of my life converged recently in one idea: fear of loss and hope of gain.

It started with Thanksgiving. As we have done before, in my class we practiced gratitude during the week around Thanksgiving. But in Las Vegas right now, gratitude is hard to muster.

As we often tell ourselves and each other, everybody in the country’s having a tough time right now – but we’re having the toughest time. When it comes to the bad stats, we always win: highest unemployment rate, largest percentage of homes in foreclosures, most murder-suicides… People outside here don’t realize just how bad it is.

It’s tempting in this environment to taint even gratitude with bitterness; for instance, “I’m just thankful I have a job.” But what if you actually hate your job, as so many people do? What if you feel trapped? Are you really grateful for that?

So… we practiced digging deep. Maybe you’re not thankful for the job, but for the money the job provides, the mortgage payment, shelter for your family, time with your family. Ah… a discovery: I’m grateful for my family. True gratitude. Begin by focusing on that, connecting with the place in your heart from which that emanates. We learned that, in suffering, there is a special place for satya.

Then came the gift-giving holidays. Again honoring a class tradition, we practiced giving, from our hearts, through our yoga. We asked ourselves, “What is yogic giving? What is the role of offering and accepting in our lives? And of generosity?”

Here too, current circumstances offered a new perspective. Let’s face it: Most studio yoga has become the domain of the relatively affluent. Many of the students that practice with me are dealing with financial hardship for the first time. Some have stopped coming to class because they can’t afford it any more. Others have had to make sacrifices to keep paying fees, or attend less often.

We all, it seems, approached the holidays with a combination of relief and restraint – glad a time of celebration was finally here, but still afraid to begin spending our increasingly precious resources. We learned to give thoughts and gestures and acts more than things. We learned to let go of expectation of delight or reward, knowing that the giving came from the heart, not from the wallet, and that such gifts are never the wrong color or size or brand. Where being materially wealthy was not an option, we enjoyed the riches of being together.

One student offered me a bookstore gift certificate. I used it to buy the store’s only copy of “Ramayana” (Rama’s Way), the re-telling by William Buck.

In his Americanized version of the famous Indian epic, Buck describes a battle between the righteous Manibhadra and the demon Ravana, along with Ravana’s sidekick Prahasta. Having taken care of Ravana, Manibhadra turns his attention to Prahasta. Buck writes that “with a magic wave of his hand” Manibhadra “put fear of loss and hope of gain into Prahasta’s heart in exactly equal parts and so paralyzed him.”

Fear of loss and hope of gain. As the New Year dawned, it occurred to me: We have all, or so many of us, maybe just in this city, maybe far beyond, been paralyzed by a deadly balance of fear of loss and hope of gain. We’re on the verge of losing our homes and jobs, yet trying desperately to put turkeys on the table and buy Christmas presents. We want to hang on, want to claw our way back, want to figure out if it’s better to short-sell, walk away or stick it out and hope for the best. We want, we want, we want.

What does yoga offer as the antidote to this paralysis? Security in what we have, contentment, santosa. How many times have we practiced this concept? And yet, here it was with new meaning, for the New Year.

We came to our mats humbled by recent events, but we had our bodies, our breath, our hearts and minds. We started with that. We practiced enjoying what we could do with that. What we could do with and for each other. It’s so little, and everything at the same time.

I have set an intention to carry this awareness through the coming year. May we all free from the paralysis of equal parts fear of loss and hope of gain. May we be content. Namaste.

November 2, 2009
by Heidi Kyser
0 comments

What Scares You?

Like most people I know, I love Halloween. We still get lots of trick-or-treaters on our street, and seeing them dressed up and eagerly roaming the neighborhood is somehow reassuring to me – I guess because it’s a tradition I’ve been part of since childhood, and it’s still safe enough in my area for them to carry it on here.

Many philosophers and psychologists have written about the usefulness of celebrating fear the way we do on Halloween. (See, for instance, http://bit.ly/2xMKpq.) In my classes this week, we explored the role of fear in our yoga practice and how it may translate to the fear we experience off the mat.

The Anusara yoga teachers I’ve practiced with frequently employ the concept of edge. I recently completed the Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy Level 1 teacher training in L.A., and learned that in this system, too, the concept of edge is key.

One way of understanding edge in your yoga practice is to think of it literally, as in moving to the edge of a cliff or precipice. You’re still on safe, solid footing, but one more step and…

The idea is to find your boundary. Relatively, no vantage point will offer a more sweeping view of the landscape at hand than the edge, but to get there you have to take a risk. For most people, standing on this precipice induces fear.

And that’s a good thing. Fear is what keeps you aware of where your feet are (i.e., your foundation). It’s what tells you that you need to back up a little or grab a hand-railing (modify the posture) before you lose your balance and fall. It serves a purpose.

The trick is to cut through any hysteria or anxiety you may feel and find the authentic fear – to hear the voice of your deepest, wisest, most divine self. Another way to understand it is as finding a balance between the value and the danger of going further.

This takes practice. A great way to do it in yoga is with inversions, especially handstand. In my experience, this category of asana tends to freak out a high percentage of people.

You wouldn’t run up to a sheer drop-off; nor should fear-inducing inversions be approached too hastily. Here’s how we did it this week:

  • After warming up the shoulders, back and hamstrings with some sun salutations and standing postures, do Uttanasana (standing forward fold) at a wall. Start facing the wall and fold forward. Staying aligned, move toward the wall until your head or back touches the wall. Continue to deepen with the breath, moving the point of contact with the wall down your back. Stay very tuned in to what’s happening during this deep forward-fold inversion. (Those with tight backs/hamstrings can still do it with blocks under the hands, knees bent if necessary and the back of the head to the wall.)
  • Slowly back away from the wall and come to standing with your eyes closed. Listen to any feedback your body-mind offers.
  • If it’s safe to go another step, try L Pose (handstand prep). While in the pose, keep your gaze focused on the floor between your hands and listen to your breath. Count the inhales and exhales until you need to come down. Move into Balasana (child’s pose) and again absorb feedback.
  • If it’s safe to go another step, try kicking up into Adho Mukha Vrksasana (handstand) at the wall. Maybe you’ll just practice lifting your feet away from the floor and floating back down. Maybe you’ll go all the way up. Again, pay more attention to foundation (hands), drishti (focused gaze) and breath than to reaching the wall or some other goal.

When we do this in class, we do it as a series of three poses. Inevitably, some students end up repeating step one and/or two and not going to the next step. The most interesting part, however, is that a majority of students usually say they went further than they ever did before.

Why is that? I think it’s because they are in a neighborhood where it’s safe to trick or treat, so to speak. Or, to use my other analogy, they have established that the hand-railing is there for them if they need it. Their fear tells them how far they can go safely; all they have to do is listen.