I know I’ve said in previous posts that I’m an advocate of trying new things.

At the beginning of the year, I suggested to my students that they choose a pose and work toward it throughout the year, breaking down the components and building their skills along the way. It’s important to have a sense of humor and lightheartedness in doing this. The yoga mat is no place for grim determination (we have our desks and highways for that!). I think that in the practice of yoga, it’s important to have curiosity and a sense of exploration that reaches beyond the things we do over and over again in yoga classes. One of my favorite yoga concepts is “lela”… the happy, creative life force. So in that spirit, I bring you my adventures with Visvamitrasana.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

I grew up listening to the music of Kate Wolf, a North Coast singer/songwriter, who described the “golden rolling hills of California”.

It’s true: For most of the year, the hills of Northern California are shades of gold and tan, the colors of field mice, cougars, and deer. But for a brief period in the spring, after the winter rains, and before the sun begins to bake our hillsides, the landscape around my home glows with shades of green. (An artist friend once said he couldn’t paint Sonoma County without a healthy tube of chromium oxide green.) But before the hills green, there is a brief period when it seems we’re awash in yellow.

Last Wednesday night, a friend drove out to the house to help with a project, and when I opened the door, she said “everything was yellow on the drive here,” and it certainly seems that way.

The still-greening hills have a yellow tinge, the coastal hillsides are covered in the bright yellow blossoms of invasive gorse, acacia trees are in full bloom, fields of mustard blanket coastal ranches, the Monterey pines hold up candles of golden pollen, and feral daffodils are springing up in defiance of the late winter storms. So right now, the hills are golden and rolling, but not the way they’ll be most of the year.

Luther Burbank, who settled in Santa Rosa, said in 1875 that he had found “the chosen spot of all this earth so far as Nature is concerned”. Myself a member of a rare species – the California native – I definitely agree. But I’ve heard from so many people who moved here from other areas that this is a hotbed of seasonal allergies. Lots of allergy suffers find relief at the coast during the hot, dry summers. But this time of the year, the bright yellows that surround us herald the return of peak allergy season for coastal dwellers. The acacia, pines, and cypress trees make lots of people suffer. This is also peak season for respiratory infections, and I’m certain there’s a corollary.

Since I’m an allergy sufferer myself, and live in a house that’s sandwiched between pine trees and a cypress grove, I’ve learned to look for the telltale warning sign that my allergies are about to ignite – a coating of bright yellow pollen on my car, so thick I could write my name in it (if I dared to touch it).

My allergies have gotten better over the years. I have less bouts of uncontrollable sneezing, less wheezing, less itching, and far fewer cases of bronchitis, and I attribute this – in part – to yoga.

This time of the year, I’m frequently asked if I think yoga can help allergies, and my response is enthusiatically “yes!”

However, as with all things yoga, this takes time and patience.

(Please note that nothing I’m about to say should be construed as medical advice. This essay is about mild-to-moderate seasonal allergies and NOT about serious allergies that involve anaphylactic symptoms. I believe that yoga newcomers should practice under the supervision of a teacher, and that every yoga practitioner should honor the needs and limits of her/his own body.)

I also need to say here, I’m a firm believer in taking measures to relieve allergy symptoms before secondary infections – sinus, bronchial, etc. – set in. There are a variety of ways to do this including complementary and allopathic, or western, medicine. In the past, I’ve had good results with acupuncture. When my symptoms are really flaring, I’m not beyond taking a Claritin.

What I recommend to my students is that they integrate into their practice, long, slow, deep poses, with a focus on the breath and progressive lengthening of the muscles.

Here is why I think this is helpful for allergy sufferers: The cells that mediate our allergic, immune, and inflammatory responses hang out in our connective tissue. Called “mast cells,” these cells are filled with granules that are rich in histamine, heparine, and other inflammatory substances (there may be as many as 17 different biochemical operating ingredients).

I believe that progressively stretching our connective tissue helps to disrupt mast cells so that over time, we have less of these stored inflammatory substances, and become less reactive to allergens. This is my own personal belief, based on what I know about the human body and yoga. The hot, itchy, burning feeling some people experience in, and after, deep stretches is a sign that histamine that been released (not lactic acid).

We can’t “stretch” muscles any more than we can stretch a pot roast (another example of muscle). We can only coax them into progressive relaxation. We don’t have the conscious ability to completely relax any muscle in our body, but we can relax them beyond our normal holding patterns. When we do this, the collagen that makes up much of our connective tissue and runs through our muscles, stretches slowly. Much of the collagen in our body is contiguous – the fibers that make up our tendons and ligaments connect to fibers that run throughout our muscles, and form the coverings of our muscles, organs, etc. This is our fascia. When the fascia is moved and stretched (through yoga or massage, for example), it results in chemical changes (through the disruption of mast, and other, cells) that mediate allergic response, inflammation and help support our immune system.

There’s also a side benefit to all this: Flexibility gained through this type of lengthening tends to have a long-term effect. Attempts to stretch collagen quickly can result in tears and damage, hence the fragility of tendons and ligaments. However, it can be stretched slowly and will adjust to the new length, creating more freedom to relax muscle fibers in the future. Conversely, when muscles are short and unused, the fascia tightens around them like shrink wrap.

So what do I mean by “long,” “slow,” and “deep”? I mean holding poses, especially deep forward bends, like paschimottanasa, janu sirsasana, and forward-bending upavishta konasana, for a minimum of seven minutes, up to fifteen minutes at a time. (A timer can be helpful.) If that’s too long for you, start with less time (say three minutes) and work up from there. In order to do this, you need to prepared to stay there, and also prepared to protect your back in these poses. Certainly, not every yoga practitioner has the flexibility to rest their head on their shins or the floor. Blocks, bolsters, the seat of a folding chair, a pile of blankets, the edge of a coffee table – all of these are ways to support your body in correct alignment as it releases into the poses. You can sit on the edge of folded blankets and rest your head on a block, or the seat of a chair, for example. In order for muscles to begin to lengthen, it’s imperative that they are safe. This is why pushing, pulling, and bouncing can have a detrimental effect on your flexibility (and are potentially dangerous to your connective tissue). Creating a safe environment for your muscles takes time. I have read that it can take up to seven minutes (although the number I have heard from different teachers varies) before the protective mechanisms in our body will begin to “let go” and allow our muscles to lengthen.

You may experience a sensation of heat or itching in the muscles you’re working. Be sure to distinguish this from pain. Any pain that causes you alarm indicates you should come out of the pose.

During this process, bring your focus to your breath. Keep it slow and even. Some people may find it helpful to lengthen the exhalation part of the breath cycle. Be aware of how you can let the breath expand the body during inhalation, and let your muscles lengthen during the exhalation. Feel how this becomes a rhythm. Use this as a time to allow your mind to relax as well.

Last of all, be sure to come out of the poses carefully. Bear your weight on your hands and don’t try to sit up using your back muscles. Instead use your arms to push yourself to an upright position.

Not everyone is a fan of this style of muscle lengthening. Some people find they don’t have the patience, or that they panic when their breath is restricted in deep forward bends. Over the years I have found it to be a comforting and relaxing part of my practice that has increased my flexibility. I also credit it with reducing my allergies, making me much happier to see the early signs of spring on the North Coast.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

I have to say, I’m not a fan of New Years’ resolutions because I feel they are usually based in self-deprecation.

It’s as though we’ve developed a national tradition of beginning each year by picking ourselves apart, finding a fault, and setting a goal that will focus our attention on that fault, all year long.

I ask you: What kind of a way is that to begin a new year?

I believe in a moderate approach and beginning the year in the spirit of self-kindness.

I’m speaking from a little bit of experience here. I’m fitter, stronger, and leaner than I’ve ever been in my life, although I’m still a far cry from being a Yoga Journal calendar girl. Still, I say this with some pride because, at 46, I’m obviously also older than I’ve ever been in my life.

When I started my yoga practice, nearly a dozen years ago, I found a gentle path, and since then I haven’t launched any new workout routines or crash dieted. Still, every year I get a little healthier, I weigh a little less, and I can do something I couldn’t do the year before. (You can read my post about the connection between yoga and weight loss at this link.)

I know that in an era obsessed with immediate transformation, I’m talking about something that seems awfully dull and slow. I like to call it Personal Incrementalism. Still, I’ll bet you that my PI will blow the reduced-calorie whipped topping off of your NYR in the long haul, and I’m suggesting you give it a try in 2008.

So what do I mean by Personal Incrementalism? As one of my friends would say: Eating the elephant one bite at a time.

It’s simple: Instead of trying to overhaul your life, identify the small changes that matter the most to you and make them.

Every New Years Day for the past five years, I’ve held a workshop at my yoga studio. We practice asana, take a walk in the country, have a standing meditation, and then practice restorative yoga. At the beginning of the workshop, I ask my students to set an intention for the year. I ask them to write it on an index card and slip it under their mat for the duration of the workshop and then take it home.

My intention is usually spiritual in nature and addresses something in my life I’m working on. Last year, after a relationship ended painfully, I realized how quickly I can shut down and become defensive when I feel hurt or threatened. This year’s intention is to try to approach all situations in my life with an open heart (and a big, deep breath). I’ve written that down and am keeping it in a place where I can reference it often, to use as a touchstone when I feel myself throwing my emotional emergency brake.

I also like to set a physical goal, and although it has taken different forms over the years – reducing my swimming times, learning to rock climb – in recent history I’ve done something that I’m encouraging my yoga students to do this year: Pick an asana that will be a challenge and then try to learn it by the year’s end. I do this knowing I’ll need to spend the year addressing the components of my chosen pose.

Two years ago, my goal was to be able to get both feet off the ground in a pose called Eka Pada Koundinyasana, or what my 11-year-old son calls “the break-dancing pose”. (Also, a big thanks to my son for taking these pictures!)

To do this, I had to work on increasing my core and arm strength. I had to become more flexible in my hamstrings and my hips, and learn the mechanics of the pose – the muscle memory of how it should feel. Basically, this means I had to figure out where my limbs would end up. I also had to learn how to exit the pose without collapsing on my mat in a heap. At the end of the year I had lift off, which was incredibly exhilarating. The next year’s goal was to be able to perform the same pose on the other side of my body. (I kid you not!)

Last year’s goal, Parivrtta Surya Yantrasana or Compass Pose, encouraged me to continue working on my hamstrings and hips, and my ability to twist more deeply. I also had to work on loosening the chronic tightness in my outer shoulders.

I’m not certain where I’m going this year, but in line with my spiritual intention to keep my heart center open, I’m thinking it will be a back-bending pose. (My son thinks my goal should be a pose where I put my foot behind my head because one of the girls in his fifth grade class can do this and he thinks it’s incredibly cool. My sweetie is afraid I’ll get stuck there.)

My motivation for my physical goal is to increase my fitness, continue to decrease my weight, and have fun along the way. Always, one of my goals is to treat myself kindly.So, I encourage you to throw out any self-deprecating NYRs and replace them with goals that will make you feel good about yourself all year long.

Consider making small changes that will benefit your health. Choose activities that use as many of your muscles as possible. If you walk for exercise, consider swimming to involve more of your body. Dance whenever you can. Think about reducing the things that don’t benefit you – smoking, drinking, diet sodas, high-fructose corn syrup (as examples) – and increase the things that do, like quality sleep, massage, exercise, spiritual practices, and great lovemaking. Consider eating foods with less fillers and preservatives, and drinking more water.

But most of all, take a vow to treat yourself kindly.

Happy New Year, Namasté & Blessed Be.

I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s post, and I feel the need to add this:

Honestly, I think there is a western preoccupation with getting our ass kicked, and I don’t mean always in the physical sense.

After writing this post, it occurred to me, that many people – and dare I say, especially women – are taught that personal gain somehow comes through feeling inadequate.

The entire media machine works to make us feel that way… we’re never thin enough, healthy enough, busy enough, wealthy enough, or beautiful enough viewed through the filter of the media. Reality shows based on transformation, self-improvement, and confession are hugely popular. Women’s magazines base their revenue on making readers feel like they must constantly aspire to improve their looks, lifestyle, and wardrobe. We’re encouraged at every turn to bleach, laser, cut, or inject something in the name of self-improvement. We’re supposed to feel inadequate if we don’t.

Where’s the lovingkindness in this?

And yes, the yoga media pushes this message too, although subtly: The cover models are thin and beautiful, in perfectly executed poses. The ads feature expensive clothes and accessories. The fact that the covers and ads were achieved with airbrushing and spotters standing just out of camera range isn’t publicized.

A quick flip through a yoga magazine will leave you wondering if you’re practicing the right kind of yoga, if you’re practicing enough, if you’re eating the right things, doing the right kind of work, and wearing the right kind of clothes to practice.

So is it any wonder that so many people think that they’re supposed to be pushed to the point of exhaustion and injury in a yoga class? They think that a “good” class is one they can’t keep up with, and a “good” teacher is thinner, more beautiful, and flexible than they are (and will find ways of constantly reminding them). They’ve been raised on feeling guilty and inadequate.

Let it go. Let it go completely on your mat. You deserve to feel wonderful and yoga can be the vehicle that will bring you to a place where you will. No matter what your size, fitness level, or gender, there’s a way, a teacher, a class, and a practice for you.

This year, make it your New Year’s Resolution to find as many ways of making yourself feel good about yourself as possible. Then you can spread that love to the world. It really does start on your mat.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

This past summer, I found myself in a social situation with another yoga teacher. Someone at our table was asking her about her classes, and she was testifying to their toughness: “Come to my classes and I’ll kick your ass,” she said.

She seems like a nice person, and so I chalked her response up to youth, enthusiasm, and misguided marketing. (I even wondered if I should write this, because if she sees it, I don’t want her to feel chastised. We simply have different viewpoints.)

Then last night, I took a yoga class in San Francisco. In opening the class, the teacher asked us to consider what we wanted to have happen.

“Kick my ass,” said the young woman on the mat next to me.

“Please don’t kick mine,” I replied, almost reflexively.

The teacher, who knows me, looked amused. She explained to the room that everyone comes to the mat wanting and needing a different experience. It’s important to take your own needs into consideration.

I would definitely agree, but to me there’s even more.

There’s no doubt that yoga can be an effective workout, one that will challenge your strength, flexibility, and cardiovascular capacity. But yoga is much more than a simple form of exercise, like aerobics, weightlifting, or Pilates. After all, asana, or the physical practice of yoga postures is only one type of yoga practice. (You can read about the others here.)

In the second century, Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutra, the relatively brief document that is the seminal work that defines yoga. (Note: the Yoga Sutra has been translated many times and versions can be found online and in bookstores.)

Interestingly enough, nowhere in the Yoga Sutra does Pantanjali describe asana. It is not a book of exercises and practices in that sense, but rather a guide to life on the yogic path. He defines this path, as Ashtanga, or the Eight-Limbed Path of yoga. (Ashtanga is also the name of a school of physical yoga headed by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois.)

And, interestingly enough, most of it dovetails with basic Christian and Buddhist beliefs. It asks that practitioners use good ethical standards, get to know themselves, learn to concentrate and focus, keep a healthy body, be satisfied with a simple life, and devote themselves to God.

The first two limbs of the Eight-Limbed Path are the Yamas and the Niyamas, sometimes jokingly called the “yoga don’ts and dos”. These include ethical precepts, and the very first of the Yamas is Ahimsa, or non-violence.

So let me make my position perfectly clear: Ahimsa means no ass-kicking, not yours or that of anybody else.

Recently, my son’s science class undertook that classic environmental field project, where each child marks off a one-foot square of land and then observes it and records all of the living plants, insects, and animals in that space. They were encouraged to get to know their square, to get down close to it, to metaphorically live in it.

Your yoga mat is like that square, and on it, you get to be both the observer and the subject being observed. You get to live an entire life, metaphorically, on your mat.
And all of the principals of yoga, including Ahimsa, start right there, in your own space.

Practicing non-violence on the mat means not pushing yourself beyond your limits, not stretching yourself to the point of injury, not berating yourself for your weaknesses, and not being impatient with yourself in the learning and opening process.

In order to do this, you need to listen to your body, know yourself, bring concentration and mindfulness to your practice, stop comparing yourself to the others around you, and – yes – be willing to question a teacher who’s pushing you beyond yourself.

This doesn’t mean you can’t challenge yourself; it just means you should honor your limits.

As a student, I visit my favorite teachers to have my form corrected, to be led through an invigorating sequence, to learn new points of view, and to hear messages of inspiration that support my practice. (One of my teachers, in particular, has the uncanny ability to say exactly what I need to hear. Or maybe I’m just more receptive on the mat.) But I don’t visit to have my ass kicked. Nor do I visit to be intimidated – by the environment, by competitive energy from other students, or by the teacher.

And, as a teacher, I have a responsibility to recognize my students’ limits and limitations, respect their emotions, and make physical adjustments judiciously and kindly. I can lead my students to stretch their boundaries without pushing them into a place of physical or emotional risk.

My students know that one of my favorite sayings is “You are in the world who you are on your mat.” By this, I mean that if we’re impatient, violent or self-injurious, lazy, sad, competitive, or vain in the world, it will manifest on the mat. Likewise, if we cultivate concentration, effort, patience, contentment, and lovingkindness on our mat, we’ll take that out into the world.

So, during this holiday season, I’m suggesting that as we send out messages saying Peace on Earth, we should remember it really does begin with ourselves. Give yourself a holiday gift, and make a commitment to starting the practice of Ahmisa right there on your own mat.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

Recently, I heard someone say that living is the only condition with a guaranteed 100 percent mortality rate.

And, indeed, it would be a rare person who reaches adulthood, even early adulthood, without having experienced the death of someone important to them.

Sometimes I feel, as a part-time hospice worker, I think about death and the dying process a little more than most people. But I know that’s not true. Everyone thinks about death, whether in the choices we make (wear a seat belt, don’t drink and drive), our plans for the future, or our hopes and dreams for our loved ones. It’s deeply embedded in our consciousness, and some psychologists would argue that fear of death is a governing force in our life.

In Northern California, where I live, the last couple of decades have brought the proliferation of roadside memorials, the visual reminders of accidental death. My yoga studio is about five miles from my home, on a stretch of two-lane rural highway that is impacted by fog, wind, deer, and reckless, impatient drivers. Along those five miles there are at least four or five roadside memorials.

And recently, I’ve also noticed a trend in automobile decals that commemorate an individual’s life and death.

Several weeks ago, a friend died. I knew her as part of a group of friends, and she was a central figure, important as a friend, confidant, author, healer, and – for one newly married couple – a matchmaker.

Analea McGarey’s death was both expected and sudden, intimate and remote. It was expected because we knew she was failing and treatment had been stopped. It was sudden because the changes started soon after she took a vacation with friends. Photos from the trip show her looking happy and vibrant. It was also sudden because she was only 58 years old. It was intimate because those close to her did an admirable job of keeping everyone updated as her condition and consciousness changed. But it was also remote for many of us, because in the final weeks of her life, she went to her mother’s house, in another state, and passed away there, surrounded by her family.

I felt a twinge of frustration during the final weeks, because, while we were relatively new and not intimate friends, I have cared for many people at the end of their life, most of them strangers. And I think that the people who know me best understand that physically helping – doing – is how I deal with my own emotions during tough times. This is also how I like to offer aid to others. So while I’ve bathed and cared for people in their very last hours, read and sang to them (from their own spiritual traditions, I might add), and sat silently, holding their hand, I could offer nothing in this situation. I could only be a witness, and that, from a distance. On the day that she died, unaware of her transition, I lit a candle in her honor, and taught a restorative yoga workshop, holding her in my thoughts.

Now, I like to think that my small candle flame helped her soul find the way to its next destination.

During the years I wrote professionally, especially in public relations, I wrote innumerable letters to be signed by others. I can honestly say, that each and every one of them was as equally concerned about the valediction – the closing of the letter – as with the content of the letter itself.

CEOs would cross out “Best Wishes,” and ask that it be changed to “Warmest Regards.” Other would cross out “Again, Thank You,” and write instead “Cheers”. It’s clear that people put a lot of thought into what they say on that final line, and it’s an intensely personal decision, even if the end result seems pretty standard.

Typically, I close my notes to close friends and loved ones with silly Xs and Os, to others I say more formally, “Be well,” and in a yoga capacity, I usually say “Namasté“.

Analea’s family and friends circulated this poem shortly after her death. She wrote it about a month after she began chemotherapy earlier this year.

I’m sharing it with you, with the permission of her son and daughter-in-law:

Danced in the Moonlight

No matter when I move out of this life, whether it be tomorrow or 50 years in the future, this is what I want everyone to know:

I have lived.

Fully and richly,

completely and absolutely.

I have lived juicy and followed my dreams,

danced in the moonlight and frolicked in the sunlight.

I regret nothing.

And, most of all, I have been blessed with love,

surrounded by the most wonderful souls in the world:

my children,

my mother,

my siblings,

my family of blood and my family of choice,

my dear true friends.

This life has been one magical blessing after another and I am so grateful,

so eternally grateful for every moment.

I am full and complete and joyful, so joyful.

crazy, free, and whole.

Blessed Be.

– Analea

I’ve been keeping this poem hanging above my desk because I knew I wanted to share this somehow.

And, this morning, I realized what I want to do. In Analea’s memory, I going to begin closing my posts, emails, and letters to friends, with a valediction that combines mine with hers. I’m not doing this because I want to be Analea or fill any part of her role among our friends. I’m going to do it as a tribute. It will be the metaphorical sticker on my car. Each time I write it, I’ll be extending, through my choice of closing, the wish that the recipient live their life without regrets and be, like Analea, full, complete, and joyful, crazy, free, and whole.

I may do this for months, or perhaps years to come. In her memory, I invite you to join me in this.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

Sometimes I think yoga practitioners are firmly divided into two camps: Those that chant, and those that don’t.

Those that don’t often feel self-conscious about chanting, are reluctant to chant something they don’t understand, or feel that chanting will conflict with their belief system. (For more about this, see my previous posts about yoga and religion). And, I recognize that many people come to the mat with a desire for a no-frills, strictly physical experience.

In my classes, I usually open by chanting three cycles of Om (or more correctly, Aum), and end class with a short Sanskrit chant and “Shanti, Shanti, Shanti, Om” as a closing. The Sanskrit word “shanti” means “peace”. Students are invited to join in, or not, as they see fit.

Here are two Aum/Om videos. One is a relaxing music video that you can listen to while you read this essay. The other, just to be silly, is a dog who chants.

Just this week I had the experience of being approached by two different students about chanting. One was a new student who wanted to let me know how much she enjoyed the tiny amount of chanting that we did in class. She said chanting “Om” made her feel like her whole body was alive in a way that surprised her. I was particularly pleased when another, a continuing student, also made a positive comment about chanting. She had first arrived in my classes saying she was looking for a straightforward yoga experience “without chanting or any stuff like that”.

So what is it about chanting?

There are so many answers to this that I can think of, and I’m sure there are many more:

Chanting can help to focus the mind, wiping away the background chatter in our heads. It can regulate our breath. It can be devotional and a form of Bhakti yoga in any tradition. The physical act of chanting can open, clear, and strengthen the throat chakra.

But there’s also this other thing… this quality that is so hard to nail down. I’m going to try and deconstruct it a little. Please note here that I’m going to focus on the physical aspects of chanting, and not on mantra (the specific words and sounds that may be chanted, or the meaning of Om or Aum, or the implications of various tones). After all, many (if not most) cultures incorporate some form of chanting, from “Om” to Gregorian chants to the chants of Africa, indigenous American chants, and the chants of Asia. We instinctively chant to calm ourselves, bolster our courage and resolve (”I think I can. I think I can.”) and to soothe others, especially babies and children.

I know from personal experience, that “Om” at the end of a yoga class feels entirely different from “Om” at the beginning of class. At the beginning of class it’s about using the chant to gather focus and energy for the practice to come. At the end of practice, it’s celebration and exaltation. I feel like a bell being rung. The sound is inside me, outside me, all around me… even when I’m completely alone.

In his book This Is Your Brain On Music, Daniel J. Levitin offers this piece of insight into how the human brain processes sound:

…direct mapping of pitch [by the brain] is so important, it bears repeating. If I put electrodes in your visual cortex (the part of the brain at the back of the head, concerned with seeing), and I then showed you a red tomato, there is no group of neurons that will cause my electrodes to turn red. But if I put electrodes in your auditory cortex and play a pure tone in your ears at 440Hz, there are neurons in your auditory cortex that will fire at precisely that frequency, causing the electrode to emit electrical activity at 440Hz – for pitch, what goes into the ear comes out of the brain.

What immediately struck me when I read this, is that the all-encompassing sensation of a good “Om” is a real thing. The noise that I make when I chant vibrates my body, which feels it. My ears, in turn hear it, and my auditory nerves stimulate my brain, causing it to fire at the same frequency. It’s not quite a circular process, but it’s incredibly complete for such a simple act.

I think this is what people react to, the sense of wholeness and completeness that chanting brings. Even a simple one word chant (”Om,” “Peace,” or “Amen”) offers this experience, for reasons that may transcend what is being chanted. Choosing to chant something special (a mantra, prayer, or affirmation, for example) just adds an additional cognitive and meditative element.

We recognize that water does a fine job of transmitting soundwaves, and in writing this it occurs to me, that the sense of peace and wholeness that chanting conveys may be similar to our pre-birth experience. In the womb, we’re surrounded by water (amniotic fluid), and it also fills our lungs. During this time, our sense of sound, which would vibrate both in and around us, would be much more like chanting, than say, listening to the radio.

And it also occurs to me that this phenomenon may be part of the reason that young people are attracted to stereos with a pounding bass. The bass, which vibrates the listener to his (or her) core, may also recreate that “womb with a view” feeling – a last grasp at security for those poised on the cusp of adulthood – a sort of audible thumb-sucking as it is.

Even if you don’t consider yourself a chanter, I would invite you to experiment with this sensation. Choose a simple word and begin by taking a deep breath (but not a gasp). Let the sound begin low in your belly. Feel how it moves in your mouth as you hollow out the back of your throat. Feel it change as you begin to close your mouth, how the sounds feels like it is moving forward. End with your lips together, letting the sound vibrations make your lips buzz, humming until it fades away.

Finally, feel the quiet space after the vibration has ended. Because, this is as important as the chant itself.

Namasté & Blessed Be.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by Pat Robertson’s view of yoga.

However, I thought that – in follow up to my earlier post, Yoga and Losing Your Religion – I’d share it with you. (Needless to say, Pat and I don’t see eye-to-eye on this, but I’m not surprised by that either.) As an aside to Pat: spend 5 breaths in Chataranga Dandasana and then tell me yoga is all about “stretching”.

Namasté.

Several years ago, one of my students brought a woman friend to class. She thought her friend, a Protestant minister, could benefit from yoga.

The woman was very polite during class, but gave my friend a stern little talk in the car on the way home. She couldn’t come to classes, she said, because it would be in conflict with her religion. She explained (and I’m paraphrasing in the third person here) that the small statues of Hindu figures and the print of the Buddhist bodhisattva Kwan Yin in the studio conflicted with her religion’s directive not to “worship false idols”. She was also concerned for my student, and expressed that. (She’s still coming to classes.)

When I heard this, I was a little taken aback. I wish she had asked me about this. It’s the sort of question that arises frequently with new students, especially those that hold strong Christian beliefs. I would have been happy to talk with her about it.

I was raised Presbyterian and consider myself to be fundamentally Christian in the sense that I believe in the teachings of Christ. However, as a yoga teacher, there is no doubt my belief system has been strongly influenced by yoga philosophy, which I haven’t found to be in conflict with my basic beliefs. (I should point out here that I don’t consider myself to be Hindu.)

It’s true that yoga philosophy finds its roots in Hinduism (as does Buddhism, also). And although Hinduism can appear polytheistic, it’s not. All of the images of Hindu characters with blue faces, elephant heads, multiple arms, necklaces of skulls, and so many exotic-appearing details are just representations of the many facets of the God-spirit. (And yes, many Hindus would consider this to be the same God in which Christians believe, although not personified as having human characteristics or being male.) My favorite description of Hinduism is “cheerfully polytheistic monotheism”. I like to really simplify this by saying that all of the Hindu God-faces are like characters in a comic book, each with his or her special identity and powers: There is the happy face of God, wrathful God, God being loving, and many, many more.

Christianity and yoga philosophy share many common fundamental tenets: A belief in peacefulness and truthfulness; the belief people should refrain from stealing, lying, and greed; a sense of personal responsibility reflected in the way we keep our bodies and run our personal lives, and of course, devotion to God.

It’s only fair that I also point out here that Christianity and Hinduism differ in many substantial ways. But in case I’m not making myself clear: Practicing yoga doesn’t make you Hindu.

So, if my yoga visitor had asked, what I would have told her is this:

“It’s my belief that yoga is a form of prayer. To whom or what you pray is your own business. It’s not my role to have that influence in your life. Yoga can support your existing belief system.”

Yoga consists of many kinds of practices and types of yoga. Physical yoga (asana) is only one of them. I fully believe a Christian can be a yogi (yoga practitioner) in every way. The Christian yogi can practice asana and breathwork (pranayama) to build a healthy body, chant Christian prayers and sing Christian hymns and songs, study the Bible and related materials, act with mindfulness and intention, do good and kind work in service of God, sit in contemplation and prayer, and work to live life in union with God, including practicing Christian rituals and celebrations.

(Here’s a link to a great blog post about the discrimination some Christians feel in yoga classes.)

I believe that yoga is adaptable to many belief systems. There are yoga classes being offered across the country that address the needs and beliefs of various groups of people, including Christian yoga classes, and classes specifically for Jewish yogis. (One class held near my home chants in Hebrew.)

Obviously I’m not qualified to teach those classes. I can only teach about yoga, and I limit my teaching, mostly, to physical yoga, and fairly simple philosophy. This is because I believe it’s my responsibility as a yoga teacher to help students access yoga in a way that makes them comfortable.

Part of my personal path is supporting others on their path and I try to do this whenever possible.

This past Tuesday night, I attended a kirtan with Krishna Das. Bhakti, or devotional, yoga can take the form of repeating the names of God. Kirtan is this repetition, set to music, in call and response form. Krishna Das described it this way: “The names of God are medicine and music is the sweet syrup in which they’re carried.” During the evening, Krisha Das expressed appreciation for all of the world’s great teachers, Christ included. He has a reputation for busting out the occasional gospel tune. In fact, his recording of an old Mahalia Jackson song called”God is Real” is a favorite with my yoga students. While most of the kirtan was in Sanskrit (the ancient language still used in modern yoga), the crowd of several hundred people whooped and hollered as he and his musicians broke into “Jesus Is On That Main Line,” enthusiastically clapping and singing back the refrain “Tell him what you want!” Krisha Das told the participants that this is the sort of song he wasn’t allowed to sing as a child, having been “raised Jewish on my parents’ side,” but he now embraces as part of his practice to sing the names of God whenever and however possible.

God is Real

There are some things I may not know
There are some places, dear Lord, I may not go.
But there’s one thing of which I’m sure
My God is real for I can feel him in my soul

Namasté.

I think that one of the hardest concepts for new yoga students to get their head around is that asana, or yoga poses, aren’t static.

They aren’t poses to be struck and held; they are a framework for movement, opening, and exploration – no matter how subtle these actions may be.

In my opinion, much of the attraction of vinyasa, or flow styles, of yoga is because students respond to the idea of movement. It gives them a sense of “doing” that is often difficult for them to find – especially early in their practice – while focusing on single poses.

While I teach some flow sequences in my classes, I frequently ask my students to detail single poses, looking for nuance and change in the pose over the time they’re in it.

Billy Collins wrote a great poem about teaching poetry to students that I find analogous to the teaching of yoga and how I’d like to inspire my students to explore a pose:

Introduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to water-ski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Over the years, I’ve become known for reading poetry to my students, usually at the end of class, at the very beginning of Savasana. But this is a poem I frequently read to students, especially new students, at the beginning of class, or in a moment when I find them trying to “muscle” their way through a pose.

The action instructions I give during class, in Uttiha Trikonasana for example – to ground down through the rear leg, to lift the rear inner thigh up into the femur, to externally rotate both legs, to actively lift the front thigh while drawing it back toward the rear heel, to let the underside of the waist be as long as the upper side of the waist, to widen the arms and collarbones away from each other, opening the heart center (and there are many more!), are all prompts to help my students keep moving in the pose. I try to keep them from locking up and beginning to struggle with the pose, making it rigid and hard.

Instead, I suggest they use the breath as a mouse, and let it run through the pose, finding the tight areas and those that are more open. I suggest that they, metaphorically, walk around inside the pose and feel the inner walls for a lightswitch, turning it on with the breath, and lighting and warming the pose from within.

And yes, sometimes when we take a non-traditional approach to a pose, or pass through more quickly in a flow sequence, I recognize that we are waterskiing across the surface of the pose, waving at tradition as we go, and I point that out, too.

My objective in teaching is to give my students the power to analyze the way their yoga feels in their own body. This will always be more important than how the poses look. I also want them to have the toolkit to understand the actions of the poses and how to work inside of them, changing and growing over time. Finally, I want to stop them from beating their poses with a rubber hose, encouraging them to approach yoga – and themselves – with curiosity, playfulness, and loving kindness.

Namasté.