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MARCH 2009

The Art of Falling: A Love Story

Nearly eleven years ago I was still making excuses about why I couldn’t start teaching yoga. The ‘what ifs’ overwhelmed me: What if I didn’t know enough? What if I was wrong? What if I wasn’t good enough? I’d been practicing for years already. I was sure I wanted to teach, to share the gifts of yoga with others, but I had excuse after excuse about how I just wasn’t ready.

Doubt is a psychological cancer and in my life it has required a sort of mental bone marrow transplant to overcome it at times. This particular bout was sent into remission by a beautiful, amazing woman named Callie. She was my friend, my teacher, my mentor, and a radiant example of what life could be like without the paralysis of doubt.

Callie saw through my excuses and called bullshit on it by matter-of-factly informing me over lunch one day that I would start apprenticing and teaching some of the basic classes. This was not a suggestion, this was an order. Old school old world yoga ways. I knew the sequences by heart, but now I had to figure out the dialogue, brush up on areas where my anatomy was weak, and overcome my stage fright. I was leaving for a European vacation the following day, and I had three weeks’ to prepare, mentally. I was clearly expected to begin teaching when I got home.

The morning I returned from Paris I got the call.

“She’s dead” the caller informed me.

I crumpled, disbelieving. Details streamed towards me but I heard little of it: climbing accident, fiancé was belaying, coma, quick, painless death. I don’t know the details, whether the equipment failed or her partner did. Either way, she was gone. And so much of John went with her that it didn’t matter. Gone, was this incredible force of positivity in the world. Gone, her Callie’s unfailing optimism, her readiness to laugh and lighten up the heaviest situation. Gone, was one of the brightest, most shining people I’ve ever met.

. . . . . . .

The first class I ever taught was Callie’s-–the one I used to go to--a week after her death. It wasn’t a large class, and I no longer worried about how I performed. I had no doubt, no fear, no nerves–just a raw, massive, almost palpable grief. In these first few classes we did a little ‘yoga’, but mostly we collapsed in tearful heaps on our mats, with huge, wracking sobs rattling the grief in us. We held each other and cried and railed at God, the universe and everything. “Why Callie”, we asked each other repeatedly as if there could be any acceptable answer.

I still miss her. She was a powerful, definitive and positive influence in my life. And somehow, even in death she remains thus. For years after she was gone I’d lost all interest in rock climbing which had never been more than an occasional bouldering expedition–nothing too high, nothing scary. Stuff you could practically walk up like a ladder. It wasn’t that I was afraid of climbing as much as I couldn’t bear the association with the loss. Fast forward to the here and now, and I'm sport climbing at the Portland Rock Gym. I've been training seriously at it for about six months. I started it as something to do during rainy months when it became increasingly obvious that I could no longer train for road racing because of a persistent injury. But my interest in it had become more serious, more important, more essential. When I’m climbing there is nothing outside of the present moment. There is deep stillness, a quiet calm that I crave. Not being able to ride like I want to, climbing has filled the gap in more ways than one. And the time had come to take the next step: lead climbing.

The lead test is required in order to become approved to lead climb at the gym. It’s basically a safety measure. You must lead a 5.10- route (no small feat all on its own) and you must climb it clean meaning no falls, no takes, no hanging out, no mistakes. Instead of clipping in to the anchors you take a fall at the very top of the route. It’s only about a 12 foot drop at most. Really, it’s not a big deal. I was working with a trusted partner and in very good, very experienced hands. All the same I felt the fear rising and riding shotgun was my old nemesis: Doubt.

No one was pushing me to do this but doing so opens up an entirely new world of climbing opportunity. It also opens up a whole new level of risk. I’ve been building up to it for weeks, and after a few false starts to actually take the test I finally decided: tonight’s the night.It was a real test of my yoga training. My breathing was calm and steady. I plotted the first six moves. I knew the route, had cleaned it many times, but had also taken a few falls on it. My mind was calm, but I could sense the doubt and fear straining to get in. Humor often works as an antidote to this, so I joked about trying not to puke on my partner Sally or Chris, who was there to observe and either pass or fail me. But something else I realized: The doubt was unnecessary. I knew I could do this. I’d been preparing diligently for it for weeks. I was never going to be more ready. And as my climbing partner Preston says, there is no failure, only learning. If I didn’t pass, I’d take it again. Simple.

Wile-E Coyote cartoon-like visions of falling badly, swinging into the wall and breaking all my teeth out of my face ran through my head. It was ridiculous, really. It was more of a drop than a wild, swinging fall known as a “whipper”. Hell, I pay good money for that sort of thing at the amusement park on rides with names like “Drop Zone”.

The only thought in my mind as I touched the first holds was: You can do this. I climbed well. My form was good until I hesitated. That hesitation cost me: I started getting the dreaded ‘Elvis leg’. From the calm detached yoga mind, I was able to watch my leg shaking even though my breath was smooth and relaxed. “Stop it!” I willed my leg. The shaking continued, uncontrollably. “STOP IT!” More shaking. I remembered then the value of that old adage ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’. I had to move. Up. Only Up. “I can do this.”

As I approached the top jug I felt that I’d screwed up, that I didn’t clean it and I was so pissed off about it that I scarcely had time to even think when the fall came naturally and easily. I cussed furiously, kicking at the wall thinking I’d failed. But as Sal lowered me expertly and I arrived safely upon terra firma, Chris casually informed me that I aced it, and my form was good except one little place where my footwork was a bit sloppy. I’ve been working hard on my footwork and technique. It paid off. I could actually feel good about my performance.

High fives all around. After about 10 minutes the adrenaline rush passed. Sallie was grinning more than me at the point, and I was shaking like a drunk in detox, but I’d done it. It was over, and at the same time marked a new beginning.

. . . . . . .

It used to be whenever I touched the rope I’d remember Callie and how deeply that loss affected me. Now I think of her and how much presence she still has in my life in that when I doubt myself and start to feel the old numbness of fear setting up shop in my bones I can just lean into the faith of another, even though she’s long gone. The loss is real but I’m so grateful for what little time I had with her, and the gratitude is greater than the grief these days.

As for the doubt, it’s in remission and I intend to win the battle however long it takes. I intend to do some ‘real’ climbing, outside in some of the most scenic and epic climbing spots in the world. It is almost certain doubt will surface in these much more challenging scenarios. I imagine those stories will be more colorful, more upbeat, and have pretty pictures and a bumpin’ sound track to match. But for me rock climbing is like bike racing is like yoga. It in an inner journey completely independent of views, or vistas, or gear or outside or inside or inside out. This is about where spirit meets bone and tendon and muscle and blood and guts.

This is a story of love of life.

. . . . .

Thank you Sallyanne, Preston, Michael, Courtney, Anita… Yeah. Love & respect.

And Callie: forever, for sure…Climb on!

Why Everyone Should Quit Doing Yoga

Lately I have been immersing myself in Taoist yoga practice and study. Stephen Mitchell's recent translation of the Tao te Ching is what set it off. It is without a doubt one of the most simple, powerful and graceful translations of the Tao I have read, and I've read a few. It coincides with a need in myself to find a new relationship to yoga. As my practice evolves and changes according to my needs in the moment I find myself drawn to the meditative flow of Taoist vinyasa: Qi Kung based movements that are incredibly energizing, gentle but also amazingly powerful. I went out on a limb yesterday with my vinyasa class. As a moon day--traditionally days of rest in yoga--I decided to take advantage of it and teach a completely different class than I normally do. We started with about an hour of yin yoga, getting deep into the joints and energy body, then I got everyone on their feet for the Taoist vinyasa. Because the movements are so radicaly differetn than standard "vinyasa yoga" movements, I took great care to demonstrate the sequence, and then went through a few rounds with the class before letting them do some rounds on their own, with just the oceanic sound of breath creating waves of movement. It was amazing to have 20 people moving together that way. It was brand new for them and unfamiliar territory, but they easily were caught in the meditative wave-like movements. I often get positive comments after class, but this time they were specific to the practice and how it felt in their bodies. I'm sure everyone loved it, and I am seriously tempted to start to teach this on a permanent basis. As I practice it more often myself I find I don't want to stop. I can get deep into a meditation with these simple, rhythmic martial-arts like movements.

It is said when the student is ready the teacher will come. Stephen Mitchell doesn't know he's become a teacher of mine and I can hardly claim to have "studied" with Lao Tzu. But perhaps it is also true that when the student is ready the practice will come. Perhaps I am attracted to this practice for its ease. Contrary to popular belief, I don't need everything I do to be difficult or demanding. Bike racing and rock climbing take a lot of energy, time, stamina and effort. My yoga practice is a place where I attempt to strike a balance for all my life's activities. I close every class with the mantra "Lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu". May all beings be blessed with ease. Being a being myself, perhaps it is time I devoted a bit of time to cultivating even more ease.

Classical yoga teaches that yoga can not be 'done'. It can only be experienced. So at the risk of losing my job I want to encourage people to QUIT TRYING TO DO YOGA. I mean... do the physical exercise, the postures, of course... But don't try so hard. Relax. Ride your bike. Hug a friend. Tell your partner how much they mean to you, despite your conflicts. Go for a walk. Have a cup of tea and read the Tao te Ching. Make everything count. This is the lesson of yoga. There are no empty moments.

Good luck with that.

Put This in Your Toolbox and Smoke It

It's long overdue, I know... Keeping up with writing is elusive. Sorry about that. Mostly I know myself... That I will write too much, not edit enough, and lack the web skills to create a true blog format where one can just load the topics of interest. So bear with me. I know this isn't ideal, but what in life really is?

                 When I began yoga, I was attending Iyengar classes in the mornings, and after about a year of daily practice, I started adding Ashtanga classes in the afternoon, I kept this up until I tore a hamstring tendon badly enough that I had to seriously lay off all forward bending. Being progress-oriented rather than process-oriented this was unacceptable and frustrated me to no end. When I started applying to teacher training programs, I remember asking Rodney Yee what to do. He told me to "lay off the forward bends" but keep going because my injuries would make me a better teacher. I hated that answer! I wanted someone to make it better, to tell me what to do so I could move forward and reach my goals! My ashtanga yoga teacher told me to "breathe into it", whatever THAT meant! I hated that answer too! What does that even mean? Breathe into it? Into what? Pain? Frustration? Loss? Anger? I didn't understand and I thought it was just some bullshit answer that really was just a way for him to be lofty and superior, like he had some secret knowledge that someday, maybe, if I was lucky enough, I might understand.

                 Now, perhaps, finally, so many years later... I am beginning to understand. "Breathe it in". Right! Of course! Pattabhi Jois, founder of ashtanga yoga, is famous for saying "practice, practice, all is coming..." Meaning, don't sweat the results, just do the work. It is a key message of the Bhagavad Gita: do your work without expectation of reward. In this regard putting my leg behind my head is easier than letting go of expectation and I'd wager that to be true for others as well.

                 Over the years I have danced back and forth between Iyengar and Ashtanga, Yin and Anusara, viniyoga and vinyasa. But always I return to my roots. My body doesn't do well with traditional ashtanga yoga and all that repetitive vinyasa BUT I have such a deep appreciation of the logic of the sequencing that I find it impossible to let it go completely. I may never do a perfect jump-through again. Heck I can't even manage all the vinyasas without wrecking my rotator cuff. But why throw the baby out with the bathwater? Once you understand, really understand what "breathe into it" means, the intelligent solution effortlessly appears.

                 People ask me why I teach ashtanga yoga. But I don't teach ashtanga yoga! Or Iyengar. Or Anusara. Not per se. I teach people how to use the tools of classical yoga and I have devoted large amounts of time and energy to studying these tools and their uses. Every problem requires a different tool. Use a hammer to drive a screw and you end up with an enormous hole the threads can't grab. Pound a nail with a screwdriver and you're going to be pounding a very long time and getting nowhere. What I would ask of you is to look past the labels of this yoga or that yoga and see the tools. "Practice, practice..." "Breathe it in..."

                 According to The Yoga Sutras, Patanjali states what Yoga is: "the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind"; and Iyengar describes it as creating "perfect firmness of the body, steadiness of intelligence and benevolence of spirit". If you come to me for yoga you are going to get a very direct, clear instruction for perfection of body, that when practiced regularly will lead to stillness of mind. The benevolence of spirit part is up to you. It can't be taught but only shared or given. My benevolence won't look like yours, just like my postures won't look like yours. Sometimes benevolence takes the form of ruthlessness, just as gentleness is sometimes disastrous. Where I need a hammer you might need a screwdriver, but the practice itself is always the best teacher. Often people see Iyengar and Ashtanga yogas as being opposites or at odds with each other, but even Iyengar himself once said "if the body is the temple, then every breath, every movement is a prayer." Sounds an awful lot like a case of you say to-may-to I say to-mah-to to me. Whatever you call it, just make sure to bring your willingness to be open to life. It is by far the best tool in the toolbox.

Beginner's Mind, Again

Each month in my classes I chose a different them of exploration. This month I chose 'Beginner's Mind', in part because it's the time of year when people of all ages go back to school. When I teach I operate under the premise that people are there to learn, to explore, to discover. What I've finally realized is how many people come to yoga not so much to learn but to be entertained. As yoga has become more mainstream its purpose has been misappropriated by "popular culture". Like most things American or Americanized, we take what we like from a culture, an art, a science and leave what seems non-essential. In Americanizing "yoga" we've turned it from psychospiritual practice to exercise to entertainment. We've also made it goal- and achievement-oriented, rather than allowing it be an exploration of pure process.
             What does this have to do with beginner's mind? The great Zen master Shunryu Suzuki famously said "In the mind of the expert the possibilities are very limited, but in the mind of the beginner the possibilities are endless." Everyone arrives on the yoga mat with a desire or a need to tend to whether it's to loosen the hips, become spiritually enlightened, or establish hormonal balance and emotional equilibrium in a world out-of-whack. It's when those desires or needs become expectations we begin to lose the thread of yoga and it becomes something else. When we orient toward expectation we fail to see the world of possibility that exists all around us. There are almost always other perspectives, other choices available to us at all times... if only we could remember to see them.
             In most schools of Buddhism and many if not most schools of yoga even the concept of "desire" is shunned. In some translations of Buddha dharma suffering is said to exist because we desire. In yoga we're told the root of suffering is our attachments. I propose the truth is somewhere in between: That desire itself is not a problem but the attachment to it is. My suggestion is that we hold our desires loosely without allowing the expectation to build. From the very start of our practice, at the moment we bring the hands together in Anjali mudra to honor our essential, unchanging Self and the very desire that brings us to the mat, can we be content even with just this much without expectation for something more grand, more sensational, more "meaningful"? Can we find richness in the mundane moments of life? Can we learn to appreciate the subtle ebb and flow of moment to moment breathing-living-being instead of clutching at our lives with greedy fingers? Can we find some freedom from the tyranny of needing to be any different in order to be truly happy? Cultivating beginner's mind brings us one step closer to that acceptance, happiness, and fulfillment. Even if the bottom-line desire that brings us to the mat again and again is simply a physical release of tension or flexibility or core strength, cultivating beginner's mind will help us get there more gracefully and with greater ease. If we can let go of expectation, even just marginally, we loosen the grip of duffering just a bit and in my book no amount of reduction of suffering is too little.
             Shunryu Suzuki has another saying that I really dig: You are--each one of you--absolutely perfect... and you could use a little improvement. Accepting ourselves radically doesn't mean letting ourselves off the hook from doing life's difficult tasks, but "a little self improvement" also doesn't mean there is anything wrong with us. So the next time you arrive in your practice--whatever form it may take--remember: If your worldview is so distorted, so jaded you can't see possibilities all around you, you may need a new prescription to help you see a little more clearly. Yoga is that prescription for clear seeing. Whatever entertainment or exercise it might also be is merely a bonus.

. . . . . . .

The Space Between Words

Let's get this straight right from the start. I am opinionated, stubborn, downright intractable at times, and frequently impatient. While I've been on this "path of transformation" for many years and have devoted large volumes of time and energy to learning everything I can about yoga and meditation, and I think I do a pretty good job of presenting it to others, it's very possible I could be completely full of it. But then it's also possible that I have learned a few things along the way--things worth sharing. And let's be honest... I started yoga in my late twenties as a means of escape, not a means of discovery. Oh, sure, I'd been on the path of the seeker for a long time already. Ever since I was a child I was inclined to mysticism, poetry and exploring the dark night of the soul. But really, I came to yoga out of desperation. I didn't want to find myself. I wanted to get lost. I was utterly sick of myself, sick of my life and many of the people in it, and tired of chasing my tail in circles. I desperately wanted for things to be different. All my life I had been raging against the world because I couldn't get what I wanted from it. And I was tired of the trials. Tired of my history. Tired of being defined by my past--a past outlind with abuse, underscored with neglect, and colored with terrible psychological and physical pain. I'd been toughing it out for so long I could no longer feel myself. I had become numb to life.
                  I took my first yoga class because some friends insisted I'd love it and I wound up falling in love with the teacher. She was tall, beautiful, and smiled a lot. She had a huge generous laugh, an amazing body, and she was without a doubt one of the most optimistic people I have ever met. She always looked on the bright side. She was my psychological opposite in every way. By her guidance I learned how to breathe and move with purpose and to relax. That's what kept me going. I hadn't realized how stressed out I was. She had a voice that was hypnotic, serene and soothing. I loved listening to her voice more than anything. Gradually I realized I was changing. I wasn't so agitated, uncomfortable or off-balance anymore--physically or mentally. She didn't even say much but I found a refuge in the space between words.
                  I love words. Love language. I'm fascinated by things like the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis. I really do believe that I can shape my reality and that my thoughts and the language in which I speak to myself and others supports (or discourages, depending) that creation. For years I tried to be careful in my teaching to only say soft words. Words without edges. Spiritual, yogic words. But I felt a little fraudulent, phony--like I was trying to be someone I wasn't. I absolutely knew intuitively that the path of yoga was what I wanted to devote my energy to. Even as a child I remember wanting to find my purpose in the world--a greater purpose than just satisfying whatever passing need or desire arose in me. And in all my studies I kept bumping into this instruction that yoga can only be lived through direct experience with authenticity. So if I was busy trying to be someone I wasn't then WHO was I and was I even practicing 'yoga'?
                    I am pleased to say the days of trying to be someone I'm not are over. I'm no spiritual guru, but at least I'm honest about it. That's a lot more than you'll get from some teachers. I will tell you what I know from my perspective. It may work for you. It may not. Sometimes I speak softly and at other times my choice of words are edgy, raw, gutteral. I use strong language to make my point. And when I get pissed off you'll know it. I'm no longer interested in appearing to be serene, calm, "yogic". I'm much more interested in being real. And for me that means being fully and imperfectly human. A 'Velveteen Human' perhaps, but still... This means there are times when calmness and serenity are exactly the ticket and there are other times when I am alive with conflict and a fiery energy. Between this yin and yang there is a place of acceptance that can't be taught. As I learned from Beth so long ago, this space can only be held for others. It cannot be "taught". Each of us need find it for ourselves. It's not out there... It's already within each of us.
                    What I have to say is nothing personal. It's all been said a thousand times over, and probably better, by others before me. I'm just attempting to put this human experience into words in a way that (maybe) helps someone else find space between them.Whether you are in my class or here in this cyberspace with me, my intention and my purpose is simply to put the words out there for you to lean into, to rest on, and to fuel your journey. I leave the rest to the mystery.

. . . . . . .
                    In the silence between words--between concepts and ideas--find yourself. In this post alone there are 1,009 words. Which means there are at least that many spaces.That's a lot of space in which to get lost--or found--whatever you need. If you'll excuse me now I am going to spend some time in my own silence between thoughts and ideas, where there's enough space for my yin/yang self. As the Persian Poet Rumi says, 'Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field... I'll meet you there'.