My Back

But deep down inside we're coverin' up the pain. It's an old thing. It’s a soul thing. But it's a real thing. ~ Who’s Gonna Help Brother Get Further, Elvis Costello

My back is better. The hurt is gone.

When I first started yoga, I feared for my back. I had sprained it years earlier, and sometimes it still gave me trouble.

It wasn’t long before I realized that with every pose, there really wasn’t much that didn’t involve my back. So I was cautious, and it took a lot of encouragement and a lot of baby steps before I got brave enough to progress. I was grateful for the pace and the patience of a class that allowed for this.

Soon my core got stronger which strengthened my back. Not long after, there was a photographer in the studio, and I was given a photograph of myself in a handstand with my back reflected in the mirror.

I showed this photo to my father to let him in on what I’d been spending all my time doing, and he took one look and exclaimed, You’ve got muscles in your back!

I hadn’t noticed! But once I looked closer, I saw them, too, and I felt suddenly stronger, as if I’d accomplished something big!

Today, my back is my barometer. For me, having a strong and healthy back (A) equates to having a strong and healthy spirit (B). And even though I invented this equation, I think A = B is what’s true for me.  

It’s just that sometimes I get a little thrown off when my back starts to hurt. When this happens I slide back to where I was before I progressed, before I could twist and bend and all the rest. And when this old hurt shows up, others tend to join in. The old stories come back, and I suddenly can’t remember accomplishing anything big at all.

This can happen after the most wonderful times and after my best practices. Suddenly, there’s pain beneath my sacrum in a place where it’s hard for anyone to reach. It hurts to sit at work, in the house and even on my mat.

My yoga practice has its own set of A’s and B’s, but they don’t equate to each other. The B’s are always greater than the A’s, and we always add them together.

We start the practice with several Sun A’s, reaching up and folding over and moving through our vinyasas before landing in our Downward Facing Dogs. Then we move to the Sun B’s, doing the same but adding in Chair poses and Warrior I’s.

And then we rest in Down Dog for five breaths, and this is when one instructor always asks, See how the prana, or energy, has shifted after the Sun B’s? And she’s right. I can feel how fast my heart is beating and how awake I am from head to toe.

Prana is the Sanskrit word for Life Force. When we twist and bend and all the rest, our Life Force gets activated, igniting our bodies and our spirits. Prana has an equation of its own. It equals A + B. When added together, both my back and my spirit are strengthened.

So whenever I start to hurt I know my prana is in the negative. And then it really doesn’t matter the order of my equation, whether my back hurts first and so the old stories creep in, or whether the old stories appear and so my back hurts.

I remember the first few months of my practice when I was starting to feel strong. I surprised myself in wanting to ask for a class so hard that I could feel the hurt. I wanted to flow to the point where it hurt all over.

I have no idea why I was looking to hurt when I was feeling so good, and of course I couldn’t bring myself to ever ask. How would I explain when I didn’t even know the answer myself?

But it’s never necessary to ask for hurt outright. It has a way of appearing on its own, no matter what’s come before. And I do my best to ignore it, but there’s no denying its arrival. Soon it hurts to sit at work or at home or on my mat.

And it’s hard to find the salve when this happens, and I wonder how I could ever have almost asked for it. It’s like the hurt is in my skin, and I’m the one who let it in. My back hurts and I ache with all the old stories, and I know that I must find my way back to A and B, so I can add them together and get things right again.

In this effort, I continue to practice. And I book an appointment with the sports medicine doctor who’s somehow privy to the prana equation without explanation. Somehow he knows the hurt in my back is the same as the one in my spirit. So he works on me and talks to me. And I rest at home when I usually don’t.  

And slowly things start to add up again. I feel strong once more, and I can sit again at work and at home and on my mat. And I am finally able to put those old stories back to bed.

The hurt is gone and it’s as if it never were. And it suddenly doesn’t matter anymore that once I almost asked for it, or that I ever even felt any at all.

All that matters now is that A and B are back together again. And so am I.

Breathe

In general, I am a pretty private person.

I keep things close to the chest and, even when I share, I proceed with caution.

I connect easily with others and have been trusted with many confidences.

But, it is only on the very rare occasion that I share mine. 

The hitch for me is being okay with the natural flow of people who come in and out of my life. 

If I had my way, I would keep most everyone who passed through, especially those with any of my confidences in tow.

I was once in a class where the yoga instructor told us that connections take practice, and she encouraged us to use the practice to connect first with ourselves and then with others.

This is called a practice, the instructor said. If you already knew everything, there would be nothing to practice.

In yoga, breathing is the key to connecting. Breathing takes us out of our minds and into our bodies; out of the stories in our heads and into the present.

The breath helps the thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow drop away until we are left where we belong, in the moment where we are supposed to be.

We breathed through three Vinyasas. A Vinyasa is a set of three poses, and one travels through them on the breath. We inhale to a plank with the body parallel to the mat and then exhale to a low push up, or Chaturanga. We inhale our hearts up and through, Upward Facing Dog; then exhale back and through, Downward Facing Dog.

The instructor reminded us that, although our practice is personal, not to forget the others in the room. She said, Once you connect with yourself, you can connect to others.

I could hear all of us breathing on the same beat, the class synchronized on the inhales and exhales.

Breathing is an important part of yoga, and I guess that is why there is an intense connection between the physical practice and the life lessons found therein.

In that particular class, we had practiced inches from our neighbors, and the instructor encouraged us to use our breath to connect to and inspire others in the room.

She wanted us to see our fellow practitioners as pillars, saying that we live and practice in and among others and that connecting to ourselves gives us the trust to connect to others.

I am usually oblivious to those around me during my practice, but it was true that I could not help but benefit from the energy exchange of those so close by.

So, in return, I breathed. 

It is challenging to be truly connected with myself, to breathe into my life’s moments both in and out of class. For a long time, I let myself hunker down, resisting opportunities to breathe. It was a safe place to be, but there was no flow, and it did not get me anywhere but from one day to the next.

Maybe it is telling that often the instructions to inhale or exhale sometimes find me holding my breath while holding a pose!

Breathing creates space in the body and in the mind. As I inhaled and exhaled, I thought back to some recent advice where I was told to offer myself some space for life’s missed or lost connections. This space is supposed to provide a cushion of care and protect from self-blame.

On another day, I asked my instructor what else there was to learn. I had advanced through many of the poses, and I was looking for the next challenge. My practice was feeling stagnant.

For you, he said, it would be the breath.

Sweet Spot

Handstands make me happy.

Sounds odd, but it is true!

This month, I learned something new in yoga. We are incorporating Handstands at the start of our Vinyasas, the transition sequence of which we do many, moving from a low push up to a high push up and back to a downward facing dog.

For me, it is great fun, and I cannot believe how elated I get over it.

Really, I never would have thought that I would be happiest upside down, but this is so, and the feeling lasts once I'm upright again.

Incorporating Handstands changes up the same old, and now the Vinyasas offer up an opportunity and a challenge as opposed to their normal reprieve from the practice.

In general, I am getting better and better at facing change. Just the other day, someone I know well was telling me how much he likes structure in his life. I was surprised to hear this as he always seems so spontaneous to me, always making me feel like the one who needs a plan.

I was even more surprised to hear myself tell him that these days I find freedom in just being, in not always knowing my next step.

I used to be a big planner. Now, not so much. I find this helps me move more easily through my life’s flow. Now, I have come to appreciate the benefits of not always knowing, or having to know, what comes next. 

In case I miss my balance, I keep my mat close to the wall. And, after one or two regular Vinyasas, I start to incorporate the Handstand. 

Going for the Handstand is always touch and go. My objective is to invert without using the wall, to find the sweet spot and just hang.

Sometimes it works, and sometimes it does not. And it is kind of fun not knowing what will happen.

Once upon a time, I was all about lining things up. My work life, my home life, my personal life. And for a long time, for the most part, life did line up according to my plan. But, after a point, there were so many things out of my control that impacted all of my lives that I had no choice but to let them go.

In hindsight, this is very freeing. It has taught me to be okay with not knowing every outcome in the face of change.

When trying for the Handstand, the best feeling comes when not much effort is applied, when I just kick up and let one foot meet the other in mid-air. I never know if I will find the balance until I do and, when I do, it is always a sweet surprise. 

The practice allows for us to hold the Handstand if we find the balance and to come down in our own time, even if the class has moved forward through its Vinyasas. I find that, on the few occasions when I nail it, I can linger in that sweet spot for some length of time if I do not get too distracted.

What my time upside down has taught me is to recognize and be grateful for when I can find the sweet spot and just hang, and that it is often easier to do so without distraction and without the worries about what ifs and whatnots.

This is what I hear when our instructor tells us to keep on going -- to hang on to this time for as long as I can.

The other day, I bought a card. The words that filled the front read, Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is mystery, Today is a gift.

I think today is the sweet spot.

Movement

From one day to the next, I look forward to yoga.

It has been more than a year since I first stepped into the studio, and I never tire of it.

I like preparing to go. I like being there. I like the workout.

And, in turn, I like whatever it is I am doing afterwards. 

The after effects of each class stay with me until the next class, and so I go as often as I can. 

It is a good place, and it puts me in a good space. 

I cannot exactly pinpoint what it is about yoga that clicks with me, but something about it definitely does.

And, it is not something new in me to which it connects but rather something seemingly age old.

In yesterday morning’s class, we were in a flow, moving amongst many different poses.

We flowed from Warrior II to High Lunge to Warrior I. We swept our arms down and back and raised them up again. We leaned back and spread our arms open and then swept them down again.

The music played, my body flowed and my mind did, too, back to when I was six or seven or eight years old in ballet class.

We moved into Standing Split and then brought our feet together for a forward fold. We lifted halfway and folded again and then flowed into Warrior II once more. We straightened our front leg and flowed into Triangle pose.

My body reached forward and my mind reached back, and I so vividly remembered myself in my black leotard and pink tights doing The Fun Step.

This happened at the end of ballet class when the teacher would map out a pattern of steps across the room and change up the music.

We would skip and hop, one at a time, traveling from one corner to the next on a diagonal.

I loved it.

I remember always looking down to see my feet but not being able to find them because my little girl’s stomach blocked the view of my toes!

We flowed back to Warrior II and then sailed right into Half Moon. I bent my back leg and grabbed my ankle for a sideways backbend.

As a little girl, I never wanted to go to ballet.

It was scheduled on Saturday mornings when I was allowed to watch TV, and I did not want to do anything but watch H.R. Puff and Stuff.

But, I was always happy at the end of class when the good music played, and we flowed freely with The Fun Step.

After class, I would always hang back to watch the older girls dancing jazz, wishing to be one of them, dancing more freely and always to better music.

Ultimately, my mother caved, and I left the ballet scene only to wish in my teenage years that I had not.

I filled in the gap with other dance classes and dance squads throughout my middle and high school years. In college, I fulfilled my physical education requirement with a dance class, too.

We moved through our Vinyasa and repeated the flow on the other side, moving from one big motion to the next.

There has always been something about movement and music that works for me, and somehow, yoga brings me back to it.

The music and the movement take my body and mind through a moving meditation, and this is what keeps me coming back.

The good music plays, and I sail freely between the poses as I follow the instructions that make up the flows of the first part of the class.

It is like doing The Fun Step all over again, only this time I can see my toes.

Cinderella

Once upon a time, I believed in only good things.

I just assumed that I could anticipate what might be coming next, that it would be positive and that things, whatever they might be, would simply just fall into place.

It’s a fair assumption that I grew up pretty much thinking I would lead the life of Cinderella.

Prince Charming, and all.

Sometimes, I practice yoga at a studio where the first segment of the class is a standard flow.

For the first part of the practice, I can anticipate what might be coming next.

We reach high and tilt back; we fold our bodies and bow low.

We lift halfway and straighten our backs, and we fold again with hands to the mat.

We flow through our Vinyasa into a high plank, then to a low push up, through to an Upward Facing Dog, and back to a Downward Facing Dog.

And we step forward and do it again.

I breathe, and it comes easy.

And then the practice really begins.

We move into challenging poses, not always knowing what is next.

Some days, it comes easy, and some days it does not.

Regardless, it is always work to get through it.

Set your gaze, the instructor says as he chastises the class for looking around the room. That’s how you find your balance.    

As a Cinderella in the making, I basically breezed through the first segment of my life.

Growing up, I had a nurturing family, learning came easy and so did making friends.

I excelled in my endeavors, whether it was my studies or dancing or drawing, and my college graduation found me standing in front of my graduating class as speaker and Valedictorian.

A wedding followed, and we settled into a home with two beautiful children and our wonderful dog.

Cinderella had arrived.

This was my life’s first segment, my standard flow.

I had anticipated it all, and it came easy. 

But, like with the practice itself, what followed the initial flow were so many unanticipated challenges.

This Cinderella tried as best as she could to look ahead and set her gaze, but she could not always find her balance.

We twist our bodies into Eagle Pose, standing on one foot and wrapping up our legs at the knees and interlacing our arms at the elbows.

The instructor encourages us again to find our gaze for balance and to not resist the difficulty of the pose.

Still twisted and on one foot, I curl into as small a ball as possible.

When it gets hard, that’s when you breathe, he said. 

So, maybe I was not really Cinderella.

She had her challenges first and then lived happily ever after.

My challenges came later.

The marriage, the home, the dog. All gone.

My assumptions and expectations, challenged.

My flow, interrupted.

Me on my own with my two beautiful children.

I had no choice but to set my gaze and find my balance.

So, that is what I did for the years that followed. 

Today, my children are grown, and I have the gift of watching them support themselves and each other. 

I unwind from Eagle Pose, untangling my legs and arms, standing tall and reaching up towards the sky.

It is such a satisfying stretch, to reach high like this after having been curled up while standing on one foot.

After so many years, I have had an epiphany of sorts.

Looking back, I am surprised to realize that I had effectively twisted myself into as small a ball as possible, unknowingly protecting myself from life’s flow.

And it has been a challenge to unwind.

I am learning, though, that it can help to breathe in the face of challenge, rather than show resistance.

That, I think, is what facilitates the flow, so I can move through it.

I am thinking that maybe there can still be a happily ever after without having to be Cinderella.

Maybe the trick is to just breathe into whatever challenges arise when things get hard.

In comparison, Eagle Pose and the rest of the practice seem like a breeze.

Into the Heart

I attended a yoga class yesterday evening, even though I had practiced that morning.

I arrived with my mind busy from the day, and it felt good to enter the hot room, pin back my hair and lay out my mat.

Everything about entering the room and setting up helped me to step out of the day and into the moment.

It was a quick and welcome transition.

There was a lot of breathing.

In yoga, the breath connects you to the practice, and every move is associated with an inhale or an exhale.

I used to be antsy with the breathing.

Having to breathe slowly and intentionally does not always come easy.

I am high functioning. I am a multi-tasker.

Taking it slow and breathing deeply has to be intentional for me as it is not exactly second nature.

We started on the floor with a simple twist.

And we breathed.

We made our way to the opposite side.

And we breathed.

We stood and reached to the heavens on an inhale, pushing our hearts upwards.

We leaned forward and folded on an exhale, reaching towards our feet.

We lifted half-way with hearts forward.

And inhaled.

We folded forward once more.

And exhaled.

On and on, we moved, and we breathed.

Your breath connects you to your practice, the instructor said. It takes you out of your mind and into your heart where you can live through being and feeling, not thinking.

I have always had a busy mind.

I remember reviewing the day when I was little, as I lay in bed before sleep.

I would make up stories, changing events of the day if I wished they had gone differently.

Even now, as an adult, my mind can be reviewing the day when my brain should be shutting off for sleep.

And, in general, I have always struggled with over thinking things that do not sit well with me.

Stillness can elude me, in both body and mind.

I have even tried to learn to meditate but cannot reach the beginner’s five minutes of quiet.

We brought our hands to our hearts and said three Ohms aloud.

We were told to touch our hearts with our thumbs while our hands were in prayer as a reminder to connect to the heart.

Of course, my mind was still busy checking off events of the day.

One Ohm, and I thought about the logistics and details of a meeting I was planning.

Another Ohm, and I thought about the ins and outs of a call I had gotten that day and a situation with a friend.

The last Ohm brought me to my most important thought, what I planned to eat for dinner!

We exhaled into another forward fold and went through our first Vinyasa.

Hands on the mat, the feet jump or step back so that the body is in Plank, hovering in a straight line above the mat, arms straight and legs straight, with the weight balancing on palms and toes.

We exhaled into Chaturanga, holding the same position but bending the elbows so that the body lowers, still hovering over the mat but now closer and parallel.

We inhaled into an Upward Facing Dog, dropping our hips, straightening our arms and pulling our hearts forward.

Then, we exhaled, pushing back into Downward Facing Dog, our bodies taking the shape of an inverted “V” with our bottoms in the air, and our hands and feet still on the mat.

We rested in Downward Facing Dog for three breaths, and my mind began to settle.

The practice seemed to be the slowest practice I have ever done and, probably, the most intentional.

Through the breathing, I seemed to be able to concentrate more on the poses, and each time we lifted our hearts, the instructor would emphasize an inhale, telling us to push the heart forward and feel it.

Life is lived when we are feeling, not when we are doing, the instructor told us. 

I inhaled and exhaled and connected to the practice and to what she was saying.

There, in the yoga studio, I was out of my mind and into my heart.