Balance

"There will be an answer. Let it be.”     ~ Let It Be, The Beatles

I’m on my way to yoga. It’s the middle of winter, but I’m dressed as if it were spring!

The temperatures outside are a little out of whack, and, aside from the politics of the day, it’s all anyone seems to be talking about. As a matter of fact, just as soon as the Obamas left town the weather seems to have gone upside down! With their departure came a major shift in the atmosphere, and ever since then the heavens above have been a reflection of the chaos down here.  

In just a few short weeks, Mercury has gone into retrograde and back, and there’ve been bans and protests and alternate facts. And when the Snow moon tried to appear, full and big and bright one night, an eclipse swallowed it up and promptly turned off its light. And of course there was the shortage of yarn for certain pink hats, and then a comet streaked by soon after that!

Nobody likes it when things are out of whack. When that happens, most of us just want our balance back. And usually we’ll do anything to accomplish that, especially if we want things to be fixed fast. 

I leave the house in a sleeveless top and drive with the windows open to a practice that’s not too far from home. Within a few minutes, I’m already at the studio and parked. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced here, but these days I’ve somehow circled back to where I began, and I’ve been glad for the chance to learn as much as I can.

I used to be someone who had to fix things fast, whenever anything was out of whack. I think this was because for so long I was usually able to do most of what I set my mind to, and so I never really had to learn how to wait anything out. Most things just worked out. It was the same for my best friend. I even remember her mother fretting over our various successes.  

“What’s going to happen when one of you girls fails at something?” she would ask.

I never understood her worry; but, at the time, we were still young and hadn’t really made our way out into the world. Of course, since then, many years have passed, and during this time my train hasn’t always stayed on its track. I’ve had some times when I so desperately wanted my balance back, and I could never fix things fast enough for that.

But I’ve learned something important from all of those times. I’ve learned that even though life can turn on a dime, my balance can make its way back, if I just give it time. For the universe is a patient place, and it always circles back with a plan, if I can just wait.

I enter the studio and put away my things and roll out my mat in the practice room. Without realizing it, I’ve already gravitated toward a particular spot each time I’m here. It’s in the middle of the room, right up front where the wall breaks. It’s a good spot to go upside down, with the wall nearby to secure my inversions and with some extra space to my right, too, in case I lose my balance.

The music starts and we’re called to the top of our mats. Haste makes waste here, and before I know it we’re sitting in Chair pose. Right at the top of the practice and all the way through, we work on our balance. While still in Chair pose, we simply lift one foot and then place it down, and then lift the other and put that one down, too. 

Slowly the practice builds, and we start doing all sorts of things while still balancing on one foot. We lean into Warrior Three and bend at the knee and then straighten again. We turn to the side and fill the room with many Half Moons and then reverse our hips for their eclipse. 

We do this on the right and then we do it on the left. We’re told to move slowly, and it’s a challenge to keep my train on track; but, each time I wobble, I try not to fix things too fast.

“Relax,” the instructor tells the class. “Breathe.”

I pause and take a breath. The wait works and my balance circles back. 

Still on one foot, we return to Warrior Three and from there we tip into Standing Split. I tilt forward, lifting my back leg higher and higher, until I can’t help but keep going, and I place my hands on the ground and then lift myself upside down.

And this is what it’s all about for me. The practice of yoga is a quest for balance, and each practice is another chance for me to find it. And when I’m able to find it like this, I feel strong and brave and spry. And when I can’t, I don’t have to wonder why or fix anything fast. I just have to wait for the balance to make its way back. And that’s a good thing for me to practice. In fact, it’s the biggest lesson that I’ve learned on the mat.

“We’re in Plank!” I hear the instructor say.

I lower down and rejoin the others, and soon we bring ourselves even closer to the ground. We’re on our forearms now, and we tiptoe forward, hiking our hips up high in Dolphin pose. And, as before, I can’t help but keep going, and, in the same quest, I lift myself upside down again, only this time I’m trying for Scorpion.

Scorpion is a backbend, and I seem to have some resistance to it. The instructor comes over to help. He wants me to make a better circle by bending my knees with my feet toward the ground and then bending my back so that I make myself round.

“There’s balance in the circle,” he says.

He points out the part of my back where I need to open more in order to make this happen. It’s near the top and in the middle, in a spot that’s hard for me to find. But he tells me that once I’m able to find it, my whole practice will open up. And this plan appeals to me, even though I know that I’ll have to be patient. There’s something about the circle that’s universal, and that means it’ll take some time. 

Soon after, the practice is over, and I roll up my mat and gather my things. And, even though it’s time to leave, what I want to do is stay. I want to circle back to the practice room and listen to more music and go upside down again. But I know there’ll be another chance at the balance on another day, and so I say goodbye and step outside.

It’s dark, and the warm weather still surprises me. I walk over to my car and put my mat in the back, and as I reach up to close the hatch, I see a beautiful sight. All the stars are out tonight! They, too, have circled back to where they began, as part of their nightly universal plan. While I was inside practicing, each one had blinked into place, against the blackest sky, somewhere out in space.

And because tonight it’s pretty calm from where I stand, I get to catch the balance again, just by looking up at them.

Anne is the author of Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself. Connect with her on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.

Peacefully Unfolding

Sometimes, there are situations about which I cannot figure out how I feel until they are over.

I can have delayed reactions where my anxiety level skyrockets, and that never serves me well.

 

I wind up taking a break from everything, including yoga.

 

Anxiety never leads me in the right direction. And taking a break from yoga, however short, is always the wrong direction.

After one such break, I returned to my yoga class, and it went by in five minutes flat.

I had really missed being there.

And, at the end, as usual, my instructor imparted a few words of wisdom; words I wished I had not just heard but listened to earlier.

 

Think of a situation you were in about two weeks ago, and think of how you could have handled it better, he told the class. Maybe you could have handled it differently by letting the situation peacefully unfold.

 

Letting the situation peacefully unfold. Not a usual part of my repertoire. 

 

When I first started yoga, I really wanted to excel quickly: Reverse bind, Bird of Paradise, backbend, high split with no hands on the mat. I could not do any of this, though, and the practice was gradual.

 

The instruction was gradual, too. Sometimes, we would spend at least a month or more working on the same things – working toward a full expression of a pose.

 

At times, I am finally able to reach full expression, and at times, I cannot.

 

In yoga, I have learned to have patience as I work toward something.

I have been taught that I can get into a deeper expression of a pose by that peaceful unfolding about which my instructor spoke.

 

Trying to jump into final expression is nearly always impossible.

 

Letting things peacefully unfold is not really in my nature.

It is something I have had to work at, and this work really began when I became a mother 25 years ago.

When my children were very little, I was in charge.

 

However, as they grew, it quickly became apparent that I would have to make room for them as people in their own right, allowing for their own decisions and desires and not just what I thought was best.   

 

Letting things unfold often involves letting go, and this is a continuing exercise in my life today.

 

At least now, though, I can often look back to realize the best outcomes appear when things worked easily. These are usually situations in which I do not have to push too much to make things happen; situations in which I let things peacefully unfold.

 

Today, I can do a reverse bind, a Bird of Paradise, a backbend and a high split with no hands on the mat.  

 

There is still room for improvement in each of these poses, however, and there are so many more on which I continue to work or have yet to try.

 

It seems easier to physically allow for things to peacefully unfold. In some ways, it is easier to do this in the yoga studio rather than in life outside the studio.

 

The real effort is in the conscious decision to take this practice off the mat and work on finding the peace in those situations where I might otherwise find the angst.

Pruning

The other night, I heard a story about a man’s life.

He told it in 10 minutes flat through a metaphor about his favorite tree.

He was a generous and engaging speaker, conversational in tone and easy to hear.

He used his Japanese Maple as a metaphor, describing its canopy of leaves in the spring and summer, and its inner core of twisting branches revealed when bare in the winter.

He has had to learn how to tend the tree so that it lives year round.

This involves cutting back the branches and, while the pruning oftentimes leaves scars, he explained that this is what facilitates growth in all sorts of new directions.

Yoga has sort of pruned me.

I had heard about this, that yoga peels back the layers, but I never really believed it.

I did not even know I had any layers that needed peeling!

And, really, I began this practice for the exercise only.

Little did I know that it would provide more than a glimpse of my inner core, and that I would get a full on view of some of the scars found there.

Somehow, each pose opens the door a little wider, helping me inside myself in a way I was not before.

I think it was the Backbends that did me in, in this fashion.

They are supposed to be heart openers, and we do several variations of them: Wheel Pose where our bodies are in an all out Backbend with hands and feet planted on the floor; Camel Pose where we are on our knees, leaning back to grab our ankles; Locust Pose where we are prone and lift everything but our hips off the ground; Bridge Pose with our knees up and our shoulders planted, hips lifted, and, finally, Bow Pose where we rock on our stomachs while grabbing our feet from behind.

The heart shines through in each of these poses.

It is physical but also apparently emotional and, although I am aware of the physicality while working through the poses, I am often surprised by any of the subsequent emotional effects.

The speaker displayed pictures of his Japanese Maple, one from the spring with its canopy, and one from the winter without.

Of course, the springtime photo was lovely with its lush leaves, but there was even more beauty in the bareness of the winter one with its dark and twisting branches, still straining towards the sun.

Beautiful, inside and out.

I have heard these words before, that I am beautiful, inside and out.

 But, when the pruning begins, and I am privy to the bareness inside, it can be a challenge to believe.

At one point, the speaker said, a winter storm dumped a clump of snow on the leaves before he had a chance to brush them away for the season, and the tree broke.

He just fixed it up with what was handy. Duct tape. Making do with what he had at the time.

Hip openers are another group of yoga poses that pry open the door, as well.

Pigeon Pose is one where we place one leg with the knee bent at the top of the mat while laying prone overtop, and Double Pigeon where we sit up, keeping the one leg bent at the knee and placing the other over it while folding over both. 

We also open up our hips in Down Dog. In our inverted “V’s” with feet and hands on the floor and bottoms in the air, we stack the hips while lifting one leg, bending it back for a big side opener.

The practice of yoga asks that we set an intention; however, mine was only ever to get fit, not to peel and reveal.

In the end, I guess I am just hoping to grow from the inside out, even if it finds me twisting in a new direction. 

If that is the case, then maybe, like the Maple Tree, I can strain towards the sun.

Heart Opener

I would like to say I have an open heart.

 

It sounds nice and like something I should have. 

 

Blessed with family and friends, I have people in my life for whom I open my heart.

 

Yet, the heart can go through some rough terrain over a period of time, and it can cause the guard gates to go up, requiring encouragement and often a leap of faith to get back in gear.

Wheel is one of my least favorite poses in yoga.

It is a back bend, something I have not done since I was a little girl.

More than 20 years ago, I sprained my lower back and have since been on guard against it getting hurt again.

After an emergency trip to the hospital, and several weeks laid up, I was finally rescued by an Osteopath who, mercifully, tweaked my back with some gentle pressure, allowing me to reach my toes for the first time in weeks. 

Needless to say, when I first started yoga, and the instructor announced it was time for Wheel, I balked.

Laying there on the mat, I told him I do not really twist. Nor do I bend like that. I was on guard for fear of my back.

He stood above my head, looked down at me and told me to brace myself on his ankles. He leaned down and scooped me up under my upper back and, voila! I was in a back bend – albeit with some support.

This went on for a few classes until I realized I did not have to fear my back, and soon I could push up into a back bend on my own.

Next, I was encouraged to try a variation; to go into a back bend and lift one leg, hold it for a beat or two, place it down, and do the same with the other.

I had seen this done by others in the room but, again, my guard was up. I could not even get the toes of one foot off the ground. 

Once more, my instructor encouraged me. He stood alongside me and placed his knee under my back. With his support, I was able to lift my leg and hold it for that beat. Soon after, I could do this on my own.

In yoga, it is believed that there are seven main energy centers aligned along the spinal column called Chakras.

Coincidentally, Chakra is the Sanskrit word for Wheel.

If balanced, these energy centers spin in wheel-like circles, and all is well emotionally, physically, intellectually and spiritually.

However, if we navigate some rough terrain, some of these Chakras can become blocked, and it is the yoga poses that help open them up and get the energy flowing properly once more.

The fourth Chakra is the Heart Chakra, located at the center of the chest. It is associated with love and trust, and the first step in its healing is to find faith and love for oneself.

The yoga pose associated with releasing any blockage in this Chakra is, coincidentally, the Wheel.

There is yet another way to get into Wheel, and that is to stand on the knees in a position called Camel, place the hands in prayer at heart center, and tilt back, going overboard while extending the hands up and over the head to finally find the floor behind the feet.

The knees come up off the ground and the body winds up in Wheel.

The motion is fluid, but there is a moment of limbo before the knees are up, before the hands are on the ground, before the body is safely positioned.

Once again, my instructor stood nearby, verbally guiding me through the motion.

In the split second that I realized I was in limbo, and in the millisecond that I was deciding to bail, he encouraged me, saying, Keep going, keep going, keep going! That was all I needed to make that leap of faith to land my hands.

I was safe. I was in Wheel.

Soon after, I confessed to my instructor that Wheel was my least favorite pose.

“Heart opener,” was all he said.

I got the message. Those two words summed up the work that needs to be done to lower the guard gates and get my heart in gear.