Collision

“Got my doubts about it, oh but I try, oh make it work with tears in my eyes.” ~ Some Peace of Mind, Van Morrison

Cow Face is a funny name for a pose.

We cross our legs at the knees and press our sitting bones down on the mat. I’m not sure how this resembles a cow’s face, and I’ve never thought to ask.

Most of the English names for the yoga poses make sense to me. They have purpose: Chair pose. Side Angle. Handstand. They have power: Warrior One. Warrior Two. They have beauty: Half Moon. Crescent Lunge.

But where is the grace in a name like Cow Face?

The other night at yoga, I got to find out. I was at a power class that takes everything I’ve got. Right away, there are Fire Jumps and handstands and early Crows and arm balances. At the start, I wonder how I’ll ever do it. But in the end my practice always shows up, and I’m left to wonder how I ever could not!

I unroll my mat and start to pace, re-acquainting myself with my space. I watch as others fill the room and lay out their mats, too. Already acquainted with theirs, most of them sit down to wait. The instructor arrives and calls us to the tops of our mats. I stop pacing and step to the top of mine, with my feet together and my arms at my sides.

I hear the instructor say, “Surya Namaskar A!” 

She takes us through the Sun A’s, using Sanskrit names and some English ones, too. We reach up and look up. We fold forward and lift halfway. We jump back to a low plank and move through to an Upward Facing Dog and then back to a Downward Facing Dog. And then we rest for five breaths before we do it all again.

It doesn’t take long for my body to integrate the purpose and the power and the beauty of the poses. I listen to the names of each pose, and I move as instructed. I lift and fold. I fill up and let go.

We continue to the Surya Namaskar B’s, incorporating Chair poses and Warrior Ones and inverting with Fire Jumps during the breaths in between. I press my hands to the mat, lock up my bandhas and jump lightly into a handstand.

Tonight I seem to lift as if by magic.

I’m encouraged when my handstands appear so early in the practice. When they do, it’s as if I’m getting a message that I’m doing okay, even though such thoughts are against the rules. We’re not supposed to attach ourselves to what it is that we can do.

It’s time for the standing series, and I stretch into Extended Side Angle and Reverse Side Angle. I bind and balance and fly in Bird of Paradise and in Reverse Bird, too. Later I glide into Triangle pose and grab my big toe and open up into Half Moon. And then I let go and turn my hips for Standing Splits, raising my back leg even higher and placing my hands on the mat before lifting into another handstand.

I can’t explain what it’s like to move like this. All I can say is that I feel free when I do, and that the movement helps me to build my strength, too. For me, the practice brings to life the phrase, “Dance as if no one’s watching,” because at yoga, no one really is. We have the support of each other, which lets us practice together with the utmost care, and that puts aside any need we might have to compare.  

We do our Mula Bandha checkups, and I sit in straddle while placing my hands on either side of one leg. This is my good side, and so I lift up easily onto my hands and tuck my legs under, ducking into another inversion. And then we move to the other side, where my bandhas aren’t as strong, and here I barely squeak out an arm balance before jumping back for another vinyasa.

Finally, it’s time for our Wheels, or backbends, and we do just three, on our own and in our own time. These days I’m working on straightening my arms and pushing my chest through in an effort that never gets old.

Tonight I feel connected and strong. We do lots of variations of seated forward folds and twists, and at this point I’m flexible enough to fold fully in half when I extend my legs. 

The instructor comes by to give me an extra press, and my nose dips down between my knees and kisses the mat. 

We are winding down, and I’m figuring that we’re just about done when the instructor suddenly calls for Cow Face. I had no idea that anything more would be in store, much less a pose that’s not often called for.

“Okay, listen!” she says. “We are going to place our arms in Eagle!”

Her words sound out a warning, but I can’t imagine for what. I’ve always thought of Cow Face as a somewhat harmless pose. I cross my legs at the knees for what I think will be a reprieve. Wrapping my arms at the elbows to match the wrap at my knees, I sit tall and broaden my back between my shoulder blades.

And what comes next is a big surprise! I am suddenly so overwhelmed that I don’t know what to do. Tears well up in my eyes but then quickly subside when it’s time to switch to the other side. I unwrap my arms and legs and re-wrap them the other way. And then it happens again! On this side, too, I have some tears to blink away.

I can’t fathom my reaction in this pose, especially after such a hearty practice. How is it possible to sit here, rooted in strength and possibility, and yet have such a struggle arise in me?

But those feelings that so quickly arose are gone as soon as I release the pose, and before I know it I’m lying in Savasana for our final rest. Although I can’t seem to rest. I want to know what happened, and I know that’s going to take some writing.

Writing always helps me figure things out. It’s a lot like the practice in this way, especially at the beginning, when the page is blank. That’s when I wonder how I’ll ever do it. But, in the end, as with my practice, the words always show up, and tonight they don’t fail me. They help explain what happened.

I don’t know if anyone else felt it as well, but when I wrapped myself up in Cow Face, two things occurred at once. I experienced the burden of constriction, yet at the same time I sensed the strength of expansion. And for just a moment it was almost all too much.

I just became overwhelmed. But that’s okay, because I know that this is how the practice works. It makes me aware of my struggles and helps me build my strength. And sometimes it does both at the same time, because collisions can happen when we dare to dance as if no one’s watching. 

And now I know that it was never the handstand energy that earlier informed me; rather, it was Cow Face with its colliding subtleties. This pose, which before tonight had never meant anything, now suddenly means just about everything.

I had found the grace in Cow Face! Tonight it had purpose and power and beauty, all three; and for just a moment, on both sides, I got to see the same in me.

Anne is the author of  Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself​ and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.​​

Rise

“Come with me. Leave yesterday behind and take a giant step outside your mind.” ~ Take a Giant Step, The Monkees

It’s been a long day.

I arrive home from work and grab a quick bite and am about to go upstairs to my room in order to change into my yoga clothes for my evening practice.

But to leave the kitchen and get to the steps, I have to pass the most comfortable chair in the house. It’s big and soft and green, and it fits me perfectly. I often sit with my feet propped up on its matching hassock, or, more often, I sit sideways with my shoulders propped up on one side and my legs hanging over the other.

Needless to say, I don’t quite make it to the steps. I sit down in the chair instead and cover myself with a quilt, thinking I still have a few minutes to watch a little television.

I get good ideas when I sit in this chair, and, immediately, one comes to mind. I think what a good idea it would be to whip up some mashed potatoes! This dish has been my vice since I was a little girl, and, for all the healthy eating I do, I always keep a stash of instant mash in my cupboard. 

I return to the kitchen and pour some flakes into a bowl and then stir in some hot water, butter, salt and pepper and zap it all in the microwave. And then I carry it back to the green chair, where I settle back under the quilt and flip through some channels.

It’s going to be hard to leave for practice. With each bite, I think of all the reasons why I should stay home tonight. The practice is far. It’s dark and I’m tired. Besides, I don’t want to get back in the car.

But I have to admit that I’ve gone through all this before, and from past experience I know that staying home will feel good for about an hour, by which time I’ll be rested and wishing I’d made it to practice. In fact, by the time I’d be wishing that, I could already be at the studio and on my mat.

And so I rise from the chair, climb the steps, change my clothes and leave the house. The drive is never as bad as I think it will be. I turn on my music and talk on the phone, and, before I know it, I’m parked and at the studio.  

The instructor calls us to the tops of our mats for the start of the practice. Here we always start with some Sun A’s and then with some Sun B’s. It’s a gentle beginning that slowly builds heat, and I’m always glad for it, especially on nights like these, when it’s taken all I’ve got to get here.

Still tired, I pull myself through the Sun A’s, moving into a Low Plank, or Chaturanga, and then pulling myself through to an Upward Facing Dog and then pushing myself back to a Downward Facing Dog. And then I hold for five breaths. The music fills the room, and I do this again and again, until the flow gets easier, and my day falls away.

And then it’s on to the Sun B’s, where I take my first step forward into Warrior One.

“Rise with grace!” the instructor says.

I rise from my Downward Dog, stepping my right foot through my hands and lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead. And then I hold here for a few breaths before lowering back down and moving through another vinyasa.

I do this again and again, too, until we’re at the end of our Sun B’s, and that’s when it suddenly hits me that every step we take is another chance to rise with grace. All it takes is just one step forward, and that’s something we do all the time in yoga. In fact, that’s what keeps me coming back, because it takes faith to rise with grace, and that’s a practice in itself. 

I’ve come to believe that there is something Divine in any kind of forward motion. For me, every step forward leaves a footprint of faith, and this is especially true of those I take when I’m not sure where I’m headed but choose to step forward, anyway. 

And even the small ones count. These steps don’t always have to be big ones into Warrior One. Getting up from the green chair counts. So does practicing on too many mashed potatoes. Anything counts as long as I’m taking the next step, which for me can sometimes be as simple as getting a good night’s sleep or having something nourishing to eat.

At one point, the next step for me was practicing with an instructor who was a young man of very deep faith. He taught power yoga in the heat, and his faith was so much a part of him that his instruction would take us to church. We’d flow through our Sun A’s and then into our Sun B’s, where we’d take our first steps forward into Warrior One. I’d rise from my Downward Dog and step my right foot through my hands, lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead.

Religiously moving us through the flows without even a mention of religion, this instructor instilled in us the value of faith and even told us his secret to rising with grace.

“Every day I wake up and put my feet over the edge of the bed,” he said. “And then I put all ten toes down on the floor.”

I’m a pretty visual person, and his words painted an immediate picture in my head. I could actually see his feet touching down on the ground in a conscious effort to step forward into his day. And this hopeful image has stayed with me, and I’ve actually conjured it at times when I’ve found myself headed toward destinations unknown. 

I had no idea where I was headed when I first signed up for yoga. Back then, it had been a long time since I had signed up for anything, and my faith had long since faltered. But I had decided it was time to exercise and get fit.

As soon as I started practicing, something hooked me. And so I kept coming back, because I wanted more of whatever that was. At the time, I didn’t know that I was practicing my faith and learning how to rise with grace. All I knew was that practicing made me feel as if I were on my way somewhere, and it got me out of my green chair.

And now several years later I’m still at it. And just the other day I was on my mat at the same place where I had signed up for that first class. Earlier that morning, in a déjà vu of sorts, I found myself cozy in the green chair with a cup of coffee, contemplating whether or not to practice. 

With each sip, I thought of all the reasons why I should stay home. It was early. I was tired. I could practice later. But having gone through this sort of thing before, I knew that soon I’d be rested and missing practice, and so I rose from the chair, climbed the steps, changed my clothes and left the house.

This studio is close by and in minutes I’m there. I roll out my mat and faithfully walk from its front to its back. And then I pace up and down a bit like that, because what’s a few more footprints of faith on my mat? And then the instructor walks in and turns on the music and calls us to attention. 

Here we don’t always start with the Sun A’s and Sun B’s, but ultimately we always step forward into Warrior One. I rise from my Downward Dog and step my right foot through my hands, lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead. We do this now and again and move in a flow that only the instructor knows, and by the end I’ve taken lots of steps with all my ten toes. 

And after, when we lie back to rest, the instructor has a little something to say about all of our steps. He says that when we step forward, we don’t always know what we’ll get, and that sometimes we’ll get what we don’t expect.

“We come to yoga because of something we want,” he says, “but the practice gives us what we need.”

I guess that means I’ve needed some faith. And maybe it’s working, because when I get up, I rise with grace.

Anne is the author of Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook.and Twitter.