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Chapter ???: Wherein the Cop Meets the Buddha

“I actually seem to be getting tighter!”

The 4 Noble Truths

1. There is suffering.
2. The origin of suffering is attachment.
3. The cessation of suffering is attainable.
4. There is a path to the cessation of suffering.

May I suggest yoga chitta vritti nirodha (yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind)?

Yeah, it’s a long freaking path, but what else do we have to do?

***

Svadhyaya: self-inquiry

To study the Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things of the universe. To be enlightened by all things of the universe is to cast off the body and mind of the self as well as those of others. Even the traces of enlightenment are wiped out, and life with traceless enlightenment goes on forever and ever.

Dogen

***

Okay, so practice is all about the ribcage lately. Kinda nice. Very bird-feeling — light and flighty. A lot of sensation around the xiphoid process (the little bony area at the bottom of the sternum). Apparently the diaphragm hooks in there, I’ve just discovered; and it makes sense, because that area gets stimulated by deep breath. Here’s a picture of looking up at the underside of the diaphragm. The xiphoid process is at the top of the image.

All I want to do in practice lately is puff my chest out and wiggle my ribs. It feels very playful and gives me flashbacks to childhood. Oh crap, this is my freaking heart opening, isn’t it? I have to knock this off!

Kidding.

Anyhow on the xiphoid process page on wikipedia, it mentions that birds have a keeled sternum. The “keel” refers to “a strong median ridge running down the length of the sternum, or breast bone. This is an important area for the attachment of flight muscles.”

Ah, very poetic. So this is where our flight muscles used to attach.

Yes. I would like to be a pigeon, please.

***

The greatest achievement is selflessness.
The greatest worth is self-mastery.
The greatest quality is seeking to serve others.
The greatest precept is continual awareness.
The greatest medicine is the emptiness of everything.
The greatest action is not conforming with the world’s ways.
The greatest magic is transmuting the passions.
The greatest generosity is non-attachment.
The greatest goodness is a peaceful mind.
The greatest patience is humility.
The greatest effort is not concerned with results.
The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.
The greatest wisdom is seeing through appearances.

Atisha (11th century Tibetan Buddhist master)

The Cop did not get up for practice this morning. He wasn’t feeling well last night and needed some rest.

Which left me to my own devices. And thus did I:

Practice standing, the second half of primary, and intermediate to supta vajrasana. Why did I do this weird split? I have no idea.

It was really nice, though.

Actually, I think I might know how this happened. For the past 6 months, I have been working on my own. I had a grasp of primary and felt like I needed to work it through in a way that I could only accomplish by going at it day after day after day. Didn’t really need to trouble anyone else to watch over this process — and there was the added benefit of seeing for myself if I could sustain a practice on my own.

The challenge, in the working through, was to find a way to meditate through each moment of primary. To be present in it. I knew it well enough that I didn’t need to think about what I was doing, and it was pretty smooth sailing except for a few places. Namely, the kurmasana-through-baddha-konasana gauntlet. For a long time that was where I was most concentrated — where I felt anxiety, or wondered if I could do it, or felt my breathing tense up, or whatever. Those feelings seemed to linger, even after I could do the poses, so the solution seemed to be to do them day after day with the challenge of keeping my mind still, until they finally smoothed out.

The other issue was a tendency to roll mindlessly through the all the poses after baddha konasana. After “the gauntlet,” the rest of the poses seemed easy, and of course there were always other things to get on with in life, so that part of primary was usually pretty impatient. Oh, and don’t even ask about the closing poses! They were extremely thoughtless.

Truth be told, I’m still not really clear about the “purpose” of the end of primary, but at least I’ve slowed myself down and accepted it. And the closing poses are now a refuge.

They were very quiet and meditative and soothing, those months of mindful primary practices.

So why did I rip open the big Pandora’s box of intermediate this morning? Ack! All of the unsurety and clumsiness and lack of mastery! Messy, messy, messy!

And did I mention the fearful feelings at kapotasana? The heart-pounding apprehension? The frustration?!

Yeah. That’s what I did this morning.

Want to REALLY learn something about left and right brain processing? Want to see a scientist deliver a talk that delves deeply into the experiences one has in meditation, yoga, art-making and drug-taking?

Twenty minutes well spent on a Moon Day.

Ted Talks

This morning I went to led primary. I’ve been practicing on my own since the end of October, so I was curious to see what it’d be like to get back to a somewhat regular shala practice. (Once a week? More? Don’t know yet.) I do know there is something “else” there for me, though, so I’m gonna go with it.

Get to the shala-in-the-climbing-gym and hug The British Director, who is subbing for Volleyball Guy until he gets back from India in about 5 weeks or so. Greet some other Saturday regulars. Monitor my response to being in yoga clothes around other humans. All is well.

There are about 10 of us, and 7 want to do intermediate. I’m game, too. The primary folks are old regulars, so The British Director will be able to split her time between both groups and manage it all. As we’re finishing up the Surya As, in comes a new guy. Kind of loud, and with an “I’m not sure where I’ve landed” look on his face. Wild hair, long dirty pants. We’ll call him Crazed Man from the Desert.

The British Director asks if he’s ever practiced Ashtanga before. “I’ve practiced ALL KINDS of yoga!” he announces happily. Somehow this doesn’t seem promising.

The British Director starts to say that we’ll need to revise our plans for the class. In a fit of problem-solving behavior, I ask her if she’d like me to go ahead and practice with the primary folks.

“Sure!” she says.

Okay.

So I set up with the two regular primary practitioners and Crazed Man from the Desert, who is enthusiastic but a little smelly. I feel rude writing that, but it’s true. I mentioned to everyone that I’d just be saying the words, but not doing any adjusting. Not ’cause of Crazed Man, by the way. I’m just not qualified.

The British Director leads us all through standing. Oh, I’d forgotten! In VBG’s classes, we do the West Coast samakonasana/hanumanasana add-on. I haven’t done hanumanasana in months, but the full expression is right there — in fact, it feels particularly good, probably because I’m not doing it all the time. The group stays together through parsvottanasana, and then off goes our little group.

First off, it’s weird saying everything out loud. Secondly, it’s funny to space out in your own breathing and forget that you are counting, only to suddenly realize that other people are hanging in poses, wondering if the next thing you’re gonna say is “two” or “five.” It really does take a lot of concentration to sort out all the names and the counting. I am accustomed to writing the names of poses, particularly ones I struggle with, but I am NOT accustomed to pronouncing them out loud. Trianga mukhaikapada paschimottanasana gets abbreviated to “trianga mukha blah blah blah,” much to the amusement of the regular practitioners.

I practice along with them, and it is actually quite pleasant. I guess I am somewhat used to this because of practicing with The Cop, but he is a more focused student than Crazed Man, who keeps doing wild variations on what we are actually doing and muttering things like “this isn’t like MY yoga.” Which draws the attention of the woman next to him, who keeps giving him props and explanations. “Thanks,” he says, and then mutters under his breath, “I don’t like props.” She hands over, pose by pose, an expanding collection of props, which he accepts and dispenses with each and every time. I just keep plowing along on the count — sink or swim, mateys!

And so we swim.

The hot room is a joy — and urdhva dhanurasana feels spectacular. It is a real measure of change for me — I remember what I felt like doing UD in this room last time I was here, and it is an astonishing difference. It feels good. Like actively, desirably, I-want-to-do-it-again kind of good.

Throughout all of this, Crazed Man is commenting under his breath. “Oh, I needed that,” “this is great,” “this is something,” “they must have had some incredible hash when they made this up,” etc. Indeed, he is very enthusiastic. At the end of practice he says how happy he is and asks if Pattabhi Jois is in his 90s or 190s. He says he is on the lookout for the 200 and 300 year old people that he knows are out there but hasn’t met yet.

“This was GREAT!” he tells The British Director. “I couldn’t do all of it, because I was watching what SHE (pointing at me) was doing. She was doing some WILD STUFF!”

“Is this the first time you’ve led primary?” The British Director asks me.

Um, yeah. I try not to do it too often since I have no training whatsoever. It went well enough, though, that I think I might try doing some brain surgery next week. I should just keep upping the fraud ante and see where I get.

On the way out of the parking lot, I think, “Crap, Crazed Man, please don’t follow me home, ’cause The Cop’ll shoot you.”

And thus ends the story of my return to practicing in the shala.

Don’t worry, playing with this doesn’t necessarily imply that you believe in past lives. It’s fun whether you do or not.

1. Do you have memories of past lives? Who were you?

My strongest feeling is that I was a woman in medieval Japan.

2. How does that past life manifest in this lifetime?

I have always had a strong love for Japanese art, architecture & culture, even as a kid growing up in suburban Massachusetts. When I’ve seen objects or images from that time, they always seem familiar to me.

3. Do you have specific memories of that time?

No. More a fleeting memory — as if remembering a dream. Lots of memories of evenings, the way the grass smelled, the quality of the darkness.

4. Do you have memories of other lifetimes?

Again, fleeting ones. Definitely one in the deserts of northern Africa, and one in Eastern Europe.

5. Have you had past lives where you were a different gender?

Yes. In the Bedouin lifetime, I think I was male. All in all, I imagine it’s been about half and half, gender-wise.

6. Have you had past lives where you were a different race?

Yes. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been Caucasian for the majority of my past lives. It’s always seemed a little sad to me, that I only get to be one gender and one race for this lifetime.

7. Do you think you pursued spiritual practices in a past life?

Yes, a little yoga, I expect.

8. Can you sense the past lives of any of your family or friends?

My husband was around in medieval Japan; my daughter was a Tibetan monk and an Indian yogini.

9. Any previous-life intuitions about your pets?

For some reason, I always believed my cat Donut had a previous life as a cab driver in New York. Scotty was a deer.

10. Have you had any previous lives as an animal?

A bird, for sure. And probably a factory-farmed animal. I imagine that’s where middle-of-the-night-inexplicable-anxiety may come from.

***

Click here to find out for sure what you were up to last go ’round.

Can’t remember? Just don’t know? Here, try this.

***

I asked a visiting Tibetan lama if he thought reincarnation was just a metaphor. His delightful reply? “What difference does it make?”

Fair enough.

Happy Friday. Enjoy your current lifetime.

Forearm/wrist feeling off this morning. My first thought was crappy chaturanga form, but now I’m wondering about all the mousing I do every day. And touch-padding.

Nevertheless.

I am going to go to VBG’s led primary on Saturday. He is actually in India right now, so The British Director will be running the show. I have a hankering for a class with a bunch of people in a super-heated room. So anyhow, my logic for today went: 1) overuse injury of some sort, 2) Saturday led on the schedule, 3) going to Saturday led would make a seventh day of Ashtanga practice for the week, 4) to avoid seven days of practice = make today a prop practice!

It’s been a long time since I just played with props. Gosh, I do love them. Pulled out the blocks, the sandbags, the rack. Spent time on psoas stretches and upper back/shoulder stuff. Nice!

I pulled out the chair, draped myself over it, and — as always — looked side to side at the legs of the chair. How to coordinate myself to grab the darned legs? It is a really kinesthetically challenging problem. Ah! I know! I pulled the edge of my mat to align with the front legs of the chair. Then I can walk my hands on the mat (offers some friction) and when I feel the edge of the mat, know that I’m aligned with the legs of the chair and just need to move my hands along the edge of the mat to finally “find” the legs. Worked, as Lax would say, a treat.

The only catch with the chair is that there is a rung on the back legs that is in an awkward position. Must ask The Cop if it can be removed. And the seat of the chair is wide for a shortie like me. Still, though, the upper back/shoulders/tricep stretch rocked, and it was super gratifying to finally get the legs of the chair.

No Cop at practice this morning, as he works the swing shift on Wednesday nights

[video 9917 w=400]

Interesting to read other blogs — lots of people talking about the pep talks they give themselves for backbending: “this is easy,” “I’m bendy and open.”

I did visualization, instead of a pep talk today. Imagined my bones were like bird bones — light, honeycombed, full of space. Damned if it didn’t work.

My traps, after last month’s last ditch, painful effort to contract until my head got pulled entirely into my shoulders (it was quite reminiscent of the non-stop, horrible collarbone ache of learning supta kurmasana), have apparently given up. I have an astonishing amount of mobility through the trap area — I don’t think my traps have EVER been this loose.

And the thoracic spine is opening up marvelously. I imagined the opening to be something that would happen more in my back, but it really is much more about expansiveness through the whole thoracic cavity — an expansiveness and articulation that feels INCREDIBLY good, and also just electric with energy. I always oversimplify, in my imaginings. I thought it would be a crack and then there would be more bend in my spine bending back. Nada: it’s the whole ribcage, as if my ribs have been disengaged from the overlying muscle and skin. As if now my ribcage is bigger than my body.

Okay, yeah, I have a strong imagination. Don’t judge me.

I like how these thinds are never the way I imagine they’ll be.

On the down side, my right wrist is acting up. I never think about my wrists at all, so this is a surprise. (Though, obviously, it shouldn’t be, since I never think about my wrists…) I hopped on ezBoard before practice and took away the suggestion to put the weight into the L of the index finger and thumb, and that helped immensely. My wrist cracked a few times and actually felt much better for it.

The Cop, in the meantime, had a mouth-breathing practice. Allergies, perhaps. I tried to figure out how one can breathe through the mouth “properly” (in other words, in a way that regulates the breath), but didn’t come up with much. If anyone has suggestions, let me know. He is often too stuffed up to breathe through his nose, and yes, he netis.

Up late last night because My Gift called, upset with trying to figure out bank statements and financial info. Sat up working through all of her data. She has never had to manage her own money, and has never been very diligent about keeping track of accounts, etc. We’ll talk later on today and figure out a budget, etc. Poor kid, she felt bad for having to ask for help. But how else would she learn?

Okay, off to look for some Prana shorts for The Cop. He’s now officially a yogi.

The Cop asked me to look at his last urdhva dhanurasana. I did. Made comments about things to do, things to change, etc. Should have been more thoughtful, perhaps. About where he was coming from. Ambition? Pride? Frustration?

My answer didn’t seem to be what he was looking for. I felt sorry for a moment but went back to practice.

Was tempted to say something about how little one can get back from yoga, in terms of clear praise (from teachers), clear progress (from the system), clear direction (from the self). Of course, all of this is true and NOT true.

So instead of saying anything, I just shut up.

Because in the end, all of it would dissolve in the next breath.

I’m not quite sure if yoga is going for the same thing as zazen, but if I am in the breath (one by one, not looking forward, not looking back) everything melts with each breath.

The Cop’s been really getting stronger on the breath, and letting our interaction melt seemed more important than trying to clarify it.

How can we think words clarify?

How can we think point-of-view is the be-all, end-all?

What strange delusions.

Before practice, I visited Owl’s blog, where her entry pointed, humorously, at the observer effect.

Thanks for that little boost to my subconscious, Owl.

Urdhva dhanurasana (for me) was interesting after my nice breath-conscious practice. I *strive* so hard with UD. Muscle, muscle, muscle.

After the first one, I lay on my mat and breathed, then set up for the second. Felt how tense my quads got, how tense my upper back as I set my hands. How my mind buckled down to think of all the things I think I need to think about.

I relaxed back down. Shook my arms and legs, thought about being gawky and soft and goofily articulated through my joints. Thought about just turning myself inside-out, flipping the heart chakra (which I involute) out.

MUCH easier to go up.

Letting go of my ideas about my own strength subtracted a good bit of gravity.