Today I was feeling a little stiff in my lower back, and my left shoulder was bothering me. I had planned to do a home practice, but was very tempted to skip it to give my back and shoulder some rest. Still, I thought maybe I'd just do a light practice to loosen things up a bit, and then get on with my day. Since my time today is a bit less structured, I hit my mat with no particular expectations; just the idea to work on the areas that were bothering me. An hour and a half later I had done a full practice, including some inversions and arm balances that I hadn't worked on in a while. With no particular agenda for my practice, I was able to use my time to connect with my body and breath, and allow them to lead me where I needed to go. I took my time along the way to enjoy a few poses and work on some variations I hadn't worked on before. I played around with some sequencing ideas; some worked, some didn't, and even though I had a sense of the direction I was going in, I had no specific poses that I specifically wanted to visit but instead opted to follow where I was being led.
Sometimes I feel like a tourist visiting my practice. I have my guidebook in hand, I know all the sights I want to see along the way, I have an itinerary of where I need to be and at what time. I may be able to see and do some fun things, but at the end of the day I really didn't get to partake in the culture, or spend time browsing through the really cool bazaar at the side of the road. Today I felt more like an explorer. I had my compass and a knife, a bottle of water and a sleeping bag. I was able to set out on a journey with no specific destination in mind, spend time with the locals and make some new friends along the way. I journeyed in whatever direction I was compelled, and took my time once I got there.
So often I get caught up in what I can accomplish; how much can I get done? how many poses can I fit in? how can I make this transition more interesting? This approach has it's benefits. Structure can be very beneficial, and we can learn a great deal from setting goals and making plans on how to accomplish them. It's when I get caught up in the results that I get discouraged. When I start judging today's practice by what I did yesterday, or last week or even last year. That's where I need to remember to point my body in the right direction and let my breath guide me the rest of the way. Then I become open to whatever might present itself, and stop being locked into the rut of what I "should" be experiencing. So, even on those days when I'm pressed for time and need to stick to the itinerary, I can still retain the spirit of the explorer.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Dancing On Air
A few years ago, my wife and I went to a hot-air balloon festival in New Jersey. We spent much of the afternoon visiting the vendors and eating "fair food," but at around 5 p.m. everyone started to stake out their territory next to the balloon launch zone to witness the big show - the launching of dozens and dozens of hot-air balloons. My wife and I spread our blanket, set out our chairs, got out our picnic supplies and started to settle in for the spectacle. Already we could see several balloons beginning to inflate; there were balloons of every shape and color, and the excitement was becoming palpable. All of a sudden we were approached by a rather official-looking person who asked if we'd like to help crew one of the balloons. At first we were just stared at each other in disbelief, but then we both jumped up and started to gather our belongings. How could we pass up a chance like this?
We were escorted to a balloon owned and operated by a Pepperidge Farm distributor from the St. Louis area. He specialized in the little goldfish crackers, and in fact had one of the goldfish emblazoned on the side of his balloon. He also had baskets full of sample-sized goldfish cracker packages, all with long red streamers attached to them. We were quickly informed that we were going to help them inflate the envelope (the technical term for the balloon). First, we helped attach the basket, which looks like a big wicker flower basket, then the crew chief and I unfurled the envelope. The pilot turned on a couple of big fans and aimed them into the throat of the envelope. My job was to help hold the throat open while other crew members helped open the folds of the envelope so that the air could distribute inside. It was beautiful to watch. Like some multicolored primordial creature, the balloon would begin to expand, then as more folds were opened it would softly settle. The air was both giving it shape and supporting it's mass.
Once the envelope was most of the way full, the pilot directed the propane jets into it, and started heating the air. It was like a giant had been awakened. The air inside heated surprisingly quickly, and the balloon began to lift upright. The crew chief and I held onto the ropes to keep the balloon steady as the pilot entered the basket with the paying passengers. Just as the balloon was about to leave the ground, the pilot turned to my wife (who is not overly fond of heights) and said "Get in." She gave me a look that said, "I have to!" and up they sailed.
I should mention that if you've never seen a mass launching of hot air balloons, it really is indescribable. Virtually silent except for the sound of the propane jets and the gasps of the crowd, it's almost reverent.
I got into the chase car with the crew chief and we started following our balloon. For about 30 minutes we navigated the back roads of New Jersey, through neighborhoods and fields, business parks and ball parks. Finally we saw the balloon start to descend in a neighborhood. Red streamers started to fall from inside the basket as packages of goldfish crackers were being tossed to the crowd below. The pilot had landed in someone's back yard, and it was as if Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Willy Wonka had landed. Dozens of kids and parents were running over to see what wizard had fallen from the sky. The pilot, all smiles, helped the passengers out of the basket as the crew chief and I grabbed the ropes. My wife was beaming and almost speechless. As we helped deflate the balloon she just kept saying, "You've got to do this...you've got to do this."
The next day I had my chance. We ended up going back and helping them with the morning launch, and I was the one who got to experience the magic of flying, suspended by nothing more than air and a few ropes. The ascension was nearly undetectable. All of a sudden we were 50, then 100, then 200 feet off the ground. Elevators are more jarring. The whole experience was peaceful and awe-inspiring. Every few seconds the pilot turned on the porpane to heat the air so we would rise, or would open the vent at the top so that we would descend. Like breathing, it was a constant balance of inhales and exhales in order to keep us at a favorable altitude.
Lately in my yoga practice I've been reminded of this experience. As I warm up, I use my breath to help open up all the tight spots in my muscles and joints, preparing my lungs to breathe fully. I tune in to the subtle movement that my breath is creating in my body: my inhales opening me and giving me structure, my exhales softening me and releasing tension and rigidity. As I allow my breath to deepen, I begin to move my body in the directions that it is being encouraged to go. Inhaling length and space, exhaling roundness and surrender. My breath then guides me through a series of sun salutations, creating heat and suppleness in my joints and muscles. As I continue in my practice, I begin to alter the shape of my body to direct my breath into different areas, like squeezing a balloon will cause the air inside to expand away from the point of constriction. Softening, I allow the breath to open up the points of restriction and tension, allowing me to find even more opening. Using the quality of the inhales and exhales as a guide, my body finds the right altitude to sail at, effortlessly and peacefully. If I stop paying attention I can either over-heat and begin to sail away into unsafe altitudes, or become dull and start to fall from the sky. The constant flow of breath, the inhales and exhales, allows me to maintain an even tack. As I let my exhales deepen and my breath become softer, I allow gravity to assist in the process of letting go of the flight, and re-ground myself to the earth.
We were escorted to a balloon owned and operated by a Pepperidge Farm distributor from the St. Louis area. He specialized in the little goldfish crackers, and in fact had one of the goldfish emblazoned on the side of his balloon. He also had baskets full of sample-sized goldfish cracker packages, all with long red streamers attached to them. We were quickly informed that we were going to help them inflate the envelope (the technical term for the balloon). First, we helped attach the basket, which looks like a big wicker flower basket, then the crew chief and I unfurled the envelope. The pilot turned on a couple of big fans and aimed them into the throat of the envelope. My job was to help hold the throat open while other crew members helped open the folds of the envelope so that the air could distribute inside. It was beautiful to watch. Like some multicolored primordial creature, the balloon would begin to expand, then as more folds were opened it would softly settle. The air was both giving it shape and supporting it's mass.
Once the envelope was most of the way full, the pilot directed the propane jets into it, and started heating the air. It was like a giant had been awakened. The air inside heated surprisingly quickly, and the balloon began to lift upright. The crew chief and I held onto the ropes to keep the balloon steady as the pilot entered the basket with the paying passengers. Just as the balloon was about to leave the ground, the pilot turned to my wife (who is not overly fond of heights) and said "Get in." She gave me a look that said, "I have to!" and up they sailed.
I should mention that if you've never seen a mass launching of hot air balloons, it really is indescribable. Virtually silent except for the sound of the propane jets and the gasps of the crowd, it's almost reverent.
I got into the chase car with the crew chief and we started following our balloon. For about 30 minutes we navigated the back roads of New Jersey, through neighborhoods and fields, business parks and ball parks. Finally we saw the balloon start to descend in a neighborhood. Red streamers started to fall from inside the basket as packages of goldfish crackers were being tossed to the crowd below. The pilot had landed in someone's back yard, and it was as if Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Willy Wonka had landed. Dozens of kids and parents were running over to see what wizard had fallen from the sky. The pilot, all smiles, helped the passengers out of the basket as the crew chief and I grabbed the ropes. My wife was beaming and almost speechless. As we helped deflate the balloon she just kept saying, "You've got to do this...you've got to do this."
The next day I had my chance. We ended up going back and helping them with the morning launch, and I was the one who got to experience the magic of flying, suspended by nothing more than air and a few ropes. The ascension was nearly undetectable. All of a sudden we were 50, then 100, then 200 feet off the ground. Elevators are more jarring. The whole experience was peaceful and awe-inspiring. Every few seconds the pilot turned on the porpane to heat the air so we would rise, or would open the vent at the top so that we would descend. Like breathing, it was a constant balance of inhales and exhales in order to keep us at a favorable altitude.
Lately in my yoga practice I've been reminded of this experience. As I warm up, I use my breath to help open up all the tight spots in my muscles and joints, preparing my lungs to breathe fully. I tune in to the subtle movement that my breath is creating in my body: my inhales opening me and giving me structure, my exhales softening me and releasing tension and rigidity. As I allow my breath to deepen, I begin to move my body in the directions that it is being encouraged to go. Inhaling length and space, exhaling roundness and surrender. My breath then guides me through a series of sun salutations, creating heat and suppleness in my joints and muscles. As I continue in my practice, I begin to alter the shape of my body to direct my breath into different areas, like squeezing a balloon will cause the air inside to expand away from the point of constriction. Softening, I allow the breath to open up the points of restriction and tension, allowing me to find even more opening. Using the quality of the inhales and exhales as a guide, my body finds the right altitude to sail at, effortlessly and peacefully. If I stop paying attention I can either over-heat and begin to sail away into unsafe altitudes, or become dull and start to fall from the sky. The constant flow of breath, the inhales and exhales, allows me to maintain an even tack. As I let my exhales deepen and my breath become softer, I allow gravity to assist in the process of letting go of the flight, and re-ground myself to the earth.
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