Lizard exits stage right, its tail drawing off between the cinder blocks in gasping bursts. There were two of them, fat and strong, bold. They moved as though teams of Greek oarsmen pressed them forward, in stops and starts, down the ancient river. And I sank, deep into the mystery parts of my body. The muscles that cling most closely to the skeleton, the muscles that actively press in on the organs, and move things along in those unfathomable passage ways. I don’t know how anyone else feels, but I can’t get over the knowledge that I have, like miles, of tubing running through me. If the beets I ate last night at 9pm, have run the (I have no idea what the actual number is, let’s just say…) eight miles (correction: nine meters) of my digestive track to exit as is daily expected around 7am, those beets were going like (counts on fingers) oh math, I’ll fix this part later, the point is that they were going REALLY fast for some roasted beets. Beets are easy to time, as they are the one food that still has the flair for the dramatic exit. (They were delicious). How does this whole process even happen? The inside of my body is like another planet to me, a planet that I explore through yoga. It doesn’t matter what level anyone is, a true yogi will be incredibly curious about their bodies. One of the greatest gifts that yoga has to offer is that it teaches us how to truly feel. Curiosity is the vehicle that propels our interest into these deeper parts of the body, and therefore, curiosity leads the way (like the black and white banded koshare, the Pueblo clowns exiting the sipapu into the earthly realm.) It is curiosity that leads us to knock on the doorway to the energetic and the subtle bodies.
Speaking of dramatic exits, the lizards are perfectly taught and loose. As I struggle to release my clamping glutes and allow my butt to droop like two ripe mangoes, I observe their backbends. Running around in perpetual Urdhva Mucha Svasana, I see their ribcages large and open, firm, but their bellies wiggling loose and free. Legs all engaged, supporting the back. Not smooth movers, they ignite and pause, ignite and pause. As I sit tall, and plant the tip of my tailbone ¼” down in the soft earth like a seed, I plug in to the earth, and feel the energy ignite and pause, ignite and pause. I engage and hold with my mental commands to my body, until I drift and realize and have already released and paused, and must ignite anew! It becomes a pulse, to hold and release. Pulses are amazing; you can really follow the flow of energy as it travels through the body. Pulses can activate and strengthen the muscles at the deepest, most internal levels; the muscles that you can engage to pulse along the midline of the body and encourage energy to flow by pulsing it up, (I’m doing it now), but oh yes! I forgot about the mango butt, the lizard’s soft belly, the breath! Not to worry, pulse right back in. Squeeze, and let go. Squeeze and release, constrict and flow.
Sometimes there is too much to think about as we’re practicing, and it’s easy, especially for the curious, to lose focus. The dark side of curiosity is that it also triggers the desire to fulfill our curiosities outside of the body, or the practice, and poof, we’ve lost our concentration! We have to believe that with dedicated practice, over time we’ll be able to arrive at these postures, and effortlessly integrate the breath, keep the mind clear and focused, without thinking about it. It seems almost impossible, but if you are enjoying the journey towards the elusive posture/enlightened state, what’s the problem? And once in a while, you will catch yourself, on or off the mat, jolting back to reality and realize that (for unknown expanse of time) you were completely alive and present, and had dropped into that state of yoga.
There are certain shapes that our body longs to take, and there are those that we know that we are in for some hard work. Either way, we’re going to feel better for having practiced. Each posture manipulates the body with areas of constriction, and channels of release, to allow energy to flow in unique pathways. We will never fully arrive at complete mastery, each pose is an endless continuum with possibility for increased refinement, we are limited only by our imagination. I continually find new space in my spine, if I really slow down my focus and explore smaller and more specific areas with my minds eye. Energy flows at greater intensity in my body with a straighter spine and more muscular engagement, but I am more receptive to the flow when I am able to relax. These things are seemingly in conflict to be done simultaneously, as we are taught in the yoga sutras: sthira-sukham-āsanam, the qualities of the perfect yoga posture are both strength and ease. But in truth it is possible to oscillate back and forth, with the pulse of the workings of the body, between sthira and sukhum, to pulse, to ignite and pause, ignite and pause. Not to say that you are to be bouncing in and out of a pose, but ideally, the pulsing is taking place subtly. Can you REALLY hold the bhandhas for the entire practice? No, you pulse: you activate (consciously) they release (involuntarily), and you activate again. In fact, we are always pulsing: the heartbeat, the inhale and the exhale, even the right side/left side of each posture. The fat lizards scuttle incredibly close to me, curiously observing me even as I observe them, the masters of Sthira and Sukhum.
Perhaps I have watched too many kung fu movies, but my favorite parts are always where the hero is alone in the natural world, practicing his kung fu, and he observes, say, a praying mantis. Wide-eyed, he studies, and eventually imitates their movements, and voila! In one glorious montage he has invented Mantis style!!! Did my meditation draw these two large lizards to rustle and slink by, to cross paths before me, boldly and slowly, and willingly get closer to me than any lizard ever has? (Most RUN away!!!) The romantic in me wants to believe that my mediation drew them to me, so that I could observe them and learn from them, but perhaps, I’ve over-extended their use and meaning. Maybe they are simply curious about me. Maybe hunger has driven them to this boldness. The happy, undeniable truth is that they inspired me, they lit up my imagination, and I learned something from observing their movements. A true yogi is open to the lessons from any teacher, no matter how small or how subtle.
Speaking of dramatic exits, the lizards are perfectly taught and loose. As I struggle to release my clamping glutes and allow my butt to droop like two ripe mangoes, I observe their backbends. Running around in perpetual Urdhva Mucha Svasana, I see their ribcages large and open, firm, but their bellies wiggling loose and free. Legs all engaged, supporting the back. Not smooth movers, they ignite and pause, ignite and pause. As I sit tall, and plant the tip of my tailbone ¼” down in the soft earth like a seed, I plug in to the earth, and feel the energy ignite and pause, ignite and pause. I engage and hold with my mental commands to my body, until I drift and realize and have already released and paused, and must ignite anew! It becomes a pulse, to hold and release. Pulses are amazing; you can really follow the flow of energy as it travels through the body. Pulses can activate and strengthen the muscles at the deepest, most internal levels; the muscles that you can engage to pulse along the midline of the body and encourage energy to flow by pulsing it up, (I’m doing it now), but oh yes! I forgot about the mango butt, the lizard’s soft belly, the breath! Not to worry, pulse right back in. Squeeze, and let go. Squeeze and release, constrict and flow.
Sometimes there is too much to think about as we’re practicing, and it’s easy, especially for the curious, to lose focus. The dark side of curiosity is that it also triggers the desire to fulfill our curiosities outside of the body, or the practice, and poof, we’ve lost our concentration! We have to believe that with dedicated practice, over time we’ll be able to arrive at these postures, and effortlessly integrate the breath, keep the mind clear and focused, without thinking about it. It seems almost impossible, but if you are enjoying the journey towards the elusive posture/enlightened state, what’s the problem? And once in a while, you will catch yourself, on or off the mat, jolting back to reality and realize that (for unknown expanse of time) you were completely alive and present, and had dropped into that state of yoga.
There are certain shapes that our body longs to take, and there are those that we know that we are in for some hard work. Either way, we’re going to feel better for having practiced. Each posture manipulates the body with areas of constriction, and channels of release, to allow energy to flow in unique pathways. We will never fully arrive at complete mastery, each pose is an endless continuum with possibility for increased refinement, we are limited only by our imagination. I continually find new space in my spine, if I really slow down my focus and explore smaller and more specific areas with my minds eye. Energy flows at greater intensity in my body with a straighter spine and more muscular engagement, but I am more receptive to the flow when I am able to relax. These things are seemingly in conflict to be done simultaneously, as we are taught in the yoga sutras: sthira-sukham-āsanam, the qualities of the perfect yoga posture are both strength and ease. But in truth it is possible to oscillate back and forth, with the pulse of the workings of the body, between sthira and sukhum, to pulse, to ignite and pause, ignite and pause. Not to say that you are to be bouncing in and out of a pose, but ideally, the pulsing is taking place subtly. Can you REALLY hold the bhandhas for the entire practice? No, you pulse: you activate (consciously) they release (involuntarily), and you activate again. In fact, we are always pulsing: the heartbeat, the inhale and the exhale, even the right side/left side of each posture. The fat lizards scuttle incredibly close to me, curiously observing me even as I observe them, the masters of Sthira and Sukhum.
Perhaps I have watched too many kung fu movies, but my favorite parts are always where the hero is alone in the natural world, practicing his kung fu, and he observes, say, a praying mantis. Wide-eyed, he studies, and eventually imitates their movements, and voila! In one glorious montage he has invented Mantis style!!! Did my meditation draw these two large lizards to rustle and slink by, to cross paths before me, boldly and slowly, and willingly get closer to me than any lizard ever has? (Most RUN away!!!) The romantic in me wants to believe that my mediation drew them to me, so that I could observe them and learn from them, but perhaps, I’ve over-extended their use and meaning. Maybe they are simply curious about me. Maybe hunger has driven them to this boldness. The happy, undeniable truth is that they inspired me, they lit up my imagination, and I learned something from observing their movements. A true yogi is open to the lessons from any teacher, no matter how small or how subtle.
Roxanne Swentzell (Santa Clara) b. 1963
"The Emergence of the Clowns," 1988
Mixed media clay, A: 22" x 13" x 15"
B: 16" x 23" x 18" C: 17" x 14" x 14" D: 7" x 19" x 1 1 "
The Heard Museum, Phoenix, Arizona
"The Emergence of the Clowns," 1988
Mixed media clay, A: 22" x 13" x 15"
B: 16" x 23" x 18" C: 17" x 14" x 14" D: 7" x 19" x 1 1 "
The Heard Museum, Phoenix, Arizona