Whenever I get the chance, I love to substitute teach a yoga class. Seeing as how no one else is teaching Eischens Yoga in the Twin Cities, I sub for classes that are normally much different from mine. I wouldn't presume to sub for an Ashtanga or Vinyasa class because, having once taught Ashtanga, those students are there for something that is very far from what an Eischens Yoga class is. But a class listed as Open or Hatha or Beginners can hold a variety of teachings and I consider it fair game to bring my practice to the class. This is usually a person's first introduction to Eischens Yoga and I take full advantage.
The first shocker is the use of the block between the feet. In an EY class, that block serves several purposes. One purpose is to bring the feet into parallel position in Tadasana (mountain Pose), lining up the inside edge of the foot against the long edges of the block. Many teachers use the outer edge of the foot to find parallel. Using a block to line up the inner foot can be disconcerting if you're accustomed to slightly turned-in footing. I can't say my way is right or the other way is wrong. It just is the way of Eischens Yoga to use the inner edge. (I do find some people have taken that turned-in footing too far and occasionally a person's knees might be pointing inward from too much inward rotation. A block can be a way to lessen that extreme positioning of "parallel.") Having a block between the feet frees the student from having to look down to check their feet. You can feel the block at your heels and toes. The block is parallel. The feet are therefore parallel. I prefer the 4" x 6" x 9" wide blocks that are becoming more common these days. Given that the femurs (thigh bones) insert into the pelvis around 4 to 6 inches apart, placing the block on either its 4- or 6-inch side between the feet will give most people a sense of their legs being stable underneath their torso. The leg bones will stack up more parallel than if the feet were brought together. Such a narrow footing, with feet touching, creates a Tadasana (Mountain Pose) with legs that taper to a small point of balance. Not only does that create less ease for a beginner who is just learning yoga, but it is a nearly impossible stance for someone whose knees touch and feet are still apart. (We called that knock-kneed when I was growing up, but that has negative connotations and I prefer to say that the legs bow in.) So we have a block between the feet in Tadasana. It teaches parallel footing and aligns the legs into two parallel towers of bones. But wait! There's more! What about the student who suddenly discovers their feet can't come in to the block because their ankles are collapsed in? Or one who asks if the ankles are supposed to touch the block but their legs bow out and the ankles aren't anywhere near the block? Congratulations! Those students have just learned about imbalance in their own body. That right there is worth the price of admission. "Why?" you ask. It is possible the students never knew that about their feet and ankles until this moment of interaction with the block. Now they have valuable knowledge about a part of their anatomy. Even if they already knew this imbalance to be true, the block will serve as a tactile reminder as Tadasana is returned to again and again within the class. The student can observe if the relationship between feet, ankles and block changes after any part of the practice. Do certain poses make the ankles collapse more? Do other poses bring lift into the joint, allowing the feet to approach the block? Are the ankles coming closer to the block in the case of the student whose shins bow out? All this learning from one prop in one pose. As we move through the practice, some students have trouble accepting that we are going to use the block in any pose besides Tadasana. During Uttanasana (Forward Fold), folks leave the block in place, but then we come to Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward Dog) and suddenly the feet step into a wider stance. Someone somewhere may have told them to do that, but I've never understood that instruction (except in the case of pregnant women who need belly room). In part, DWDog is a variation of that Forward Fold they were just in. They didn't need to widen the feet then, so why now? I ask the class to try bringing their feet back to block-width. Adductors (inner thigh muscles) begin to fire. And then I mention glancing back at their feet for a moment. Are the inner edges of the feet parallel? What if you bring them to parallel? Suddenly, as the class adjusts their heels back in line with their toes, everyone finds they haven't been using the outer hamstrings until just this moment of bringing the feet parallel. And yet, they've been told this pose uses the entire leg. The too-wide stance and the rotation in the legs have unintentionally undermined the use of the muscles that are supposed to be working. The block becomes a feedback loop. Find the block, discover muscles that have been neglected. When it comes to lying down on the stomach (Prone Mountain) or kneeling (Table, Camel), students are convinced the block is no longer applicable. They promptly remove it en route to the pose. Apparently, it doesn't occur to most folks that the feet need to remain parallel here, too. It's tricky; you can't see your feet behind you in these poses. But most of us sickle the toes in, drop the ankles out (or some variation of that) when the tops of the feet are on the ground. And we don't know we're doing it. Why should that sickling matter? Imagine the feet curving inward at the toes and ankles rolling out to the sides. Now picture it from an aerial view and see what effect that has on just the lower leg. The shin bones are no longer parallel to each other. The outer muscles along the shins are getting pulled longer, the inner muscles are shortening, and the calf muscles are in disuse. Put a block between the feet (we usually turn it to 6" wide for the entire group), and bring the inside edges of the feet to the block. Funny how far your feet moved to come to parallel. That is how out of alignment your lower legs probably were. (I've seen it. I've also done it. I know.) Now keep your feet hugging that block in Bhujangasana (cobra), Salabhasana (locust), Urdhva Mukha Svanasana (upward facing dog). Suddenly your legs are part of the pose. The legs are there to support the spine, but if they are disengaged from the work, the arms will take over; the spine may collapse; the lower back get pinched. Just because you're lying down, don't think the legs aren't supposed to do anything. Finding the block will help you begin to engage your legs. Supine poses are another place to help keep the feet and legs aligned with the use of a block. While lying on the back, the feet and legs often externally rotate, rolling onto the outer edge of the heel. Placing a block between the feet here is similar to using it in Tadasana. You can feel when the feet are parallel when you can feel the block between your feet. Maintaining that connection of foot to block on the supporting leg when coming into poses that are one-legged (Supta Padagustasana, for example) reduces the possibility of rotation in the supporting leg. As in Adho Muka Svanasana, bringing the feet to parallel will also begin to engage the legs. Just because you are lying down doesn't mean the legs stop working. Another place to use blocks while supine is in Setu Bandhasana (bridge pose). When setting up, place one block between the feet to keep them parallel, and another between the thighs. (I usually have students place the block 6" wide at the feet and 4" wide at the thighs. Sometimes I will suggest a 3" block if the knees are still wider than the ankles.) Most students lift into this pose using the inner thighs. The knees splay out to the sides, taking the feet out with them. Not only does this deprive the outer thigh muscles of their proper work and continue the strength imbalance between inner and outer thigh, it increases pressure on the lower back at the sacrum. Using blocks as described, rotations in the legs and feet become noticeable. Especially if that thigh block drops. By hugging the thighs to the block between them, you will start to use all the leg muscles in a more balanced manner, and ease tension in the lower back. There are many more uses for the block in an Eischens Yoga class, most of which are not introductory and require a greater knowledge of the Transformational Work we do. But I hope this primer gives you ideas about how to begin playing with this simple tool. Many teachers and students use blocks underneath the hands in certain poses, or for supporting the pelvis while seated or kneeling. But when you begin to use them as a source of feedback about how your body functions in your yoga, blocks can become another teacher.
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I just taught my 10th and 11th classes of the week. We did transformation work about 45 minutes into each class, working on the shoulders and collar bones and how to better align them. Transformation work is a hallmark of Eischens Yoga classes. Today, we were looking at the shoulder blades: how far apart they rested on the back, whether they were on the same plane or angled, how symmetrical their placement. Then each group worked in Prone Mountain, one person in the pose with partners applying pressure on the triceps, wrists, and crown of the head. As each person did the work and then stood up, shoulder blades settled into better positioning. The change was frequently visible to the group. But better than that, each person stood up and felt taller, or less tense in the shoulders and/or upper back after receiving tactile feedback from their group. And then it happened. The Question.
I never know who will ask it. It usually doesn't even happen after everyone is done. Someone very excited by what they are seeing in their partner might ask it. Someone feeling pretty amazing after doing the work might be the one. But invariably someone will ask, "How do I do this at home?" I am never surprised by this question. I have been the one to put this query forth myself, back when I first started studying Eischens Yoga. (We still called it High Energy Yoga back then.) I actually usually have an answer, an approximation of what we just did that can be done at home alone, but that is to lose the point of what happened. Why we do this work with partners in class is because we aren't home alone. We take advantage of each other's presence for several reasons, and these reasons why we do transformation work move from the obvious to the subtle. Added weight increases the impact of the work. If you want to develop your biceps, you can do simple bicep curls. If you do these over a long enough period of time, with enough repetitions, you will tone and strengthen your biceps. But if you really want to see your biceps change in strength, you begin adding weights, lifting smaller hand-weights and increasing the weight as the biceps get stronger. In yoga, ideally you can press into your own skin for resistance. But most of us can't feel our own skin, let alone press into it. So by adding a partners' hands' pressure, you can start to bring your body into better positioning. The partner isn't putting you into alignment; they are giving you a place to push into, which in turn strengthens the muscles that then hold your skeleton in proper placement. Seeing another in order to understand yourself. When you begin to look closely at other bodies, you have a chance to learn about yourself. As you watch your partner and notice one shoulder blade in a different place than the other, you also begin to glimpse how we all have imbalances. You can take that image of another back and superimpose it upon yourself. Then when it is your turn, and your partner says your shoulder blades are asymmetrical in the same way as (or differently from) the previous person's, there is a clear image of your own back through someone else's eyes and descriptions, but also through your experience of looking. Working together to create community. I cannot count how many times I have attended classes where no one talks to anyone else, where there is so much competition as students vie for attention, or struggle to perform the best pose. (Yeah, it may be called a yoga class, but that doesn't mean we all leave our competitive nature out the door.) But when you have to get to know a few others in class, really know them, you learn who has an injury. You discover that someone is struggling to get out of their over-analytical brain, or just overcame a difficult period in life. You see what other's challenges are, and you begin to cheer on Mel whose back hurt so much six months ago she couldn't bend very far, but now she has her hands on the floor in a forward fold. You applaud Sarah who has found increased endurance and can hold poses longer without locking her elbows. And you cheer on Nicki who lifts up into a tripod headstand from a Wide Angle FWFold, even though that is not in your own foreseeable future. Class becomes intimate and supportive and the competition gets left behind. Learning to trust your own eyes and learning to trust your partners. Trust comes from being willing to be open. Open to change, open to failure, to loss, to love, to acceptance, to success. Working with partners in the classroom broadens trust. You begin to trust your own eyes as you learn to see. You tell your partners what you observe and they begin to trust your words, your vision. And in that moment, you and your partners begin a new path. And this path allows for deeper connections between people. But transformation work is more than just observing and stating what is seen. It is hands-on, a place where hands meet with another person's muscles; where there is such matched resistance that neither person is moving, but both are working. It is a physical connection. It takes trust a step further. Finding touch. Touch is essential between humans. Everyone knows about the laboratory tests using orphaned monkeys and placing one with a metal, robotic "mother" and how damaging the lack of touch is for that monkey's development. So we know touch matters. But Americans touch each other less than people in most other industrial nations. We deprive ourselves of the healing that comes with placing hands on a friend's shoulder, giving a hug or a kiss. We deprive ourselves of human contact. It doesn't really matter whether this reticence to touch comes from fear (of disease, of offending, of intimacy) or from indifference. What is important is to increase our physical contact, to break through whatever barriers we have to touching. Working with partners is a safe way to find those physical connections. Maybe you are placing your hands on someone's shins or triceps. Maybe you touch the top of someone else's head. Maybe you help move someone's toes. And in that moment, there is possibility. Possibility for change for the person you are touching, but possibility for you to change as well. So how can you do this at home? You can't. You can practice yoga by yourself. You can use tactile memory to find the alignment you are seeking. You can move toward physical and mental balance. But the yoga that occurs when working in transformation, that is only done in concert with others. Come to class. Get together with a friend to exchange feedback. Teach your partner how to push on your shins (or forearms or heels ...). But find a way to work with people. Transformation work is essential. It happens in community. It makes community. And it is life-changing. I stand on my feet, relax, and begin. I check in. My weight is heavier on the outer edge of my feet. As usual. More so on my right foot. Right shoulder is rolling forward. Inhales are shallow, but the exhale is nice and slow. I start. As I move through postures, I hear Roger's voice, "Do your legs rotate as you move between downward dog and incline?" I remember the feeling of Kari's fingers on my spine, encouraging me to allow that one vertebra to soften into line with the rest of them. Periodically, I stand in Mountain again. Being, not doing. I see if my breath is easier, if I can inhale more fully. I notice my weight shifting onto the center of my heels. I feel my shoulders relax and my collar bones opening up. I do not practice to a soundtrack because I have the soundtrack of my teachers in my head. One teacher has left this earth. I last saw him in October, 2004. One is in another state and I haven't seen her in person in over two years. But there they are, guiding me as I choose what asana to do next. Each one of their comments remains and repeats and reminds me to bring my attention to what is happening in my body. I observe changes. These days supine mountain is my new friend. I recall how that pose used to be a place that caused actual pain. In time, it became tolerable, but hardly a pose that benefited me. And now, lying on my back with my legs engaged is not only tolerable, it is relief. It brings energy, life throughout my body. I notice how much longer I can hold postures. I feel more freedom of movement in my pelvis as I extend sideways over my leg. I can maintain energy down through my heels even when they aren't on the floor. I am willing to experiment with postures I haven't tried before (or at least not in many years) because I am no longer so hampered by injury. And over and over again, I notice these things because Roger or Kari asks me to check. Where is my weight? Is there less tension? Is there more ease? Am I locking my joints? Or collapsing into them? Am I using my muscles in a balanced manner? Where is there rotation? How am I different? I hear Roger's bass voice and Kari's mezzo. I hear their laughter and their teasing and their praise and their corrections. It is beautiful music, and it accompanies me every time I step onto the mat. Long, long ago, in the time of the dinosaurs, back when I made my living onstage, I met a woman who drove me insane. She was so constantly enthusiastic. She was bigger than life. She was so flipping secure in herself. I would cringe at her exuberance. I, of course, was disdainful and judgmental and criticized everything. I was "mature" and "realistic," and I was cynical. I didn't have enough money to join in all the outings on days off. I was still working part-time jobs while performing and I used breaks for naps. I didn't join in ANYthing she organized. Not even just sitting together at meals, or working out between shows. And, unsurprisingly, I was not happy much of the time. (I still wonder how I managed to have any friends during that time. I was that un-fun.) I cannot remember when the switch flipped, but I distinctly remember one of my actor friends at the time saying that when someone gets under your skin that much, maybe they are displaying something about yourself you don't like. Or something you envy. Seeing as how I was most certainly NOT buoyant and effervescent, it clearly wasn't my attributes being reflected back at me that I didn't like about this woman. It occurred to me that maybe I envied her. Maybe "mature" and "realistic" wasn't only inaccurate, but less fun. Maybe self-assurance and playfulness was a nicer approach than self-pity. Between shows one day, I finally gave up my much-needed nap for the Jane Fonda session in the women's dressing room. And, big shock, I had a better day than when I got my rest. I started to laugh with the other women in the show. And I started to enjoy myself. I think this was my first yoga lesson. Over the years, and in many different situations, I encounter people who set my nerves on edge. Since my early experience with another performer, my practice whenever that has occurred has been to figure out what it is that annoys me so. And then I look to see if what I dislike is a quality I dislike in myself, or is a quality I envy in that person. I am still working on this. It is a difficult practice. Coming into contact with so many new folk every day through my teaching, I figure I will be working at it all my life. That woman who drove me insane and gave me my first lesson in joy is still my friend. We performed together numerous times over the next few years. Through her presence, she reminded me to be exuberant. She still does. And she has influenced my teaching more than I could ever have imagined. More, in fact, than I had realized. The other day, I stepped outside myself while teaching a large class. I saw someone enthusiastic and bigger than life. And the woman I saw was having a blast. Thanks, Peggy. It's another yoga miracle!
This class is not for children. Actions speak louder than shapes. Gotta work with the bows. Effort toward effortlessness. Movement is ego; the meditation is in the resistance. Eischens Yoga Geek Imbalance seeks imbalance. So which will it be? I tried to write about work the other day. What came out was a rant about all the things I do and how little it is all noticed or recognized. But the truth is, I was having a bad day and needed a little attention. Most of us work very hard. Most of us have hidden aspects of our work that we wish commanded more attention. And sometimes, yes, I do just want to complain. But really, I get plenty of recognition for what I do. If I'm going to write for public consumption, it should at least be honest. And since a good friend has insisted I write and share my voice with the world, I'd better be writing what's worth reading and not just a rant after a difficult-but-not-extraordinarily-so-day that didn't merit that much notice.
I was tasked recently with nailing down my passion. What is it that keeps me motivated/happy/nourished? First, I realized I have to decide what I consider my work. I have many current jobs (barista, felting, teaching yoga, making hoops, parenting) and have had many others in the past (singer, dancer, actor, director, administrative assistant, retail worker) but what is it I am here to do? I believe I am here to make the earth a better place. Honestly. At one point, I did that using my voice, my body, creating moving experiences onstage. I wasn't always successful creating magic. Some of what I performed added no value to the earth, and may have actually been a loss of a couple hours' time to those in attendance, not to mention the loss of many hours of my own. But a few times, I felt part of something that truly moved people. I brought joy or beauty or or simply gave someone a chance to laugh and get away from their stress. I achieved a pretty good degree of success in that I worked frequently, supported myself with theatre jobs, had a handful of outstanding directors and plum roles for my resume, and can now name-drop liberally. But I no longer perform in theatre. My stage is more personal. Together with Regular Guy, I am raising two children in hopes that they will continue the work of making the world better. I take parenting very seriously, but lest you think I am a helicopter parent, I have missed swim meets, concerts, volleyball games. I don't know many of their friends after our relocation. I give them opportunities to test their independence, and I let them fail now while it has little long-term cost. I take pride in their accomplishments. I feel their hurts. I try harder to help them become themselves. I don't always choose the best tactics. I am fallible. And I am determined to learn from my own mistakes, to let my children see my failings and know that we all have great and terrible moments. As they become older (11 and 15), I can see "possibility" tattooed on their foreheads, but I also see the choices they are making now that will set them upon certain paths later. It is an awesome responsibility. And it feeds my sense of purpose and passion. But I also have another passion which I pursue, and I pursue it with as much awe that I am allowed to do it as that I get to parent. Ever since I was a girl in dance classes, I could see bodies. I could see details in how the other girls moved. A dance buddy might ask me why she was falling out of turns, and I'd watch her and report back, "Well, you keep dropping your right shoulder as you start the pirhouette ..." She'd try again, fix the error, and voila, better turns. Many former dancers make their way into teaching dance at studios, but the truth is, I can't choreograph AT ALL. And if the combinations aren't interesting, no dancer cares if you can help them figure out why their balance is off. My mom told me to become a physical therapist to take advantage of my ability to see bodies. Which I did consider, but at the time I was still performing and going back to school wasn't on my agenda. I started to have injuries and found my way into yoga classes as therapy for my damaged body. And there it was. Yoga --- my new passion. My body started to heal. I didn't have to choreograph. I could look at bodies and use my skills. And it turns out, I am a damn good yoga teacher. Twenty-two years after finding my way into a regular yoga practice, 17 years of teaching, and I am lucky to have been told by my students about the positive impact I have had on their lives. Most folk never get to hear how their words or actions have helped someone. For many women in the Detroit area, I know I helped usher them through the challenges of becoming mothers themselves. I know because they told me. Repeatedly. I gave them a safe space to share fears, to share ideas, to support each other. I passed on the wisdom I was lucky to receive from women during my pregnancies and early years of motherhood. It isn't a vague "yoga makes you feel better" kind of help that I am imparting. I also have had the good fortune to learn about alignment and therapeutic applications of yoga. It is a responsibility I do not take lightly. I do not promise to help everyone or solve every problem. But often, working together, a student and I can find ways to support the skeleton, to relieve tension in the muscles. I watch as pain medications become less necessary; I hear about surgery that has been postponed. As much as I love bringing Eischens Yoga to students, I am equally excited to bring this way of looking at the body to other teachers for the very reason that more people can find relief if more of us know how to do this work. When I see a student who has struggled with specific movements, and they begin to move more easily, I feel absolutely buoyant. When I watch a light turn on in a yoga teacher's eyes, I can't wait to take them further on this path. I am a yoga cheerleader, a positive support system, a total geek. I am passionate about making the world better. It is my work. I do this work by raising my children, and I do this work through my teaching. I get plenty of attention. My work gets recognized. And, when I think about it, I don't actually do any of my work for the attention or recognition after all. I do it because it feeds me. I do it because I am passionate about changing the world, having a positive impact on others. So whenever I feel like ranting about feeling unappreciated, or about a difficult day, I need to be clear that it is just a bad day. And then I need to get back to changing the world. Tomorrow, I start teaching my first prenatal class in quite a while. I look at my schedule and see that I am now teaching six classes a week. I am barely making coffee (for those of you new to the party, I became a barista when we moved to MN in 2011 since I couldn't seem to make much of a career out of yoga being new to the community and all). I will be taking my yoga show on the road in the next few months, with weekend workshops in North Dakota and Iowa. A new student is connecting me with a studio in Duluth, MN that might be amenable to a similar weekend workshop.
And at last, I am felting. I laid out a scarf last week and exhausted my body felting on Wednesday. I have a little trouble understanding how I ever made ten of these in one week a few years back, but I look forward to regaining that kind of drive and strength. Once I feel a bit more secure in my yoga career, I will finally spend a bit of energy finding the right venues for selling all this Woolynns stuff (some of it is currently just designs in my head). I'll fix up my tent/booth and get better displays. But that is still a bit further down the road. Having this kind of time and space to create (yoga, scarves) also gives me breathing room to be more present for my family. My children may not need me to accompany them on play dates anymore, but being stuck at home all summer is not going to be the default option this year. I'm hardly feeling like everything is all good to go, but the way is getting clearer and the possibilities keep me smiling every day as I drive from one yoga class to another, as I lay out another scarf, as I add everyone's activities to the calendar. I'm back. Tough it out.
Suck it up. You need some toughening up. Get over it. Stop being such a sissy. If you happen to be sensitive (to lights, to food, within your body, to others' emotions, to cultural standards), the above phrases might have come your way over time. Used to be, the most sensitive member of the tribe or community was revered for their insight and ability to feel. They were revered as a shaman, a spiritual leader. But in our aggressive, ambitious culture, sensitivity is no longer desired or respected. Instead, we are told to close off that level of awareness, to shut down so we can function better. But better for whom? It seems to me that becoming self-aware, truly doing the hard work of understanding what makes you tick -- what fills you with joy, what aggravates, what causes you to get out of whack (mentally or physically) --- is in fact, cultivating sensitivity. And contrary to what others would have you believe, looking critically so you can make the connections, find the bigger meanings, is hard work. And it isn't for everyone. People take yoga for a variety of reasons: to reduce stress, to get in shape, because they heard it was good for you. But people who choose to practice yoga as a path toward self-awareness should be commended. Being asked to recognize what is going on, but not to judge it, isn't easy. We want to do things right and if it isn't right, we want to fix it now. But you can't fix it if you don't know what it is. So every Eischens Yoga class asks you to observe. How are you standing? Where is your weight on your feet? What is your breathing like? Are you agitiated, happy, tired, content, hyper? And then be okay with what you learn. Checking in throughout your practice to see if anything is changing lets you appreciate the effects of the work. Do you stand differently after doing Warrior? Can you breathe more easily after doing some prone work? Is there more tension, or less? Being able to recognize what is going on on the mat leads to observing yourself in other parts of your life. Tensions arise throughout the day. What causes them for you? A co-worker? Too much stimuli (bright lights, background music, crowds)? And what happens when you make changes? Which ones have a calming, balancing effect? If you think being sensitive requires toughening up, I would counter that the sensitive ones are already on a tough path. But it is a path that can lead to so much deeper understanding than the path that says to "get over it." Cultivate sensitivity. It is tough work, but the rewards are great. Today I taught a very small class. Just three of my regulars. (It has been below zero here for a couple days and not everyone is silly enough to leave the house for things like yoga class.)
I assumed our transformation work would go quickly, working with partners to remove/reduce rotation in the back leg in Side Warrior (Virabadrasana B for those of you who do Sanskrit). I should know by now that what I think will be simple usually isn't, and what I think will be hard goes easily. So here we are looking at legs, and I'm aware that one of the women is not getting what we're supposed to be looking at. It isn't important to me that she see it --- it is the first time I've ever pointed this rotation work out --- but she clearly is bothered. When her turn comes, her emotions are at the surface from frustration. And she is already holding tight to every instruction I have ever given in this pose. I try to tell her this isn't intended to change any of that, just to refine it. No good. By the time we have done "helping" her in the pose, she is so disconnected from her body and quite upset. Once, years ago, I had the same response to too many instructions and tweaking. So many that I ended up cranky and disconnected. I looked at my student and very quickly put her through the same transformation work she had just done, only with minimal instruction and staying in the pose for a very short time. She stood up, calm, content, one with her body. Life lessons learned today: For the very cerebral, too much time and too much instruction only puts you further into your head. As a teacher, know your students. Do not feed their imbalances. Which leads me to this: All those ways you approach life may have served you well, but when they get in the way, can you change your approach? If you keep pushing through challenges, are there times when maybe you should just ease up? Can you persevere if it is your natural inclination to walk away from difficulty? Do you know yourself well enough to know your patterns of approaching life's challenges? Watching how you approach a yoga pose can teach you a lot about your habits and patterns of mind. Taking yoga off the mat can happen while you're on the mat. I have this friend who inspires me. I do not want to follow in her footsteps. While I enjoy hooping, it is not my joy. I do not necessarily need to become a public speaker like her, though I am good at that. What she inspires me to do is to find my joy.
Joy. That has been a meager commodity in recent years. My family was struggling financially. My husband was struggling professionally. And I was struggling to land in a new city and create a new life that I was determined would look much like the one I left behind in Michigan. So here I am, nearly two years after my move, and I am finding my way to joy again. My days look nothing and everything like they used to. I get up every morning and walk a dog in temperatures where no sane person should venture. I drive children to early morning practices, evening games, concerts and competitions. I have learned how to make a mean latte at the coffee shop where I still work a shift or two a week. I haven't managed to felt anything in over 18 months. I get on the mat several days a week to practice and learn from my body. I still don't have the yoga teaching schedule I want. But I do have new perspective. One day last year, I sat down with Theresa Rose (yes, the one in the video above), and said quite clearly that I knew my old methods for re-creating my previous life weren't working. I couldn't figure out how to get over the brick wall in my way and and did she have any ideas. Now, Theresa has taken my classes and worked with me privately to learn to free up her body to move more fully with her hoop. She knows what I do and how good I am at it. Through her eyes, I was able to see what exactly it is that I am passionate about. And she helped me see new ways to bring that passion forth. I have let go of assumptions about what I do and where it will best be enjoyed. I have reached out in ways I never had imagined and find myself creating a future that includes teaching weekend workshops in neighboring states; mentoring teachers interested in Eischens Yoga; renting spaces to create my own floating studio, Eischens Yoga MN; bringing a practice to address back pain to corporations. And you know what? I am actually doing all those things. They are not some distant future. They are now. At a recent photo shoot, I realized that I feel most joyous in yoga not while doing certain poses, but while helping others experience something extraordinary in their own bodies. I asked the photographer to shoot me while I worked on other people, while I talked and explained and gave physical resistance to someone in a pose. Those photos were the most beautiful and joyous of the bunch. Joy. Yep, I'm finding it again. And with it comes freedom and time and knowing I have enough, knowing I am enough. And guess who is planning on felting again this Spring? Oh, Joyous Movement. |
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