Archive for the ‘teaching/teacher’ Category

Containers

Thursday, August 5th, 2010

From Gabrielle Roth’s book Connections:

We spend much of our lives creating containers—forms, vocations, belief systems, ambitions, and explanations for why we are here—but they are only containers. When those containers are crushed, which they eventually will be, we discover something that endures beyond them—the human heart, the soul, the Mystery, the instinct to embrace our Source unconditionally. And so it is ultimately here, exulting in the bond and inspiration of life itself, that we intuit our own spiritual path and find our destiny.

And so it is with our yoga practice; we can get so caught up in the pose—the container—we sometimes forget about the importance of the experience of—the contents.

As a yoga teacher, it’s a delicate balance between not giving enough information and guidance in a pose and giving so much information there’s no room for one’s own experience.

Culturally we are conditioned toward perfection, which can come across on the yoga mat in a number of ways: We want to do the pose “right;” we are used to being told what and where to feel; always wanting to maximize the experience, to do more.

These are not bad qualities. The certainly have their place in optimizing our time and efforts. And why not live to our fullest in each moment?!

Still, it can be a wonderful experiment to shift attention from the container to the feeling underneath, inside, and around that container. What if the Warrior II is textbook on target (depending on which text book you’re referring to!) but there’s pain, shortness of breath, and dis-ease in the body?

And the ultimate challenge of doing less… less than you usually do, less than you know you can. Then watch the ego, the mind, the heart, the physicality: what is the response inside the container?

Just a little Thursday fodder… a little stirring of the contents!

Please feel free to share thought in the comments. Until next time…

This is what we do

Monday, July 5th, 2010

IAY representatives (ok, Tami and I) recently went to a networking meetup. We talked business, traded marketing tips, shared stories, and answered inevitable questions like What kind of yoga do you guys do?

The initial skepticism in the group eventually made way to a genuine interest in the studio. You rest? There’s poetry? Sparkles? Hula hoopingwhat?

Yes, yes, yes. We described our average classes as far above average.

Props, excellent instruction, permission to be you.

Teachers who ask how you are.

Teachers who ask you to notice how you are.

***

Recently a woman who had been on vacation came back to class and told me about her experience at a studio in another city: the teacher didn’t introduce herself or ask about the student, didn’t remind the students in the class to notice how they felt in the poses, the student felt invisible and not cared for. (There are many different types of yoga and styles of teachers and this teacher may have other intentions and areas of specialty.)

There are many things that make It’s All Yoga unique. Describing our “average” class to a group of people who have certain ideas about what yoga is/isn’t reminded me that we have something pretty special going on.

I’m endlessly grateful to this family of teachers, to this community of friends, and to this practice that keeps me (somewhat) sane.

For fun, I made a list of things I love about going to class.

What’s on your list? What’s special about IAY to you? How else we can meet your needs?

A seed

Saturday, January 23rd, 2010

Some of the links in this post take you to my more personal blog where there is some less-polished sharing. And swearing. Just so we're clear...

When my beloved teacher, Mary, was here in December for our workshop, I was blessed to spend a bit of time with her.

In the process of catching up, I shared about my kidney stone, the forthcoming culmination of our first Teacher Training program, and other bits about the pace and fullness of life.

She looked at me. And then looked me again… and this time she looked through me. Through the surface layers of excitement and adrenaline and momentum.

And she said, “You need some time off.”

“Oh ya,” I said. “Ron and I will probably take a weekend away after the new year.”

“No, you need a month off.”

Even with the sophistication of her british accent, I thought she’d totally lost her mind.

After some banter and a list of all the reasons I couldn’t take that much time off, her response was, “That’s exactly why you need to do it.”

Her point is multifaceted… that the intensity of our lives in this culture is such that we often don’t even know how tired or depleted we are.

That I am not being true to the practice or a good example for our community if I don’t take care of myself.

That I have been working radically hard, long hours, and I need a radical break.

While this idea has been hard to digest, it has certainly stuck with me.

A month off of teaching? A month for my own practice? A month for me?

I already knew my word for the year was going to be self-care. I knew the holidaze, a whirlwind trip to NYC, and Haramara were all coming up, and come the end of January I would be tired.

Still, the committee of critics in my head was busy:

You have to be at the studio or everything will fall apart.

Followed by the popular,

No one will care if you’re at the studio, in fact it might be better without you.

There were many reasons like these, all based in fear, smallness and ego.

It was perhaps these reasons that made it all the more clear that I needed to take time off. A month off.

And so… I will be taking the month of February off of teaching! I am excited. Elated, really. And so so thankful that I have the ability to do this.

I will be at the studio (probably more) soaking up the good love that our amazing instructors give so freely and skillfully. I will be posting updates on both blogs (the mild here, the spicy here). I will be taking it easy, lying around, and not feeling bad about it.

I never would have done this if it weren’t for Mary. And maybe you read this and know in your heart that you need a break… be it a month, a day, an afternoon. As she promised to do to me, I will hound you until you take care of yourself.

And all the reasons you say you can’t do it are just the reasons you need to.

Humble Pie

Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

Last night a woman/teacher/anatomist I respect greatly came to my class. When she came in I was answering questions and saying goodbyes to the class before. I saw her from the corner of my eye, but reassured myself that she was a figment of imagination… not there to take my class.

An oft-used measure of teacher worthiness is that you “know more than the students.” Last night this criterion was not met.

Teacher competence and aptitude have been a big consideration lately. With the Teacher Training starting next week, I find myself reflecting on these qualities in myself, in teachers I respect, in the teachers yet to be. Which skills can be taught? Which are actually more unlearned, hard-wired, gifted?

At the end of the day (or in this case, the end of the class), I make an effort to offer it all back out — what was said, what was unsaid, poses we got to, ones we didn’t get to, ways I surrendered the plan to The Plan. Last night this came through with a poem from Hadewijch, a woman from the thirteenth century:

All things
are too small
to hold me,
I am so vast

In the Infinite
I reach
for the Uncreated

I have
touched it,
it undoes me
wider than wide

Everything else
is too narrow

You know this well,
you who are also there

And with this the narrowness of my insecurity is too small to hold me. The separateness of “them” and “me” starts to dissolve.

You know this well, you who are also there.