Healing Comes From Letting There Be Room

People who know me and love me and view me with kind eyes would call me a control freak. I like things the way that I like things. When those things go awry, I lose my yoga cool, and I lose it fast. Perhaps because of this, years ago a beloved teacher recommended that I read When Things Fall Apart: Heartfelt Advice for Hard Times. Just a few pages into the book, Pema Chödrön had me hooked with the following:

“We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

When I read these words, I exhaled. I underlined, highlighted, and circled for emphasis. I wrote, “Yes!!!” in the margin. I dog-eared the page for good measure. Over the years, I have come back to this paragraph again and again.

The truth is that almost every hour of every day, I find myself in a situation where I’m thinking that the point really is to pass the test or overcome the problem—that if I could just become A, B, or C and then fix X, Y, and Z, everything will fall into place. And occasionally there are moments where it feels as if I have aced every test with flying colors and solved all of the problems with grace and wit and humility (ha!).

Sometimes these little glimmering moments of balance and joy are enough to convince us that we have the ability and wherewithal to stay in the phases of life in which things only come together and then remain perfectly balanced. We begin to grasp desperately at whatever has brought us joy while simultaneously worrying about what will happen when it’s gone. And just like that, these shiny spaces where things come together are lost. It’s nearly impossible to relish life’s sweet moments if we’re holding on to them for dear life.

Asana practice is a space where I’ve found that I can play with putting Chödrön’s words into action. As soon as I step onto my mat and begin to move, I can feel that my practice is informed by study and previous practice and the words and wisdom of many teachers. The control freak in me is ready to shine—to have a practice that is perfect and graceful and joyful. But sooner or later, reality sets in. My body feels tired or my heart feels heavy or my mind is all over the place or I can’t balance on one foot even though I did yesterday, and the day before, or the teacher is teaching that pose that I hate. In other words, things fall apart.

When things fall apart in the context of an asana practice, the stakes feel manageable. We know that each asana is temporary, and we begin to notice that unease in our hearts or heads or bodies is also temporary. We can practice relaxing any amount in poses and places that feel uncomfortable, scary, or even impossible. Within the context of the asana practice, we also witness how quickly things can come together—a song on a playlist becomes a game-changer, we get a moment of suspension in an arm balance, we find a moment of clarity in savasana, or a great insight arises in meditation.

Through watching the dance of things coming together and falling apart within just one practice, there’s an opportunity to become comfortable with a similar undoing and redoing in life off the yoga mat. The more we’re able to rehearse life’s ups and downs through asana, the easier it may be to take a step back and witness, without worrying about passing the test or solving the problem, the beautiful and inevitable fluctuation that is life itself.

May we make room for all of it to happen.

Building The Wall

To Whom it May Concern,

I rather think of myself as a master in masonry. I have been erecting walls (and other dividers) as far back as I can remember. My expertise knows no boundaries. I am well versed in any size, shape, or dimension. I am so skilled at this particular task, I can likewise give you respective alternatives for the edifice you seek. My favored selection: a facade (more on that to come).

Below is the optimal template for your benevolent divider. Preparatory to start, please consider the fact that there are a plethora of walls already in existence; is yet another divider really necessary?

Foundation

First we begin with Avidya (Ignorance, lack of spiritual knowledge). Not knowing yourself or your true identity is a very solid foundation for a strong structure. This ignorance will aid in the building of fabrications (for your facade. You will form many ideas about what you are or should be). People will yield great influence over you and help you form these thoughts and patterns. Time will solidify their imprint.

First layer

Asmita (ego, pride) will limit your consciousness and solidify your separateness from the world. As with all separateness conflict will arise. I suggest placing a mirror on the inside of the wall so you can focus on yourself. What better focal point than me, myself, and I (and others like me). In our state of Asmita, there will be a drive to please ourselves.

Second layer

Raga (attachment to pleasure) will follow. When we allow ourselves to be completely immersed in pleasure and the pursuit of it, we will do anything to keep out pain. We begin grasping for the things we desire.

Third layer

Dvesha (hate, dislike, enmity) comes next. Guarding our utopia will become of top priority—and anyone or anything that stands in our way will stimulate hate and more separation. Jealousy and intolerance will become close allies. Finally, we will encase our wall with Abhinevesha (fear of death, clinging to life). We will soon be convinced of the importance of these pleasures. We may even believe these to be the meaning of our existence, the reason we are here. We become fearful without our money, jobs, children, Things—we cease to exist. We believe this body, this actuality, is all there is. So we resist the end. Fear is the ultimate divider and creator of illusions. When used in concentrated forms one can actually control others to achieve their personal agendas.

Warning: The wall is limiting. The illusion of the wall will not last forever. This wall is a fabrication. Even as a master of construction, with all my years of expertise, I have yet to build a wall that keeps out the undesirables: pain, loss, disappointment—they still find their way inside. In my experience it is a futile effort. Perhaps learning to navigate life and all that it encompasses is a better solution. As you remove one brick (thought, habit) at a time without attachment, the impression begins to wane. I can tell you the process will leave you exhausted (at first) but some how hopeful—and seeking more. As light begins to trickle in, you realize the darkness cannot remain. You will begin to recognize yourself in the eyes of others. You will see similarities and sameness in lieu of differences. Love and steadiness will dismantle the wall.

We alone are the masons of our own lives. We are given a blueprint at birth, and it is our responsibility to sift through it. We all breathe, we all love, we all die. We all come from the same place. I am no expert here, but perhaps we return to it too.

The Best ‘Tude

Research has shown that cultivating a feeling of gratitude creates happier, healthier states of being. If you’re looking for a quick and effective way to generate more appreciation, begin incorporating gratitude practices throughout your day. You’re at your most receptive state of awareness at the end of a regular yoga practice, so why not set your timer for another two minutes and begin to think of people, situations, and events that easily evoke a feeling of gratitude? After reflecting on what you’re grateful for, notice how the energy of that gratitude feels in your body.

Throughout your day, when you find yourself stuck in negative thought patterns, take a moment to generate a list of what there is to be grateful for in your life. Continue with the list until you feel the energy of your body shift. For an added boost, find gratitude for challenging people and situations, and watch how masterfully you can shift your mental and physical state of being.

Love Is All There Is

Dear Yoga,

How long have we been at it, you and me? I’m not really sure. Let’s say forever.

I remember thinking how weird you were before we actually met. You looked kinda creepy. When we started hanging out together, the first thing I thought was “you are my future”. I was happy because it meant I could still go barefoot most of the day. I felt great whenever you were around. You were so exotic and sexy and so, so elusive. The perfect storm. Those were spectacular years.

We’ve had our rough times, too. I think I was trying to impress you, I wanted to do everything perfectly right. I used to feel guilty if I chose other friends over you. I was struggling to figure out who I was. It seemed important to know myself, which makes me laugh now, because these days all I want to do is lose myself…In YOU! I blamed you for my heartache, for all my aches. I thought of leaving you—you know I tried. I couldn’t understand what you were trying to tell me, even though you were saying it loud and clear: “LOVE IS ALL THERE IS”.

Now we’re always together. You make everything better. I’ve surrendered the struggle. Truthfully, I don’t know where I end and you begin. Crazy. How did I get so lucky to be loved by you? Is this sounding like a song? You’re the light at the end of the tunnel, you’re the horn in the fog, you’re the update to my energy field. Let’s go beyond the beyond.

The portal to infinity is the flicker of your kiss on my breath.

I love you.
Heidi

Aparigraha

It’s the week after Christmas, and I sit fireside in upstate New York with the 14-year-old Lab I helped raise from puppyhood. These days he’s generally halfway across the country with the ex-boyfriend, so stroking his white fur I mourn our impending separation. “Even in Kyoto … I long for Kyoto,” the 17th-century poet Basho wrote, nailing it then as now—and writing a pretty good primer for yoga study into the bargain.

The blues for being there is the stuff of aparigraha—the yogi’s pledge not to cling to the things and people we want, to what and who we shouldn’t want, to memory and calculation, to life and time itself. This fifth of the yamas, or restraints, is the toughest for me hands down. (“I could become attached to a box of hair,” a coworker once uttered, striking a funny indelible chord.) So it happens that I sit staring into a crackling fire alongside my beloved dog, lamenting not only losing him, but also Christmas, with its sparkle, its scents—even the carols, yo. (And this yogini is Jewish.)

Without a doubt, clinging plays out interestingly, nowhere more than in our practice. Triangle: Bring it on. Revolved triangle: Time to go to the bathroom. Just do the poses you like and you’re in trouble, though. The “bits and bobs,” to quote Colleen, wind up overstretched and underutilized.

But when you turn poses like triangle and revolved triangle on their ear—when you parivritta them, in asana speak—you balance the openness of hips and groin through attentive use of your outer hips, buttocks, and thighs. Asana, like life, has a way of insisting we engage in the full catastrophe in order to reap homeostasis, not to mention samadhi.

The same is true of yoga philosophy. Aparigraha becomes possible when you put forth intense, loving effort fueled by strong surrender underpinned by right living—in short, by hewing to the eight-limbed path. So you do it. A lot. Regularly. That’s the practice. It’s never been about feeling good always.

Back to my cozy Christmas for a moment, please. When those coveted days with doggie got cut short by a death in my extended family, the object of my gaze shifted from things I glowingly adore to a sweet old man in a coffin—the perfect windup to a story of aparigraha. Death is where we’re all headed, we know academically. But abhinivesha—clinging to life—prevails even among the highest beings. What we fear will be taken from us we must share.

So if parigraha, or clinging, boils down to the “I, me, mine” lyricized by the great yogi George Harrison, a-parigraha, the restraint against it, is ultimately the embracing of us all. It is the practice of engendering love and compassion for the full, gorgeous catastrophe of existence.

Because the one with the most marbles ultimately loses anyway, yo. And we all win by grasping kaivalya, liberation, with open palms, the only way it will be held.

Groundwork

It’s the New Year. 2017 C.E., the Year of the Rooster, the Year of the Sun, the dawning of a new epoch in American politics… The coming of the New Year could already mean a lot of things to you. Often times, the weeks leading up to year’s end can be a heavy mix of reunions, celebrations, and deep periods of reflection. Aspects of your life—habits, patterns, relationship dynamics—that you may have been ignoring or glossing over for the better part of the year come into focus, and the realizations can be harsh. There’s something about “The New Year” that glimmers like a portal. Once we have passed through, we will surely emerge reborn, resolved to become “better” in this way or that. We will clean up the ugly messes we realized we were making back in December.

And, it is something like that. January really can be a time to reset. It’s still the middle of winter, but we’ve gotten used to the cold. The days are getting a little longer, but there’s still the feeling that R&R is being encouraged by the cosmic clock. January is kind of like a good setup for a restorative pose; using all the bolsters, blankets and straps you can get your hands on, moving slowly and with care. It’s a time to design the pattern that will frame and support your life in the coming year, and it’s important to do it thoughtfully. Unfold the blanket completely so you’re not folding hidden creases into your shape, and right away, adjust the bolster until it sits just right, rather than brushing it off until it’s driving you crazy. Choosing to approach your resolutions right away, gently, knowing that at first it may all be awkward and effortful, will set the stage for an easier entry, and with time the edges will soften. Satisfactory preparation will offend self-judgement and criticism in the long run.

A teacher of mine said in her class recently: your body isn’t your temple. If it were, you’d only ever be there for ceremonies and there wouldn’t be room for the wilder, messier, less-than-holy journeys and experiences of life. Your body is more like your house. In our bodies, we live. We make messes, we survey the damage, and we spend a few days (or weeks, or months, or years!!) cleaning those messes up. This month, start cleaning out the basement. Decide to be still with the discomfort that so often precedes a habitual way of dealing with things, and see what arises in that stillness. The seasonal rhythm of the Earth is on your side now. So slow down. Take time to reflect, restore, and make room for new patterns to take shape.

Reflections of Winter

Winter is a time when nature loses its fall colors and exposes the bones and highlights the roots. It is a time for hibernation and deep sleep and a different use of energy. The sun rises late and sets early. We are part of this great cycle of seasons and change and for us to deny it puts us in a state of isolation, confusion, and exhaustion. Consider the world before electric lights – as humans we had time before sleep that was filled with reflection, quiet time, intimate family and village interactions, and listening to our inner voices and our breath and body. These relationships within our inner realms substantiated an orientation and a foundation.

What serves this role in our present day lives? Does our cell phone and all of its communication apps serve as our new earth? My five senses desire full usage and with the present technology my senses feel starved and much of my connectivity is shut down.

In comes Modern Yoga to save the day? Take off your shoes. Let the body take on every possible shape. Revitalize your sense of touch. Become aware of your breathing and be conscious of smelling the nuances of the moment. Eyes, ears, and even tongue wake up when the mind is honed to return to the present. Being this awake and vital relies on training the mind in meditation and on resting and balancing the body through asana.

As winter reminds us every year to change our focus to our inner world, let’s take note and get to our mats for restorative poses, pranayama, and sitting meditation. Set up for a different season. Take out those winter jackets and the snow boots but also get a new book, dust off your meditation cushion, and set up your props for your favorite restorative pose.

Om Shanti,
Rodney

6 Steps to Peace

Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without. — Buddha

You know that feeling — where the world around us may seem at times to be whirling out of control. It feels like too much or not enough. The earth quakes as we walk, and the path feels muddied. In those moments we may wait for something divine or someone objective to tell us or give us something to regain control. But, at its heart, the path to freedom from chaos is ours and only ours. It is through conscious choices that we can create our own path to joy, happiness, and peace.

In the moments where I feel myself enduring, resisting, or seeking answers to questions I didn’t even know I had, there are practices I come back to. Each time I am amazed by their resonance.

Accept what is

There is only so much we can affect. And therefore we must know the boundaries between what we can and cannot change. Accepting is the path to letting go of our mountain of stress and anxiety. It is, in many ways, the most simple of exercises to do, like tadasana. Standing in tadasana, or mountain pose, I center myself, feeling the strength and structure of a mountain, but accepting the volatility of the elements. I consider that thing that I cannot do or control, and I “shrug” — I literally shrug, and the weight I carry lifts off my shoulders.

Practice yoga

Asana helps me reconnect with my body and quiet mental chatter. How many times have you stepped onto your yoga mat thinking you’re not going to be able to get through your first five minutes of practice, only to arise from savasana with a sense of lightness and a brand new perspective? When we focus our mind on the physical practice of asana, the intensity of mental distractions is greatly diminished. In our practice we have an opportunity to replace all the noise with the silence of integrating our body and mind.

The quieting influence of asana is deepened when we link our postures or movements to our breath. When movement and breath are coordinated, distracting thoughts become less intrusive.

As an exercise in mindfulness, the next time you walk, try to coordinate every step you take with every breath. On an inhalation, you take one step, and on an exhalation you take another. Walk/breathe as fast or as slow as you want. For greater benefit and enjoyment, try it in a park.

Meditate

Maintaining a meditation practice will change your life. Our minds are filled with thoughts pulling us in all directions, oftentimes opposing. We are so burdened by our own thoughts that we often find ourselves incapacitated. When I have a lot on my mind, I give myself space to close my eyes and clear my mind completely. What’s most important will eventually surface, while the rest will just float away. Try it — you might be surprised at how a few minutes each day will help you find greater peace.

Spend time in nature

Spend time in a park or by the water. Observe a tree in its imposing stillness, while a breeze blows through its leaves. Even in the dead of winter you can walk outside and find truth and life if you just wait for it, and watch. In summer, sit yourself under a big tree and spend some time observing your breath and absorbing the earth’s pulse beneath you.

Smile

Mother Theresa said, “Peace begins with a smile.” The fact is that whenever we smile or laugh, we are free from stress and negativity. Tension or softness in our facial expressions is connected to tension or softness in our nervous system. A student I know walks everywhere with a smile on her face. One time I saw her walking alone down street towards class with the biggest smile on her face. Later she told me that smiling is a practice she cultivates every day. Not only does she feel happier when she smiles, but she inspires me (and I’m sure others) to feel the same. Smiling is contagious.

Appreciate life and those in it

We can’t find peace if we spend our lives consumed by our own problems and needs. An act of kindness towards others, whether a friend or a stranger, only helps cement our own sense of inner peace. I once heard a teacher say that when he found himself consumed by self-involvement, he would ask the question, “How can I be of service?” This simple exercise takes us right out of ourselves and broadens our own perspective on life. There is a great sense of peace and purpose when we care about other people instead of focusing only on our own world.

In every spiritual tradition it is believed that peace must exist in one’s own heart before it can exist in the outer world. I think each of us has a great responsibility in contributing to that, starting with ourselves.

Savasana

Once upon a time, I went to a party. There were a lot of other yogis in attendance, and after a good amount of apple cider and vegan carrot cake, merriment was at a high point. Someone asked, “What’s the hardest pose?,” and the challenge was on: One by one, the yogis proceeded to demonstrate their definitive answers, showing off really hard stuff — visvamitrasana, vatayasana, and mukta hasta sirsanana. (Look, Ma! No hands!)

Biding my time, I waited until the shenanigans had peaked, and then made my move. Ceremoniously, I lay down, feet a little apart, arms a few inches from my sides with my palms upturned, chin gently regarding my chest, ears equidistant to each other. Within me, I beheld my breath, and let my muscles fall away from my bones. As a finale, I disappeared completely. Well, so to speak. Recognizing a slam-dunk, the enlightened company at once exclaimed, “Savasana! Of course! The hardest pose of them all!” I rest my case.

As I write this, I am in England with my family. Too soon to coin it “recently,” my father passed away on October 11th. Safe to say, he has reached his final rest.

Today I wandered out on the Downs and lay in the grass. I arranged myself as comfortably as I could, including all of the asymmetry in my body, my mind, and my heart. I scanned from head to toe, looking for something other than the natural lop-sidedness of things. I was searching for a sense of evenness, or sama — a Sanskrit word that essentially means “same,” or “equal.” Since everything is marked by impermanence, and moment-to-moment the world spins, what is it that remains the same?

Savasana offers us a glimpse of an unperturbed place — in Rumi’s words, “Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing” — where we may subtly perceive the deep mystery of our being. We realize the miracle of our existence — a state of grace, actually. Lying on the earth under the sky, nothing added, nothing taken away. There is no more practice, no one to practice. You have arrived. You are the practice.

Still lying in savasana, I opened my eyes. Just above, a swarm of late-fall fruit flies circled my head, vying with each other for my attention. I pursed my lips and blew a long, reluctant exhale toward them. My breath, becoming one with the wind, dispersed the flies. I had a vision of being dead, and coming back to life.

Savasana, or mrtasana (mrt meaning “death”), also known as “corpse pose,” ultimately presents us with a chance to rehearse for our last curtain call, only without the drama. I think of words by the poet Shi Te, “Not going, not coming, rooted, deep and still.” This equanimity is savasana.

So savasana has everything to do with preparing us for death, yet it’s equally a powerful prescription for life. The pose promotes relaxation for mind and body, helps to alleviate anxiety, depression, and stress, and cultivates peace and calm, or, at the very least, acceptance. While the pose can help reduce fatigue and insomnia, it has nothing to do with taking a nap or zoning out after an exhilarating asana practice. If you do fall asleep, no need to berate yourself, just try to have an early night. But so you don’t miss the whole show, resolve to roll your mat out again in the morning.

Savasana occurs in that gap between coming and going. Richard Freeman says this gap is where “observed content is released and dropped.” In Buddhist terms, it’s shunyata — the awareness that all things are intrinsically empty. It’s reached when one is not attending to any themes. The paradox is that savasana, for many, is anything but empty; instead it’s filled with a sense of what B.K.S. Iyengar described as “illuminated emancipation, freedom, unalloyed and untainted bliss.” There’s room for it all in savasana.

But what if you aren’t one of the lucky ones who just plop themselves down in savasana and feel instantly at home? Trust me, I know where you’re coming from: I witnessed the catastrophic events of 9/11 firsthand while standing in the WTC Plaza with my infant daughter in a stroller. I was shaken and stirred to my core. But I continued to get on my mat — continued to lean in and take a closer look. For an entire year post-9/11, I practiced savasana with my eyes open. Sometimes I had to just sit up. An unexamined life, it is said, is not worth living. Sometimes that examination takes place with gritted teeth and blurred vision. Rumi, again: “When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.”

Anyway, you begin to see why savasana might be the hardest pose, don’t you? I mean, who in their right mind is going to voluntarily lie down on the ground, belly-up, heart exposed, eyes closed, in a room full of strangers, and hang out with absolutely everything and nothing? The physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual challenge of savasana is immense. As a yoga teacher, watching my students in savasana is humbling. It’s an honor to witness the human condition — vulnerability and valor side-by-side.

Savasana is generally suitable for everyone, though one size doesn’t fit all. Practice according to time, place, and circumstance. Try to position your body so that it feels balanced, neutral. Let the earth hold your weight, and simply notice that you’re breathing. No need to reach for anything, or push anything aside. Let the tongue rest on the bottom of your mouth, as though it, too, were in savasana. Relinquish the desire to speak, to see, to hear. Let your hands serve the sky, and your feet serve the earth. Relinquish the energy of your arms and legs. (You can place a bolster on the tops of your thighs to help with this, or under your knees, if you experience any discomfort in your back.) If you’re pregnant, elevate your head and torso. If you’re sad, keep your eyes open and your gaze gentle. If you’re scared, make sure you’re covered with a blanket, or near a wall.

Whatever you do, remember to practice for all sentient beings. Don’t be afraid to let anything that’s holding you back from truly living, die. Realize that (in Rumi’s words) “ideas, language, even the phrase each other, doesn’t make any sense.”

The Power of Vulnerability

Boo! This October, we’re inquiring into what scares you? What makes you feel vulnerable?

Although we may not like the feeling of being exposed for having weaknesses, it is often the cracks of vulnerability that allow others to fall in love with us. Perhaps strengths and weaknesses, courage and vulnerability are all entwined in the very core of our humanity.

Lena Dunham says, “It’s interesting how we often can’t see the ways in which we are being strong – like, you can’t be aware of what you’re doing that’s tough and brave at the time that you’re doing it because if you knew that it was brave, then you’d be scared.”

To expose some raw flaws (and inspire you to do the same), we’ve asked our teachers to share some lessons from their least favorite poses.

Maggan Daileader has some awesome insights into how to approach your most difficult postures. “Gomukhasana and I have never been friends, but I hope to be one day. In researching the pose, I found that 85%+ of write-ups concentrate on stubborn shoulders. Since this is not my problem, I had to dig a bit further to figure out why my legs and hips won’t cooperate to my ego’s content.

“Short answer: I have trouble with a simultaneous adduction and external rotation of the legs; sitting on a block alleviates some of this difficulty.

“Long answer: What is the actual pose? In most all cases the pictures of this pose shows a person sitting on the floor with knees stacked and the ankles on either side of the opposite thigh with the toes pointing out to the sides or even forwards. However, in Light on Yoga, Iyengar demonstrates the pose by sitting on his bottom ankle thereby lifting his seat (much like what is accomplished by using a block) and pointing his toes toward the back. With respect to the arms, many pictures demonstrate a matching top leg and lifted top arm, but there are plenty of examples of having the opposite arm lifted from the leg that rests on top. In LoY, Iyengar demonstrates using the opposite arm on top from the leg that rests on top of the other. Finally, this pose has often been demonstrated to me with a forward bend, however in LoY the instruction is to remain upright. There are typically many ways to vary one pose in order to illuminate different elements of the pose. However, for me, gomukhasana was another example of where:

I was trying to “follow” what I had seen rather than researching why it was so difficult;
I didn’t ask whether what I “saw” was really the intended pose to begin with; and
I didn’t investigate if there variations of the pose that may have been more accessible.

“Gomukhasana now serves as a good reminder to myself for all three of these blind spots.”

Chrissy Carter says, “Believe it or not, the hardest pose for me is Virabhadrasana 2. It’s a relatively simple posture in comparison to so many others, but if there’s one thing that yoga has taught me it’s that just because something is simple doesn’t mean it’s easy. I suspect there’s a structural source to my difficulty in this pose — something skeletal in my hip joints which makes the combination of external rotation, flexion, and abduction challenging for my body. But there are functional obstacles as well, namely weak abductors and external rotators and tiiiiiiiiight inner thighs. Like any challenge, Virabhadrasana 2 has taught me a lot, and like any devoted practice, it has revealed more and more of my own personal truth. I now practice this pose in a way that gives me a chance to perceive the big picture. I don’t bent my front knee to 90 degrees; I try to focus more on pulling up than on how far I can go down. I’m diligent about my back leg — that it doesn’t collapse into gravity or cave into the efforts of my front leg. All in all, I’m still not a big fan of Vira 2 but I’m learning to accept what is and work honestly what what I can do. Besides, that’s what the practice is really about.”

Terri Walker says, “My behemoth pose is Parivrtta Trikonasana. The lesson I learn from it every time I do it, is practice it more. This is the pose that telescopes every bind in my body and mind. I must take Parivrtta Trikonasana’s power into myself and not resist it’s teachings. Stand firm in my feet, be long in my “still “ walking-posed legs and tap into the potential energy there. Find balance in my hips, change directions in my torso, soar with my arms, look up with my gaze. Smile! Love myself more, accept the moment, and resist looking for physical, mental, and emotional scapegoats.”

Julie Ross says, “When I practice difficult poses I realize that I am over-working areas that are already strong and underutilizing muscles that are weak or tight. I’ve also noticed that I have my own mental resistance at play. Alas, I have to make peace with the poses that are troublesome to me instead of letting them frustrate me. Sometimes, these difficult poses are just what my body needs to address my physical imbalances. The poses that are the most irksome, can be our greatest teachers. I can’t avoid them, I just need to work through the difficulty, which in turn, builds my confidence. I parlay this nugget of wisdom from the mat into the real world. For me, yoga is a means by which I try to befriend myself and come to a place of self-acceptance, instead of trying to control outcomes to perfection. It’s empowering!”

Now, we want you to join the inquiry! Let your teachers know your least favorite poses, and see what insights they might have for you. Follow us on Instagram to catch your favorite Shanti teachers in their least favorite poses, and little mini Shanti Sequences they do to help them prepare. Share a photo of your least favorite pose with the #AsanaNemesis, and you enter to win a free private lesson at YSNY to help you work on your asana nemesis. The winner will be announced on Halloween.