What makes Kripalu Yoga special?

Why, I'm glad you asked.

I had a lot of answers to this question before doing yoga teacher training at Kripalu, based on 18 years of practicing in this lineage. I would have told you about sensations of meditation in motion, the gentleness of the practice, how it asks you to tune into your own body, and the mysteriously wonderful feeling after a practice or during savasana when integrating the class.

But now that I have gone through the teaching training, I have a whole new appreciation of what goes into making a Kripalu yoga class what it is, and a real understanding of why the training is so challenging.

I could go into a lot of technical things, but that would be of little interest to many, so will focus instead on the crux of the matter: it is all about compassion, for the self and for each other. What this means is: to become a Kripalu yoga teacher, to practice and lead with this level of compassion, and inspire it in your students, you need to find it for yourself.

So, whatever residual bits or chunks or say, I dunno, reservoirs, of self-hatred you have in you have to be somehow exorcised, because it turns out that the only way to be compassionate to someone else truly is to have it for yourself. The Bible says "love your neighbor as yourself" but if you don't love yourself, how the hell are you going to treat your neighbor? Probably not so well.

Yeah, so, this is the crux of what was challenging for me, and the reason I am so proud that I made it through the process. Whether it was through self-laceration or self-judgment, or in the middle of the training, practicing poses that injured me so that I had to stay still for a few days, I had to face up to all the ways I hurt myself...and find a way to stop.

Some people told me this kindly, some in ways I could not or would not hear or somehow seemed to boomerang and make it worse, but the fact remained: they were all right, whether conveyed skillfully or not. I had to get the monkey off my back.

And there was only one way to do that, also made clear by yoga philosophy: let go of the stories. All the stories. The stories we tell ourselves (I tell myself) about what we/I can or cannot do. The stories others told us when we were growing up or in school about what we could or could not do. The stories literally and figuratively inflicted on us, either through overt or covert abuse. Traumas big and small, complex or straightforward...that all leave traces, scars, engravings on our souls AND on our bodies.

The biggest story I was told from the gate, verbally and nonverbally was: you are weak, there is something wrong with you physically, you are somehow awkward, your eyes are weird, you are uncoordinated, and etc. Add to this verbal, physical, and sexual abuse and you have someone who is no fan of being in her own body, and if reminded - horrors - in a mirror - will flee, fight or freeze - it is so terrifying.

So, what brought all this up were the practice teach sessions, when I needed to allow others to observe me. I wrote in an earlier post about one of the worst episodes with this, but the fact is this happened to varying degrees no matter how skillful the mentor or viewer. I had to ask one of the assistants at our lunch "study hall" to write stuff down while I taught someone so I could get used to this without freaking out.

Now, before this I had directed plays and taught university classes with people watching me. I had defended my PhD in front of others (obviously). I have had my theater work loved and loathed by critics, but it was practice teaching yoga that nearly broke me.

Why?

Because I was having to be Embodied in front of others, AND help them to do the same WITH others watching. Given my personal history this felt and - even now typing these words even after a successful final practice teach that gave me great joy and led to certification - still feels terrifying. The only difference is now I have found tools to help me deal with the terror.

I don't know if attempting to teach another kind of yoga would have made me feel this way or not, but I damn sure know that teaching Kripalu yoga did, because it requires a level of compassion that leads to empowerment of the students, through specific languaging yes but also something more subtle. So that trying to do this meant all the voices and abusers came crashing down to contraindicate that ability.

The ancient voices did not win (see above in re my final practice teach) but they were and are Loud and Scary. Which means of course, I will sure as shit continue to teach yoga, because whatever happened at Kripalu the 26 days I was there, everyone I see now notices it. People comment on how I look, my posture and my bearing. As one friend said, it's like a whole lot of something fell off your shoulders.

And I have a feeling that just like with recovery, I'm going to have to give it away to keep it.

I also want to honor the teachers we had this past month, Jurian Hughes and Rudy Peirce, who  have to give of their hearts and souls to share this teaching with us, the coordinator Sachi, and all the assistants, Deb, Kathy, Michael and Kristin...and the other guest teachers...it does take a village to make a Kripalu Yoga teacher.

Finally, in honor of this, I share with you some yoga selfies I took in my kitchen today - yep, kitchen warrior poses. Virabhadrasana 1 & 3. Because, it's me, and to show you that indeed any Body can do yoga. Taking selfies does not come naturally to me. This took a battle with the aforementioned voices. But here they are. When I teach, I will invite people into this gentle, compassionate practice, whether you think you are a "yoga person" or not. If I can do it, so can you.

P.S. I turned 56 in June...so, this is 56.

Giving Thanks in Dark Times...

Apparently, the first official Thanksgiving was declared by President Lincoln during the Civil War.

Well...

Here we are. Thanksgiving in 2016 with the country probably more divided than it has been since then. I know there were other times when it was divided, and maybe those were worse. But it's pretty bad now. And I have never had the dubious privilege of living in stomach knot twisting fear of a President-Elect, as I am now.

Things that have come out these past few days include: a professor watch list where students can accuse their professors of having too much of a liberal bias. When I saw that at first, I laughed. Ever since then, though, I have had a stomach so full of knots it is literally eating itself. I am not joking. I am still writing, was able to do yoga finally, and am meditating, including breathing exercises. Some nights I can sleep and some nights I cannot.

This is Trump's America for me so far, even in one of the - if not the - most liberal borough of the most liberal city in America that voted against him by over 90% (that would be NYC - where he is from...let that sink in).

OK, so there's that, and many others have it far worse than me.

So what am I thankful for? The list is almost endless, but I'll do one anyway (and the order does not signify the importance):

1. The ability to write - even through this.
2. The fact that so far I have not self-destructed in ways I could easily do, but have not.
3. The love in my life, including my beloved Canadian, my mother, my friends - some of whom I will spend tomorrow with in the most diverse neighborhood in the US (Jackson Heights, Queens). One friend, Christian, I have known for over 30 years. We have seen each other through many phases of our lives and I will be delighted to spend Thanksgiving with him and his beloved, Ricardo, and a few of their other friends.
4. NYC
5. NYC
6. NYC and the people herein - overall the people with whom I relate the best and have been acting in heartbreakingly kind and generous ways with one another recently - and I trust will continue doing so. Sometimes there are assholes, but they are not the majority.
7. Kindness - when I see it and feel it.
8. Autumn leaves and the blue blue sky
9. The People's Republic of Inwood (my neighborhood)
10. Artists, writers, theater people, dancers, musicians...everyone who creates things in response to dark times, either as witness or to soothe or to imagine a different future...or simply to dream, or create delightful respite.
11. Paragraph writing studio and all those with whom I share my writing either in silence or at readings
12. Various FB groups in which I do same and the people in real life I have connected with who have given me faith in my writing and humanity in general.
13. National Novel Writing Month (now) that helps motivate me to write every day, and the fact I have done that this month: written every day.
14. New and old friends who have graced my year in so many lovely ways: Suzanne, Adam, Shawn, Christian, Suki, Wendy, Francelle, Julie, David, Marietta, James, Ilana, Aurvi, Carle, Peter, Susan, Sarah, Sharon, Russell, Jane, Pam, Maryan, Allan, Sauna, Kat, Alice, Nina, Andrew, Kate, Nathan, Spencer, Andrea, Veronica, Fran, Gina, Jenny, Ellen, Olivia, Leah, and others I'm sure I've forgotten...and those who have stayed close on FB even from afar, like Fi, Kirsten, Therese, Catherine, Sean, Bennett, Renee, Alison..
15. Scholarships to two very important writing conferences, which made it possible for me to attend what would have otherwise been impossible and the help people at those conferences gave me and friends I met there, too many to mention all...
16. The many people with whom I meet in various rooms to keep ourselves sane.
17. My students who remind me why I'm here...for real. These are some amazing young people, and maybe because I'm not a parent myself, I find in them such joy and love even. Hard to describe that alchemy, but while the pay is far too low, the rewards in this way are rich indeed. While our present may not seem too promising, I guarantee you, the kids are alright. Assuming we don't blow up the planet, they will be there to create something great once we fade away. Of this, I am certain. This is the source of my hope. If I wasn't teaching, I don't know how I would feel. So, I am grateful that I am. I am grateful I can use my skills as a writer and teacher to help them learn how to express themselves in the clearest, most elegant way possible. I do this, so you will listen to them, because their voices and ideas should be taken seriously.

And on that note, I will end. On a note of hope for the future, because God/dess knows we have at least four years of needing to try to withstand a storm that I can only hope we will withstand. My hope here is that many are awake to the need to keep our Constitution intact and I can only hope we won't be duped by a false crisis or goodness knows what. When I do not feel hopeful, I fall into fear and despair, and I cannot live there. Americans have a genius for hope. We are probably stupid with it in many ways, and the rest of the world - rightfully - looks at us most of the time like we are kind of nuts, but for all that, I do hope we can withstand the ultimate stress test that is upcoming of our country and how it was founded. Well, not ultimate, there was the Civil War, which I really hope we aren't going to end up in another one. But I mean stress test as in: can we get through this Without a Civil War. I pray and hope so. I also hope we can make it through without becoming a totalitarian capitalist state like China. These are my hopes.

I also hope that I will have the courage when needed to stand by not only my own beliefs, but also all of my friends - and strangers - who are in groups that are or may be targeted in ways large and small.

But for today, I give thanks to all of you out there who are willing to listen to all sides, who are tolerant and loving of everybody, including those with whom your disagree. I wish for our whole country (and I come from both sides of this political divide so I mean the Whole Country) a way to hear and listen and respect and love one another. I hope that all those who feel unseen, feel seen, those who feel silenced, find a voice (that is not filled with hate or that silences another), that we can reach across the borders and find a way forward.

This is my dream. This is my stupid-ass American hope.

I love you all. I really do. I am that weird.

Irene arrives...

Hi folks,

Just want everyone to know I'm still OK.  Irene has begun raining and blowing but is not scheduled to hit full force until the morning.  As in last post, I have supplies, etc.  Had friends over for dinner and a silly movie.  They have left to their place nearby.  So, it's a little scary but realistically, unless something really weird happens, I should be perfectly safe.

However, the tornado watch is a bit unnerving...On the bright side, the chance of branches hitting a 10th floor apartment are fairly minimal.  The only image I can conjure is of the Wicked Witch on her bicycle laughing at me about my little dog too!  But I don't have a dog, so phew.  My favorite (not) thing is the suggestion to stay away from rooms with windows, which in most apartments is almost impossible, like in this apartment unless I slept in the foyer.  I'll take a risk and sleep in a bed.

So hard to know if to be afraid, in awe, excited or just read a good book.  Probably I should be doing (d) read a good book rather than listening obsessively to various news shows as if that will help, like, anything, which of course it will not.

So, here's hoping I do that...meanwhile I'm going to evacuate my papers into the foyer, I guess, to give me the illusion of doing something helpful.

Oi.

Hoping after this that I can use the rainy-stay-inside day tomorrow to write.  Composition books at the ready, so electricity outage cannot deter me.  Only obsessive news listening (i.e., dumb ass illusion of control routine) can.

So, good luck everyone and wishing everyone safety, warmth and good stuff for this evening, especially on the East Coast, but of course everywhere else, too.

Irene, Irene who will you be?

So, here I am on the Upper West Side of NYC awaiting Irene.  Hurricane Irene, in case you live under a rock, or are in the middle of a war somewhere, like say Tripoli.  OK, but here, we have this hurricane.

Fact: NYC subway system will be shut down as of noon tomorrow.  That has Never happened before ever in the history of NYC ever, never.  Which makes one think: hmmmm.  This might be a really Big storm.  Or, perhaps Bloomberg doesn't want to see another Katrina in NYC.  But for whatever reason, there are evacuations, unprecedented and the mass transit system shut down.

As for me, I am in a non-evacuation zone, on a hill, on the 10th floor.  There is some back and forth about the wind 10 floors up and above, but I've decided to pretend that doesn't matter, because there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

What I do have, as suggested:

Flashlights (Brits: torches) with working batteries plus extra batteries

Radio that works with batteries

Old school phone that can work without electricity (learned that one during 9/11, when I had such a phone and was one of the only people who had a working phone as cell phone masts were destroyed)

Bottled water and water I'm putting in bottles so I don't have to pay for it.

Matches

Candles

Coffee that I have pre-ground (I learned that from being in SF earthquake in 1989 and electricity went out and all I had was coffee beans...so my then-partner and I were literally hammering beans to attempt to make them into shards we could then put in a filter to drink as coffee.  Yes, it was that sad...SO, this time, with warning, I have pre-ground the beans)

Friends coming over tomorrow evening for a hurricane dinner party and probable sleep-over, because if you're gonna have to listen to 80 per mile wind all night, it's more fun with friends.

Food - some perishable, some non-perishable - when shopping for this food, one guy ahead of me was staying with a friend and had bought himself some Fruity Pebbles.  His friend commented it was a small box, but he said well I'm not going to be with you for a week but the other guy said, yeah, but you can go through that in one night.  I asked him if this was his special hurricane food, and we laughed.  They had chips (crisps), Oreos, bottles of water and the aforementioned Fruity Pebbles.  These were guys in their 30s, I should add, not kids.  I confessed that my 6-pack of Diet Pepsi was 'hurricane food' - something I decided was OK because of bad weather...

Which leads me to the funny mix of fear and excitement that seems to be pervading the city.  There are people out of sorts and fighting for no reason (two over-dressed men at Food Emporium who decided to get macho over bumping carts in the aisle - this led me to leave said food store because the vibe was just weird), there is the Whole Foods, who, delightfully took 10% Off their bottled water, instead of jacking up the price.  Nice touch guys.  I also noticed that in general this store is not more expensive than regular grocery stores and was impressed with that.

I got my batteries and water and such at a dollar store so was not ripped off there either.  Also good.

So, we all seem to be like a bunch of kids with a snow day but no one is sure how scared to be or not be, and that includes me.  I'm glad to be somewhere that should be safe and out of range of any visible stuff on a terrace.  I offered shelter to friends who are in the lower lying areas but everyone has places to stay or has decided to wait it out.

And we'll see.  Right now it's hot and as humid as all get out, so am looking forward to the rain, but I'm sure after about say 3 hours of it, I'll be done and it won't stop apparently for about 10-12 more hours.  A lot of rain.

Before all this, I met the playwright Ştefan Peca, who wrote the play I raved about on this blog Nils' Fucked Up Day.  He is a very smart guy, as I suspected he would be and remarkably young.  I was astonished that he was only 29 and had written this play when he was 19.  But then again he was 7 when Ceauşescu was executed in Romania in his hometown.  He did not witness the execution, but his grandfather brought him to the spot where he was executed a few days later and showed him the blood that was still on the walls.

That must make an impression.

When I was 6, I remember my first step-father George, bringing me to see the remnants of a crashed car, to show me why driving fast was a bad idea.  A woman had been killed in the crash and I remember her white high-heel shoe in the car, with blood inside of it.  The sky was bright blue and there were seagulls in the air.

I still don't drive a car.

But tragically this did not lead to me writing brilliant plays by the time I was 19.

We discussed, Stefan and me, the various issues surrounding funding for the arts in our various countries, Romania, UK and US, comparing and contrasting the irrational ways in which all these structures work and bureaucracy versus commercialism in terms of which is more deadening to the arts.  We also talked about directing and writing and various things about NYC, the US, Romania and the UK.  A lovely coffee all round.  He will be working in NYC this coming year for the Romanian Cultural Institute, so that is good news for NYC.  Keep an eye out for his work, folks.  It's really good!

OK, it's time to log off and continue Storm Watch 2011...the excitement, the fear, the fun, the panic, the realization that it will probably All Be OK!

Stay safe everyone on the NE corridor tonight and sweet dreams to everyone else too...