Vinyasas...and how to enjoy practicing |
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‘When performed with intelligence...’, I’ve just written. What do I mean? Well—the first thing to say is that the understanding of vinyasas as a ‘traditional’ aspect of the practice is shrouded in confusion. These days, it tends to be said that the ‘traditional’ method requires a fixed number of dozens of vinyasas in the seated postures of the primary series, the series that most of us spend most of our time practicing. In fact, testimony from some of the first Western students of Ashtanga, describing their experience of learning the system in the 1970s and 1980s, tells us that in those days there many fewer vinyasas in the primary series. Not only were vinyasas notperformed between the two sides of postures like Janusirsasana, it was the case that vinyasas were only practiced between groups of postures. So: one vinyasa between the Janusirsasana series and the Marichyasana series, and none at all between the postures of these series!
What does this tell us?
Secondly, it tells us that the idea of tradition in Ashtanga is a myth, at least if by ‘tradition’ we mean a certain form and sequence that is supposed to have existed unchanged for generations (and, in some accounts, for centuries). Actually, the form of the practice has constantly been changing and developing, and several postures now routinely practiced as part of primary series were not originally there at all. My own theory is that the increasing popularity of Ashtanga, and the growing number of visitors to his school in Mysore, meant that K. Pattabhi Jois added extra vinyasas in order to give students something to do when he couldn’t give them the intensive individual attention that is supposed to be a feature of Mysore self-practice.
To develop an awareness of what you are trying to achieve, and to practice knowing how to achieve it, is the goal of the Ashtanga Yoga Investigations series of classes. And if it seems from what I’ve written above that this first class in the series will feature only one or two vinyasas... well, that’s not the case! But be warned—the ability to practice vinyasa with awareness and enjoyment starts with planks and chaturanga dandasana... and there will be lots of those!
Ashtanga Yoga Investigations is a series of masterclasses devoted to different aspects of the Ashtanga practice, particularly in relation to ‘Mysore’ self-practice, though the classes will be useful for everyone. Each session will feature a little history and theory as well as practical instruction, and all sessions will finish with a discussion of how to integrate what you’ve learned into your individual practice.
Following the first session this Friday (22 November), the next session in January will be devoted to the practice as a ‘moving mediation’, and will deal with how to create and enjoy an ‘internal’ and focussed quality in your Ashtanga practice.
Alan O'Leary
Alan O’Leary is Professor of Film and Cultural Studies at University of Leeds.
He has been practicing Ashtanga Yoga for twenty years and trained as a teacher with Brian Cooper of Union Yoga. He has studied with many respected teachers, including Lino Miele, Richard Freeman, John Scott and Joey Miles and he visited Mysore in 2003 to study with the late Pattabhi Jois, the founder of the Ashtanga Vinyasa system. He is currently teaching Mysore classes in Aarhus at Ashtanga Yoga Shala while Marie is on maternity leave.
Rather than diving into a monologue, I thought I’d invite you to write a blog post with me where you can add an additional voice (from the position of another gender) on these important subjects. Together we can think about the article and the issues it deals with. Also, we have had fun with this format in the past when we jointly shared our experiences of a Richard Freeman intensive in London in 2012. See post here. I would like to keep the conversation as an informal ‘ping-pong’ where we can respond to each other’s comments and allow the conversation to develop and change direction. I hope you will join me.
What does the use of the greeting ‘Namaste’ at the end of a yoga practice or the invocation (the chant) at the beginning of an Ashtanga/mysore practice mean to you?
Alan: Thanks for the invitation, Marie. Rumya Putcha’s article was very interesting: astute and challenging and with a very telling choice of illustrations, and it does resonate with the conversations we have been having for a while about the role of ritual and language(s) around the practice, and things like the ‘interior design’ of yoga spaces.
In answering your question, I will leave aside for the moment issues of cultural appropriation and orientalism (stereotypical representations of the East) that Putcha addresses, and try to treat sympathetically the rituals of yoga spaces, which have been predominantly female spaces in my experience. As a man, I have often felt like something of an interloper or a guest in such spaces, and it isn’t appropriate to jeer at the habits of one’s hosts! So I have always tried to chant along, to return the ‘namaste’, and to listen politely, even as I impatiently waited to stretch, while the teacher jabbed at a harmonium (!) or dilated on the day’s lessons for our spiritual well-being… But, yes, I admit to finding much of this stuff absurd.
Partly, my impatience has to do with a typically masculine appeal to ‘facts’ (of which I am ashamed). The Ashtanga opening chant, for example, is part of a discourse that insists on the direct relationship of modern postural practice to classical yoga teaching and especially the writings of Patanjali, author of the Yogasūtras. Scholarship has demonstrated this relationship to be a myth (see especially the book Yoga Body, by Mark Singleton), and shown how the postural ‘yoga’ we practice (and love) draws from a variety of traditions, from ‘esoteric dance’ to British military gymnastics as well as from the limited posture component of Indian Hatha traditions. The assertions made about the spirituality of the practice seem to me, in the light of this scholarship, to be incoherent and I don’t see why we should be forced to imbibe a garbled version of Indian religious philosophy at the same time as we try to build our core strength...
Alan: Touché! I certainly don’t mean to play the dualist in this duel! It’s rather that I don’t recognise that there is a necessary or inevitable relationship between postural practice and a greatest hits selection of Indian philosophy. Try this as an experiment: the next time, instead of the Ashtanga chant - which refers not altogether accessibly to the elimination of the delusion caused by the poisonous herb of Samsara - try to begin the practice with the Lord’s Prayer. (After all, if the Ashtanga practice also derives from the Christian tradition of British military gymnastics, why not?) If you practice fervently in the light of the words, ‘your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven’, I think you will find your awareness enriched and posture practice deepened as you attempt to embody divine will in your movements on the mat.
I mean that suggestion both sincerely and satirically. Sincerely, because the attempt to practice according to an uplifting phrase lends focus and resilience and the sense of higher purpose that is a key component of stamina. Satirically, because I think it doesn’t matter what the content of that uplifting phrase might be! The Ashtanga chant, the Lord’s Prayer, the words of a Talking Heads song (I often hum ‘I’m still waiting, I’m still waiting…’ to myself as I fail to catch my toes in Kapotansana - it gifts me a profound sense of acceptance). Of course, the opening Ashtanga chant does ‘seal’ the space - it signals that we should forget our woes, worries and the world to engage in a focussed activity. Maybe the challenge should be to develop some non-denominational short discourse to open a lesson and to perform a similar ‘sealing’ of the space and activity, and to honour the teachers that have handed on the practice as the Ashtanga chant does, in its noble but cryptic text. (Or, if that sounds naff, maybe not! Maybe sitting quietly is enough!)
I would also like to interrogate the term ‘spirituality’. I personally dislike this term as it has come to mean so many different things and I am not even sure anymore if it is the right word to use to explain what I experience or ‘look for’ in my practice and teaching. I suppose it has religious connotation which is perhaps why it doesn’t sit right with me. Stuart Ray Sarbacker describes well, in his article ‘Reclaiming the Spirit through the Body: The Nascent Spirituality of Modern Postural Yoga’, what he call the ‘physical-spiritual dynamics’ that ‘“bridges the gap” between body and mind and spirit’ (p. 102). I know from my own postural practice that challenging myself through the depth of the postures has had an impact on my perception of myself. I remember getting into Supta Kurmasana for the first time and thinking to myself (while trying to breath) that I could not understand how my body was able to do that. When I teach now and help someone to bind in Marychasana C for the first time I can see they experience something similar: ‘I never believed my body could do this.’ It may not be a ‘spiritual’ experience but I do believe that the experience of your body moving in a direction you could never have imagined opens your mind to other things you could not have imagined: like speaking in public or taking on a new job.
Marie: And may I add here my discomfort of practicing – and indeed chanting – in front of a photograph of the late Pattabhi Jois who as we know has recently been accused of sexual misconduct (see this article by Matthew Remski, Yoga’s Culture of Sexual Abuse).
Marie: I agree that the subject of sexual violence in the yoga community is beyond the scope of what we’re trying to do for this post; it just felt necessary to mention my own unease at Jois’ photo where I practice and teach. I don’t feel comfortable making connections between sexual abuse and firmness of adjustments so I won’t comment further on this. But I agree it’s a fine line when assisting someone in Yoganidrasana (folding both legs behind your head while lying on your back) to avoid touching inappropriately. I was left completely aghast with the scope of the allegations of sexual abuse in the yoga world when I read Remski’s article. I was not aware of the extent this was happening. I had the same reaction when I read this article as when the #MeToo campaign erupted: ‘I’m so glad nothing ever happened to me’ until I let my mind wonder and suddenly remembered a few episodes of being unsure of a (male) teacher’s intentions with an adjustment or even just making sure never to be alone with one particular teacher. Nothing where I could ever put a finger on a specific assault but just a culture where certain behaviour is acceptable.
But I want to return to the article by Putcha, which as I say, I found very astute and powerful. I think it identifies very well how seemingly ‘innocent’ and positive activities are implicated in the reproduction of social and racial hierarchies (and in this case, ideologies and practices of white supremacy). But I think it needs to be acknowledged that white women are regularly made the scapegoats of an inability to conceptualise structural racism. If you can’t think through the systemic aspects of racism in our world (and it is difficult to think in terms of structure and system), then it’s all too easy to demonize individuals, especially those who belong to a category also subject to systemic abuse - white women in this case. (We have been reminded by recent events, to do with the election of a certain beer-loving justice to the US supreme court, that even very privileged white women are routinely attacked and dismissed.) Putcha’s blog doesn’t avoid this kind of scapegoating, it seems to me, and it’s revealing that she appeals to the opinions of two male white yoga practitioners to support her argument.
Of course, it’s not for me, another male white to adjudicate! The default deference to male ‘authority’ - teacher, guru, boss, supreme court justice… - is the source of the problem not the solution…
Marie: You say above that yoga is (or has become) women’s territory. Putcha, I think, asserts this in her article. Is it because yoga is seen as ‘women’s work’ that it is acceptable to doubt its importance and value (it is a well known issue that jobs, like nursing and primary school teaching, associated with woman have low status and are not well paid)? A comment made after the article by someone calling themselves ‘projectrevo’ reads: ‘Yoga is not a career and it certainly isn’t something to profit from. Ironically something you learn from practicing yoga itself lol, which white women always overlook’. I think this comment illustrates my point. As you mention above, Alan, Putcha invokes the opinions of male (white) teachers to underpin her argument. I am myself guilty of this. How often do I read, quote or refer to female role models in yoga? Practically never. You and I come from a tradition of many male teachers (most of the big names in Ashtanga Yoga are male) so being a woman teaching Ashtanga Yoga feels important.
Marie: Yes, but would the achievement of that noble ideal (which I support!) solve the problem of appropriation and of the complicity of yoga in the West in sustaining what Putcha calls white supremacy? Personally, I am embarrassed to say that it never occured to me that I was appropriating a culture by teaching yoga with the use of Sanskrit names or Indian gestures. So Putcha’s article hit a nerve with me and made me reconsider all sorts of rituals I exercise and ideas I have about my yoga teaching and practicing. I stopped using ‘Namaste’ altogether some time ago, it felt really odd and out of place in the contexts I was teaching. After reading Putcha’s article it has become clearer for me why I felt like that. The Danish people I began teaching in 2017, many of them new to yoga, were clearly coming to yoga classes for the benefits that you mention above, like physical health and also de-stressing, so using Indian terminology felt inappropriate. However, I do think it is valuable and just to acknowledge and pay tribute to the Indian origins of the practice. What is a good way to do this without appropriating another culture? I still place my hands together in front of my heart at the end of every class and invite my students to do the same. This gesture is very ‘un-Danish’ and borders ‘exoticism’ but I have yet to find another simple way to express gratitude and respect without words. It’s true that I don’t chant before teaching a led class, but I do when I teach Mysore self-practice; unlike you, Alan, I find the ritual of joining together with voices marks the beginning of a shared journey as we set off on a practice on our individual mats.
I want to finish though by returning to the question of orientalism and exoticism. You have used the latter word just now in an apologetic way, but let me repeat that I think what you have said above about the power of otherness is a really important point. The encounter with the exotic is a way to challenge and change oneself and to imagine a different world precisely in the practice of oneself. As Victor Segalen wrote many years ago: ‘Exoticism’s power is nothing other than the ability to conceive otherwise.’ So I would distinguish the exotic from the orientalist, which is instead a way of normalizing power inequalities and exploitation.
Orientalism is a set of stereotypical representations and ideas about the East. I think one of these orientalist stereotypes is partly responsible for the culture of tolerance of sexual assault in yoga that is belatedly being publicly named and denounced. I have in mind the way that India is seen in the West to be historically ‘behind’ us - to be somehow located in a more spiritual/mystical moment in the past (what is known as the ‘denial of coevalness’). Perhaps, as a result of this stereotype, a person like Pattabhi Jois was not held to the same ethical standards as a ‘Western’ teacher - as if a ‘backward Oriental’ couldn’t be held responsible for his behaviour?
My closing questions would be as follows. Are (a) the tolerance of sexual assault and (b) the appropriation of the picturesque elements of Indian culture for the purposes of adorning whiteness part of the same phenomenon? Do they both rely on an idea of India as non-modern and non-contemporary to us? And to what extent does this stereotypical orientalist perception underpin the assumptions and practices of white supremacy that Putcha so effectively denounces? How can we pay tribute to the Indian roots of postural yoga while acknowledging the hybridity of those origins and emphasising their innovatory and modern character?
As I sat down to write I realised there were several points I want to think about:
- Do we perceive someone in the Ashtanga Yoga practice doing third series as ‘better at yoga’ than someone in the beginning of primary series? And if so, to what extend does the progression of the series of Ashtanga Yoga contribute to a (potentially) hierarchical notion of the practice?
- What effect has the #MeToo campaign had on our relationship with teachers/gurus. What do we mean when we use these terms 'teachers/gurus'? What do we expect from them?
- (In light of the point above) What is my position as a teacher? How do I deal with my own ambivalence of – on one hand – wanting to be indispensable in the teaching space and having authority and – on the other hand – being more interested in facilitating a safe space for practitioners to ‘work things out’ and to cultivate process and playfulness?
What are (verbal and physical) adjustments for and what do they mean for the student/teacher relationship?
… and see which direction it will take me.
The ‘figuring out what is right’ is a dynamic process of listening and responding where the touch which occurs in a hands-on adjustment brings awareness to the area of contact. The touch is delivered in a way (although resolute and clear) where it listens and responds to the student’s reaction. Rather than being an instruction that has a goal orientated one-directional push/pull the direction is negotiated in the interaction between the practitioner and the facilitator. Similarly, verbal instruction are an invitation for the student to feel, see or experience the body in a new way by directing her attention to an area of the body by using a language that opens the experience. This might be using words suggestively by saying ‘imagine your fingertips lengthening towards the sky’ rather than commanding ‘stretch your arm’, the latter prompting a fixed outcome and not a dynamic movement. Both types of feedback (physical and verbal) are means to assist the student in figuring out how to understand the body in the posture, how to deepen/relieve it and perhaps even resolve injury/pain. The new experience of the body or embodied understanding that the student achieves happens in the relationship between student and teacher as a result of the way the touch and/or instruction is delivered and received. In this way the student/teacher relationship moves away from ‘the teacher always knows what’s right/good for me’ to become a more organic process. What is interesting in this for me as a teacher, is that this process allows the student to experience agency in her own body/practice and it gives her an opportunity to reflect on the instruction/adjustment and accept or disregard it. As a teacher, I can step down from the pedestal of ‘knowing everything’. The dynamic relationship where knowledge and experience bounces between student and teacher opens up for the practice itself to come into focus, as the teacher.
What becomes clearer to me as I practice and teach yoga (and other somatic practices in dance) is that this ‘ecology’ or ‘feedback system’ – where the emphasises is on teacher/student relations and interdependence and less on individual achievements – frees me as a teacher from an expectation to (re)solve the postural challenge and to do/say ‘the right thing’. One particular moment that this is palpable for me is when during a Mysore session I find myself with nothing to do. Nobody needs me to help them cross their legs in Supta Kurmasana or support them in Utthita Hasta Padanghustasana! Everyone is getting on with the postures and I feel like I have become spare. In that moment my teaching practice is not to make myself indispensable by rushing around to assist unnecessarily but instead acknowledge the importance of being a physical presence that holds the space. A presence that provides a boundary for the student’s practice even if all it means, is that she feels seen.
I had already begun to write the post when I came across an article by yoga master Matthew Sweeney, ‘The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga’. In it, Matthew explores the ideas of change within a traditional method. I was curious to add some comments and so I thought I'd use Matthew’s article as a starting point to talk about the subject and then expand with my own thoughts and experiences. But I urge you to read Matthew's full post here.
I had already begun to write the post when I came across an article by yoga master Matthew Sweeney, ‘The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga’. In it, Matthew explores the ideas of change within a traditional method. I was curious to add some comments and so I thought I'd use Matthew’s article as a starting point to talk about the subject and then expand with my own thoughts and experiences. But I urge you to read Matthew's full post here.
Matthew Sweeney
Matthew outlines the pros and cons of sticking closely to the traditional Ashtanga Yoga series. He argues that the practice and the teaching of the practice has evolved and that the idea of 'tradition' depends on who you ask. Is it to deny the 'tradition' and to refuse a sequence that 'works' if you start to modify, to adapt or even to play with postures out of sequence? He points out the uniqueness and deficiencies of the Ashtanga Yoga system. I find his closing words and concluding question intriguing:
every system needs to evolve else it will become stagnant, every system needs stability from which this change can flourish. It is not a question of right and wrong, it is a question of whether you can admit that wherever you sit on the spectrum, can you embrace both ends of it?"
Matthew Sweeney from blog post: The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga
He addresses the reader directly and asks us to take a stand on this. Can we as hardcore traditionalists embrace change and can we as lovers of variety and change accept the value and depth of tradition?
Sun Salutation A
The pros of sticking to the traditional practice
A very good argument for sticking strictly to the sequence is that of facing postures found to be unfamiliar and difficult. The Ashtanga Yoga sequence doesn't allow you a lazy playlist of 'greatest hits'.
I experienced this with my own body. After committing to the full Ashtanga practice in Mysore classes (no skipping postures!), I found my confidence increase both on and off the mat. The truth is that some of the more extreme primary series postures meant that I had been avoiding the full practice for a long time because of injury and fear. I needed the sequence to confront me with what I found difficult; it taught me not to cop out every time I hit an obstacle.
Read on for Matthew's precise and sharp analysis on this subject. I couldn't have said it better so I will let it stand for itself:
The simple fact is that by adhering to the set sequences of Ashtanga, although more discipline is required, the results are definite. Without set sequencing, without some commitment to self practice, both the results of the body and the focus of the mind are generally limited. A key benefit of a set sequence is that it keeps you honest. You are forced to doing postures that are difficult or problematic rather than avoid them, or only doing the ones you may like or which feel good. (...) Avoiding difficult or problematic postures is a major flaw, particularly with styles of Yoga that don’t work with set sequencing. Both beginner and advanced practitioners can fall into this trap, which leads to building up your strengths and avoiding your weaknesses, and then leads to further imbalance, rather than less."
Matthew Sweeney from blog post: The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga
The cons of sticking to the traditional practice
Matthew's main argument in his article against sticking dogmatically to the set order of the sequence is that the majority of the postures in the primary series are about upper body strength and forward-bending postures. Many of us get stuck here due to inflexible hips or hamstrings and hence we build strength in some areas and less in others by vigorously repeating vinyasas and forward bends. As Matthew explains, this focus enhances the upward and energetic aspect of the yoga practice (referred to as masculine energy) and less on the downwards and soothing aspect (female energy). (For more on such a theme see my 'Women & Yoga' post here.)
It is not that Matthew argues that we should not teach the traditional method but rather that you have to learn to take responsibility as a teacher for tweaking the practice to accommodate each individual student who takes an interest in doing yoga and not only those who have certain aptitudes.
After the initial learning phase it is important to consider the needs of the student rather than blindly following the tradition. It is important to consider whether the standard Ashtanga is appropriate (and often it may not be) and then notice if you do not teach an alternative out of fear, rigidity or inability.
Matthew Sweeney from blog post: The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga
Ashtanga Yoga -A sacred cow?
It is my experience that there is an unwritten rule particularly for more senior Ashtanga teachers to be very faithful to the traditional teaching: 'If this is what Guruji (or Sharath) has said, then it must be the truth'. Therefore I was thrilled to hear Matthew Sweeney talk about the problems of how dogmatically the Ashtanga practice is often approached. Finally: a senior teacher to speak out about what I had been thinking. And no doubt he’s not the first to express this. Matthew says:
Why are the Ashtanga sequences treated as a sacred cow? It is a wonderful practice, but just Asana sequences at the end of the day. There is nothing innately spiritual, holy or sacred about them.
Matthew Sweeney from blog post: The Evolution of Ashtanga Yoga
Joey Miles
In Leeds
Haven't most Ashtanga practitioners been wondering about this at some point since starting their yoga journey? The approach taken by our teacher (and very advanced Ashtangi) Joey Miles, is probably unusual compared to that in some more traditional Ashtanga Yoga Shalas. Joey teaches a disciplined Ashtanga practice according to the inherited sequences, but he allows for the use of props and modifications (to postures and sequence) where appropriate. He’s influenced by Iyengar Yoga and will spend time with the individual student to help them understand basic alignment for a safe practice. If a student is working with an injury or is otherwise challenged he might suggest modifications or additional postures to work sensibly with this. In short, Joey seems to take the ‘tradition’ less dogmatically, and although he honours it, he has given it his own stamp.
Self-practice for Ashtanga Yoga only?
Inevitably a led or ‘counted’ Ashtanga class cannot accommodate modifications for every single student in the space of 90 minutes. Led classes, of course, have their place for establishing rhythm, pace and focus to the Ashtanga sequence, and for reminding us of the correct breathing. But what are Mysore self-practice classes for? Matthew Sweeney mentions self-practice aspect several times in his blog post and also argues that it is one of the unique features of the Ashtanga practice, where the student receives feedback and hands-on adjustments during practice. So many other Yogas don't do self-practice. So should a self-practice class only be for people who naturally find jump backs and forward bends easy? Surely no teacher or true yogi is interested in this kind of exclusion.
Why should a student not feel welcome to come and practice a modified sequence for a period of time due to aptitude, age, injury or illness? Or perhaps a more permanent adapted practice if circumstances or body type doesn't fit the Ashtanga Yoga archetype of lean and petite? It is my impression that self practice classes risk becoming exclusive to the type of students who a) already know the full primary series (other students seem to think that this is a prerequisite for doing this class) and, b) have right body type to cope with vinyasas and forward bends and who thrive on the upwards, 'male' energy Matthew refers to in his blog post.
Mysore practice in Leeds
Back to Leeds
As mentioned earlier on in the post one of Joey's strengths as a teacher is precisely to implement what Matthew Sweeney is talking about in his post: to notice the needs of the individual student and have the courage to let go of the established sequence if this benefits the student. The implications of this is that some students will be practicing modifications or adapted versions of the sequence next to someone doing a ‘strict’ Ashtanga practice. Now what are the practical implications of this? How do you make sure that the practice in the self practice environment stays safe for both students and teachers? And all this while acknowledging the usefulness of being disciplined with the practice but still making space for all types of people.
To practice smart is to practice with discipline but not with rigidity. So the emphasis of our practice is not to follow slavishly the form of the postures as they are set out in the text books but to practice with ease so doing yoga remains fun and inspiring. Modified with benefits but not discarded to avoid confronting difficulties.
Yoga is for everyone regardless of ability.
Yoga Blog
Velkommen til min blog.
Jeg begyndte at skrive om yoga (og mine andre discipliner dans og Life Coaching) i 2013. De fleste af mine indlæg mellem 2013-2018 ligger stadig på min danse-hjemmeside her
Jeg skriver på engelsk for sådan startede jeg min blog og det giver også en bredere appel. Jeg håber du vil finde noget interessant og inspirerende læsning og jeg hører gerne dine kommentarer.
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