metanoia
“Each asana is like a sound or letter in an alphabet. Every letter in an alphabet produces a unique sound vibration. Each asana vibrates at a specific frequency. When asanas are performed in sequence, beautiful phrases or sutras result, producing a mystical language.
”
The teacher taps out each second with her toes. She has the limbs of a dancer; long, lanky, pliable. I imagine her back perforated with the length of her spine like molehills. Thick bangs and hair tied back in a loose bun. Tight pants and a baggy shirt. I wonder if she has trouble sleeping. She moves quickly and has not attuned to the students. She does the sequence with us, and as we spin forward and around on our yoga mats, her back is to the room. If she were watching, attentive to the rhythm of breath and cadence of movement, she would see that no one keeps her pace.
I close my eyes for the duration of practice; I cannot watch the bodies hyperextended and hold postures in such discord. I go deeper into smaller poses. Side crow is swapped for a revolved lunge; forearm wheel replaced with a bridge. The man next to me (sans yoga mat, he practices on the bare wooden floor) is so focused on the intricate plank pose variations he neglects to observe that he’s migrated onto my mat. One small, albeit well-manicured foot juts under my chin in downward dog. I exhale deeply; I will not return to this timeslot.
Yoga breaks me open and builds me back up. It has taught me how to focus during moments of imbalance. I have learned to breathe into the contraction and root down through the expansion. Yoga is my through-line. When I do not make time to meet myself for practice, a part of me feels loose, like a rubber ball trapped in a phone booth—ceaselessly bouncing from rim to rim. On the days I do not want to practice, the investigation into why leads me to somewhere else. The bones express the initial alignment. Your body likes when the joints stack, my anatomy teacher says—shoulders over palm; hips over heels; crown over the tailbone. Like the letters of the alphabet, there are few postures. Like the writer, the yoga teacher must develop new ways to communicate through sequences—threading together a poetic process via movement.
A forward bend may be done reclined (Halasana), seated (Pashchimottanasana), or standing (Uttanasana). Repitition strengthens the muscles, and it's essential to repeat the same thing across various forms. Stagnancy occurs without variety. New formation (via thought or action) enhances the brain's elasticity and creates new neural pathways. Adaptation and innovation feed evolution. Static is a result of the same—the mundane. The question of yoga practice is, how to do the same thing in a new and, eventually, more refined way?
Every vinyasa teacher at this studio follows the Ashtanga Yoga Primary Series with iterations based on the class's length, level, and style. I am not used to rigidity and linear patterns. The vinyasa yoga I practice (and used to teach) is rooted in Ashtanga with layers of Prana Flow, Lila Flow, and Jivamukti styles. I am grateful to my teachers; for their creativity, curiosity, and spontaneity. The sheer luck and fancy of what I’ve learned over a decade. Is it happenstance or the soul's yearning that guided me toward the women that taught me all I know about yoga as a lifestyle?
I attended the evening yoga class with Adrianna and Josie. Variations on the Primary Series with a teacher who offered few demonstrations and plenty of alignment cues to new students. Here’s what I liked:
Leg and back strengthening before heart-opening.
Cues to move with the sequence and the option to flow at our own pace.
Side body and hamstring lengthening before inversions.
No side crow: plenty of twists and leg balancing.
20-minute floor series at the end of class.
A long savasana/meditation to close.
No music—which added to the simple structure.
I analyze to recognize what I have to be grateful for; the opposite of what I know to be true is the occurrence that strengthens my dedication to my craft. I am the summation of opposites. I’ve had to travel backwards into the script to fully appreciate the freedom of iterating based on what I know. We must be rooted in something; the foundation is the formula, and it is a necessary fact of life to align and sustain. The artist takes what is provided and responds to it with their unique vision, voice, and method of movement. The teachers I revere are artists devoted to beauty and driven to contribute to the well-being and happiness of all living creatures. The artist invokes action over words. The script is still there, though it’s faded and lurks behind a forest of questions and considerations of What Could Be.
I am grateful for the opposition. For contrary action and the space to critically analyze all I am not. For I become more of what I am in the pressure against—the contraction and expansion: a spiritual conversation. I argue only with myself.
Photo, source.
