Mat as metaphor
Nothing delighted me about Bikram yoga when I began. It was beyond awful. The heat, the sweat, the mirrors, the semi-naked people prancing around and, most of all, the repetition. I couldn’t, however, even hold my arms up in half-moon for 60 seconds, so I had to keep going back to prove that I could.
Of course, I learned to love the heat (supportive once you stop fighting it), the sweat (I just have to walk into the reception of the studio and it starts to pour), the mirrors (look at your forehead or your throat if your eyes are too much, phew), the semi-naked people prancing around (good on youse, whatever) and the repetition—well, that’s what allows your baseline to develop.
Even this morning, it wasn’t until I started standing deep breathing that I realised my left shoulder and neck was killing me and I could barely do it. That’s how far inside my head I still live, even practising (as good as) daily. But once I run through the series, I know how I’m doing, physically and mentally. I know what I could do yesterday, and if I can’t do it today, maybe there’s a bit of a problem: Something torn, something emotionally shifting. The flipside of course is that there’s usually a breakthrough every (90-minute) class as well: A centre of gravity might shift a millimetre in one posture with the most profound impact on every single other posture that you do over the next few practices.
Even more importantly though, at a psychic level the repetition lets you observe your own tendencies, your own biases and your own bad habits. It took me years though to step outside of myself and really analyse what I was actually doing on the mat, again and again. I don’t mean in the postures themselves—they really are nothing but a diagnostic tool—but the way I was consistently approaching the postures.
Specifically, I was moving into every posture exactly when the teacher said to, not quite early, but speedily and to my maximum. And then falling out or ending the pose early, too. This realisation was only valuable, however, when I translated it into how I behave off the mat as well: Jumping right into things (a new story, a new project, a new idea, whatever) and then losing momentum when I realise I wasn’t really properly prepared, or get bored, or lack the energy to fulfill what seemed like a good idea at the time.
As I observed other people, I saw consistent patterns to their approaches to poses on the mat that may have served them well to recognise and translate into something meaningful off the mat as well.
I can observe them even more readily now that I’m teaching rather than just sneaking glances (those damn mirrors!). Always late into the pose? Maybe you could trust yourself to carry things through to the end a bit more. Always holding the pose for a few seconds after the teacher tells you to come out? Maybe you could look at what you think about authority and how rebelling for the sake of rebelling is affecting your relationships off the mat. Always holding back beyond your maximum? Maybe look at how you commit to things off the mat and what you’re afraid of. All just gentle maybes.
It’s the very repetition of the postures that holds the potential to be as illuminating, I reckon, as the examination of yourself in a therapist’s office. And though you’re in a hot and crowded room of semi-naked people flicking sweat around and staring at themselves in mirrors, there’s something intensely private about the practice that means no one can really draw any analogies to what’s going on in the room and your behaviour outside it other than you.
Thank goodness for half-moon, stiff shoulders and no arm muscles.
What I’m reading…
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. Just sped through this on a few lazy days on a boat on the Sekonyer River in Central Kalimantan’s Tanjung Puting National Park. Didn’t love it, but the idea of sleeping away a year on prescription medications sure has its appeal. I didn’t even know half the drugs she named—but it reminded me too of Johann Hari’s Lost Connections, which I read a few months ago and recommend to everyone more wholeheartedly (he’s been accused of plagiarism in the past, and the book does have some superficial problems, but still the points he makes really resonate and deserve a wide audience).
What Your Microbiome Really Needs is Fibre. Not Kombucha
Good news if you don’t want to spend 45,000 rupiah on a baby bottle of kombucha anymore (though, hey, you can still make it home for next to nothing…)How Much Should You Know About Your Therapist’s Life
But… but I Google everyone!Why You Procrastinate (It Has Nothing to Do With Self-Control)
Good, because it took me a while to write this.