Mysore Sundays with Kaz here in Mysore SF.
With Moon Day on Monday, this Sunday, October 11 is a good day to hunker down for practice with support of a teacher (in this case, me!). We offer Mysore Sundays on the 2nd and 4th Sunday of the month. Class is between 8-10am, at the Annex, 1420 Harrison St @ 10th. For more info on us, look us up on Facebook Mysore SF or http://www.mysoresf.com.
“Trust Your Struggle.” Street Art. Temascal, Oakland.
I love the Mysore room. It’s one of my favorite places to be, whether it’s practicing or teaching, I can’t help but feel alive in such a space. I love the victories after some long-fought challenge, but I also have a great respect and appreciation for the power of practice when I see a student near tears. It’s very real, this hot house of human action, people moving within a small portion of rubber mat. It’s steamy and there is a palpable thickness in the air. There’s a lot of love here–but it’s not the love of fluffy bunnies or candy-colored unicorns–it is often a love forged from gritty, sweaty, face-all-twisted struggle.
Struggle? That seems like a paradox, right! Ashtanga is a yoga practice, after all, so shouldn’t it promote a deep sense of peace and calm, physical ease and mental equilibrium?
Ashtanga is a very honest practice, reflecting back at its practitioners their life in concentrated form. When life is hard, practice takes on that hardness. When life is easy, sometimes (when we’re lucky) it’s easy, but often practice will dig a little deeper to find a soft spot. It’s a tradition designed to make you strong and also flexible–and a component of that is to whittle away at what’s unnecessary: shame, fear, pride, all forms of ego–these are not easy things to be grappling with, thus, the struggle. The struggles are there for a reason: for us to understand ourselves better.
I think it’s important to note that I’m not speaking of binding in maricasana D, suptakurmasana, learning to drop back or getting the leg behind the head but rather the human struggle that comes with the challenges that are presented by certain postures, sometimes by practice as a whole. The struggle isn’t actually getting past the pose but getting past the challenge/turmoil that the pose creates. It’s not about moving forward in any particular series, it’s about moving beyond it.
As practitioners, we are responsible for the struggles that present themselves on the mat. We must meet them, rather than run from them. And with practice, meeting them means getting up close and personal with them through our bodies pretty much everyday with as much equanimity as we can muster until they loose their power. We might relax into them, melting into some mythical grace, or we might fight them tooth and nail in some epic shit fight, there’s no blue print for how exactly we are meant to face these moments. But I think we must trust that the struggle is there for a reason, that it serves some greater purpose other than to annoy or frustrate us, it isn’t getting in the way of our ease and happiness–rather, it is the way.
Continuing to grow here in Mysore SF. It is such a pleasure to be working in such a space where the practice and the teaching is so very alive, so very real–real in the struggle as much as the joy of practice. There’s an alchemical force in the room. The potential for transformation is there. Very grateful to be taking part in it. Mysore is Mon-Thur, 6-9am. Led Class is Fridays 6am and 7:30am. Sunday Mysore is 2nd and 4th Sundays (no class September 27, it is moon day).
Kapotasana. Photo by Denise Tolentino
There are, of course, the physical markers that undeniably tell me so. The hips are finally opening, alleluia! All the pantheon of Hindu deities know these hips of mine have taken their sweet ole time to open–bless them, I have enjoyed the sweet time they have given me!
Mostly it’s subtle, so subtle that it’s hard to quantify: a depth in the breath, an ease while deepening into a fold. A robustness in the asana, a stability in the vinyasa.
Then there are the other remarkably odd moments when a pose just shifts almost as if over night. One day, it’s like grappling with demons. Next day, it’s like butter. And the opposite can also happen, a pose that was there one moment, poof!, gone inexplicably on vacation with no note or return date.
The transformation of the physical practice happens slowly over time, over days, months, years of consistent practice, steady exploration, with skillful guidance from a teacher or teachers. The body becomes more receptive, so does our awareness, and the two begin to work with each other. Change inevitably happens. This, of course, is the basis for the growth we experience throughout our sadhana.
We cannot, however, discount the aha! moments that can turn things around quickly. A light goes on and something invisible is seen. Maybe it’s a technique we hadn’t learned, a crucial element in the execution of a posture, or, perhaps, a shift in our thinking mind or in our feeling heart.
What happens when we let go of fear? Or when we release trauma or anger or sadness? Or when we allow ourselves to drop into that precious but totally frightening space of vulnerability, which is so humbling/humiliating and which ultimately helps us surrender our holding patterns?
The body changes when we change. Something stuck, moves. Something hard, softens.
Right now that something is showing up in my kapotasana. An extreme back bend in the intermediate series, this posture has evolved as much as I have over these five-some-odd years that I have been doing it. It was challenging to begin with, became easy at some point relatively early. Then I began to notice that it was always the first posture to fall to pieces whenever I was troubled. When my heart was challenged, kapotasana became more challenging. Over the years its intensity has triggered a few tearful epiphanies. Whenever I got better, so did kapo.
A year and a half ago, it became almost terrifying to get into it, causing much anxiety with each effort. Physically it was possible, but the sensations that came with each attempt made it uncomfortable. I could not rebound from it. Whatever ease I used to enjoy in the posture had disappeared. Since then, I have struggled.
Then, last week, something shifted. No doubt this shift was greatly supported by a daily practice, to meet a thing of challenge everyday without judgement simply makes one stronger in body and mind. Practicing the same movement sharpens ones skill and agility. The big difference, however, was the absence of anxiousness, it seemed to just happen without all the drama in my head, and as a result it felt much easier.
The great irony is that the last few weeks have been trying, certain personal events have pushed me to a place of vulnerability and I am allowing myself to simply be with all of it: all of the joy and sadness and frustration and disappointment and awe and so on and so on. I had been struggling, fighting to not drown in it all, and then, last week, I decided not to just swim in this thick eclectic feeling soup but to also feel grateful for the struggle, the blessings, all of it. It is not easy to feel this raw, but it is also incredibly freeing to not be holding myself so tightly together. And perhaps it is the acceptance of these feelings and the cultivation of gratitude that is creating space rather tension.
And so, for me, kapotasana is changing–again. I am sure it is not the last time as I am surely going to continue to change. I’m sure there will be other postures, too, that will reveal different challenges in the future. It’s a very fine and beautiful relationship, the one between the life of our practice and the practice of our lives. It’s truly amazing and simple and perfectly symbiotic. When our practice changes, we change. When we ourselves shift, our practice likewise makes an adjustment, letting us know if we are spot on or just plain loosing it.
It’s not going to be kapotasana for everyone. Sure, kapotasana is a difficult posture for most people, which is why it can have profound effects. Learning to drop back likewise poses similar challenges/gifts. “Gauge” postures don’t have to be complex, either. I had a student who shared that padangusthasana in the standing series and paschimattanasana, at the early part of primary, both forward folds, made them want to cry. When we start to understand that the way we move, breathe, hold our bodies is a deep and honest expression of our selves, the practice becomes an incredible tool for self discovery and transformation. It’s not about how strong we get or how bendy we become, though it also facilities both, but how we learn about our limitations and how we learn to overcome them.
Life is not always so accommodating towards practice. There’s, of course, a work, personal and domestic life balance that needs to be maintained. And we learn to negotiate between them.
There are the other times, however, where it is not a matter of time as much as it is a matter of space–emotional space. When the factors above close in on us, it takes a toll. And the tool, our sadhana, which we so often rely on to help us deal with stress and tension, amplifies our emotions, whether it’s anger, or frustration, or pain, or sorrow, or…the list goes on. At the best of times, practice can be a slow uphill battle. When under emotional duress, it can be total carnage.
What then? The teacher’s answer would be to practice anyway. Easier said than done, I know. But when it’s tough to practice, this is when we need to be practicing the most. The mat, the practice, is a sharp yet subtle mirror, and facing it when times are challenging is difficult but ultimately helpful because it does its job. It allows us to see ourselves and the issues that weigh heavily on us.
Practice anyway.
Practice any way. It may not be your optimum, it may not even be your full practice, perhaps it’s simply getting through sun salutations, maybe it’s just getting on the mat and breathing before the thoughts and feelings crowd in on you. Then, come back and do more the next day, giving your body and breath the space to expand. The sheer guts and determination to show up for yourself can become a wellspring of inspiration and strength.
If you have the courage, the heart for it, watch carefully, observing the places of discomfort and the places where there is space. Each day watch as it gets better because everything changes. The practice itself becomes a vehicle for these small or big shifts. Slowly, what was originally disempowering becomes its opposite. When it’s tough to practice, just practice.
Honoring Guruji, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, on his 100th birthday. Of course, Hanuman too.
Today a student brought flowers for Hanuman and Guruji–a beautiful offering. The real offering, however, is the simple and, yet, at times, difficult task of coming to class. The sacred act of showing up, no matter what that looks like, no matter what it feels like, no matter whether we are completing first, second, third, part of standing, turning up on our mats each morning is the offering we make to our teacher, to ourselves, to our deepest purpose. To practice is to bow respectfully as you lay freshly picked flowers before your teacher. It is a kind of work/prayer that is continuous, that doesn’t ask for anything other than to be allowed to be in existence, in gratitude and in love.
PHOTO: Hanuman and Guruji, honored with flowers in Mysore SF. It has been a beautiful and challenging opportunity teaching on my own here these few weeks. I am grateful to all the students who did the simple and yet sometimes so difficult task of showing up. (Guruji would have been 100 years-old this week).
So excited to be teaching two Sundays each month here in San Francisco. This Sunday will be our second class.
For more info: email me at kaz.castillo@gmail.com / http://www.mysoresf.com
The great art of grounding. It seems like the most simple and natural thing in the world, right? After all, don’t we all stand on two feet? Yet, how many of us find it challenging to be truly steady?
I must admit, having lived the last few years on the road, this is not strong point. But as I ground here in San Francisco, I am rediscovering my land legs and reassessing what it means to be grounded. My relationship with the ground is changing because it is no longer constantly shifting underneath me. For years I sought strength from my center in order to be spry and flexible and to find steadiness in a world of movement. Presently, without all that whirling, I am surprised to find that my relationship with the ground is not what it should be. In this relative stillness, I am finding my feet, the whole feet, the weight, how it engages the legs and feeds into the center–all of which existed before, but now, with solid ground beneath me, I feel both the support and, well, the challenge of it. The ground does not give. Push on it and it pushes back–and that’s even more supporting.
As a result I’ve been on the watch for it, not only in my own practice but in the practices of those who are in my care at present–which I suspect makes me kind of a pain sometimes. I know what it’s like to be standing on two feet and not really interacting with the ground and I’m starting to understand what it’s like when that relationship is strong and active and how it makes a huge impact in the integrity of every pose, of every vinyasa, of walking, of standing.
These days, each time I get on the mat, I ask myself, am I fully grounded, am I fully interacting with the ground beneath me, or am I just going through the motions, my feet and the floor beneath me, just barely touching.
PHOTO: Finding my feet in San Francisco. Mural Room, De Young Museum.
Today, as I sat having tea with some beautiful devi-friends at the Hagiwara Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, which was preceded by a lovely morning walk around the grounds, which was preceded by a much appreciated lie-in (anything past 4:15am is a luxurious sleep in for me during the week), I could not be more grateful for Moon Days–full moon and new moon are rest days in terms of practice, thus, I also do not teach on these days.
This New Moon felt both restful and nourishing. The opportunity to engage with the morning differently, to seek out community outside the practice space, to be outdoors and enjoy the summer sunshine–a scarcity here in San Francisco until recently. To observe moon days are a practice in themselves, and an extension of our yogasana practice. It is the practice of rest, of honoring the needs of the body to rejuvenate itself, of honoring the needs of our subtle bodies–the nervous system, the mind, the emotional body–to integrate the information that is gleaned during yogasana practice.
It is a practice to calibrate ourselves with the cyclical nature of the moon–and, thus, with nature itself. This happens naturally when we observe the moon days. We allow for the depth of practice to move beyond the rubber mat into the greater world we live in.
Particularly with this moon falling on a Wednesday, it feels like a holiday midweek. We often return from holidays with more energy, greater clarity, deeper resolve. This is an important part of practice; we ought to observe it, enjoy it, embrace it.
PHOTO: Buddha bathing in sunlight at the Japanese Tea Garden at Golden Gate Park. It seems inseparable these days, yoga practice and life. Even during my break from practice, the trajectory was all to familiar: the balance of the Japanese garden, the use of elements to draw one into meditation, the discourse the ongoing journey to find the self in equanimity. Makes me smile. There is no real break from real practice.
The ashtanga system is known for its succinctness. The practice itself strips things down to the most basic of units, the precision of movement, the inhale and exhale, and beyond, well…something…call it stillness, or peace, or some manifestation of the divine. It is simply there, these hidden alleyways, and there is no need to seek it. The moment that we do, we end up on a diverging road and we are lost.
It is so simple and yet so ridiculously hard to focus our seeking hearts and minds, to commit to meeting ourselves on the mat without judgement, to do our wholehearted effort without any desire for external gain, and yet in those rare moments when these acts align, we simply melt down, ease into such secret sacred places, which we ultimately realize are neither narrow nor hidden.
My time here in San Francisco working in Mysore SF with Magnolia Zuniga–an incredible guide in this practice–has been about self-study as much as teaching. The more I study the ashtanga system, the more I see how the practice when reduced to it’s purest condensed form is incredibly expansive. And while most of us who maintain a daily practice, of course, know this experientially already, to see it in minute detail, well, it is incredible. I find myself just “geeking out” on it.
There is so much to distract us, in our lives, and yes, even in our yoga practice. “Yoga, the industry,” the crazy unwieldy presence that it is becoming, is in itself massively distracting. Return to the basics. Come to your mat and breathe. Reduce it, allow it to reduce you. And breathe at the incredible space that is.
PHOTO: One such physical hidden alleyway in Sausalito, Marin County, California. When I was passing this little passage, over a month ago, I could not help but photograph it, feeling that practice felt like that–for me, at that precise moment. This scene must have some iconic feel to it–whilst writing this article, I searched “alleyways” in Google, only to find pop up immediately a photo of this exact alley on Wikipedia. How funny and small the world is, how it all boils down to the same places.
A room is a just a room, right?
In the evenings, this studio space is occupied by dancers, who tell a story through a series of movements.
In the early morning, the curtains are drawn careful to softly diffuse the light which wants to pour into the room. The floor is partitioned off in rectangular parcels of all different colors and textures. On each of these mats is a person, a one-act-play or an epic story, a dailogue or a monologue, the act of going to church or performing an exorcism.
I am awe and wonder to work in such a room, not because the room is any more special than other rooms. It is just a room. But somehow, out of a stroke of good luck and a combination of just the right conditions, it has become the container of this indescribable process.
On one level, people move and breathe here. There is sweating. And some cardio, yes, fitness. Beneath that, or rather, through that, there is the finding of our edge, the grinding against our fears, the celebrating of our victories…
The room is a container where we are allowed to happen.
PHOTO: It continues to be a daily pleasure to come into–how I even call it–“work” each morning, to enter this alchemical space, powered by a devotion to practice. Should you have an interest in joining the magic here: http://www.mysoresf.com.
one love yoga 