are some yoga poses lemons?

Lemons can be so beautiful.

On reflection, I’d say no.

There are poses that can cause harm if they are badly done. And there are poses so likely to be badly done that careful teachers rarely teach them – or more precisely, they rarely teach the final pose.

That doesn’t make these poses lemons, just poses to approach with care.

Sadly that doesn’t mean you can’t have your own personal lemonasana, or even a half-dozen of them.

I don’t mean poses you find hard to do, or poses that are, at the moment, too advanced.

For each of us there are simple poses that just don’t work.

If you have an injury or chronic illness, you may already know your lemon poses.

But what if you’re healthy and injury free?

How do you recognize your lemons, and what can you do about it?

How to recognize a personal lemon:

• When you’ve bitten into one of your lemon poses, discomfort shades into pain and anxiety.

Perhaps you can’t breathe well in the pose. Or perhaps, no matter how carefully you follow the alignment cues, your knee twinges or your lower back hurts. In a lemon pose, your body feels locked and stuck.

Rotated triangle pose is a prime candidate in this category, but it happens in many other poses too.

• In a lemon pose, you can’t find the sweet spot. Instead of increasing clarity, you’re stuck in uncomfortable confusion.

• Lemon poses don’t feel good when you’re finished.

If the pose itself feels unpleasant, then yes, you’ll be relieved when you stop doing it.
But the end of the pose should offer more than just relief.

After standing poses, you should feel a pleasant sense of increased energy flowing through your body.

When you sit up after releasing from a headstand, expect energy, clarity and a sense of calm order.

A shoulder stand should have an afterglow of peacefulness, and a feeling that you’ve somehow been internally cleansed.

If the pose as you’re doing it is a personal lemon, you might feel heavy when you come out, less alert and clear than when you started.

There might be increased tension in your neck or shoulders, or a twinge in your back that wasn’t there in the pose.
If that happens consistently, then that pose, no matter how well you appear to be doing it, is a personal lemon.

If you’re committed to your practice, then simply avoiding your lemon poses isn’t going work in the long run, especially if they’re fundamental poses. Instead, you’ll have to take the time-honored route when life hands you lemons.

How to Make Lemonade:

• To help you stay motivated, create an intense desire for lemonade. Remember, lemons can be juicy.
After all, this pose is your own personal lemon. What makes it sour is a restriction in your body that you need to work on.
If you can identify what that is, and resolve it in your lemon pose, you’ll get a ripple effect of improvement through all your other poses.

• When your lemonasana comes up in class, pay special attention to any preparations or beginning stages your teacher suggests. Then take notes after class, and practice them at home.

Headstand, for example, may be a lemon pose for you.
Half-headstand, with foam bricks at the wall, is close enough to the full pose to give you the head-clearing, spirit-lifting effect.
If you pay attention to the details of how you place your hands, press your forearms down, and lift your shoulder blades, you may be surprised by your improvements the next time you do the full pose.

• In class, consider doing less, but doing it well.
If there’s a brick involved, use it at its tallest height. Rather than aiming for the full pose right away, build it step by step.

When you reach your familiar restriction, stop. Take your awareness back to your feet in standing poses, and to whatever part of your body touches the ground in other poses, and work from there.

If, for example, you’re already locked in a grim struggle with reverse triangle, don’t bother taking your arm up to complete the pose.
Instead, retrace your path into the pose, and work at the spot where you still feel as though you could move further into it.

Presenting poses in stages, by the way, is typical of Iyengar classes.
If you’re not getting that kind of instruction, seek out an Iyengar teacher at least until you learn how to get your lemons into the citrus juicer.

Practice at least twice a week with the stage of your lemon pose that’s sweet, or at least workable. Spend time working on related poses.

Ask your teacher for suggestions, or do some research. Yoga Journal online is an excellent resource.

Do you have poses you think of as personal lemons? What are they? And what do you do to work with them?

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statue of Dr. Seuss character, in bronze

"Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!" Dr. Seuss

One of the conundrums we face as beginning yoga students is that we can’t know what the pose is supposed to feel like until we’re doing it.

But if you start with the standard issue collapsed chest and tight shoulders of a 21st century desk worker, how can you even begin to know how large and expansive your ribcage needs to be?

One answer: a fabulous, yet inexpensive prop, the imaginary sticky mat.

I found mine last week  in Louie’s Wednesday morning class, and I’ve been using it ever since.

Once you’ve learned to use yours, it will help you stretch your shoulders, expand your side ribs, breathe better and let go of anxiety.

Here’s how it works:

Lie down on your back with your legs up the wall.
Make sure that your back rests easily on the floor.
If your hamstrings are long, you can have your buttocks at the wall.
If they’re short and your buttocks are at the wall, your pelvis will be light on the floor, or even lifted. Move away from the wall until you are well grounded.

Now spread the skin on the soles of your feet, from the big toe side to the little toe side. Spread the skin on your heels. Separate your toes.
Press both your big toe mound and your heel toward the ceiling.
Lift your inner arches toward the ceiling, and draw your outer arches down toward your outer ankles.
From this action in your feet, you’ll feel your legs come alive.

Take your arms overhead. Stretch your arms to their maximum. Reach out to hold the sticky mat. Have your thumbs under the mat, so your palms face each other.

stretch a sticky mat with legs up wall

Pull the mat away from the wall as strongly as you can.

Grip the mat and pull it away from the wall as though you wanted to rip it in two. Extend particularly on the thumb side of your hand.

You’ll find the effect dramatic: legs press the wall, arms extend, back body lengthens, and belly presses to the floor.

In this position, notice your shoulder blades.
As you stretch your hands away from your shoulders, begin to pull your shoulder blades away from your hands.
Hold for a few breaths.

Then let go of the mat and slowly bring your arms, elbows straight, to shoulder width apart.

Stay aware of your elbows. If they start to bend, don’t take them closer together. Instead, find the place where your elbows can be straight, and stay there.

Palms facing each other, thumbs touching the mat, spread your palms and roll your inner upper arms toward your ears.
Stay for a breath or two, then release your arms to your sides and relax.

Bend your knees, roll to the right hand side and come up to sitting.
You can just stand up, or, for a pleasant transition, move through child’s pose into downward dog, then walk your feet forward to standing forward bend, and roll up.

Now roll out your imaginary yoga mat.

With your feet hip distance apart, bring your arms up, with your hands as wide as the imaginary mat.
Grip the sides of the imaginary mat, and pull. Lengthen up particularly through the thumb side of your hand.
You’ll be surprised by what happens. Your arms will reach to heights never before experienced, and your side ribs will stretch.
Once you have your full stretch, draw down on your shoulder blades.
Then let go of the imaginary mat, and open your hands so your palms face each other.
Slowly bring your arms shoulder distance apart.
Keep your elbows straight.
Stay, breathe, and when you’re ready, turn your palms toward the floor and slowly lower your arms, lifting your ribcage as you bring your arms down.

Imagine taking this expanded chest into the rest of your poses, and your life: “Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!”

Photo credits, Robert Gray, Mary Balomenos.

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Perhaps not exactly what's meant by humility.

Right off the bat, I’ll admit that I don’t know much about humility.

It’s not a virtue I’ve ever cultivated. In fact, I only started thinking about it on Monday, while I was reading a piece called Yoga, Our Mirror, by Montreal Iyengar teacher Carla Ramirez. (It’s in French online. I was lucky enough to be reading a good English translation.)

The gist is that the three qualities we need for our practice are willpower, intelligence and humility.

The first two I get. But humility?

Personally, I’ve never felt the need to cultivate humility in my practice, because humility thrives there all by itself. Every time I fail to kick up into arm balance, wobble in a standing pose, or lose my core and flop in Chaturanga, my practice humbles me, no further effort required.

But on Monday, I thought: “What does humility mean, anyway?” and Googled the Online Etymology Dictionary.

Imagine my surprise to read that humble, and hence humility, comes from the Latin humus, earth.

Every gardener will share my thrill. Humus is not dirt, gravel or rocks. Humus is the life-filled, life-giving layer of soil that supports us all.

Then I realized that all along I’d had a mistaken idea of what humility might be.

This is not entirely my fault. Humility has a bad name.

We take it as false humility, exemplified by the unctuous Uriah Heep, in David Copperfield.

Or we confuse it with self-hatred. The branching tree of horrors provided by Roget’s Thesaurus includes: abasement, self-abasement; submission, sense of shame, sense of disgrace; humiliation, mortification.

But by the root definition, on the earth, or of the earth, we are all humble, all rising from, sustained by, and returning to the earth. We are so “of the earth” that we would not live without micro-organisms in the soil that come into our bodies through the plants and plant-fed animals we eat. They constantly cycle through our bodies, in this giant life transfer in which we’re engaged.

The question isn’t “are you humble?” You are.
The question is: “do you recognize it and see the implications?”

I think now that humility means recognizing our earth roots, and the earth roots of everyone else, knowing that we are not, in essence, greater than, lesser than, or even separate from, the rest of life.

So as part of my continuing yogic assignment of self-study, I plan to  spend some time thinking about it.

For example, is what I’ve called “humility” in my practice really just the hyper-critical voice of self-abasement? What would real humility look like?

One answer, from French philosopher and Christian mystic Simone Weil: “Humility is attentive patience.”

Maybe I’ll work with that for a while.

What do you think? Is humility a virtue you strive for? And do you have a good definition, or a favorite quotation? Please share.

Photo credit: Brett Jordan, via Flickr.

 

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Place the tennis balls in the meaty part of your upper back, one of each side of your spine, close to your spine.

As yoga props go, tennis balls are close to unbeatable: inexpensive, widely available, and supremely effective.

True, you will never find an ancient Vedic seal with a yogi rolling on a tennis ball, and there is no traditional Wilson-asana.

But a few regular minutes of rolling on tennis balls every day could change your upper back, not to mention your hamstrings, forever. And that can’t help but improve your practice.

For example, spend five minutes rolling the soles of your feet on a tennis ball, and your reach in a standing forward bend will most likely improve by as much as two inches.

Lie on the floor for five to 10 minutes, roll just the area of your spine between your neck and the bottom of your ribcage, and you’ll  ease hours of desk work out of your back.

Roll down your spine to your sacrum, then move gently from side to side to release your pelvis.

And if you’re a connoisseur of intense sensation, you can roll on a tennis ball placed in the hollow of your hip. (I prefer a soft version of this ball for working my hips. If you find tennis balls too harsh for your back, and some people do, you might give these a try.)

Furthermore, ball rolling is easy.

Although it does takes practice to keep the tennis balls close to your spine, you’ll still feel the benefits on your first try, and it won’t take you long to be an expert.

The only way you can do it wrong is to overdo. Stick to 10 minutes a day and you’ll be fine.

Here’s how:
Lie down either on a carpeted floor, or at one end of your sticky mat. (On a wood floor, the ball will just slide.)
Place the tennis balls as they are shown in the photo, as high on your back as you can, on either side of your spine.
Then pause, wait, and breathe.
If the sensation is too much, or your head hangs awkwardly, use your hands to lift your head.
If you want more sensation, lift your pelvis.
Then roll from a half-inch to an inch toward your head.
Pause, wait, and breathe.
Use your exhalations to release your muscles around the tennis balls.
When you come to a spot that’s particularly intense, stay and breathe.
Given time, the spot will release and soften.

If you only have five minutes, then stay in the area between the bottom of your neck and the bottom of your shoulder blades.
If you have more time, you can still stay in the upper back, or roll a little farther and explore your sacrum and hips.

Here’s the most important instruction of all:
When you’re done, take the tennis balls out and let your back relax on the floor. Spend at least three breaths, more if you can, basking in the sensation of a soft and fluid back.

Photo by Mary Balomenos

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Do you think yoga might be dangerous? Had you realized it could be this dangerous?

So now The New York Times wants to tell me that yoga can wreck my body. Big whoop.

For years now, I’ve known how dangerous yoga can be.

Yoga took over my mind, rearranged my priorities, changed my career path, and rewrote my  life pattern.

And like someone who does a faulty practice for years before seeing the results, I never saw it coming.

When I took up yoga, I knew what I wanted: mental clarity, emotional stability, physical strength, flexibility, and the ability to do cool things like touch my head to my knees in a seated forward bend.

Slowly, without me noticing, things changed.

After a few years, I was just in it for the asanas. I wanted to learn them, achieve them, refine them.
Why? Because I wanted to, that’s why. They became their own justification. I was happy to have the benefits, but they were by-products.

When I started, I took one class a week, then two, then every workshop that came to town and several out-of-town retreats.
Then a friend who couldn’t find a substitute teacher asked me to teach a beginner’s class one Saturday morning, and I was hooked: no longer just a carefree student; I crossed over into teaching.

Something else happened. In the beginning I shrugged off yoga philosophy as boring and irrelevant. All I wanted was the deepening connection with my body. Then, several years ago, I found a translation of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali that spoke to me. A rough count of my bookshelf? I now have nine translations of the Yoga Sutras, one of which is always in use.

These days yoga takes pretty much all of my time: teaching, practice, taking classes, studio administration. Four years ago I started writing simple practice tips. Two years ago, I started this blog. Now yoga takes my writing time too.

There is not much in my life, from my wardrobe to the way the space in my house is allocated, that hasn’t been touched by yoga.

I am only insanely happy about this every once in a while.

Most of the time, it’s work, and beyond work, tapas – intense devotion not just to physical practice, but to all of the limbs of yoga.

I do not feel good unless I do a practice, and it always has to include a shoulder stand.

Because of yoga, I need to be upside down for some portion of every day. Because of yoga, I can’t bear to work at a desk and not stretch out my shoulders when I get up. Because of yoga, I’ve stopped hurrying, almost all the time.

Because of yoga I have a set of exacting, unreachable moral standards to hold to and another list of off-the-mat practices – cleanliness, contentment, tapas, self-study and surrender – to try to abide by.

When I was seven, I didn’t want to grow up to be a yoga teacher, in part because when I was seven, “yoga teacher” was not a career option.

But yoga, dangerous, life-altering yoga, wrapped its tentacles around me and dragged me into its embrace.

So despite the drama – strokes! nerve damage! – I find it hard to take William J. Broad’s article too seriously.  (Leslie Kaminoff’s video is an excellent and detailed criticism of the article from someone who knows yoga and anatomy.)

The lesson I took away? Find a good teacher. Be a good student.

You can read about the long training and careful supervision of certified Iyengar yoga teachers on the Iyengar Yoga Association of Canada’s website, as well as a response to the New York Times article from IYAC president Lynne Bowsher.

Ask what your teacher’s qualifications are. Know that 200 hours is a drop in the bucket, and that registration with Yoga Alliance is no guarantee of quality.
Expect to be seen and corrected in the poses. Avoid teachers who do their own practice at the front of the class and call out helpful suggestions.
Avoid aggressive teachers. Learn to recognize aggression in your own practice, and let go of it.

I’m inclined to just watch all the controversy drift past, like clouds in an ever-changing sky. Twenty-five years ago, when yoga began taking over my life, it was roundly ignored in the popular press. Then it was the butt of jokes. Then it was glorified. It had to be demonized eventually.

I know I should be working up more of a froth, but somehow I can’t. And I think I know why.
Years ago I saw a cartoon of a man who had just hit his thumb with a hammer, a thumb that was swollen out of all proportion and vibrating with pain.

In his conversation balloon, the man asks his wife: “Hey, remind me, what’s that thing your uncle says when he gets mad?”

The caption? “Too much yoga.”

Photo courtesy of istolethetv, via Flickr.

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