Just because I don’t write about asana often, doesn’t mean I am not practicing. The storm was just beginning. Longtime student and friend A came over to practice. We did hot water bottle restoratives, inviting ourselves to return our attention to the warmth whenever our minds got too busy.
My friend Reya posted a good blog entry today on pain. What John Friend says of pain is that it is nature’s way of showing that we are out of alignment. I am in full agreement with Reya that intentionally causing ourselves pain is not what brings the most gain.
We sometimes have to go into discomfort, though, to get out of pain, when we are practicing therapeutically. What I tell my students, when they are seeking to use the physical practice of yoga to heal injuries, is that they want to practice mindfully enough to notice and back away from stabbing, pinching, tearing, or cramping sensations (you might think of other words to add to the list, but you get the idea). On the other hand, intentionally embracing some level of therapeutic discomfort can be necessary to heal and grow. An obvious non-yoga example is getting an operation to remove a tumor or fix something that is broken. The operation is going to be a challenge, but it is better than not healing.
If we are not used to holding poses for a long time or balancing on one foot or on our hands, our muscles may think they would rather slouch on the couch–though slouching on the couch may be what precipitated injury or ill-health in the first place. The discomfort of working muscles more than we usually do, but to the right degree and in alignment, is radically different than the pain of forcing our body to do something beyond its current capacity that exacerbates existing injuries or causes new ones and does not sufficiently heed proper alignment.
I invite you to practice slowly and with sufficient attention to know deeply whether you are just bringing on discomfort from right effort and changing old patterns that no longer serve or whether you are making yourself suffer for no real purpose. No pose or distance or timing is worth injury, but healing and getting stronger and more flexible (as well as more courageous and expansive for what life brings to us) is most definitely worth some intentional discomfort.
I slept last night in the room that I slept in as a child. My mother now uses the room to store some of the vestiges of her old antiquing business. The carpet, wallpaper, and curtains from the 1960’s are gone, but the bed is the same one in which I had slept. The picture on the wall is a kit for making a stuffed animal that my Grandma Rose had bought me (probably when I was about 8) at the Brooklyn Museum of Art that my mother decided would be better as framed art than a sewing project for me.
The neighborhood looks different–it is far more developed as is everywhere near a big city–but the bones are the same.
It is a challenge not to feel the weight of my history and ancestry when I return. Taking the time to meditate when I woke helped me stay fully in my adult self.
When we meditate, we ideally dissolve our individual consciousness into the luminous spaciouness of universal consciousness. In that space, where we are temporarily not experiencing ourselves as an individual, we are also not experiencing our individual self in the sequence (krama) of time. The luminous spaciousness of meditative consciousness is sequenceless (akrama) and, as universal consciousness, is the place in which the sequences of being in time and space arise.
What I experienced this morning when I meditated was that I did not have to be flooded with the emotions of my, to try to graciously describe, emotionally challenging childhood. In the space of meditation I could bring to my day an acceptance of all of my life and be where I am at present, coming to a place of recognition that although I lived all of my history, it neither defines me nor binds me from expanding into a space of growing love and light.
