Caught by the Yoga Bug
They say an alcoholic remembers their first ever drink. Well, I remember my first ever yoga class 20 years ago. I also clearly remember how my hand used to reach just to the knee in Trikonasana. In time, I learned which poses I found challenging and which came more easily to me. Caught by the yoga bug, I began to dissect my abilities further, and with continued practice became attuned to more specific restrictions; in Ardha Chandrasana one hip had a catch in it. My twists went further in one direction than the other. Most annoyingly of all, my left glute was tighter than my right, limiting my forward bending abilities.
I know I am not alone in becoming acutely sensitised to physical limitations. I’ve had students give me detailed lists of minor body imperfections longer than your weekly grocery list and a myriad of others content to negatively label their body parts; ‘dodgy’ necks, ‘terrible’ backs and ‘bad’ knees, as if, Hollywood blockbuster style, one knee is opposed by its evil twin.
Within our one being, we create a duality of good and bad, and it’s on the bad we tend to dwell over most. Coupling that with an obsession with achieving the ‘perfect’ yoga posture can be an unhealthy mix. More insidious still is the unspoken thought that you if can just get your ‘bad’ side to magically mirror the ‘good’, you will suddenly be a better person.
It seems to be part of the human experience that our attention will move easily to the stubbed toe, forgetting we have nine other perfectly happy ones. So, as a diligent yogi, my self appointed job was to eradicate my bodily imperfections and loosen my left glute. Over the years I tried various approaches, usually focusing my attention on the resistance, and some of which surely violated the yogic precept of ahimsa – (that of non harming to beings, which of course must include yourself). I blasted away with longer, stronger holds on the tight side and tried repeating the tight side twice over. This seemed only to allow me more time to stare my imperfections in the face and squirm. Cursing didn’t work either. I pondered how my stuck left side might reflect my feminine expression in the world. I attended themed yoga workshops on my problems. I read up on anatomy, got massages and learnt every possible adjustment for pigeon pose.
And then, a decade and a half after that first yoga class, I had a breakthough. First, I realised that after all this effort and enquiry, nothing had substantially changed. Although my hand had now for years easily touched the ground in Trikonasana, my left glute was still tighter than my right. Then I realised that this may never change. I found these various asymmetries really only bothered me in yoga class and that, as they weren’t pathological, it was absolutely possible to live a pain-free and happy life despite them. Patanjali’s yoga sutra I:12 tells us that the mind can reach the state of yoga through practice (abhyasa) and detachment (vairagyam). In other words, effort alone isn’t enough: we also need to let go of the things that hold us back. I thought my left glute was holding me back. Instead, it was my mental concerns over it that created mental disquiet and therefore inhibited me from truly experiencing the state of yoga.
I realised that yoga is about self acceptance, not self improvement. I shifted my focus from fighting the resistance, to a spirit of integration and oneness. I moved from commando to compassion, embracing Ahimsa on the very deep level of whole body acceptance. So now when I notice an asymmetry, it’s easy to smile at it. And accept it, and yes, love it. Afterall, it’s part of me. How uplifting to be able to sit in pigeon pose in the spirit of pure enjoyment. My energy is freed to be able to reflect on other levels of practice. How powerful and freeing it is to truly feel I need not change anything at all.
First Published in Australian Yoga Journal, Issue 10, 2011