The opposite of auspicious

I'm dizzy and want to puke. As I approach my umpteenth vinyasa before the next pose, I sigh with exhaustion and contemplate the amount of asanas I have left until the closing sequence. Ugh, and then the closing sequence?! I'll never make it. Never.

I imagine laying back in Savasana for just a few moments--a three minute rest would make everything ok, I know it. Two minutes even. But I know better. Instead, I sigh again, and begin to move. Exhaling first, I inhale, hold, and jump back...exhale lower, inhale up, exhale lower, inhale hold...and I'm through. Exactly the same spot from which I began. I begin to fold into the next pose, then through to the other side...

Describing the desire to throw up and storm out of the shala because I dispise my practice is not what I want to be posting about. I'd much rather tell you about the beauty and grace with which I flow, and paint you a picture of a girl who glides glowingly with warmth and calm from beginning to end. Instead, the glide comes only because it's a required part of the sequence, and is actually rather choppy. The glow and warmth is sweat, heat, humidity, and pain. The calm only looks that way because holding back tears makes me look focused. Instead of writing a love story about my practice that demonstrates the trust I have in myself, my committment to yoga, my open heart, and my total and utter awareness (breath, bandas, dristi, bend elbows, lift knees, head up, etc.), I loathe this. I'm floundering, defeated, done.

It's hard to explain why I would be invested in something that constantly beats me to a pulp. This practice tears me down each day, getting the best of my fear, pushing me to face anxiety, discomfort, and stress. I am full of doubt. I don't feel strong. I am weak and lifeless. I wish I had never started practicing Ashtanga, and wish it didn't even exist. Is it really necessary to do the entire sequence each time you practice? Really? Really?! Because I don't wanna. You know these muscles in my arms? They might look strong to you, but they're just illusions I carry around so you won't know that I'm really quite weak. You know this smile on my face? I just wear it so you won't see that inside I'm falling apart. My body and spirit have nothing to give and never did. Eveything you see is a facade--I'm unbalanced, inexperienced, angry, and in no way, a dedicated or blissful yogi. My shoulders ache and hamstrings are tight. My back is on fire, I still want to throw up, my wrists are sore, and...

And then.

And then it's Monday afternoon. 4th practice in 2 days because we've volunteered to attend the teacher-training adjustment tests in addition to our regular practice. I walk in, and because it's been happening all week, I again expect to have a shit practice. So here we go--bring on the pain and struggle--I'm starting to get used to it. I didn't want to come this afternoon, I don't want to be here now, and I'm only here because of my friends. This is all for them, as it's certainly not for me.

And then. Opening prayer and I begin. Maybe it's the heat and humidity of the room. Maybe it's because the afternoon is warmer, or because we faced our mats the other way and I'm gazing in a new direction. Maybe the dose of laughter I shared with my friends before class began gave me a little boost. Maybe it's because I know that today, Ajay is sitting in the back and won't be coming over (even though I'm actually expecting more adjustments than usual, as it is an "adjustment test"). Maybe it's because I finally gave up. Maybe it's because giving up is sometimes synonymous with giving in and letting go. Maybe it's because I finally faced the fact that I can't always be strong, and so I let go of expectations. Maybe it's because I faced the fact that sometimes, my body will not keep up with my mind, no matter how hard I try... Maybe it's all of it.

Today, in the back of the room, I felt my arms float up over my head. Gazing up at my hands, something was different. Suddenly, I was lighter, freer. Surya A and B, and I was feeling good. My spine stretched long, and neck was soft. The sweat was no longer heavy. My breath was relaxed and calm. My mind--well, it wasn't clear, but it wasn't fighting. I got through the opening and standing sequence. Made it through janu and marichi series... And suddenly I'm starting the closing sequence. I stood up to begin my backbends, and as I began to drop back, I saw Ajay behind me, smiling. I know in part, it was because he was watching his teacher-in-training offer a rather intimidating and difficult assist. But he caught me directly in the eyes, and I knew that more than anything, his smile was for me. It was pride. He saw my confidence and will. He knew that I stood up because I can do this daunting posture without assistance, and because we both knew that I would take care of myself regardless of whether someone was there to assist. He knew I felt strong and that I trusted my ability to get back on my own, and help someone else learn. As my hands touched the floor beneath me, our upsidedown gazes locked in that moment. And finally, I sighed for myself. I sighed a new breath--not of exhaustion or defeat, but one of relief. I can take care of myself and get myself through anything that comes. With all of my mind and heart, I trust myself fully and completely.

So I guess, as I already knew--the idea is to push on anyway. Not everday is perfect. Not every week or month or year is perfect--and some will be full of disappointment. But you can't run away from yourself. We're not going to be strong everyday--but knowing that and accepting that is different from just saying it. You have to actually go through not being strong for any of this to make sense. We can't know what kind of challenges we have the potential to face if we walk away when they greet us. You can't just be strong when it's convenient--that's not what strength is about. We won't know the extent of our will if we don't push through the moments that are the hardest. It's when we're low and exhausted that our strength really matters, that's when we need it. So why then, go into any practice--or other experience--with great expectations? Each moment will happen as it comes, and all of our emotions, feelings, aches, pains, frustrations--all of them are fleeting. All of them will pass. They are forever ebbing and flowing, just as our asana and breath cycles move in and out and onto the next. With each gust of wind, each rising and setting of the sun, we work so hard to control ourselves, our emotions, our lives, each other; we strive for perfection even though we pay lip service to the notion that we don't care... But the lesson in all of this is not in learning how to approach or control challenges, but in figuring out how we will respond to them. We never know what each day, hour, or second will bring. The only thing we can choose is how we react. Will we be angry or fearful? Will you respond to panic with more panic? Stress with more stress? Or will you work to train yourself to accept the challenges in front of you, accept them, face them, and move through them? Will we let ourselves become defeated? And if we do, will we learn from that so that next time we are able to pick ourselves up? How we confront the unexpected, how we deal with life's surprises--that is what we have to figure out. And the idea of course, is to embrace it all, and find the joy in all things. In the pain, there are lessons, and the lessons are the secrets to finding joy. The struggle leads us to know that we are strong. The downs bring highs, and peace can only come if you allow it to be welcomed into your heart and mind. When you get the shit kicked out of you, remember that you won't be bruised forever. So sit up and instead of feeling sorry for yourself, be thankful that bruises aren't broken bones. Broken bones aren't missing limbs. A cluttered mind is a working mind... The clutter means that inside, there is not only anger and confusion, but happiness and serenity...

And if tomorrow, when I am dizzy and want to quit and puke and scream and storm off... when I ask, "what the fuck am I doing here?!" I'd appreciate it if you could kindly remind me of all the stuff I just said. Really, I'd be incredibly grateful.

And really, I'm grateful anyway. I love it here. I love this practice--it's just as moody and as complicated as I am. And it makes me happier than almost anything in the world. I can't wait for tomorrow.

(Oh, and just because I can't get enough, we're tossing the travel plans and staying here in Mysore to continue studying Ashtanga with Ajay until we leave. So either my instinct is disturbingly cruel or perfectly brilliant. It's probably a little of both, but whatever it is, I just know that I'm not ready to go. I found my teacher, and my heart is happy and full because of it. After one month of this--and years of practicing yoga--I feel like I just started practicing for the first time in my life. I have so much to learn. To say that I'm happy about staying on for another month is an understatement...and I can't wait to keep going.)