WEEK THIRTEEN SEQUENCE

The following will take place on Sunday, August 31:

     "Repeat and become steady in your daily practices. Those who find it difficult to master all these asanas within this period can continue with them for several more weeks."

We have arrived at another juncture. Week Thirteen is one of the three times (the others are Week Seven and Week Eighteen) in which the sequence takes a kind of break. Rather than stating an explicit set of poses to practice, Iyengar instructs us to spend the week reflecting upon and assessing what has taken place thus far. It's a reminder to be (among other things) aware, honest, and patient. What are you doing? Are you doing it well? Don't hurry. It is not an accident that we have been exposed to this particular set of asana to this point -- their success is an imperative foundation for moving forward. He is emphasizing the importance of mastering these poses because the coming weeks are going to include more challenges. Soon we will see the first of the back-bending poses, more seated folds and twists, and more inversions. If the current set of asana are not yet performed skilfully, then the new poses are possibly/probably not an appropriate addition. And notice that he very clearly provides permission to take as much time as is needed before moving on.

How do you know if a pose has been "mastered"? How do you know if you and your practice are ready for something new? Answering those questions is, in fact, part of the practice; that is part of what we are learning while on the mat. There are both objective and subjective elements to analyze, and they aren't always easy to discern. But in short, to call a pose "mastered" means that you fully grasp its form and its function -- what it is, how to do it, and why. It means that you can, with reasonable ease and comfort, enter, hold, and exit the pose. It means that transitions are smooth, and that something very closely resembling the traditional "full form" is accessible. It means that lots of detailed instructions are no longer necessary because the body's positioning is well-known and comes about naturally. It means that the breath is consistently steady before, during, and after the pose. And it likely means that you are no longer regularly experiencing distinct and measurable improvements.

It does not mean that the pose has entirely lost its challenge. It definitely does not mean that there is nothing left to learn from it. And it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with whether or not you continue to use some kind of prop(s). It has more to do with an internal shift of control. By that I mean that when a pose is brand new and very challenging, it is your body (your flesh and bones and muscles) which is in control and decides how well and for how long you can be in it. But when a pose has been mastered, it is your "something-more" (your spirit/soul/will/heart/essence/etc.) which controls the experience. How well and for how long becomes a pursuit of mindfulness, curiosity, patience, and passion rather than physicalness. It becomes a matter of want to rather than have to. And it's a recognition of internal rather than only external sensitivities.

Patanjali says very little in regards to asana, but one thing he does say is "Sthira sukham asanam," which is often translated as something like "Poses must embody steadiness (sthira) and ease (sukha)" (Sutra II.46). Iyengar elaborates on this by saying that "Asana is firmness of body, steadiness of intelligence and benevolence of spirit" (Light on Yoga Sutras). In some ways those are incremental experiences: first, firmness of body; then, steadiness of intelligence; and finally, benevolence of spirit. And in other ways they are all simultaneously necessary. Further discussion of this Sutra can be saved for another time. The point is that asana are about much more than just strength and flexibility. They are about the body, and they are about something more than the body. We already know that. But what we might still need to better understand is how to acknowledge when it's about the body, when it's about something more than the body, and when it's both. Week Thirteen is an opportunity to practice that.

In class on Sunday, we will, once more, practice the Weeks 11 and 12 Sequence with an emphasis on assessing which components are necessary for a "masterful" pose.

     Sanskrit names are in bold.
     (English names are in parentheses.)
     [Numbers in brackets correspond with illustrations.]
     Poses with an * are new to the sequence.

     NOTICE THE CHANGE IN THE ORDER OF POSES

Utthita Trikonasana (Extended Triangle pose) [4 and 5]

Parivrtta Trikonasana (Revolved Triangle pose) [6 and 7]

Utthita Parsvakonasna (Extended Side-angle pose) [8 and 9]

Parivrtta Parsvakonasana (Revolved Side-angle pose) [10 and 11]

Virabhadrasana I (Warrior pose first variation) [14]

Virabhadrasana II (Warrior pose second variation) [15]

Virabhadrasana III (Warrior pose third variation) [17]

Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon pose) [19]

Parsvottanasana (Intense Side-stretch pose) [26]

Prasarita Padottanasana I and II (Standing Wide-angle forward bend first and second variations) [33 and 34, 35 and 36]

*Padangusthasana (Standing Big-toe pose) [44]

*Padahastasana (Hand-under-foot pose) [46]

*Uttanasana (Standing forward bend) [48]

Parighasana (Gate pose) [39]

Urdhva Prasarita Padasana (Upward Extended Legs pose, aka UPP) [276 to 279]

Paripurna Navasana (Full Boat pose) [78]

Ardha Navasana (Half Boat pose) [79]

Salamba Sarvangasana I (Supported Shoulderstand first variation) [223]

Halasana (Plow pose) [244]

Karnapidasana (Ear-pressing pose) [246]

Ekapada Sarvangasana (One-legged Shoulderstand) [250]

Jathara Parivartanasana (Revolved Abdomen pose) [274 and 275]

Ujjayi Pranayama with inhalation retention (Section 203) in Savasana [592]

PROPORTION MATTERS

A lot of the time spent on the yoga mat is about affecting change. Often we want to change the amount of strength we have, change how flexible we are, change how quickly we lose patience, change how fearful we feel, change our chronic insomnia, change our achy backs, and even change our reactions to change. It is true that yoga affects change. If there is something less than optimal about ourselves -- our health, our wellbeing, our emotions or attitudes, our world-views and daily perceptions, etc. -- the practice of yoga can positively affect our sense of happiness, understanding, accepting, and belonging. Yoga changes us.

And yoga keeps us exactly the same. There are some things that yoga will never change. Some of those things are physiological or psychological or metaphysical, and the various things that may fall into any of those categories could be a whole topic of conversation by themselves. Today I want to bring awareness to the parts of our physical nature -- our gross bodies -- that no amount of yoga will ever change. More specifically I mean our bones -- their shapes, their sizes, their relationships to each other.

I remember -- maybe you do, too -- being awe-struck and perplexed and envious when I was first exposed to Light on Yoga. Mr. Iyengar's demonstrations of all those asana seemed otherworldly. On page after page, he had placed himself into increasingly beautiful and complex positions. And he makes each of them look so simple and elegant. His strength and suppleness and grace are palpable, and it is mesmerizing. I thought about what is must have taken to have mastered the body in such a way -- the hard work, the time, the sweat, the soreness, the fatigue, the constant recommitment, the exclusion of other activities and events, etc. But what I didn't immediately recognize -- and it took a number of years for me to develop conscious awareness around this -- is what Mr. Iyengar's natural biology contributed to his practice without any control on his part. He has a very unique physical structure that undoubtedly affects his asana practice.

Look at the photo of Tadasana (61). Notice that his fingertips extend nearly to his knees while his elbows are nearly in line with his naval. Now compare that to your own Tadasana. Where are your fingertips in relation to your knees and your elbows in relation to your naval? Maybe they are similar to his, but it's more likely that your fingertips are closer in line with your mid- to upper-thighs while your elbows are closer in line with your mid-ribs than your naval. The point is that his arm bones seem to be measurably longer than average. How do you think that could affect his asana practice? How might longer arms affect one's ability to do things like arm-balancing poses, arm-binding variations, and inverted postures?

When he stands with his arms lifted and his legs widened the recommended 3-3.5' apart (63), his hands extend out beyond his feet. How might that affect his final Trikonasana form? If another practitioner, someone whose arms are shorter by comparison, comes into Trikonasana or Parsvakonasana or one of their revolved variations, they may find it difficult to place the palm of their hand flat on the floor the way Iyengar instructs and demonstrates; even if they have the necessary strength and flexibility in all other parts of their body. If you are this person you may feel a constant frustration toward these very basic poses because you fear that you aren't doing them properly -- No matter what I try, I cannot get my hand to the floor in Triangle Pose. What's wrong with me? And then you commit to working on lots of things which open your hips and legs and even shoulders. And while those are good things to incorporate into your practice, regarding the placing of your hand on the floor in Trikonasana, it is all to little or no avail because it has nothing to do with strength or flexibility or commitment to practice or skill-level. This particular scenario is entirely dependent upon something for which you have no control; your body proportions will never change. And proportions matter.

It seems so obviously simple, and yet so many of us fail to account for this reality when we assess for ourselves the success of our asana practice. Or when we decide which poses and which variations of poses are most accessible or appropriate for us. We look at the picture and think that that is what the pose looks like, and that is what our body must do in order for it to be "right." But your body is not his body. Nor is it mine. Nor is it your neighbors. Duh. So why hold yourself accountable for embodying the form of something/someone you are not and will never be?

Look at Utkatasana (89). There are two components here that jump out at me. One is how much his elbows extend over the crown of his head with his arms lifted. When your arms are lifted overhead like this, how far above the top of your head are your elbows? A lot like his? Or just a little? Or not at all? Maybe the top of your head is actually above the line of your elbows. Do you think that might in any way affect a posture such as Sirsasana (the Headstand, 183)? Considering the length of his arm bones, when Mr. Iyengar comes into Sirsasana and notices that his head isn't contacting the floor exactly how he most wants it, or his neck feels a little compressed and he wants to adjust it, do you think he could press into his forearms thus allowing him to lift and adjust his head/neck/shoulders and then return to his posture without much disruption or struggle? Absolutely. Imagine, on the other hand, being in Headstand and needing to adjust your form and positioning if the length of your arm bones was shorter relative to the length of your neck/head -- you would feel kinda stuck in place with little or no wiggle room until you decided to come down (which, by the way, is not uncommon). What then? Does that mean you shouldn't do Headstand at all, or that the way you do Headstand is somehow wrong or less skillful? Clearly not. What it means is that it is important to understand that the length of your arms (and the shape and size of any bone for that matter) can quite literally, for better or worse, change your Headstand (and any other asana respectively).

In regards to Mr. Iyengar, consider the advantage his arm length might provide him when he reaches for his toes in poses like Supta Padangusthasana (244) and Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana (77). Or when he reaches beyond his toes to clasp around his feet in something like Paschimottanasana (169). Or when he binds his arms around his back in Baddha Padmasana (144) and Malasana (265). It is to his benefit. I mean no discredit or disrespect toward his, or anyone's, achievements. He earned incredible amounts of strength and flexibility and skill and grace and determination. I am also not saying anything like If only I had longer arms, then I could do all those poses, too. There is certainly more to it than that. However, the size and shape of your body matters.

It is not just about arms, of course. All bones come in various shapes and sizes. The way the head of your femur fits within your hip socket can radically affect your hip mobility while the way the head of your humerus fits within your shoulder socket affects your arm mobility. The amount of space you have between each rib affects the length of your torso. The number of degrees your ankle extends (i.e. toes pointed) affects Virasana variations (120, 123) and Ustrasana (88). And the number of degrees your ankle flexes can make the difference between your heels on the floor or not on the floor in poses such as Adho Mukha Svanasana (59) and Malasana. That brings us back to Utkatasana. The other element I notice when I look at his demonstration is his ankles. His ankle joint bends so deeply that his shin bone nearly comes into contact with the top of his foot. Does yours? Mine doesn't, and probably never will. That is because it isn't a matter of stretching the tissues along the heel/lower leg, nor is it about strengthening the tissues along the anterior foot/lower leg. For me, it has everything to do with the fact that my tibia collides with and compresses into my talus after only about a hundred degrees of flexion (whereas his is around 170), and that is unchangeable. That means that my Utkatasana will never be as deeply squatted as his, and I may always need support under my heels in Malasana, for instance. I'm OK with that.

The point here is that progressing on this path that is yoga involves so much more than simply having or creating strength and flexibility. Strength and flexibility matter. Frequency and intention of practice matter. Determination, confidence, and commitment matter. Having a good teacher matters. Practicing at home matters. The ability to honestly embrace and address your strengths as well as your weaknesses matters. And the shape and size of your skeleton matters.

The adage of the "Serenity Prayer" nails it: God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change / The courage to change the things I can / And the wisdom to know the difference.

Yoga affects change in us. And yoga keeps us exactly the same. Change the things you can change. Accept the things you cannot. And know the difference well.

(p.s. I added a couple of additional Iyengar-related links to the bottom of the recent post entitled "LIVE HAPPILY DIE MAJESTICALLY" regarding Guruji's passing. Check out the videos; truly regal and hypnotizing.)

LIVE HAPPILY DIE MAJESTICALLY

"Self-preservation or attachment to life is the subtlest of all afflictions. It is found even in wise men." (Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, II.9)

"Life is a continuous process, even though it is demarcated by race, place and time. Due to the uninterrupted close relationship between memory and subliminal impressions, the fruits of actions remain intact from one life to the next, as if there were no separation between births." (Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, IV.9)

"What, you must be asking, is the case when someone you love dies? You are sundered. There is a rending pain of separation. Of course there is...I lost my wife suddenly, brutally, unexpectedly. I was not even there, but away teaching in Mumbai for the weekend. I could not get back in time. I did not cry at her funeral. My soul loved her soul. This is love. It is transcendental and transcends the separation of death. If my ego, my small self, had been the source of my feelings for her, then I would have cried, and mostly I would have been crying for myself. There is nothing wrong with shedding tears for ones we love, but we must know for whom they are shed -- for the loss of those who remain and not for those who have departed." (Light on Life, 196)

"Birth and death are beyond man's control. They don't belong to our domain. Life departs when the time comes. According to the scriptures, death is a natural phenomenon of prakrti (nature) while life is vikrti (change, variation)...Birth and death are not in our hand. But life in between birth and death needs to be shaped, baked and cultured. Lord Krishna says that life is in unmanifested form before birth, it becomes manifest after birth, and goes back to its unmanifested form in death (Bhagavad Gita, II.28).

I would like to practice yoga until my last breath, as a humble service to yoga. My only wish is to prostrate before God, surrendering my last breath in a yogic posture." (Yoga Wisdom and Practice, 60)

B.K.S. Iyengar Yoga, The Official Website

"The Guruji Who Brought Yoga to the Masses"

A "Vox" article and link to a video

A 1934 (nearly 30 years before LoY) video of Iyengar demonstrating yogasana

The New York Times announces B.K.S. Iyengar Dies at 95

IMPERFECT IMPERFECTIONIST

"Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without." ~Confucius.

"I remind myself, 'Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.' (Cribbed from Voltaire.) A twenty-minute walk that I do is better than the four-mile run that I don't do. The imperfect book that gets published is better than the perfect book that never leaves my computer. The dinner party of take-out Chinese food is better than the elegant dinner that I never host." ~Gretchen Rubin (author of The Happiness Project, as quoted in Daring Greatly by Brene Brown.

Likewise, the three Sun Salutations you practice on the living room floor are better than the Vigorous Flow class you never attend. The wobbly Half Moon pose you topple out of is better than the one you never attempt. The silent tears you wipe away during Savasana are better than the repressed discomfort you never admit.

We spend entirely too much time waiting to be perfect before living our lives. We want to already be good at something before we even try it; especially before we let someone else watch us try it! We can't even enjoy the moments in front of us because we spend the whole time thinking of ways in which they could be or should be better than they are. And the yoga mat, which should be a perfectionism-free sanctuary, is riddled with self-imposed criticisms and inadequacies -- I still can't touch my toes. I never stay balanced in Half Moon pose. If my arms were longer, I know I could bind them. I can't keep up during Surya Namaskar. My mind never seems to be quiet during Savasana. And on. And on.

Who cares?! Compared with what? with whom? Your neighbor on the next mat? The YouTube video you watched before class? Your imagined ideals of a Real Yogi? Who sets this standard of finally-good-enough that you are convinced you'll never attain?

Good Enough does not mean that you don't set goals or hold yourself accountable or value excellence. It doesn't mean that you stop working on self-improvement and self-awareness. It doesn't mean that you stop seeking trusted advice and guidance and constructive-criticisms. Good Enough is contentment (Santosha in Sanskrit). Good Enough is embodied self-compassion. It means you can be fully and humbly present in the reality of the moment as it unfolds without losing your joy in thoughts of ways to make it better. It doesn't need to be better. You don't need to be better. You are good enough. Your practice is good enough. Your efforts on the mat and off the mat are good enough.

I'm speaking to myself here just as much as to whoever is reading. Part of my attraction to yoga was that I realized it was a solitary effort whose achievements and developments were largely dependent upon my own determination and will-power. If I am in charge of when, where, and how I practice, then I am in charge of the experiences I have. If I work really hard, then it's just a matter of time (and effort) before I've mastered it all, right?! That first part is true -- I am (mostly) in charge of when, where, and how I practice. But, while those things may be correlated with the experiences I have, they do not necessarily imply causation. And even if they did, it still wouldn't negate the quality and validity of my efforts.

I always have an on-going short-list of goals for myself related to my practice. Much of it regards asana I want to learn. But it also includes books I want to read, philosophies I want to study, subjects I want to teach, etc. Many many goals have come and gone -- some I proudly achieved and checked off the list, while others I (also proudly) relieved myself from for various reasons. One of my current asana-related goals is mastering Padangustha Dhanurasana. I've been working on it for about a year, and it both frustrates me and excites me (the way a good, healthy goal should). I am very close to comfortably holding the full form! But I still have some work to do. Just yesterday I rolled out my mat with the intention of building up through a series of big back-bends and inversions specifically related to the components of this pose. However, that's not what happened. I just never gained the energetic momentum and concentration necessary for that level of work, and instead I spent the time in long hip-opening and leg-stretching holds. A few years ago, that (the fact that I didn't follow through with my original intention; I didn't work explicitly on Padangustha Dhanurasana) would have sent me into an emotional and psychological tailspin! You wasted a perfectly good opportunity. Why didn't you try harder? You should have stayed longer. You'll never get there if you keep quitting like that. What would my teacher think? What would my students think? That's not good enough.

But, along with the poses to master and the books to read and the rest of it, one of my on-going goals is to give myself permission to be Good Enough. I didn't practice Padangustha Dhanurasana yesterday. I didn't even practice preparatory variations of it. In fact, I don't think I did a single back-bend the whole hour and a half I was on the mat! But I walked away content. It felt good. It was good. And a practice whose intentions change is better than no practice at all. It's also better than the forced, disingenuous practice whose intentions are too inflexible to be adjusted according to the reality of the present moment. I did far more good for myself and toward my goal by conforming my practice to fit my body in that moment than if I had stubbornly pressed on or refused to practice at all.

I am a Recovering Perfectionist. It shows up in all areas of my life, yoga included. Ironically, part of me wishes I could be perfect at being a Recovering Perfectionist! And that tells me that I still have work to do. I am constantly reminding myself to embrace being good enough. I say it to myself like a mantra -- Good Enough. Good Enough. Good Enough. And now (at least a lot of the time) I actually mean it when I say it. Yesterday's practice was good enough. Today's blog post is good enough. The work I'll do at my job tonight will be good enough.

Yoga is not about perfection. It's not even really about what you do or don't do. It's a long, hard lesson about understanding (and maybe/probably adjusting) how and why you do what you do. Instead of berating yourself over what you don't do, wholly love the things you actually do. Rather than fantasizing about ways to make it better, open your eyes and soak in the realness of right now. Being imperfect is better than being nothing.

Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

WEEKS ELEVEN & TWELVE SEQUENCE

This sequence will take place on Sundays, August 10 and 17.

     Sanskrit names are in bold.
     (English names are in parentheses.)
     [Numbers in brackets correspond with illustrations.]
     Poses with an * are new to the sequence.

     NOTICE THE CHANGE IN THE ORDER OF POSES

Utthita Trikonasana (Extended Triangle pose) [4 and 5]

Parivrtta Trikonasana (Revolved Triangle pose) [6 and 7]

Utthita Parsvakonasna (Extended Side-angle pose) [8 and 9]

Parivrtta Parsvakonasana (Revolved Side-angle pose) [10 and 11]

Virabhadrasana I (Warrior pose first variation) [14]

Virabhadrasana II (Warrior pose second variation) [15]

Virabhadrasana III (Warrior pose third variation) [17]

Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon pose) [19]

Parsvottanasana (Intense Side-stretch pose) [26]

Prasarita Padottanasana I and II (Standing Wide-angle forward bend first and second variations) [33 and 34, 35 and 36]

*Padangusthasana (Standing Big-toe pose) [44]

*Padahastasana (Hand-under-foot pose) [46]

*Uttanasana (Standing forward bend) [48]

Parighasana (Gate pose) [39]

Urdhva Prasarita Padasana (Upward Extended Legs pose, aka UPP) [276 to 279]

Paripurna Navasana (Full Boat pose) [78]

Ardha Navasana (Half Boat pose) [79]

Salamba Sarvangasana I (Supported Shoulderstand first variation) [223]

Halasana (Plow pose) [244]

Karnapidasana (Ear-pressing pose) [246]

Ekapada Sarvangasana (One-legged Shoulderstand) [250]

Jathara Parivartanasana (Revolved Abdomen pose) [274 and 275]

Ujjayi Pranayama with inhalation retention (Section 203) in Savasana [592]

Take a look at each of these poses before practice, particularly the new ones. Make note of their Sanskrit and English names, their rating (printed just next to the name), the instructions (including how long he recommends holding each one), and their effects. What stands out? What is interesting? or unclear? or surprising? Come to class with questions and comments.

Also keep this in mind: this series of events is designed with the assumption that you are practicing 5-6 times each week. That doesn't necessarily mean exclusively the DK sequences, but that you are spending quality time on your mat more often than not. I know as well as anybody that that is not always a reasonable expectation to place upon ourselves. It's not an obligation, but it is a strong encouragement and our intentions regarding progress must be adjusted accordingly. What you receive from your practice is a direct reflection of what you invest into it.

ABSOLUTE EXPERIENCE

"The question of [Yoga] is a very confusing one. Nobody knows, but everybody knows that somebody knows. That seems to be the problem we are facing: maybe nobody knows at all or maybe everybody knows. So we should not purely trust the information, suggestions, and ideas that come to us from external sources, but actually work with ourselves and try to develop our own personal understanding and appreciation of [Yoga]. [Yoga] seems to be the basic space in which we operate in our ordinary, everyday life. It brings some sense of comfort and, at the same time, some sense of confusion. There seems to be a basic play between the two." (72)

The quote above is from Chogyam Trungpa's book, True Perception which is all about "dharma art," or a kind of purposeful creativity. Each time the word Yoga appears in brackets, I have taken the liberty of replacing what Trungpa actually writes which is the word Reality. This passage occurs during a discussion of the ways in which we perceive the phenomenal world, and how purposeful creativity is dependent upon learning to simply be in the midst of experience rather than constantly trying to grasp and define it.

Trunga explains that ordinary experience is a teetering between boredom and excitement. Sometimes we are so familiar with the things taking place around us that we are numb to them, and they have ceased to intrigue us. And at other times we perceive something particularly beautiful or fresh or stimulating, and we feel a surge of excitement. (Consider for a moment how that may apply to experiences had on the yoga mat.) But both of those kinds of perception -- bored or excited -- are their own kind of confusing and aggressive. They each come with a busy-ness in the mind and heart -- questions, emotions, reactions, energetic fluctuations, etc. What we should be aiming for instead is a state of absolute experience in which we lack fluctuating reactions, which means we stop accepting or rejecting, liking or disliking, and we just are. From that state of being, Trungpa says, we gain a clarity of mind and heart which fosters very honest and worthwhile creative self-expression.

Likewise, our yoga practice is meant to cultivate an experience of sustained serenity in which life's everyday obstacles simply cease to be problematic -- rather than accepting and rejecting, liking and disliking, we learn to just be in the midst of all that exists around us. That is, of course, easier said than done. But we actually often make the process of attaining it harder than it needs to be.

We spend a lot of our time wondering about the right way to practice -- which style, how often, how intensely. We say things to ourselves like Am I doing this pose correctly? Will I ever get into that posture? Do I go to class enough? Should I try harder to practice at home? Is it bad that I don't like...[insert noun of choice]? Is everybody watching me wobble right now? Is this class going to be too difficult for me? Do I need a better sticky mat? Etc. Etc.

Who cares? So what? It doesn't matter; not really, because there is no one right way to practice. We want to know all the answers, or we want to have access to the source that knows. But that doesn't exist. There isn't a system or a book or a person that knows all. Or, like the quote suggests, maybe we all know equally well. Either way, the information won't come to us from any particular outside source. Instead, we learn through shifting our perception of ordinary experiences. We have to learn how to stop craving the right way, and simply be. As long as our experiences are rooted in acceptance and rejection we will always be teetering between boredom and excitement which means we are perpetuating confusion and aggression.

Yoga is both comforting and confusing. In fact the entirety of the human experience occurs between comfort and confusion. And our aim is a reconciliation of the two. Humanity is an interplay between these two states of being and when we have mastered them into equanimity, we have won the game. To get that, however, we almost have to stop wanting it.

It is our obsession with it that keeps it elusive. Our intuitions tell us that mind/body/spirit equanimity is important and necessary. Therefore, we feel as though we should have better internal access to it -- we should just know how. And when we don't, we get frustrated. And because we still have this gut-feeling that we need it, we then turn to external sources -- we say to our friends and teachers and therapists and even strangers, I've tried to attain wholeness all by myself and can't seem to do it. Do You know how? Can You help me? And when they say, Yes I can! then we try what they suggest, and some of it seems to work and some of it doesn't. And all the while we're liking some things and not liking other things and we're accepting the things we like and we're rejecting the things we don't like and we're bored and we're excited and we're comforted and we're confused. And the whole thing just keeps on going.

And we've missed the point. The lesson is that it isn't something you do or have or say or think or feel. It's actually the absence of those things. It's just being. Trungpa describes it as behaving like a frog in a puddle: "The frog simply winks its eyes at each raindrop that falls on it, but it doesn't change its posture. It doesn't try either to jump into the puddle or to get out of the puddle" (75). The frog is neither accepting nor rejecting. He is neither bored nor excited. He isn't concerned with his own sense of self-froggy-ness, and he isn't seeking his frog-neighbors' advise on how to be a better frog. He just sits. He just is. And because of that, his existence is one of absolute experience. He has that experience because he isn't trying to have it.

Yoga -- in its myriad of forms and functions -- is a collection of actions whose focus is likely to result in personal and interpersonal well-being. But it isn't the yoga itself which is liberating. You cannot simply "yoga" your way to absolute experience. You cannot say, I am going to practice yoga, and therefore I will become liberated. And it's not about discovering the "right way" to do it, and then getting everything you ever wanted. All the wanting and trying in the world won't produce it. Rather, yoga is a method (not the only method, nor necessarily even the best method, but one method) by which we learn to just sit in the puddle in the rain; not because we want liberation but because we understand that it is the reality of the experience we are having and neither accepting nor rejecting it will change it. The reward for that understanding is a reconciliation of comfort and confusion; is absolute experience. It's not something you do; it's something you experience when you stop grasping for it.