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.)