Holding Lotus shoulderstand (Padma sarvangasana) in chin mudra
'Ashtanga is not a milestone that once achieved you can move on from. It is a lifestyle, a non-linear and lifelong journey of self-discovery, of what works and what doesn't, when to push forward and when to stop, and above all dedication which means forgiving yourself in setbacks and allowing yourself to question things in times of doubt.'
So I have been following the Ashtanga vinyasa primary series for nine months now, which is an extremely short period of time as devotees dedicate decades if not their whole lives to the sequence in hope of mastering their bodies and minds. The key lies in the persistence, not in the consequence of perfection, which doesn't exist. Everyone has their unique strengths and weaknesses, and it is precisely this awareness that humbles me so much because it allows me to tune in and understand my body and mind in such a way that I didn't know was possible. I have come to realise my back is naturally flexible. I enjoy covering my ears with my knees in karnapidasana. But it also hurts terribly when my flexibility tempts me to challenge my body's limits. There is a unique dull sensation that I have found even more challenging in my yoga practice. It's a kind of discomfort that is very different from the sharp pang of anxiety and the spasmodic onset of grief that we might associate more with pain. It is like reaching a dark well in the body that I have never reached before. It is unknown, uncomfortable and scary. I encourage myself to stay there for as long as I can but I also feel anxious for not knowing where it will take me and when to stop. Maintaining a pose is not just about staying there. It is more about knowing what is good, what is challenging, what is too much and when to stop. It takes persistent practice to unlock a pose you couldn't do previously but it takes even more physical and mental strength to keep practising a pose that you think you are naturally good at because every setback silences your ego and makes you listen to your body and mind, despite how much you think you already know them.
'As a child, I dreaded going to school and always found the chilliness of the morning hostile and unwelcoming. Ashtanga vinyasa allowed me to redefine what the morning means for me, and to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise as my friend instead of my enemy.'
Practising the Ashtanga primary series every day, at 6am empty stomach is a huge commitment. Yoga is a spiritual practice that means different things to different people but for me it has been absolutely transformative. I used to have a fear of the cold early mornings. As a child, I dreaded going to school and always found the chilliness of the morning hostile and unwelcoming. Ashtanga vinyasa has allowed me to redefine what the morning means for me, and to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise as my friend instead of my enemy. I had difficult teachers growing up and now I get to be my own teacher disciplining but also learning more about myself every day.
But even with all this transformation, boredom sometimes creeps in. Following the same sequence repetitively can make my mind wander. Because I have memorised the sequence, I am not actively thinking about it. Sometimes I find myself going autopilot and thinking about the different problems I face in life, how I wish I could quickly master the poses I have been working on, and find something more 'fun' to do after I have 'perfected' Ashtanga. But I also know Ashtanga like all yoga traditions isn't something to perfect, and even if I can perfectly hold a pose now, the fluctuations of life can stiffen my body and scatter my mind the next day. Ashtanga is not a milestone that once achieved you can move on from. It is a lifestyle, a non-linear and lifelong journey of self-discovery, of what works and what doesn't, when to push and when to stop, and above all dedication which means forgiving yourself in setbacks and allowing yourself to question things in times of doubt.
In this boredom, the dull sense of unpleasantness is the most prominent. When you reach a certain degree of flexibility, your body doesn't really feel sore after practice anymore. Instead, you feel these dull and not always so pleasant sensations when you hold a pose for a longer period of time. It feels like purging toxins from the darkest and farthest edges of your body, and the slow process can overwhelm you and make you more aware of your impatience. You wish it could be over soon but your body adapts to it very slowly, admonishing you to be more patient.
'Ashtanga is like a vast blanket of exploration, filled with lessons and a great range of experience that makes me more tolerant of the mundanity and necessary suffering in life. It makes me see discomfort is a great teacher and euphoria is not always pleasurable. It gives me perspective to question the dichotomy of pain and pleasure, and to enjoy the sense of ease that I can have when I no longer adhere to what is socially expected to bring me joy and suffering'
I used to come out of Ashtanga practice feeling euphoric, a feeling caused by the upsurge of dopamine especially noticeable to beginning practitioners. While I still feel refreshed by the sense of lightness I get every time after practice, the feeling of excitement eludes me. What takes its place is a sense of peace and stability. Although the euphoria I felt made me more cheerful and energetic back then, I find myself feeling more meditative and stable. I am also less easily affected by the disappointment and heartbreaks that occasionally hit all of us in life. The discomfort and boredom I experience during Ashtanga is what ultimately lures me back to practice every day. While its intensity and breadth humble me, the practice also encourages me to question things, why I feel like I must 'conquer' that pose, where that rajasic need to prove something comes from, and how conducive that is to my wellbeing without suppressing those feelings and sensations. Ashtanga is like a vast blanket of exploration, filled with lessons and a great range of experience that makes me more tolerant of the mundanity and necessary suffering in life. It makes me see discomfort is a great teacher and euphoria is not always pleasurable. It gives me perspective to question the dichotomy of pain and pleasure, and to enjoy the sense of ease that I can have when I no longer adhere to what is socially expected to bring me joy and suffering. It makes me see that there is magic when I am just standing and sitting, as long as I allow myself to pay attention to the stillness that gets increasingly more preferable to pleasure the more I practice.
My journey dealing with boredom in Ashtanga has taught me the importance of rest, which lubricates me with grace and ease. Whenever I feel like I don't want to continue the practice, for whatever reason (boredom, pain/injury or scatteredness of thought), I stop. It is important to feel like practising when you are, and not to desecrate it when you force yourself to continue, which often that not can cause injuries. I think the challenge of Ashtanga can attract a lot of perfectionists and ambitious people wanting to achieve the sequence or gain a sort of regimen to follow. But ultimately, I realized Ashtanga teaches the antithesis of perfectionism, as many times relaxing the muscles engaged in a pose is often what brings the body to unlock it. The intensity of the practice can also mean the series is not a great regimen to follow. Practitioners that come in wanting to achieve certain poses with great ardor often leave the practice quite quickly either with injuries because they came in wanting to achieve instead of listening to their bodies or boredom. The only regimen I have found from Ashtanga is one punctuated with dedication and breaks, a rhythm of stepping closer to learn and distancing see clearly what I am dealing with, a dance designed by the needs of my body and mind at that time. Allowing myself to take breaks for days and even weeks gives me incredible motivation to come back to the practice when my mind and body are ready for it again. The moment I am back on the mat again feels magical when I step on it with willingness and curiosity.
I have noticed that my most needed epiphanies come to me during my practice. The knots in my mind untie themselves as my mind wanders. The clouds need to move and clear out for the blue sky to reveal itself. As I watch my thoughts unravel and eventually leave without judgment, wise words from a higher source come to me as my most needed comfort and solution.
This is a different sense of sweetness and pleasure that I didn't know was possible. It reminds me of a flavour in the Chinese tea 'Iron Guanyin' they call 回甘, roughly meaning 'a sweetness that returns delayed'. Sweetness tastes all the more special and memorable when it is followed by a momentary bitter taste. And I am so grateful for all these unique lessons and sensations Ashtanga has given me. It encourages me to continue practising, to remain faithful, humble and dedicated to the lineage.
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