hen to pan

Prana flows where focus goes

Yoga teachers use this phrase a lot. For the longest time I didn’t really understand this to its full extent. Then one day, someone said this phrase to me because I was whining about something trivial. In a flash I realized why the connection between mind and energy is the most important tool we have for teaching. And maybe just for life in general.

When I tell my students, “Engage your right thigh” or “Feel your inner heel pulling back”, that part of the body magically becomes alive. It’s a simple trick: The individual’s mind focuses on the very body part that, just seconds ago, they were completely unaware of. Within a microsecond, the area is energized and alert.

Prana is nothing other than the principle of life-energy – what in traditional Chinese medicine is called Qi. The Hatha Yogis created a model of the human being, claiming that we are made up of layers or Koshas – like an onion. Our first and outermost sheath is the physical body, the Annamaya Kosha. Underneath this layer lies the Pranamaya Kosha, what we call the energetic or the subtle body. The yogis believe, that this energetic sheath is pervaded by countless channels, called the Nadis (or meridians in traditional Chinese medicine). The next and third layer is where the mind resides, known as the Manomaya Kosha. (The next two layers are not immediately relevant here, so I will omit them for now).

All Eastern medicines agree on this point: It is the energetic body that causes symptoms in the physical body. Muscle tension, aches, disease – these all result from blockages in the subtle body, places where the energy cannot flow. The deeper layer influences the more superficial one.

So back to my hands-on example of a yoga class, this is exactly what we do in our asana (physical) practice. The breath guides our every movement. We try to permeate our muscle groups with the breath, or life energy, in order to dissolve potential blockages there.

As I was saying, the mind is the third layer going in. Thus it makes sense that the mind, sitting in the third Kosha, guides the prana in the second Kosha. As I mentioned above, the prana follows where the mind tells it to go. It works. I’ve seen proof of it countless times with my yoga students.

Again, we may deduce: When prana flows where the mind directs it, something materializes in the physical world, in the outermost Kosha. So if we took this as a general rule, can you fathom what this means?

It means, for instance, that if we find ourselves in a tricky situation, and we keep an optimistic focus, something positive will materialize. On the other hand, if we choose to see the glass half empty, something less positive will come into being.

In other words, whatever you rest your mind’s eye on, whatever you come to repetitively in your thoughts, it will eventually materialize and become palpable. A powerful tool. Use it wisely and with care.

When I was in my first teacher training, we were told we had to find our „own voice as a teacher.“ Only later we discovered how important this is. The most authentic yoga teachers are usually the ones that really get under your skin – or deeper. However, taking your seat as a teacher and really speaking from your heart is most of all a matter of experience – it takes practice to drop the guard and just come as you are. In other words, I’m still learning.

In that process, I have been trying experimenting with full-blown honesty. I notice that when I begin the class by telling a little story about me – something that happened to me during the day, something that bothered me, something that surprised me – this creates an emotion or thought that everybody can relate to. I become more accessible as a person and it makes us feel that we are all in the same boat. Those are usually the classes when I feel most present and connected. Let’s face it: we all love to hear the real-life stories. The truth is powerful.

So I’ve been trying to be consistent and bring in a personal note whenever I can. But even the job of a yoga teacher comes with its own set of expectations and pressure to perform. After all, we are only human, too. And like everyone else we set our bar quite high, or, as the yogis say, we have a strong and demanding ego. We want to shine. Shining in the yoga teacher’s world means to be charismatic and radiant, to be the picture of health, to be smiling and giving, to make every single student feel like they have your attention and care. In other words, what people expect of a yoga teacher by the book.

Are you beginning to notice the conflict? We have our bad days, too. And – since I’m advocating honesty here – let me say, I’ve had a bad couple of months. So I was not radiant and definitely not the picture of health. On those days, it is difficult to give, which makes us feel like we’re not doing our job. I don’t think a lot of people noticed. But our harshest judge is usually enthroned in our snide-commenting mind. And before we know it, we become convinced that if we are not performing to satisfaction, we don’t deserve to be loved. And the whole nice concept of “the truth is powerful” collapses like a house of cards.

It takes courage to come as you are when you feel happy and healthy. But what do we do when we don’t feel like anyone should see us in this state? Do we force ourselves to still open up and hope for relief? An attempt also known as, “the truth shall set you free”. Let me tell you, though, our fears sit a lot deeper than that. And the conviction that we will not be loved if we show people our imperfections sits perfidiously deep. It’s almost impossible to eradicate.

It is easy to trust that you will be loved when you feel all preppy and joyful. It is hard to bring yourself to trust when you feel deeply unattractive and sluggish. But if the truth really is powerful, maybe we should give it a try? Maybe we should just close our eyes and jump? Hoping that being brave and trusting, without guarantees, will attract sympathy and affection.

So this is my attempt at trust without secure ground underneath my feet: Showing my true colors, which these days are rather dark and lifeless. And maybe this can be like telling a personal story at the beginning of class: We have all been here, we have all felt low and non-lovable. Maybe we can trust into this common ground.

And to prove my point, I am not even going to edit this text until I’m satisfied – but I will just publish it.

Yesterday I had a bad day. And yes, that happens even to us yoga teachers, especially when, a few months ago, you decided to do this full- time. Now every few weeks you have a little existential crisis where you start worrying about money. And yes, I know, I’m lucky to do what I love – but even yoga teachers are not exempt from paying bills.

So yesterday my existential fears got the better of me. The reality of living alone is probably kicking in. Translation: If something goes wrong, I’m on my own.

This morning I got up before dawn to make it to the Pranayama practice at 7.15am, which for me is the equivalent of sacrifice. As I shut the door behind me, my upstairs neighbor comes running down barefoot and in her nightgown, and starts telling me off like I’m five years old. Apparently I bang things around in the kitchen early in the morning and late at night, so she can’t sleep. Let it be said: I’m the easiest neighbor in the world. I don’t own a TV and all I do at home is eating, sleeping and some yoga. On any other day I could have handled this gracefully, but this morning, still shaky from yesterday, I stepped out into the cold morning air and broke into tears.

The pranayama and yoga that followed this early morning interaction helped some. Still I got home feeling low. In the attempt to find at least something I could improve I decided to clean the apartment.

So I dragged out the vacuum cleaner I had just bought for the new apartment. After ten seconds, the bloody thing stops dead. I tried everything but couldn’t get it to work again. I thought “Great, now I’m going to have to schlep the stupid thing all the way back to the store to get it exchanged!” And my next association was: “Why is everything going wrong? Why is the world turning against me?” So easy to give in to self-commiseration sometimes, isn’t it?

A little later I noticed that the fridge wasn’t working. I was just about to start cursing out loud in Italian, when I realized that the fridge is plugged to the same power outlet as the vacuum cleaner. In my shortsighted pessimism, I thought, the outlet must be “broken”. You must know – I’m a girl, not a handyman. I was just trying to figure out who to call first: the super, the previous tenant or my ex. But then it started dawning on me (in spite of my X-chromosomes): Isn’t there something called a fuse? And isn’t the fuse box in the hall cupboard? And aren’t they supposed to sometimes “fall out” and you can click them back in? Again, for a moment, I considered calling my ex for advice, but then I felt a sudden surge of optimism! And I told myself: “Come on, Elisa, you can do this!” So up I climbed onto a chair and opened the little fuse box and there it was: Where it said “kitchen” the little valve had sprung to off instead of on. I clicked it up and immediately heard the fridge starting to buzz again. I had done it. And even the girl in me could somehow figure out: The fridge and the vacuum are just too much for the one power source. Nothing was wrong, nothing was broken.

This little story might seem silly, but I’m trying to make a point. Sometimes it’s just the easy way out to complain that everything is going wrong. However, often you just need to pause long enough to look closer and give yourself a chance to find out what you can fix. And even when sometimes, you doubt yourself and think you can’t do it alone, something very small proves that, in fact, you can.

It is not uncommon for people to cry in yoga. Physical muscle tension releases and so does the emotional build-up. I always thought there was something wrong with me. In spite of the myriad yoga classes I’ve taken, this had never happened to me…until today.

Chris Chavez is a much raved-about Anusara teacher who spends a lot of time in Zurich. He’s also my friend Stefanie’s root teacher, but for some reason, I had never taken his class until tonight.

After this weekend, which I spent on unfamiliar walks of life, I really needed a yoga class to reconnect with myself. And maybe it hasn’t only been this weekend. The last few weeks have slowly drawn me away from my center. Like my good friend put it: “You don’t even sound like yourself.”

It is only natural that after a break-up, after changing jobs and apartments, you lose your home, literally and figuratively. Ironically, it’s usually after the dramatic changes, that the weather grows rough. Just as you were reorganizing your life and refurbishing that feeling of safety. When you need it the most, your shelter is gone. You need to rebuild your own little cottage. But that takes time and, when the next storm comes, the walls aren’t up yet. So you lose your patience and instead of persisting in the construction work, you just take the fast way out. You just harden within your own skin, from the inside out.

This relates to life in general. It’s ingrained in our DNA: When we are most afraid, we want to appear strong and unbreakable. It’s the most natural survival mechanism in the world. But is it efficient? We tend to put up a guard and hide behind a very polished shield of appearance. Instead of sitting on our strong foundation and presenting ourselves honestly, just as we are. Holding up the shield requires a lot of muscular tension. Sitting is so much easier.

So today, we were lying on our backs in a very simple stretch. And Chris was saying how the supporting side doesn’t need to be hard. It just needs to be solid and heavy to provide enough grounding into the earth. He said right alignment should not create extra tension, just better awareness. Then he knelt down beside me and placed his hand firmly on my supporting thigh. Slowly, slowly the tension in the leg muscles started releasing. Then he said: “We don’t always need to harden. There is an amazing power in softness.” Then the tears came. And they didn’t stop until the end of the class.

Have you ever in an argument tried to say to your “opponent”: “What you just said really hurts me”? Usually that kind of honesty knocks the wind right out of them. There is an amazing power in such vulnerability. Just like a relaxed muscle, it makes you heavy and grounded, but still soft to touch. Suddenly you have stated your case, but without aggression. It’s so much easier to hold your ground then. The stress of hiding, of playing a part, suddenly ceases. And in most cases, so does the argument.

In the end, hardening will only make the fear or the stress worse. This is the basis of contemporary dance floor-work: You need to learn how to fall. You have to trust the floor and let yourself melt into it. If you harden against it, the fall will only hurt more. And with every fall, the fear will harden as well.

It’s against all our instincts to soften when we are afraid. To be open when we feel under attack. But when you soften, whatever hits you, won’t violently bounce off you. Maybe it will connect into you. Or even slither off you because you are such a soft, smooth surface. It is the most courageous not to harden in situations where we feel threatened. However, if you do manage to stay soft, to use simple words and come as you are – the release, or the relief, is immense. There’s an amazing power in softness…

Due to my overly packed schedule, my teaching has been a little slow lately. I was always a little sleep-deprived, under pressure and not exactly top of my game. So today’s workshop with Stephen Thomas and Patrick Creelman seemed to come at exactly the right time. I was excited to get some food for thought and new inspiration.
During the asana section, we were asked to partner up for handstand, which i don’t like to do because I trust very few people to spot me. A girl right next me held up her hand and said she wasn’t sure she would be able to do it. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to come up at all. I asked her whether she would trust me to be her partner. We tried for her to manage handstand for some time. I pointed out different points of alignment, but nothing seemed to work.
Then all of a sudden I mentioned something really trivial to her, as i noticed that she wasn’t really jumping off her standing leg. And up she came flying like a butterfly! And she stood. When she came down, eyes blazing, I saw the happy relief in her face… And in a flash I realized: This is why I love what I do so so much. Who needs new asana variations? Her face made my day.
I’m usually not one to parade the cheesy yoga statements, so please bear with me as I say: To give with an open heart is the greatest gift you can give to yourself.

The way we teach yoga is said to have changed a great deal over the last few years. The tendency to talk about anatomy and alignment has become prominent. We tell our students how to correctly stack their bones and engage their muscles, so that the joints, tendons, muscles will stay healthy over time. We give students the tools to stay injury-free and prevent wear-and-tear in the body. In itself, that’s a very positive development. However, we also end up giving a lot of technical information. As students, we hold the pose and very often we just can’t stop fixing things all the time. This rather intellectual approach to yoga encourages us to attempt to control everything.

You will notice that this is mostly repeating the same pattern that we apply ever so often in life: We are used to handling every minute detail of the situation. Mostly because we are afraid – afraid of loss, of not being enough, of getting hurt, of experiencing pain. One thing has to be said, fear is an excellent and necessary protective mechanism. It causes us to be cautious and prevents us from doing permanent damage by repeating the same harmful pattern over and over again. But just like alignment can make you feel caged within your own body, fear can limit the space in which life can just flow.

But who can blame us? This is all we have been taught: We are raised and asked to be proactive, to take charge, to keep it together and to be responsible. We have not been taught to lean back and keep the space open. We all have been burned and bruised. It is only natural that we put all our effort into avoiding more injuries. It is the only sane thing to do.

However, if you have ever been in an asana you’ll know that no matter how hard you think of all the little details, you can never think of everything at the same time. No matter how much you keep fixing things, there is always something that escapes your attention. At the end of the day, we can tame the body, sharpen our awareness, but nature is fickle and will just do what she wants. And the thing we like least might just be what’s good for us at that particular time.
Now you can either keep banging your head against the wall and still desperately try to control everything. Or you can leave that space open and trust that all the little puzzle pieces will fall into place. And that’s what it takes: trust, the opposite of fear.

There is no rational explanation, but I think we all know from experience, that the minute you let go or even give up, something shifts and life rushes in to save the day. Trust that life knows exactly what you need and will provide the right portion of it for you to grow. Trust that even if you are not being proactive, that if you are not planning everything through, things always turn out in the best possible way. It sounds like jumping off a cliff without a parachute. But if you trust that life will catch you, then that’s your safety net.

In most types of Yoga we use the traditional Ujjayi breathing (ocean breath) for our practice on the sticky mat. I would say, it is the most commonly used traditional Pranayama. When taught, people always say that it is a very efficient way to breathe. It is easier to fill the lungs and the breath is deeper and smoother. They also say it generates heat, also known as the transformative element of fire.

Although I have been using Ujjayi breath ever since I started to have a regular yoga practice, I never really understood what exactly makes the breath deeper and more efficient. But today I finally found out.

The Ujjayi technique consists in a tightening of the glottis. A bit like when you breathe on a mirror surface to clean it, but you keep your lips closed. Thus, the air of the inhalation and exhalation runs through a smaller channel and that creates friction, which in turn creates the sound. It is precisely this friction, this resistance that deepens the breath. Because you have to go against a counter-force, you invest more energy and that does the trick. Similarly to how pursed lip breathing improves shortness of breath in asthma patients. Somehow when there is a little obstacle to occupy your mind with, you forget what was causing trouble in the first place and the original problem takes care of itself.

So, in other words, we actually need a resistance to overcome the obstacle. The same is true in asana practice. For me, it is impossible to balance in handstand. But if someone places their fingers on my heels and I have something to push against, I can magically hold the pose. So again, a slight resistance does the trick. The same is true for the mind. Sometimes when a yoga class is really packed and you really have to concentrate to avoid distraction, it is almost easier to find your focus.

In every day life, whenever things don’t go our way, we usually get upset. We don’t like resistance. But if you look back on your life: Would you ever have gotten anything done without there having been an obstacle in the first place? Like a child needs rules and maybe even conflict with its parents, we need friction in our lives to develop and to grow. If there’s nothing that scares you, how will you ever learn to be brave? If there is nothing to test your patience, how will you ever decide to be more tolerant? As my teacher says: “Trust that the obstacle you see in front of you is the very thing that can liberate you.”

Maybe you need that friction to trigger the combative spirit. Similarly to how for instance living with roommates teaches you to communicate openly. If the dirty dishes in the sink wouldn’t push your buttons, would you ever try to sort it out? That is why close relationships teach us the most. Proximity automatically creates friction. And then you have two options: Either you begin to ignore the obstacle (and it will keep bugging you) or you understand that the obstacle is not the enemy. It is the necessary challenge. Without that resistance, you would never muster the fire to face it head-on.

And once you do get up the courage to use the friction for something productive – the feeling is priceless!

For a long time, I have heard so many yogis raving about how well rock climbing and yoga go together. So I’d been wanting to try it for quite some time. Let it be said, I’m not exactly the outdoorsy type. Nevertheless, I asked my friend Britton – hard core climber, or actually hard core everything – to take me. Britton is one of those people who are total yogis without ever having seen a yoga mat up close (ok, he says he’s seen one twice). And he said, outside is the only was to do it.

Your first time climbing is a little bit like getting your first tattoo. You never for a second think that it might hurt, until you are actually being tattooed. So it wasn’t until Britton placed me against the solid face of the rock, that I actually realized: I’m terrified!

And this is also what I kept shouting down for about the first 10 meters: “I’m terrified!” Britton claims to be “not such a good teacher”. For someone like me, Britton is the perfect teacher. He gave me so little information that he completely took me out of my head. He gave me nothing to over-analyze. It was more like “Ok…up you go!”

Isn’t it interesting what happens when we get scared? The ego spikes up like malaria fever! In your head it goes something like this: “There is no way I can move in these tight shoes, I’m gonna break my toes! And the rock is way too slippery anyway! Why did I even come here?” You find a million excuses not to expose yourself to risk. But the truth is, you had your mind made up, long before you gripped the rock with your bare hands. You showed up, didn’t you?

After a few failed attempts to lift my yogini butt off the ground, Britton mercifully told me to use my legs and not my arms. Now there’s something I understand: Root to rise, just like in yoga! You push off into the rock with your feet to lift up from your core. And all of a sudden, I WAS climbing! (And yes, still terrified and screaming at the top of my lungs).

In yoga, as in life, sometimes you’re on a roll and everything comes easy. Then invariably at some point, you get stuck and you feel there’s nowhere to go. It’s the same for climbing. Only when hanging from a rock, the panic is slightly more tangible. You look up, you look back, and it seems like both ways are blocked.
Luckily, Britton shouted up the perfect wisdom: “If you are stuck, don’t think about what’s ahead of you, don’t look down. Just take a breath, take a look around, see the beautiful trees. And then just find a spot where to put your foot next.”
So you lean into the rock aka Mother Nature, panting, and all of a sudden, you see it – the next foothold. It has been there all the time, only you were so obsessed with feeling stuck that you missed it.

The longer you move upward, the more you realize you can trust your body, your grippy shoes, your coordination, yourself. But more importantly, it forces you to trust your climbing buddy. You feel the rope slackening as you move, to give you space, and then you feel it tighten, once you’ve found your new position. It’s as if somebody was right up there with you. You have enough room to make your way up, but the other person is not going to let you fall.

Eventually, I made it up to the top. After a few seconds it occurred to me that I also had to get back down! Another surge of panic. How on earth can you lean into the void, back first? It was good there was no way around it. Because really, all you can do is trust your partner. The same way we trust life, otherwise we’d never even leave the house. And once you do, everything becomes easy.

The moment you’re back on solid ground, all the fear and the pain is instantly forgotten. All you remember is that you made it up and back down. You wonder why you ever doubted yourself. And you know you were always going to go up and come back down, safe and sound.

And PS: May I just say? I never asked to be let down once.

I’m indebted to my fellow teacher trainees and to my teacher Stephen Thomas for the inspiration and input on meditation. I bow to them in gratitude.

For years now, meditation has been the part of my yoga practice where I have encountered the most resistance. My advanced teacher training at Airyoga, has reminded me of some misconceptions about what meditation is “supposed to be”.

For years now, I’ve been coming to sit – whenever I actually reluctantly made it – thinking that I have to keep my mind completely empty. That’s like telling a vivacious child to stop fidgeting and sit completely still. As my teacher Stephen Thomas says, that’s just not the nature of the mind. The mind is by definition “vata”, the ayurvedic term for space/air. It moves relentlessly and tirelessly. Just like a lively child.

Is there a way to get the child’s character to change? No. (Well, if we don’t count Ritalin). But can we learn to deal with the child differently? Yes. We can accept that the child has a lot of energy and get less attached to the fact that we can’t modify its personality to suit our preferences. In meditation, we don’t try to mould the mind into something it is not. We don’t try to forcefully block out every thought that occurs. We let the film unfold in front of our mind’s eye, but we try to not get attached to every single image. We let the clouds shift along without losing sight of the blue sky.

The idea that we can get the mind to instantly freeze, is moreover forgetting that all of our practices – yogic and non – are a process. We don’t start at the destination, we simply start where we are, monkey-mind and all. And here I will quote my teacher Stephen again: “Repetition is key”. The steady drop will hollow out the rock. The more you try to silence the mind chatter, the more likely you are to snag a few quiet moments. The child’s nap time, so to speak.
That is the effort, the fire of our dedication.

Now if you yell at the child and punish it and make it feel inappropriate, is that going to do much good? Not in the long run. The same is true for our meditation practice. What does it benefit us, if we make ourselves feel bad when the mind just won’t stop chattering? When I studied Shamata meditation with David Nichtern in New York, he would always say: “Every time you notice your mind has wandered off, gently bring the attention back to the breath. No judgment.” Realizing that this is not a contest, that it’s not about achievement, can actually be an immense relief. There’s nothing wrong with having a voluble mind.
That is loving kindness, telling the mind it’s ok to be the way it is.

So we do our best without being too hard on ourselves. And then… you just sit and see what comes up. It will be different every day. However, shifts are the most natural thing in the world. Nothing is ever the same every day. New friend and amazing yogini Claire Dalloz volunteered this approach to our Sangha today: “Maybe you can develop a curiosity towards how your mind is going to behave today?” Just come to sit with and be excited to discover how it’s going to be today. I strongly believe that curiosity and a sense of humor are powerful tools.

Like Pema Chödron says: Precision, gentleness and letting go. In other words: Make the effort and then relax into it. Some things are out of your control. With an open mind, see what comes up in that space you created.

Sometimes at the beginning of a yoga class, as we come to our seat, we notice our breath is still quick and our mind is unable to settle down. Sometimes, at this point, we get frustrated and impatient. Have you ever wondered why? I think it’s because our mind races ahead. The minute we sit down, we want to already feel the benefits of yoga although we just stumbled in after a hectic day at the office. However, we’re not allowing ourselves to be with that office-energy, we think it’s inappropriate for yoga. Our head is rushing ahead. We already want to be at the finish line, when the race hasn’t even started yet.

That tends to happen to me a lot in life. More precisely, that tends to happen to me a lot when my emotions don’t act they way I expect them to.

For instance: When my previous boyfriend used to say he was going out Friday night with his buddies, my honest reaction would have been to say I was disappointed and that, selfishly speaking, I would have loved to have my man to myself that night. That would have made me look like the hot-blooded woman that I am. But of course, my brain was racing ahead, poking at me: “You have to be the strong independent woman here, and no way you can show you’re disappointed.” So I would try to rise above the situation and let reason dictate my answer.

The thing is, when we let our head win over our heart, we usually don’t appear the most convincing. The hardened facial expression, the role we are forcing ourselves into… other people usually see right through it. And that causes another chain of reactions. And after all, wouldn’t my boyfriend have been flattered to hear my honest answer?

But apart from that, I ask myself: WHY? Why, in God’s name, do we want to pretend to feel differently from what we do? It’s so liberating to just admit to what you feel. Ok, the first moment, when you actually strip naked, it might be a little chilly… But it’s so much easier to just say what you feel, frankly, without reproach, than having to pretend you’re oh-so-above-things and so un-attached… Honestly, what a hassle!

And if you want to bring up efficiency: We fall into the trap and tend to think: “If I fake it, I will make it. I will avoid conflict if I just say what the other person wants to hear (or what I want to hear myself say).” Wrong! Just because we tell ourselves this is the way we need to feel, we won’t suddenly feel that way. The suppressed emotion will come back and bite you in the ass.

I believe the opposite is true: If we admit to the emotion and live it to the fullest, it will exhaust itself and we can let it go. It’s like a fire that eventually burns down to ashes. We can be ourselves AND eventually rise above things. We can have our cake and eat it too.