I admit it. The holidays really did a number on me. It was the first year I have every really worked consistently part time since I had kids and I still wanted to do everything I had done before so my children had those traditions to look back on. There was the baking, and the shopping, and the tree... so all of this left little time for me to eat well. And it didn't help that Ornish is located right next to a Dunkin' Donuts (those jelly donuts just call my name during Channukah!!!). Then I got sick. By the time January rolled around everything about me felt heavy. My gut felt heavy. My heart felt heavy. My energy felt heavy.
Enter Leah Shannon, owner of Full Well, and Holistic Health Counselor Extraordinaire (not to mention a dear friend of mine!). She emailed me and mentioned that she was going to be offering a Winter Cleanse and asked if I could provide a 10 minute detoxifying yoga sequence. I said, "Sure! But I want to do the cleanse too!"
Yoga is an excellent way to encourage detoxification in the body. The main systems that cleanse the body- circulatory, digestive, and lymph- are all stimulated in a balanced yoga practice. Yoga facilitates the proper workings of these systems by lengthening, pulling, stretching, contracting, compressing, and twisting every bit of you so that even the deep tissues are stimulated and encouraged to release waste. The deep breathing of yoga not only helps to expel excess carbon dioxide, but also stimulates organ function and massages those organs so that they can better do their job in detoxifying the body. Most importantly, the practices helps to calm and cleanse the mind of toxic thoughts, bringing together a more cohesive mind/ body connection.
So here I am- Five days under my belt and feeling pretty damn good! My sugar and caffeine cravings are gone and I'm confident going in to my second week. I've also developed a soothing and cleansing practice that you can use too!
10 Minute Yoga Detox
Try to hold all postures for at least five even and steady breaths, unless otherwise indicated.
1. Sukasana (Easy Pose) with breath awareness (30-40 breaths) and Full Yogic Breath (5-10)
2. Cat/ Cow flow (10 breaths)
http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/2468
http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/2467
3. Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward Facing Dog Pose)
4. Plank Pose
5. Bhujangasana (Cobra Pose)
6. Balasana (Child’s Pose)
7. Parivrtta Janu Sirsasana (Twisted Head to Knee Pose)
Twist the body towards the knee and open the arm (same arm as straight leg) up behind you.
8. Ardha Matsyendrasana (Half Lord of the Fishes)… this twist can be done with bottom leg straight
9. Paschimottanasana (Intense West Stretch-- Seated forward bend)
****Repeat steps 7-9 on opposite side before continuing on.****
10. Jathara Parivartanasana (Reclined Twist)
Practice this on both sides.
11. Savasana (Corpse Pose)
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Adapting to Adjustments
I had an interesting conversation with a friend a while ago that has been in the back of my mind since. She had taken a yoga class at her local health club and was feeling insecure about it because the teacher had given her a lot of attention in the form of adjustments.
The fact that she was a little unnerved by this surprised me. I LOVE to get adjustments when I take a class. Maybe it is the dancers ego in me that strongly remembers a childhood friend-- also a dancer-- telling me it was good that I was getting adjustments. She said it meant that the teacher saw talent in me. Ever since that conversation when I got a 'correction' in my dance class or a kinder 'adjustment' in a yoga class, it was always a nonverbal bit of encouragement saying, "You can do this!" My friend, on the other hand, said she felt almost like the teacher was picking on her. It got me thinking about how and why I give adjustments as a teacher. I've been wondering if my students ever felt the same way, and it saddens me to think they could.
As an instructor, my intention is always to wait to adjust a student until they are ready to accept what you are offering. As a teacher trainee, I was always shown how to use non-verbal adjustments first, or one finger adjustments to correct a misalignment and ensure safety for students who are new to us. As we continue with a student, the relationship builds so that they can trust you and allow you to open them up to a deeper expression of the posture. It is then that we can grow more hands on with our assistance.
Not long after this conversation with my mom, I went to a five day intensive with the internationally renowned teacher Donna Farhi. She brought an even deeper insight to the art of adjustments: The Neutral Touch. She described how on top of asking verbal permission to adjust a student, when she first touches them she comes to them with a touch that is neither timid nor aggressive and "wait for the sentries to welcome you in." From that point on a teacher can guide the student further in to the asana.
As important as it is for a teacher to respect the student's limitations in every adjustment, it is equally important for students to take on responsibilities for their own bodies. My teacher is not in my body and can not sense and feel what I do. If an instructor is making an adjustment that doesn't feel "right," it is the student's responsibility to verbalize that. A student also has the right to verbally refuse an adjustment if they don't want it. We are encouraged to do this by the yama (restraint) of ahimsa (non-violence). We practice ahimsa with our bodies when we listen and honor them and their limitations. A good teacher will respect the student for where they are in their process.
I've been sharing these ideas with my friend. As with all things in life, we have to be ready for changes... willing to adjust. When the time is right and we can be present with what needs to happen, we adapt in the way we need to so we can develop each posture to its fullest nature within our body.
The fact that she was a little unnerved by this surprised me. I LOVE to get adjustments when I take a class. Maybe it is the dancers ego in me that strongly remembers a childhood friend-- also a dancer-- telling me it was good that I was getting adjustments. She said it meant that the teacher saw talent in me. Ever since that conversation when I got a 'correction' in my dance class or a kinder 'adjustment' in a yoga class, it was always a nonverbal bit of encouragement saying, "You can do this!" My friend, on the other hand, said she felt almost like the teacher was picking on her. It got me thinking about how and why I give adjustments as a teacher. I've been wondering if my students ever felt the same way, and it saddens me to think they could.
As an instructor, my intention is always to wait to adjust a student until they are ready to accept what you are offering. As a teacher trainee, I was always shown how to use non-verbal adjustments first, or one finger adjustments to correct a misalignment and ensure safety for students who are new to us. As we continue with a student, the relationship builds so that they can trust you and allow you to open them up to a deeper expression of the posture. It is then that we can grow more hands on with our assistance.
Not long after this conversation with my mom, I went to a five day intensive with the internationally renowned teacher Donna Farhi. She brought an even deeper insight to the art of adjustments: The Neutral Touch. She described how on top of asking verbal permission to adjust a student, when she first touches them she comes to them with a touch that is neither timid nor aggressive and "wait for the sentries to welcome you in." From that point on a teacher can guide the student further in to the asana.
As important as it is for a teacher to respect the student's limitations in every adjustment, it is equally important for students to take on responsibilities for their own bodies. My teacher is not in my body and can not sense and feel what I do. If an instructor is making an adjustment that doesn't feel "right," it is the student's responsibility to verbalize that. A student also has the right to verbally refuse an adjustment if they don't want it. We are encouraged to do this by the yama (restraint) of ahimsa (non-violence). We practice ahimsa with our bodies when we listen and honor them and their limitations. A good teacher will respect the student for where they are in their process.
I've been sharing these ideas with my friend. As with all things in life, we have to be ready for changes... willing to adjust. When the time is right and we can be present with what needs to happen, we adapt in the way we need to so we can develop each posture to its fullest nature within our body.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Checking In
More and more, I am working with people interested in how Yoga can help them relieve stress. While a daily asana practice will certainly balance the hormones and a consistent meditation practice helps to maintain center, taking it off the mat and in to daily life can be a challenge.
One of the most powerful changes a Yoga practice can make is that it builds greater awareness in the body. Our communication with ourselves takes on a whole new conversation as we connect further inward using breath as our language. When the body begins to understand its signals are heard, the healing process can begin and we can rid our bodies of the seeds of disease that stress creates.
To carry this communication in to daily life, it helps to begin to create ritual check ins with yourself. For example, at every stop light... on the bus... during commercials... while waiting in lines... we can start to check in with our physical body (Annamaya kosha), our breath body (Pranamaya kosha), and our emotional body (Manomaya kosha). We begin by simply observing any areas of tension, discovering where we might be constricting or holding. Observe the qualities of each of these bodies. There is no need to judge. We simply study what is happening within-- the way a mother watches her child play on the playground.
Consider these initial observations a baseline assessment. After this baseline is established, invite any areas of tension to soften and release. This is especially effective with the physical and breath bodies. Tension in the emotional body can manifest stubbornly. While softening with the breath is helpful, we invite ourselves sit in whatever emotion is present. In my experience, emotions are like some misbehaving children-- offering them your attention allows them to settle.
As our awareness of stress and tension grows, we begin to recognize these sensations in their infancy. This gives us the opportunity to draw upon the tools in our Yoga tool box (pranayama, visualization, systematic tensing and releasing in the body, etc.) and fizzle the stress.
One of the most powerful changes a Yoga practice can make is that it builds greater awareness in the body. Our communication with ourselves takes on a whole new conversation as we connect further inward using breath as our language. When the body begins to understand its signals are heard, the healing process can begin and we can rid our bodies of the seeds of disease that stress creates.
To carry this communication in to daily life, it helps to begin to create ritual check ins with yourself. For example, at every stop light... on the bus... during commercials... while waiting in lines... we can start to check in with our physical body (Annamaya kosha), our breath body (Pranamaya kosha), and our emotional body (Manomaya kosha). We begin by simply observing any areas of tension, discovering where we might be constricting or holding. Observe the qualities of each of these bodies. There is no need to judge. We simply study what is happening within-- the way a mother watches her child play on the playground.
Consider these initial observations a baseline assessment. After this baseline is established, invite any areas of tension to soften and release. This is especially effective with the physical and breath bodies. Tension in the emotional body can manifest stubbornly. While softening with the breath is helpful, we invite ourselves sit in whatever emotion is present. In my experience, emotions are like some misbehaving children-- offering them your attention allows them to settle.
As our awareness of stress and tension grows, we begin to recognize these sensations in their infancy. This gives us the opportunity to draw upon the tools in our Yoga tool box (pranayama, visualization, systematic tensing and releasing in the body, etc.) and fizzle the stress.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Opening Our Wings
Yesterday I went and took a yoga class at BYS on the South Side, here in Pittsburgh. I parked my car a block and a half away, grabbed my mat, slung it over my shoulder and started my stroll to class.
Suddenly, something flitted across my face. I put my hand up as a reaction and the butterfly that had just brushed my cheek with it's wings landed on the back of it. I brought it up to eye level, and her delicate feet tapped around on my hand so she was facing me, her wings folded tight together.
We examined eachother. I watched her proboscis curl out and taste my skin. I observed the underside of her wings (all she would allow me to see)...soft and brown. Her graceful legs would carry the weight of her body with such strength as she explored me.
I continued my walk to class, assuming she would fly off when I began to move. I was certain the shift would startle her (as much as I truly tried to move gently) and anticipated her lift off at any moment. Yet she stayed with me. No traffic noises, shouts from my fellow pedestrians, or feathery breezes would deter her. As for my part, I tried to shield her from the warm breaths of air that brushed against us with my other hand and pulled her close to act as a buffer for her. We made it the block and a half to the door of the shala safe and sound.
Again, I waited for her to leave. Again, she chose to stay with me. Perhaps, I thought, I'm being given a lesson. So I allowed myself to pause and listen to her wisdom. I grew aware of each sensation of her tiny feet, each twitch of antenae. The longer we stayed there, I became further mindful of the sounds of the cars and trucks on bustling Carson Street... the coolness of the damp morning air... the scents of coffee wafting from windows near by. We two became absorbed in to the morning for what seemed like endless time.
Then, without warning, she opened her wings and allowed me to behold her colors. She was a beautiful Question Mark Butterfly. Her brown underside did little to prepare me for this unexpected grace. The contrasting colors popped and shimmered in the light. Her glory was soft, simple and strong at once and the top of her body was as striking and wondrous as her wings. I offered a silent thanks to her for trusting her beauty with me as she turned. Just as suddenly as she arrived, she flew away.
As I lay on my mat that morning, eyes closed and hugging my knees to my chest, I listened to the quiet chatter of my fellow yogis and yoginis as they waited for class to start. It occurred to me that our practice is much like that of my butterfly friend's lesson to me. We come to class and practice at our home for days and weeks... months and years. We shield ourselves from the outside. We wait and anticipate. We practice presence. And in those rare and precious times we wholly allow our expectations to dissolve and drink in each breath, each sensation, each glorious experience as it happens, it is only then that our inner guide can finally show us our colors.
Suddenly, something flitted across my face. I put my hand up as a reaction and the butterfly that had just brushed my cheek with it's wings landed on the back of it. I brought it up to eye level, and her delicate feet tapped around on my hand so she was facing me, her wings folded tight together.
We examined eachother. I watched her proboscis curl out and taste my skin. I observed the underside of her wings (all she would allow me to see)...soft and brown. Her graceful legs would carry the weight of her body with such strength as she explored me.
I continued my walk to class, assuming she would fly off when I began to move. I was certain the shift would startle her (as much as I truly tried to move gently) and anticipated her lift off at any moment. Yet she stayed with me. No traffic noises, shouts from my fellow pedestrians, or feathery breezes would deter her. As for my part, I tried to shield her from the warm breaths of air that brushed against us with my other hand and pulled her close to act as a buffer for her. We made it the block and a half to the door of the shala safe and sound.
Again, I waited for her to leave. Again, she chose to stay with me. Perhaps, I thought, I'm being given a lesson. So I allowed myself to pause and listen to her wisdom. I grew aware of each sensation of her tiny feet, each twitch of antenae. The longer we stayed there, I became further mindful of the sounds of the cars and trucks on bustling Carson Street... the coolness of the damp morning air... the scents of coffee wafting from windows near by. We two became absorbed in to the morning for what seemed like endless time.
Then, without warning, she opened her wings and allowed me to behold her colors. She was a beautiful Question Mark Butterfly. Her brown underside did little to prepare me for this unexpected grace. The contrasting colors popped and shimmered in the light. Her glory was soft, simple and strong at once and the top of her body was as striking and wondrous as her wings. I offered a silent thanks to her for trusting her beauty with me as she turned. Just as suddenly as she arrived, she flew away.
As I lay on my mat that morning, eyes closed and hugging my knees to my chest, I listened to the quiet chatter of my fellow yogis and yoginis as they waited for class to start. It occurred to me that our practice is much like that of my butterfly friend's lesson to me. We come to class and practice at our home for days and weeks... months and years. We shield ourselves from the outside. We wait and anticipate. We practice presence. And in those rare and precious times we wholly allow our expectations to dissolve and drink in each breath, each sensation, each glorious experience as it happens, it is only then that our inner guide can finally show us our colors.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Breath in, Breath out.
It's been a stressful and emotional week. I was in the height of my fears and frustrations when my husband looked at me and said, "Kristie, BREATH. This is all temporary." My husband found wisdom so simply stated. I had forgotten how we get through anything tough in life (or perhaps more accurately, how we get through life): one breath at a time. From that point on, whenever the situation I was dealing with got too tough, I breathed...consciously. The emotions came up, bubbled out, and passed.
Yesterday, a friend was asking me which Pranayama I practiced to calm myself down when feeling anxious. The first one that came to mind was the one I had found most cleansing and relaxing throughout the week: The Full Yogic Breath. What is that? How do you do it? This is how I like to teach it in class:
Sit with your legs folded and your spine long. Bring your right hand to your navel and your left hand to your breast bone. In your mind's eye, see a closed flower in each of the three origin points of the Full Yogic Breath-- the lower abdomen below the navel, the middle abdomen above the navel, and the upper chest under your breast bone. We begin by breathing in to each part individually before we combine them for a Complete Yogic Breath.
Send all the breath in your body out through your nose. As you draw new breath in, allow it to o pen the flower in the lower abdomen. As the flower blooms, your right hand will rise. Send that breath back out of the body and observe the flower closing again. This breath induces profound relaxation for the heart, reduces high blood pressure, stimulates digestive processes, and regulates intestinal activity.
Inhale again and release the blossom in the middle abdomen above the navel, expanding the rib cage and lowering the diaphragm. Again, release that breath and watch the petals come together. This breath takes the strain off the heart and provides new supply of blood to the liver, gall bladder, spleen, and kidneys.
Bring the breath in once more and observe the bloom of the flower under your breast bone, drawing the left hand up with it. Once again, send the breath away and close the blossom near your heart. This breathing pattern strengthens the hilar lymph nodes in the lungs and thoroughly nourishes the tips of the lungs.
On the next inhalation, we will open all three flowers with the same breath. Inhale and watch the flowers blossom one at a time- lower abdomen, above your navel, and breastbone. Each opening gives way to the blooming of the next flower. As you exhale each subsequent flower folds back in to itself, ready to begin the process again-- first your lower abdomen, then above your navel, and then your chest. Continue this process.
In this way, your breath is the sun warming the petals and drawing them open- fresh with new energy. As you exhale, the petals reunite and restore. This should not be forced-- it is as natural as a morning glory blooming at first light.
This process of bringing in renewed energy and restoration is a powerful instrument that can be used to induce deep relaxation. It encourages the body and mind to unwind and rest.
Yesterday, a friend was asking me which Pranayama I practiced to calm myself down when feeling anxious. The first one that came to mind was the one I had found most cleansing and relaxing throughout the week: The Full Yogic Breath. What is that? How do you do it? This is how I like to teach it in class:
Sit with your legs folded and your spine long. Bring your right hand to your navel and your left hand to your breast bone. In your mind's eye, see a closed flower in each of the three origin points of the Full Yogic Breath-- the lower abdomen below the navel, the middle abdomen above the navel, and the upper chest under your breast bone. We begin by breathing in to each part individually before we combine them for a Complete Yogic Breath.
Send all the breath in your body out through your nose. As you draw new breath in, allow it to o pen the flower in the lower abdomen. As the flower blooms, your right hand will rise. Send that breath back out of the body and observe the flower closing again. This breath induces profound relaxation for the heart, reduces high blood pressure, stimulates digestive processes, and regulates intestinal activity.
Inhale again and release the blossom in the middle abdomen above the navel, expanding the rib cage and lowering the diaphragm. Again, release that breath and watch the petals come together. This breath takes the strain off the heart and provides new supply of blood to the liver, gall bladder, spleen, and kidneys.
Bring the breath in once more and observe the bloom of the flower under your breast bone, drawing the left hand up with it. Once again, send the breath away and close the blossom near your heart. This breathing pattern strengthens the hilar lymph nodes in the lungs and thoroughly nourishes the tips of the lungs.
On the next inhalation, we will open all three flowers with the same breath. Inhale and watch the flowers blossom one at a time- lower abdomen, above your navel, and breastbone. Each opening gives way to the blooming of the next flower. As you exhale each subsequent flower folds back in to itself, ready to begin the process again-- first your lower abdomen, then above your navel, and then your chest. Continue this process.
In this way, your breath is the sun warming the petals and drawing them open- fresh with new energy. As you exhale, the petals reunite and restore. This should not be forced-- it is as natural as a morning glory blooming at first light.
This process of bringing in renewed energy and restoration is a powerful instrument that can be used to induce deep relaxation. It encourages the body and mind to unwind and rest.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
An Early Spring
Whew! What a week it's been! We've been buried under 22 inches of snow here in Pittsburgh. The city has been at a stand still and many of us have been stuck in our homes.
This universe supported pause has created a bit of cabin fever in my household-- at least for everyone but me. As my kids and husband have climbed the walls, I found myself grateful for the hushed world outside. Rather than feeling self inflicted pressure to get back to "my old life", I was offered an opportunity to allow myself to slow down and appreciate what I have right now. There is no "old life" to get back to. I am alive. I am here. I have changed and grown. I have this life now.
These cooped up hours found me in meditation as I rolled out dough for stromboli or folded loads of laundry. In that time I saw myself lifting through the dankness of the last few months and bathing in hope and faith. I discovered an organic process of my spirit budding-- beginning to have faith again in my Hatha practice and hope of what moving back towards my daily practice might mean for my life.
After my blog post about how I had been avoiding my Hatha practice, a wise Yogi suggested to me her suspicion that it was not avoidance but merely that I was not yet ready to practice again. Her words have been on my heart in my meditations.
Tonight as I nursed my daughter to sleep, I felt overwhelmed with desire to move my body...to breath my prayer in asana. I find myself ready once again-- no longer scared of my Hatha Practice but EXCITED to meet myself on the mat and discover what I need to learn.
I look out my window to the cold darkness. Under the heavy weight of all that snow, little green things patiently burrow in the dirt, waiting to feel the warmth of the sun coaxing them up through the earth. When plants are dormant, all life processes are going on, but only at a much slower rate. This interlude allows for a reawakening in the spring. If the gardener looks carefully, they see that the old brown parts aren't turning green-- they are being replaced by new growth.
It would seem that in the time following my surgery, I had my own personal winter. It took a blizzard to show me the importance of pause. It may be eight degrees outside, but it feels as if spring has come early in this house. Little buds, roots, and shoots are starting to grow!
This universe supported pause has created a bit of cabin fever in my household-- at least for everyone but me. As my kids and husband have climbed the walls, I found myself grateful for the hushed world outside. Rather than feeling self inflicted pressure to get back to "my old life", I was offered an opportunity to allow myself to slow down and appreciate what I have right now. There is no "old life" to get back to. I am alive. I am here. I have changed and grown. I have this life now.
These cooped up hours found me in meditation as I rolled out dough for stromboli or folded loads of laundry. In that time I saw myself lifting through the dankness of the last few months and bathing in hope and faith. I discovered an organic process of my spirit budding-- beginning to have faith again in my Hatha practice and hope of what moving back towards my daily practice might mean for my life.
After my blog post about how I had been avoiding my Hatha practice, a wise Yogi suggested to me her suspicion that it was not avoidance but merely that I was not yet ready to practice again. Her words have been on my heart in my meditations.
Tonight as I nursed my daughter to sleep, I felt overwhelmed with desire to move my body...to breath my prayer in asana. I find myself ready once again-- no longer scared of my Hatha Practice but EXCITED to meet myself on the mat and discover what I need to learn.
I look out my window to the cold darkness. Under the heavy weight of all that snow, little green things patiently burrow in the dirt, waiting to feel the warmth of the sun coaxing them up through the earth. When plants are dormant, all life processes are going on, but only at a much slower rate. This interlude allows for a reawakening in the spring. If the gardener looks carefully, they see that the old brown parts aren't turning green-- they are being replaced by new growth.
It would seem that in the time following my surgery, I had my own personal winter. It took a blizzard to show me the importance of pause. It may be eight degrees outside, but it feels as if spring has come early in this house. Little buds, roots, and shoots are starting to grow!
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