Quieting the Mind (As If!)

One of the first concepts I was introduced to in yoga was the idea of quieting the mind. As the instructor described the act of “quieting the mind,” the mere suggestion incited as many running thoughts in a single moment as possible: What does she mean, ‘quiet the mind’? Do I have that ability? Is it something learned or intuited? Why can’t my mind shut down, and for that matter, shut up? Does it ever? Is there something wrong with me? Am I still talking? Stop! How long do we have to do this? Stop!

This concept is probably the single most difficult thing about yoga in my humble opinion, quieting the mind. I find it harder than holding one-legged downward facing dog for five breaths, harder than half moon, and even Chaturanga Dandasana. I’m better at it now, as I have learned to let go of the pressure to cease all thoughts. Now, I calmly listen to the music, if provided, or I pay close attention to my breath. Inhale, exhale, and if a thought creeps in, well so be it. I honor the message and allow it to visit momentarily before I allow it to simply pass. Inhale, exhale, I listen to my body and my unconscious thought: there’s a pain in my right knee—was I pushing myself too hard to day and not honoring my limitations? The pain in my right shoulder is creeping up again, time to visit my acupuncturist.

The moral of the story is this: Honor thy body and mind, and know that all thoughts will not cease. Pay close attention to the unconscious thoughts that eek through. You never know when an important message is trying to break through to the surface.

Yoga Etiquette

As I’ve stated before, I have been practicing yoga since 1999. In those years, I have kept a running list of what I consider proper yoga etiquette:

1. If the class is in session (i.e., the door is closed and it’s even a minute after the class is scheduled to start, don’t enter the room)
2. If the class is at capacity, don’t force your way into the class. Observe the maximum number and GRACEFULLY (without swearing) exit the class and catch the next one
3. Don’t walk on someone else’s mat with or without your shoes. In fact, leave the shoes outside the room
4. Be friendly—what will it hurt?
5. Honor your body and your intuitive mind
6. Follow the instructor’s lead—even if you know a better route to a more appropriate pose
7. Don’t compete
8. Don’t judge (yourself or others)
9. Don’t ridicule (yourself or others)
10. Don’t leave in the middle of savassna. If you must leave early, leave before the class settles into the final resting pose

Now wait, before you walk across my mat with your bare feet; allow me to share my rationale.

1. Entering the class late disrupts the mood of those who arrived on time and would like to experience the class uninterrupted. Furthermore, if the class is full, the entire room must shift to accommodate you
2. When a class is over the maximum for that particular room, there’s less room to maneuver in the poses.
3. That’s just rude! Leaving your shoes outside of practice is just a nice thing to do as it disallows outside germs inside the room.
4. Why not? Being friendly adds to the experience of peace
5. Listening to your body and mind, you will hopefully learn something new about yourself, your limits and your progression. Also, you’re less inclined to get hurt when you’re in tune with you.
6. Perhaps your instructor has a plan and can introduce you to something new. And it’s rude and show-offy.
7. This is a quick way to get hurt…I know, I’ve been there

8. What’s the point? You gain nothing

9. What’s the point? You gain nothing

10. Again, it’s very disruptive to others in the class who are using this time to meditate and decompose post class. Your interruption disallows a peaceful end to the class

Okay, so there you have it…go out there with the knowledge that more than one person will appreciate your diligence to the unwritten rules.

Introduction to Yoga, or Rather, Re-introduction to Yoga

Yoga is a wondrous thing. I “came to yoga,” quite by chance. A chance so remote, I can’t actually say with 100% certainty. It just appeared in my life, a welcome stranger, and never left. It was more like a reunion of sorts; I was reacquainted with an old friend.

My first memory of yoga was in 1999, I believe. My husband and I traveled to Hawaii with another couple, the “adventurous ones” we like to call them, as they introduced us to many new and splendid (and not so splendid things). The wife half of the other couple invited me to attend a power yoga class being held in the hotel. Her enthusiasm was enough for me, so off we went.

I remember that the class was rather full, and there was just enough space for our mats, but everyone was polite and happy (we were in paradise!) and they gladly made room for us.

I followed along with my classmates, taking their cues from the yogi, as we were led through different poses or asanas. Soon I studied them less and concentrated more on the yogi’s voice and on my body. At the end of class, I simply put my things away and listened to everyone around me marvel about how great they felt after the class. I’m wasn’t sure if I felt any differently than I had at the conclusion of any workout, but there was something nice and peaceful about the practice that struck familiar and good. Surely, I’d tried this yoga before. I don’t recall that it was awkward or strange, or that I felt out of place or silly as some classes I’ve taken have (Nia comes to mind…).

Back home (Chicago), I’d forgotten about my island experience and reverted back to the basics: stepping, running, weight training and spinning which was the latest craze. I knew something was missing; there was a void that I couldn’t quite place. And then suddenly, my health club began an introduction to yoga class. I enthusiastically signed up, happy for the diversity and again, feeling that “need” to practice yoga. I don’t remember the first class I took at the gym, but it must have been comfortable and an overall good experience, because I never stopped practicing and the spinning, and running soon ceased.

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