The Ashtanga Diva

I woke up this morning earlier than usual and even though it’s a Moon Day and Mysore-style classes all over the world have been cancelled, my body was raring to practice. And so I did, at 5am, in the quiet of my kitchen with only a tiny spider dangling from the ceiling for company and the sound of my breath as accompaniment. No music, no space heater, no incense smells. And that’s when it hit me.

I’m in love with the Primary Series.

Maybe because despite my hating on it before, despite my blaming it for my injuries, despite my abandonment of it in favor of younger, sexier yoga (Yeah, I’m talking to YOU, Rocket!), the primary series took me back with no questions asked, total forgiveness, and even more love than before.

Let me explain.

Practicing the primary series is like dancing with a long-time lover. You are comfortable with him and know his moves, but he still takes your breath away. You can be with him anywhere, pretty much anytime you want. And he was there for you post-surgery, when you were at your weakest, when you (wrongly) blamed him for causing the injury, never abandoning you, there for when you were ready for him.

My injuries and consequent surgery have given me a perspective on my practice—and on the primary series—that I’ve never had before. Pre-surgery, the only thing the primary series represented to me was a way to get to second series. I was impatient for my next postures during mysore class and gave myself postures during self-practice. I couldn’t even bind in Marichyasana D and yet at the same time was clamoring for some Pashasana already.

Before surgery, I was also supplementing my practice with a whole lot of other acrobatics—handstand workshops, rocket yoga, advanced classes, even some Bikram—all so I could learn Astavakrasana and Pincha Mayurasana already so when it came time for second series, I’d be able to rock it out instantly.

So what happened? Double-whammy injuries. First an Ischial Tuberosity (literally “pain in butt”), and then tears in my labrum and rotator cuff that required the drilling of five arthroscopic holes into my right shoulder and continued rehab.

I was devastated to say the last. I had signed up to go to a mysore beach week with fellow Ashtangis and asked the teacher if I could still practice with the class. After careful (and wise) consideration, she declined to take me in and taught me about ahimsa. She counseled me thoughtfully and advised patience and kindness towards MY OWN BODY. I was floored, frankly. And doubtful. I mean, what kind of advice is that? Rest? Take it easy? Those are for non-active people, lazy people, people who are not like me!

But I had no choice. It would’ve been awfully bad form of me to crash the class, and besides, Antonella is strong. I have no doubt she can tackle a linebacker, never mind little ol’ injured me. So even though I went to the beach with the group, I stayed far away from where the asanas and breathing were happening whilst nursing my own disappointment and practicing (what I thought at the time was) my own sad, sorry form of yoga.

But even though I couldn’t practice with the group, they still invited me to the social gatherings which I gratefully attended. I mean, anything to be around fellow yogis! I went to a discussion on Ashtanga and was able to bask in the company of fellow Ashtangis, practitioners who, like me, like to push their minds and bodies to the limit. But best of all, I got to have some one-on-one time with Antonella, who had studied in India with Sharath himself and has been authorized to teach. And you know what else she told me? That perhaps I may have done too much in my practice too soon, performed postures that my body was not ready for. And you know what? Finally, I got it. Her words, all of them, rang so true. It was like someone switched on a light bulb in my head.

So now here we are, almost four-months post-surgery, and I am back to mysore classes with an old and a new teacher. (And no Stair, I did not just call you “old!” You know what I mean.) And you know what’s happening that didn’t happen before, when I first started practicing Ashtanga? I am falling in love with the primary series in it of itself. I am discovering the beauty of the Janu Sirsasanas, really sinking into my Marichyasanas, having fun with my various and sundry Konasanas. I’m even loving Bhujapidasana and have stopped coveting Supta Kurmasana, a posture that was so elusive to me post-surgery I started to really, really hate it. And of course, I continue to rock Garbha Pindasana, perhaps the funnest posture in all of yogadom.

And you know what happened? Last Tuesday, Tova put both my feet behind my neck for Supta K! (Thank you Tova!!!)

I am proud to be doing well in the series considering all the wear and tear. It’s so wonderful to rediscover it, to appreciate it for its intrinsic awesomeness instead of seeing it as a gateway or stepping stone to something else. My plan (which, okay, I need plans because I’m just THAT kind of person) is to totally rock out every posture, revel in them, and not look beyond them.

Because what I’ve ultimately come to realize is that if Stair or Tova never give me a second series posture for the rest of my life, I will be happy right where I am, right where Settu Bandhasana and Urdhva Danurasana intersect.

This post is dedicated to my Rocket teacher, Peg Mulqueen, who made me realize that it doesn’t make me a bad person if I don’t strive for the second series. Thank you, my teacher.

This entry was posted on November 10, 2011 at 3:32 pm and is filed under Yoga with tags Ashtanga, Primary Series. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.