I'm sitting in a basement next to a roaring fire clacking away at my keyboard struggling to wrap my head around a situation I never saw coming miles away from where a week ago I used to spend my days. I know anything is possible and life can turn in a moment but knowing doesn’t always equate preparedness. I wonder who else has vertigo from the perspective shift of being advised by the Federal Government to stay in your house indefinitely can give you.
Photo: Daniel Baylis
“My dear friend, I may be the victim of wrong perceptions, and what I write here may not reflect the truth. However, this is my experience of the situation. This is what I really feel in my heart. If there is anything wrong in what I write, let us sit down and look into it together”
― Thich Nhat Hanh
I overheard a conversation between two teachers at a yoga studio early into my teaching days. I forget the context of the conversation but one was clearly mad at the other about a critique of some kind. They veiled their anger under thick flowery language like wolves in sheep’s soft downy clothing but it didn’t stop them from making biting remarks. One of them didn’t like the other one’s “energy,” the other didn’t “feel” that her language was “yogic.” They spent about 5 minutes hurling Patanjali and Buddha at one another, which only increased the tension. I don’t know why they felt so compelled to try to disguise their anger and criticisms of eachother… but I walked away with the feeling that they wanted their calm to seem impenetrable… even if it was an illusion.
This passive aggressive tendency is a pattern that’s revealed itself to me over my years of teaching and I wonder why it is that we think that keeping our anger out of plain sight makes us any more calm, or any more enlightened. What I notice is at large, the yoga community arbitrarily will encourage unpleasant sensations like crying (it’s healing!), laughing (it’s releasing!), sadness (it’s a part of life!) I find it so interesting that yoga spaces in the west will make space for anything… unless it’s considered “negative” - like anger, criticism or plain ol’ not feeling positive or happy.
Negativity has become a yoga taboo. We’ve banished it as something to be “avoided”, “controlled”, “weak minded” or something that just makes us less than. The truth is we will encounter anger on the spiritual path. We’ll have times where we’re criticized in life. When we label things like anger, criticism as negative without fully considering their value or purpose we don’t give ourselves the opportunity to learn from them. So let’s examine them…
“When anger manifests in us, we must recognize and accept that anger is there and that it needs to be tended to. At this moment we are advised not to say anything, not to do anything out of anger. We immediately return to ourselves and invite the energy of mindfulness to manifest also,”― Thich Nhat Hanh
Omitting anger from yoga spaces has lead to niche practices where angry yogis are encouraged to yell, swear, and scream their way to peace. While there’s a place for this practice in the yoga sphere, I wonder if anger need not be siloed out of sight in separate classes. If we can make space to be ok with feeling or being present around anger (instead of shoving it aside or identifying with it) we might learn why being around this emotion makes us so uncomfortable.
Anger, like all emotions, is trying to draw something to attention. As it relates to modern chakra and energy theory, anger is associated with fire. This comes up in our physical experience of anger (“hot under the collar”), our awareness by shedding light on what we need to work through, and getting us to act (“lighting a fire under our asses”), and then using anger to get us to change or transform out of our current situation (so we can let our anger go).
When we don’t acknowledge when something makes us angry - we’ll get stuck in our anger, identify with it, and in turn allow it to burn in the background eating away at us. We’re not “angry people” for feeling angry - we’re people experiencing anger for a time. Once anger has shown us where to move to, what we might need to work through, and act accordingly. While it’s true we need to let anger go so it doesn’t cause harm, we can’t rush ourselves or others to the “let go” stage. It needs to happen in its own time. While it’s important in some cases not to act from a place of anger, eventually - like anything we accumulate, we’ll need to deal with it. If we’re taught to avoid, we’re not going to deal.
I wonder if in the case of the yoga teachers above, if one of those teachers had acknowledged it - “Hey when you do x that really makes me angry because…” what kind of common ground or greater understanding they might have gotten to instead of seeing this emotion as making them a lesser yogi. Just because you feel angry sometimes, doesn’t make you an angry yogi!
“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.”– Winston Churchill
For my purposes here I’m defining criticism as “the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of a literary or artistic work”.
A recent trend against criticism I’ve noticed in the teaching community is that there is “no wrong way to teach yoga.” Well… sorry I would have to disagree. If your students can’t understand your directions, aren’t safe or don’t meet your students where they’re at - that’s not the way to teach them. A much more accurate statement is “there are many ways to teach yoga” or that “there are as many paths to yoga as there are practitioners” or that “there is no perfect teacher”. Critique allows us to improve as teachers by seeing our teaching or practice from a different perspective.
As teachers, we are community leaders and we have to be open to what members of our community have to say in order to serve them. Shutting down criticism is closing off to a whole lot of opportunity to learn and improve by engaging in this dialogue and learning what communities need. Not to mention as teachers we command a certain level of power while leading a class and absolutely that power should get checked often and openly. While I approach teaching yoga as a highly subjective, personal, and practical artform - I realise that not unlike any art, taking a critical look at yoga will help you better understand it, yourself and your way of relating to it just by looking at it from someone else’s perspective.
That perspective shift doesn’t just apply to teachers either - I would highly encourage students to engage in critical thought in any yoga class to gain a bigger perspective. Instead of ending your questioning at “I don’t agree with this that or the other” or “that doesn’t serve me” see what happens when you delve deeper into “why.” Blindly following any teacher will leave you vulnerable to their limitations - you’re your own best teacher when you critique, reflect and question to gain a higher perspective and awareness of yourself.
In offering criticism, remember that your perspective is not an absolute either. Critique itself doesn’t make one party wrong and the other right but it can be a means of checking in on the perspective that you hold. Not necessarily identifying with what you’ve found - meaning you’re are not your flaws, mistakes or shortcomings. They’re a part of your story but not necessarily definitions of who you are. What do you as a result of becoming aware of your perceptions, limits and flaws - that’s a different opportunity for growth. Inoffering criticism you open yourself to it as well - which is of equal value to you as the one who you’re offering it to.
Criticism, and open questioning has been a common theme in traditional yoga dialogues - and I’m not saying that traditional is necessarily best but I am saying that questioning has endured for a reason - I believe that reason to be that it has allowed yoga to evolve. Questioning alignment in poses started as a criticism, questioning accepted philosophies started as a criticism. Different opinions aren’t bad - they’re just different. Let’s aspire to hold space for them.
What is it that we gain from keeping criticisms at bay and putting anger under siege? Is it the feeling that yoga is a cure-all from discomfort? Does it allow us to hold to an unchecked power for our egos? Are we afraid of the potential of anger to harm absolutely? I wonder if instead of avoiding or judging our anger and critical thoughts, if we used them as an opportunity to grow and transform what would we be able to gain?
What do you think? Do anger and criticism have a place in yoga spaces?
Originally Posted Oct 23, 2018 Written for The Chi Junky
If you search on social media for #yoga you’ll feast your eyes on complex arm balancing postures, gymnastic style handstands, twisting poses that almost appear to be optical illusions all set within the most aesthetically pleasing sceneries possible. Challenging poses can be beautiful when they appear effortless. Online, physically challenging poses satisfy our craving for laying eyes what a physical human body is capable of. Active vinyasa and asana is king of our online curiosity (Can I get a #yogaeverydamnday ?).
With all the spotlight an active style yoga practice gets online, you might not realize he does have a younger sibling. She’s more of a wallflower, more likely to rest in the shadows. You won’t find her on sunset beaches but in dimly lit studios doing her work. She won’t take you through 26 poses in an hour but her minimalist sequence will be independently challenging. Her efforts aren’t as publicly celebrated in hashtags and photo ops but they yield amazing insights for the practitioner. Make no mistake - she’s one powerful introvert. Her demands require not your physical strength but your steady attention. She likes her alone time so she’ll only expect you to visit a couple times a week. She is yin yoga.
Yin yoga doesn’t work at surface level. Its poses are aesthetically similar to Hatha Yoga postures but unlike its fiery counterpart, Yin Yoga asks you to relax as much as possible into the pose - and then stay there for anywhere from 3 to 20 minutes. These long, still, holds put stresses on the body’s joints and connective tissues (fascia) leading to increased flexibility, improved range of motion in joints, stimulating circulation as well as an opportunity for deep relaxation and meditation.
Yin yoga is different from a Restorative Yoga class for the reason that in many practitioners there is a sensation involved in many poses from the passive stress of these tissues. Restorative Yoga aims to make the body as comfortable as possible to find rest and relaxation (I often refer to Restorative Yoga as “Guided Nap Time”) whereas Yin Yoga aims for you to feel “productively uncomfortable” and use these sensations as a focal point for meditation (… well at least the way I teach it. :))
In most people, Yin Yoga is most beneficial when it is practiced no more than 1-2 times per week (so not as to over stress the tissues). Anecdotally, I've had students that are distance athletes credit incorporating regular yin yoga practice in their training schedule with shaving 5 minutes (!!!) off their half marathon race time. Busy students credit their yin practice with less tension related aches and pains and an effective stress relief practice. It's accessible for those who are otherwise active as it doesn't add hours to your weekly routine.
The longer holds in a yin yoga class provide you with time to fully experience a yoga practice on a level deeper than what is visible to others or to your camera. It's quality over quantity, substance over style. It doesn't stand in the spotlight but its charms are hidden in the shadows. Hang out with Yin Yoga from time to time and she'll teach you a lot about yourself.
I was 60 minutes into my last Escents Aromatherapy Yin class at YYoga. “In the the fight or flight response adrenaline is the hormone that tells your legs it’s time to run or kick…” I softly said as I headed towards the front of the room just as I sensed the studio door behind me briskly swing open. As I took my next breath to finish my thought I heard a voice yell “I’m sorry but we have to evacuate.”
Fittingly, the multiple aromatherapy diffusers had masked the smell of a potential gas leak in the building and while it can pay of to take risks for happiness, seldom is taking risks ever prudent for safety. The manager emphatically told us to leave everything except our personal belongings as we shuffled out of the room.
Still half in a meditative state, the entire class got up quietly to walk away as we left our mats and blankets and shuffled outside as the fire department walked up the stairs to the studio. We left the comfort of our cozy yin castles to venture out into about a foot of snow and ice that had covered the streets of downtown Toronto. The winds had kicked up to a howl – a far cry from the relaxing singing bowls and flute music that had lulled us into relaxation mere moments ago.
A few students and I quipped outside about how nice it would have been to finish the class but we were all in it (or out of it) together understanding that no matter what we wanted, we had to go. We had to walk away no matter how tough it might have been to leave everything unfinished, open and unresolved. No arguments – no discussions. Out of the comfort zones, into the unknown…
On the surface it was calm and effortless – on the inside there was a storm of anxiety rippling underneath me. I was leaving a group of people who had supported me for a year – who were patient with my growth as a teacher, who took time out of their Sundays to learn together. I was afraid. Not of the weather, the gas or the immediate danger surrounding me – of walking away without saying anything. I wanted to fill this discomfort with words. I wanted to soothe myself that the transition would be seamless and easy – it wasn’t.
I was uncomfortable. I wanted to fight to stay here even though I knew I needed to leave. I struggled leaving the comfort of the space I had built. I wanted to run sometimes from the idea that I was letting people down. I panicked over how to say goodbye for weeks before settling on a few words of appreciation. I worried about how to express the gratitude I had for those who decided to take a risk in spending their time with me. How vulnerable yin yoga makes us as teachers just as much as they do our students. I wanted to leave our goodbyes to happily ever after… not a cliff hanger without a sequel.
Now when I reflect on going out without a “bang” (pun very much intended), I realize it was perfectly befitting. It was perfect as it is. I had created space in this room and left it there untouched, unresolved. Perfectly ready to receive whatever happened the week after. Without filling the discomfort with goodbyes, and meanings – I had left it open and full of potential as to what would happen next… I wouldn’t know where it would take us but I knew I had left something here. I had left it as it is – silent – ready for the next voice to fill it’s space.
I remember vividly my early days practicing yoga. I had a close family member taking a downward turn in health with a chronic illness that found me identifying with many roles that required I keep my shit together at all times... working professional in a fast paced environment, competitive recreational athlete, emotional support for the primary caregiver of my family member. I was stressed but I kept my shit together. I would do yoga primarily for stress relief (and hey who doesn't like to de-stress while cross training).
I would sweat and grunt my way through awkward movements. My normally stoic facial expression contorted much like my tense and tight physique into strange and unusual shapes - but it was cool, I was anonymous. None of my friends or colleagues were into this "hippy shit "- I could really let my hair down without fear of running into a colleague during my "me time" unlike when I would go to the gym. I was uninterrupted by the lure of my ever present smart phone - part of the appeal of the whole exercise.
At the end of our hour and a half together I remember the windowless room lulling into a pitch black darkness with only a small ray of light entering through the door. The teacher would coo about the importance of corpse pose to integrate the work we've done in our bodies encouraging us to be as still as possible to really let it all sink in. I would squirm because I knew as soon as the stillness came the tidal wave would hit - an uncontrollable urge to cry. I wasn't a cryer in my mind - but after a while... damn if it didn't feel good to finally not have to keep it all together for everyone else all the time. No one else knew because they couldn't see it. I could let it all go because I had that time, that space to do it. My environment had given me permission.
Studios and teachers alike make such great efforts not only to market the experience of yoga but also to create that environment that give us that permission to experience the "let go." We usually don't allow our students to bring cell phones into classes let alone film their yoga practice for their instagram feeds. We ask permission before giving a hands on assist. We do our best to create a sanctuary for whatever their individual needs are, whether that's sweaty drips or teary ones. Why can't we then as teachers let go of our need to create content for that hour? Why don't we afford our students the ability to opt-out of mid class live streams? Does our need to hustle and market the yoga practices we deliver supersede our students needs for space and privacy in our public classes? Have we as yoga teachers spiritually licensed ourselves to make exceptions to our own actions? Do we need to add a line about "we reserve the right to film your savasana and use it for our promotional purposes" in our studio waivers?
Often when I have casual conversations about it, it's met with the pressures that studios and teachers feel they need to market themselves 24/7, that the ends of having more people practice justify the means of posting pictures of people without their permission or simply the question of "no one can tell who they are, they're just people lying down". Our cultural obsession with the virtual reality and how it acknowledges and validates us has lessened our focus on the reality happening right in front of us - Every student's individual experience. We don't know when we snap that pic what is underneath the surface of those flaked out bods just as we don't know what's underneath the surface when we go do adjust someone's shoulders. Could be years of traumatic experiences and injuries, could be a passing low moment at the end of a hard day, could be that they would love a photo as acknowledgement of their hard work in class. The fact of the question remains, are we creating a sanctuary for them to feel safe inside our space or are we spiritually licensing ourselves to make the call use their private moments for our own motives? Do our intentions as teachers and online presences line up with those of our subjects and students?
What do you think? Are we given permission to our students or are we taking permission for ourselves? Is it necessary to self-identify as having permission to post to create that space in the online reality too? How do you go about this?
