Yoga is a Blacksmith

Tags

belly dancing, blacksmith, Confidence, constant immersion, Depression, Eye contact, forge, handstands at midnight, PTSD, theatre, Vulnerability, Yoga, yoga for depression, yoga for PTSD, yoga teacher training

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-lees/61448491/

There’s a thing that causes me to simultaneously feel dread and express tears of joy.

They are one and the same: the becoming of myself as a yoga teacher.

They’re two sides of the same coin. A coin that’s being heated, smelted, and forged into a new shape. Same raw material, but the qualities are shifting.

This re-working is an elemental process, creating change as a by-product of the end-result (which is really just another beginning).

But it’s not easy, just because it’s something I want. The wanting and the reality of the getting are entirely different.

The clamour of tools is distracting, and it’s tempting to not pick them up. Sort of. Actually, yeah. But then I look ahead.

Because it’s all about priorities. If I keep those in sight, then it’s easier to step back into the forge. Even if it means daily facing up to scary long-held patterns that scare me witless.

I’ve never seen you this nervous before, says the principal of my yoga school.

She says this after observing my very first effort last weekend, at leading a fellow student in a half hour impromptu yoga class (I was given fifteen minutes to construct a lesson plan).

Oh yes. Very nervous. Partly, it’s the hearing myself speak. And knowing the exact words to say, and being responsible for how other people move their bodies. Speaking emotively because that’s where we connect, that’s part of the work of yoga.

All of this has to come from a place of supreme openness and vulnerability, too. But also confidence and trust that speaking from this place will be well received and accepted.

So, there’s the confidence factor, which has never been one of my strong points. The vulnerability factor – I’ve spent the last four years or so feeling exceptionally vulnerable… and then there’s the thing with eye contact.

Dealing with PTSD and depression made me want to be invisible, unattractive, and hidden away from other people… it’s made holding eye contact very difficult…

So how is it I ended up doing a yoga teacher training course again? Oh yeah, because I love yoga. And because it was suggested.

Photo credit: http://digilander.libero.it/stebama/GoddessGallery.html

But y’know, this wasn’t on the pamphlet – thrown in at no extra charge, this training will help you burn through your shit.

Yesterday I had my second opportunity to lead my fellow students through a series of asana. Scary!

My extreme nervousness is a little strange because it’s not like I’m new to performing – years as a theatre actor and bellydancer took care of that. And this is sort of like a performance, right?

Except it’s not, it’s different. There’s no flashy costume or make up to hide behind. I am not being someone or something else. There’s no loud music to disappear into.

I am just me. Unadulterated. No filters.

So, this week I figured if I could just pretend like it was a theatre show and ‘learn my lines’, I’d feel more comfortable.

I spent all week preparing – writing copious notes on each pose. And practicing, even til late Friday night, trying to get some flow happening between poses.

[Note to self: handstands at midnight are just a tad too exhilarating!]

And making sure I had the right words to say, and avoiding gap-fillers: ummm, okay, what we’ll do next is…

In the process, I realised – of course!! – the key here really is preparation. Which requires constant immersion.

Because with yoga, to teach it, you really need to be living it. Theoretical knowledge simply doesn’t cut it.

But sometimes, I think it’s the immersion I’ve been running from. Because I know if I don’t, this change that’s coming will be irrevocable.

Then, that’s what I want, right? But with that change comes a free-fall from what I’ve known (even if its stuff I’m not happy with) towards the unknown…

A Svasti that lives and breathes yoga with every fibre of my being. And a Svasti that knows my stuff, and can help spread the gift of yoga to others.

So, yesterday’s session went really well! Not perfectly of course. But about a 150% improvement on the previous week. And it was such a high!

Afterwards, I was trembling, close to tears, grateful, humble and just… feeling entirely like someone else: that other aforementioned Svasti.

As I’m leaving my teacher remarks: So you’re looking so much better lately. There’s something very striking in your eyes. I noticed it last week as well. What’s going on? You look so much happier.

I replied: It’s this work. It’s changing me. It’s helping me face up to myself and burn off more of the negativity that’s been in my life for so long. PTSD destroys your self-confidence and here I am finding it again.

Then I told her that as well as general yoga, and yoga for women I’m really interested in yoga for those who deal with depression and PTSD, as I have.

Seems I’ve chosen a specialty of sorts, and the Blacksmith’s fire is still burning…

**Update: The wonderful BlissChick alerted me to the existence of an article on Yoga and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PDF file, 435kb) from The Trauma Center in Brookline, MA. An excellent read!!**

~Svasti

Sunday soliloquy

Tags

Birthday presents, blog award, Confidence, Makeup, Mexican food, molè, Soliloquy, St Kilda

What a weekend of strangeness, joy and beauty this has been…

The wonderful John D of Storied Mind kicked off proceedings by offering a blog award in my general direction… many thanks for your generosity!

I’m still getting used to having my own space, and for me, lots of it. This place is quite huge from my humble perspective. And so different from my last place – which was something of a cave, perfect for hiding out in – but I’m done with the hiding, in more ways than one…

That bullet-hole ridden memory of mine almost cost me an early birthday present! L said on Friday night (out at dinner – it’s the time of the year for multiple outings…) she’d treat me to lunch on Sunday at one of our favourite places to eat in St Kilda, possibly all of Melbourne…

Well, actually, it’s probably second… only to the amazing Mexican place in Fitzroy with the molè (we’ve dubbed it ‘sex food’ coz it’s that good). But still, our favourite vegetarian eatery with a view of the bay and always, always great food. And did I mention the chocolate coffee pot dessert yet? No? Well… it’s an essential when eating there. Mmmmm…

I’d said I’d ring and book and I forgot. Then I forgot til I saw L that we were even doing lunch before shopping! Somehow, we got the last available table…

That feeling I’ve mentioned before of ‘not belonging’ – something I experience a lot – is more about people than places. Some people feel like ‘home’ to me, but most do not… L is one of those people who do.

I’m so thankful for you L, having you here in my life… I really and truly am. I didn’t know the smile I’d get in return would be so beautiful…

Our last big night out, L demonstrated her impressive makeup artist skills on my face and told me… we need to take you makeup shopping. I bow to her wisdom… she’s been trying to get me to pay more attention to girly things for a while now… attempting to build up my (almost non-existent) confidence in my looks…

We walk into the brightly lit makeup area of a large department store in the city and L immediately strikes up a conversation with a cute gay guy with bright blue eyes and insanely colourful tattoos. At the Mac counter (no, not computers!).

The two of them are speaking a language I can’t decipher. Something about tones, and finishes and stuff…

He starts peppering me with questions I don’t know how to answer. I look helplessly at L… She’s never done this before, L explains to the funkily dressed makeup dude-in-a-hat. He draws me over to a chair in front of a large, confronting mirror and turns on the fluorescent lights… [inward cringe]

A smart black toolkit slung over his shoulder is full of mysterious brushes. He expertly applies foundation in thirty seconds flat. Then the two of them decide I also need a bronzing powder, some blush and a touch of eyeliner.

Its way more makeup than I’d normally wear, even to go somewhere special… but I look… sorta kinda okay… you can see my freckles and my green eyes shine brightly (what’s in that stuff that it makes my eyes shine?).

They both scoff at me when I protest the amount of goop on my face. My makeup dude says: I won’t have you going out looking disgusting or anything. Trust me, you look hot. Come back and see me when you get braver and want to try more colour.

More colour?? Sure, they’re all pretty neutral tones but I still feel like a scarlet peacock in all this… stuff.

I giggle, amused by his confidence and allow myself to be swayed… okay, so this is my early present to myself! Why not? I leave with a small bagful of goodies in their expensive cardboard wrappings…

It’s all part of a plan… to try and, um, think of myself as somewhat attractive again.

It’s been a while…

~Svasti