Working On My Face

Our class of 24 aspiring yoga teachers had just completed our own 60-minute yoga sequences, practiced simultaneously in the same room, yet with each of us immersed in our own journey. During this time, our three teachers moved about the room, giving individual adjustments and noting patterns across the group on which to provide us feedback.

Besides some helpful pointers related to alignment, Kirsten noted, “You guys need to work on your faces.” We tittered—not your average piece of advice. She elaborated, “When you are a teacher, people will be tracking your expressions, looking to you throughout the class not only for guidance with postures, but also to channel your energy. Your approach to yoga shows on your face, and many of you are grimacing your way through your practice. Can you focus intently and still project calm?” She urged us to be aware of what we are coonveying in any given moment.

Her eyes twinkled as she described two students in a recent class doing tree pose: one, a woman striving to keep her bent leg pressed high on her thigh, face stern, brow furrowed as she held her one-legged balance; the other rested her bent leg on the floor like a kickstand, holding the “easiest” form of the pose, yet radiating a brilliant smile. “The kickstand woman, really doing her yoga - that makes me happy,” Kirsten beamed.

 It is one thing to hear Kirsten’s message loud and clear, and a wholly other thing to practice it. Though Kirsten’s feedback was to the group, I knew her message applied to me. Throughout my adult life, I have been given feedback that my expressions sometimes cause consternation. Particularly when I am puzzling something out or concentrating hard, I know I project a look that is off-putting to others, with downturned mouth and wrinkly forehead. Even though I’m “just thinking”, my look appears disapproving.

So, for the last few weeks, I have been practicing being aware of and altering my “basic” expression. When I am reading, walking, working on the computer, listening to something, driving, and yes, doing asana practice—I work on keeping the corners of my mouth turned slightly up instead of down and lifting my brows  as much as possible. Of course, I still catch myself forgetting often; I have years of habit-formation to undo! But what a difference it makes! I actually find myself laughing out loud more often while reading, being a better listener, and feeling more forgiving of myself during yoga classes. Though Kirsten’s original feedback was really oriented toward awareness of what we project to others, I am surprised at how much “working on my face” actually alters my attitude toward my self and the present moment. 

Image credit: Thank you, Bill Watterson, for Calvin.

Openings

My parents are church-goers; I am not. A few months ago, we had a lovely, calm, open-hearted discussion about this difference between us—lovely because we were able to enter the conversation with curiosity and without judgement, free from the desire to change one another’s beliefs or behaviors.

My parents’ habits have changed over time. Growing up, we attended church inconsistently. Though I recall my father teaching Sunday School when I was very young, there was a long streak of years when we never discussed church, God, or religion - at least that I recall.

After my own period of born-again zealousness in junior high, I took an academic approach in high school and college, reading a lot, studying philosophy of religion, and ultimately finding myself deeply influenced by Joseph Campbell’s work on comparative myths across time and cultures. Mostly away from home by this time, I never really delved into conversation about all this with my folks.

So, fast forward a good 25 years to this lazy day in my parents’ living room, where I inquired with genuine interest, “Why do you go to church every week?”

My father replied, “Because I need to hear the word of God; I need to be surrounded by a community. I struggle with questions of faith. I waver, and I seek the constant reminders that sermons and fellowship provide.” My mother nodded, reaching out for his hand. I was touched by my parents’ honesty, appreciative that they didn’t use the opportunity to proselytize, but rather to just share with love. My mother thanked me for asking.

Now, a few months later, I am immersed in the study of yoga, which is definitely a spiritual and philosophical journey. I find myself avidly reading the Bhagavad Gita, the yoga sutras, works by Buddhist teachers Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh. I discover myself hungry for these words of wisdom, and I see this study and exploration as an important part of my practice. I read with an open mind, noticing what resonates and exploring my resistances to what does not. I remember my father’s words, and I see that we are far more similar than different.

"Start Where You Are" is the title of one of Pema Chodron’s books - a real gem. 

Cultivating Attitudes

As I enter this formal study of yoga, I find myself remembering with fondness the last experience I had with a fairly formal self-chosen path of study: interning at Sunspot Urban Farm. Sunspot is a a community-supported agriculture farm that supplies 26 families with generous weekly shares of 40 organic crops from their residential garden.

I had always been in love with the idea if gardening, but in truth I was an unsuccessful gardener. Four summers ago, Bruce and I went on a bicycle tour of local farms in Fort Collins, and both of us were immediately drawn to Rod and Amy of Sunspot: they were humble, passionate, and hyper-attentive to craftsmanship in every realm, from garden beds to carpentry.

The next summer, I spent nearly every Sunday afternoon at Sunspot from February-October, finally learning how to garden properly and watching Rod and Amy live their motto of “rooted in the neighborhood”. 

At the time, I thought I was mostly learning local and organic gardening techniques. (I did, and we have now established a successful garden at our house!) However, I am coming to see that I am only beginning to take advantage of some other lessons learned from Rod and Amy, many of which link directly with what I am learning about the path of yoga. 

This quote from Jeff Bailey and Gene Langlois’ forthcoming book, The Yoga Mind, (from the explication of Yoga Sutra 33) screamed Sunspot to me:

"Regardless of the circumstances, your ongoing practice is to be kind and appropriate in every situation. To teach is to demonstrate. What you offer to others, whether loving or fearful, you offer to yourself."  

This is why I was drawn to Rod and Amy, because in them I instantly recognized, “Teachers” - the right teachers for me at that time, and for reasons that went far beyond gardening skills and knowledge. They are yogis, masters at dedicated practice, observation, acceptance, and connection to other, arising from kindness.

As I study asana now like I studied gardening, I am more aware that the external practice is a gateway to internal practice. And I am very grateful to my many teachers who offer lessons on both levels.

The photo is of Rod, Amy, and me after harvesting leeks. Hands = my favorite gardening tool.