"Maybe thinking so much is normal. Maybe 70,000 thoughts a day...really isn't that much, in the scheme of things. Did you think of that?"
"Fair enough," I replied at the time, at the insight over the last blog post. Each to their own.
Cultivating stillness is a hard thing to wrap the head around. So why do it? Yes, it can bring a few moments of refreshing peace. But what are the lasting benefits? The tangible in-tangibles we can see and feel but that can't be clearly defined, easily measured?
How much mind space you have is how much room – how much possibility, opportunity – you have for life.
When our brains are cluttered with constant to-dos, anxieties, stresses – thoughts – we're maxed out. Full. At capacity.
Like a closet brimming with possessions, mind clutter means there's simply no space. No space for now. No space for new. No space to observe anything beyond what we have, what is already there.
That's a lot of life to miss, yes?
What's on your mind?
"What's on your mind?" my husband asked.
I had zoned out somewhere between bites of grilled peppers and rice. Not unlike how our dog shakes off water after a bath, I jerked back to attention and searched for a response to his question, still hanging unanswered in the air.
Oops. What was I thinking about? Something. Everything. Definitely not nothing. But, in truth, not anything worth sharing. Which got me thinking even more.
Lost in thought.
In her head.
Deep in thought.
Checked out.
Penny for your thoughts.
La-la land.
Zoned out.
Come in for landing.
As a society, we've coined so many phrases for being in our minds, alone with our thoughts, rather than being in the present moment. If it's so commonplace, how much of it, exactly, is there?
According to UCLA's Lab of Neuro Imaging, the average human has about seventy thousand thoughts per day.
70,000. (So much for counting with fingers and toes.)
How to lower that number and get a few moments of peace? Meditation is one way. So is pranayama (life force, breath control) – particularly ujjayi. Ujjayi (ooh-jy) is an in-and-out-through-the nose breath that uses a constriction at the back of the throat.
To try: On your inhale, draw air in through the nostrils and send it down across the back of the throat, exhaling, for now, through the mouth. You should hear a soft noise. Some say it sounds like a hiss. Others say Darth Vader. And still more liken it to the roll of the ocean, giving Ujjayi its common name of "ocean-sounding breath."
Once you've got the soft sound – ocean or hiss – close the lips and bring the hands to heart center.
Now breathe in again through the nose, send the air across the throat once more, but exhale, this time, through the nose. Close your eyes gently and stay with it for awhile, listening and focusing on the sound.
Release the breath and tell me: What was on your mind?
Chances are, not much. Ujjayi translates to "victory" or "conqueror." Victory over the mind. Somehow, some way, that slight ocean sound helps us quiet our internal conversations, our inner voice. So instead of 70,000 thoughts... we can have 69,999.
Or less.
Namaste'.
I had zoned out somewhere between bites of grilled peppers and rice. Not unlike how our dog shakes off water after a bath, I jerked back to attention and searched for a response to his question, still hanging unanswered in the air.
Oops. What was I thinking about? Something. Everything. Definitely not nothing. But, in truth, not anything worth sharing. Which got me thinking even more.
Lost in thought.
In her head.
Deep in thought.
Checked out.
Penny for your thoughts.
La-la land.
Zoned out.
Come in for landing.
As a society, we've coined so many phrases for being in our minds, alone with our thoughts, rather than being in the present moment. If it's so commonplace, how much of it, exactly, is there?
According to UCLA's Lab of Neuro Imaging, the average human has about seventy thousand thoughts per day.
70,000. (So much for counting with fingers and toes.)
How to lower that number and get a few moments of peace? Meditation is one way. So is pranayama (life force, breath control) – particularly ujjayi. Ujjayi (ooh-jy) is an in-and-out-through-the nose breath that uses a constriction at the back of the throat.
To try: On your inhale, draw air in through the nostrils and send it down across the back of the throat, exhaling, for now, through the mouth. You should hear a soft noise. Some say it sounds like a hiss. Others say Darth Vader. And still more liken it to the roll of the ocean, giving Ujjayi its common name of "ocean-sounding breath."
 |
| Hands to heart center, anjali mudra, and be present with ujjayi. |
Now breathe in again through the nose, send the air across the throat once more, but exhale, this time, through the nose. Close your eyes gently and stay with it for awhile, listening and focusing on the sound.
Release the breath and tell me: What was on your mind?
Chances are, not much. Ujjayi translates to "victory" or "conqueror." Victory over the mind. Somehow, some way, that slight ocean sound helps us quiet our internal conversations, our inner voice. So instead of 70,000 thoughts... we can have 69,999.
Or less.
Namaste'.
Making yoga practice personal.
A note that was originally written for (and sent to) teacher training students...but for yogis everywhere who hope to deepen their practice outside the classroom.
I hope there is something here for you too.
The practice was strong – but you stayed with it, bringing your own unique energy to the room. It was wonderful to witness such an engagement of tapas, yet, also, a collective mindfulness of ahimsa (non-harming), bramacharya (moderation) and santosha (contentment).
As you continue or begin (or think about beginning) your personal practice, remember that it's these things that will sustain you. Bring them onto your mat and cultivate them. Much like the rest of our lives, our personal practice is ever-moving, ever-changing, ever-evolving.
With classes, it's easy to rely on the instructor, go through the motions, maybe even skip the inner work of each pose. The thing about personal practice is that it helps you grow in ways a class can't. Being alone on the mat teaches you to silence your internal dialogue and chatter, bringing you to the heart, the center of yoga. Suddenly, in your vinyasa, your flow, the past is the past and the future is not even a thought. There is no mourning. No analyzing. No wondering. Just presence. Tranquility. Serenity.
It's hard for some of us though. It's easy to be uncertain at first. Timid, even. Unsure of what to do, how long to do it or if we're doing it right. My advice is to listen to your body's needs and let it guide you. Sit, breathe, meditate. Stand, balance, twist. There is no right or wrong – only what serves you and what does not.
I practiced yoga asana for years before I made it personal. I remember I unrolled an extra mat in the spare bedroom and left it there. The first time I tiptoed on, I thought, "Now what? What pose? This is silly." It felt awkward and forced and hard.
Like the saying goes though, beginning is the hardest part. So, if all else seems daunting, start with savasana. Then work toward adding postures beforehand. Tadasana. Pigeon. Forward fold. Doesn't matter. Because, over time, with tapas – that inner fire and discipline – stepping on the mat at home will become something you just do. The awkward, the forced and the hard will wash away, leaving the freedom to move and breathe. Slow. Fast. Meditative. However you feel. Yes, taking the time for svadhyaya and alignment and self-correction. But also taking the time to just be.
Ishvara-pranidhana. Letting go to what is.
I hope there is something here for you too.
The practice was strong – but you stayed with it, bringing your own unique energy to the room. It was wonderful to witness such an engagement of tapas, yet, also, a collective mindfulness of ahimsa (non-harming), bramacharya (moderation) and santosha (contentment).
As you continue or begin (or think about beginning) your personal practice, remember that it's these things that will sustain you. Bring them onto your mat and cultivate them. Much like the rest of our lives, our personal practice is ever-moving, ever-changing, ever-evolving.
With classes, it's easy to rely on the instructor, go through the motions, maybe even skip the inner work of each pose. The thing about personal practice is that it helps you grow in ways a class can't. Being alone on the mat teaches you to silence your internal dialogue and chatter, bringing you to the heart, the center of yoga. Suddenly, in your vinyasa, your flow, the past is the past and the future is not even a thought. There is no mourning. No analyzing. No wondering. Just presence. Tranquility. Serenity.
It's hard for some of us though. It's easy to be uncertain at first. Timid, even. Unsure of what to do, how long to do it or if we're doing it right. My advice is to listen to your body's needs and let it guide you. Sit, breathe, meditate. Stand, balance, twist. There is no right or wrong – only what serves you and what does not.
 |
| Unroll your mat and begin. |
I practiced yoga asana for years before I made it personal. I remember I unrolled an extra mat in the spare bedroom and left it there. The first time I tiptoed on, I thought, "Now what? What pose? This is silly." It felt awkward and forced and hard.
Like the saying goes though, beginning is the hardest part. So, if all else seems daunting, start with savasana. Then work toward adding postures beforehand. Tadasana. Pigeon. Forward fold. Doesn't matter. Because, over time, with tapas – that inner fire and discipline – stepping on the mat at home will become something you just do. The awkward, the forced and the hard will wash away, leaving the freedom to move and breathe. Slow. Fast. Meditative. However you feel. Yes, taking the time for svadhyaya and alignment and self-correction. But also taking the time to just be.
Ishvara-pranidhana. Letting go to what is.
Five Songs to Deepen Savasana.
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| source |
Ahhhh, savasana.
The easiest and hardest yoga asana to do. But it is like dessert, yes? Topping off the end of class. Cultivating stillness. Offering the body a way to release the muscles. Allowing the nervous system to integrate the day's practice.
Laying down on the back with the eyes closed, arms slightly away from the body, palms facing the sky, savasana is physically accessible to almost everyone. But mentally and emotionally...savasana presents challenges.
Students are used to moving into asana and through vinyasa – but invite them into savasana's motionless-ness and there it is. Eyes peeking open. Fidgeting.
Restlessness.
Even so, savasana is my favorite asana to lead. The opportunities to help students quiet their minds is a privilege and honor...and the ways to get there are beautiful and rife with meaningful cues and language.
Though welcomed by many advanced practitioners, savasana in silence rarely serves beginning and intermediate students. Music lends purpose to savasana. It grounds it. Fills part of what seems like a vast stretch of time that these yogis are still discovering and weighing the value of.
Finding music that's right for savasana can be tough. As difficult, even, as helping new students connect with the posture's sweetness. After trial, error and searching far and wide, here are five songs that have found their way onto my playlist lately – and into my and my students' hearts.
Five songs to deepen savasana:
(Let them play more than once!)
- River Flows in You (Yiruma)
- Suni-ai (Slow) by Snatam Kaur
- Om by Jane Winther
- Dedication-Center & Calm the Mind- Aad Guray Nameh by SatKirin Kaur Khalsa
- Opening the Gates by Drala
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