 In Praise of Poses
YogaJournal.com, September 2001
Rarely do I walk into a yoga class anymore without hearing a teacher announce that yoga isn’t about poses. Yoga is far more profound than simply striking a pose, the teacher will say, so much more than mastering a physical movement. I agree completely. And yet, I must admit, sometimes I feel a little guilty when I hear these words.
Why? Because I like poses. I love the feeling, pure and simple, of the mindful movements of yoga. I love the ever-changing parade of poses that welcomes me each morning. Just as a child runs through the summer grass for no reason but simple joy, I love feeling my body move through space, shifting through amazing ancient shapes that feel so good from inside out.
I feel a little shallow admitting this, since I know the asanas are just the door through which we pass as we set out on the shining path of yoga. I learned early on that what makes the movement yoga and not just gymnastics is the state of mind we bring to it – the intention, the awareness, the total presence of mind. The poses feel best to me when I’m truly here for them anyway, completely absorbed in the shifts and swirls of life as they pass through me.
Sometimes I see a yogi in one of those amazing poses with an indecipherable name and a spark of recognition lights within. Every cell in my body shouts, "Yes, me, too!" Curiosity wells up from deep inside and I wonder what it feels like to be inside a body where a foot is wrapped around the head, where the hands and toes reach up to the sky in a graceful teardrop shape, or where a spine is so free it undulates like water with each breath. I am swept by amazement of the beauty and its almost limitless capacity for life. Call it awe, call it wonder for the unimaginable creatures that we are and at the sheer complexity and possibility and beauty of life itself.
Just because I love the poses doesn’t mean I find them easy. In fact, their difficulty only seems to heighten their allure. A tricky pose glues my mind to the present moment, forcing me to be here now. I like staring a new challenge in the face, studying it from every angle, using all my wits and intelligence and ability to carve my body into the shape of the asana. And I love the childlike glee when I finally figure out how to balance free and clear in a big-sky backbend that has eluded me for years. I love falling and falling and falling again out of full-arm balance and then one day, for whatever reason, not falling. Something inside has shifted; today I can do something that yesterday I couldn’t. What does that say about all the other things in my life I think I cannot do?
I am amazed, too, how simply changing the position of my body can change my life. Asanas have offered me a bag of yoga tricks that help alleviate imbalances and ailments in my body. When my stomach is upset I’ve learned that a well-supported supta virasana does the trick, and when my brain is frazzled I settle into viparati karani. When I’m sluggish all I need are a few sun salutes, and when my mind has spun apart I head for a long paschimottanasana. This pragmatic approach to yoga once bothered me a little, since it didn’t feel true to the discipline's lofty aims. But then I decided if yoga were to offer nothing more than physical health and vitality, this gift would most certainly uplift my spirit. I know that I’m a kinder, wiser and more caring person when my hips aren't aching, when my nose isn’t running and when my mind's a little more at ease.
When I started yoga, poses were all I knew. But after several years of enthusiastic practice I found myself pooh-poohing poses, frustrated when they gained center stage as a "celebrity stretch of the day" while I knew that yoga meant so much more. Being able to stand on one’s head is no guarantee of great wisdom, after all. But then one day a friend buoyantly told me that he'd finally managed to touch his foot to his head in that lovely and demanding backbend, eka pada rajakapotasana. I remember him recalling how lightning struck with that incredible electrical bliss of connection when his toe and head made contact. His enthusiasm rekindled something inside and I found myself eagerly diving into a discussion of the intricacy and beauty of yoga’s mysterious movements. And I gained a new respect for the raw simplicity and magnetic delight of the poses themselves.
Another friend tells me that asanas are like poetry – beautiful and deep and economical and expressive. Poetry helps us see and feel the world more clearly, helps us find a way into the deeper mysteries of the world in a way that is magnificent and mysterious and beautiful. Maybe I love the asanas for the same incomprehensible reason I love poems. They don't always make sense, but I still love the way they roll off my tongue.
I’ve heard it said that meditation is its own teacher, that by simply assuming a quiet, meditative posture with discipline and attention, we’ll eventually discover the same enlightened truths of books and saints. Lately I’ve wondered whether the postures of yoga might be a little like that, too. If I just practiced asana everyday, precisely and intelligently, without any mental commentary or philosophical inquiry, would I be changed? I’d like to believe that the answer is yes, at least a little. Perhaps diligent and attentive practice alone would lead me toward a deeper, clearer vision of the world. Maybe the beauty of the poses lies in their ability to transform us without our knowing how or why – or maybe without our even asking for it.
Of course I still agree with my teachers that yoga is about far more than just the poses. Asanas are meant to be preparation for meditation and more enlightened states of mind. Patanjali’s yoga sutras mention only a handful of poses, and other ancient texts don't mention too many more. And yet lately I've found myself drawn into lengthy debates about just what's a legitimate pose and what isn’t, about what’s authentic yoga and what’s a candy-coated imposter. Honestly, I’m not too concerned about whether Patanjali stood on his head or whether Krishnamacharya would have agreed to teach in a health club. If the pose unlocks something deep inside, does it matter where it came from? Just as I am constantly evolving, I believe that yoga can, too.
Sometimes I wonder whether asanas take center stage simply because they are so real, so tangible. We stumble when trying to express the indescribable feelings and revelations of our inner experience and so we’re left with what we can see – how our hips move in triangle pose, or whether to inhale or exhale our way into bridge pose. Maybe the asanas make up the common language that offers us a way to share our experience. They may be fumbling and incomplete, but at least they offer us a starting point, a launching pad into deeper discussion about the energy of life that courses through us.
I remain skeptical of the sleek glorification of yoga in our culture – of the pose of the month offered to cure big butts and little arms, of the glamorous magazine spreads and beautiful bodies posing for cameras. These images don't even begin to capture the wealth of understanding and vitality yoga can offer. They remain far from my own experience, as well as those of my friends. Most of my students seem to have found their way to yoga not for the glamour of big-time poses or buff bodies, but for the deep refreshment of twisting and moving and climbing back inside their own skin, and for the simple relief of bringing their awareness back to the here and now.
Like my teachers, I frequently remind my students that although our classes are made up of asanas, yoga isn’t just about the pose. I, too, explain that the pose is just a way in, a diving board into the clear, healing waters of wisdom and clear seeing. But that doesn't have to mean we can't enjoy every step along the way. Aren’t we lucky that the poses – the medicine of yoga – feel so good? Can’t we love their precision and poetry and delight, while still remembering that they yearn to point us to a greater, sweeter land within? Poses may not be the be all and end all of yoga, and they may not even be the point, but that doesn’t mean I love them any less.
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