The Core Debate

An interesting article in the New York Times about current research that questions the value of popular "core strengthening" exercises that call for the navel to pull towards the spine and the low back to flatten to the floor. These actions emphasize engagement of the deepest layer of abdominal muscle, called the Transverse Abdominus (TA). It suggests that strengthening the TA may be overemphasized, possibly to the detriment of the lumbar spine which is stressed by pressing the low back to the floor.

Not surprisingly, there are many conflicting views on this subject. The comments on the New York Times website are full of personal trainers, chiropractors, and exercise instructors either congratulating themselves for agreeing or disputing the claim with personal anecdote. One comment I especially agreed with:

It just goes to show you that we really don’t any clue what is really going on here. I’ve always been very suspicious of any simplistic medical explanation for back pain, especially those that make a person’s spine out to be some fragile spun-glass armature that is always about to break into a thousand pieces should one encounter a puff of wind. I had severe back pain for years — then I read that Dr. Sarno book, and poof, it was gone, and has never come back, no matter what exercises I do.

Now, my strong back is the backbone of my being. The only thing that “core” training seems to strengthen is the delusional idea of a fragile back. As far as deep weakness go, that concept has it to the core.

The book to which the commenter probably refers is Healing Back Pain: The Mind-Body Connection, which asserts that most back pain is actually psychological, and our medical obsession with rupture discs and pinched nerves is misguided. His main evidence is cases where x-rays reveal a disc rupture that should theoretically be causing great pain, yet the patient feels totally fine. It's a compelling book, though it verges on diatribe at times.

Now in my yoga classes, I do teach engagement of the deeper core muscles by drawing the area below the navel towards the spine. I emphasize that this movement is not infinite - just a small movement is sufficient. David Swenson suggests it is less of a contraction than a sense of stillness, and he says the main purpose is to help direct the movement of the breath.

This subtle action is called uddiyana bandha, and while I find it does give physical support to the spine, its original purpose is more energetic than muscular. Bandha means seal or lock, and what's being sealed in is prana. In the Hatha tradition, spiritual awakening is pursued through directing energy into and up the spine. The bandhas assist in that endeavor.

Many yogic lineages also value the development of physical strength in the abdomen, but not for the sake of healing back pain. The abdomen is the seat of fire in the body, and building radiance in the belly helps to"digest" experiences that otherwise get stuck and start to "rot". See my earlier column about Ana Forrest's ab work for more on this.

I would also observe that in the vast universe of yoga postures, there are definitely some that involve rounding the low back and flattening the lumbar curve. I'm thinking of Ardha Navasana, the standing head to knee pose in the Bikram series, and Plow, among others. So I'm skeptical of alarmist statements that flattening the lumbar curve is inherently dangerous. Countless yogis have proven that the spine can safely move into many extreme positions.

What I think is dangerous is any exercise done on autopilot in an aggressive, insensitive way. I see it all the time at the gym. People blasting through a 100 sit-ups, teeth gritting, breath held. The article ends with a quote from Dr. Stuart Mill: “I see too many people who have six-pack abs and a ruined back.” He seems to conclude the problem is with the exercises being done, but I think the obsessive ego that demands a six-pack is just as responsible.

I am interested in learning more about how the Hatha Yoga bandha practices have blended with the Western abdominal exercise traditions. If any readers have insight into this, please add your thoughts in the comments.

Yoga Chemistry

I've been delinquent in posting recently due to a flurry of life events, including a training with Rod Stryker. He teaches a modern expression of Tantric yoga called ParaYoga, synthesized from his deep studies with Yogiraj Mani Finger and Pandit Tigunait.  I find him to be incredibly inspiring, both as a teacher and spiritual seeker.  He offered a wealth of new ideas and techniques in the training, some of which I hope to explore through this blog.

One set of concepts from the Tantric and Ayurvedic tradition that I find particularly intriguing are the three vital essences: Prana, Tejas and Ojas.  They are described as the spiritual energies of air, fire and water.  Success yoga practice can be viewed as a balanced combustion reaction.  This can get complicated quickly.  One way I think about it:  Ojas is the fuel, Prana is the oxygen, and Tejas is the resulting flame. The yogis valued Tejas because it burns up ignorance, thus allowing the brilliance of our true self to shine through.  The Sun Salutation honors that inner radiance.

All three elements are necessary for balanced spiritual growth.  We overworked, overstimulated moderns tend to be low on Ojas, the vitality that nourishes and supports the functioning of body and mind.  (The Chinese equivalent is jing.)  It is the essence of food.  It is cultivated mainly through diet and herbs, though also through sleep, restorative postures, yoga nidra, loving and receiving love, and time spent in nature. 

I think most people have felt a sense of rejuvenation from spending time outdoors.  Walking through a quiet forest is a meal, of sorts.  From a Tantric viewpoint, this is not metaphorical.  We "feed" ourselves in many ways, not just through the mouth.  A simple picnic by the lake becomes a feast.  From this perspective, environmental degradation is not just a moral or aesthetic tragedy - we're losing a source of vitality that supports our deep well-being.

Gardeners - bon appétit!

PS - For more details, check out some excerpts from David Frawley on Google Books.

What Happens

Another great bit from Eckhart Tolle.  He relays a story about the Indian sage Krishnamurti:

J. Krishnamurti, the great Indian philospher and spiritual teacher, spoke and travelled almost continually all over the world for more than fifty years attempting to convey through words...that which is beyond words. At one of his talks in the later part of his life, he surprised his audience by asking, "Do you want to know my secret?"

Everyone became very alert. Many people in the audience had been coming to listen to him for twenty or thirty years and still failed to grasp the essence of his teaching. Finally, after all these years, the master would give them the key to understanding.

"This is my secret," he said. "I don't mind what happens." (A New Earth, 198)

You can read an account by Jim Dreaver, one of the people present for this teaching, here.  He offers another quote from Krishnamurti that helps illuminate this simple but profound statement:

When you live with this awareness, this sensitivity, life has an astonishing way of taking care of you. Then there is no problem of security, of what people say or do not say, and that is the beauty of life.

I ran this by my grandmother, one of the wisest folks I know, and she immediately agreed without needing any further explanation.

Krishnamurti discouraged reliance on spiritual practices, which can easily become another source of ego building.  But nevertheless, I find that meditating on the breath is a very direct way to practice this "don't mind" attitude (equanimity might be a synonym.)  The breath is long, then it's short.  It's easy, then it's difficult.  You're alert, then you're sleepy.   You're peaceful, then you're agitated and angry.  The practice is to keep going, regardless.  Not minding what happens.

There comes a point in one's meditation practice when you get so fed up with your monkey mind that you just give up.  You stop trying to focus, to sit still, to do it right... and suddenly the mind gets quiet and concentrated.  I think this may be one of the core lessons we humans are supposed to learn before graduation.  Paradoxically, when we give up trying to "make something happen", that's when it happens.  But we're so programmed to believe that the only way to succeed is through working harder, staying vigilant, pushing through. 

Sages from across time and space have the same message for us: surrender to what is true, and the rest will work itself out.  Meditation shows this to be true first hand.  What a relief!  What a blessing!

(As a side note, Tenzin Palmo made a great comment about Krishnamurti when I saw her speak in Dharamsala.  To paraphrase: "I love Krishnamurti but he's very naughty.  He's like a baker that tells you in great detail about the wonders of fresh baked bread, but then refuses to give you instructions for making the bread.")  

The False and the Real

I've recently been listening to Eckart Tolle's A New Earth as an audio book.   Something about his quirky German accent makes the words more resonant than when I read them on a page.  His voice conveys his realization.  It's remarkable he's had such success, appearing on Oprah and what not. He's telling people to abandon their search for meaning through possessions or accomplishments, to transcend their egos... not exactly mainstream.

I was particularly struck by this line: "Recognition of the false is the arising of the real."

When we find ourselves getting caught up in our ego's story line - "He insulted me!  I'm innocent.  How could he think that!" - with that very act of awareness, we step into the present moment.  The only thing that is real.  (The meaning of "real" could be further debated, of course).

I take comfort in this insight.  Often, when I realize that I've gotten caught in some negative thought cycle - "Low class numbers today. I'll never make it as a yoga teacher.  Who am I kidding?  I should just go to law school." - I end up laying on another layer of judgment - "How could I think that?  If I have so much doubt, maybe I'm really not meant to be a yoga teacher.  I wouldn't doubt myself so much if it was my true calling..."  Because I identify myself as a "meditator" and "yoga teacher", I feel like a spiritual failure when I realize my thoughts are as worldly as ever.

But, as Tolle points out, the act of recognition is perfect in itself.  No further justification or analysis is required.  If anything, I should celebrate my ability to recognize myself getting caught up in thinking.  What a relief! Meditation is not some heroic prohibition of thinking, but the repeated discovery that the Real Self is something much larger than our thoughts.

Seeking Satisfaction, or, My Italian Vacation

Italy, the land of pleasure: vistas, beautiful art, and of course, fabulous food and wine. Lela and I had two weeks to indulge every desire.  It was more pure vacation that we've taken in years (we did a 10-day meditation retreat on our honeymoon).  It was a blessed, bountiful two weeks that proved once again that no sum of pleasures can ever totally eradicate dukkha - the pervasive residue of dissatisfaction that accompanies all experience, first articulated by the Buddha.  

The river of delicious bread, pasta, meat and cheese leads to overeating, dulled senses and constipation.  Then regret over the bill.  $10 for that tiny salad!  The next night I order less food, but it's too little, and I regret not ordering what the next table is eating.  We finish dinner quickly and have nothing to do but watch TV because the quaint hilltop village is dead at night.  Our hotel room is freezing cold because the building is made of stone.  Worry that we picked the wrong place to stay, but now it's too much of a hassle to change...

When pleasure-seeking is the only motive, it easily becomes a "job" that I have to "do right".  I must pick the best restaurant, the best museum, the best wine.  The mind can make anything into a burden.

After time in Rome and Assisi, we moved to the Cinque Terre, a quintet of absurdly picturesque villages along the Tyrrhenian Sea.  We spent a couple days hiking between towns, up and down hillsides covered in vineyards and olive trees.  It felt wonderful to use my legs again, to make effort, to sweat.  My senses became sharper, my appetite revived.  The meals that followed were some of the best of the whole trip.  

In recent self-inquiry, I have noticed my tendency to view pleasure as something that has to be earned.  For example, a cookie earned as a reward for the completion of some unpleasant task, like homework.  There is a subtle self-violence here, a sense that I'm basically not worthy of enjoying life unless I've done something to deserve it.  Perhaps it goes back to my Puritan ancestors insisting that leisure is sinful. 

But my time hiking the Italian coast showed me a different perspective, which is much more pragmatic:  pleasure is experienced more fully when balanced by effort/work/challenge.  As the Buddha discovered, a Middle Way between indulgence and austerity is the most skillful path.  

I see this dynamic at play in my home yoga practice.  It is when I hold myself over the fire a bit - staying in Warrior 3 for 5 more breaths than usual - that I experience the sweetest relaxation at the end of the practice.  There must be some neuroscience to back this up - a connection between the challenge and reward circuitry of the brain.  

Of course, there is a risk of becoming dependent on challenge in order to feel satisfied.  There is also great value in exploring what is simple, familiar and mundane.  For some asana junkies, the greatest challenge may actually be to slow down and really experience Triangle Pose, rather than always pursuing the next, crazy arm balance.

That's Not Yogic

I was talking with a yoga teacher the other day who lamented that some students were making negative comments about her class - a hybrid of tai chi, yoga and pilates - without ever trying the class.  She lamented, "Aren't yoga people supposed to be open-minded?"  I can sympathize.  When I first started teaching, I also expected all my students and colleagues to behave in a serene, compassionate manner.  What could be easier than working with yogis?  This fantasy was quickly dispelled by the reality of the yoga business, which like any business, indeed like anything involving humans, has its share of delusion, greed, and spite.

Why do we expect people who take yoga classes to behave in a more enlightened way than others?  Certainly the traditional practice of yoga emphasizes moral behavior.  The Yamas and Niymasa are 10 guidelines for living in a way conducive to spiritual development.  The ethics of yoga has much in common with the ethics of Western religion: don't harm, don't steal, don't lie, don't abuse sexual energy, don't cling to things.   Gandhi is perhaps the best-known example here in America.  Classically, yogis were expected to cultivate these precepts as a prerequisite to further training in postures, breathing or meditation.  

But that's not true in the West.  Yoga students just sign a liability waiver, not a vow to be vegetarian.  Some teachers may mention the Yamas and Niyamas (I do occasionally), but it is not the foundation of yoga practice in the West.  So why would we expect students to be particularly virtuous?  There is nothing inherent in Downward Dog that makes the brain less prone to judgment and gossip.  A butt-kicking sweat-fest may leave me feeling peaceful and open to the universe, but that wears off in traffic.  I think this wishful expectation that yoga students will be more enlightened points to a deep longing for practices that help us grow beyond our selfish impulses.  Unfortunately, these practices take more commitment than one class a week.

I've also heard students criticize a studio's efforts to make money - through selling merchandise, or enforcing package expiration dates - as "not yogic".  Behind this statement I hear the suggestion that "being yogic" means never setting boundaries, always doing what other people want.   The original yoga "studios" are the ashrams of India, and they are generally "free"... if you are willing to renounce worldly things, serve the guru, and devote your whole life to practice.  They have many more rules than class packages expiring after 6 months.  Ashrams survive through donations from devotees.  And some of them do charge - at least they ask visiting Westerners to pay for room and board.  

But that's not the system we have in the West, and I'm glad.  Now that teaching yoga is (sometimes) financially viable career, it has spread far and wide.  (You can read my extended rumination on this subject on my website.)  Running a profitable yoga studio is HARD to do, and if selling chic yoga pants helps keep the doors open, then so be it.  Gandhi may have been austere, but he was also very practical.  That said, I find modern corruptions such as Yoga Booty Ballet to be quite disheartening...

The danger is that the practical demands of paying rent may overwhelm the integrity of the yoga tradition.  If profit beomes the only criteria for success in American yoga, then we're in trouble.  If the goal is more and more students, teachers are tempted to start teaching what is popular rather than what is beneficial or safe.  I see this dynamic at work in some Intermediate Vinyasa classes, where the music is pumping and the postures are fast and relentless. It can be great fun to "lose yourself" in the sweat and flow, and you leave feeling wrung out.

The problem is that many students jump right into Intermediate classes and never learn safe alignment.  Who wants to admit they're a Beginner, after all?  The flow classes move too fast for the teacher to offer much instruction.  Injury follows.  Habits of restlessness and impatience are amplified.  The mind is calmed through exhaustion.

I fell in love with yoga in a vinyasa class.  Fresh out of teacher training, I figured I would try to recreate what I experienced.  Plus the most successful teachers on the North Shore seemed to be teaching vinyasa.  I wanted to be successful like them!

The more I taught, the more I saw students in Intermediate classes doing horrifying things with their shoulders and knees.  My conscience demanded that I slow down, go back over the basics that many had skipped.  I started to teach more mindfulness in my classes, asking students to examine their urges to always move fast, push hard, do more.  Some students really resonated with this approach, but others did not.  They wanted to sweat and move, no stop and observe. Gradually, my numbers declined.  Studio owners politely asked me to either "try something different" or give up my prime morning time slots. 

At first this was a tremendous blow to my ego.  Why doesn't everyone recognize my genius?  I believed that being a successful yoga teacher meant having big 9:30am flow classes.  But it wasn't working for me.  Many self-doubting thoughts ensued.  What if I'm just not meant to be a yoga teacher?  The minutes before class became agonizing, waiting to see if students would come.  My sense of self-worth swung on class numbers.  Lots of attachement; not yogic!

Four years into teaching, I still feel anxiety over class numbers, but it's less now.  What changed? I let go of my morning Intermediate classes.  I received many Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy sessions and started to trust myself more.  I accepted that my style of yoga is not for everyone.  I am practicing the "yoga of teaching yoga".  Viewed in this way, the mixture of yoga and business is not fundamentally tainted.  It is simply another (very challenging) realm in which to cultivate self-awareness.

Yoga Therapy in the News

A great article in Time about yoga therapy , including a well-worded mention of Phoenix Rising:

A Phoenix Rising yoga therapist puts clients in assisted yoga postures and does a kind of "verbal exploration" of the present moment. The yoga therapist acts as a witness to clients' exploration, with empathy and positive regard for their experience.

Not sure why "verbal exploration" has to be in quotes... that's exactly what it is.

This is just the beginning of the coming wave of interest in body-mind therapy. I predict/hope that in the future, we'll look back at talk-only psychotherapy and express amazement that we once thought the mind could be treated in isolation from the body.