So first things, well, first. I haven't written a yoga related post in quiet some time. I've been focusing all my limited blogging time on my other blog https://videogameux.weebly.com and since that one is essentially for work, it tends to get the love.
What has been on my mind in relation to yoga, and more specifically, Ashtanga Vinyasa, is my lack of initiative to actually practice the set Ashtanga sequence. I haven't done straight ahead, good ol' primary in several months. The reasons for this are I guess, two.
Firstly, I've been doing almost exclusively Rocket Yoga, mostly Rocket I with a bit of II thrown in. I just find it more rewarding, more sustainable in that it's often actually quite fun, and more forgiving on my 43 year old body. I just don't think that Janu Sirsasana C is ever going to feel anything but shitty and dangerous. I'm basically limping the following morning on toes that feel like they've been hit with a small but very angry hammer.
My Urdva Dhanurasana has actually gotten worse recently, as my super-tight shoulders and chest have increasingly rejected being stretched enough to approximate a bridge. At some point, I have to accept that I started Ashtanga at 40, I'm a guy who's spend nearly two decades lifting weights and getting smashed in various sports related ways, both of which I still do, and even attempting a straight-armed back-bend is going to injure me - sometimes more, sometimes less, but there's always something sharp and painful in my wrists, elbows, shoulders, lower back, chest or knees going on post Upward Bow, and I'm kind of tired of always being in pain.
Rocket has Urdva Dhanurasana of course, but for some reason, I feel a lot more comfortable altering the sequence or swapping in/out various asana to suite my needs - I've been doing Dhanurasana belly down style, or Ustrasana instead. Ashtanga just feels strict, like a teacher who's always a bit irritated at you, even before you've fucked up, which you probably will.
I've also been training more Brazilian Jiu-jitsu and submission grappling, and even squeezing in some Muay Thai now and then, and I've needed to view my yoga practice in that context - yoga is supplementary and supportive, but exists as the child, not the parent. There's many days I can't even put weight on my fingers due to grip fighting injuries, can't forward fold after a night of getting mashed under an inverted guard, and wouldn't dare touch my toes for a Padangusthasana or Uthita Hasta Padangusthasana, since there's a good chance my little piggies got stomped on, twisted or otherwise came dangerously close to dislocation.
This growing disinterest in pure Ashtanga is compounded by the recent spat of stories coming out of Patabi Joyce's tendency towards sexually assaulting his female students in the process of adjusting them. Of course, I never practiced with him, and really have no connection with the man, and I do understand that great innovators, authors, teachers or thinkers can be of tremendous value in the context of their professional output, while at the same time being absolute scum-bags personally.
Martin Luther King was a serial adulterer, as was Jack Kennedy. Even the thoroughly disgusting Harvey Weinstein can be credited with bringing an entire generation of experimental, challenging and innovative movies, along with the directors, writers and actors who worked on them, into the public eye. But, I don't need to attend a desegregated school or watch a Miramax film; I don't need to engage directly with the work of those flawed individuals. Now, after reading the many, very believable accounts of Joyce's nauseating behavior, I can't say the opening mantra without feeling like I need to shower in disinfectant.
Maybe I'm a bit too sensitive with this personal behavior stuff, I don't know. There's a very well known Ashtanga teacher who visited Singapore last year. He's Instagram famous for teaching jump/float backs and forwards, and you know, that's my jam right there. From his suddenly wife-and-kid's free posts and a research, it was clear he'd left his wife, the mother of his children, for someone who was now his main teaching assistant during workshops.
At any rate, I couldn't go. To pay money to a teacher with such a limited supply of personal honour was for me, a bridge too far. If I can't manage to learn from a respected and highly skilled teacher due to what appears to be marital infidelity, an all too common practice, without feeling like I'm going to throw up, how can I continuing to engage with the teachings of a man who would jam his fingers into his female student's lady-parts for no reason other than to enjoy their public humiliation and lack of consent.
Maybe at some point, I'll feel like bowing my head, holding my hands together at my heart, and chanting Om vande gurunam charanaravinde, doing 5 Surya Namaskara A's, 3 B's and a Padangusthasana, but at this point, nah, I'm good.
What has been on my mind in relation to yoga, and more specifically, Ashtanga Vinyasa, is my lack of initiative to actually practice the set Ashtanga sequence. I haven't done straight ahead, good ol' primary in several months. The reasons for this are I guess, two.
Firstly, I've been doing almost exclusively Rocket Yoga, mostly Rocket I with a bit of II thrown in. I just find it more rewarding, more sustainable in that it's often actually quite fun, and more forgiving on my 43 year old body. I just don't think that Janu Sirsasana C is ever going to feel anything but shitty and dangerous. I'm basically limping the following morning on toes that feel like they've been hit with a small but very angry hammer.
My Urdva Dhanurasana has actually gotten worse recently, as my super-tight shoulders and chest have increasingly rejected being stretched enough to approximate a bridge. At some point, I have to accept that I started Ashtanga at 40, I'm a guy who's spend nearly two decades lifting weights and getting smashed in various sports related ways, both of which I still do, and even attempting a straight-armed back-bend is going to injure me - sometimes more, sometimes less, but there's always something sharp and painful in my wrists, elbows, shoulders, lower back, chest or knees going on post Upward Bow, and I'm kind of tired of always being in pain.
Rocket has Urdva Dhanurasana of course, but for some reason, I feel a lot more comfortable altering the sequence or swapping in/out various asana to suite my needs - I've been doing Dhanurasana belly down style, or Ustrasana instead. Ashtanga just feels strict, like a teacher who's always a bit irritated at you, even before you've fucked up, which you probably will.
I've also been training more Brazilian Jiu-jitsu and submission grappling, and even squeezing in some Muay Thai now and then, and I've needed to view my yoga practice in that context - yoga is supplementary and supportive, but exists as the child, not the parent. There's many days I can't even put weight on my fingers due to grip fighting injuries, can't forward fold after a night of getting mashed under an inverted guard, and wouldn't dare touch my toes for a Padangusthasana or Uthita Hasta Padangusthasana, since there's a good chance my little piggies got stomped on, twisted or otherwise came dangerously close to dislocation.
This growing disinterest in pure Ashtanga is compounded by the recent spat of stories coming out of Patabi Joyce's tendency towards sexually assaulting his female students in the process of adjusting them. Of course, I never practiced with him, and really have no connection with the man, and I do understand that great innovators, authors, teachers or thinkers can be of tremendous value in the context of their professional output, while at the same time being absolute scum-bags personally.
Martin Luther King was a serial adulterer, as was Jack Kennedy. Even the thoroughly disgusting Harvey Weinstein can be credited with bringing an entire generation of experimental, challenging and innovative movies, along with the directors, writers and actors who worked on them, into the public eye. But, I don't need to attend a desegregated school or watch a Miramax film; I don't need to engage directly with the work of those flawed individuals. Now, after reading the many, very believable accounts of Joyce's nauseating behavior, I can't say the opening mantra without feeling like I need to shower in disinfectant.
Maybe I'm a bit too sensitive with this personal behavior stuff, I don't know. There's a very well known Ashtanga teacher who visited Singapore last year. He's Instagram famous for teaching jump/float backs and forwards, and you know, that's my jam right there. From his suddenly wife-and-kid's free posts and a research, it was clear he'd left his wife, the mother of his children, for someone who was now his main teaching assistant during workshops.
At any rate, I couldn't go. To pay money to a teacher with such a limited supply of personal honour was for me, a bridge too far. If I can't manage to learn from a respected and highly skilled teacher due to what appears to be marital infidelity, an all too common practice, without feeling like I'm going to throw up, how can I continuing to engage with the teachings of a man who would jam his fingers into his female student's lady-parts for no reason other than to enjoy their public humiliation and lack of consent.
Maybe at some point, I'll feel like bowing my head, holding my hands together at my heart, and chanting Om vande gurunam charanaravinde, doing 5 Surya Namaskara A's, 3 B's and a Padangusthasana, but at this point, nah, I'm good.