(this piece inspired and based on “How To Buckle Your Baby Into A Carseat In 36 Easy Steps” By Kristen Mulrooney. Featured illustration by Zoe Ward aka @unrulyascetic).

STEP 1:

Dress yourself in yoga pants that aren’t too tight or too thin, or too anything really. Anything too thin will invite a see-thru peep show at your crotch. Anything too Compression-y will render you unable to put your legs behind your head and expose said crotch at all. Best bet is some middle ground between gyn porn shot and Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, with a square of room-darkening black curtain material cut to cover your crotch — and a filter.

STEP 2:

Take a moment to emotionally prepare yourself for the fact that you will be exposing your crotch, covered or not and the fact that people will be looking at your crotch and perhaps even informing you that they can see your junk. This pose is a crotch shot. There is no pic of this pose that is not a crotch. There is no pose here without a crotch. No crotch, no dwi pada. That’s the deal– aka crotch deal.

STEP 4:

Place your left leg behind your head.

STEP 3:

Make sure you have enough openness and external rotation in your hips and that you’ve been practicing for a while and have a teacher not just facebook comments as a guide and that you didn’t just roll out of bed and try this from Insta because what the f*ck is wrong with you if you do that…and I hope it goes without saying but if you’re on the Ashanga Home Practice FB group and you’re that person with knees made out of recycled red solo cups and hips held together with paper clips and super glue, please don’t bother. If you’re a triple jointed alien from “so you think you can dance,” feel free.

Yes, STEP 3 should have come before STEP 4.

STEP 5:

Place a towel across your  neck so your legs don’t slip off because they’re kinda hanging by a thread. Wait, how does it feel more wrong now? This doesn’t make sense. The air on your crotch is messing with you.

STEP 6:

Put your second leg behind your head. Bring first foot over to your ear. Pull foot to your shoulder. What?

STEP 7:

Bandhas…And Nothing. Stop and google Kino legs behind head dwi pada. Watch video of Kino putting legs behind her head while talking with wavy perfect blond locks and shorts and a SMILE. Try to do pose like Kino. Feel existential crisis in your crotch.

STEP 8:

Adjust the legs so you can sit up tall like Richard Freeman. Who are you kidding? You do not look like Richard Freeman. Crotch crisis deepens.

STEP 9:

Lean forward a little but not too much or you’ll slam your face into the floor and break your nose, but not too far back or you’ll fall backwards and decapitate yourself with slingshotting feet. Congratulations! You have successfully put both legs behind your head and exposed your crotch. Not pictured: Abs. Non-existent: Abs. 

STEP 10:

Place hands in prayer. Make a wish. (Wish your pants not see-through.) Don’t fart.

STEP 11:

Slowly die inside as teacher tells you, “point your feet!” Your flexed toes are the only things keeping this crotch-fest shit together. 

STEP 12:

Count to five breaths in one nanosecond.

STEP 14:

Don’t flip out, but I think there’s a tiny hole in the crotch

 #crotch bulls-eye.

STEP 15:

F*CK

STEP 16:

Forget it: You are crotch-committed. Place hands down and lift body off the floor (yes with both legs behind head and crotch front and center get over it already).

STEP 17:

You can’t forget. Go to bathroom and place a sock over crotch to triage the “hole” issue. Repeat STEPS 1-16 again.

STEP 18:

Shove legs behind head. Hands in prayer, smile like no one is looking at your crotch (which may have a bulge).

STEP 19: 

If you’re a dude, consider STEP 18 to be a plus. 

STEP 20:

Your right leg won’t go in as Richard Freeman-y as the left. Practice non- attachment and self-hatred and wanting to die because who the f*ck invented this BS ANYWAY…

STEP 21:

Google right leg sticky dwi pada. Kino pops up, again– but now on a beach LIKE IN THE OCEAN. SHE DOES THIS WITH SAND? CROTCHES HATE SAND. Crotch inadequacy ensues.

STEP 22:

Place hands down, levitate body off floor, breathe five times (or count to five super fast whatever works after all both feet are behind your head and your crotch is like at the center of attention).

STEP 23: 

Fall backwards instead except it looks a lot worse than you can possibly describe here.

Repeat STEPS 1 to 22.

STEP 24:

Are you breathing? Is your crotch? Go back to STEP 1.

STEP 25:

Video wasn’t running. Repeat STEPS 1-24.

STEP 26:

Congratulations! You successfully put both legs behind your head/exposed crotch to the world! Take perfect crotch shot. Post on Insta. Add Rumi misquote.

#crotchgoals

#crotchcreations

STEP 27:

Check Insta comments after one millisecond. Read bored likes, lazy heart emojis and comments passive aggressively educating you on safer poses, like soundbath yoga and shaming you for displaying a dangerous pose with a crotch shot because honestly? Those pants are a little see-through and…

 isn’t that a hole?

#thewoundistheplacewherethelightenters

Do you take out your phone while teaching? To change the music? Text about Take-out? Social Media? Snap Pics to market/brag about your rockin’ packed class on the ‘gram? 

This, after you’ve told students to store their own phones away in cubbies? After you’ve waxed poetic on the glory of paying attention to your breath? 

Ruh. Roh.

You probably feel a little defensive right now reading this from your phone, reading it from the blog of another phone addict, yes– 

ME.

So let’s just start with that. I suffer from a condition known as: insta-phone-gratif-likemypost-heartmypic-LOVEMELOVEMELOVEME-ANSWERMENOW-ARE YOU DEAD ANSWER ME-WHO-WAS THAT ACTRESS IN THAT MOVIE I MUST KNOW NOW AT 7AM GOOGLE-addiction. A condition otherwise known as most of us in the new age of smartphone smothering ubiquity. But I’m trying, kids. I airplane mode my phone at night and I TRY SO HARD NOT to text or google for a good hour after waking until I’ve had coffee and done my daily writing exercises.

Over holiday break I got to sit away the morning phone free, angelically/furiously scribbling bile into a journal as I watched my partner stare at his phone across the room. Seeing his phone made me want (a) my phone, like my fingers itched and (b) to throw him, phone included, into the snow.

I listened to a podcast with Dax Shepard and Tal Ben Shahar-– of the infamous happiness class at Harvard and books in that realm, who I first read years ago upon the rec of my old psychologist. Smartphone use is the suspected culprit behind rising depression rates in teens. Wow. He also mentioned that if you were an alcoholic you wouldn’t go to bed with a bottle next to your pillow — but hot damn, we all do.

With our phones. Me too, man.

We’re surrounded– by phones, or other people using phones, staring at phones. You want a break from your phone? Have at it– but it would be like wanting to quit smoking and drinking while everyone around you smokes and drinks no matter where you go.

So what happens when we as yoga teachers use our phones, even minimally, while teaching?

What goes through the minds of students when I fiddle with the music during my “powerjams” class? I want that playlist perfect for each moment, which can change moment in the room, or I have to touch the phone in order to adjust the volume. Maybe my eyes spy a message banner as I do. Or perhaps you, teacher, text your BF that you want take-out Thai later, or your mysore teacher reaches out while in the room to say “hey” check out this post from @incorrectmethod. 

Let’s meet in Rumi’s field beyond right or wrong for a second, and try to work together here instead of throwing each other to the wolves.

When I’m in class or your room and you pick up your phone– I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES — I know we’ve lost you for a second. I know you’ve left the room, so to speak. Sometimes it evokes a desire to scratch the itch we came to yoga to forget–our phone-itis, like my partner did at home over break. Or it makes me wonder, AM I NOT ENOUGH TO DESERVE YOUR PRESENCE?

(I washed my clothes and everything, man!)

So here’s my two thumb’s worth of what I try to do (thumb free):

1. I’m going to try to make my playlist as perfect as I can so I can fiddle with tech less during that music-centric class (although it’s my only way to adjust volume, so I cannot be perfect, but let’s not let the perfect be the enemy of the good)
   
2. I’m not going to look at it except to check time/volume adjust in my other classes.
   
3. I will not text or social media during class (I don’t, generally, but I’ve heard about it being done by others) absent emergency (um, a packed class is not an emergency)
   
4. I will not take pictures or videos of you with my phone without your consent and while I’m supposed to be teaching (after class, if we agree that a video might help you see a pattern and it’s just you and me and we’re all good, that’s different, k?)
   
5. Mostly I’m going to be present for you, so I can teach you. 

I used to fall asleep at night to audio of Sharon Salzberg’s “LovingKindness” books. She tells a story about someone who made a long journey to see a famous, venerated monk. When he arrived, the monk gave him one hundred percent of his attention. He gave him the gift of presence. 

How can we pay attention to our students if we aren’t paying them attention? I may not be the best teacher in the world. Ten years, roughly, and I’m still working on so many things– on my mat and off. I don’t have all the answers and I don’t come from a place of perfection. But if there’s one gift I can give you?

 It’s the attention you deserve.

In Boulder, a friend of mine told me about the day, a month into her life as a CorePower yoga regular, she stared at her reflection from a Warrior II and thought:

“I got this.”

As in, I got this flow. I got this yoga shit. I got this I own this I Beyonce this. I know what’s going down, I know how to flip, how to place my towel, to spit on it with my water bottle. I. GOT. THIS.

In Ashtanga Yoga, you don’t “got this.” Perhaps this is why the practice attracts some and not others.

Maybe for a moment “you got this,” and at that precise second someone will hand you a pose to remind you: No, you don’t got this. Yeah and even the stuff you get a little fancy with, you kinda got this, but oh, the more time you practice, the more you know, and then you see there’s so much you don’t got at all, down to triangle pose and breathing, oh man the breathing– yeah, still don’t got this. I’m in third series now which is just a daily little reminder, a MULTIPLE POSES SH*TSHOW REMINDER THAT I REALLY DON’T GOT THIS AND MAN WILL I EVER?

Perhaps I should clarify: I don’t got this. For a while, sure I plowed through second series into third like a kid through Christmas presents. Now I’m still trying to jump back over in tic tocs, still trying to OWN Urdhva Kukkutasana B (Ok, it’s gotten passable), but what about C and Galavasana oh my, and let’s not forget all those jump backs in primary. Face it, Jean Maire:

You never had this shit gotten.

So what to do. With Ashtanga I’ve progressed because of all the moments I didn’t “got this.” All the moments I’ve had to look at myself not getting close to this. Because in the spots you got this, we gave you stuff you didn’t got, so you could “not got this” until you got this, then you get more of stuff that you can’t “got this” and so on and so forth and yeah– I am in a real “I don’t got this” stage, and it’s good–

this is how we progress.

Also? It took a lot of not getting and then getting this to get here!

I recently watched the movie “Maiden” about the first all-female crew in the Whitbread around the world sailing race. I highly recommend it. But the most incredible, moving part of the film is when they fail to win the entire race (spoiler, sorry). As one of the crew puts it: 

“There was a bigger picture than winning.”

At that moment, riding up to the finish line, boat after boat after boat came into the water to ride alongside the Maiden. At the dock, all the people came for them. The women on that boat did what they were told they could not do– and they did it well (they won two legs of the race).

So, while I may not be the first to the third series finish line, why friends in the mysore room have sped along past me, and I may not look good getting there — getting this, winning– it’s not the biggest picture. Look around–

it’s the community. It’s cheers for putting yourself in the race. the arena. It’s the help. It’s the moment you see you need it, and use that gift card to buy multiple mats so you practice tic tocs (ok maybe that’s just me). Look, the best part about finally lifting into urdhva kukkutasana A last year was the cheering section along the way until it happened. Maybe 2020 will be there year I let you into the videos of my practice failings once again so you can join me as I don’t got this–

because maybe that’s the only way we get anywhere at all. 

2020: the year we don’t got this till we get it.

xoxo

I was in natarajasana, often called “dancer’s pose” in a late night (almost 9pm) class at a dominant, well-known yoga school, when the male teacher picked me up off the floor and spun me around, like we were two finalists destined to be voted off the next episode of SO You Think You Can Dance.

I kid you not. Really. I write humor and satire blogs and I must report:

THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM.

I didn’t scream. New to vinyasa at the time, but raised a dancer, so I guess that ballet side of me kicked in and made this Dirty Dancing lift “work.” Years later I question whether it even happened or if I dreamed it.

(I fear this is a common experience for women. I know this is a common experience for women.)

This assist was unnecessary. It wasn’t icky or sexual. It was just…

WTF?

If anything, being lifted off my foundation thwarted my ability to effectively and sustainably work the pose.

The title of this blog– stop touching people for no reason– does not, I must repeat, mean I’m against all touch:

I’m against touch for no goddamn good reason. Unfortunately, even as the world of yoga begins to wake up to the new days of “post-authoritarian practice,” we still have this world of yoga that includes (1) assembly-line assists, where 200 hr TT grads taught by other recent 200 hr TT grads just pull on every down dog , squish on every pidgeon they see; (2) “juicy assists” (insert vomit emoji) and (3) assists for the teacher’s ego that don’t help the student at all (see Exhibit A: Natarajasana Dancing With The Stars lift story, above).

I don’t know about you — but I sure as hell don’t want to be juiced like a fucking orange in my practice.

Here are my thoughts about assisting (based on nine years of teaching, and more than a decade of practice, years as a student, life as a woman, days as a mother and recipient of bodily trauma, and numerous occasions of witnessing the juicing of a variety of fruits and vegetables in high speed blenders).

1. Assisting is teaching. Verbal instructions about where you are trying to help me go would work perhaps better than any physical manipulation.
   
2. Students should know you’re there (for the most part) before you touch them at all, let alone deeply. It would be nice to get a name. Like, “Hey, it’s Susan, right? Maybe move that right foot a little this way, pk, and is it ok if I touch you? (insert very light handed touch). In vinyasa classes HOW ABOUT WE GIVE students a chance to say “don’t touch me” or “I just had a hip replacement two weeks ago” (True Story, someone said that to me a few weeks back) — Before you touch them. Students regularly tell me they don’t modify because they don’t want to hurt the teacher’s feelings. (They also don’t tell me until the last minute or NEVER even say at all that they have degenerative disc disease or they have a papier mache knee or that they injured their neck snowboarding a few years back). Give them the power to talk.
   
3. People respond best when you teach them like they have as much to teach you. Because they do. No matter what you know as a recent TT or even a 9th-year teacher (and that ain’t much, sorry to say) you will never know as much as that person who has lived her entire life In That body you are about to touch. Put another way, in a “resilient culture,”
   
   “everybody is learning from everyone else all the time.”
   ~ Theo Wildcroft
   
4. Once I know you’re there, ask if it’s ok for you touch me. Why not? Contrary to certain male teachers exposed by the New York Times, asking for consent DOES WORK. If there’s assent, continue to ask if things are ok. I think consent chips can be helpful, too. But within a single class there may be some things for which a person cannot be touched and some places where they can. (side note: I regularly visit a mysore room where the teachers know me, know my practice and I generally know when I am going to be assisted, and I know that they are open to feedback and conversation about said assists. In this scenario, I don’t expect to be asked if it’s ok for the teacher to touch me because we’ve already established a line of communication.)
   
5. Most people in vinyasa classes I teach don’t need intense physical assists — or ANY physical assists at all. They more often need personalized attention and verbal instruction. Most people in class don’t need to be put into poses, cranked in poses or have their arms pushed to the floor in a wide legged forward fold. They don’t need to be juiced like a goddamn orange. They need verbal instructions— for example, to know that their feet are way over-crossed or that chatturanga isn’t supposed to look like a breakdancing move known as “The Worm,” that an adjustment in their stance might be worth exploring or that they might play with their hands a little closer together over there. After class students thank me for the attention because I am giving that, but I do so without deep touching. It’s not needed in most cases. 
   
6. Give attention to everyone, instead of touching everyone with your hands. To me, this is the real “hands-on” teaching.
   
7. If you don’t practice yoga regularly, don’t touch me (and why are you even teaching?)
   
8. The assist is supposed to be about the student– not the teacher. When I touch or assist people I am asking myself what does this person need? They don’t need an assist to prove that I (as teacher) have got the sauce.
   
9. Assisting, teaching — It’s a conversation. It’s a mutual dance. I should feel connection between us when you touch me. I should have a chance to say, “my hamstring is wonky today, don’t do that assist on me today please.” (I have little side talks like this with teachers and assistants in the mysore room all the time. Recently I told the wonderful assistant in SLC that I was feeling not quite up to my biggest final backbend. There was a conversation between me, the main teacher and the assistant. And it felt right.)
   
10. Don’t fix me. I’m not broken. Put away your juicy assists and your patronizing fixer ones. Because if this is a mutual dance, if you have as much to learn from me as I do from you, then it’s never about you “fixing me.” It’s us on our way, together.
    
11. You can serve students even as a new teacher, even if your practice isn’t as advanced. Just be honest. It doesn’t take special expertise to look at me in a WTF-is-this-ashtanga-advanced-series- posture and say, “hey I don’t know this pose but it looks like if you brought some more weight forward it would help or it looks like your leaning more to right than the left.” Just observe and be honest with what you know and what you don’t know. Watch and look at people as they practice before you touch them, if you need to touch them at all (and you probably don’t).

I said, “Hey yoga teacher, stop touching people for no reason.” What i mean is– if you touch me, have a good reason.

****
Finally, several links herein are from blogs by Angela Jamison at both http://www.insideowl.com/ and http://www.ashtangaannarbor.com/wordpress/

I recommend reading them!

Spoiler Alert: The dummy is me.

Backbends are the hot sauce on my soul, and I like hot sauce. While I am admittedly, a genetic udon-noodled spine, this gift brought the curse of overdoing backbends in practice like Bikram and chronically sore spasming muscles across my low to mid back. I did not practice yoga, which means union– I practiced bending my back in half where it naturally wanted to bend, without connection or use of the rest of my body. It’s funny to me when people asked how I progressed my backbend from catching my ankles to my shins.

I didn’t.

The deepness of my backbend now reflects the practice time that has allowed the rest of my body to catch up and support my backbend. My backbends today are about my legs and my whole body.

If this makes you want to hit me, recall that I am, or was? — a DUMMY. AS such, some thoughts from a backbendy person who learned along the way might actually be helpful to anyone’s backbend. Mind you, I’m not going to use words like “nutation” or chakra. I’m simply going to describe my experience in a way that might inspire thoughts for you.

1. Whole Body. Backbending is about the whole body. There is no backbend in isolation. Yoga means union, remember? Jason Bowman once quoted Richard Freeman in a vinyasa class as saying “Your backbend must be tethered to something.” This spoke to me: My upper body and lower body could literally split in half, like a magician had sawed me in two. With the aid of good teachers, I learned to connect the dots along the front line of my body, to tether the backbend to my foundation in my feet, and work it all the way up to my head.
   
2. In other words, use your legs. If you don’t, the backbend may just be your back. Think back to a pose like LBH, or leg behind the head. It’s not just your hip: it’s your abs, your upper back. No asana is just one thing. I don’t feel sore in my back the day after a deep final backbend (but I might feel sore fro the stretch I got across the front of my hips ).
   
3. Backbend Like It Isn’t A Big deal. Allright, in Ashtanga it kind of is, but then again, so are jumpbacks, because if you count there’s about a gazillion of them as opposed to a couple of wheels. Stay with me:
   
   I’m more attached these days to what I cannot do easily. I am attached and humbled and insecure about handstands (which I actually can do but still!) If you can handstand like you love it, treat your backbend like your handstand.
   
   Make your backbend great again by mentally going about that part of practice like you do the stuff you are good at. I cannot speak for you, but I feel confident about a pose, if I feel Instagrammably photographable in a pose — I don’t avoid it, I relax about it and let it be whatever it is. Don’t push.
   
4. Allow the backbend– get out of its way. My backbend is deeper now than it was years ago because at a certain point my back isn’t bending — the rest of my body is. My final backbend reflects more about the front line of my body than it does my back. You allow pieces of your practice to flourish I think, by tending to yourself as a whole.
   
5. Samastithi. I am a broken record, but for good reason. David Garrigues said “each of the asanas is more alike than you think.” That final backbend caching is more like samastitihi than anything else I know. In my mind, I am standing up tall. I am standing up tall in uttanasana too. I am standing up tall in durvasana, in utthita hasta padangustasana. I am standing on the line with a little extra bell and whistle on it. So, whole body. Your backbend is a line, too.
   
6. Up, Not Back. I’m gonna remix an old Peg Mulqueen blog here: I think Up, not back. This is part of the whole body/line idea. In kapo, you will see people lean way back to get hands to floor and ankles. Then they have to walk in–or, up! I do this too. Once my hands come down, I immediately try to shift from “BACK” to “UP.” I am always asking myself to go up, to feel up. This is also how I straighten my legs after catching. Up, for me, is about finding the line.
   
   Maybe you don’t catch. Maybe you don’t do kapo. Maybe you stand on your knees with hands at hips and open you chest up to the sky. Well, I know a beautiful practitioner for whom that is her backbend. And she looks like Union. She looks like the Line. She looks “UP.” I see her kapo and my kapo and I see the same thing.
   
   https://www.instagram.com/p/B5I6S4snfiL/
   
   
   *****
   My final backbend in the mysore room last visit was coocoo for cocoa puffs- crazy high.
   
   No one took a picture of it. No one was left in the room. No doves sang, No trumpets blared, No book deals signed, No money grew on trees, No fame came, No enlightenment — Not even a new folower came to me. No one even Instastoried my hands above my knees, and I almost forgot about it until I sat down to write this piece about backbending, because what really caught me on fire that day were tic tocs, and working on the jump back over (something I am not naturally gifted at AT ALL). But back to that final backbend —
   
   It was just another extraordinarily ordinary moment of practice. Not special at all, but special to me. 
   
   Don’t be a dummy like me.
   Backbend like YOU.

Images herein by Zoe Ward aka @unrulyascetic on Insta

On Taking His Yoga Class During Your Pregnancy:

Do I care that you have an established practice? Do I care that you’re a prenatal yoga teacher and an ayurvedic doula? Stop talking, cherie. The fact remains– and this I feel from my blond dreadlocks to gonads– that I’m a man and you aren’t, so the best thing is to listen to me and take your pregnant alien body out of here. What are you going to do if we twist? Like modify it or something? This won’t work.

 

On Parenthood And Practice Based On Experience With Pet Fish

Ah, motherhood. I feel you. I feel you, deep down to the ends of my man bun here, wanting to know from me– even though you didn’t ask– about the impact of motherhood on a daily yoga practice. Let me tell you about your personal experience with this. 

While I don’t have any children– aside of course from my own personal inner child, who frankly, takes much care and consideration– I did have a pet goldfish. His name was Baby. 

So I know what it’s like to have to take care of someone else with needs. Breastfeeding, fish flakes, same same– you should read about Zen Buddhism and maybe you’d understand that but ah, here we are. Let me explain it: I’ve learned that time on my mat makes it easier to deal with those middle of the night feedings when you realize you’ve forgotten to feed Baby for the past week. And when you probably killed Baby, because maybe you forgot to feed him while acro-yoga retreating in Bali. So, there’s my two cents you never asked for. Oh– I hate to say this, but if you want to practice here you must show up at least four days a week between 6:30 and 8:30am. If your Baby is like mine, he’s probably sleeping at that time anyway (if he’s not, you’re doing it wrong). PS– your breasts are bangin’! Also, you look tired. 

On Your Female Curves

Wow. It’s amazing you can do yoga and still have a butt. Maybe it’s my angular male hips talking, or my belief that I’m better than you and you shouldn’t be able to do what my manliness can do, but I find that impressive in my own patronizing way. Most people would quit if they had to lift a butt with cheeks. Your yoga practice is supposed to eliminate butt cheeks, so you must be doing it wrong or be a weird outlier like a healthy woman. You do you! So brave. Or don’t. Let me tell you about what’s really brave, though…..

On Whether Or Not She Feels The Need To Pee

You shouldn’t have to pee during your yoga practice because I don’t, unless of course you drink a gallon of water half hour before. So don’t do that. Why should it matter if you’re pregnant, have had a baby, have pelvic floor issues that you’re totally unaware of because no one in this country cares for postpartum women, least of all me (indeed there are some countries where women who have given birth meet with a pelvic floor PT). Like, if you can’t not pee for 90 minutes during practice you’re doing everything wrong. I’m a Reiki lover too, so I’m basically a doctor and also I’m a man. Hence my authority on every subject. 

Did I say Bandhas yet? Bandhas. And try peeing standing up. Works for me!

On You, Having Met You Just Seconds Ago

Hi! I’ve just hyperventilated into your studio after pounding on the locked door ‘cause your little packed class started twenty minutes ago. Let me tell you about you: You are type A, pitta and stress-y. I figured you out in ten seconds. Just look at your pitta-ful self, locking the door 15 minutes after class started! Have I mentioned I’m a yoga teacher? I have a gazillion followers on Instagram. Also, I can handstand. I can do a one-armed handstand. I can do a handstand kiss. I invented handstands and can recite the Bhagavad Gita by heart. Can you do a handstand? Never mind, back to me: I sing kirtan and do healing workshops with cacao (or instant hot chocolate powder with marshmallows if that’s all I’ve got). 

Did you say, “You should try that?”

Don’t ever “should yourself!” You should listen to me and stop shoulding all over yourself and let me should all over you instead. But you should come to my healing instant cocoa workshop so I can fix that awful type A thing we both know you have.  You’re welcome.

On Your Uterus, Monthly Cycle And Vagina

A wise old man without a uterus once decreed that women shouldn’t practice while on their period (or touch him, touch his food, and for Ganesh’s sake keep their freaky ass moon-abiding selves far the F away from him and like, even sleep outside– but who’s counting?)

Look, the last thing a woman needs is for yet another man to tell her about her body, but–

I will anyway. After all, I’m schooled in not only what other previous male yogis have said, but also what mansplaining doctors say including me (I’m basically a doctor because I took AP Bio, still watch Grey’s Anatomy and New Amsterdam and I’m studying to become an erotic tantric massage therapist). I’m a master belly rubber too, of both humans and dogs, so I know how these female organs work intimately. So, did you know how yoga can help transform your cycle into bliss? Or why you shouldn’t practice on it because ugh, ew! Just ask and I’ll tell you! Or don’t, and I’ll tell you anyway. Of course, far be it for me to explain your body to you…. 

But I will. So, based on what the great wealth of mansplainers before me have said, do not practice on your monthly thing I’m too embarrassed to call by its name. Oh, is it true that some female voices support this? Cute. Back to what the wise old man yogis and I were saying…. And hey, let me know if you want me to break the female orgasm down for you.

On Whether He Needs Your Consent For A Fucked-Up Assist He Calls “The Diaper Change” (Spoiler Alert: He doesn’t)

So, I’m just going to straddle her legs around my waist with my knees under her butt, place my hands low on her abdomen, rock from side to side….hmmm, what did you say about finding this fucked up?

“This is a very good important conversation for us to have” — so I’ll talk and you listen, that’s a good girl (head pat). Someone suggested once that I need to ask for consent before performing this assist. (It was a woman, so I didn’t care.) Can you just imagine asking for permission to perform the “Diaper Change”– aka, the creepiest, most infantalizing, disgustingly named power-dynamic-issues-much assist ever?

That won’t work.

On His “Human” Perspective That Trumps All

I’ve never been pregnant. I’ve never had a baby. I don’t even sport this Man bun everyday.

But what I have been– is human. I possess a uniquely human perspective developed in my twenty-six years as a white male. WE ARE ONE. Isn’t my human perspective just more important than anything anyone else could ever have to say from a small niche perspective like….that of a woman?  I just don’t see differences anymore. I see the Human perspective, you know–

Mine.

#doitforthegram #hashtagasana #asanaforagony #practicelikeeverybodyswatching #posingovercliffs #keepitdeathlyreal #RUMIalsosaidwhenwasieverlessbydying

DeathWish® Yoga is the brain-dead child of Dylan Shiva Reaper, who looked around at all the contortionist poses, beach scenes, instagram challenge-inspired strokes and hip replacements  and thought—

It’s not enough.

Shiva, so self-named as an homage to the God of destruction and his own inflated ego, wanted a class to serve the multitudes of people doing dumbass, dangerous yoga poses in dangerous settings just to get the perfect instagram shot—

only he wanted to go dumber and dangerouser with even more insta-likes-er. 

Instead of maintaining a safe space, DeathWish® Yoga encourages you to court your own severe bodily injury and even death, which the #doitforthegrammers call:

“Perish-Asana” 

You want to handstand at the rim of the Grand Canyon? Bend over backwards over the railing of a balcony four stories up? Press up handstand at the edge of the empire state building roof? This is the class for you. As Shiva says, “we’re all about going out with a bang, a great hashtag and fuckload of insta likes. Perishasana is highly underrated (along with fuckyourkneessasana, and stroke-asana).”

Shiva conceived “DeathWish Yoga” after feeling out of place trying to maim himself in typical yoga classes. “They were all about healing, taking care of yourself, blah blah— even the hot and so-called power classes.” It was just so…safe…and BS. Even corpse pose was a sham: we just lay there. WTF! I was looking for a class that would really help stretch my limits— you know, break the law, a few bones, even the skull–and get boatloads of new followers.  Life is short, ya know?”   

Shiva thanks his parents for inspiration. “They used to always say “Dylan, If all your friends ran and jumped off a bridge would you?’ 

And You know what?”

“Yes. I totally fucking would.” 

“But I’d put it on Insta. Twitter. Tik-Tok. I’d set up my phone first. Pick a super cool bridge, like the Golden Gate, or the roof of the Taj Mahal or something, then we’d jump from a yoga pose, one that could cause a stroke or at least a strained muscle. And of course, we’d hashtag the shit out of it, post it on insta and everywhere and watch the emojis roll in.” 

Alas, Dylan felt very lonely: “Where was the class for people like me?”

Enter Rage yoga— an aha moment. What if, he thought, instead of (or in addition to) cursing/ screaming yoga, we did yoga under the threat of death? Like the Hunger Games, but with yoga poses. Like base jumping, but with baddha konasana. And thus, DEATHWISH® yoga was born…so you could like, dance with deathly asana. Classes start out with dangerous poses that could cause injury just for an insta shot, and progress up to the highest local building roof.  

You might wonder if Shiva is missing parts of his cerebral cortex (indeed, he does have an abnormality, though it’s unclear whether this is due to genetics or several falls on the head/ strokes suffered during instagram challenges). He explains: 

“Before I found my practice, I was like, so stressed out. I had all these thoughts all the time! Now, I handstand on crumbling cliffs and all I can think about is how trendy I’ll be on twitter. Even the fact that I might actually die— or that I might already be partially brain dead— totally clears my mind, bro.

As for critics of DEATHWISH®, Shiva doesn’t give a shit. “Honestly? They’re full of it. They preach breathing and wellness kumbaya, meanwhile what do students get?  Assists from untrained teachers, adjustments without consent, rape and sexual harrassment from venerated gurus, hip replacement surgery without social media glory, headstand-induced strokes. Here at DeathWish® yoga, we just remove the fake-ass shit and we add the likes on Insta shit. Here:

https://instagram-dm.com/p/B3fB5fHhFFG

We are ALL about doing it for the gram. 

We are about finding the limits of agony. 

WE practice like everybody is watching, where it’s all about the poses– duh, poses over cliff edges. We just don’t bullshit about it. We don’t pretend. 

We wanna fucking cheat death and score likes on insta. #DEATHWISH 

For a DEATHWISH class near you, go to DEATHWISHYOGA.com or to the nearest tall building roof. Be sure to bring your signed, notarized and witnessed by three non-partial witnesses waiver. Also, sign up for the DEATHWISH Bakasana & Base Jumping Yoga Retreat on Insta or the waitlist! (Spots go fast, but new ones always open up!)

#doitforthegram #asanaforagony #practicelikeeverybodyswatching #posingovercliffs #keepitdeathlyreal #perishasana #bakasana&basejumping #donttrythisathomeitsnotcoolenoughyouneedatallbuilding

#practiceanddeathmaimingseverebodilyinjuryiscoming

1. The Exorcist girl bent over backwards.

via GIPHY (this is for me, inspired by @unrulyascetic on Instagram). white nightgown plus backbend. Done.

2. Guru known for being a sexual predator (or just, you know, Guru–see Bikram, Pattabhi Jois, and so on). Wear a loincloth. Recite “practice and all is coming” and use your imagination.

3. New Yoga Teacher Training graduate who wants to adjust you  (He’s new to yoga, has no other training, and just wants to see what happens if we wrench your knee this way, ok, and no, he does not plan to ask for your consent!)

4. Bikram Choudhury (see #2, but this one calls for a speedo–super scary!!)

5. Yoga teacher explaining science (think yoga clothes plus poster with facts like “Triangle pose cures pneumonia”)

6. See-through Lululemon yoga pants girl in forward fold (grab those vintage pants and voila!)

7. Yoga Teacher playing Doctor/Therapist/Nutritionist (yoga pants + stethoscope from kid’s toy box)

8. Instagram Yogi Doing Handstand On a 10th Floor Balcony Railing Or At Cliff’s Edge (just carry a phone and a fake mountain or model of a high rise building you can handstand next to)

https://www.yogajournal.com/lifestyle/18-dangerous-instagram-yoga-photos

9. Constipation (For An Ashtangi Who Has To Practice At 6AM). The sign “constipation” should be scary enough.

There’s a student in your power vinyasa class in a handstand while eveyone else breathes in child’s pose.

That student?  Me. Maybe. Don’t hit me.

I once saw each choreography change by a student as an insult. Then I got into ashtanga, a self-practice. Dictated, but self-tailored. I began to practice at home alone and from the depths of this self inquiry, I developed a power–

to get the fuck over myself.

Particularly as a teacher. I get it, kids. I get it now. 

Years of practice on my mat unable to do a headstand, then able to do multiple headstands, with little tolerance for heat to reveling in an abundance of it. I’ve come to classes unable to twist or torque my midsection, I’ve come to classes concerned about a hip or a neck, I’ve come to practice tired, needing group energy, crazy, calm, sad, tired and —

I get it. Look, I’m here holding a space. Offering choreography. I want you to stay with the class in terms of your presence (ie., no Simone Biles-back-handsprings-across-the-room-distraction). But if the rest of the class is in child’s and you need more — go handstand your ass off.

Why should I be upset? As a yoga teacher I’ve found that the problem isn’t students not listening to the teacher, but with students giving ALL THEIR POWER away to the teacher. They come up to me before class and whisper about a surgery they had, so that “my feelings” don’t get hurt when they don’t do x or y of my “choreography.”

Houston, we’ve got a problem.

It’s a problem when students in yoga classes are afraid of hurting teachers’ feelings by turning down assists or opting out of certain postures. Let me break it down:

1. STUDENTS GOING ROGUE TO TURN UP THE JUICE OR TRY RELATED “ADVANCED VARIATIONS”

I feel like a proud hen seeing students go “rogue” (to steal my teacher friend’s speech) in my classes. It’s not disruptive– perhaps because the more space I give people in my classes to be who they are, the more they respect the space and the students around them. I feel warm and fuzzy that they feel happy and safe enough to make the practice their own–

because it is.

If this makes you cringe, teacher, let me ask this: 

how many times have you taken a class, or taught the class– where the teacher says–

“it’s ok to take a child’s pose whenever you want.” 

What is the difference between the student taking the child’s pose as a break while the student who does not need a break, who does not need the standing split or whatever you’re doing –and that student takes forearm stand? Why is it ok if she needs to calm her breath, but not ok if she needs to crank up the volume? 

 When I hear about students in elementary school getting in trouble for going ahead or skipping ahead or reading ahead it makes me angry. This happened to me as a kid. Years later, hearing about it happening to others made me realize– it’s not about the kid when the adult gets angry about this. It’s about the adult.  Why isn’t that adult looking at why the kid is jumping ahead? Perhaps the kid isn’t challenged, perhaps the kid needs more. This is an opportunity to help this child along, not a reason to punish.

So is this class about you, teacher? Or the student? 

Is it an opportunity to help that student find his way (even to a different class)? To serve? For the most part, I teach multi-level power yoga classes. Why force everyone to be on the same page in an all-levels vinyasa class? In Bikram and led ashtanga, ok, I get it. In certain kinds of vinyasa classes where you just feel the space being held tightly (and even in a beautiful, peak pose or other way), sticking to the plan matters. I get it. But in the more open, malleable world of the all-levels class…..

Get over yourself.

I want everyone in my classes to realize their potential and to practice with what that day brings. I want them to be individuals– because they are. 

2. STUDENTS GOING OFF SCRIPT FOR PHYSICAL REASONS

So far I’ve talked about the students going off your script because they want more high octane or advanced variations or whatever. But there is also a whole bunch of people who want or need to do other things for physical reasons– and half of them walk into your class and DO NOT TELL YOU AND THEY ARE AFRAID OF HURTING YOUR FEELINGS AND THEY ARE AFRAID OF LOOKING DIFFERENT. 

Recently a student informed me during class that she’d had a hip replacement a month before. Another, stuff with her low back. A trick big toe. A new baby four months ago. Anxiety in forward folds. A trick left hamstring. Indeed much of my teaching comes from the trauma I experienced in the last few years, periods where the only poses I felt safe in were upside down lines. My point: students changing the choreography might actually need to.

3. STUDENTS GOING OFF SCRIPT LIKE WTF ON ANOTHER PLANET

I’m not sure about this one, to be honest. The “WTF another planet” yogi (for example, the student in half moon to triangle to side plank while you have the class in wheel pose). Also, the way-off-script yogi can range from another planet to just beyond the pale rude. So I think it depends. Perhaps it’s time to chat with the student. Maybe you’ll find out about their hearing problems, or their trick toe, or their need and desire for something else–and maybe you know just the class for them. I haven’t experienced this as a teacher, so let me know your experience. 

4. TEACHERS’ CHOREOGRAPHY CONCERNS

As for feeling attached to your carefully planned choreography, let’s get real: Is there anything original here? Get over yourself (within limits– if you teach bikram or led ashtanga or a specific peak pose type vinyasa class, I hear ya, the choreography is key).

Does this mean I allow a free for all and don’t do a thing? No. I teach more, I teach to individuals in the group and I think allowing us to be in the class as themselves allows more of the class to be in it together. I try to encourage people to stay with in the tunnel of movement and breath –particularly in sun salutations and within the architecture of what’s going on. 

I aim to be a cheerleader for students, on their side, to love them instead of judging them. When I feel judge-y about someone varying the class moves I’m teaching I turn the mirror back to me- why are my nonexistent yoga panties in a bunch over this? Why don’t I take this as an opportunity to serve those students?

If you want to be held to choreography, to move only as directed– you can find it. But in an all levels vinyasa? Yoga teacher, get over yourself.

(Or, make it clear that this is the kind of class you are teaching. So the students who want to let loose or might need breaks will know you aren’t the guide for them. You’re not a cute puppy– Not everyone is going to love you. No biggie.)

But as a teacher — why does it bug you? How much is the student distracting others, versus your chitta vritti? Is it about them, or is it about you?

Who is this class about, anyway?

(Look maybe we’re both right or maybe we’re both wrong. I’m probably wrong. I’m the girl in a handstand. So maybe it’s a need for more classes tailored to different kinds of students. Because in my experience I see a bit too much of people being held back from exploring.)

****

In my nine years of teaching yoga and more time than that practicing yoga it seems the biggest problem we face is students giving all their power away to a teacher. Maybe it’s time we start giving it back to them —

And get the f&ck over ourselves.

“If we go with our knee jerk reaction to the easy, obvious choices, the short list, it’s much harder to solve our problem. We learned this from Moneyball when we discovered that a low capitalized baseball team could come in second place simply by drafting talented people that others were overlooking. ” ~Seth Godin, Akimbo podcast, “Solving Interesting Problems”

I had a breakthrough in this third series pose that’s been screwing with me for almost a year. Instead of practicing it in the same way, I tried something different–

I tried it the “hard” way. The non-obvious way. The non-knee-jerk way.

This was something I learned way back in DC as I struggled with some primary series poses, like garbha pindasana, another lotus-legged pose but with the weird “putting your arms through the little holes between your folded lotus legs” bit.

I could always get my left arm through easy peasy, but then my stickier right side– where there seemed to be less room– had no chance. Primary purgatory, stuck with one arm in and one arm out. And I liked getting my left arm through, because it was at least something. It felt good to at least get somewhere. We can’t blame ourselves for trying things the knee jerk tried and true way. That’s a dominant pattern, too.

After a time of watching my suckage, Keith Moore, my teacher then, suggested I start with the sticky side: “how ’bout you try putting your right arm through, first?”

You want me to put my sticky arm through the smallest space on the right side of my lotus, first? 

I humored him. Got the right side, alone, through– as I expected. It was sticky and small in space, but I had the wiggle room to wiggle it through without the left leg already there. But then, to my surprise, the left arm sailed through, too. Like magic. Or, like rational problem solving.

When I catch (an ashtanga backbend thing and not a baseball term), I sometimes catch high, towards my knees. The best teachers know to place my left hand up first, if not both at the same time. It’s not the obvious side to start with for my body. My right side body tends to be easier and more bendy than my left side. Sharath always did the left side first intuitively. Everything works better if my tighter side leads the way.

Let’s circle back to urdhva kukkutasana B. This pose involves swinging lotus legs up to the upper arms till you’re in a crow pose but with lotus legs. (In the B version, you start in lotus and swing the legs up, often one side at a time.) I learned I could swing my left side up. A breakthrough! Then my right would get up there, with difficulty, and then I’d be trying to walk all the way up and get STUCK! Garbha pindasana all over again–

Getting there, but not getting there at all.

Did it occur to me to try swinging my right side up first? Yes. Did I? No. The EGO in me, the Self-Sabotage in me said, NO THANKS! I LIKE TO AT LEAST KIND OF GET THERE AS OPPOSED TO NOT GETTING THERE AT ALL SO LET ME SUCK HALFWAY BUT NOT ALL THE WAY THANK YOU VERY MUCH> THAT’S NOT CRAZY OR ANYTHING I’M GOOD HERE STUCK SUCKING HOPING BUT ONLY HALFWAY SUCKING SO THERE.

Sigh.

So today I decided I was not “good” stuck here anymore. There has to be a way to solve this problem. I called a lifeline:

Kino. Or, more accurately, Kino popped up when I googled the pose (can we pause for a moment, and thank Kino for the amazing resources she has provided us?) Midway through the video, she mentions another entry (which may or may not be a cheat, but stay with me) and I decided to try it (something different), AND–

with MY BAD SIDE OR RIGHT SIDE SWINGING UP FIRST

It worked…

Ish.

Not 100%, but closer than anything else I have tried before. Mainly because my final position is closer to the real deal than ever, the height of my lotus on the arms is closer than any of my “Everest summit climb” attempts at this pose ever were. It’s gonna happen tomorrow, I know it.

To sum up– I tried a different entry, and I tried it using my non-knee-jerk, not obvious side– FIRST.

just like Moneyball. Or, garbha pindasana.

There is more than one way to get to the center of a tootsie roll. It’s not just about how many licks. Maybe it’s not about licks at all. Try the non- knee jerk, less obvious way if the pose you are working on hasn’t been working for a while. To put this another way, practice reveals patterns. I realized I was in a pattern of trying something in a way that hadn’t been working, simply because it was the obvious way, and I wanted the instant gratification of at least getting somewhere– even if that meant failing. Practice asks us to get out of our comfort zones. Turns out that failing at a posture was my comfort zone, and the real discomfort–

The notion that I might actually succeed.

Maybe the hard way, the sticky way —

is the simplest route of all.