Grrrr Baby Grrr

In preparation for a yoga class I teach on Wednesday nights, I was reflecting on some words spoken by Wayne Dyer. In talking about taking care of our physical selves, he said simply, "First, be a good animal." I heard him make that comment years ago, and for some reason it struck me -- I recorded it in one of my journals as a reminder. And promptly forgot about it.

It surfaced again recently, and I've been mulling it over for the last several weeks. What really struck me on Wednesday was all the ways in which I deny that I am animal-like. Animals eat when they are hungry and stop when they are full. Animals (other than our companion animals and those we force-feed for big agriculture) have to forage for their food -- thus expending energy in order to take in energy. Animals move every day. My body, it seems to me, has very similar requirements, and yet I act as if my body is here exclusively to carry around my great big ol' head! That's right, I act as if all the important stuff is taking place between my ears. My body is here to cart my head to work every day, plop down in a chair when I'm not in the classroom and sit there quietly while my brain does its work in books and at the computer...Then, my body carts me (see, it's as if I am my head!) to yoga where I practice, often with the attitude that I MUST get in some asana on this day because I need the exercise. Then, my body carts my head home where my head cries out that it needs a rest from its stressful day -- so my food preparation is slight, meaning I eat something more processed than would be ideal for my physical self, sometimes in quantities that exceed my real needs...

What I began to wonder is what would happen if I stopped acting like my head was where all the important stuff was taking place. What would happen if, instead, I acted first like a good animal. What if when I planned my day, I understood that physical activity (yoga, a walk, a run, play in the park) feels good -- it isn't just something I HAVE to get in because I want to avoid disease or obesity. I'm designed to do more than sit in a chair all day! As I was talking to my yoga students about this on Wednesday night, they were all going, "That's me." They understood that what we've done with our physical selves is narrow down their role in our lives to 45 minutes a day of exercise in a gym and expected that would be enough to stave off dysfunction and disease, to experience the fullness of life. I think it's similar to expecting that if I take a pill containing antioxidants I'll get the same effect as if I eat the food that contains all the phytonutrients in a combination we can't duplicate in a lab...

I demonstrated for them what I often see (and sometimes catch myself doing) in asana practice -- I say move into downward facing dog (adho mukha svanasana), and immediately everyone pops up into the inverted V shape, sometimes with a groan not of pleasure but of effort. I say feel free to move around here and stretch the backs of your legs, feel the shoulders release, and some dutifully do exactly what I've said, no more, no less. Others stay ramrod still in the posture. We move through the vinyasa coming to bhujanghasana (cobra) and I cue the inhale into the heart-opener. I look out at bulging jugular veins, red faces, taut trapezius muscles and sternums hiding behind all the posterior effort. They laughed as I modeled. But they understood my point.

What if asana was play? What if our time on the mat was our time to be our animal selves? Yoga means union, so what if it became the vehicle through which we reunited with our physical selves? Not because we want Madonna's arms or Christy Turlington's buns, but because we know our physical selves are an important part of who we are and that we regularly neglect that part...

So, if you see me moving slowly on the mat, just know that I'm trying to feel every movement, breath, transition -- because it feels good.