Music in the Yoga Classroom

Recently I’ve been discussing the issue of whether or not music belongs in the yoga classroom—both with my yoga students and other teaching colleagues. It is a lively topic that is worthy of debate, although it often simply divides down generational lines.

For the generation who grew up with the intravenous musical feed provided by their ipods, musical accompaniment during a yoga class may seem like a trivial matter, if not something to be expected. Some studios, I’m told, even require their teachers to play music.

For the old school lot, playing music in class is strictly verbotin, however, and reeks of health club group exercise classes, or perhaps a yoga disco. Can you even imagine what kind of music would be appropriate, for example, in an Iyengar class?

Well, maybe you can. The real question is, why? Or why not?

The first popular “yoga” music I ever heard was the hypnotic drone of Krishna Das, played prior to every Baptiste Power Yoga session I attended. The same CD was played religiously as folks entered the studio and staked out their mat space, and although the volume always seemed a little loud (and Das sounded oddly similar to Bruce Springstein), I accepted the music as a corny but viable prelude to practice—a good transition from the outside world.

Like a game of musical chairs, however, as soon as class began at the House of Baptiste, the soundtrack was turned off and all ears were devoted to listening to the instructor and the choir of ujjayi breathers. At the end of class, the music came back on again, cuing everyone out the door. Mass was over.

The first time I heard yoga playing during a class was at O2 yoga in Somerville, MA. The music was played softly and it had a gentle pulse to it that seemed to push everyone along through the challenging vinyasa sequence. It faded out toward the close of practice, eventually leaving us in silence. While I found the music unnecessary, it wasn’t entirely disaffecting. It did, however, make the yoga session feel more like a “workout” to me, since this sort of musical accompaniment was something I was more familiar with in a gym.

When the selection of musical accompaniment is fitting, I’ve found that it can indeed be helpful and even magical, particularly at the close of practice. The gentle sound of a flute, a cello, or a sitar can help dissolve deep-seated mental tension and ferry the mind toward the realm of samadhi.

But sometimes music can work the other way, when it does not resonate with the individual practitioner. Then the effect is distracting and even jarring.

Recently I’ve with some less than satisfactory musical yoga experiences which point to the problem areas of using accompaniment.

The worst happened when a wonderful teacher I know played a Neil Young song in the middle of her class. Some gentle instrumental music had been issuing from her mixed tape, when the unmistakable whiny voice came on. While I’m a huge fan of the old folk-rocker, listening him didn’t do much to enhance my urdva dharnurasana.

For music loving yoga teachers, I can certainly understand how putting together an appropriate musical selection can be a creative challenge not dissimilar to assembling an asana sequence. When you botch either one, however, you aren’t giving your students what they need.

Additionally, the use of music (particularly mixed CDs) can sometimes turn the yoga teacher into a DJ who constantly fiddling with their ipod in the middle of class, raising or lowering the volume, etc. A few teachers I know even sell their own music during class, which is an entirely different level of distraction and inappropriateness.

For the time being, I’ve stopped using music entirely, which may actually cause me to lose some students. For better or worse, however, it seems to have become a part and parcel of many yoga classes, and without it, practice become like, well, a sugarless diet. Yikes. Silence.

Perhaps some day soon we’ll have to include “musical selection” as a part of the 200 hr. teacher training programs. Until that time, I’m leaving my ipod at home.

My Left Side--a cautionary tale.

Several years ago I sustained an injury to my left QL (that's Quadratus Lumborum in yogaspeak). For those unfamiliar with the muscle,it anchors at the top of the illium and reaches diagonally across to the upper four lumbar vertebrae(see wikipedia for more detail). Much of the muscle hides under the big erector spinae muscles that run longitudinally along your backbone, and are easier to feel, but the QL plays a big supporting role.

Like many injuries, this one began slowly as a dull pain and then got progressively worse when I refused to fully acknowledge it—kind of like an annoying younger sibling. Sure, I took some aspirin and applied an ice pack, and eventually got some massage. The injury got a little better, but soon got worse again when I returned to my daily yoga practice. One of the problems with asana, of course, is that it can become rather additive. But that could be the subject for another blog.

It is truly amazing how much pain some human beings can get used to, or even grow fond of, when it becomes part of their daily diet. Maybe this is just a guy thing, but I found myself expecting to be in pain every day. Pain became part of my existence, as it does for many people. The problem with this attitude of acceptance is that it can become insidious, and spread like crabgrass into other areas of the body/mind.

In my case, the QL injury made my entire left side less engaged, and less able to handle loads. I started to get some sciatica down the back of the left leg, and then my psoas felt like it was trying to take up the slack. It, too, got strained. I did some self-healing work called reiki and took a break. But of course I was back on the asana wagon in fairly short order, once I'd managed to bring the muscle irritation down to a manageable level. (BTW, perigasana is one of the few postures that will allow you to work on the QL, but go easy).

Then one day I hoisted myself up into a forearm balance, and I felt something go "ping"
behind my left scapula. I came out of it quickly, and felt okay, but that night my entire neck froze up in a way that I have never felt before, and never wish to feel again. I felt bad enough that I trudged in to see a physical therapist, who informed me that I'd probably need neck surgery. Naturally, I quickly dismissed this
advice, and soon sought out my own people--reiki healers, tui na adepts, and local massage guru/yogi Tom Alden.

Soon enough I was back in action, but this time (finally) I realized that my left side needed to go back to school. I began to pay attention to my right and left sides, and noticed that the dominant (right) side was robbing the left side from the full benefit of the experience. Then I began to notice other advanced students and teachers who had the same right/left side imbalance.

I spoke with Tom Alden about this he explained that we were a little like lobsters, with one power arm/leg and one stabilizer. As he probed around on my left side, he brought my awareness to certain areas that were getting overtaxed. That awareness, more than anything else, began to help me address the problem.

The fix has been a longer process, but I'm getting there--building strength in the left side and trying to stretch and release the right.

A Little Tantra Goes a Long Way

Recently I attended a Tantra workshop with Panjit Rajmani Tigunait, the head of the Himalayan Institute in Honesdale, PA. The workshop was billed as part one of a six-part series called "Living Tantra." The seminar was delivered mostly in lecture format, and it covered an overview of Tantric traditions and techniques.

Contrary to the common Western misconception of Tantra as an esoteric practice that develops sexual endurance, Tantra is actually an ancient spiritual system of philosophy, ritual, and meditation. Tantra literally means "expanding web." It seems to share similar concepts to those found in both Kundalini yoga and Taoism.

Panjit Ramajani is the lineage holder of the program of yoga, Aruveda, and meditation founded by Swami Rama, one of the more powerful gurus to visit America during the 1970's. He is the author of several noteworthy books on yoga, including the classic "Yoga and Psychotherapy: The Evolution of Consciousness." Despite his prowess in the realm of superconsciousness, Rama unfortunately ran into some more down-to-earth difficulties with his female students. Although I never met Rama, Ramajani seems like the polar opposite in personality--open, funny, and a family man. His sing-song voice and story telling abilities make the Tantric concepts and teachings come alive.

If you cannot make the trip to Honnesville, many of his seminars are telecast online and are available for viewing. He has quite a following of students, and also leads trips to India, where the Himalyan Institute has another center.

Hyperprana

Recently a student of mine complained of feeling stressed and anxious, despite the fact that she had "ramped up" her yoga practice. She confessed that her current life had gotten very stressful, and so she had thought it would be a good idea to increase the frequency and intensity of her asana sessions. The only problem was, it wasn't working. Instead, she actually felt more stressed, was losing sleep, and even getting a "ringing in her ears" combined with light-headedness.

I'd heard about the dangers of going "hyperpranic" before, but this was the first time I'd actually seen it manifest in a student. One of my teachers, Richard Freeman, had often joked about it as a problem that frequented many power yoga studios, where students emerged feeling mentally "caffinated." Without knowing any better, these folks thought that this intense yoga "high" was actually good thing.

Bringing up one's prana (through breath and/or asana practice) isn't necessarily a bad thing , but it needs to be balanced by the rooting energy of apana. Otherwise you become like a helium balloon that just floats away. You may feel giddy and goofy-happy for awhile, but when you don't come down to earth you'll start to feel very anxious.

I guess the easiest way to describe "hyperprana" is to equate it with hyperventilation. The remedy is to focus more on exhaling, releasing, and connecting to the ground. Understanding Mulabandha is also part of the key. Most power yoga/vinyasa systems use the ugayi breath combined with the use of uddiyana banda, which can tip the scales toward the pranic pattern. Advanced beginner students get very excited about the sound of their yoga breathing and their ability to pull their bellies in. It does feel powerful. Be careful!

What I had my student do was to quiet down and slow down her breath and then think of sinking more deeply into the postures. I told her to consider them as "healing forms" instead of physical hurdles, and to go slower from one to the next. Also, to take an appropriate amount of time in Shivasana at the end of practice. It will be interesting to see how it goes.

Arthur Kilmurray and the Fluid Body

If you practice yoga in the Boston area, you should really check out a veteran teacher named Arthur Kilmurray. Arthur was originally trained in the Iyengar tradition, but he has moved on to other modalities and some very unique ways of looking at the body. His teaching reflects an eclectic knowledge of traditional yoga, martial arts, modern science, and a passion for world ecology. He comes off as smart, pleasant, quirky, and talkative.

He used to have his own studio in Medford, called Mystic Yoga, and that is where I first met him. Now he is a free-agent, giving seminars and classes around the country. In Boston, you can study with him at Back Bay yoga, which is where I recently took a workshop with him on "The Core."

The first challenge of the workshop was to give up the popular, health club view of "core strength" as something relegated solely to specific muscle groups around the abdominal wall. Instead, Arthur asked the students to consider a much broader definition, and showed us an illustration showing a cross section of the torso, which included organs, connective tissue, fluids, the spine, etc. All of these, he explained, could be labeled as core.

He then asked us to assume a simple down dog position, and feel the basic connection between the feet to the hands. Everything in between could also be considered as "core," and no one muscle group should be required to "lock" or bear all the the burden of the pose. Some discussion about the hands and the feet naturally ensued, and it was decided that lightness in the heels of the hands and the heels of the feet should be maintained or the arms and legs would become "locked."

This exercise reminded me a little of something my tai chi teacher used to have me do, which was to imagine that I had "no muscles, bones, or organs in my body, just helium."
The brilliance of this type of imagery is that it instantly lends an integrity to the entire body. The concept is more commonly known as "tensegrity," and it is the polar opposite of a practice like Iyengar, where (at least in the beginning stages) the student must juggle a litany of opposing directional cues. Instead, one merely
imagines the body filling up and expanding in all directions, like a balloon.

Arthur also had us do some odd breathing exercises to loosen the area of the diaphram and the belly. We laid on our backs and panted like dogs on a hot summer day, sticking out our tongues to further the effect. While this seemed silly at first, it was truly a good way to release tension in the deep front line of the body where many of us hold
tension. As a former Astangi who sometimes over-employs the bandhas, it was a good reminder that these areas are not meant to be "squeezed" but merely activated.

Arthur Kilmurray is probably not for everyone, but great fun for advanced practioners who are willing to look at their yoga in a different way.

Playing with "Kria Breath"

Lately I've been playing with the concept of using breath as a form of Kria, or self-cleansing. When I inhale, I imagine that I absorb and unite with the positive, universal energy around me; when I exhale, I release any negative energy, tension, and stress.

While this is a fairly simple notion it is not a cinch to execute while doing asana. The mind and the ego much prefer to set themselves apart, reveling in the perfection or analysis of each posture and resisting at all costs the dissolution of self into universal form. When I am able to stay focused, however, I find this mantra pattern creates a very deep resonance in my body and mind and moves my yoga practice closer toward moving meditation.

To me, the rest is merely window dressing.

I believe that breath is our primary interaction with the space around us. We draw in oxygen and release carbon dioxide, among other things. Not a bad deal, when you think about it. Of course, when the environment around us is unpleasant, the tendency is to stifle or shorten the breathing process, as if by not breathing deeply we can somehow shield ourselves from bad air or energy. This can only create residual stress, however, and then you have to find a way to get rid of it later.

On a related side note, I'm not a big fan of breath retention, but if you really start drawing in more breathe on the inhales, and then expelling EVERYTHING on the exhales (difficult, as again the mind likes to hold a little air in storage) you may start to develop a natural pause in the breath cycle. In this space, the asanas can transition slowly and evenly. Again, I don't think this should be forced, but of course some sort of intention/will must be set from the get-go.

Remember, however, that the goal is to unite/commune with the universal will, not the will of the individual ego. There is a critical difference, cited in the Bhagava Gita. The first leaves you feeling puffed up and pretty happy with yourself and your practice, (which I suppose is a necessary first step); the second leaves you feeling totally relaxed, but mentally clear, and unconcerned about how well you did the asana externally.

Good luck!

db

The Well Adjusted Yogi

Almost everyone I know in the yoga world has at least one sad story about how they were mishandled by a teacher. It shouldn’t be so, perhaps, but that is the unfortunate reality of things. I think most people teach yoga to heal people, not hurt to them, but sometimes the best intentions fall short. My hope in writing about this difficult subject is twofold: first, to spare others from potential abuse; second, to explore what constitutes proper conduct in this area, both in the physical realm and in the trickier territory of the psyche.

One of my own war stories as a student occurred when I was about five years into a strong asana practice, still very trusting and obedient when it came to doing anything a teacher told me to do. I was happily hanging out in a half pigeon pose (aka eka pada capotasana) when my instructor suggested adding a little torso twist toward the bended knee. A little pasaritta never hurt anyone, right? Except when she decided to rotate my torso up toward the ceiling.

I should point out that I usually don’t mind it when an instructor adjusts me in a pose, male or female. In fact, I appreciate the extra attention. My teacher took a firm hold of my shoulders, encouraged me to breathe deeply with her, and things were going fine. It was just after she offered the compliment, “my, you’re very flexible,” that I heard my knee pop. The pop was a lot like the period at the end of this sentence, barely noticeable, but clearly marking the end of something.

In this case it was the integrity of my lateral meniscus.

There was no pain, initially, but obviously something had broken, and I thought it was best to let the instructor know right then and there. I should mention that this particular teacher was the owner of a well-known studio and she had an excellent reputation. She was also very well versed in human anatomy, so I figured at the very least that she could tell me what had made that curious little noise. But when I described in detail what had happened, she merely shrugged uncomfortably and told me to take some aspirin.

I went home, took the aspirin, and awoke to an exquisite form of pain in my right knee. Prior to this, I had never had any knee problems. Still, I was functional, and as a former athlete I’d certainly been accustomed to injuries before. Walking up and down stairs was challenging, but not impossible. I set up my ice bag and made due. I wasn’t going to patronize the doctor’s office yet.

A few weeks later, I mentioned the injury again to the same instructor, since my knee was clearly still damaged, and she said: “Well, I’m afraid I’m not doctor, so I really can’t advise you.” Part of me felt like saying, “Well, maybe a lawyer could.” But as much as I hate trips to the doctor, I hate trips to the lawyer even more. So I let it go, did repeated reiki healing sessions on my knee over the next few years, and it eventually did get better. But the experience did leave me wary of both giving and receiving “adjustments” in yoga.

Over the years I’ve told this story to my own students, as a cautionary tale, and also to other teachers in order to get their responses. What I’ve discovered is that there are quite a variety of attitudes surrounding the issue of administering adjustments. Many veteran teachers I know have sworn them off entirely. David Williams, one of the first Westerners to work with Ashtanga guru Patabhi Jois in India, informed me that he doesn’t adjust many students any more; there are even certain asanas he won’t teach either because they are simply too dangerous. He would rather demonstrate with his own body and do the practice along with his students.

Others believe wholeheartedly in the healing power of touch. A few summers ago I attended a 10-day “Advanced Teacher Training” class with Anna Forrest and her husband, Jonathan Bowra, and I learned many good adjustment techniques. I also learned that some teachers naturally have “good hands,” and others have to work at it. Jonathan and Anna are both excellent, from years of practice, but some of the other teachers in the workshop were either too tentative or too forceful. And sometimes, inadvertently, hands were put in inappropriate places, which brought up the entire other challenge with touch.

Touching another person is an act of intimacy, whether you are giving someone a hug or giving them a yoga adjustment. Anna had us approach each other as if we were approaching “The Beloved,” the most sacred being we could imagine; still, uncomfortable and awkward things happened. A fellow yoga instructor raked the back of my neck with her fingernails, which felt more provocative then relaxing, and later on I was accused of positioning myself too close to a female student. Yet another time, without even knowing it, a female instructor placed her hand on another teacher’s breast. Since we were all teachers in training, most of us took these critiques in stride, with good humor, but they were good reminders that you have to take care whenever you are handling someone.

When you consider the statistic that one out of every three women suffers some form of sexual abuse in their adult life, it does give you pause; particularly if you are a male instructor. There are also a growing number of men who are now dealing with post-traumatic stress syndrome; most notably soldiers coming back from combat situations. Some of these people turn to yoga for help and they usually require special attention of the sort that is not generally provided during most teacher training programs. Dave Emerson, the Director of Yoga Services at Trauma Center Yoga Program in Brookline, has developed specific guidelines for working with those who face physical-emotional challenges.

He offers the following advice for yoga teachers:

“Our basic approach to yoga with trauma survivors is to empower students to make choices in relation to their physical experience so they may develop a friendly relationship with their body. In general, we offer yoga as a series of choices ("try bringing your arms up overhead if you like") rather than commands ("bring your arms up over your head"). Our work is clinically informed and carried out as a team effort between yoga teachers and trauma clinicians.”

Emerson and his colleagues at the Trauma Center have taught thousands of students including war veterans, rape survivors, adolescents at risk and survivors of chronic childhood abuse and neglect, and they are currently conducting a three year study on the impact of yoga for trauma survivors with the help of the first grant ever given by the National Institute of Health to study yoga and trauma (see www.traumacenter.org for further details) They also offer workshops for clinicians and a 40-hour certification in trauma-sensitive yoga for yoga teachers (next one is November ’09 at Kripalu).

This sort of sensitivity training might not be a bad thing for all yoga teachers.

The most common complaint I hear from older students is that they have little tolerance of being “corrected” by some young teacher who just got their 200 hr certification and wants to use them as a guinea pig. This includes inappropriate verbal correction, where the student is singled out in front of the whole class and told they are doing something poorly. What these teachers fail to realize is that their students are also their clients, and they shouldn’t try to patronize or bully them into submission(the only exception to this rule, perhaps, is when a student is putting themselves into an asana that may cause injury).

Even if you decide not to touch your students, you are not really off the hook, for when you think about it a yoga posture is an adjustment, with or without a teacher assisting it. In theory, anyway, every asana has a therapeutic value, and the art of stringing together of a series of different postures can yield a beneficial effect. Poor sequencing, of course, can have the reverse effect. I once taught a second series Ashtanga class one evening, and many of the students told me later on that they could not get to sleep that night. Being attentive to how the students are reacting to your class is very important. Are they tired, are they sick, are they injured, are they hyperactive? An intuitive teacher develops the skill to modify their agenda along the way.

I generally make it a rule not to adjust anyone until I get to know them and learn how comfortable they are with physical touch. Some are, some aren’t. Some people have been traumatized and still can benefit from a healing touch.
As you develop as a yoga teacher, you will cultivate your own notions about how and when a student should be adjusted, based on your own experiences and the advice of senior teachers. In the meanwhile, I hope the discussion above will provide some general food for thought.

db