Corpse Pose- Faith or Fear?

Many yogis find Sivasana (corpse pose) at the end of yoga practice to be the most challenging of all yoga poses. This was certainly the case with me during my first few years of practice. Resistance to corpse pose will show itself whenever I am out of balance. Doing too much. Frantic. Going and pleasing. Going and pleasing.

Our shared silent theme song could be:“Give us warrior ones and twos, lead us into salvation with hip openers, throw at us endless planks and backbends but please please don't ever make us lie on our backs and do nothing.” Why is this? Why is it unsettling to take a brief amount of time and do nothing? In our fourteen waking hours, why would five to ten minutes of doing absolutely nothing make us want to get up and run?

The only reason some of us don't leave the room is because we consider ourselves too polite. We wouldn't want the instructor to take it personally (Ha!) or what if our desire to flee might be viewed as some sort of character flaw, or even worse, a weakness.

I believe the reason for this difficult relationship with Sivasana is all about control. In yoga language the word yama has two definitions. The first is “control” and the second is “death.” I cannot accept this duality in definition as coincidence. The ancient yogis recognized that control and death are intertwined. They cannot be separated. Two sides of the same sheet of paper. What is the biggest thing we cannot control? Death. Let us control each and every moment and maybe then we can avoid our biggest fear.

We are a nation of stress junkies. We are used to operating on high levels of cortisol corroding our adrenal glands as we take on the world. If we fatigue we turn to quick energy such as caffeine and sugar. We deprive ourselves of sleep. We push on to do more. On the outside we are well put together. Our teeth our brushed, our shoes match our outfit and our make up is expertly applied. On the inside we are shaky. Secretly we know ourselves as imposter's fooling the world. We suspect that we could be unveiled at any moment.

We would have to live on another planet to not be aware of the benefits of relaxation in our hectic and stressful lives, yet silently we scoff at it. It is far easier and more seductive to be the task master of each moment. If we slow down, we have to let go of the illusion of being in control. If we slow down we would have to operate from the heart space of faith and trust as opposed to the mind space of ego and fear. We need to be in control or else what is there?

Wouldn't it make sense to fear asana (posture) practice more? What if the teacher asks us to explore the poses that scare us? The ones that we have yet to master or that we feel intense sensation in. Handstand or dolphin or frog? Whatever our personal blend of scary and uncomfortable pose is, most of us will still choose to stay with the practice. The reason for this is because in posture practice we are still the conductors of our bodies, breath and mind. We choose to stay present or let our minds wander. We choose to do the pose or rest, engage our core or not, reach our arms overhead or bring our hands to our heart. We choose whether we listen to the teacher's voice or focus on the music. In a yoga classroom, the teacher might be leading the practice but the individual yogi is still making all of his own choices. The yogi is still doing.

We are all still doing.

To stop doing is a practice. To stop doing means that we cannot "avoid" any longer. We live in loops of distraction. To be doing all the time, thinking about what could have been or what is going to happen next is a form of distraction. Patanjali call this avidya or ignorance. When we are still, as in sivasana, we can no longer avoid. We must confront whatever shows up and then allow it to pass on to die so that we can arrive and live fully in each moment. When we lie down in sivasana, we lie down with all parts of ourselves. We lie down with our repulsions and our attachments, both of which are sacred, both of which teach us about our patterns of how we live. By letting our thoughts arise and observing our patterns without pushing them aside, analyzing, accepting or rejecting- we allow for the categories of what we once labeled as unacceptable or intolerable to fall away. Observing our patterns of attraction and avoidance and where we are in relation to the present moment allows us to surrender to the feelings that we have been denying. This is what gives us space in body and mind. When one practices this way-there is space enough for everything.

A wise friend of mine said that she believes that there are only two places we can live from- faith or fear. Surrendering into corpse pose, if only briefly, is an act of faith. To totally surrender, there are no views, no conceptions, no thoughts, and no ideas. The world is seen without filters, modifications, interpretations, goals, and qualifications. In this space, corpse pose has no beginning or end and our awareness of time dissolves. There is nothing to be done. No doing. Thinking comes to a standstill and an intuitive knowing, rather than a rational understanding occurs.

If you are skeptical of corpse pose, the next time the teacher leads you there tell yourself any of the following statements. “For the next few minutes, I will allow myself to completely relax and let go. I will surrender. I will trust the process of life. I am open to the joys of living. I will have faith in myself. I will observe whatever comes up without analyzing or pushing the thoughts away. I will completely let go.” Pick the statement that feels the easiest and most truthful. Above all be compassionate to yourself. Always.

The aim of yoga practice in daily life is to live vividly from moment to moment without getting hung up about thinking or not-thinking. Wood floor, open window, blanket, cushion, t-shirt, wool socks – there is something profound right here. We are not trying to create an experience. We are making room for experience to happen. Experience, like the present moment, is always waiting for a place to happen. The architecture of savasana requires us to continually let the ground we are lying down on, literally the ground of our thoughts and our bodies, to fall away, until the constructs that frame our experience pass on. This is an act of both dying and being born. Our imagination makes us very busy exploring the world of choices. In the end, there will be no choice, just death. So in the center of your very human life, where you are always looking around for something better, notice how the present moment is just a small death away.

The Writer In Me

“We can spend our whole lives fishing only to discover in the end it wasn't fish we were after.” -Thoreau

The barn is burned down now, I can see the moon.” -Masahide

This past weekend my fourth grade son was in a children's theater musical production with forty other kids ranging in ages from four to eighteen. I was blown away by their budding talent but struck even more by how uninhibited these kids were. Dancing, acting, and singing their hearts out. Not one kid appeared to be held back by fear or self doubt. I know that most of them, my son included, envision acting as a major part in the rest of their lives.

When I was in fourth grade I dreamed of being a writer. I also wanted to be an artist, actress, singer, mother and doctor of psychology. I remember writing my first short story for school. It began with a mother preparing a breakfast of bacon and eggs for a young girl while she lay in bed and let the comforting smells awaken her. (This is interesting to me because I have no memory of either of my parents cooking me breakfast. We were more of a cheerios type of family.) My teacher praised the writing for its descriptive language. I recall how satisfying it was to put words on paper and capture a moment that someone else could relate to, how good it felt to construct a universal connection and have something to say.

I want to become a writer before I die. This buried longing revealed its face when I resurrected the Samadhi newsletter one year ago but the truth is that the writer in me had been crying out for expression ever since I was that little girl in fourth grade. Every time my muse tried to emerge she had been forced back to the bottom of the ocean by perfectionism, denial and intense self criticism. I never believed that I could write anything worth reading. I have always been a good reader and am acutely aware of all the amazing writing that exists “out there.”

These days I call myself a writer even though I have not been published in anything more than local magazines. More significant than the label I give to myself is that I have given myself permission to let the muse flow and trust my written word. It might not be much but I have chosen to carve out one hour twice a week to devote to my dream. This is a realistic and compassionate chunk of time. Twice a week I must begin. Twice a week, no matter what, I must face the blank page. I must face the faceless and unknown. For the past year, every time I sat down and stared at the wide open page- I felt fear. “Do I actually have something worthwhile to say? I am not qualified. I am fake. I am doubt.” I consider getting up from my chair and do anything else; clean the crumbs from out of the toaster, polish my sunglasses, or paint my toes.

Conquering resistance is taking that first step out the door that confines you. It is taking that first step on the wooded path of your morning run or taking that first breath linked with reaching your arms up to the sky as you begin your Sun Salutations. Conquering resistance is saying no to the junk that clutters your path; fear, aversion, busyness or just plain sluggishness. My mind prefers that I never begin. It begs me to divert. Do something useful. My inner critic uses her bitchiest tongue, “Shouldn't you be switching a load of laundry right now instead of trying to be something your not? You are no Joan Didion, that is for sure.” Many times this voice is enough to choke my muse and I quit. I go do something else. That something else is anything but want my heart wants me to do. My heart wants me to put down some words-any words- on the blank page. My wisest self begs me quietly to pursue my dreams to live a big life. The life I really want. Not the life created by diminished belief or the expectation of others. I want to determine my own life. To write. To create. To live and love from my soul.

On my yoga mat, I know how to let my practice and my body unfold breath by breath. But getting started isn't always easy. When I first spread out my yoga mat, I have various reasons why I should just roll up my mat and go home. The room is too cold or too hot, some skinny chick took my usual spot, my nose is stuffy, my body is too stiff, too tired, or too fat. Oh and lets not forget that my yoga pants are falling down and I forgot my hair tie. Then I breathe. I take that first sacred and holy breath. Sometimes the first breath requires courage. Courage to stay and face my own self no matter what state my mood and body is in. For approximately one hour there is no place to go. No place to hide. I must live with the bare truth of who I am.

As I allow my first inhale to fill me and my first exhale to empty me; resistance, anxieties, judgment and fear begin to release their teeth. Soon my body is moving. Sometimes the first few movements feel like punishment but then something shifts and it all becomes easier. My muscles, bones, and connective tissue begin to warm up and respond. They open and receive whatever is coming next. My yoga mat becomes a friendlier place. My mind becomes clear and energized. My body becomes fluid and awake. Finally there is no judgment. I lose track of time.
When I am finished with my yoga practice, my body and mind feel glorious. I often ask, “Why do I resist something that clearly makes me feel so good?”

To begin to create what we truly want in life is like that first breath. We can be afraid of what will happen next. We can come up with many good reasons to delay. We are experts at making excuses and psyching ourselves out. Yet we can't let ourselves turn away-we must dive in. And when we do, it can be miserable if we don't let ourselves breathe and warm up. We need to give ourselves permission to take it slow, make mistakes, and have periods of self doubt.

Sometimes in our own lives we are the apprentice and sometimes we are the master. But no matter who we are, if we want to open up to our dreams, we must trudge onward. We must begin. We must be fearless examples to our own children and show them how to stay true to their hearts desire by staying true to our own. We must let ourselves be vulnerable and burn down the walls of perfectionism. We must believe in our own selves and sanctify time each week to put aside for our own dreams. No matter how small that chunk of time might be. We must take that first breath and plunge. This is how we sing and dance our own hearts out. This is how we flow.