Sam Lloyd Yoga

I wrote the post ‘A Polar Bear in the Jungle’ a long time ago and thought i had published it, but there it was in my drafts! Huh? I taught the workshop that prompted that post and was looking for it because i had the same feedback after teaching that workshop as i did with a class last night – which prompted today’s post. Since writing about the jungle over a year ago, i’ve gone down even more movement, breath and trauma-based trainings, and the post i was writing today (keep reading 😉 is simply a continuation of what’s always been. So, without further ado, here’s that original post from June, 2021:

A Polar Bear in the Jungle
This week at work I commented that I love when something is so obvious(!) In a workshop along time ago, Judith Lasater said: “everything is subtle until it’s obvious” Life’s like that and sometimes the journey takes awhile, but then you turn a corner and … Bam! Obvious happens.

I’ve been on this yoga path for a long time. Long enough to have gone deep and come up gasping. Tread the calm and survive the turmoil. I’ve struggled in one way or another for most of the journey. Questioned. Tested. Volunteered. Worked. Went. Took. Taught. Assessed. Passed. Advanced. And trained. Through it all, I did what was required. What was expected. What so many before and after me had done, succeeded and thrived at. I dove in and tried my best. Truly. At times I loved it – especially the connection with some of the folks and experiences that only true immersion into something can offer.

Yet…

I knew something wasn’t working for me. Earlier this year another obvious thing was pointed out to me: when your inner world doesn’t jive with your outer world, things come out sideways. My yoga life was like this for me – had been for a long time. The lack of jive for me was real.

I’ve been alluding that the ‘problem’ was the outer world. I’d been trying to articulate it, but couldn’t, because I knew that it wasn’t quite right. So when this story wound around the corner as it always does for me – everything became clearly…obvious.

In anticipation of a workshop that I’m teaching in the hometown of the yoga community i grew up in I’ve been considering the delivery of what I now have to offer. Mostly because of experience (life and training) outside of my yoga lineage, my teaching has evolved since the days when I attended workshops, taught classes, and trained and assessed teachers in that community. When I go back, it is important to me that I stay true to myself and be able to honour the deep roots of that community and all that it offered me, but my inner world of now was not jiving with my outer world of then and I knew my delivery was going to suffer until I could reconcile myself in some way. As I was vacuuming this morning, this is the story that wound its way into my periphery.

I have, for the most part, been a polar bear in the jungle. Somehow (that’s a therapy session or 2;) my iceberg drifted far from its home and I ended up in the jungle. A beautiful, colourful, lively environment where everything seemed to thrive. As i landed in the jungle, it’s not like I was a fish trying to set up shop in a tree – I had the ability to walk on land, eat what it offered, make my way to the water, appreciate all the Others who made their home and thrived there. It was a viable possibility that I could make a life in that jungle. Except I was too hot to move, hated being a vegetarian, couldn’t hunt because i stuck out, and no matter how much I tried to fit in and learn the language, I often felt alone in the jungle. Because of that, I started to blame the jungle for my situation. But – here’s the obvious part in case I have to point it out… the jungle can’t help being a jungle any more than I can help being a polar bear. It’s never been the jungle’s fault that it’s a jungle, or that I ended up in it. It’s not my fault that I’m not a scarlet macaw that can take flight. We both did our best to make it work and there were enough times of solace and joy to keep trying – but the jive was never really in sync for me. Sometimes (often?) it’s the friction that has the best lessons. And this lesson took me 20+ years to learn: The beautiful jungle will carry on – thrive, grow and evolve as it has. There’s no need to resent the jungle or the macaw that lives there. Or myself for being a polar bear.

I feel lighter and more clear than I ever have, because when I realized the friction I’ve been feeling was of my own making (sorry jungle) it simply dissolved. I’ve been trying to blame something fundamentally beautiful (me/the system) for how I feel. The time it took to get me to the obvious moment, makes the softening that much sweeter.

For the 1st time in a long time I really want to teach and as I root to myself those who want to play with me on the currents of curiosity and possibilities are appearing.

Thank you Jungle, for everything, it’s truly has been great. The friction was clouding my appreciation of all you have to offer, but now I can say I’m so looking forward to the visit! See you soon! 😘

A lot has happened in the year since i wrote that post. In addition to what i’ve explored in a yoga context, the recent circumstances of my life have been full of rich opportunities in which to practice the yoga of pivoting and adapting to weather storms of uncertainty. Because of all of that i’ve evolved, as has my practice, so how can what i offer not be Different?

The following is the post that i was writing today when i went searching for the polar bear. I’m so very grateful for this place that i’m at now, where curiosity trumps the need to be ‘right’….

DIFFERENT

I taught a Senior Teachers Showcase class for the Yoga Association of Alberta (YAA) last night. It’s a great series for a super organization that’s supported yoga and the training of teachers in Alberta for many years. One of the things i like about the organization is that it maintains high standards that are inclusive rather than requiring a high buy-in that creates exclusivity. (Which can be the case for traditional schools that recognize and hold validity within only the structure of their institutions.) The inclusive nature of the YAA exposes its members to many different forms and expressions of yoga so that each person can determine what fits them best, which is something i very much appreciate.

Even at that i still received comments after class, as i did with that workshop so long ago, saying that what i offer is ‘different’ (i get that a lot and i like it ;). Although it may look and feel ‘different’, it can be nothing other than yoga because pretty much that’s the only lens i live my life through, move through, observe through, play in, create in… So, when i ended class with the following poem I felt very much like i was (am) speaking to the beauty of where i see yoga heading today and the direction i want to go.

The Place Where We Are Right

by Yehuda Amichai

From the place where we are right Flowers will never grow In the spring.

The place where we are right Is hard and trampled Like a yard.

But doubts and loves Dig up the world Like a mole, a plow. And a whisper will be heard in the place Where the ruined House once stood.

I have both doubts and big love for all things yoga (i think both are equally important). They’ve kept me coming back to the mat in a way that has dug up my world while at the same time creating a safe place for me to be ‘homeless’. I am so very glad to be hearing the whispers and following them to a ‘different’ way of being that thrives on curiosity, exploration, acceptance and patience. A way of being that values mistakes, wobbles, detours, and questions without answers. It’s the safest place for my nervous system to deal with whatever life (or the mat) brings. And that, my friends, brings me great joy – even in the tough times. As a dear teacher said to me not long ago: “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

If you need a better handstand, i’m probably not your girl.

If you’re looking to pass your next assessment, don’t call me.

If you want to play in a space that makes room for a beautiful mess and a softness that says, “hey, nervous-system, you can stand down for the next little bit”, reach out. If i’m not the one that jives with you, maybe i can recommend someone who does.

Love, sam

Standing on the very edge of something safe and solid while contemplating the next step can stir up many things… excitement, adrenaline, fear, anticipation. 

Today as I stood on the edge of the peer, the metaphor it represented of my life right now was not lost on me.  The butterflies in my stomach were quietly considering ‘what if?’  Not what if I step off the edge, but what if I step into this life?  Fully. 

The move to this wonderland was prompted by many things. Things that cautioned me to take my time, see what comes, be patient, have no expectations, make no commitments…today though, it felt like I was ready to take that next step.  Not to jump, but to drop anchor.  Sometimes just as scary.

I am on the verge. Merriam-Webster.com: Definition of on the verge of : at the point when (something) is about to happen or is very likely to happen

My butterflies are fluttering a soft encouragement.  ‘We like it here.’ They say.

Life is full of intentional irony… it also wasn’t lost on me that the stick I had been watching for (it’s different than looking) was waiting for me on my way back from the edge of the peer.  I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t walked to the edge. Nor if I hadn’t turned back.  

The butterflies settled then, knowing the wonders that brought me to this wonderland wouldn’t be forgotten or made less by choosing to drop anchor here.  Even in the settling, great change comes.

I wrote about this phenomenon when I experienced it in Fernie.  How significant it was when I recognized it: The saying of my name by a new person that has no agenda other than a willingness to spend some time with me.

Maria reached out and offered to take me on a ‘local’s’ hike.  At some point near the top she said my name.  ‘Sam’  Perhaps if you’ve never moved to a place that has  little social connection, or anchors of an instant community (work, kids in school, family, etc), or come to a profound life experience that changes your close personal dynamics (divorce perhaps) this may seem insignificant.

It’s not.

I’ve often called Fernie a place of orphans.  I think Squamish is a bit like that.  Transience has its own pitfalls to be sure, but the desire to reach out and build community creates an environment that offers the experience of hearing your own name in a new and exciting way.

Today was my Naming Day.  I didn’t know I was quietly waiting for it – but my heart certainly smiled in recognition of the name that carries it’s home.

There is a practice I do (Fr Joe calls it a ‘dis-possession’ prayer)

I just finished watching a clip the Genovese boys put out on Pinkbike.com. (Google it, I have the free WordPress and can’t link) I see posts on Instagram every day from my son, Dylan, Andrea, FAR and friends that blow me away.  I feel the Kootenay mountains that nurture such passion pull at me when I witness the incredible feats these people accomplish.  I just passed my Senior Intermedaite 1 Iyengar assessment.  It is a big deal, to be sure – one that I am proud of because of all of the years of work I’ve put in to get this far, yet it pales in comparison to what I feel when I witness what I consider to be these young people’s yoga.

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ has a great essay about vocations (google ‘Elizabeth Gilbert vocation’ it comes up 1 St thing).  In it she compares the difference between hobby, job, career and vocation.  What is a hobby for many people becomes a vocation for a few.  Skiing, biking…yoga.  A type of calling that cannot be denied.  The kind of calling that spurs part time jobs, relocations, budgets and sometimes a lack of understanding at the sacrifice people are willing to make when their heart is being drawn.

When we see the Instagram photo or the video clip, we see the result of passion that can turn into vocation.  It’s that simple.  What we don’t see are the 10,000+ hours that were willingly put in because of the passion that make the shot what it is.  These kids aren’t ‘lucky’. They practice and have ‘tapas’ (burning discipline) like I’ve never had.  They hurt. They fail. They lose. They get frustrated. Yet, I imagine that they can’t imagine a life not doing what they love.  Each in their own way.

And, I am speculating – but like recognizes like – I would say that what keeps them doing what they do, is the same thing that gets me on my mat. That connection to the moment that feels like magic.  Where you are so consumed in what is happening that there is no place in your mind for the to-do list, the grevance, the pain, the wants, memories or plans.  Josh has said the perfect run is the one when he’s not thinking. When I ski, it’s all I do…not my vocation! But when I’m on my mat and in my groove – I can say the same thing.  I’m experiencing.  I’m fully and completely aware of what’s happening in my body.  I’m unaware of time passing and yet I am absolutely present.  It’s what yoga means to me.  It doesn’t require a mat, or skis, a bike or the Kootenay mountians (although they help!!!), it requires passion. And for each of us it’s different.  Sometimes it pays the bills.  Sometimes it is a bill.  Sometimes it’s academics or a trade.  A canvas, or an instrument.  A Harley or a horse. Whatever it is, it’s the calling to a heart that stops time and thought.  Challenges growth and demands competency.  And, especially, creates connections that foster support when you’re willing to step into what is drawing you.

i didn’t ask permission. And I can’t imagine they’ll ever read this, but I hope they are ok with me posting some pics of what inspires my yoga. From right, clockwise: Josh, Paul, Dylan, Andrea

I’m sitting in the Schipol airport in Amsterdam as I write this blog. It is significant, as this is the final stop before going ‘home’.   Edmonton isn’t home for me yet.  I know now that Medicine Hat never was and that Fernie always will be.  For now…

Home. Some people never leave it.  For some people they feel at home wherever they are.  For my son, home is where his friends are.  For others, it’s where their family is, or where they grew up.

My heart is aching for the 3 hour drive from YYC down hwy 22.  That drive that I’ve done solo, so many times now, that takes me home.  To my small group of friends that hold my heart and make my home.  Because, for me, comfort is in that place.  Comfort that provides a safe place for me to be uncomfortable.  And I am right now.  Uncomfortable.

Pune becomes a bit of a home while we are there.  The rickshaw drivers, maids, landlords and shopkeepers, little communities that we begin to care about. The students at the institute, the friends you make or reconnect with while you’re there all become family. The Insitute itself especially feels like home.  It is familiar to the point we notice if something’s been moved, added or changed since the last trip.  I wonder what happened to the coconut walla when he’s not on the street after class.  I tip our rickshaw drivers a little extra, because I am  worried, as they are that, that the foreign students may not be enough to support them too much longer.  The building and community around it, the students and the teachers all feel like home to me.  I was surprised how sad I was to leave this time.  I’ve never been sad before, but that’s because I always knew I would be coming back.  I don’t know that this time.

So, I relished the crazy rickshaw ride with Amin to the airport last night.  Soaked in the craziness of India as I’ve come to know it, because there’s no better way to be ‘in it’ than an open air rickshaw navigating the masses on a Saturday night in Pune.  I’ll take that with me in my heart as I make my new home in Edmonton.  I’ll take it with me whenever I go back home to Fernie or Valemount.

I’m  coming home 🙂

love, Sam

You know when the last tumbler falls into place and you feel/hear the little ‘click’ of the lock that’s about to open? Or the proper arrangement of the puzzle piece as you place it in its right spot?  There is this sense of ‘aha’ to the mystery of what’s been before you the whole time…

Prashant has been gathering us at the far corner of the practice hall to look at a magnificent tree in the courtyard just outside the window all week.  He’s been using it as a metaphor, analogy, teaching tool. He’s been talking about rendering and seasoning in conjunction with it as well and I’ve been standing back letting it wash over me.  Because I just cannot try to understand that man.  Either he makes sense to you, or he doesn’t.  For me, whether I understand or not changes with the day and the topic and how he ties the philosophy to the asana work.  So my mode of operation in his class is to just let the commentary roll over and through me until the tumblers fall into place.

Which happened today… Click!  i wasn’t getting the ‘seeaasson, seeaassonning, seeassonned (season – but say it like that and you’ll get the rhythm 🙂 that’s been a big theme for him the last few classes.  It’s not far from the rendering idea, but deepens the lesson of it.

What finally made it click for me was his use of the imagery of seasoned wood used to make a door compared to unseasoned wood.  In monsoon season, the unseasoned wood expands with the moisture and is difficult to close, in the dry season, there’s gaps that let bugs in because it shrinks.  When seasoned wood is used, however, it always works properly because it is unaffected by the external forces.  It is in a non-dual state!  Ha!  Tumble, tumble, Click!

And this we take back to the asana.  The rendering  effect the physical practice has on our consciousness, will over time, season us to a non-dual state if we do the work.  Not to become disengaged or separated, but so that we work properly no matter what external forces, people, attitudes, climate we are exposed to.

India is filled with external forces that test how seasoned I am!  The assault on the senses, the effort it takes to go anywhere or get anything done, the yoga we are expected to do… And then throw in the extra glitch, because there’s always an extra glitch in India!  Illness, accidents, riots, floods, this year it’s a currency debacle that has everyone scrambling to try to get money – I’m going on my first scooter ride today to try to get some money today.  Everyone that has been here before just went ‘Holy shit!’ Everyone else – you have no idea!! All these things prove that I’m still in the seeaassonniinnnnggg  phase, because I am affected.  Relatively I’ve got it easy here but I still don’t want to go to the bank to stand in the throng of people just to find out there’s ‘no money left, come back tomorrow’.  I get tired waiting for my bill.  I sneered at the lady who sat on my mat yesterday.  Have i lost it? No.   I’ve come a long ways since the first year when I stopped going to classes because I knew if I kept going I might never come back.  I’ve matured since my second trip when the classes kicked my ass physically and I felt like a failure for most of the month.  I’ve transformed since my 3rd trip which was the first after my separation and I was emotionally raw.

Each trip here, just like each time I step onto my mat, is a rendering.  Sometimes the effect is a relatively swift awareness of acheivement – like doing an assisted drop back to Urdhva Dhanurasana today, sometimes it’s the slow steep that can only click the lock into place by trusting the process.  Letting the effects of the work wash over and through me, render and season me, until…

Tumble, tumble, click.

love, sam

 

 

 

We are into backbend week at RIMYI (Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute) and it is a different experience (as always) this time – partly because I’ve come at a different time of the year.

In the past I’ve come in June or July when the weather is hot and heavy with rain.  The practice then, although challenging, is more from the Intro 1/2 and IJ I/2 syllabii.  Now as the weather becomes cooler, we are doing more jumpings, arm balances and yesterday with Geeta got right to Dwi Pada Viparita Dandasana (a difficult backbend) legs straight and together as our first foray into backbends just so she could evaluate where we are at.

Unlike other systems that put the body into false conditions (hot yoga with a consistant temp and humidity) we are expected to keep our body in tune with its natural surroundings and adjust our practice accordingly.

That is the 1st layer according to Prashant, the son of BKS, and philosopher of the family.  Practice according to the weather, our personal needs, our age and ability, the maturity of our practice.  He teaches the same asana again and again, even with the same instructions, but expects different outcomes each time depending on the subject he wants you to study with each attempt.  Asana for the body, asana for the breath, asana for the brain.

He started the month by asking us to find the usefulness of what we are doing.  For the beginner it is enough just to do, but if we want to progress, we must find the usefulness of the what, how, why we are doing.  And in order to do that, we must study the subject.  To which Prashant says; if we want it to be easy, we are not students.  Because the subject matter, if worthy, will challenge us with unknowns.  Demand absolute attention.  Require multiple attempts from different approaches. And the subject is important otherwise the Iyengars wouldn’t put so much incredible effort into trying to get their point across.  Attempting to get our brains to be like butter, as Geeta says, rather than stone, so that we can absorb and learn the teachings.   The subject is important because it is not just asana, it is not even yoga, the subject is our own consciousness.

Today in class Prashant made a point of referring to all of the asana pictures of Guruji that are displayed in the practice hall.  We (Hatha, or asana-based practitioners) are often thought of as superficial because of the physicality of our practice.  As opposed to the deep thinkers of a Jnana or Raja yoga, the contributions of Karma yoga, or the outward beauty of mantra.  With each asana we do however, we are expected to – as Guruji did – ‘render our consciousness’.   Just as a razor blade is rendered sharp and useful through exposure to extreme hot/cold temperatures, we render our consciousness through the challenging conditions of constantly exposing ourselves to the asana and studying ourselves through its lens so that we too may become razor sharp.

Geeta worked with a small group yesterday to get them to lift their heads off the floor in a backbend.  When they did it she pointed out that the result was not their acheivement, it was hers.  They were only able to do what they did because of her observations, her use of props, her instructions.  Now, if they are students, they will take all of that into their own practice and work on it until it becomes their acheivement.   This is how we render our consciousness.  By being the student, studying the subject matter, doing the hard work, taking what they are giving us and making it our own.

Those of us here this month are incredibly fortunate.  Geetaji has had health challenges her whole life and is having them now, however right now she is teaching beautifully and we and can tell she wants to take us somewhere.  (I’m not sure how much longer she will be able to teach…)  Prashant is as Prashant has always been, but I am different this time and am getting more out of his classes than ever before.  They have both been and continue to be, as their father did, students of the ultimate subject.  They have rendered themselves to finely honed instruments of knowledge.  They are trying their best to pass it on so that we may take their acheivements and through our own practice and study be able to render our own consciousness.  Hone it to become useful.  To our body, breath, mind.  Our family, community, students.

These trips are not frivolous, they are not holidays, they take us to places within ourselves that can be just as dark and scary as they are beautiful and glorious.  We all make sacrifices to be here – financially, time away from home, health risks – nothing about being a householder in India is easy! But even if we don’t realize it to begin with, none of us would come back if we didn’t feel the effects of the rendering taking place.

May my brain be like butter 🙂

love, Sam