My first meeting with Yoga was what I now think of as “play Yoga” – it was of mediocre quality – but it was good enough to hold me and eventually lead me to something better. Shortly after I met my teacher and was introduced to quality practices, I took on, in addition to weekly classes, private lessons which led to daily practices. The practices were very rewarding and I practiced a lot – at one point I was practicing two long practices – one in the morning and one in the evening.

At the time I was working a full time job and spending ~2.5 hours driving every day (I lived in Raanana and worked in Jerusalem). To maintain my practices I had to create and stick to an organized routine that made it possible for me to arrive on-the-mat ready for practice.

Evening practices required attention and planning. I wanted to be on the mat at a given time with an empty stomach. The first piece of the puzzle was time – arriving and leaving work at a fixed time (more or less). The second piece of the puzzle was food. At the time my eating habits were also changing – which ultimately meant bringing home-cooked food with me to work (I eventually purchased a small microwave oven for the office). My constitution requires that I eat frequently (every few hours) and not too much. I also had to stop taking food an hour or two before leaving the office – so I would arrive on the mat with an empty stomach. My meal-times were not perfectly fixed but they were anchors in my day. Work and meetings populated the time windows that remained between arriving, meals and leaving.

Morning practices were fairly easy to accommodate because they came before everything else. I would get up at ~04:00am, practice and be out the door by 06:00am. Yet getting up in the morning fresh for practices was dependent on the previous day. The qualities of the previous day, the quantity and quality of sleep all affected the next morning practice and the day that followed it in an never ending loop. My intention was to create a constantly improving loop of life and practice.

Writing these words I realize more then ever that I wasn’t really engaged with my job. Being on-the-mat was much more enticing and rewarding then being off-the-mat.

Example2: Now

I am now in a transition period. I am slowly building my way toward a regular practice. The challenge is very different, because I exist in a very different reality – there are no clear borders between work and life – my life includes activities which may be considered to be work. I am free and I am responsible for the shape and content of my days.

I am currently shifting from one morning practice to two practices: one in the morning and one in the evening (the practices have different and complementary qualities). My current challenge and focus is on the morning practice – I still haven’t found a smooth way into it (I had a formula a while back, but it isn’t working for me now). I get up fairly fresh and sharp but both my body and mind are still “stiff” – and so I prefer to make a transition, to let the energy start flowing before practicing.

I used (and still prefer) to avoid the computer in the morning hours. Reading a book with a cup of tea used to do the trick. But recently sitting to read leaves me with a heaviness that inhibits practice. So I am now giving the computer another chance. It works best if I have some fresh writing to do – but that isn’t always the case. So sometimes I do some catching up on reading some articles that have accumulated in my browser.

I can name two risks to being at the computer. If I get caught in front of it for too long the practice window closes – life noises (though I live in a small village – it too comes to life), heat (summer in Israel is hot) and hunger are some example of obstacles that arise. Another risk is distraction – the computer offers easy access to many potential distractions – sometimes all it takes is one annoying email that clings and dominates my mind, making practice difficult or ineffective.

Writing these words I realize that a solution may be right under my nose. I haven’t played my Shakuhachi for some time (it is a meditative instrument – and I haven’t felt ready for it) and I miss it. Maybe this space in the morning can be a good place for Shakuhachi?

A Life Practice

For me, the seemingly simple act of preparing for practice has been a foundation in building a bridge between practice on-the-mat and life off-the-mat. People often come to Yoga expecting it to balance out and improve their life. There is that, but my experience has been that the greater effect is the other way around – balancing and improving life is a key to a better Yoga practice. It is a subtle and effective way of letting Yoga reach beyond the mat and insinuate itself into a wider life-consciousness.

click to play shakuhachi recording

I recall some months ago I was preparing a salad for breakfast. I was peeling (and later seeded) a pair of cucumbers – and as I was doing that I thought to myself ‘Why am I peeling the cucumbers?’. Of course, there is a ‘logical’ answer – since we can’t afford organic vegetables we prefer to remove any potential traces of insecticide which, we assume, concentrate in the peels and in the watery center. But then it hit me that this recurring act of peeling is actually an internal movement of doubt – doubt in the intentions and methods used by the farmers that grow my food. Doubt had become an unconscious yet constant part of my nourishment.

Shakuhachi

Also some months my wish for a new Shakuhachi came true – and a semi-professional flute entered my life. The purpose of this flute was to open a door to studying with a teacher. I was under the impression that a more fine-tuned instrument is required for formal studies. Indeed shortly after it arrived I found a teacher who is kind and generous and fulfills my indulgence for a lesson once in a while.

During the first lesson my teacher attempted to assess the quality of tuning of the flute – which is difficult to do over Skype. Getting a correct pitch in Shakuhachi is a challenge – it depends on the tuning of the flute, on breathing technique, the embouchure (shape) of the lips .. and on the weather (bamboo changes pitch in varying temperature and humidity conditions). Knowing the flute enables my teacher to better guide me (or maybe more importantly not misguide me) in my playing. I was left with a doubt about the tuning of the flute. Doubt, again, this time in Shakuhachi, an instrument I took on as a part of my meditative practices.

Faith

All of my attempts to dispel my doubts regarding the tuning of my Shakuhachi failed and led to unpleasantness. I questioned the maker (who’s life work made it possible for me to hold a Shakuhachi). I resented my teacher (for causing me to question myself and the maker). I pushed myself too hard to play better, to prove that the flute is in tune and that I can play in tune, which ultimately inhibited my playing – and left me with even more doubts … until … a recollection of an incident during a lesson in my Yoga teachers training course rescued me.

We were studying Ayurveda. Our group included numerous students who had come from a background of modern alternative-medicine studies. My teacher indicated at the beginning of the lesson that some of the ideas he will be introducing may strike some of us as counter-intuitive to what we already know and believe. He suggested that we refrain from dissecting and judging the teachings, that we take them with us as a complimentary perspective to what we already know, and that only after we’ve lived them for a few years, we indulge in evaluating their truths and relevancy to our lives as practitioners and teachers. Ironically, a few minutes later, some of the soon-to-be Yoga teachers railed out against the teachings that were offered.

I applied this lesson to my Shakuhachi predicament. I decided to embrace my Shakuhachi settings, including my instrument, it’s maker, my teacher and myself. I decided that I would take a few years before making any observations or coming to any conclusions. This choice has replaced my doubts with faith. It has fostered a softer setting in which I can explore and fluctuate in my relationship with Shakuhachi.

As for cucumbers… it’s getting better but I still haven’t achieved peace. I have been asking myself why I don’t trust farmers in my society… and though I have strong intuitions I have not yet found or formulated clear answers that I can put in writing. But inquiring into the matter has brought farmers and farming in my soceity closer to my mind and heart. I am more in touch with the things I have in common with them and therefore able to experience more sympathy for them and for their choices. Sometimes I go crazy and refrain from peeling or seeding (sometimes both!!) my cucumbers.

Wait, Just Wait

In my consciousness there is an instinct associated with doubt, and it’s programmed to ‘go out and find who’s responsible … and fix it!’. It’s a stubborn instinct (as instincts will be)… and it’s pointless. Instead, waiting, patiently and softly, usually creates a window of opportunity for my attention to move inward, and given time, magical occurs: pushing morphs into embracing and the disturbing energy of doubt becomes a soothing energy of faith.

In Shakuhachi playing I am getting comfortable playing the in the first register – sounds that are first experienced when blowing the instrument. I am still only an occasional visitor in the second register – which requires changing the flow of air into a more condensed stream which is key to reaching higher notes. I am usually a welcome visitor in the higher register when I arrive softly, and I am greeted by nice and steady sounds – which catch me by surprise. When I try too hard I can make the sounds, but they are not sounds I would wish to listen to or play.

In knitting I am not actually making anything – I am simply knitting to practice getting a flowing technique and consistent quality of work (like any new experience, you need to actually be there to meet subtle qualities which are difficult to describe). I find myself straining too much, I am definitely not consistent and I miss a stitch now and again. But I am getting a sense of flow and ease of movement as I practice.

In both cases I have thought, experienced and felt “failing”. I have failed to play a steady high-register note. I have failed to create consistent stitches in knitting.

Luckily I can draw a deeper perspective on “failing” from two different and persistent areas in my life – Yoga & fatherhood.

Yoga first – it’s easier. No matter how much I practice, I can never achieve a sense of completion with any of my practices. There is always room for refinement and introduction of additional subtle elements. My theoretical knowledge exceeds my physical knowledge – which means I know that I haven’t arrived and I know I never will. I have been given enough teachings to realize this and to continue to developer my practice indefinitely. In the first years of my practice I can recall a sense of conquering some intermediate challenges,only to find myself facing new and distant challenges (at best) or, more likely, a length period of repeated, uneventful practice. My teacher would remind us that practice is about “succeeding in trying rather then trying to succeed”.

I recall a story (I have no idea of it’s true) that flowed around the internet about Picasso – that as he was sitting in a park a woman came up to him and asked him to draw her portrait. He agreed, and with one continuous motion that lasted only a few seconds drew a portrait she loved. She asked him how much it would cost for her to purchase the drawing and he names a ridiculous sum, to which she replies “but it only took you a few seconds”. To which he replies “yes, but I’ve been practicing for it my whole life”.

Though we are expecting, we are not yet parents and Andreea is not yet biologically pregnant. Andreea teaches women (Romanian, Hebrew) about femininity-related issues including fertility, pregnancy & birth. Once in a while she encounters skeptics who claim that she can’t possibly be serious about teaching these things because she herself has not given birth. Even amongst family and friends there is a notion that we have “failed’ to get pregnant. We understand this and have experienced our own doubts and confusions. Yet our experience is that we are and have been pregnant for a long time, it has not yet manifested in body. We have been making and continue to make changes to our lifestyle, to our perception and to our relationship with the world around us. We feel that we are in many ways preparing for a time when a spirit will choose to manifest in our lives through pregnancy. Yoga teachings suggest that pregnancy is first experienced in heart and mind of two people – usually a mother and father – and only later becomes a physical reality.

In the end…

My teacher once told us about studying chanting in India. Chanting is usually taught by listening and repetition. A teacher chants (a sound, a word, a phrase… depending on the practice) and students repeat… over and over again – until eventually you get it. There are no mistakes, the very idea of a mistake is not a conscious part of the practice – you simply move on. In this way there is no marker in memory of it, and therefor also no expectation for it to happen again – “here comes that difficult word again, I hope I don’t mess it up again”. You stay in your practice, remain attentive, repeat … over and over again.

I can honestly recognize only one failure in my practices and in my life – forgetting that I am in endless process of practice & exploration.

click to play Shakuhachi recording

click to play Shakuhachi recording

click to play

click to play shakuhachi recording

Here is a short recording I made of practicing just one tone with this idea in mind: playing bamboo leaf shaped tones

When I viewed this recording in a sound editor I could actually see the tone shapes and how they change. Though it can be very challenging to reach a consistent shape and tone the practice is always rewarding. I experience great pleasure every time I experience a soft and effortless fading of a tone, every time I complete a tone just as my breath comes to an end, every time I discover a new potential for refinement (I realized fading in is a very different challenge than fading out). This simple image of a bamboo leaf created a vast space for me to explore.

Finally, here is a recording I made of playing the first 5 breath of Take Shirabe where I try to incorporate this idea of bamboo-leaf shaped tones: 5 breaths of Take Shirabe