A favorite teacher of mine has an article called “Dismantling the Armor” that I read once a year or so.  Here’s an excerpt:

“Like the armadillo, we are clad in a protective cloak of armor that clings to our bones and keeps the world at bay. In the human body, this cloak is the buildup of thickened muscular padding primarily around the shoulders, neck, buttocks, and legs. This armor protects against outside forces, both real and imaginary, warding off the unwanted and guarding our inner self.

The practice of yoga melts our armoring, increases our range of motion, and releases us from our physical and psychological burdens.”

-          Tias Little, from Yoga International November 2003

When you have a chunk of time, you may want to read the entire article here, because it’s very enlightening.  I think about this when I look around at people, especially because I teach yoga everyday.

I think about it in reference to myself, too.  We each have ways in which we’re protecting ourselves from the big bad world, right?   I’ve been thinking about this as I’ve read Lin-Ann’s guest posts over the past few months.  It takes a lot of courage to allow your armor to be dismantled – it’s there for a reason!  

In the end, though, all that defensiveness weighs us down.  In ways that feel appropriate and safe for us today, it’s a good idea to practice becoming undefended.  It will feel vulnerable, but it will also feel releasing.  Over time, with practice, the evolution continues and more of our armor will melt away.   I love that yoga is a process that continues for weeks, months, years, our whole life. 

You can find out more about Tias Little (a teacher I’ve studied with several times) at:  http://www.tiaslittle.com/

The magazine that originally published this is here:

http://www.himalayaninstitute.org/yogaplus/

Enjoy your practice,

Barrett

In this journey of starting a blog, many people I’ve consulted with have told me I need to have a reason, that I need to think strategically, that this has to be a very targeted and specific blog.   

While I don’t disagree, I’ve also kept thinking of that saying that goes something along the lines of “The destination is important, but in the end, it’s the journey that matters most.”  

Isn’t this true with yoga as well?   Of course, somewhere in there we want to “get better” at yoga – to do it more regularly, to feel more peace, to be able to kick up into a handstand.   But whenever we achieve one of those landmarks, I think we have a realization that the whole preparation leading there was important, not just that moment of achievement.  And that’s what we practice – to savor the little moments along the way. 

Thinking about journeys reminds me of another quote – “The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step.” – Good old Confucius   

Sometimes I get so daunted with a project if I don’t know exactly where I’m going!  Or if I do know where I want to go, and it’s a looong way away, that’s a bit scary too. I’m working on trying not to be too daunted, and to just keep putting one foot in front of the next. Don’t get me wrong – I definitely try to take some time to plan as well!   But mostly I’m just trying to take that single step everyday, and to think more of the journey (the present moment) than of the destination (the future). 

Good luck, everyone, in all your journeys, big and small!

Namaste,

Barrett

Enjoy the long weekend!

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.