The Equanimity of Neutral

I like to use the image of a house when thinking about the construction of our bodies. Overtime, and with normal use, the structure of a house naturally changes. Maybe a little corner of the foundation settles and that in turn causes a crack or two in the ceiling here and there. If you go to renovate a part of this house, you will probably encounter walls that aren’t plumb and surfaces that are not level. More often than not, that’s okay, you simply work around it, and find relative level and relative plumb. The same is true with our bodies. My friend Kortni Campbell says, “We work with the body we have, not the one we aspire to have, or the one we had yesterday.” I couldn’t agree more.

Our body is the one home we will always have. Our bodies are unique, dynamic, and have normal wear and tear. In my opinion, moving from neutral is one of the most important concepts to discover in our movement practices. As in our house renovation example, neutral is relative to the individual. And sometimes it is relative to the day or even the minute. I will let the movement scientists argue the definition of true anatomical neutral over cups of coffee or on the Internet, but for our purposes, we’re simply trying to find efficiency through structure. Neutral is a dance between effort and ease and offers us a home base from which to explore.

Let’s use Mountain Pose as an example. My students are probably sick of me teaching Mountain Pose, but I feel like it is the cornerstone of any Postural Yoga practice. If you’re not familiar with this shape, or you don’t, practice Yoga, Mountain Pose is simply standing/sitting with structural awareness. It’s also a balance pose. I often say we are standing/sitting “with attention, not at attention.” Practiced this way, we are checking in with the body, not exerting our will over it. We become more aware of the relationship to both ourselves and the space around us.

Let’s deconstruct this shape for a minute. Our foundation begins in our feet. We first sense into the tripod of each foot. This space is the intersection of the arches and allows us to center our weight over a very stable structure. We might discover that our tendency is to take more weight toward the front of the feet and toes, or we may hold more weight to one side or the other, but most importantly, we explore and find our base. In doing so, we plug directly into our nervous system.

Next we move up to the knees. Are we locking our knees or do we have a bend in them? Are either of those things necessary for us to keep the weight balanced over our feet? Can we activate our legs a little bit or soften them a little to create more structure? Again, each student will have a different discovery.

We take our awareness up to the pelvis. I normally have my students do a pelvic tilt, tucking the tailbone under and then lifting the tailbone up. I tell them that somewhere in between those two extremes is neutral for them. I also encourage them to keep exploring and adjusting as they see fit. This way I allow them discover what feels the most stable for them and help them understand this process is dynamic. Subtle movement becomes a means to discover the sensation of neutral.

We continue working up to discover our next major movement junction, the shoulder girdle. A lot of times I will cue students to lift their chest, but some people get really rigid in their posture and then dump forward into their pelvis if I give that instruction. If I see that, or maybe as an alternate cue, I might say, “imagine someone is lifting you up by a few strands of your hair. Notice how that lifts your chest gently. Let your shoulders relax back and down. Imagine the shoulder pads on a football player, and like that, allow your shoulders to rest over the top of your upper spine.”

We then add our arms and hands to the shape. Incorporating the upper limbs gives the body a sense of wholeness. I give the students a chance to explore what hand or arm position offers them the most connection to both themselves and the space around them. Usually when I look around the room, there are people expressing multiple versions of the shape. There is no “one” way to practice. Yoga postures are concepts, not constructs. Sometimes we get too caught up and how they look and forget to be open to what they might be teaching us.

From here we go back down through the feet, revisit the knees, check in with the pelvis, check in with the chest and shoulders, and notice if we’re holding tension anywhere in the face or throat, or even the pelvic floor. We allow our breath to become a supportive component of the posture. One of the cool things about finding a relative neutral posture in our body, is that we create room for the breath to travel naturally with more ease.

As we explore other shapes or movements, I try to encourage my students to initiate action from a place of neutrality and support. A lot of the time in practice, and in life, we get in a hurry and forget to find our base before we move. A student gave me this feedback after a recent class, “It was helpful to focus on finding neutrality and keeping that awareness throughout the movement as opposed to rushing through without ever establishing it. The focus on finding physical neutrality drew the mind towards its natural equanimity.”

I challenge you to explore this concept in your practice this week–establish neutral and move from the awareness it offers. Whether you’re a Postural Yoga practitioner or someone who likes to garden or walk. Get curious about how you’re holding your body; establish your base and begin movement from there. It might mean you have to slow down a bit. But those pauses make space for the mind to become calm and your intentions more clear.

The Raft

There’s a Buddhist parable that has been resonating with me over these past few weeks. It goes something like this.

A man needs to cross a river. He can’t walk or wade across because it’s too deep. He could swim, but the currents are swift. He decides to build a raft and paddle across. It takes a lot of time and effort to gather up reeds, leaves, branches, and logs and weave them together into a structure that will float. But with persistence and time he gets his raft built.

The day finally comes and he hops onboard and toils across the river to the other side. It wasn’t an easy trek, but he makes it! Now that he has crossed the river, he is not sure of what to do with his one-of-a-kind creation. His back hurts and his hands have blisters and bruises. He has a lot of time and effort invested building this thing—sweat equity is an embodied currency. Should he carry the raft with him in case he needs to cross another body of water? Should he leave it for someone else who may need it to travel over this same river? Should he burn the wood and make a fire to stay warm for the night? What to do?

The thing is, if he’s going to be walking on land, he no longer needs a raft. It’s cumbersome shape will make it hard to maneuver through the woods and will surely slow him down. Like a lot of things in life, it’s hard to let go of something you have such an investment in. An asset that has been extremely valuable at one point in your life is hard to put down and walk away from, even if no longer serves you. That’s what our friend is struggling with. The raft represents his attachments.

Eventually, he decides to leave the raft and carries on with his journey, having the wisdom to understand that a vessel meant to travel on the water will be a burden if he continues to carry it on land. The tool simply doesn’t fit the job. When and if he encounters another river, he knows he possesses the skills necessary to build another raft…probably more efficiently.

This story is a nice metaphor for our lives, especially at a time of year when people are making New Year’s resolutions. Truth be known, I’m not a big fan of resolutions. They often are based in some sort of external expectation of behavior or are often driven by guilt or a negative self story. Maybe, instead of making a resolution, we simply decide what ways of thinking or being no longer serve us. And like the raft, we can understand that for a time these things had an important role in our story, but they are no longer appropriate for the chapters ahead. Wisdom requires discernment. Willful detachment and courage are required to change and adapt. Life is a series of adaptations. We don’t have to place a negative value on what came before, but simply understand that a new way of being is only possible if we allow some space for it.

Smile, Yawn & Shine a light

In the summer of 2019, I was at a crossroads and unsure of my place within the Yoga community. At the time, the Yoga community was plagued with abuse scandals and I had grown disillusioned with many of the narratives being put forth by my teachers and peers. Luckily I had a moment in a Yoga Teacher training at Mind Body Solutions in Minnesota that was pivotal in helping me regain my footing.

Sometime in the middle of the workshop, our teacher Matthew Sanford challenged us with the opportunity to work with one of his students for a few hours on something specific. My group’s task was to work with breathing and our student/teacher was Sammy. Sammy is a long time student of Matthew and is quadriplegic. Yoga-type breath work for Sammy can be challenging because her neck and jaw muscles control most of her voluntary breathing.

Let me pause and say that I absolutely L.O.V.E. teaching breath. I think some of the struggles I’ve had in my own body and my experience as a singer definitely inform how I approach and teach breathing. So I was very excited for this challenge. I was also just happy to work with Sammy. In all of my trips up to Minnesota, we had never had the opportunity to work together. She beams and at that time I desperately needed light.

We lifted Sammy out of her chair and placed her on a mat with her upper body elevated by blocks and a bolster. I suggested that we start by massaging her jaw and neck. As one of my fellow teachers began the massage, I asked Sammy to yawn. This is something I do often with my voice students. When we yawn our neck muscles stretch and our soft palate lifts. What I hoped was that we might create relief in Sammy’s neck and jaw, but what I noticed was her breath traveled deep into her belly—something that she has a hard time doing on her own. I asked Sammy if she noticed that and she smiled a big smile and said “Yes.” Bingo, we have a connection. One of my peers said, “I’m just gonna step back and support this.”

So yawning became our breath practice. The other teachers lead her through some twists and different shapes and on occasion I would place my hand on her ribs or belly etc. and ask her to yawn and notice the breath traveling deep into her body. It was magical. She told me after, “I will definitely include yawning in my practice from now on.”

What this experience taught me is that having a specialized lens is good, but it can also be limiting. You need to be able to pan out and see the big picture. Your techniques are only good if they serve the student. I don’t claim to be a master teacher by any stretch, but I am damn good at paying attention to my students. Compassion and curiosity are my guides. If I had only showed up with my Yoga breathing toolbox, I most certainly would’ve missed this and Sammy would have too.

I almost didn’t make my annual trip Minnesota that year. It took a lot to get me on the plane and I’m thankful to my peers for keeping me grounded that week. But most of all, I’m grateful for Sammy. Sammy, thank you for being a wonderful teacher. This moment with you is one of my most cherished memories and is the most pivotal in my teaching journey—you shined a light on the path and kept my feet moving. I don’t believe I’d be teaching right now if it weren’t for you. I’m forever indebted!