#svahayoga

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‘We’re all just walking each other home’.

It is one of Ram Dass’ most famous lines, from his book “Walking each other Home”. After years of hearing the phrase in Svaha Yoga classes, I am still moved by it with every encounter. Why is this short line so powerful? What does this phrase mean, in relation to yoga philosophy? How does ‘walking each other home’ relate to yoga practice, on the mat and in everyday life?

The image that Ram Dass’ sentence evokes is of the warmth, belonging, and safety of ‘home’. It implies a journey and an arrival, of returning home after completion of an arduous trip. Of course, in metaphorical terms Ram Dass’ phrase symbolizes a spiritual journey, and he deploys it in discussions of love, and of death. In this light the line suggests the traveler ‘coming home’ as the journey of the individual seeking personal liberation, spiritual union, or god consciousness.

But Ram Dass’ phrase has an interesting implication – if we are walking each other home, then we are not yet home. We are on the road, still journeying towards the destination. This is quite a contrast with other elements of yoga philosophy, which might be better summed up as the idea that we are all, always, already ‘home’. The non-dualist approach would indicate that the goal is not to get home but to realize that we are home. What is there to make of this paradox? Can we be on the way home, and already home, at the same time?

The resolution to this paradox lies in reading the sentence in its entirety. Ram Dass’ statement is about more than the homecoming metaphor alone; the key is that we are all walking each other home. There is an element of togetherness, collectivity and support in our seeking: it works when we do it together. This is the element that resolves the tension between the journey as both ‘coming home’ and ‘realizing we are already home’. If home is the realization of our mutual interdependence, our interconnection, then the liberating dissolution of the self in union with the universal is both the home towards which we walk and the journey itself. Home is walking together. And for sure this translates to asana practice, and suggests what physical practice and yoga classes have to offer beyond a good workout. After all, the attentive bodily movement that constitutes asana can feel like a homecoming - to the body, to the breath, to the heart. This too, is less an arrival from afar than a realization that we were always home to begin with. It is a model for the spiritual coming home which Ram Dass references. Moreover, practicing together supports that realization or that homecoming. When I sit, or chant, or breathe and move in a Svaha Yoga class, I am aware of the being next to me also sitting, chanting, breathing. I’m aware that we are exchanging the same air, that we are connected. And I’m reminded to pay attention to my own breath, a focus that returns me home to my body and Self. This support allows the physical practice to come alive and become transformative. It transforms ‘exercising while listening to some interesting thoughts from Ram Dass’, into actually practicing, with breath and body. In this manner the yoga practices, or even a yoga class, can become the powerful act to which Ram Dass refers, in which we are all just walking each other home.

Alex Niemeijer Brown, Teacher / Lecturer  Svaha Yoga Amsterdam

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Not Just What But Also How:

Style and Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra

In the introduction to her translation of the Yoga Sutra, Barbara Stoler Miller includes a section devoted to discussing the style of the text – the use of language, 

the rhetorical devices, the rhythm, the tone. The section sits alongside other notes about the historical context of the production of the Sutras and its core philosophical tenets. This introduction points to the importance of considering not just the content but also the style of the Yoga Sutra, not just what information the text contains, but the manner in which it is written. According to Miller,

 “The Yoga Sutra is written in a simple, aphoristic style, which contrasts sharply with the rhetorical complexity of the commentaries. The language is spare and often extremely technical. There is a virtual absence of metaphors, and even similes are kept to a minimum.” (23)

Simple, spare, kept to a minimum. Miller emphasizes to her reader the importance of the stripped down quality of the Yoga Sutra’s style. This is not arbitrary, accidental, or a sign of a lack of poetic capacity on the author’s part. On the contrary, Miller goes on to interpret a possible reason for the simplicity of the writing in the Yoga Sutra:

“In the Yoga Sutra, the aim is not to make connections but to disengage the illusory connection between the spirit and nature. The minimalist aphorisms and the absence of metaphor underscore Patanjali’s central point that one must transcend all relational thinking in order to realize the isolation of absolute freedom.” (23-24)

In other words, the style of the writing reflects, and reinforces, the message which the text conveys. What the text says is reflected in how it is communicated. According to Miller, the Yoga Sutra’s style mimics its message. Simple, without unnecessary flourish, without convoluted connections detracted from the main point: freedom.

In the way in which it is written, the Yoga Sutra thus actually demonstrates one of the key teachings of that text, which is that style matters.

In I.14-15, the practice of yoga is described by abhyasa and vairagya, dedication and non-attachment: “The practice is firmly grounded when it is performed for a long time without interruption and with zeal. Dispassion is the sign of mastery over the craving for sensuous objects.” These principles name a way of doing things (not just things, but yoga). Dispassionately, yet with zeal. And the famous sutra II.46 actually explicitly defines asana in terms of style – sthira (steady), and sukham (joyful/easy/comfortable). Again, a way of doing (yoga) things where asana is literally defined not as the shape of the body but the style of the practice. Here too, it is not just about what you do, but how you do it.

This makes sense, when Gösta mentions that we might just as well be knitting as turning upside down during asana practice, or Patrick says that yoga is like baking (and eating) a cake. They too emphasize that yoga isn’t just in the what, it’s in the how.

Applying Miller’s observations about Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra to physical posture practice provides a great opportunity to learn what this great text has to teach through the style of its writing. What does it mean to practice yoga not just in terms of what the text says, but also the manner in which it is written? What does it mean to pay attention not only to what shapes the body makes on the mat but the manner in which it moves? What does it mean to consider not only what I do in a day but also the manner in which I take those actions? Experimenting with asana and daily life in the style of the Yoga Sutra - simple, without unnecessary flourish, without convoluted connections detracted from the main point. Freedom.

Work Cited:

Miller, Barbara Stoler. Yoga: Discipline of Freedom. The Yoga Sutra Attributed to Patanjali, Bantam Books, 1995.

Alex Niemeijer - Brown, teacher / lecturer  Svaha Yoga Amsterdam

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At Home in Impermanence

Impermanence. One of the central, foundational teachings of Buddhism in its many forms. So foundational that it traces back to the very origin stories of Buddhism itself, the spiritual quest and enlightenment of the person Siddhartha Gautama.

This is how the familiar story goes.

The prince’s fateful emergence from the sheltered palace of his youth brought him into contact with the facts of impermanence: the ravages of time which led to illness, old age, and death. Long story short, the encounter with impermanence would set in motion the path to enlightenment for the Buddha, and his articulation of the Four Noble Truths that would characterize the religion established in his wake. Life is suffering. Suffering is caused by craving, by attachment (to permanence, for example). There’s a way out, and that is the cessation of craving and attachment. The method for getting out is the eight-fold path.

Like Siddhartha Gautama emerging from the palace, we too are confronted by the facts of impermanence.

All the time. And so, we run from what makes us uncomfortable - that is, the reality of impermanence - and it causes suffering. We try to run after what will make us comfortable – that is, the unattainable illusion of permanence - and that too causes suffering. The lesson? Dealings with impermanence, while inevitable, seem always to produce suffering.

This is not, of course, something new.

The core truth to one of the world’s most ancient religions could not simply point to something uniquely contemporary. Impermanence and our uncomfortable encounter with its reality are a defining element of human experience. So many products of human culture throughout history represent attempts to grasp at permanence within the face of impermanence. Art. Philosophy. Religion. Nations. Families. Fancy sex stuff. Artificial intelligence. New York City… the list goes on. Impermanence is a fact of human experience through the ages

Yet contemporary everyday life seems to involves a particularly heightened experience of impermanence.

The usual, timeless stuff is still there: he gets old, she gets sick, we all die. But there’s more. The speeding up of all elements of life, from social relations to commerce to news media to travel, accelerates the pace of change and as such our experience of impermanence. Dating moves faster when I swipe left or right, potential matches arising and discarded in an instant. Impermanence. Work in the gig-economy, the precarities of freelancing, piecing together a string of contract jobs and jumping from employer to employer. Impermanence. News from this morning is outdated before the day is done, replaced with new and more outlandish headlines every time I tap ‘refresh’. Impermanence. The very earth itself shifts at its heart, temperatures warming year by year at a level perceptible even to my body. Impermanence.

No wonder the solution seems to be to run away.

So we strive to build new and better systems for grasping at permanence. To get better at running from impermanence, discomfort, towards the security of permanence. But remember, Buddhism reminds us that this running away from impermanence, or its companion, this grasping of permanence, does not solve the problem. Not before, and not now. The best we could do in that regard would be a sense of permanence. To feel like we have achieved that permanence – creams to keep the skin looking young, that dream job with a permanent contract. It’s just an illusion though. Nothing’s really permanent. Here comes the suffering again.

Systems like Buddhism, and Yoga, can offer a better strategy.

These philosophies and practices suggest that the way out, rather than clambering relentlessly, and ultimately in futility, after a sense of permanence, is to get comfortable with impermanence. To become at home in it, familiar with it: able to flourish within circumstances of ever more rapid change. Yoga is this practice. What is time spent thoughtfully on the mat if not an embodied dramatization of impermanence, and a chance to reflect on and learn to reconcile oneself to those circumstances?

Yesterday I touched my toes, today I did not.

For one fleeting second, I emptied my mind of thoughts. Then they came back.

I was so happy to start paschimotanasana, but now, ten breaths later, I hate it.

Inhale. Exhale.

Asana practiced with attention is learning to confront impermanence

It is putting ourselves into a control situation of impermanence, noticing it, and trying to deal with it. It provides an opportunity to practice responding to and being within impermanence. Not in finding new ways to grasp for permanence, but in working to become comfortable, familiar, at home in impermanence. To manage a situation of touching my toes one day and not the next. To stay in paschimotanasana, hating it, until I love it again, and to realize that will also continue to change.

Yoga practice, like Buddhism, can be an instrument for recognizing and managing impermanence. It serves as a space for practicing living in impermanence, and in a modern twist it has become an opportunity to build the tools, strategies and emotional skills we need to manage in the contemporary landscape of accelerated change. Not to evade or conquer the realities of human experience, but to become at home in them. A thoroughly modern application of thoroughly ancient wisdom.

Alex Niemeijer Brown, Teacher / Lecturer  Svaha Yoga Amsterdam

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Yoga &  Qi Gung Workshop  with Prashant

Ancient Qigong and Yoga are essentially two branches of the same tree. Though umbrella terms for a wide range of practices, both yoga and qigong are concerned with unifying the body in order to refine ones 'qi' or 'prana' to achieve higher states of being. While much of modern yoga has become synonymous with 'flexibility', the Chinese systems are thought to have better maintained their roots. The simple movements of qigong allow the student to easily and effectively feel the internal flows of energy in the body. Once connected with this energy, we can carry this sense in to our yoga asanas to correct obstructions in flow and develop our practice to deeper and more subtle levels. This workshop was born out of a curiosity to develop this line of practice together.

Yoga & Qi Gong workshop  Sunday 7th of July 14.00 - 17.00 at DownTown   € 35

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10 of Gösta’s favorite pop songs about Dancing, Yoga & Life

Dancing Barefoot Patty Smith

Lose yourself to dance Daft Punk

Dancing with tears in my eyes Ultravox

Dance away the heartache Roxy Music

Last dance Donna Summer

Dance to the music Sly & the Family stone

Safety Dance Men Without Hats

Batdance Prince

Let’s dance David Bowie

Dance around the world Richenel

Gösta, co-Founder Svaha Yoga Amsterdam

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Aum Na-Ma-Shi-Va-Yah??? Wat betekent dat eigenlijk?

En waarom komt die Mantra zo vaak voorbij in Yoga?

* Note: (English translation coming soon.)

Als eerste is Shiva de beschermheer van het Yoga gilde om het maar even makkelijk te maken. Dus zeg maar het opperhoofd van de Yogis. Aum Namah Shivayah in z’n geheel betekend dus zoiets als “Ik groet u met vol respect”, om het even simpel te houden. Na-Ma-Shi-Va-Ya, zijn de 5 elementen waaruit jij/ik en het hele materiele universum, dus ook de aliens, van gemaakt zijn. In de Yoga noemen we ze “Tattvas”. En die 5 Tattvas zijn weer de kern van de drie Gunas, of wel kwaliteiten van natuur of manifestatie. Maar over de Gunas binnenkort meer in de post over Shiva.

- AUM = gaat eigenlijk altijd voor alle Mantra’s uit. Het staat voor de eerste beweging na de oerknal. Je zou ook kunnen zeggen de eerste vibratie na de stilte, of dat wat materie mogelijk maakt. De NASA noemt het simpel “achtergrondruis”. 

- Na =Aarde. Aarde geeft de mogelijkheid voor wat we solide noemen. Dus zeg maar je lichaam dat je kunt zien.

- Ma =Water. Water is natuurlijk vloeistof en je lichaam bestaat uit zo’n 70% uit water. Maar water, meestal als waterstof, is iets wat overal in het Universum aanwezig is. Dus best wel belangrijk. 

- Shi =Vuur. Alles wat beweegt geeft straling af. En alles wat zich manifesteert in het Universum beweegt van 1 Elektron tot een heel melkwegstelsel.

- Va =Lucht. Zou je het beste kunnen zien als richting. En daar gaat ie weer. Alles in het gemanifesteerde Universum heeft richting en beweging. Want dat is essentieel voor bestaan.

- Yah = Ether, ruimte. Tsja deze is makkelijk want zonder ruimte kan iets niet ontstaan. En net zoals je ‘s nacht naar de sterrenhemel kunt kijken en ziet dat het grootste deel lege ruimte is. Nou zo ook met je lichaam. Bijna helemaal leeg met nog wat celletjes. Of nog dieper; een paar elektronen die om een kern heen draaien. Maar dan gaan we richting Quantum en dat bewaar ik voor een volgende keer. Want als je naar Shiva kijkt door de ogen van Quantum dan wordt Shiva echt heel interessant. Dus misschien betekend het wel zoiets als; 

“Ik begrijp, voel en ben dankbaar om een essentieel deel van het Universum te zijn”.

Gösta, co-Founder  Svaha Yoga Amsterdam

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Lifeasana: Practice as a Series of Situations

While yoga itself has a complex character and lineage intertwining philosophical, devotional, ethical and physical concerns, today’s global yoga boom is most recognizably associated with asana. But what do we mean by asana exactly? Is it merely a word denoting the physical movement or positioning of the body? Or can it be conceptualized in terms of the ways it contributes to yoga as a more holistically – that is philosophically, devotionally, ethically, as well as physically – defined practice?

Posture, Seat, or Attitude?

The Sanskrit word asana is commonly glossed in contemporary yoga classes as ‘posture’, or ‘pose’, words suggesting a manner of holding the body with a manner of intention. Literally, asana translates as ‘seat’, 

bringing to mind a form of connection between the body and the earth. We also hear asana referred to as a ‘shape’ which names the physical manifestation of the bodily position, or as an ‘attitude’ which emphasizes that asana are bodily but also more-than physical.

Spending some time in Svaha Yoga classes means coming to terms with the more-than physical element of asana. It also means using asana to explore how our experiences arise from particular configurations of body, mind and emotion. When Gösta says that physical practice is “more than just gymnastics” or Patrick says that “you are not the body”, we are learning that asana are not reducible to a physiological form. Glossing asana as “the body stuff” of yoga leaves out important elements of what we’re actually doing, particularly in terms of mind and emotion, at the moment we do that “body stuff”.

Asana as Situation

One potentially helpful way to grasp the function of asana would be to understand asana as ‘situation’. The word ‘situation’ resonates both with words like ‘posture’ and ‘attitude’, already common glosses of the Sanskrit term, suggesting there is something more than ‘just’ the body at work.  

An understanding of asana in its physiological connotation already brings to mind the word ‘situation’, in the sense of ‘being situated’. We are involved in making particular postures by situating our bodies in space in a specific manner. The difference between adhomukhasvanasana and trikonasana is in the very different situation, or placement, of the body on the mat. This is proprioception, the awareness of our physical bodies as they take shapes. Are my shoulders above my wrists, are my hips above my knees? Asana in this physiological sense is the situation of my body in terms of specific alignment in space.

Then, on another level, there’s the connotation of ‘situation’ as a set of circumstances in which we find ourselves. When I am in a given situation, there are certain possibilities and certain limitations within which to operate. The body physically exists and participates within the limits of that situation, but also involved is the mind, the emotions. A situation engages a person in their totality. Understanding asana as situation can therefore highlight the more-than-physical (“more than just gymnastics”, “I am not the body”) sense of asana as it is actually used in Svaha Yoga.

For example, the situation Sirsasana: I find myself upside down. Now what? This position is more than a physical shape, it’s a set of circumstances to manage. Do I feel scared? Steady? Where can I focus my attention to stay calm?

Or the situation Paschimottanasana: I find myself folding forwards, reaching for something I can’t quite grasp, and it is difficult to look around. How to manage this situation? Do I feel frustrated? Patient? What can I learn about my reaction here?

Or the situation Vrksasana: I find myself on one leg, trying to stay there, wavering, falling out. How to manage this situation? Do I laugh, or swear? Try again, or go to the bathroom? What do I teach myself about success and failure in this moment?

The body in a situation is a thinking, feeling body. Taking asana as situation informs a practice of physical, mental, emotional cultivation within the confines of the circumstances of a given moment. This kind of body work works on so much more than the body.

Asana are Situations, and Situations are Asana

Thinking of asana as situation makes asana practice eminently transferable, applicable to any and every moment of everyday life. Trafficasana: I find myself stuck in traffic on the way to an appointment of considerable importance. 

Heartbreakasana: I find myself alone after a lover departs without warning or explanation. Goodluckasana, I find myself with a great deal of money after an unexpected inheritance. What is the confluence of body, mind, emotion which arises in the particularities of the situation? How do I react within the circumstances of these situations?

In the Yoga Sutras Patanjali instructs that asana be sthira (steady) and sukham (joyful). The sutra provides an important guideline for indicating the ways in which we practice to respond to these various situations, wherever they arise: If every asana is a situation, and every situation is an asana, then each moment on the mat and off is an opportunity to practice steadiness and joy. It’s lifeasana – the situation of living.

Alex Niemeijer - Brown, teacher / lecturer  Svaha Yoga  Amsterdam

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Breathing Together

The most frequent words used during any Svaha Yoga class, no matter the level or teacher or day of the week, are inevitably, ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’ – terms which point to the potential for yoga practice to reinforce our collective social responsibility.

Breath as a Metaphor

The frequency of ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’ derives, of course, from the significance of the breath in yoga practice, both physically and metaphorically. On a physiological level it provides a cue for bodily movement, as the guide synchronizing particular physical actions with inhale and exhale, and a point of mental focus for the monkey mind. On a more abstract level the breath, bridging the body with the surrounding atmosphere, operates as an analogy for the relationship of the individual self and the cosmic whole.

This power of the breath as a metaphor for understanding and working with the relationship between internal/external, and individual/universal, is captured in the allegory of the self as empty jar. 

This allegory describes the individual self’s relation to the universal whole in terms of a jar containing the same ‘empty’ space (like the breath) which surrounds it. Break the jar, and that space merges with the outside – a lovely model for self realization and self liberation.

But there’s an extra factor involved in the repeated cues to ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’ so often heard during class which receives less attention than the model of internal/external and individual/ universal. That is the shared experience of communal practice and the social character of the breath it precipitates. In other words, the way breathing happens in a group class.

Yoga Class as Collective Practice

A group yoga class is a weird thing, in a way – distinct from the self practice idealized in the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, it is a distinctly collective experience of what can seem a solely individual undertaking. Practice in a class setting isn’t performative – the others in the room aren’t (or aren’t supposed to be) watching. And it isn’t entirely cooperative either – we aren’t involved in the practice of those around us, as we each “do our own practice”. But it is uniform, in the synchronization of movements from body to body to body across the room. After all, the first real action of a Svaha Yoga class, after laying the mats and settling into seated, the action that ritually begins the practice, is a shared inhale which initiates the first Om.

The group class becomes a collective practice with this initial shared inhale and the unified breathing which follows throughout the class. As a result, the experience of collective practice is of self practice (we work with the body, on the mind), that is nonetheless inseparable from its social or communal element (we breathe together).

Connection and Collective Responsibility

What is the impact of this collective practice, off the mat? When I practice in a group, I am reminded that my breath connects me to something universal. Moreover, this collective practice reminds me of the ways that I am responsible to every other being, from whom I am not separate. Taking breath as a metaphor for collective practice, then, asks not only for a self realization but for collective responsibility. This is where the practice moves off the mat, and provides an opening for yoga practices and philosophy which focus on the political, the social, even the radical.

Philosophically, collective practice and shared breathing on the mat reinforces the fundamentals of interconnectedness at the human level, 

and reinforces the social nature of yoga. The experience of breathing together, reminds us that in actuality no individual exists as a jar in space. There’s a near-infinite variety of these containers, all in relation to one another and all also filled with the same space, the same breath, that surrounds them – and we are, then, all responsible for one another.

Svaha Yoga Amsterdam, Alex Niemeijer - Brown Teacher / Lecturer