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I'm semi-naked, standing bolt upright in front of a full-length mirror, staring at a spot about six inches above my eyes. Slowly, I lift my right leg and reach down with my right arm to pull the heel into my groin. My left arm, which should be hanging by my side, flails in the air as I try to keep my balance. My left foot twitches as it responds to the slight shifts in gravity, but, if I'm lucky, my body finds its balance and I slowly lift both arms to point ceilingwards. One-legged, in the posture and clothing of a yogi on the banks of the Ganges, I have attained, not Nirvana, but Vrksasana - the Tree Position. If it's a good day, I'll be able to hold it for up to a minute. And the good days have been more frequent lately.
Despite the fact that I often fail and see myself bending and twitching this way and that, Vrksasana is one of my favourite positions in Iyengar Yoga. It looks strange but it feels right. There is slight effort, but no pain. The raised leg is held in position by mild pressure between thigh and foot. The weight of the arms falls naturally on the shoulders and is no greater strain than when hanging by the side. In the rare moments when I achieve complete balance, there is a sense of completeness, as if Qi, or the Life Force, or whatever mystic energy that I do not believe in, is actually flowing through my body, both revitalising and resting it. I count to ten breaths, let my arms hang by my side, try to keep my balance for another ten breaths before gently letting my foot fall to its place, next to its brother, on the floor. A couple of breaths in Tadasana - the Mountain Posture (standing feet together and leaning slightly back, to you and me) - before I repeat Vrkasana raising my left leg. Although I am right-handed, my right leg is less certain and I am less likely to reach the count of ten before coming out of position. This is a practice session at home. I try to find time three times a week to spend fifteen to twenty minutes doing eight or nine of the postures I have learned at the nearest New Age centre, where an Italian with a long Buddhist name gently coaches about twenty of us once a week in the class for beginners at Iyengar Yoga. It's good that I practice at home, he says, and he can see the difference. After about a year, I may be good enough to move on to the General Class. I'm not quite sure how good is good, but I do know that I am beginning to feel that some of the postures in the manual I bought now look merely beyond my capabilities, instead of evidence of spinelessness or unnatural suppleness. I can't see myself ever sitting on the floor, kissing the knee of one stretched out leg while holding my upright knee with my hands behind my back (Maricyasana) or, again seated, my legs splayed, a hand holding each, while my temple rests on the floor (Upavista Konasana, which the book translates poetically as Seated Angle Position). But I can now see that such positions are possible, at least for those who start relatively young. I admit I'm becoming hooked. Postures that were at first painful, as I tried to stretch muscles into unaccustomed positions, are now merely challenging. Still far from doing the splits, I can stretch my legs further and further apart, without damaging the more intimate parts of my anatomy - indeed, I have learnt that such parts are remarkably unaffected by whatever position I put my legs into. And I can not only touch my toes, but lay the back of my hands flat against the floor, as I stretch my hamstrings and lower back. I am in good body shape, having swum for years, but no matter how strong or fluid my freestyle, it does not keep me as flexible as I would like to be. The yoga brings me back in touch with my body - makes me feel more relaxed, younger and sexier. (Whether I appear that way, I would not deign to enquire…) I don't know enough about Yoga to know how the Iyengar variety differs from other versions, but it is recent enough for its founder, BKS Iyengar, to still be around, apparently in his eighties. (I wait for him to reach his hundredth birthday, a goal I have recently set myself.) What appeals to me about his system in addition to the physical benefit, is the fact that it appears totally devoid of mysticism. No chakras to concentrate on. No karma to hinder our progress. No oneness with the universe. Simply a quiet approach to a more flexible body, a simple tool that assists in one aspect of our wellbeing. Given my previous experience with an Eastern approach to life, I did not expect to last this long. I have always been sympathetic to Buddhism, at least the Zen variety, and twice I have spent several months attending meetings at Buddhist centres that offered mild sermons and meditation. The emphasis was on the four noble truths and the eightfold path, which I can live with, although I might stress some components more than others. Reincarnation was seldom mentioned and the idea of a god, which would have sent me running to the door, was never raised. Yet both times, I was frustrated by the fact that meditation never came naturally to me. The lotus position was impossible, and the half-lotus, with only one ankle resting on a thigh, was comfortable for little more than a minute. The longer I sat eyes closed, the less my mind could float (or focus) into no-consciousness, because the more conscious I was becoming of the pain of squashed and strained muscles, along both of my legs and, the longer I sat, up my spine and into my shoulders. This was normal, apparently, and a minor theme of Zen literature seemed to be the joy in masters' eyes as, stick in hand, they beat meditating students who moving or had failed to maintain the required position. In time I forsook the half-lotus for simple kneeling, my posterior resting on my heels and my hands on my thighs. This allowed my mind to focus on its own dissolution, rather than aches and pains. Hence the second problem. It was true I could sit for much longer, but I doubt that I ever achieved true meditation. Easily distracted, my mind bounced from idea to idea and back again, became acutely conscious of the noises of fellow students shifting position, or clearing their throats, and of other sounds from the street. When I opened my eyes, stretched the cramp out of my legs and stood up, I felt, it is true, a small sense of being at peace with the world but a far greater sense of unexpended energy demanding to be released. I would want to run a mile, write a novel, talk for hours on every subject under the sun. It was only when, after a weekend retreat in which hours of meditation had alternated with psychological games (staring into each other's eyes while repeating abstract words with different emotions - that kind of thing) and I returned home as hyper as a five year old on sugar overdose laced with caffeine, that I realised that meditation for me was doing more harm than good. And so I gave it up. I'll stick with Iyengar, thank you and concentrate on the secrets of good balance rather than the secrets of my soul. A year from now, I may be able to report that I have been able to kiss my knee. In the meantime, I've discovered the secret to Vrksasana, or at least the first of what may be many secrets. As soon as I feel my balance begin to feel I stretch even higher and, if necessary, lean slightly further back. That pulls my centre of gravity inwards and upwards and reduces likelihood of unwanted weight pulling me over. Thirty breaths is my next goal. Hundredth birthday, here I come! 12 July 2002 |
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| 24 July 2002 |
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© Martin Foreman |