Yoga Students - Shinay Tredeau

Sacred Space

The Reason We Line Up Our Yoga Mats in Class

My yoga teachers taught me how to be a student. These are some of the invaluable lessons (I am still learning):

Listen Deeply: be receptive, be open to learning something new.
Pay Attention and Remember. Mr. Iyenger used to say, “I hope my students make new mistakes.” I take this to mean that making mistakes is part of the process of yoga (and life) and that over time, as we learn, we will start to make new mistakes and learn new things instead of just making the same mistakes over, and over and never learn from them.
Cultivate Discernment, Discrimination, and learn to make clear Distinctions about almost everything in yoga (and life).
Trust Myself. Ultimately I get to say what works and doesn’t work for me, and I have a responsibility to honor my own innate wisdom.
“No Top End,” there’s always more to learn, another octave to leap, different parts of ourselves to observe. The process is endless.
Make Room for Mystery. “I don’t know” is a great place to be, no need to rush toward the answers.

When my first yoga teacher asked me to line up my yoga mat with the person next to me, I did this obediently, I trusted her instruction and it didn’t cost me anything. I learned a sense of spatial awareness so that I became more attuned to who and what was beside, behind, and in front of me.

My training in dance also helped me to listen with more than my ears. I listened with my whole body. I took my cues from the layout of the room—walls, mirrors, windows, door, other people, props, etc. I learned to survey a room the moment I entered and adjust myself accordingly. Part of being a student, for me, was adapting to what any particular space needed at the moment. (This is one of my on-going practices. I am nowhere near perfecting this awareness technique, but I do enjoy the subtlety of paying attention in this way).

Yoga is a process of joining ourselves with a larger perspective—the Divine, our Higher Self—and it’s a process of becoming more aware, more integrated, and remembering who we truly are. Paying attention to how we enter the yoga classroom (or any room) is just another tool for cultivating self-awareness.

“Hidden in every shape, every alignment cue, every “do this” and “don’t do this” is a call to pay attention: first to the shape, then to the placement of our body, then to the actions that activate the posture, then to the effects on our body, mind and mood, and finally to the part of us that watches it all. alignment in yoga is far from an exhaustive list of perfection-oriented details, but is, instead, a call to pay attention to who we are at the increasingly deep and more subtle layers of our being. ”
Christin Sell, “A Deeper Yoga: Moving Beyond Body Image to Wholeness and Freedom,” (pg. 20-21).

Sacred space happens with/through intention. Sacred means “worthy of respect.” First, we honor our bodies in this way. Our physical bodies are sacred, worthy of respect. And the space in which we practice (yoga, meditation, dance, writing, music) is also worthy of respect. We honor ourselves by setting up our space intentionally, just like decorating our homes. We bring love, honor, and respect to the places we call home, starting with our bodies and extending that loving attention outward to our cars, classrooms, and the natural world.

Get your copy of Christina Sell’s new book here. A Deeper Yoga.

Daily Rhythm

Dinacharya is a Sanskrit word that means, “Following the rhythm of the day.” Like a metronome, what we do consistently every day sets the rhythm for our life, whether we are conscious of it or not. I started studying Ayurveda many years after I completed my first yoga teacher training. I was looking for something that would help me find peace of mind and bring some semblance of balance into my life. That’s when Ayurveda found me. Ayurveda means, “The science of living,” which is a 5,000-year-old science that comes from India and takes its cues from Great Nature. What I discovered was that “balance” looks more like wobbling back and forth and all around rather than poise, or serenity, a fixed point on a spectrum.

What I continue to learn about my own organic nature in relationship to the Universal Nature, is that what I do every day matters. Not the grand gestures but the little things like brushing my teeth twice a day, hydrating first thing in the morning and eliminating my bowels fully (so that I’m not walking around full of sh** all day) meditating for 22 minutes, doing a 10-minute yoga asana practice, journaling for 10 solid minutes every day, and consistently eating three meals a day between the hours of 9 AM and 5 PM and not snacking. We’re talking the brick-and-mortar of “yoga,” of life, of every single day no matter where I am on planet earth. I follow the rhythm of the day, for example, I go to bed when the sun goes down (more or less) and I eat warm foods in Winter, and my whole body becomes more intuitive, resilient, and intelligent. I become more natural. It may seem so simple, but when I fight the urge to go to bed when I feel tired, I create dis-ease in my body, mind, and spirit.

Ayurveda tells us that diseases are generated at the junctions of the season, the moments when one season changes into another. –Dr. Robert Svoboda, Ayurveda for Women: a guide to vitality and health

The teachings of Ayurveda remind us that it is better to engage in daily activities which prevent illness before it occurs. As practitioners of yoga and students of life we are encouraged to live in a way that allows optimum flow of energy/prana/life force.

The Three Pillars of Dinacharya:

Body—a healthy flow of energy in the body, mind, and spirit allows each human time and space to rest, digest, and reset/rebalance. Drink plenty of water first thing in the morning to have a complete elimination, eat your food in a relaxed manner, with gratitude, sitting down, aim to be in bed before 10 PM to give the digestive system a chance to detox naturally. (Read Dr. Claudia Welch’s book Balance Your Hormones for more on this topic.)
Mind—as the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali states, Yoga Chitta Vrtti Nirodha, “Yoga is the cessation of all self-limiting thoughts, patterns and tendencies within our personal energy field,” Bhavani Silvia Maki.
Spirit—”A living human being is a body-mind-spirit complex. Each part of you—organs, tissues, skeleton, nervous system, emotions, mind and others—possesses its own form of awareness, and each of these awarenesses relates together,” writes Dr. Svoboda in his book, Ayurveda for Woman, (p. 15). When start to pay attention to our bodies a whole world of awareness opens up. When we start to heed the signs that our bodies give us, we start to trust our own Great Nature.

As with any path of yoga, it’s life-long. Be gentle, go slow, and have faith. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

If you’re curious about how you might align more fully with nature’s rhythms these are my own favorite resources. Find out more with Banyan Botanicals, Dr. Claudia Welch, and Dr. Robert Svoboda.

Ordinary Magic

Yesterday I taught the 9 AM yoga class, as the snow came down outside and covered everything in a fresh blanket of white powder, I spoke about the anticipation of change and newness that is present on New Year’s Eve. In my short life, I have been let down on New Years Day and Christmas Day and my Birthday, and most Mondays because of my expectations. I actually believed I would grow sparkly wings, but my wishes didn’t all come true, and when I woke up I had to face the fact that unicorns didn’t run wild in the hills of Chino Valley Arizona. And at the same time I know that magic does exist. Ordinary, Everyday Magic. The magic of sitting quietly by myself in the early morning before anyone else is awake, the magic of making really delicious food, the magic of an Arizona sunset. I know this as fact. The Tibetan Buddhists called it Drala, or “Ordinary Magic,” which appears when I slow down and pay attention.

Looking for some credit-worthy source to back me up on this opeinion, I came across the book, Ordinary Magic: Everyday Life as Spiritual Path, edited by John Welwood. Here’s a passage from the intoduction:

As children we have all felt, at least occasionally, a powerful sense of wonder at being alive in this world. Yet in growing up, we mostly lose that sense of magic. As we become caught up in worldly ambitions and burdens, life becomes increasingly routine, humdrum, and one-dimensional.
Magic, as I am using this term, is a sudden opening of the mind to the wonder of existence. It is a sense that there is much more to life than we usually recognize; that we do not have to be confined by the limited views that our family, our society, or our own habitual thoughts impose on us; that life contains many dimensions, depths, textures, and meanings extending far beyond our familiar beliefs and concepts.
The loss of a sense of the magic and sacredness of life is also happening in our world at large. In traditional cultures living closer to the natural world, people had a more immediate sense of larger forces shaping their lives. Gods and demons were near at hand. And the culture provided rituals and symbols that helped people remember the larger sacred dimentions of life in the midst of their daily activities. Walking, eating, lovemaking, working—indeed, every activity and life passage—were endowed with religious or symbolic meanings that helped individuals connect with the larger, universal forces shaping their destiny.
Now that we have become disconnected from the cycles and rhythms of nature, we frequently seem to miss the whole point of being here at all as we rush thorugh the whirlwind of our busy lives. Yet being busy is not the main problem. What does it matter whether we have ten things to do today or just one, since we can do only one things at a time in any case? The problem with having ten things to accomplish is that while doing one, we are often dreaming or worrying about the success or failure of all ten. The speed and compulsion of our thoughts distract us and pull us away from where we are at each moment.
The word dis-traction is particularly useful here. It suggests losing traction, losing our ground—which is precisely what happens when we slip and fall away from being present. It is only in the stillness and simplicity of presence—when we are aware of what we are experiencing, when we are here with it as it unfolds—that we can really appreciate our life and reconnect with the ordinary magic of being alive on this earth.
p. xiii-xiv

I declare this year the year of “Ordinary Magic.” Slow down, be present. I was joking with my friend Sera yesterday that when I feel the urge to “Wreck House” as we like to say, what’s really going on is the need to move some energy but my mind goes off the deep end and spouts off things like, “Get a puppy, have a baby, buy a car, spend more money, eat the whole chocolate bar, kick, punch, kick,” but what I do instead is sit down and keep my hands to myself (and shut up for at least 20 minutes.)

When I learn that my thoughts are not to be trusted I am able to connect with something way more real than the constant fluctuations of the mind. That something else I’m calling “Magic” today. As my yoga teacher, Bhavani Maki said, “Yoga is the process of making the impossible possible.” And making magic requires a combination of effort and ease. “Leaning forward slightly off balance,” as Andrew Cohen said. We must do our own work. We must do our own work. I am not repeating myself, I am writing it again for emphasis.

The Necessity of Formal Practice and Studentship

Practice implies repetition and consistency over a long period of time.

Yesterday, I said to my 9 AM yoga students, while they held a long Down Dog, “This might sound heretical and this is my opinion only but here’s the thing: Do you want to learn from a teacher who doesn’t have time for their own yoga practice?” Now, these guys are dedicated to their practice and we have a lot of trust between us, so I felt comfortable saying this to them. Often I say things out loud that really ought to be kept to myself, but this morning I opened my mouth and spoke. Today I’m still sitting with what I said because I feel that it could be widely misunderstood. I’ll do by best to shed a little more light on what I meant:

I completed my first yoga teacher training in 2012. I initially did yoga teacher training to further my own studies and delve deeper into the traditional teachings and practices of yoga. I never wanted to become a yoga teacher. That was not my idea of a “good time” (or my “dream job”). Standing in front of any number of people wearing stretch pants reciting Sanskrit is not within my natural comfort zone. I’m intrinsically a very shy person. I’ve learned to be outgoing, outspoken, and personable.

Looking back now, I remember that during my first yoga teacher training my teachers would use their lunch break to do their own asana practice. The training room was closed to students for an hour and a half so that our teachers could use the space for their own. We were not allowed back in the room until 30 minutes before class began.

I remember thinking, “Wow, that’s kinf od a lot of yoga.” What I didn’t know then, but what I do know now, is that teaching yoga is really different than doing your own yoga asana practice. In the seven years I’ve been teaching yoga, I’ve gone from one end of the pectrum—taking weekly yoga classes as a student and substitute yoga teacher, to the other extreme—not practicing at all because I was teaching over 10 classes a week, to finding my way someplace in the middle where I now teach yoga six hours a week and practice at least my own meditation and yoga asana every day for at least 5 to 30 minutes (some days longer). I take Sundays off.

From where I sit at 31-years-old with no children and no mortgage, and a hefty student loan debt plus a car payment, it’s my opinion that there’s hypocrisy in calling oneself a “yoga teacher” when one has no time for their own yoga. We all waste time in different ways. As teachers, how can we adequately offer space for other people to practice yoga and have no space or time for our own investigation of yoga?

How am I supposed to offer intelligent instruction for engaging the process of yoga if I am not actively engaged in this same process? How am I to lead others if I am not navigating the same terrain? How? When does formal practice get put on the back burner? If you’re a mother? If you’re caring for your elderly parents? If your spouse is ill? If you are ill? These are not questions aimed at a final answer. This is my own on-going exploration of what it means to be a yoga student, what it means to be a yoga teacher, and the necessity of formalized spiritual practice.

As a yoga student first and foremost I believe in formal practice. Sure, I could call a hike in nature my “yoga practice” for the day. I could use the sweet metaphor of washing dishes as my “yoga practice.” I would even say that being with my darling niece and nephew is a sort of yoga. Yes, all of these forms of play and practice could be yoga when we view the picture from a much broader perspective. And yet… what about formal practice? Do we save our formal practice for when we have the time? For weekend workshops? For retreats? For when we feel like it?

Ma Devaki, a Devotee and Attendant of Yoga Ramsuratkumar, an Indian Saint known to many as the God Child of Tiruvannamalai of South India said, “Being tired and being sick are not excuses not to practice.” Go figure. These are two prime examples of when I choose not to practice. And yet the invitation stands: how can I make formal practice of yoga a necessity and a priority? Something I can’t say “No” to. At some point, the necessity for formal practice far outweighs my excuses not to practice. When does one make the shift from wanting to create a formal practice, to actually doing it? How can I, as a yoga teacher, offer space for others to do the cultivate a formal practice?

The only way I’ve seen that is remotely effective is 1. To keep showing up, and 2. “Go within and scale the depths of your being from which your very life springs forth,” as Rilke instructed Franz Kappus in his Letters to a Young Poet. It is my wish for all practitioners of yoga is that we are students first. Studentship is the foundation from which all good teaching arises. Yes? Studentship elicits humility, curiosity, and dedication.

Yoga is a life-long process that implies experiencing some discomfort. It’s a path of evolution, and on that path, we ask the question, “What remains consistent?” Like my friend, Rachel used to ask me every time we got together for tea, “What’s steady on consistent in your life, Shinay?” As a 20-something, the answer was always hard to come by and I believed that if my life was not always constantly changing and new with a great drama to play out that there was something wrong. As a 30-something, steady and consistent is a quality I’m learning to love and invite more of into my life. I’m slow learner in this department but there’s a texture to life that I enjoy when I slow down and really get down to the business of formal practice.

I still get itchy from time to time wishing things would constantly change form, and yet—the moments that I look forward to are the early morning hours, before the day begins that are all my own, that I get to practice sitting still and then going up-side-down in headstand and shoulderstand. This is my formal practice. It’s all a process. When I was a new yoga teacher I didn’t practice at home, I went to class. Seven years into teaching I start with small 5-30 minute incrimants every day. Let’s see what the next seven years brings, shall we?

Just Write

As I sit on my couch to write in our dimly lit, snug one bedroom apartment with old, beige carpet and stained linoleum, the smell of lilies fills my nose and I pause to think about what might be useful to write. This is my aim, always, “To serve.” Often I don’t know how, I’m choked by fear, my mind tells me, “You’re not good enough, who do you think you are, what the heck?” and I am reminded of the first time I started a blog—I was 19 and went to Brazil for three months. Christina Sell suggested that I keep a blog. So I did. I trust most people until I don’t. She’s someone I continue to trust. It was a way my friends could follow along with what I was up to without inundating their e-mail inboxes. At first I felt afraid to write “out loud”—What can I say that will be useful and that people will enjoy? I had been instructed to, “Just write.” I started with the details. I wrote about my day, however uneventful. I told stories. And people actually read what I wrote, (other than my devoted mother, which), yes, surprised me! I kept writing.

In 2015 my writing changed. It became about marketing and sales as I forayed into being an entrepreneur in the health and wellness field. Whew! (My writing wasn’t bad, just different. I was unsatisfied.) My writing was strategic, and I thought in the language of “conversion rates,” and “opt-ins.” I wrote methodically, not organically. I forced it. I fell. As my dear Husband put it, “I was a little too aggressive.” Okay, he’s being nice here. I was extremely determined to make money at what I loved because that was what the culture was selling me. I trusted my mentor’s model, and I believed that I could “win” if I just pushed harder. So I pushed harder. My life came crashing down. I was trying so hard to make money doing what I loved, to make “it” happen. Dancing, reading, writing, teaching yoga, being outside, cooking food all become a platform for selling. Each yoga class I taught, every meal I prepared, I viewed through the lens of “Optimization” and “Capture to Sell.” I was not writing for the love of it anymore. I was writing content. I was not having fun. And I didn’t know it then. I was trying to make money and sell what I loved to other people.

Healing takes time. Discovery takes time. Re-learning takes, yup, you guessed it—time. I went through an incubation period. I slowed down. I went back to paper calendars. My laptop broke, I didn’t fix it. Through my efforts of trying so hard to connect with others I disconnected from me. What I’m learning on the path of the spirit is that we have to become fully ourselves first, before we can move along the path to serving others. Also, there are lessons we have to learn in life that are unavoidable, and sometimes those lessons are painful. However, as Patanjali says in Yoga Sutra II:26, Hayam duhkham anagatam, “The avoidable pain that is yet to come, can, and should, be avoided.” Through the practice of yoga, which requires steady effort and is not necessarily easy, we come face-to-face with ourselves. I’m grateful for the lessons and I try my very best to avoid the pain that can and should be avoided.

Today, I write to you on the eve of my 31 years on planet Earth. (Well, actually, my birthday is on November 12th, but at this age who’s counting). I sit here humbled, still naive, still wanting to serve, still wanting to make a difference in the world, but less aggressive in my approach (most days—I still get righteous and loud in defense of what I believe). This is a long story aimed at telling you why I write a blog, or write at all, or teach yoga, or do anything really—I “teach to learn,” as Bab Hari Das encouraged his students. He said, “I can teach you how to cook but I can’t eat for you.” I’m in the process of digesting a BIG meal that I received from one of my great yoga teachers, Bhavani Maki during the six weeks Jesse and I studied with her in Kauai. I’m re-learning what I love and how to write for fun. I thought I’d share this with you. Why? Because stories connect.

Werner Erhard said, “Relationship is a clearing for love to show up un.” Relationship, to me, is not hiding behind our hurt, not pushing our hurt onto others. Relationship is also not hiding behind a facade of “It’s all good,” or forcing our “know how,” or our “tips and tricks” onto others. I agree with Mr. Erhard that relationship is a clearing—it means turning toward that which is uncomfortable, facing what’s no longer working and “getting off it” as one of my teachers used to say—it means being spacious.

Today, as I talked to Jesse about the 9:00 AM yoga class I taught, my tone was a bit incredulous, “I had 18 people in the room! They just keep showing up,” I said. “Well, yeah!” He replied, a little exasperated but also smiling. “Shinay, this is what I’ve been telling you.” Okay, okay, I think to myself, When am I actually going to “get” this? Perhaps I just need to keep showing up. Perhaps I just need to do what I love and not try and convince anyone else of it’s worth (or my worth). And sometimes it’s not enough just to show up, to push, to sell, to cajole, to tell people what to do and how to do it—I have to do my own Work. This is true of writing and life and yoga. When I set out to write this letter, I wanted to tell you what I’ve learned, but instead, I told you a true story. I left out many details, which will come later, and I’ll leave you with this:

31 looks like a long way from understanding anything. And it’s a heck of a lot more fun when I get to do yoga and write about simply for the sake of loving to do both. With no hidden agenda. It’s getting dark now, and the sun is setting—golden, orange light along the tall, brittle grasses of the Arizona desert. I look up, I see a picture of my teacher’s face, I smile at him and nod. It feels good to be seen, it feels good to have written, even if no one reads my words. It feels okay to tall the truth, to not know some things, to fall down, and speak from the ground about the journey that got me there.

Hug the Midline

I’m inspired by a Badass Yogi, Chris Chavez, who taught a yoga class at Wanderlust in 2015. His theme was “Hug the midline.” It got me thinking about the necessity of returning Home, of coming back to our Center, of being and living from our own physical and spiritual space in a rooted, grounded way.

Chris Chavez encouraged his students, “You can be centered even in a room full of people.”

Here in America, we live in a culture that pulls us out of ourselves. We are bombarded by distraction (phone, computer, internet, television, food) and we are speeding up, going a million miles an hour.

What happens when we draw our attention and energy in, to the midline, to our heart, to our center?

When I was an eight year old and did kid’s yoga classes, I had a teacher who would refer to our midline as “A golden thread of light running from the sun down into the crown of our head to the tip of our tailbones and then down into the center/core of the earth.” She asked us to let our bodies “dangle” from this golden thread and to “sense our breath.” Wow! Pretty damn cool if you ask me!

Where is center? Where is your center? Do we understand where our center is?

When I say, “Hug the midline” in my yoga classes, my intention is to encourage my students to draw in, engage their muscles to stabilize their joints and to activate awareness in the Golgi tendon organ reflex (proprioceptor) of each muscle. What I see in my students’ bodies when I give this physical cue is alertness and vitality from within—everything in their body “wakes up” and they become more conscious of where their fingers and toes and tops of their heads are in space. It’s so inspiring. (Talk about the power of words!)

In my observation of bodies over many, many years of teaching (and taking) dance and yoga classes, what I see over and over again is that there has to be an awareness of the whole body in order to access center. When one part of my body is “sleeping” or inactive/flaccid, it’s much more difficult for awareness/energy/prana to move and flow properly. It’s like meditating shlumped over—this not only doesn’t feel good to the spine, it literally impinges the flow of energy. Same goes for the body doing anything, really.

How to “Hug the midline” on your yoga mat: Hug doesn’t mean squeeze. Hug is a gentle pressure inward. Hug means to embrace with loving affection. Think about it this way, in each pose, there’s an opportunity to engage muscle energy (work your muscles/effort)—with an inhale think “inner body bright” and on your exhale, maintain this quality of engaged fullness by hugging the midline. Then you remain stable, rooted, and grounded as you transition to the next pose.

The same applies for life off your yoga mat.

How to “Hug the midline” in your life: Remember, “hug” doesn’t mean strangle. Hugs are for wrapping up our loved ones (and ourselves) and often whispering “I love you” in their ear. Hug your midline means returning to your center, going back to basics, practicing as if your life depends on it and finding a firm foundation to build your house, body, life upon. This means daily habits that support life not diminish it. “Check yourself before you wreck yourself, fool.” Okay, okay, but really, when you get out of bed in the morning what’s your ritual? How do you return to yourself, your midline, your fundamentals of having a body?

Hug in, breath, place attention on your physical body, and relax your whole body. This is the first step in coming home.

Ron, a short story

From July 18, 2017

“Every time I leave your yoga class I have to adjust my rear view mirror because I’m two inches taller,” Ron said to me as he left my 9am Monday morning class.

I first met Ron when I was subbing for another teacher in the Yoga Basics Class. Ron came up to me after that class and said, “I really like the way you teach. I don’t want to just roll around on the floor anymore. I want to be challenged.” Ron is in his 70s or 80s (I’m not really sure even though I don’t think he’d mind if I asked him outright). “Can I come to your other other classes” he continued, “and will you help me even if I can’t do all the poses?”

I smiled, thrilled inside that he wanted to continue to deepen his practice, “Yes, of course!”

I’m so inspired by Ron’s commitment to keep learning and growing and challenging himself even at a rip “old” age. Even though he can’t do all the postures, and for the first month he came to my class he used a chair most of the time, his desire for learning new things and expanding his own sense of himself is what keeps him coming back.

I admire Ron for his willingness to engage the yogic principle of constant change even in his aging body.

After a month of him coming to my classes, Ron showed me the silver rings he wears around the middle finger of his right hand—it reads “Namaste” in Sanskrit. The divine light in me honors the divine light in you, which is the divine light inside us all.

He always thanks me when after each class. This is how I remember my students.

Update: August 14, 2017—Ron no longer uses a chair, he’s breathing easier in every posture, his balance has improved, he’s letting go of the stiffness in his upper back, and he’s still smiling when he leaves my class. “Namate.”

#happyyogateachers #yogateacherslovetheirstudents #loveyoga #yogaeverydamnday #yoga