yoga+music.
believe it or not it's actually quite a contentious issue. some yogis say its sacrilege and it takes away from the experience and from one's focus. others (including my teacher) say it complements yoga perfectly and takes your practice to a whole level.
I see both sides. and swing between the two points of view depending on my mood. (Gemini much?) Sometimes practising in silence, my mind's focus sharpens to one tiny, glinting point. Other times MC Yogi, Jason Mraz or Snatam Kaur have supercharged my asana with their powerful sentiment. I'm continually fascinated by the force with which music, melody and rhythm magnify every emotion. Simple words and ideas, so cliche when spoken, take on special powers when sung and played by true, soul-baring musicians. (case in point: the foo)
One of the challenges of practising outdoors is the ambient sound. Children playing, dogs barking, the occasional bird cawing. Should we disconnect from all these and retreat into a cave with our eyes closed like an ascetic? Is that the only way to true liberation? Tantra says no. Embrace what is. Embrace the distant sound of construction, the crying baby, the coo-ing pigeon. All these are part of the beauty of creation, and can be part of the beauty of your practice.
When I'm practising at home and faced with these kinds of distractions (cringe-worthy, off-pitch hokkien karaoke, anybody?) I first take a breath. Then I smile. Then I thank whoever or whatever is responsible for the distraction. Why thank them? Because they're giving me an opportunity to sharpen my focus, to keep my concentration despite the challenges. They're teaching me to be less dependent on silence, or on things going the way I want them to. They're teaching me to roll with the punches and accept whatever comes up, whenever it does. On or off the mat, things dont always go the way we want them to. My KTV-loving neighbour, or the screaming-metal sound of tractors help me to let go of needing things to go my way. And so once I've gotten over the initial feelings of annoyance (which are perfectly OK to have, as long as I don't let them overwhelm me) I thank all of them, opening to their grace, and bow forward in a humble uttanasana.
The other day, I decided I felt like a bit of music during my home practice. And began a fun, heart-opening session working my way up to wild thing. And then suddenly: a peal of thunder so loud I thought my house would split in two. Rain collapsed, exhausted, on our little island, coming down not in drops but in huge, heavy blankets. It was the type of torrential downpour that calls for gum boots and Paddington Bearish panama hats [Why oh why did I put them in storage?]. I was irritated. I could barely hear my music over the downpour! And Buena Vista Social Club was going so well with my playful backbendy sequence. "Tsk. Wah lau eh," I whined.
Then I remembered, and went back to first principle. I took a breath, and opened to the grace of the moment. And like a little tejase lightbulb, i knew what to do. Turning off the AC and muting the buena vista uncles, i pushed the windows open.
The rain roared like the crowd in a stadium. Thunder grumbled, and then randomly cracked like a whip. The palm fronds by my windows rustled. There's a word i love that describes the sound they were making: susurrous. I strained to listen to the leaves making their sssussssssurrousssssssss sound. What a staggering, beautiful song. What a fabulous, humbling soundtrack. Nature's very own OST.
If we're lucky, we'll be treated to one of these during Yoga In The Park. It's a whole other experience practising yoga in the midst of a storm from under the shelter of our yoga shala.
Because whatever side of the yoga+music debate you're on, you'd be hard-pressed not to agree on this: There is no better soundtrack to our yoga practice than the song of the storm.
Love, music & light,
S
Image by Joost Rooijmans Singapore via wikicommons
