Holy Bones, Part III · 3 August 2007

This past April first, I picked a water bottle off the floor and felt a rung fall out of the tensegrity sculpture that is the low back. A shot of tension, direct to the left quadratus lumborum. Ping.

    (Interpretive interlude courtesy a teacher-friend.)

>> April Fools of all days. Hmm. the Fool is the 0
>> key in the Tarot Arcana. It is connected with
>> revolution, genius and sudden and unexpected
>> change.

For months I’d been doing a practice that ended at Durvasasana and then went straight to the calf or knee-grab in the backbending scene. Might’ve had something to do with it.

      (Interpretive interlude courtesy wikipedia)

“Durvasa is an ancient sage, who was known for his short temper. Maledictions or curses he gave in his rage… ruined many lives. Hence, wherever he went, he received great reverence from humans and Gods alike.”

Through the first of June, everything was chaos and tension. Insanity. The Q-L made a fist and just wouldn’t let go, the kidney beneath (according to my masseuse) became crazy-inflamed, and a second fistful of tension coalesced and stalked all over the place, from the erector spinae to the psoas. It spent two weeks high under the right shoulderblade, for no good reason at all. I practiced first series for a month, negotiating with the tension, as my spine turned into a cartoon of a piano keyboard dropped off a cliff. In May, I edged back into second, and in June with the storm mostly pacified I broke down and got some bodywork. One brilliant session of acupuncture, and then a cycle with my chiropractor, who moved the L-4 and compensating T-5 about two miles back to center from opposing directions.

I got back into the full program, and that’s when I could see clearly that the foundation was off. I don’t know when the movement took place, but the sacrum had somehow shifted toward the back of my body. And it was tending to spiral to the left, which left the right side of my body even more stable than usual, and the left confused.

     (Insert your preferred interpretive interlude here.)

UHPadangusthasana is half rock, half jell-o sculpture. This is the case even when the pelvis appears aligned, in that the crests of the ilium are balanced. There is a little piece of pure pain, the size of a lemonhead, resting in the inner left edge of the sacrum itself, maybe just alongside on of the false vertebrae. This isn’t in any of the S-I joints, I don’t think, but rather just sitting there sucking on the edge of my halfway-evolved ancestral tailbone. I don’t feel it when I bend forward or back, but rather when I stand on my feet, purposely bear down hard into the ground, and go looking for sensation. It hurts a lot, but only on command like this. Bizarre.

As a side note, it might useful for one or two people if I wrote about the difference, for a woman, between bearing down in the pelvis and pulling in and up with the pelvic floor. A friend and teacher put this into words for me last week, pointing out that a woman’s pelvis will separate (SI trouble, anyone?) if she bears down into it, and that lightness and lift are found when she does the opposite. I’ll come back to this later if anyone asks.

Meanwhile, the lumbar spine and the whole pelvic complex, really, have restructured around the shifted sacrum. It’s a new body in this sense, and I’m not sure how to operate it. In bending my back, it doesn’t hurt (and the lemonhead of pain doesn’t light up): it simply doesn’t move. (By ashtanga standards, that is.) Before April, dropping back into a backbend with the feet parallel beneath the hips felt normal, and nice. It was about working the rotation of the thighs and the energy in the balls and arches of the feet. Now, the same movement feels like a drama, mostly because the low back does not participate the way it once did. Aah, she went off to college and forgot all about me and never writes home. In kapotasana, whereas as going straight into the ankles and walking to the calves was once the protocol, I now drop to the heels and leave it there: this clarifies that the last 3-4 inches were previously coming all from the lumbar spine rather than the thoracic. So maybe leaving kapo at the heels from now on is a good idea no matter if realignment happens or not.

In any case, the recent drama and fear around backbending are obvious to anyone observing. I am, they tell me, a transparent girl. A month or so ago I started facing up to the closing backbending sequence, the first time with another teacher. When I hit the floor about a mile from my feet on the last dip and walked in no more than a palm’s length, she was perplexed. I came up and she asked about pain. “No,” I said, “It just doesn’t move.”

Well, that’s where you start. We kept at it, mostly because she kept me honest. The main teacher returned and I continued to face up to the back body, even though I was not enjoying it and I rarely do anything I don’t enjoy (shallow owl). God he gave me a serious look those first few days, but after a bit we re-found the lightness there.

Telegram to the sacrum: come back home, will you?

Well, the sacrum started talking back. I have always avoided any kind of snap in the S1-L5 joint, envisioning a new line of bone dust shaved off my skeleton, and a backbend or three subtracted from my lifetime, with each pop. But the first few cracks of the sacrum this time around were phenomenal, and as my teacher predicted I actually came not only to accept, but to expect, the snap. The first one was on a Monday around the solstice, and instead of the usual electric shock it hit me like a sedative. I drove home in a stupor. The next couple of weeks the sacrum went through its chatty toddler phase, moving around and drawing attention to itself all day. These days, S1-L5 sounds every few days, quietly.

But still, it hasn’t really shifted. Or, it has and it hasn’t. Maybe it’s taking the plate-techtonics route and I have to wait a few more eras for observable change. I don’t think I’ll get the satisfaction of a dramatic recovery on this one.

Last week in jest I told the Editor—scientist, materialist, de-facto atheist that he is—the list of indications of a misalignment in the first and second chakras. Because the thing is, I’ve had some utterly bizarre hangups this summer, mostly having to do with family bullshit and dissatisfaction with the shape and size of the investment portfolio, and various annoyances with our apartment. All things that never get to me. The next day, in just and yet dead serious, the Editor asked me to do whatever it takes to realign "the pelvis.”

Sometimes it’s the most mundane, practical experience that makes you a little bit of a believer in the interpretive side.

Posted by (0v0)        
Categories: arbitrage , astanga yoga , esoteric shit , evolution , having a body , integration

Comment

1. you have a level of awareness and understanding of your body that I am light years away from – I’m just starting to grasp the concept of the “core,” but do you ever go for the non-interperative view (i.e. I wonder if I f’ed up my back doing yoga)?

   you’re quite brave. if I felt that way i’d be crying and babying the sacrum!

   Posted by: cody p · Aug 3, 07:52 AM · #

2. I love the Editor’s injunction.

   Interesting question, whether sticking with the heels in kapo is the way to go once recovery is complete. I’ll be happy to hear more on that notion as time goes by. I always wonder what motivates us to go on, to push past (the toes in my case, the heels in yours). I always have the feeling that I’m looking for something with/through practice, and it’s not necessarily mental, emotional, physical, or even spiritual. Weird. Like climbing a mountain just because it’s there.

   So about the flexy sacrum. I’ve been playing with rotating my thighs internally during the prasaritas — resulting in a distinct flex of the sacrum. Feels really interesting, but now I wonder if I’m on thin ice…

   Posted by: karen · Aug 3, 12:13 PM · #

3. Beautiful post. And I second Cody’s sentiments. Maybe all it wanted was some national (international even!) publicity on the ol’ W^3! Maybe now that it (he… she… what kind of gender should we assign the sacrum?) has garnished some of that glitz and glam that is attention, it’ll shrink away and wallow in it’s satisfaction. Here’s hoping, my friend!

   You know it’s strange. You said once in an email that perhaps you and I have similar bodies when it comes to this practice. And I think perhaps you are right. I’m having a similar (although very subtle) shifting on that same left side. Just this weird little clicking from time to time. But it’s always the left side with me.

   K, as far as I know, at least from the Tim Miller workshop and my own experience, the thighs do rotate inward in the prasaritas. Although I suppose it could be fragile ground if one were to over-rotate.

   Posted by: Jenna · Aug 3, 02:50 PM · #

4. Any and all weirdnesses I’ve had — blown out knee from lifting, torn rotator cuff from climbing — are on the left side. My tattoos are all on the left, too — except the most recent, which is the only one since starting yoga, and which is in the middle, so perhaps more balanced somehow. My sacrum, when bothersome, always is painful on the left side. All of this just begs for interpretation. ;-)

   Yes, Jenna, I may be over-rotating. I have always done a milder inner rotation, but lately have found it amusing to press into it even more for some reason. I guess just because I can.

   Is “just because I can” part of yoga?

   Posted by: karen · Aug 4, 12:33 AM · #

5. Is “because I can” part of yoga?

   Is lifting to handstand between Navasanas part of yoga?

   (Yes.)

   However: here are some words often attributed to Chuck Miller: “I wish he had taught me that, yes, you can go too far in a posture.”

   I love some deep internal rotation in the prasaritas, but…. Sometimes in a moment of superindulgence I’ve had a flash of myself in a Heironomous Bosch painting, inverted with a sprig of daisies sprouting out of my ass. (Have spent a little too much time in the basement of the Prado.) Picturing this is a great way to fall out of the pose and move on.

   I’ve been taught to look for energetic counter-actions throughout the practice, and in PP, am sometimes told to firm the outer upper hips in response to sacral nutation. FWIW. However, the action I like far better here (perhaps applicable to a minority) is to bring the uppermost tips of the sit bones together. This enlivens the pelvic floor in a unique way and usually prevents the flowers from popping up.

   Posted by: (0v0) · Aug 4, 09:39 AM · #

6. CP, I wanted to answer yes to your question but then thought it over.

   I don’t think there’s a close relationship between what poses look like and subtle body awareness. Any idiot can do yoga poses. If her body is naturally flexible, she might not even have the opportunity to feel it much at all in postures that bring others to tears, to god, or at least to a deeper understanding of their own anatomy.

   That said, my mind has learned this practice apace with my body, in that my proprioception has sort of had to become sharper and deeper. This happens both through the learning how to move, and through learning to isolate and follow internal sensations. I didn’t exactly know I had a sacrum until eka pada sirsasana pained the SI joints.

   I have a suspicion that, while the body may break down, the awareness thereof may not. As many different people have tried to argue, it is difficult for consciousness to un-develop. If this is true of the particular consciousness that emerges in asana practice, old age might be excruciating.

   Which raises a question. Body awareness—what’s it good for? I think I’ll post something about that.

   One note. I want to distinguish between explanations that are interpretive and those that are detailed. Interpretive shifts everything laterally to some mythic, metaphorical place, of yin and yang, chakras, tarot, whatever. But it’s also possible to carry the inquiry into body sensations to deeper and deeper levels of detail.

   What sounds like woo-woo interpretation to many (e.g. “feel your moola bandha”) might for another be a matter of finding a deeper level of concrete, physical detail. There’s a brilliant teacher in Santa Monica named Jasmine Lieb. At times she teaches large, old people who can barely move. Puts them on their backs for 90 minutes and has them do micromovements and breathwork until they find the pelvic floor. Ashtangis would cringe to see such esoterica be taught to those who will never touch their feet. She packs the house and is a one-of-a-kind healer.

   The subtle body has a lot of interpretive language attached to it, but I would argue that it exists (to use the language of anatomy) deep to the gross body, not just lateral to it.

   Posted by: (0v0) · Aug 4, 09:57 AM · #

7. when you said that it is difficult for consciousness to un-develop, i wonder if that would include sensations of pain. i think of all the pain that i tend to forget as soon as i am removed from it. my first thought is of child-birth. there is absolutely nothing in my daily life that comes even close to this. when i got around to baby #2, i thought labor pain could not possibly be that bad and that this time i knew what i was going into and would be able to “control” it. not so much. i was again bowled over by how the pain was so much larger than me. but even as i write this, i can’t really remember it, and again i feel like if i chose to do it again it wouldn’t be that bad (isn’t that the definition of insanity?).
   also occassionally i will be remined of different ashtanga pains. either the pain of things opening or pain of injury (usually when i re-injur), and i am always surprised by the memory or the actual recurrance of the pain. it is as though once the pain is gone, it was never there. i feel like it must have happened to another person. is this wierd?

   Posted by: cranky housefrau · Aug 4, 08:45 PM · #

8. I don’t think that’s at all weird, Tova. Same thing happens to me. I like to think that if I’m in the moment, I feel pain when there is pain and when it is gone, it’s gone. A handy thing, when it comes to stuff like labor and not obsessing on past pain. Not so helpful if it means slamming your fingers in a drawer (or dating inappropriate partners) because you are not learning those lessons.

   (0v0), I am curious about this paragraph:

   “I have a suspicion that, while the body may break down, the awareness thereof may not. As many different people have tried to argue, it is difficult for consciousness to un-develop. If this is true of the particular consciousness that emerges in asana practice, old age might be excruciating.”

   Will you say more? Why would the particular consciousness of asana practice make old age excruciating?

   Posted by: karen · Aug 5, 12:18 AM · #

9. Yes, I tend to leave a lot of thought process out of what gets written down.

   What I was thinking there is that most people would not know the difference if they had a shifted sacrum. But in my case, this so-called ailment has been the source of a lot of physical and emotional irritation. I could be placing my awareness elsewhere, some place where it would be peaceful or productive, but because of the way I’ve trained it, I’m intimately aware of my sacrum. This is excellent, in that I’ve been given an obstacle with which to make peace and therefore learn some equanimity. And maybe obstactles would come into your awareness regardless of where you placed it. Maybe it’s all the same.

   But still. I think a lot about my grandmother. She’s 83 and has spent the last year in pain. It’s so visible on her face when she’s suffering (she says nothing), and it’s also evident that a lot of the time she’s able to place her attention elsewhere—in her memories, in the air outside, in other people. Most of the time when I imagine being her, my mind goes directly to the pain in her hip and stays there (even though it’s a somewhat a joke to pretend I can truly empathize with her). That would be pretty excruciating to live with all day long.

   Posted by: (0v0) · Aug 5, 04:43 AM · #

10. We learn to live with more and more pain, perhaps? To keep that from sounding too dire, we also learn to feel joy more intensely. Or we can. Interesting thought. Perhaps everyone moderates their pain/pleasure balance (or imbalance) according to their personality/karma/inclination?

    None of that to gloss over your grandmother’s pain.

    Posted by: karen · Aug 5, 06:22 AM · #

11. I think that’s probably true.

    Also, our subjectivities are probably in just as much flux as our physical bodies, so attributing my own mind-body relationship to a radically different body— that of my others-centered, wise gradmother—might not make a lot of sense.

    A question all of this opens is whether, and to what degree, physical pain hinders (or promotes?) a unification of mind and body. It might be harder to believe “I am not my body” under conditions of extreme physical suffering. (By the same token, when emotional suffering or delight is so intense that it takes over the body—emotions are somatic, after all—the “I am not my body” line can be difficult to sustain.)

    Posted by: (0v0) · Aug 5, 07:24 AM · #

12. I learned a lot about not being my body through migraines. And you are absolutely right: keeping perspective during emotional pleasure or pain is significantly more difficult. Though always a bit easier with the pain, I’m thinking (only in regard to my own experience). That, too, perhaps different for each individual.

    Posted by: karen · Aug 5, 12:42 PM · #

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