Unfolding

Here's an understatement: Second Series opens the back.

Of course, this opening doesn't just start with Second Series; it starts with the first Downward Dog, the first Upward Dog. As the body flows through the standing poses, it warms and unfolds the spine, stretches and curls and lengthens the back, and fires up Uddiyana and Mula bandhas so that the front of the torso can support and lengthen along with the spine. The shoulders soften, the shoulder blades fall so that the chest can open, freeing the heart and bringing that liquid extension all the way up to the cervical spine. Every inhale lifts out of the floor of the pelvis, releases the hips and the top of the hamstrings, every exhale lengthens and deepens, softening what needs to let go while charging those muscles that need to counter the lengthening. And all the while, the brain sinks down into the heart — it wants to study and comment and question, but the mind behind the mind gently coaxes it downward.

And then Second Series seems to take all of that warming and liberating of the spine into an even deeper place of extension and opening. The intense twist of Pashasana, the reaching up out of the root of the body in Krounchasana, and then the gradual mind-blowing opening of Shalabasana, Bhekasana, Danurasana and Parsva Danurasana, Ustrasana, Laghu Vajrasana, and Kapotasana...

By the time Kapotasana comes, the spine is long and open and curvy. The heartshines, the shoulders are soft, the legs are strong. The mind is steady.

Or, at least, this is how it is supposed to happen. I am beginning to see it such that I can write about it, but make no mistake — for me, by the time Kapotasana comes my spine is open and vulnerable, curvy and cautious. Still the brain says to me as I curl backward, "Oh, man...I don't know. Are you sure? Wow, this is painful in my lower back. Engage the legs, reach into the earth. I mean, am I really going to make that writing deadline? Lift, Rebecca, liiiiiiift. Do we have food for dinner tonight? Is that new car seat I just purchased going to save my daughter if we get into an accident? Open the chest... And why didn't I break up with that guy I dated in college sooooo much sooner?" Sssshhhhh, breathe.....

And, lo, there is a light. I have been using blocks in Kapotasana for the last few weeks, and it has been a savior in what has been a scary, chaotic, painful pose. Now, with two blocks, then with one, and then with none, it is sort of like lowering down slowly into an abyss, rather than bungee-jumping in. And, to be even more specific, I use cork blocks because curling back to see the soft tan material of cork is more calming for me than seeing dark blue or purple foam. That works better for me, for now. The back is slowly opening, the chest is slowing opening, the fear has lessened, and even when I grab my toes, I can find a bit more breath and flexibility in the spine to lift, curl more, and take the sides of my feet.

And, today...I encountered something brand new. In the last few months I have come up out of Kapotasana and hurried to escape the stiffness than awaits me when I try to unbend out of the backbend. The back is bent so far (for me) that it almost feels like it will stick there, and there is some oh-my-gosh (perhaps with an expletive thrown in) sensation. Escaping the stiffness means taking one breath, getting my rickety body up to bring the carpet back over my mat, hustling down to my knees to vinyasa, and then trying to force myself toward Supta Vajrasana. Escaping has meant trying to keep my mind from sitting in that stiffness and losing faith that I can keep going in the Series. It has also meant trying not to appear "lazy" in the eyes of my teacher; I have feared that taking too much time between poses will make me seem like I am not working hard.

I see the honor in trying to do it this way.

This morning, however, after Kapotasana, which my teacher helped me to get even farther into, I slowly rose, uncurled the spine, and had an unexpected instinct to wait for several breaths for the unfolding to happen on its own. I will try to explain what happened: something like hot and cold liquid down the spine, mixed with light, a melting. The heart was easy and completely clear. And the mind plummeted. I thought I would cry.

I did not cry (out of modesty).

I am sure that it was only the edge of the potential of what one can feel in this pose, and I am even more sure that in trying to keep my mind away from the post-Kapotasana intensity I have been missing the point. I saw if only briefly that I could be present in that unfolding even while keeping the mind at bay. It was also another step toward owning the practice and my time in it — pause, be, breathe, feel, wait, listen. There is awe in those spaces if we allow ourselves to sit there.

It occurs to me that those small spaces of mindful unfolding are asanas of their own.