blog

The Handstand is an athlete’s pose arrived at by physical impetus and strength, and something of a tumbler’s sideshow, but its cousin, the Headstand, is a more elegant, enigmatic construction that reveals itself through controlled movement. The mystery and elegance of Headstand brings to my mind the Egyptian obelisk, a tall, tapering, four-sided stone pillar culminating in a point. In Ancient Egypt, the obelisk was used as statuary before a temple pylon (gateway) and also as a memorial to a king; it symbolized the sun god Ra, the most powerful of all the ancient Egyptian gods, and was also said to represent a petrified ray of the sun. (What an astonishing concept.) At the top of the obelisk sits the same structure that we see in colossal form in the pyramids. The American 20th Century artist, Barnett Newman, made use of both the obelisk and the pyramid in his monumental sculpture, Broken Obelisk (1963). Here we have an inverted obelisk and a pyramid touching points, a delicate and at the same time shattering conjunction (as suggested by the broken base of the obelisk, shorn off by the collision). There is something so futuristic about Newman’s obelisk/pyramid, and yet so ancient. It is almost as if time itself had been compressed between those two points and held there in stasis.

Which brings me back to Headstand . As we extend our legs to full length, our head supported on the floor by the forearms, we settle into the pose and become still. It is now that we seem to leave time behind. Upside down, there is a feeling of emptiness all around, as if the everyday objects that surround us and contain us have disappeared, and we are suspended in space and time. It is the equivalent of being in between the tip of the obelisk and the tip of the pyramid in Broken Obelisk.

Barnett Newman once said that his obelisk was concerned with life, and that he hoped he had transformed its tragic content into a glimpse of the sublime. We cannot be sure what he meant by the phrase “tragic content,” but I have a feeling he was alluding to the shortness of our lives in comparison with the longevity of the obelisk, which has survived thousands of years. But in Headstand we also most certainly receive “a glimpse of the sublime,” because, for the time that we are able to hold the pose, we are not subject to the governing laws of nature. We stand, upside down, at a point in time that is also outside time.

To reacquaint yourself with the steps to a perfect Headstand, please go here.

In yoga, Sankalpa is an intention, a purpose, a desire for change. It is a seed of hope that is drawn from the unconscious mind and nurtured until it germinates, which makes Sankalpa an ideal practice for the start of a new year. So it was a great pleasure for me to lead a full house at the Life Centre in Notting Hill on my second annual New Year’s Day Sankalpa workshop. We spent the first part of the workshop discussing our own unique Sankalpas, followed by an asana sequence in which we explored the first and second chakras (where our deepest unconscious impressions are stored). We continued with seated pranayama (breathing techniques) and a powerful Sankalpa meditation to bring to light our true desire and make it real in our lives. As the year develops, we will continue to remind ourselves of the unique intention that we each discovered during the workshop, nurturing the seed inwardly until it comes to fruition. The Sankalpa is quite different from a typical New Year’s resolution, which is usually about giving up something bad, or being better in some way. All very commendable, but I think we all know that most of us abandon our resolutions, not because we are weak or lack willpower, but because the desire for change of that kind was not strong in us in the first place. The power of the Sankalpa is twofold: it allows our intention or purpose to manifest itself without effort (unlike a resolution, which is a conscious aim), and it sidesteps willpower (the prerequisite of the resolution) by using the unconscious mind to select a desire for change that we really want. We can’t consciously force ourselves to change when it is really the unconscious, with its conflicts and biases, which governs our actions. My mentor, Alan Finger, likens the unconscious mind to a parrot: you can teach it to mimic what you say, but it will bite you as soon as you try to grasp it! The best we can hope for is to come to an understanding with the unconscious mind. The ISHTA meditations that we do around the Sankalpa penetrate the armour of the conscious mind to discover our true desire or goal hidden deep within the unconscious, and bring it naturally to light, without effort or struggle.

If you were unable to attend the Sankalpa workshop at the Life Centre, and would like to explore the occult aspect of your unconscious mind, with a view to freeing your latent self and discovering your true desires in life at this time, please contact me. I can design a special, personal programme of meditations and exercises that could, by revealing your inner self to you, help to change your life.

Christmas is a time for reflection and reflections. The flickering of the candlelight. The glow of the coals. The decorations on the tree. They all cast subtle lights and shadows across the room, which comes alive with the movement. What were God’s first words? “Let there be light.” Light is life, and life is impossible without light. All the great creation myths begin with light, and the great artists of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance painted the gold and shining haloes around the heads of the Virgin and Child with light-filled purpose. They tried to capture purity and faith through light, and they succeeded, which is why their paintings still seem so truthful to us, many centuries later.

Now find a mirror alive with Christmas light and sit or stand in front of it. Close your eyes and breathe in and out softly a few times—and then all the way out, to the very bottom. Now, without effort, let the breath return. When it has filled you up to the brim, imagine a halo of golden light around your head. Keep your eyes closed. Keep breathing. Allow the golden light to enter you and dissolve all the pent-up tension of this often stressful week before Christmas. Keep your eyes closed. Keep breathing. Four times in, four times out. And on the fifth, open your eyes and smile at yourself in the mirror. You are an angel.

There ought to be a palpable frisson at the thought of wandering freely with one’s debit card among the jewellery display cases in a large department store, but on my last visit to such a place I came away quite disenchanted. Contemporary jewellery seems to be split between two camps: the flashy, desperately overpriced, “brand name” jewellery, and the flashy, desperately over-designed, “young designer” jewellery. Neither appeals much to me. I do not want to look like the wife of a Russian oligarch (or his mistress), nor do I, when I walk into a room, want people to comment on my jewellery before they say hello to me. No! Bejewelled, I want to inspire in an onlooker the same kind of delirium that Juliet inspired in Romeo, the first time he saw her.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

Well, we can always hope. Anyway, I’ve found a jewellery designer who makes me feel like this all by myself! A designer who combines originality with quality and beauty with superb technical skill. Actually, I must thank my husband for the introduction, for it was he who discovered Brooke Gregson first (and bought me one of her pieces for my birthday, clever man).

Brooke is an LA lass, but she has been resident in London for some time now. She has two fabulous young daughters and a cosy studio on Ledbury Road in Notting Hill (at which you may inspect her wares, by appointment). One of the several distinguishing and distinctive features of Brooke’s art is her breadth of experience and study; she has worked in textile design and is both knowledgeable and passionate about art history, geology, metallurgy, astrology, and astronomy.

Rather than just extolling her skill and creativity, I decided to do a short interview with her. Please read on…

Brooke, most contemporary jewellery strikes me as being nothing more than shiny, insubstantial baubles more at home on a Christmas tree than a woman. Your jewellery, however, does not instantly pass from my mind as soon as I have stopped looking at it. There is real substance and presence in your work. (As a yogi, I very much admire body and spirit working in harmony.) Please tell us something about your creative ethos.

I think it is important to have an artistic approach to designing a piece, but I also keep in mind that jewellery is deeply personal and should allow the wearer to feel as if it is an extension of her being. I try to find the balance between my own strong influences from Art and Nature and the aesthetic and spiritual side of my clients. Therefore, I am very careful to source stones that have a deep, soulful energy as well as aesthetic appeal. And I always want to work with craftsmen who take the same passionate approach as I do to creating a piece of jewellery.

Another aspect of your work that I find very attractive is the way you successfully combine the historical with the contemporary. Speak to us about this, please.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a household that appreciated art, and I have in my academic career studied art history from the Middle Ages to Contemporary. When I decided to make the leap from the academic to the creative world and become a designer myself, my former studies in art history had a great influence on me, particularly the Art Deco period, and, specifically, the Bauhaus, and Wiener Werkstâtte movements, both of which were responsible for beautiful, soulful, and whimsical work with a simple grace. The jewellers of the Wiener Werkstâtte also recognised the beauty in “ordinary” stones and put them to use in fine jewellery. I am always looking for the juxtaposition of contrasting elements in my work—ancient and modern, refined and unrefined. I think good design always plays with the balance of two opposing elements.

Your choice of materials is very fresh and original. The warmth and deep lambency of your stones is striking. Tell us something of how you go about selecting gems, and how you decide their shapes and settings.

I am and always have been a lover of stone, which I think must be genetic, because my grandfather wanted to become a geologist and both my parents have been avid stone collectors. Finding the perfect stone is one of my favorite parts of the jewellery design process; a good stone can sometimes spark the best ideas. I truly feel that every stone has a soul and a distinct energy, and in some ways possesses a unique character, exactly as a person does. I use my intuition when I choose the perfect stone. I also like to pair coloured stones together that I think complement each other, just as certain people attract each other. Of course, I do think of the basic cut and clarity of the stone—but sometimes I throw those rules out of the window when I find a stone that may not be considered a “good” stone traditionally, but which has a strong character.

Which craftsmen do you work with creatively to bring an idea to the finished product?

Because I am a bit of a perfectionist, the people I work with must be accomplished experts in their field. I also look for a real bond and personal connection with everyone who is part of the actual construction of a piece. I look at the jewellery-making process in the same way as a band does when creating a song: all of the parts must be working together in harmony in order to create something that is timeless.

You are becoming more and more well known, and I applaud that. Tell us something about what you have planned for the future, please.

I have always approached the business organically, and luckily this has worked in my favor, because I have not tried to expand too quickly, and only when it felt right. I started out happy to be selling in one city and have gradually enlarged my operations; it’s very satisfying when your work is appreciated in other countries. Although I would like to see the business grow, it is crucial to me to keep the soul of the business intact, which is why I will only work with stores where the owners are as connected to their clients as I try to be with my own.

Thank you, Brooke. I love your work!

You can learn all about Brooke and her jewellery at www.brookegregson.com.

Katrina, what are some of the most common mistakes (or misalignments) you see in your students during backbends?

When executing a backbend, the aim is to find the “bend” through the thoracic spine, which requires a lot of flexibility in the upper back, as well as openness through the entire front of the body, and, in poses like Urdhva Dhanurasana (Wheel), the shoulders. Many students make the mistake of overarching through the lumbar spine (lower back), which causes the ligaments that support the spine to become slack and creates too much pressure at the center of the lumbar arch. The other common mistake is overarching in the cervical spine (neck) by throwing the head back, when the neck should be lengthening.

Which chakras are the most involved in backbends?

All of the chakras are involved in a backbend, because it requires each of the segments of the body to be properly aligned and in balance in order to be done correctly. However, the heart chakra (Anahata) is where the most movement occurs, and where you can find the most opening.

What are some of the common feelings/sensations your students report during backbends?

Anahata chakra is the emotional center, so during backbends students often experience emotional release (grief, anger, sadness). Once the emotional release occurs, it makes space for the experience of unconditional love (both towards the self and others).

How do you determine if students are experiencing healthy discomfort or potentially harmful pain?

Emotional discomfort in backbends can be quite healthy, because it helps to catalyze release, but we have to be careful with physical “discomfort,” because each person’s definition of discomfort is different. It is too easy, especially for beginners, to mistake pain for discomfort and push beyond their limits. Every posture should be as easeful as possible and move the student from dukha (variously defined as “lack of space,” “obstructed space”) to sukha (“freedom,” “spaciousness”).

Is the breath important in performing backbends safely and effectively?

In all asana the breath is key. In backbends we rely on the breath to take us safely into the posture, and also to make sure that there is the right amount of exertion (if one cannot breath smoothly and comfortably, then it is a sign to back off). We also use the breath to move us deeper into the pose (the inhalation can be used to explore depth, while the exhalation consolidates it) and to move prana (life force) efficiently through the body.

What is the connection between the breath, backbends, and the chakras?

The breath is the vital link between movement and posture, and helps us to free the body and create space. We use the breath to balance the various segments of the body, and it is through the body that we begin to access the chakras.

Can you give us an example of how you use the concept of the chakras as a teaching tool in one of your yoga classes?

I have often themed classes around the base chakra, Muladhara, which is related to the deep unconscious and also to one’s sense of stability and equilibrium. It is important with any personal work (especially when, like yoga, it is physical, mental, and spiritual) that the practitioner establish a strong foundation. From there—all growth is possible!

If you can imagine your body as a map of the London Underground system, then the marma points are the stations. In fact, there are 270 Tube stations and 107 marma points, but the analogy serves, because, like London’s Tube stations, marma points (“vital centres” or “subtle energy fields,” according to ayurvedic medicine) are located at crucial places around the body, at the junctions of the muscles, bones, and nerves.

My colleague, ISHTA senior teacher Michael Bartelle, who has recently arrived in London, is the only resident marma expert in the capital, as far as I am aware, which makes him a valuable person to know. Michael has been trained personally in marma point therapy by the co-founder of ISHTA Yoga, Yogiraj Alan Finger, who is commonly regarded as the maestro of marma in the West.

“Within your body lies a system of pressure points with the power to heal,” Michael tells me. “Ancient Indian healers discovered these points thousands of years ago, but until recently this extraordinary science was relatively unknown.” I think extraordinary is an appropriate word to describe this ancient art; it is unlike any other therapy I have ever experienced. It isn’t massage, but what is it, exactly? You might call it acupuncture without the needles.

“At the end of a marma point session,” Michael says, “people often tell me that they feel something akin to a high all over their body. The reason for this incredible rush of well-being is that the marmas are not only vital physical points where muscles, bones, ligaments, and tendons meet, they are also like invisible, miniature brains that govern the flow of energy throughout the subtle body. In fact, they are the junction points between your physical and energetic body.”

When a marma becomes clogged or blocked, it can cause symptoms ranging from muscular tightness to digestive, circulatory, or menstrual irregularities (to name but a few of the possible consequences). What is common to every case of blocked marmas, according to Michael, is some degree of misalignment with, or disconnection from, life; a feeling of being “out of tune.”

Marma point therapy bridges the gap between healing practices like Reiki, which are primarily energetic, and bodywork that is exclusively physical, like traditional Western massage. “The physical sensations make themselves immediately obvious during a session,” Michael continues. “Depending on the degree of tension you carry in certain points, the pressure it takes to release them can feel quite intense. Afterwards, however, the feeling of openness in your muscles will give you a marvellous sense of bodily ease. Additionally, the energetic component provides feelings of warmth and positivity that can stay with you for days to come.”

Another bonus (for some people) is that marma point therapy is performed while you are clothed, although a (massage) table is used and you will be asked to lie down. If you are interested in a session with Michael, please contact me through the website and I will make the arrangements.

The interest in marma point therapy has been so enthusiastic among ISHTA teachers and students in London that Michael and I have joined together to offer a Marma Teacher Training Programme—the first of its kind in the UK (based on the US version created and developed by Yogiraj Alan Finger). It will commence in January 2013. If you are interested in learning more about this unique art and the forthcoming training programme, please do contact me.

At work in Utkatasana (Chair Pose) is a typically yogic movement in which two parts of the body move in opposite directions; in this case, the knees bend and the sitting bones are drawn down, while the arms are extended upwards. This action produces a refreshing dynamic when held; we feel the pull upwards and downwards with the corresponding contraction of the centre. We are accustomed to “letting go” when we sit on a chair, but when we become the chair (in Utkatasana), there is no release, paradoxically, until we raise ourselves out of it by straightening the knees and releasing the arms. The legs, far from lolling idly as they tend to do when we are seated, are obliged to work, which gives the thighs a nice little jolt. The pose is intriguing for its contradictions: a chair that denies ease, a stationary object that gives the impression of movement. It almost invites a riddle, along the lines of an old children’s favourite. “When is a chair not a chair?” When it is Utkatasana!

There are two chairs in each of the three paintings by Vincent Van Gogh of his room in the yellow house at Arles in the South of France. The one I am looking at now is the 1889 version that hangs in the Musée d’Orsay. (Unfortunately, at this moment, I am only looking at the postcard.) It was a year before Van Gogh’s death; he had made a spiritual journey to this ancient city, seeking sanctuary and a peace of mind that was becoming ever more elusive. As we all know, some of the greatest paintings ever made are the legacy of this period of his life, in which the painter began to suffer great mental disarray. In spite of all his travails, Van Gogh never stopped working. Soon after his arrival, he cut off a part of his left ear, then he voluntarily committed himself to an asylum, and a year later shot himself in the chest (not even his departure was uncomplicated—it took the poor man more than a day to die).

The sad irony of these paintings of his room is that he was, according to letters to his brother Theo, trying to express “absolute repose” through colour. Other words he used to describe his intended effects were “tranquility” and “simplicity.” And yet, to me, nothing in this painting expresses any kind of simple restfulness. Certainly, a cursory look would seem to offer the viewer a pleasant, innocuous scene. Bed, table, chairs, pictures, and so on. But let your eyes loiter for a moment, and these quotidian items acquire a darker purpose. There is something not quite right with this room. The angles are unsettling; there is an atmosphere of restlessness. The Musée D’Orsay refers to this as “the instability of the perspective.” Yes, indeed, but instability of perspective as it relates to the painting, or as it relates to the temperament of Van Gogh? Because it seems to me that some of the components of this painting have a definite message to give the viewer—and not a comforting one, either. The bed looks ready to snap shut on the next person to lie down on it. The paintings above the bed (one of which is a self-portrait) rest at an angle to the wall, giving the impression that the faces in the pictures are inspecting (or judging) the person below. The window has a greenish-yellow tinge behind its almost closed casement, suggesting something murky just outside. The floor looks treacherous and shifting. The doors are set at strange angles. And the chairs—well, it may be my fancy, but it seems to me as if they are both staring at the bed in a menacing, predatory way. And their odd tilt contradicts the flat surface of the table, adding to the uneven look of the floor.

I imagine that Van Gogh was trying (desperately) to make the room look simple, normal, and unthreatening. But he could not control the strange developments going on inside his head, which worked their way out into this picture. It is one of the most unsettling (and unforgettable) rooms ever painted.

So when I assume Chair Pose, a fleeting vision of Van Gogh’s chairs comes to mind, and while I concentrate on maintaining the tension between my bent legs and my straight arms, while I draw down my seat and lengthen my back, directing my attention inwards (while looking outwards), I wonder what it would have been like to sit on Van Gogh’s chair of the mind, and whether it would have been as singular an experience as that of holding the pose we know as Utkatasana.

If you would like to reacquaint yourself with the steps to a perfect Utkatasana, visit
http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/493

The glory of polytheistic religions such as Hinduism is that we get to meet unimaginable deities who perform astonishing, superhuman feats; what is not so clear is how we are meant to interpret these feats. Virabhadra, the bellicose god whose name has been lent to Warrior Pose, was created by the Supreme Being, Shiva, to avenge an outrage by another god (it’s a long story, but, as is common with gods and revenge, it involves a slight. The gods are omnipotent—and sensitive).

Virabhadra grew from a lock of Shiva’s hair; he was as tall as the sky, as dark as storm clouds, and he had a thousand arms (a nightmare for his tailor, let alone his enemies). He also wore a garland of skulls and brandished an array of death-dealing weapons. Clearly, Shiva was not taking any chances; when he turned Virabhadra on his enemies, a great carnage ensued. You will be consoled, if not relieved, to hear that after the tremors of battle had died down, there was an appeal by the defeated gods to Brahma (another all-powerful deity) to reason with Shiva, which Brahma did, and this resulted in a general truce and the restoration of all to their former positions and states of health (Virabhadra had done a lot of bone-breaking). For his part, Virabhadra was rewarded by Shiva with a beautiful consort, also warlike and powerful; a real trophy wife, if ever there was one. (There is no reference extant as to how she dealt with all those arms.)

The wondrous Virabhadra may be new to many of us, but he has been worshipped for centuries in temples in the south of India, where there are many statues and paintings of him. Tamil Nadu’s answer to Superman, perhaps.

Three discrete poses make up Virabhadrasana, and each of these poses has a meaning and a message, which, taken together, serve to teach us something rather useful about strategy and action, themes very pertinent to the gods, who are always scheming, planning, and acting (out).

The first pose in the triad, known as Warrior I, involves a forward-facing stance, a wide-legged lunge with the back foot anchored to the ground, and a thrusting of the arms upwards to the sky; here, the pose is held. It feels like the first stage of something more (and it is), but the beauty of Warrior I is that it is both an end in itself and a prelude; we use this pose to consider, to prepare, and to gather our forces. It’s not an easy pose, but correct form rewards the student with a feeling of confidence and readiness.

In Warrior II, the foundation we erected in Warrior I is augmented by turning the torso to the side while continuing to look forward, and fully extending our arms to front and back; in this pose, some of the underlying tension of Warrior I is released, and we settle into our wide-legged stance with a sense of anticipation. We direct our gaze forward along the outstretched front arm as if focussing on a distant object, which we are: it is our target, our aim, our goal. Whatever we want that to be.

The final part of this trinity brings us to the climactic moment, the culmination of our preparation (Warrior I) and our concentration (Warrior II); in Warrior III we take to the air (literally) from the lunge position by straightening one leg and raising and extending the other backwards; at the same time we lift the torso and extend both arms in front. The final picture (if we could remove the leg that holds us up without collapsing) looks like someone or something in free flight. We hold this position and then come back to a lunge before finishing in standing position.

If we were to set down photographs of Warriors I,II, and III on the desk in front of us, what would we see? Warrior I: an archer’s bow bending and the string being drawn back; Warrior II: the archer taking aim; Warrior III: the arrow flying towards the target. But the genius of Virabhadrasana is that it replicates the three stages of archery (drawing, aiming, and firing) without the weapon itself. It is war without battle, victory without defeat. Perhaps that was Lord Shiva’s message when he restored the fallen gods to their places.

Virabhadrasana is a lesson in learning. To succeed at what we want to do, we must become an integral part of the process. We must fight without weapons, because the only enemy is ourselves.

•

If you would like to reacquaint yourself with the steps to a perfect Virabhadrasana, visit

Warrior I http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/1708

Warrior II http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/495

Warrior III http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/941/

I remember sitting cross-legged when I was a child, playing with my dolls, intently discussing nonsense with them. I remember sitting cross-legged as an adolescent, talking excitedly with my friend about the holidays, the things we planned to do. And later (much later), I remember sitting cross-legged on the grass opposite my lover, our knees touching, the sun shining, holding his hands and talking about our future together. Did it ever come true? That is not so important. But what is–what was and always, I hope, will be–is the sense of anticipation that I associate with sitting cross-legged; sitting like this makes me think that I am about to embark on something new and exciting.

Isn’t it strange that we rarely sit cross-legged once we are adults? Perhaps because it reminds us too much of childhood (which is its attraction for me). One reason I love meditation is that it gives me the opportunity to sit in Sukhasana, cross-legged. Meditation is an activity I approach with the same sense of anticipation that I recall from my younger years. Something is about to happen–something exciting.

When we sit cross-legged, we open ourselves up like the covers of a book, and our spine stands straight like the spine of a book. We open up to meditate and in turn meditation opens us up. We are children again, freed of our adult selves. Once more, we are full of innocent longing for the future, eager for everything new.

As we grow older, anticipation can so easily turn to apathy. Our airiness may become dullness, our eagerness may pale to indifference. The act of sitting cross-legged in meditation prepares me to become myself once more. I become attentive to my future by remembering who I once was, and how meditation can change me (as it has been doing over time) into the person I have always wanted to be.

_

If you would like to reacquaint yourself with the steps to a perfect Sukhasana, visit

http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/2481

The tree grows and grows, and then it stops. How does it know when the time is right? I am not a botanist, and I am sure there is a scientific explanation, but I prefer to imagine that it is an instinct at work, some cosmic awareness that tells the tree when to call a halt to its growth.

When I look at a forest from afar, its beauty thrills and awes me, especially when the forest stands on a grassy plain or a mountainside. Especially an oak forest. There is a volume and a presence in an oak forest that makes it seem so potent, so alive, as if it might start moving across the landscape. And yet the forest never moves (except in Macbeth). It holds its place. It instinctively knows the limit of its expansion.

My question is this: what does the tree know that we do not? What inherent awareness does it have about its boundaries and limits that is denied us at birth and that we can only learn from hard-won experience? A child maps her boundaries and limits by blundering up against them: accidents with objects, confrontations with parents. When the child reaches adulthood a whole new set of rules must be learned, and before they are, there are many slips and mishaps on the way. We learn our limits from clashes with others. We must undergo awkwardness, confrontation, and humiliation before we finally admit to ourselves where our limits lie.

Yoga, with its emphasis on holding the pose, with its tendency to self-restraint, contemplation, and inwardness, can help us to affirm our boundaries for ourselves, and not have them imposed on us by others. What the tree knows instinctively, Tree Pose can help us learn by cultivating our spatial awareness and honing our aptitude for mental and physical balance.

In the pose, one foot is solidly placed on the ground; the other is drawn up the inside of the standing leg, toes facing down. The standing foot, pelvis, shoulders, and head are vertically aligned. Hands can be extended above the head, separated or with palms touching. The position is held for as long as is comfortable. While gazing at a point helps with balance, you can practice your inward gaze by keeping the eyes closed.

Tree pose teaches us to be aware of the space we inhabit, and how we stand in relation to those around us and our environment. If we can learn this lesson for ourselves, we may not have to learn it in a starker way from others.

ʘ

If you would like to reacquaint yourself with the steps to a perfect Vrksasana, visit http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/496