dare I call myself an ashtangi?

I’ve been really getting into my yoga. Specifically, the primary series of Ashtanga yoga as taught by the late Shri K. Pattabhi Jois. Five or six days a week I’ve been on my yoga mat, working my way through this demanding series of postures, sweating, breathing—

I know, right? I can hardly believe it, either.

The tradition is six days a week, Saturday’s off, but sometimes my kids intervene and I just have to go with it. Thus the five-or-six. It’s not the most focused of practices, what with small people running around, the tv probably on, and the interruptions, oh my god the interruptions, but I figure, better to get half the series in before the kids get back from Mexico (i.e. the mulch pile), than to practice no yoga at all.

I’ve talked a little about yoga practice with kids before.

Maybe this is all prep for when I’m really able to have a yoga practice.

But here’s the thing. I have no teacher. No shala (shala: a place where they teach ashtanga). There is a gal in a neighboring city that has studied with someone who is authorized, but it’s the next city. I can’t be driving to another city for a yoga class. Who is going to watch the kids? Which means I am on my own, me and my dvds and books, me and the Cybershala of ahstanga blogs and youtube vids. There is such an incredible wealth of information out there! People sharing what they know is a beautiful thing. I mean, such a study of yoga would not have have been possible twenty, even ten, years ago. That’s cool.

(For those of you who don’t know about the whole ‘authorized’ thing: Jois, and now his grandson Sharath, have given certain people who have studied enough with them permission to teach. There are only a few hundred of these people in the world, so, unless you live in a big city, chances are the person in your area teaching ashtanga is not certified/authorized/whathaveyou. But they may have studied with someone who has. Ashtanga yoga suffers a bit from a ‘how pure is your yoga pedigree’ thing, a ‘have you been to Mysore?’ thing, Mysore being the city where the late Jois, and now Sharath, teach. A kind of Holy City for dedicated ashtangis.)

So here I am with no authorized nothing, doing my own thing, flailing around on my mat every day. Did I mention how strong the admonishment NOT to practice ashtanga without a teacher is in all these books and dvds and classes? In fact, the traditional way to be taught ashtanga is for your teacher to ‘give’ you the poses in the series, one at a time. You go no further in the series than your teacher says you should, until such a time comes when they give you the next pose. When you can do that one, you get the next one. People can get stopped at a certain pose for months. Which sounds crazy, but honestly, some of these poses are nuts, put-your-leg-behing-your-head nuts, and having a teacher might be a really good way NOT to get injured.

But I don’t have that option. I wish I had that option. I wish I had some world class ashtangi in my area. I’d be all over that. Except for the giving of the poses thing. I’d probably cheat. Okay, I’d definitely cheat. But having access to a teacher and making the choice to cheat—that would be awesome!

All moot. No teacher, no shala. I’ve been getting on my mat feeling like some kind of yoga out-law.

Still, I’m showing up, five or six days a week, doing my yoga. As Jois famously said, “Ashtanga is 1% theory, 99% practice.” I’m doing the practice. Does that make me an ashtangi?

I’m not really asking. That is, I’m not asking anyone out in the blogosphere to give me permission to do this ashtanga stuff (obviously, since I’m already doing it), but it’s an interesting question. If I don’t do it in the traditional way, maybe I can’t claim the traditional word. Only fair, right?

I’m such a scoff-law. And I’ve ‘given’ myself the whole dang series! Don’t tell.

I wasn’t very conscious of my in-the-closet-ashtangi feelings until I stumbled upon a great blog where this guy, Grimmly, a bloke from London, is similarly doing ashtanga at home, learning from dvds and books and youtube, and has gone quite far with it. From can’t-touch-ones-toes to full Kapotasana in a couple of years, wow!

(Here is Grimmly in Kapotasana. Mind boggling isn’t it?)

And he got there on his own. I’m telling you, he’s an inspiration.

So, thanks to Grimmly, I’m coming out.

I’ve never really liked the phrase stay-at-home-mom, even though I am one.

But I kind of like the phrase stay-at-home ashtangi.