Facing Upward

It is a given that those who regularly practice yoga will encounter poses that are particularly challenging. These poses are not necessarily challenging in and of themselves, but are – for one reason or another – difficult for this person to express. If one practices yoga long enough, one generally learns that those are usually the poses that are the most needed, and that – by working through the difficulties that the pose presents – one “works” through a parallel challenge in life. Yoga teaches many things, and flexibility of mind and spirit is one of them.

For many years, I hated the pose commonly known as Upward Facing Dog. This was incredibly unfortunate, as the yoga that I choose to practice incorporates Upward Dog after Upward Dog into a typical class. I might easily find myself in the pose more than 20 times an hour. Each time, I felt irritation rising in my consciousness. It seemed to match the speed with which pain rose into my lower back, and I would feel spasms of annoyance express themselves in my wrists. The position that my body was in – feet pressing into the ground, legs lifted off the floor, wrists pushing into the ground, back and neck arched – was nothing but uncomfortable. As I watched the instructor, waiting impatiently for the cue to leave this pose behind, I thought of nothing but my discomfort.

I was foolish. This pose would never go away, and I was choosing to suffer in it every time. It is an essential part of the Sun Salutation, which is incorporated into nearly every yoga class that I have ever attended and will ever attend. Still, I persisted in my mental belligerence. I did not explore the pose, but resisted it. And then – last year - I stopped resisting. I don’t know what prompted it, but I do know that – for the first time – I stopped thinking of what I did not like about the pose and instead allowed myself to feel the elements of the position that felt good. I dropped my shoulders, and felt my neck lengthen toward the sky. I pressed my hands firmly into the floor and pressed my chest even more firmly toward the front of the room. As I adjusted, I felt what the yogis describe as “an opening of the heart.” I suddenly felt light, and as I lifted my body up and forward, I felt my emotions lift to meet it – much as the pain had previously matched my mental state.

For months, Upward Dog was one of my favorite poses. Each time I was in it, it felt so soothing and uplifting that it became therapeutic. The sudden ease with which the pose came to me was almost confusing. I began to long for the pose, and to move eagerly into it during class, happily flowing through vinyasa after vinyasa.

As my practice evolved, other things evolved as well. Near the end of the year, Juliet – my dog – grew very ill. As her body weakened, she became unable to carry her own weight up the stairs after going outside. I began to carry her – not an easy feat, as her weight generally hovered around 70 lbs. She continued to weaken, and soon needed to be carried both up and down the stairs.

I feared losing her, but – even more – I feared failing her. I could not bear the thought of her life being anything less than all that it could have been, and I became obsessed with thoughts of “what I might have done differently,” or whether or not “she was happy.” She began to receive treats anytime she lifted her head, and her diet became primarily canned food – a luxury previously denied her to keep her at a “healthy weight” with “healthy teeth.” These long-term goals no longer applied, and I had lost my measurements of “good pet ownership.” I had endeavored to keep her healthy – above all else – and that was the one thing that I could no longer do.

One day, as we stood at the bottom of the stairs, Juliet stopped in front of my feet, waiting. I crouched down, as had become my habit, and settled her onto my knees. As I did so, I placed an arm underneath her chest and the other behind her back legs. I pushed my chest forward and into her body, and dropped my shoulders. As I tightened my back muscles, I straightened my legs and lifted Juliet into the air. Only then, as I maintained my posture and looked up the stairs toward the top, did I realize that I was duplicating the forward and upward motion of Upward Dog. At the same time I was – very literally – carrying my own dog upward, toward the safety of the home that she knew.

It seems odd that I would master this pose after six years, just in time for it to manifest itself in such a tangible and undeniable manner in my daily life. I had changed my perception of it – I allowed for the possibility that it was something other than what I had believed it to be – and it became so much more than a position. I considered this, and I considered the other beliefs and perceptions that I found challenging. My notion of what “happiness” is, for example… It would be impossible for Juliet to share the same idea. It is probable that dogs are incapable of even grasping a concept like “happiness.” This is what Juliet knew: She was hungry, and she was fed; she was tired, and she was given a bed; she needed to go outside, and she was carried out. Now she knew that she would be taken home, and she trusted in my arms to take her there.

Why was I struggling with the “pose” of “Juliet’s owner” in the vinyasa of my life? When I began the “class” with Juliet – when I accepted the role and adopted her into my life – it was with the understanding that this particular “pose” would come at the end. Yet I was resisting, I was questioning, I was trying to “be anywhere” but where I was. I was – once again – being belligerent.

Now, with Juliet in my arms, I lifted upward, step after step. With each footfall, I let the resistance slip away. This was my pose, and I would learn to embrace it. There would be discomfort, and there would be pain, but it was a part of the practice and would not last. I felt Juliet’s weight, and I felt my arms support it. I felt my back brace against it, and I felt my heart move forward and into it.