A note on language: it seems only right to comment on language in a piece about language. This piece contains strong language, both quoted and mine. I tend to believe that “bad” words are those aimed at people with the goal of putting them down (not exclamations of celebration, frustration, or awe). However, everyone’s experience with language is different, and I want to be mindful of values and connotation for everyone. All of which to say: if strong language isn’t for you, this might be a post you’d prefer to skip, or just scroll down to the “Playing with Language” section to try out a practice that doesn’t involve any swearing.
What Belongs Together?
I think a lot about the connection between words and yoga (especially recently). In a lot of ways, words can feel like the antithesis of yoga’s focus on feelings/sensations/intuition. My normal wielding of words feels like a hindrance, like it doesn’t quite belong in this practice, even though the practice of yoga is as significant to my life as the practices of writing and conversation.
Once in a while, though, something happens that enables integration of the word and yoga parts of my brain. I have one teacher who uses quotes throughout longer holds, and that helps. Another teacher whose gift with guided meditation is profound. And another who, though I don’t practice with her as often, never fails to give me a new metaphor for releasing. And yet another, who recently introduced a familiar posture in a way that made me see it completely differently. It started something like this:
“Practice bridge because we will need strong legs [for hiking] tomorrow; because it opens up your heart, your front body; because it lengthens the back of your neck.”
I’ve done bridge hundreds of times in at least ten variations, and I love most of them. The listing of reasons and benefits in this familiar pose (especially under the stars in a dark sky reserve, which didn’t hurt) felt so simple yet so profound: why not list EVERYTHING that could benefit us from this posture, giving every single person an invitation to connect to what THEY personally need? That’s the goal of yoga teaching (for me anyway), but it had never occurred to me to use the same kinds of language that I use in the rest of my life to invite connection in yoga. Her phrasing made it feel like my writing style (lots of lists and repetitions and refusal to choose just ONE thing to say) belonged in the same moment as my bridge pose, that all of what I care about could exist simultaneously.
Integration. It’s the goal of it all.
Words are weirdly important in teaching yoga. Unlike other types of teaching, which rely on verbal back-and-forth (teacher to students, students to teacher, students to each other), yoga classes are designed to basically not be that. It’s odd to me that this practice that’s freeing operates in opposition to what I’ve learned about dialogue that’s supposed to make learning more liberatory: in a yoga class, as the teacher, my job is basically to talk the whole time, with strategic pauses for integration, of course, to make sure people have enough information to move their bodies in a way that facilitates them accessing their personal experience safely.
As a new teacher, I’m still using a lot of my brain power to get those words out; they’re not yet automatic, so they take up a lot of space in working memory. I’m planning in detail, but still having to rehearse and refer to notes more than I’d like to as I teach myself how to move through this particular practice. Certainly some sequences, ones I’ve done more frequently or understand more technically or have asked more questions about, feel natural and accessible, and eventually more of them will. At this stage of my teaching practice, it’s a lot of effort to get to words that usually, in other areas of my life, come quite easily.
I’ve been lucky in my own practice to have a combination of teachers who lean heavily into words and those who lean heavily into sensations (while of course they’re all good at blending these concepts together). One of the teachers from the retreat I attended in April inadvertently reshaped my relationship to words as part of my practice almost three years ago. She’s my teacher’s best friend, and I went to her Thanksgiving Day class in 2021, during my first real trip in a post-vax pandemic landscape. After a schedule mixup and a late-night Instagram message, she very kindly switched my online registration to in-person and taught a class that asked me to do at least three things physically I’d never tried before, which was a delight in itself.
But it was one particular set of words from that class that have stuck with me. Some context first: normally, if you’re in some kind of lateral stretch or twist that takes you off your mat, it’s not a big deal. However, in a crowded studio class, the whole endeavor can be awkward (especially within an ongoing pandemic fueled by close quarters). Some people don’t care at all about touching strangers or their mats, and some people are totally freaked out by the prospect; I fall somewhere in the middle. As she was helping us navigate this reality, she said:
“Your goal is your fullest expression of the pose without fucking with anyone else.”
Those words landed in the moment. We laughed, she laughed and said, “well, that’s actually good advice for life.” It seemed like a smart comment, but not necessarily life-changing.
But I’ve thought about that phrase at least once a week since then.
I think about it when I’m trying to get my sixth graders to understand rules about not touching other people. I think about it in traffic. I think about it when navigating domestic chores and space. I think about it when reading the news (especially when reading the news). I think about it when I wish other people would manage their airtime. I think about it when I’m trying to manage my own airtime. I think about it when considering my expenditure of energy.
I’m not talking about societal expectations to keep your true self quiet for fear of offending people who diminish your humanity. I’m also not talking about other people getting to define what is an appropriate fullest expression of humanity. Those things are violent and fall into the category of “using words to put other people down.” I’m just saying that we could all use to consider what the fullest expression of something is without that thing fucking with other people. Just like it will not be fundamentally detrimental to my yoga practice to bend my arms in a supine twist to avoid clocking my neighbor in the face, it would also not hurt my literal neighbors to turn down their music sometime around midnight, nor would it be impossible for a coworker to utilize their sense of humor without making others feel uncomfortable about the content of their jokes.
I also think that this singular example beautifully articulates what has been true for me in a thousand ways as a yoga student, and that I strive for as a teacher. Words matter, and they can open the door for integration. Just like tone, cadence, and sequence matter, so does language (“profane” or not). There’s space for classes that use a bunch of f-bombs, and spaces for classes that never use them, and sometimes I need one class and sometimes I need the other, and there will be people who only go to one class or the other, and that’s also fine. Because we can also opt in to the fullness of our experience by knowing and following what we need…without fucking with anyone else in the process.
Finding the Words
Some of the words and phrases that have been particularly helpful to me as a yoga student are below (from a variety of teachers):
“If you’re feeling it, you’re doing it.”
“Feel your feelings.”
“Don’t do anything you don’t want to.”
“What can you soften?”
As a mantra: “I am at peace with myself.”
“Snuggle into your tight spots.”
“Wobbles are your body doing what it’s supposed to do.”
“Your intention is your filter.”
“Bow your head to your heart.”
As a teacher (the school kind), the phrases that I come back to again and again are:
“They all just want to be loved.”
“Be a thermostat, not a thermometer.”
“It takes how long it takes.”
“There are rarely two bad days in a row.”
“Take a breath before you DO anything.”
This is, of course, not including, the many Sanskrit mantras and their various English translations (even I know when that’s TRULY too much for one essay). I’d love to hear what words or phrases are important in your practice (whether that’s yoga or teaching or sports or just being alive in the world).
Playing with Language
If you’d like to play with language in your yoga practice, I’ve really enjoyed this practice the past couple of months, also sourced from the same teacher I’ve talked about throughout this piece. While I’ve been doing something like this practice for a decade, she concretized what I’ve been doing intuitively, by saying, flat out, “words matter - I want you to think about how this pose works differently with different words attached.” This isn’t unlike theming a practice - you can do the same sequence of postures with the thematic element of “love,” and it will feel completely different than if you focus on “letting go” than if you focus on “courage.”
Choose a pose that you know well, something that has a stable foundation - a forward fold is where my lightbulb clicked on, Warrior 2 or Extended Side Angle would be great (you’ll need to do both sides), chair pose is interesting.
Choose a couple of words that have positive connotations but very different qualities but that don’t feel antithetical to the posture. For example, for Warrior 2, I like to play with “strength,” “flexibility,” and “expand.”
Find your foundation in the posture like you normally would. Then consider the word you’ve chosen first (ideally the one that you most closely associate with the pose). For example, in Warrior 2, I would work with “strength” first. Consider that word and how it shows up in your body. Really let that word and all its meanings sink in, and see what shifts physically. Then, move on to your next word. It may help to move through a vinyasa or simply take a break and shake your body out in between words, but you may not want to do that, and you don’t have to. Come back into the pose with your second word in mind. Again, notice what comes up: what does that word mean in your body? How does your posture shift when you bring your attention to that word? Repeat with your third word. I know that my Warrior 2 when I’m thinking about “strength” feels vastly different than when I’m thinking about “expansion,” even if the basic alignment principles are the same.
If you are working with an asymmetrical posture, make sure to do both sides!
