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One of the first things that new yoga students remark upon is a peculiar locution in the American yoga world: the verb used to describe exactly what one does, in groups or alone, that constitutes the activities of yoga. These new students take note of the fact that their teachers and fellow students do not say that they do yoga, nor do they say that they work out or do any of the other things that one usually does when donning Lycra-blend clothing. They most commonly say that they practice yoga. Another term sometimes used in classes is perform, as in performing an asana (posture). Yet these two terms seem very, very different. Is yoga a practice or is it a performance? It is not, certainly not, a practice for some future performance. We do not enter the yoga studio or room and think about what we will be doing as if we were walking into a piano lesson, ready to practice playing the piano, or a dance lesson, ready to practice for the big recital. Very few yoga students—and I include here yoga teachers, who are students themselves—will ever perform for an audience. So why do we enter the studio to practice? What do we mean by this term? I use the verb practice more in the sense in which we say that a doctor or a lawyer practices medicine or law. When we go to these professionals, we certainly don’t think that they are going to practice on us in order to get ready for the real client who will come to them next month. That would be a disturbing thought: our doctor practicing on us in the downtime between more important patients. Yet we acknowledge with this word that what they are doing is exercising an ever-evolving set of knowledge and skills. We expect that they are always continuing to hone those skills and learn new ones. Thus, they are simultaneously practicing for the future—always learning more—and also doing their best, the most that they can, in the present. Which brings us to performance. This word, if we put aside its academic meanings, can point us in the direction of the idea that each time we begin to move into a posture, or work with the breath, or settle into concentration, we are doing the best that we can at that moment. We are not practicing in a way that holds a little back in expectation for the real thing—we are full-out, no-holds-barred, giving it all we’ve got. We are performing. However, we are performing for no one audience, for no one entity. We are not performing for the teacher, nor for our fellow students, nor for ourselves—at least, we try to let go of this kind of performance. If we form our intention as such, then we are performing for everyone and everything, all at once. We can then take these two ways of being—of both practicing and performing—with us when we step off the mat and leave the yoga studio. They can inform the way that we act with our families, colleagues, and friends. As we perform, we hold back no effort, and as we practice, we acknowledge that we will always be expanding and changing. Copyright 2005 Elizabeth Silas |
