Why Teaching Yoga is so Important to Me

Why Teaching Yoga is so Important to Me

Have you ever had a moment in your life where a thought comes into your head and you just know that is what you have to do. Well that moment arrived for me in June 2013 I was at home in the kitchen of my house feeling utterly dejected, bruised and battered metaphorically speaking. I had just had another awful row in an ongoing argument with my grown up family, another battle in an endless war that had gone on for two previous years. I was exhausted, I did not know who to turn to or what to do. I seemed to be alienating my family at every turn. The background to this story is I came out as a gay woman to my husband of over 25 years and my three children in 2011. I was in a relationship with a woman at that time. For the first time in my life it was a same sex relationship that I did not want to deny disown or walk away from as I had done so often in the past.

Battling through the next two years the pressure was enormous, then that evening in the kitchen a voice in my head said “ It does not have to be like this”. At that moment I realised that I had choice and decided to come out in public. I packed my stuff and moved into a flat that evening. I then circulated an email to about 20 of my friends telling them all. By this stage the relationship that had precipitated these events had burst apart at the seems unable to be sustained under such strained circumstances. I spent a very lonely 18 months feeling alienated from myself, and  alienated from anyone I ever loved or who loved me, as everyone  struggled with my truth. It brought me to my knees and to a place of deepest despair, unable to see light  except further descent into that dark night of the soul.

You see for the first time in my life I truly understood what it is to be a refugee, a prisoner, a homeless person,  a person with mental health problems, or just  anyone who seems to live  outside the expected and assumed NORM of daily life. For the first time in my life I experienced what it feels like not to be loved , what it feels like to be rejected, what it feels like not to automatically have empathy, compassion or understanding ,not to have someone smile at me in a friendly fashion when I most craved it . I experienced anger , coldness , being misunderstood on a daily basis from those that I loved most in the world . I lived knowing that people did not want to have anything to do with me and did not have the will or inclination to rectify the situation . I also had a deep insight that I was only one amongst millions who must suffer like this on a daily basis for different reasons.

So why am I sharing this story here? Well here’s why, that particular time in my life scored some very difficult lessons on the blackboard of my soul, whilst simultaneously giving me tremendous gifts. I resisted that learning for a long time, very slowly the first and most important of these gifts revealed itself and that is Total Surrender. By handing over charge of my life to the Universe and then facing my worst fears, releasing and letting them go, relaxing in the knowledge that everything is exactly as its meant to be, I came to know and have the confidence that everything would work out alright.As soon as I got that gift , things started to change.It was swiftly followed by two others Acceptance and finally Forgiveness. I thought I understood these concepts but it was not until I started to live in them every day that their true meaning was revealed. Acceptance is sweet when it arrives , killing anxiety , pain and loneliness. Forgiveness has to happen every day, not just on the days I am in good form, but on all the other days in my life , probably for the rest of my life. I don't just mean forgiving others "for they know not what they do” which I do . The biggest act of forgiveness is to myself . Once I could forgive myself everything started to accelerate. I was able to expand, grow and blossom.

Coming back as to why I am sharing this story and the gifts I received . Here is my question to you.What could you surrender to in your life ? What is it that you are resisting ? Who do you need to forgive? Remembering my own sense of alienation, dejection, deep depression and hopelessness, feeling totally unloved in the world, at that time of my life, I ask you . What is one small thing you could do for someone else that would make them feel that you care?

Today I teach yoga from a very different place as a result of my experiences .If I can alleviate a little of the suffering and pain of another human being through the sharing of my journey. Or If another human being can begin to realise their own possibility as a result of coming to my yoga class, well then that is my time very well spent and I will teach yoga as long as my dear, sweet , life allows.

My  life experience has honed, refined and evolved me as a human being . The three gifts have been transformative .I continue to journey and  evolve .These days I walk with courage and grace in the world  I live in the NOW and fear nothing placing my trust in something greater than me . I  am hugely grateful for the many, many blessings I have in my life!! Sure I have a hard time counting them all !!!

I have moved back to the family home ,together yet apart and it is challenging but as a group of compassionate  human beings we are slowly figuring out a way to make it work. Creating a community that is outside the NORM. This has taken a lengthy period of my life and trust me the work is still ongoing.

These days I truly live in the full knowledge and acceptance that I am not in charge of my own sweet life. See you on the mat! #marellafyffeyoga

Marella in a silly moment at a yoga shoot!

YogaHour with Marella Fyffe

YogaHour Strule Arts  Omagh 7 to 8pm and Beginners yoga 5.30 to 6.30 . The photo below was taken last Thursday 10th . YogaHour An accessible, affordable, and expertly taught flow-form class for the fit beginner is starting to take off here in Omagh. Those who come every week  notice big changes not only in their bodies, but also in their lives. I notice it in the new faces that  show up to join the class. New people solely coming because of  word of mouth and recommendation. I notice it in peoples faces, gradually softening over the weeks and months of practise . I notice it in the way people walk and carry themselves .

YogaHour with Marella 

What people have said to me is that  by adding in just one more YogaHour  practise a week,  they are stronger, more flexible, have an ability to respond to situations instead of reacting, have more control over their lives, able to recover quicker from mood downturns , from physical  illness, are less inclined to get colds and flue, are generally happier  and at ease in the world for longer spells of time.
Those who came because they are unhappy with the shape of their body soon discover a contentment with how things are, and as folk come to practise and keep practising very,very gradually their bodies start to respond and others begin to remark on how well they look .

The recent production of my own  yoga sequences and making them available to all classes  has further inspired people to get on the mat during the week between classes. The active practise of working with a pre sequenced set of poses actively engages the participant so that the practise itself becomes less of a passive experience, thus enabling the practitioner to progress much more quickly.

Christmas is a difficult time for many. Having a consistent yoga practise, gradually over time  starts to erase unhealthy food, drink habits and even addiction problems. It does not replace one addiction with another but instead gives you access to something greater.  This,  becomes more attractive than any short term high, one simply starts to loose the desire, looses the need for the comfort  of alcohol or over indulgence .   I know having a solid yoga practise over the festive time helps keep me grounded and content in myself. Try it out.#marellafyffeyoga
   

Use Thunderbolt to Focus Your Mind and Achieve Your Goals

In Sanskrit Vajarasana
 Vajar = thunderbolt asana= pose

The word discipline has all sorts of suggestions and meanings  and when I began to practise yoga I used to shiver every time my yoga teacher spoke about discipline, all sorts of childhood  boarding  school memories would surface.
Discipline was something that happened when what I did, did not align with how someone in authority wanted  the world to be . Learning about discipline in yoga , I realised that I had to rehash the word for myself, so that I could help my students receive the true blessing of discipline in their practice. Discipline, in yoga is remembering to do  what you want every day and in every moment. It is teaching the mind to focus on your goals, your vision, your happiness and most importantly  the present moment.The practice of learning to focus is called Abhyasa or the attitude of "Persistent Effort" to attain stability in your practice.
Practising persistently is the most effective method of controlling the mind, when we get control of our minds , we get control of our bodies , when we get control of our bodies we get control of our lives.Training the mind to keep coming back to the present moment instead of running away from the discomfort is a yogic exercise by itself.

Take the thunderbolt pose for example. This pose is one of the few ways to stretch the toes and the soles of the feet and is for  many folk one of the most inflexible parts of the body.  Learning to sit in it consistently is a challenge for those who are unwilling to invest their mind in it too. Only persistance will bring a certain familiarity and acceptance . My personal  take on persistence is that of  being doggedly determined day after day  with no shred of evidence that I will achieve my goal.

Thunderbolt 

Cowboys and Indians

Cowboys and Indians

My sister and I decided we would like to play cowboys and indians on our ponies, well if the truth be known it was  me who decided and forced my long suffering sister and accomplice to take part, probably using a fair bit of coercion and manipulation to get my own way. We arranged with our friends that they would bring their ponies to our home . We lived on about 30 acres of land just outside a small town in the Republic of Ireland . It was one of those rare, stunning summer days in Ireland all the more treasured as they happen so infrequently. I felt that day that I could live forever.

Waiting for my friends to arrive and with not a lot to do I lay back on the short grass in front of the stables. Interlocking my fingers behind my head I gaze up into the spaceless infinity. Gradually the sounds of the day fade and something shifts, for a very short or long  moment I have crystal clarity and everything  stops, locked in a moment of timelessness, I cease to be aware of myself only the comprehension that I am no longer an extra in the landscape but an intrinsic, elemental part of it. My edges blur I neither  know or feel the separation of my body  I only exist expanding ever outwards spinning in the Universe.  Aware yet not aware, curious yet knowing everything, in silence I be suspended between two worlds, thought left far behind. Gradually, gently, slowly, bird song seeps back into my consciousness and I notice the grass under my body. I understand  I have been part of something that I have no name for. Picking myself up from the ground  I walk back to the stable deep in 10 year old thought.

My friends arrive, four of them three girls and a boy. We all get on our ponies and go out through the yard gate I say nothing to any of them. Later on that day, back lying on the grass again, this time in not so comfortable circumstances I was to remember with nostalgia the earlier  grass experience. We had been riding our ponies without saddles because some of us were indians and thats what indians did on the telly . Us indians were hiding in the gorse away from the cowboys who were tracking us . My pony Trixie was startled by a blackbird disturbed by our passing,  suddenly flying from the furze bush, shrieking it's alarm call. Trixie ducked sideways and I pitched ignominiously over his shoulder connecting with all the prickles of the gorse as I fell. On my downward trajectory I  inhale the fragrant  coconut smell  of the furze bush on a hot summer day. I hit the ground and a big sloppy cow path. Shaken but mostly uninjured I sit up ruefully watching Trixie grab his moment of freedom by making a dash for home. I listen to the  thud of hooves on the summer beaten earth fading into the distance.

Gorse in full bloom

Noticing the long stalked grass moving gently in the wind I carefully select one and stick it between by teeth sucking the stalk. Feeling tired, I lie back for a moment in this hidden place basking in the heat, noticing the deep ruts, hardened to cement like consistency,  caused by cattle hooves earlier in the spring.  All around me the yellow flowers of the gorse shower me with their golden scent the field grass feels unforgiving and prickly the ground rough and hard, regretfully I stand up. I was covered all over with tiny pinpricks of blood from the gorse. Later I heard from the others that Trixie came dashing back into the yard covered in the same pinpricks from his crazy bolt through the gorse. Trixie a black and white pony and given to panic attacks , not following the path home took a short cut and looked like someone had taken a  slim red paint brush and painted tiny red dots everywhere from nose to hoof. An hour later I too limped into the yard to the shrieks of laughter from the cowboys who were sitting around the picnic table  eating packs of Tayto and drinking Taylor Keith red lemonade. Pulling apart a crisp bag and inhaling the first whiff of Tayto I take a crisp and feel the sting of the raw saltiness of it on my tongue. I grab a glass of lemonade and glug it in great mouthfuls thirstily sucking the fizz and sweetness of if, noticing the hardness of it sliding down my throat. I lie back sighing with contentment  and immediately the smell of a fresh mown lawn reminds me of the two other occasions  I had laid on the grass on that hot summer day. 

Swimming in the Pond

I went for a swim this evening in my pond on the farm . Its about 5pm and the last light is slowly fading from the sky. There is a slight orange glow towards the south west, the  lights of the town are on and sparkle in the evening twilight. I come from my yoga practise warm and alive, head upstairs and don my red dressing gown, grab my week's swimming towel and convince/nay tell  my body it's going for a swim . Perhaps I should mention that it's the 31st of October, the evening is a relatively balmy 10 degrees centigrade and the water is the same. I walk down by the geese who have settled in for the evening and then past the hens hearing the odd contented cluck as I pass, one last tardy hen, runs towards me in the ever hopeful quest for food. I pass on, Mac my dog a border collie, runs ahead in delight knowing whats coming, tail up and waving like a banner in the wind. I follow the path to enlightenment or at least to the ponds edge, slip off my crocs shed my red dressing gown, dump my towel at a convenient spot on top of a rush bush.

I slip into the waters feeling the mud squashing between my toes . The pond is dark and still, almost mysterious, edged round with the centurion swords of the bull rush. The water is deep and solemn  and I breast stroke forward. I feel the coolness of it sliding down the sides of my body I imagine it meeting in a v shape between by shoulder blades before rushing down my back in the moment of immersion.  My fingers cut the waters creating a perfect minor bow wave that ripples through the oily silkiness of the water, far away in the distance I notice the first firework of the evening explode into the silence of the  night. The pond is hidden amongst the rushes and even though I am quite close to a neighbours house I take immense secret pleasure in knowing that they do not have a clue that I am  swimming in the pond on the last night in October less than 50 feet from their door. It feels remote and timeless. As I swim the weeds of the pond sensuously brush the under parts of my torso and caress my arms bringing me back into my body and the moment. Swimming like this immerses me in death, swimming  elementally, silently, eyes level with the white stems of the majestic bull rushes , ceremonially I dip my face in the water and feel its stinging rebuke, eyes open looking to the endless gloom, whooshing the breath from my chest and the blood from my extremities. Gradually it happens the inital withdrawal of blood from the hands and feet, the numbing of my crotch, very slowly the water ceases to be cold and begins to feel hot against my skin. I smile and relax and journey inwards oblivious to cold, time, I hear nothing I see nothing I am the velvety darkness of nowhere , the edges of my body merged with the water and I am the body I am the water. I am nowhere I am everywhere.

At the edge of the rushes I notice a little moor hen watching this intrusive stranger with its curios warm brown eyes hardly moving,  we  look one at the other, a heart beat apart and an eternity  between us. A pale moon sails momentarily out from behind a cloud and drenches the pond in a deluge of moonlight,  two bats flit close to the surface, these fly collecting creatures of the night soon disappeared. I am in the pond but not of the pond I witness myself gliding serenely around and around . A loud rustle in the rushes and my dog Mac's head appears, quizzically held as he contemplates me , I swim on by.

I start to shiver and come back into my body and know its time to come ashore. Again my feet squelch the mud and I notice the sharp feel of the spiky grass under my knees as I haul myself out . I towel myself hard all over, momentarily I stand upright naked in the moon light and know that I  am  the very essence of my being.

The pond

  

Fast Forward

Because its my blog and just because I can, I am going to jump out of the straight forward progression and sequence of this story and skip forward a couple of years. I will revisit the past in detail but there are some stories that I am not quite ready to publish so hence the unsubtle skipping around. 

When I first started yoga, I thought that all there was to it a physical workout along with  a little relaxation and maybe even meditation. Over the years somehow my practise has taken on a whole new meaning. I cannot say for sure when I noticed this, was it on that very first day or did it happen over a period of time?  If I could divert a little.

St Brigid's Church Kilcullen
 thanks to my cousin Brien Byrne

 Just for the record I was reared Roman Catholic...sort of, at least my mother did what she perceived to be her duty. Got us kids through the Irish communion / confirmation thing and saw to it that we attended mass every Sunday etc. The year my younger sister hit 18 my mother announced that as we could drive, she had no need to accompany us to church any longer and ceased attending mass from that day forward. During this time we had been attending a catholic boarding school in Dublin and had the habit of attending mass most days with rosary or benediction in the evening.  When I say attending, I mean it was a kind of automatic thing for me, a little like washing my  teeth,  I did it because it was supposed to be good for me, had a long term cumulative effect and needed to be done on a regular basis.  But I didn't really get it, ever! I liked the ceremony, the religiosity, the drama, the smells, the robes and the singing .....But as to what it was all about I may as well been outside riding my  little pony across the moor of Kildare! So when my mother said she wasn't going to go any longer  I thought, that will do me and I quit as well....never looking back.I believe my sister kept it up for a good while afterwards.

I have one main memory left from 12 years of intensive church going. One time whilst waiting in line to go to confession in a freezing side chapel late on a Saturday evening. I was bored stiff and noticed that the school bully had carved her initials on the church bench in front of me. Having suffered somewhat at the same hands, I decided that I could do a better job than her, that I would show her!!

I grabbed the crucifix of my rosary beads and proceeded to carve out my initials all across the top of the bench at least 2 inches high and spreading  10 to 18 inches across .  Satisfied with my work I headed for the confession box dredging up my usual weekly rhyme of made up transgressions; I told lies, I was disobedient and I had impure thoughts ....what ever they are at 7 years of age. But it was three things to tell, which the nuns said was the right amount of things to confess to, and put like that they were easy to remember each week. I always got three hail mary's as a penance, which meant that I could be away home in 5 minutes . I always used to look at those who went to confession before me and were still praying when I was on my way home, they must have had an awful lot of sins may be even mortalers!!... they were bound to go to hell and I felt kind of sorry for them.

Some weeks later my mum called me to her in the kitchen and asked me did I know anything about my name being scratched on a bench in the church. She too had been queuing for confession on another day and saw my name which would have been an unusual name for that time. I said "no mum I didn't know anything about it shaking my innocent golden curls and smiling angelically ". I  said that I saw the school bully ( though I didn't call her that )  sitting there the last time we were in church, knowing full well that her name was also carved there....Result maybe? 

Later I overheard a conversation where mum was describing to a friend how she had to sneak into the church with furniture polish and a cloth and try to remove the offending scratches. Many many years later I revisited same bench and could just see the faintest trace left... 

These Days I Manage Warrior 2 A Little More Elegantly

It was a Friday evening and as the song goes, "in a downbeat hall in an upmarket suburb" in Dublin  we were all settling  onto our yoga mats. I was looking forward to a long weekend of yoga . We did a few opening poses and though I was quite fit having been an orienteer for the past ten years or so, I don't think I realised just how inflexible I had become over the intervening time. That first two hour session had my muscles and ligaments screaming by the end of it . So much so, that I was beginning to feel resentful that others around  me should appear to be having it so easy . There were about forty folk there, the bulk  of whom were bendy females, and were betraying  little more  than a slight rosiness of the cheeks. In complete contrast to myself, as the practise began to ramp up so did the heat and as luck would have it, I was right under one of those radiant heaters . The sweat ran in rivulets down my back and into my knickers, I was wearing a pair of shorts, my legs became slippery consequently some of the poses became impossible, take for instance tree pose. Every time I lifted my right foot to place it on the inner part of the opposite thigh. It skidded off and went south, bringing  a slick of sweat with it,  puddles of perspiration  collected around my feet, making the mat slippery, making the soles of my feet even more slippery which  played merry hell with my balance in any of the more challenging standing posing. I skated into Warrior 2 and skidded to a halt . Wide leg forward fold became an exercise in restraining my feet from whizzing  away off the mat never to be seen again. I noticed that others had brought towels and were discreetly patting themselves and  their  mats, gently removing small tiny beads of moisture whilst remaining cool and collected. I know I thought, I will go to the toilet and get some tissues and dry up all the sweat. Well the quality of toilet paper wasn't great, so now as well as having a mat that was covered in sweat, it also had little tiny bits of toilet paper stuck all over it . I was becoming more hot and bothered by the second this, along with a raging thirst, and having to endure  others drinking long and deep from their water bottles….scorched all thoughts of equanimity and mindfulness turning me into a short tempered  harridan yogini . I spotted one of the organisers and signalled to him to come over. I explained that I was too hot  and asked “ would it be possible to turn the heat down”? . He said “sure” and set too, to find the switch . When Betsy, our teacher for the evening noticed, she interjected saying that she was cold and could the heaters please stay on !  A compromise was reached by me moving to another place in the hall as far away from those heaters from hell, as I could get. On the way to my new position my big toe was stabbed and and invaded by an oak splinter from one of the planks that made up the lovely oak floor. I spent several minutes sitting on my mat endeavouring  to dislodge it before I could continue.

These days I manage Warrior 2 a little more elegantly !

Later, lying in savasana, relaxation pose and listening to a guided meditation about softening into the floor and letting go. I idly wondered did it mean allowing bits of the floor to penetrate your body? Did it mean having parts of your body washed into the floor by tidal waves  of sweat? Did it mean feeling that the iron clutch of tightened muscles and ligaments were actually supposed to soften and relax that you were somehow meant to GET that this was a gift that could be enjoyed?

After practise that evening as we were walking up the street groaning and feeling every ache and pain, somewhere in the back of my mind I realised that I had actually enjoyed the session. I was careful though to call into a chemist and purchase some old fashioned bathing salts which I added to a cold bath  later that evening. I slept well.