House of the Rising Sun

When I make my gratitude list at the end of the day -- which I don't do every day, but as often as I will -- Ashtanga frequently warrants a mention. I feel very fortunate to have found this path, and I am highly motivated to stay on it with fidelity to the practice and the way it was intended to be practiced, which is 5-6 days per week. Practice takes 75-90 minutes, so this is no small commitment. It often involves rising early in the morning, when I don't feel like I've had enough sleep, and taking a body that is often sore from other activities through numerous challenging postures.

A lot of people who practice Ashtanga have a teacher, but our group in Madison just occasionally imports them or hits the road to practice at their shalas. One local-ish teacher that I've mentioned before is PJ. PJ is an amazing teacher, and an eloquent writer about what it means to be on this path. Here's what he said yesterday about the role of a teacher with this kind of practice:

"A true teacher gives power with their presence, their care and faith in our process, their belief in us saddled with their experience is the light that guides us through the darkness of our fears and ignorance. It can also be the spotlight that shames us, an accountability that blames us and a responsibility that names us when we choose to give up inside."

Damn.

Luckily, I'm not about to give up inside, but my main practice partner and I were considering taking the day off today. Until I read PJ's post last night, and then texted my friend and told her we were NOT taking today off.

Lucky for us, we were rewarded in multiple ways:

1) With the practice, which is its own reward;

2) With the best coffee in Madison afterward, EVP;

3) With the best scones anywhere afterward, from Lazy Janes;

4) And with this classic tune coming through the walls from the fitness studio next door to our practice space:

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one

My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans

Guruji: the man we have to thank for the practice of Ashtanga!

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

Oh mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain

Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one

Put it all together along with the smiling mug of the gentleman pictured here (now passed), and you have yourself a banner morning!