Wholistic Fitness

Notes From New Mexico…

Part III

{Final Installment of my personal retreat. Written on Thursday…coming up; STUDENT INPUT in tomorrow�s DL!�

�Though man can climb to the highest summits, he cannot there dwell long.�

– Shakespeare

In a few hours, i�ll be flying back to LA. though well trained formally by Tibetan monks in skills of detachment, i still wish only to linger among these juniper mountains and ruby lined arroyos. this is why, i am a feeble yogi.

in this moment: i gaze over the snow cloaked Sangre de Christo mountains through which i�ve snowshoed, ran, and cycled these days. leaving them now, i feel i am a mountain lion returning voluntarily to the zoo. bracing for a polluted cage surrounded by hard-eyed onlookers. what i�ve brought to the Big City to teach is difficult yoga which draws spiritual seekers, skeptics, and every now then a warrior or two.

i�ll take the warriors. they are of my clan. they understand the science and spirit of sweat and breath.

the wind is calm this farewell morning. wispy clouds have yet to gather about the sacred peaks. from where i sit i can see the steady march of pinions up the pea green apron of Sandia�s north slopes. a hummingbird pesters a Verbena to my left. Spencer, my rather large cat, has set his hawklike sights on yet another Ring-neck lizard, which he will inevitably catch. as a yogi, my Practice requires me to help ease the lizard�s suffering once the poor creative is caught. with three cats living here, saving lizards is a part-time job. there are not many lizards left.

yesterday, Day Three of my retreat here, i was �hooked up�…the term i use when ida and pingala nadi are open and fused with sushumna (internal energy conduits relating to the nostril flow and subtle anatomy). when my yogic Practices gift me such energetic connection…it�s all over. i can do anything it seems with what the Asiatic spiritual athletes might know as �wu-wei� or effortless effort. however, my spiritual forte comes only within and among the high peaks. even at my feeble level of attainment within the mountain yogic science, yesterday proved again to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if done consistently, the WF and yogic Practices mitigate the damages of sea level city living, pollution, and chronologic aging. in fact, for me at least, the Practices have reversed the out flowing life force (apana) and have retained and developed the indwelling life force (prana) causing delightful dichotomy between chronologic and physiologic aging.

for those DL readers from New Mexico: yesterday, i ran/snowshoed Lake Peak (12,338�) from Santa Fe Ski Basin in 1 hour 43 minutes. that figure includes my mystical summit moment (see below) which probably took about 5 minutes. that is, just to affirm, my round trip time; not just the ascent. car to car baby = 1:43. have fun breaking that time! don�t worry, i�ll spot you the age factor and altitude conditioning you may have!

with multiple run/snowshoe transitions along the route and low Grade 5 mixed snow/rock climbing along the summit arete, these mixed alpine conditions make for the best mountain yoga opportunity i know.

my method for such a Practice:

i wear minimal clothing, so the colder i get, the faster i am inspired to go. no food. a water bottle of Fortune Delight with Vitafruit. trail running shoes. Atlas Dual Trac sport snowshoes.

start at the base of the mountain and begin running up it (in this case, ski slopes). go as hard as i can right from the start until about to pass out. then, sustain and do not stop. for anything. this is mountain yoga. Union baby; body and breath. jao!

my technique;

i turn my attention inward (pratyhara) and work with yogic breathing exercises (secret). soon, my body experiences a lightness (laghuva). using (another secret) mantra at this point, i merge into wu-wei and use meditation skills to keep my thinking mind clicked to it�s Off Position. the pain is intense, but �i� don�t register much of it because the �i� part of me has taken leave. �i� am only witnessing the effort while working inwardly.

my memory of the Practice:

above timberline, running. vast sky. stretches of mantra soaked steep pitches; one snowshoe kicked into the steep snow above the other…over and over again…om, om, om. nearing timberline; now snowshoe cadence like a flying carpet beneath me carries me like a hummingbird darting among mossy spruce. talus summit dome of Tesuque Peak falls silently beneath my flying feet but my heart is hooked onto Lake Peak, another ridge away and higher still. Ravens accompany my inner and outer flight. their black feathered magic shows me ways of moving and breathing in these altitudes that seem unknown to the common man. each foot placement becomes meditation. i hit a loping floating stride and feel fully that i am hovering up this terrain, spirit like. an ilg-ghost dancing at 12,000�. so alone. so all-one.

yogic Masters came to high mountains not unlike this one for a simple reason; the Pran up at these rocky heights is potent. very potent up Here. Gods linger here, helping the aspirant feel true freedom in their cells. angel come here, to these forlorn yet mighty ridgetops to suck on snow and turn into dewdrops for humans who are wakeful enough to enjoy them. it requires high endeavor to be able to get here with fitness enough to access this Realm. i am tumbling toward an ethereal field, distinct from normal consciousness. i am humbled and yet feel magnificently powerful.

in my bones, i am inspired to always keep Practicing…

this Ethereal Float continues as i breeze past technical climbing sections in ghostlike fashion. rock and snow create artful choreography which i am destined to dance today in a skillful, enchanting way. this type of movement has now past the boundaries of athleticism into something paranormal.

twenty inches on either side of my dancing feet are thousand foot abyss�s looking up at me. i easily swing and jump over snow choked granite colouirs.

i observe myself suddenly standing on the summit…looking out for 200 miles in all Four Directions. Ravens now multiplied in number my only sentient company on the auspicious, windless summit.

since leaving the parking lot, now a speck 3,000� below, i have seen but one person on the lower slopes. now, i see everything.

my h(om)eland stretches beneath and around and within me. i feel my students and hold them in my thumping heart. i know not many other coaches work this hard for their students. few coaches pray and meditate for their athletes, but i know the long years of success with my students has endlessly, will endlessly, depend on my willingness to keep working on myself in these austere Practices.

i never linger on summits, regardless of their beauty. they are too powerful and sacred a place to this feeble yogi. standing on summits for me is like you getting hit by lightning. summits, when worked for honestly, are felt as the abode of gods, not humans. to linger on summit is to linger in pride. yogi�s are not trained to cultivate pridefullness. lingering on summits – i am speaking metaphysically now – is how people get killed in the Higher Realms.

i spread my arms in the Ai Imawa posture known as �East/West�…a Taoist posture done to honor the effort we have put forth into our spiritual lives. i felt the back of my heart open. it was at this moment that Brahma came through me. i cannot speak of the next few moments. they were sacred and unique to me and my Teachers. i will share this; i cried like a baby and heard these words coming through my mouth in an animal like roar from the high summit; �I AM GROWING STRONGER!�

Tears from a mountain yogi inspired. Cries from a man, living in a Big City, away from his family of Ravens, snow, and rock.

Still bleating like a prod-poked goat, i began the sheer, technical descent at the speed of reflex, apparently immune from the extreme danger of the tiny ridge. i did care if i fell into the abyss, for the abyss would have fallen into me.

Within moments i was below timberline, snowshoeing in leaping, gleeful bounds down melting double diamond ski runs. a kilometer of dry trail running. f back in the parking lot. people stare at me as if looking at a ghost or something.

back again to the outer word.

later, i rode my bicycle an hour and half to visit my little brother, his wife, and my neice…Ella. i was still �hooked up� and pedaled at a 24 mph average, into the flamboyancy of a New Mexico sunset. wu-wei.

My visit seemed centered upon Ella, who is just trying to walk and breathe in harmony.

�Take your time with this whole breath and movement thing,� i advise the wide-eyed baby…�it�s a difficult dance, but the finest one ever created.�

i bow to you in breath and posture…

see you back in the Big City…

coach ilg