Off the Mat with Anthony

Get to know Anthony, RYT500 & Zuna Yoga assistant trainer

Describe yourself in one word. 

Unpretentious

What is your spirit animal?

The Bull Ant. Where I grew up there is a particular ant, the Bull Ant, which I remember being fascinated by as a kid. They are so animated, and seem to be ready to take on any creature regardless of its size. When I come across a lone Bull Ant hiking, I swear just as I’m about to step over it, it’s staring at me preparing for battle. ‘Ant’ is also the shortened form of my name which I've always preferred, and I like to think I embody ant-like characteristics such as strength, hard work and being a team member.  

What is your astrological sign?

Sagittarius

Tell us one fun fact about yourself.

I am a Bonsai enthusiast. It’s a bit hard to pursue the hobby as I'm often away from home, but there is a lovely couple (Mum & Dad) to whom I have entrusted keeping them watered and fertilized. I get so excited when I see new growth on my planties and love taking my time shaping these living art forms.

                        

What do you love about Bali? 

The plant life. From the jungles, the beautiful gardens with awesome trees you find in temples; to even the interesting looking plants that sprout from the footpaths. This place is so fertile and lush compared to where I’m from, and vegetation seems to grow out of everything. I love exploring quiet, winding roads on the scooter and seeing cool trees with their huge roots grasping the road’s edge and vine-covered limbs towering above.   

What's your favorite place to eat in Ubud? 

The Elephant with their awesome chili jam

What are your three top travel tips? 

Get up early, don’t waste the day.

Avoid planning lots of different activities for a single day. It’s hard to enjoy things when you’re looking at the clock.

Always carry water.

What book are you reading right now? 

Wuthering Heights

Three songs on your playlist right now? 

I don’t do the digitals but the last three records I bought were Dr. Dre "2001," Alicia Keys' "Songs in A Minor" and "Al Green’s Greatest Hits," which is on green colored vinyl!  

One thing you're really good at: 

Beatboxing.

One thing you're epically bad at: 

Winking. I’m facially uncoordinated.

What do you do for fun? 

Singing, dancing and being merry with loved ones.

What's your biggest pet peeve? 

Littering.

How did you make your first dollar? 

Child labour. I would pull a specific weed from our paddock, and Dad paid me one dollar for every wheelbarrow I filled.

What are the three qualities that got you where you are today?

Hard work, honesty, and a sense of humour. 

What's your favorite thing about being a yoga teacher?  

The people you meet. It's amazing how people from totally different walks of life can come together and beautifully share the practice of yoga.

What's your biggest challenge as a yoga teacher?  

Not spreading yourself too thin. Saving time for yourself and your own practice.

What are you working on in your own practice? 

The breath. Always working on a deeper, longer, more masterful expression of my most essential function.

What's your favorite yoga pose, and why?

Ustrasana. Give me nine full breaths in camel and I’m glowing.

What's your favorite quote?

"Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens" ~Jimi Hendrix

What advice would you give to your younger self? 

Life’s simple, not easy. Find your purpose in life and never give up.  

Anthony is based in Perth and is assisting Zuna Yoga's 200 hour and 300 hour Bali yoga teacher trainings. Learn more about our staff here! 

Embracing Vulnerability

By Nikita Kirpalani, 200 hour Bali yoga teacher training graduate

Yoga. I love it. I absolutely adore it. I have always loved trying to keep up with the fast flows, feeling that burn during the long holds in Virabhadrasana 2 and realizing when I have gone deeper into a pose.

In retrospect, I guess it’s not that I have always loved yoga but that I have always loved yoga asanas—the physical, measurable, tangible aspect of yoga over which I seem to have complete control. This has always been my escape. Escape from the stresses, responsibilities, expectations, and trivialities of the outside world. Escape from the vulnerability that presents itself in life from time to time. 

I have always struggled with vulnerability. I don't like needing people. I don't like losing control of my emotions. You can imagine how surprised I was when I realized how key vulnerability was to yoga.

“Breathe. Reserve judgement. Simply observe.” You hear this a lot at Zuna Yoga. Although it sounds simple enough, I had a tough time wrapping my head around this concept. To simply observe, I would have to recognize my shortcomings without being determined to fix them. How would I do that without judgement and frustration? I would need to acknowledge and accept my limitations and maybe even embrace them. I would have to allow myself to be vulnerable. And that was terrifying. 

Most of us, myself included, have been conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness. We approach obstacles, discomfort, and difficulties with a fight-or-flight approach, always ready to charge forward and fight through the friction in order to progress and return to a position of strength. During my time at yoga teacher training, while trying to consciously observe without judgement, I learned that fighting through the friction or hurdles, whether physical or emotional, only slows down the process. We must simply welcome the discomfort to the best of our ability, breathe into it, allow ourselves to feel whatever it brings up, and then let it go. By relinquishing this control over our imperfections, we break down those walls of what we convince ourselves is toughness and strength, thereby allowing for connectivity and growth.

A moment that left a lasting impression and gave me the biggest jolt of clarity occurred in savasana during my teaching session. It was the second last day of our training and our group was the very last one to teach a practice class. After weeks of being pushed to our physical limits and being mentally saturated with whole new ways of thought, that savasana found everybody in a vulnerable place of looking inwards and being truly connected with themselves. In that moment, to be able to observe and feel all that energy and openness in one place was a truly humbling experience. It was strong. It was raw. It was real.

It was in that moment that I realized yoga is not an escape. When you really tune in and flow with connectivity, when you are fully present during every step of your journey as a student or a teacher, it is not an escape at all. It is jumping, heart first, into truth. Into reality. Into yourself. 

It was also in that moment that I knew I wanted to teach.

Today, I taught my first class since finishing yoga teacher training. And although it was a small class of supportive family and friends, I was surprised to find that I was a lot more nervous than I was during the training. Teaching yoga, believe it or not, leaves you vulnerable. Will they like me? Will I be able to deliver ? to help? to connect? At yoga teacher training, we were all in the same boat, experiencing the ins and outs of this journey together, and that provided a sense of calmness and trust. Being back in the context of real life, my yoga teacher journey is more private. I have learned that, just as you must accept imperfection in your own practice, you have to embrace vulnerability in order to find your voice as a teacher. To connect. To admit that you don't know everything and that you are still on your own journey. Embracing this vulnerability as a teacher cultivates trust and creates space for students to be physically and emotionally open in their practice. It allows for growth. It allows for strength. 

Breathe. Reserve judgement. Simply observe. 

Editor's note: Nikita completed our September 2016 200 hour Bali yoga teacher training and wrote three previous posts about her experience. Read them here:

You are Here. Now.
Cup Half Full
The Right Choice

Sand Rituals

By Megan Armstrong, 500 hour Bali yoga teacher training graduate

Megan Armstrong came to yoga after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. A performance artist, Megan began to incorporate an awareness of her breath into her creative practice as well as her yoga practice. What ensued is her sand rituals, which are as much about meditation as they are about movement. During the months she was creating these moving meditations, Megan chronicled her physical symptoms as well as her mental challenges and published them, along with photographs of her sand rituals, in a book titled Still. Below is her artist's statement along with an excerpt from her book, which we find to be a poignant reminder of what a dedicated practice to being aware of oneself can change everything.

When diagnosed with an illness, the sick individual develops a higher awareness of the body. To keep a consistent healthy lifestyle for the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual body, my art practice has become a healing practice. I create work that reflects the daily practice my body undergoes to stabilize my illness. This practice is inspired by the spiritual philosophies, psychologies, asanas (yogic postures), and pranayama (yogic breathing techniques) in the science of hatha and raja yoga. Through the experiments of art making, research of healing methods, and the practice of yoga meditation, the body of work is not only self-expression, but also self-alteration.

First journal entry in while

I have not done my sand performance meditations in a while, maybe a month or so. I've kept my balance by going to hatha yoga every day but the last two days have been stressful. I've let my thoughts of the future consume me. I'm overwhelmed by what needs to get done. But I am returning, finally, to the sacred place I've created for myself. Om shanti, shanti, shanti.

28 minutes later

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Sand swirling, it's dry grains running through my hands and below my feet. I feel at home. My mind empty, my lungs refreshed. I found it again, the breath.

162 days later

More open. Drawing inward, no thoughts to compete with, just breath and movement with sand. Only thinking to inhale—pull the grains in, exhale—push the grains out. Breathing to move. Moving to create. Creating to meditate. Meditating to peace. The sun is shining. The body open, the mind quiet.

48 days later

My body is tight, sore, and tired but my mind is calm—although I got pretty frustrated this morning for unnecessary parking tickets. Today will be productive. Focusing on getting back into the body. Sand meditation now and hatha yoga/pranayama later. Things are getting done, stress levels are stabilizing. Low back is sore, I'll be aware of how I move within this space of my body. Focus on the breath, the intense prana instead of the intense movement.

23 minutes later

Inhale—pull in

Exhale—push out

Inhale—move

Hold inhale—pull in

Exhale—push out

Inhale—move

Hold inhale—pull in

Exhale—push out

Inhale—sitting tall

Exhale—extending arms and torso

Inhale—sturdy arms to move the body

Exhale—pulling sand in

Interruption

Focus broken

36 days later

I want my mind to stop. Stop the excessive planning, the thinking ahead, the random thoughts that mean nothing but exacerbate so much energy. I want to experience the here and now, the only time that actually exists. I want to take account of everything that is happening in this moment. Not judging what arises because who knows what's good or bad.

19 days later

Time is like a swinging door, always pushing the mind into the future or pulling it back into the past. How can the human mind not suffer when it resides in a dimension that cannot be controlled? To live in the here and now is to live in the only time that truly exists. I move against time to keep up with time, rotating counterclockwise in a pile of sand. By pushing and pulling the timeless material, the body and breath move to keep the mind still. The patterns and forms that appear create a physical record of the conscious inhalation and exhalation. This space holds no judgement for the wandering mind, it is a place of reminder to just be.

The Right Choice

By Nikita Kirpalani, 200 hour Bali yoga teacher training graduate

I've spent most of my life staring at those roads. You know the ones. Those roads that split. Those roads that turn the single path that I am on into two divergent paths. Those roads that demand I make a choice. And I stand there. Staring. Frozen.

Frozen at the option to stay on my current path and see where it leads. Frozen at the option to explore something completely new and unprecedented. Staring. Frozen.

I've always put too much pressure on myself to make the right choice, to know the correct decision, to try to fully envision where each path would take me. Which will make me happier? Which will get me where I want to be faster? Which will cause the least damage? Since one can never truly know these answers, time and again I've found myself stuck at the proverbial fork in the road. Staring. Frozen. 

Until my final week of yoga teacher training and the discussion of chakras and the importance of finding our root in the journey to authenticity. This tied together asana practice, yogic philosophy, pranayama, meditation—everything that we had been working on over the course of the training. It all boiled down to the same thing—the importance of relying on self trust, of grounding body and mind, of creating a strong foundation, and of truly trusting intuition to guide you, whether you’re working toward a stronger asana practice or navigating the journey of life. It was a revelation.

In retrospect, I understand that the difficulty I’d experienced achieving certain poses, such as handstand and bakasana, were based in self doubt or fear, much like my difficulty with making life decisions. After a few minor physical adjustments and a major shift in trust and awareness, the poses became significantly easier. While asanas are hardly the most important part of yoga, it's illuminating—even liberating—to see such parallel changes in body, mind, and life.

It's been a few weeks since I’ve returned from yoga teacher training. Becoming reacquainted with everyday life has been an eye-opening process, to say the least. I have a long way to go in discovering my authentic self, although the substantial shift in my self awareness has already forced me to reevaluate certain aspects of my life, be they related to career or relationships. This clarity has made it more difficult for me to hide in indecisiveness to avoid dealing with change and uncertainty. As Everett pointed out during that last week, courage is authenticity whereas fear limits us to a lesser version of ourselves. What's left is trusting myself, choosing a path, and knowing I already have all the tools I need to make it through my journey. Maybe if I redirect my focus from making the right choice to finding my root and reconnecting with my intuition, I'll actually be able to put one foot in front of the other. Unfrozen. 

Editor's note: Nikita completed our September 200 hour Bali yoga teacher training and wrote two previous posts about her experience. Read them here:

You are Here. Now.
Cup Half Full

Stillness

By Megan Armstrong, 500 hour Bali yoga teacher training graduate

Stillness. So simple. Yet one of the most complex concepts of being human. We are creatures of always doing, whether in action or in thought, rarely finding ourselves at ease in stillness. Exploring and surrendering to the essence of stillness was the biggest challenge I faced during yoga teacher training.

On the mat, as my body moved during the two hours of asana practice each day, I would struggle to find steadiness. My body would tremble as it tried to hold each pose with perfection. I would overanalyze the contraction of each muscle and the skeletal alignment of each bone and in so doing my breath would get lost amid these thoughts. As practice would wind down and the poses would become simpler, I'd reconnect to my breath in preparation of mind and body for meditation.

But it was then that I was challenged even more. Sitting still for an hour, I would attempt to embrace the relaxation of the practice, but my mind found every way to become distracted. My focus would be on my breath for a brief moment but would then be interrupted by the sounds outside the shala, a bug landing on my skin, or sporadic thoughts. These constant distractions would eventually result in frustration and I would lose all focus.

I had imagined that the harder I tried in my yoga practice, the more quickly and more deeply I would come to a place of fulfillment. I soon realized that I was wrong.

Through tremendous amounts of guidance from my teachers, self reflection, and support from my fellow Zuna yogis, I allowed myself to surrender. Within this act of not trying so hard and truly connecting to the power of the breath, stillness became almost effortless.

This steadiness began to spill over into my journey off the mat, slowly weeding out all the distractions I constantly fill my daily life with. I began to fall in love with the simple task of sitting and soaking in the beautiful life that surrounded me in Bali. After several weeks of this mindful lifestyle, the art of stillness became my natural state of being, which took my journey on the mat deeper than I'd ever thought I could go physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

The last day of training, the faint sounds of my alarm began to chirp at 5:32 am. It took my body and mind a moment to adjust from the night's sleep, but the thought of the early morning practice from the day before lifted me out of bed effortlessly. As I sat on the small porch outside my villa, I soaked up the pre-dawn Indonesian landscape, awaiting the sound of the singing bowl to call me down to the shala for practice. For two hours, I was aware of nothing but my breath weaving through the layers of mind and body as I moved through the asana practice. As the practice began to slow, my body became completely still for pranayama and meditation. I attempted to do nothing but watch the tide of breath flow in and out. My mind and body became still as I surrendered. In the final moment of meditation during our training, I experienced a vibration much more powerful than the mind can intellectualize. I felt connected and at one with the aroma of the jungle, the sun that warmed my back, the breeze that caressed my face, and the gentle sounds of breath from my Zuna family that surrounded me. Eventually the sound of Everett’s voice called me back to the external world with the words, "Never lose sight of this radiant self." With tears, I slowly reopened my eyes to witness my surroundings and felt nothing but the pure essence of stillness.

Strength As I Know It

By Stephanie Given, Zuna Yoga 200 hour yoga teacher training graduate

During meditation this evening, I finally came to understand the concept of strength, an adjective that’s idolized in American culture and that I frequently use but never to describe myself.

I have lived my entire life with the image that to be strong, you must be a brick wall—let nothing or no one tear you down. I’ve never found that concept to have a foundation within myself. Family, friends, heck, even strangers have used the word “strong” to describe me for as long as I can recall. When they do, I visualize the word floating through the air around me, deflected by the impenetrable truth of my thick skin.

I can understand why the outside world would view me as strong. I’ve lifted heavy weights, I conquered a marathon, I traveled around the world for both work and pleasure, and I held my family above water when life as we knew it was collapsing around us and washing away. But I did not gain strength from that. I washed away, too, and I completely lost myself out at sea.

The obligation to play the role of “strong” for others began when I was barely a teenager. I can still taste the orange creamsicle I was enjoying at the Pub 99 restaurant when my parents told my older sister and me that they were getting a divorce. I was too young and naive to grasp the entirety of how things would change, how this would have the same spiderweb effect as breaking a slab of concrete. The dissolution of their marriage was prolonged by relentless court dates, tears, manipulation, hurtful words, and gut-wrenching periods of silence. Even when I was numb, though, I thought it was crucial to be a crutch for my mother and sister, to keep my sister feeling secure and loved. I never understood how to take the time or effort to do that for myself. Throughout my teenage years and twenties, this identity of protector of others took charge in all my relationships, no matter the circumstances or the toll it took on me.

When my mother’s doctor told her she was obese, in response, she signed herself and me up for a marathon the following year. I knew the training and the race would take a toll on my body, that physically I could not handle it, but I continued to pursue it because I thought I needed to support her. I thought that to be strong meant pushing through all barriers no matter how impossible they seem. There was no option to slow down and recover after the marathon. I was unable to walk up and down stairs, yet I still pushed through and worked my waitressing shifts. I was unable to make it out of bed without crying in pain, but I continued to make it to functions for family and friends with a smile on my face. I allowed my body to deteriorate and the injuries to progress. Because that shows strength.

Tonight I am finally beginning to understand how my notion of strength is flawed.

Meditation opened a portal of fiery rage, streaming deep from every joint, muscle, and organ. My heart, my knees, my veins, my spirit shouted, “WHY!? HOW?! Why have you ignored me all these years?! How have you not heard me before?!” No answer surfaced. Only shame.

I wanted to scream, to yell, and to cry. All at once.

Until I heard a small voice say “sorry.”

Sorry for not listening.

Sorry for not slowing down.

Sorry for being unyielding and stubborn.

Sorry for ignoring my spirit.

In that moment, I came to understand that to heal, it is vital to take the time to understand and attend to my own needs. To promise to never discard my spirit or body as unimportant. To promise that I will never take advantage again. To promise that I will never leave my spirit again.

Strength finally came to me when I apologized to myself. For pushing too hard, for disrespecting myself, for being unforgiving, and for acting plain old mean. I would not treat a loved one this way. I will not do this to myself again.

From the base of my spine, there emanated a bright white light of love for my whole self, respect for my body and soul, where courage could now grow. I could see the light burning from the muladhara, where my strength was growing roots. I could finally see strength within myself. And I had never felt more complete.

At any moment I can put on the suit of strong sister, friend, coworker, and role model, but it does not define who I am. Courage and strength stem from having the acceptance and patience to listen and honor my body and what it needs. Beyond the costumes of identities I produce, my higher being is waiting and sending cues. If I can take the time to understand and respect when to say no, when to rest and slow down, when to admit that I am not doing well, when I am in need of a hug, I am one step closer to my true self, which is a superior sort of strength.

Cup Half Full

By Nikita Kirpalani, 200 hour Bali yoga teacher training student

Editor's note: Nikita is keeping a journal of her experiences during her 200YTT, read the previous blog post here

It's a week into the yoga teacher training and I am finding it difficult to put into words exactly what it is that we are experiencing. Leading up to the training, I had so many ideas about what it may be like, what my fellow yogis would be like, how my life would change afterwards. So I find it highly appropriate that one of the concepts that's been popping up all week is the idea of "emptying the cup." You would think the challenge to unlearn or disregard the preconceptions that we came here with—about the yoga teacher training, the correct form for asanas, even our take on philosophy and life—would be a big ask for a bunch of passionate yogis. I mean, we all reached this point because of our experiences.

However, as difficult or intimidating as it may be, sometimes it's nice to press the reset button. To take a step back from our "truth" and "reality." To untangle fact from perspective. You and I are simply an amalgamation of our experiences. The way we think and see the world is not ours but rather a patchwork quilt of opinions and perspectives that other people have left behind. Every interaction we have or observation we make is speckled with our experiences, splattered with our values, and subconsciously doused in our beliefs. 

This last week has certainly challenged "reality" for me. The morning silence we observe from the moment we wake through breakfast has altered the way I interact with myself and others. The anatomy lectures and posture labs have forced me to question what I already "knew" about physical asanas. Finally, the emphasis on breathing and meditation as a way to clear the clutter and to create and claim spaciousness has forced me to be open to the unknown. 

I can already feel that cup getting lighter and the spaciousness that fills it—Sukha—inviting possibility. I'd like to see if I can truly empty the cup and reevaluate what I would fill it with.