Redefining Yin Yoga
Like most practices in the modern yoga industry, yin yoga has adopted a surface level definition, as a practice of slow static postures that affect connective tissue and meridian lines. While this is true, and there are indeed so many benefits to this, I feel this definition limits “yin yoga” to the physical practice, which is only one small branch of what was traditionally intended by the word “yoga”.
While we normally think of “yoga” as an exercise done mainly by white women in stretchy pants, Yoga is a word brimming with meaning. In the truest sense, it means “to unite”, or to “bring together”. Thus, Yoga is the practice of becoming whole through life-long transformation and integration. To truly practice “yoga”requires a new way of seeing and relating to life beyond the yoga mat. It requires study, commitment, devotion, self-reflection and radical honesty.
While the word “Yoga” is Sanskrit, originating in India, “Yin” comes from the Chinese lineages. It is a Taoist concept, which points to the receptive, feminine energy, represented by the dark shadowy side of the mountain. Yin only exists in its relationship to Yang, which is the bright light of heaven, the energy of the masculine and the upward ascent, and vice versa. Neither energy is inherently “good” or “bad”, but rather, disharmony arises when these forces are out of balance.
I would argue that the difficulties we face today, are largely due to the yang imbalance we experience collectively. Our quest to “be better” to advance to the moon and to mars, and to pillage the earth’s resources for the benefit of that advancement, is Yang. Our fear of death and our denial of the dark is representative of our rejection of Yin, seen in our brightly illuminated streets, neon television screens, sexism, and systemic racism. What is less seen but desperately needed is a deep acceptance and re-integration of our shadow, our biases- a respect for nature and our interconnection. This must arise out of individuals reflecting in stillness and remembering the original silence of their being.
So what does it mean when we place the word “yin” in front of the word “yoga”? (The very origins of Yin yoga are confusing, and this is perhaps for another post). To me, placing “yin” in front of a word as big as “yoga” means that the feminine, slow, receptive principal must also envelop the other branches of “yoga”: including the way we live our life. Perhaps “yin yoga” is a bigger concept than what we thought, a yoga evolving from its long patriarchal past into a deep respect for the feminine voice?
As a white female I recognize my privilege in being able to travel to Asia, and have had the luxury of time and resources to dive deep into the history of the religions in which both concepts of “yin” and “yoga” have evolved. I see the limits of my western biases, as I don’t live in an Asian culture, nor speak any of the languages. At the same time, like so many of us in the west, my spiritual orphanhood of having no religion to confide in other than materialism, lead to deep dive into eastern practices at a young age, as well as a deep appreciation for their need now.
However, from my perspective as a yogi and an academic in religion/yoga, I cannot deny the long history of sexism and exclusion of the feminine. To clarify, feminine here does not equate to gender, but to the Yin, the dark, the hidden, the mysterious, the shadow, the messy realm of embodiment, and most importantly, nature.
While there are so many saints and sages that came before us, (bless them) they too, write through the “yang”, or masculine sense. Even the Buddha himself, (supposedly) claimed that a woman cannot become enlightened. What does this say about the sages of the past, and their respect for the feminine? What I have come to realize, is the answers we seek in “his-story” might be hidden or altogether missing, simply as a function of the patriarchy in which we are emerging. This makes me question “tradition” against what is needed now. A letting go and an opening to a new way of seeing.
We are writing something new.
We might start our yin yoga practice as slow static postures, but my hope is that it opens our eyes in the downward direction-to look at and integrate our shadow, to love what is hard to love, and to evolve our capacity to be embodied, so we can see how the health of our inner ecosystem is dependent upon the earth’s. My hope is that as we practice “yin yoga” we can let go of our need to become someone, and lean into our potential to help someone- ourselves being that first someone. My hope is that by practicing yin yoga in the fullest sense, we have more resources to flow with the unknown, to walk in the dark, and to humbly admit our ignorance. Perhaps from there, a new, integrated light will shine up from the ashes.
