When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Who are we when we’re rested?
This question from my teacher echoes through my practice; as I move further and further from a place of urgency and into a conscious cultivation of spaciousness.
Unrested, I am suffering. For most of my life, I did not know myself any other way.
We live in a world of notifications: alarms, instant messages, and constant contact. In our society, “Productivity” and “Action” are valued, and slowing down is labeled “lazy” and “unmotivated.”
Our exhaustion is considered a personal failure, and not recognized as a systemic one.
Work life and home life have little distinction. We are encouraged to monetize our hobbies and leisure time. We are encouraged to curate our moments, instead of being present in them. It’s easy to see why so many of us struggle with rest.
I had just graduated from college. I was completely confused as to what I was doing with my life. I had begun getting into yoga asana to find some relief from the constant spinning. I was also exhausted, and had no idea what to do about it. I know who I am when I am unrested: snappy, often ill, short-tempered, overwhelmed easily, and not that curious about what drives others.
I had developed a consistent asana practice, but even though I felt more connected to my body than I had before yoga, I still was prickly, easy to anger, and tired. I just didn't realize it.
One day, during a yoga workshop, the instructor asked us to get into savasana. I complained that I was never able to get comfortable in the pose, and that the pain often disrupted my yoga practice. “Try putting a bolster behind your knees,” she suggested. I reluctantly followed her directions, tensing up. I expected to feel the the lower back discomfort that typically accompanied the pose, but it never came. Instead of my usual few minutes of unease that usually followed my asana classes, I was able to reach a new space in my practice. One simple prop opened my world. “If you like that, you should try Restorative yoga,” she said. I signed up for the next Restorative class that I could, with no idea that my life was about to change.
Now, of course, one cannot “out-yoga” a dangerous situation, socio-economic obstacles, or serious illness. However, the bone-deep tiredness I felt, and what I have observed in many others, is an additional weight that hovers above u. It saps recovery strength and resilience, as it forces us into survival mode. Fatigue not only weakens our immune systems, it keeps us in a state of activation that affects our hormones, can cause headaches, dizziness, irritability, confusion, sleep issues, joint pain, and other serious complications.
Restorative yoga was created by B.K.S. Iyengar and popularized and developed in the United States by one of his senior instructors, Judith Hanson Lasater, a world renowned yoga instructor and author. In Judith’s definition, Restorative yoga is “the use of props to support the body in positions of comfort and ease, to facilitate health and relaxation.” After you practice a while, you start to see everything as a potential Restorative prop; these props lift and support the body in different poses. They would be familiar to a regular yoga practitioner, but are placed with coziness and warmth in mind.
Supta Baddha Konasana becomes a throne to comfort. A bolster, leaning on blocks, supports your torso, while your head is supported and tucked in with a blanket, to relieve tension in the neck and jaw. Your arms rest in a sling of blankets, with each thigh supported by a bolster, while your ankles are held by a rolled blanket, and your eyes are covered (which is always optional). In this glorious position, the body can settle in and just “Be.” Restorative savasana may add a bolster under the knees and a roll for the ankles, supports for each wrist, a head support, an eye cover, and as many blankets as desired. Each pose is customized to the body of the person practicing; there is no “right shape” but simply what is right for the person resting. Restorative yoga can be practiced seated, lying down, on your back, or on your side, and there are endless combinations of props to build up and explore deeper and deeper layers of rest.
Restorative yoga is a passive practice. Instead of stretching, it is about opening and softening, allowing the body to release tension on its own terms as it rests on and over the props. In these supported resting poses, we can turn a gentle soft gaze on our internal landscape, and learn to give up resistance to the present moment. By being able to see ourselves with clarity and validate our experience, we acknowledge our reality. We are able to calm the ruminations of the mind, and find freedom from suffering.
When I first experienced my full Restorative yoga setup, I was transported to a space that I didn't know I was capable of getting to. I'd spent so many years resisting allowing my body to release that it felt almost painful at first, to notice the distance between the tension and lack of it. Being lifted, tucked in, held by the props, was shocking at first. When the practice ended, I was astounded by how deeply renewed I felt. I had more energy, and, shockingly, traffic on the ride home didn’t bother me. I initially wrote it off as the excitement of a new experience, but as time passed I noticed something: the more I practiced, the more room I had in my life. Returning to myself and observing my internal state over and over was allowing me to move away from constant reactivity. The practice is a reminder that we are humans, that we are not meant to experience chronic stress, and that when we rest deeply, we clear our lenses and can connect from a place of choice and intention, not reaction and fear.
I discovered that when I am rested, my tolerance is greater. Less agitated and now quite slow to anger, I notice I am more able to meet my needs, and recognize the humanity in others when their needs are unmet. I believe that when we are deeply rested, we return to our true nature. That doesn’t mean we don’t advocate for ourselves but the opposite: we can establish our needs and boundaries with the spirit of connection and recognition of our humanity. When we do this, we can effectively advocate for, and make room for, those around us to rest. Like ripples out from a pond, a deep rest practice reaches the farthest shores of our communities.
Who are we when we’re rested? Our true selves, clear, shining, present.