Sunday, October 18, 2009

Alexandroid

This is a term - and a state - that I came across early in my training. It's also a stage which most Alexander students pass through at one time or another, whether they're training to be teachers or not.
It's characterised by an obsession with the way you are holding yourself, and a paranoid reluctance to make any movement, in case you tighten. So you develop a tendency to keep yourself very upright as you walk, continually giving directions for the neck to release. There is also often a tendency to turn with the whole body to look at something to the side, instead of turning just the head like any normal person. Hence the name, I guess!
Sitting down and getting up is done solemnly, with due consideration to stopping, directing, and letting the head lead the action. Sitting is always with an upright posture, with both feet on the ground, and the hands placed on the lap. Directing, you may be sure, all the way.
I began to do a rethink when I heard a possibly apocryphal story of Alexander students who went to the Sistine Chapel and lay down on the floor to look at the ceiling.
Excuse me?
I thought the Alexander Technique was meant to open up more possibilities for me, not narrow down the few I have. If that's the case, it should free me up to do the things I need to do and want to do. That made a little more sense, and so did the relaxed - released? - attitude of my teachers, who encouraged me to look, not just at what I was doing, but also how I was doing it. This doesn't mean that we pay no attention at all to our posture in sitting and standing. There are certain positions in which it is easier to release. If you are sitting balanced on your sit bones, it is definitely easier for you to lengthen and widen, especially in the beginning, than if you were sitting forward, or behind them.
But we need to be aware of two things -
One, that it is quite possible to be tight even while balanced on your sit bones, and
two, that some one who is skilled at the Alexander Technique can release while balanced on the sit bones,behind them, or in front of them.
The best thing to do, probably, is to pay attention to the posture, and the best way to sit, or stand, or do anything, but also to constantly keep learning to direct and inhibit in unusual and challenging situations.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Back from Mumbai

I thought I would get the time to post at least a couple of blogs - unfortunately I couldn't.
It was a good trip - I got to work with people who were really motivated to learn, who asked questions and expressed their doubts and confusions. That challenged me to really think so I could satisfy them with my answers. I hope I did. Also got some contacts which hopefully will work out in the future. Some carefully directed action, judiciously laced with inhibition, seems to be called for!
On my return, I got a call from an old pupil who wanted to come in for a lesson -
I'm constantly thinking about this, he said, and I'm feeling that everything I do is wrong.
I'm thrilled! I said, Carry right on directing, you're right on track!
I don't think he's forgotten what he's learnt, or suddenly, inexplicably, lapsed. I think it's just that he's coming up against some use patterns that he's really comfortable with, and his system doesn't want to let go.
I remember walking along the sea front in Brighton, some weeks into my course, miserably feeling that I had forgotten how to walk, that everyone was looking at me in astonishment at my strange, awkward way of walking. I really,truly felt that I didn't know how to lift my legs and move them so as to take a step. Only the realisation that I did have to get home somehow made me continue. And all the time, of course, I could also see that actually no one was looking at me at all; everyone was happily engrossed in their own business - or pleasure. A very weird feeling.
Absolutely convinced of the complete wrongness of my being and doing, and at the same time, realising that I looked as normal as anyone else.
Of course, I never for a minute considered throwing it all up and going home. I'd decided even before I got to Brighton that I was going to learn this, come what may.
But if I had wanted to give it all up, I think the other interludes would have persuaded me otherwise. The sudden, unexpected moments of walking - floating - along the street, feeling everything working smoothly, with an intelligence and harmony of its own. I didn't have to do anything - it was all doing itself, and life didn't have a greater joy than this.
Of course, after a few moments, I tried to grab it and hold on to it, at which it immediately vanished. But I'd had the experience, and seen what was possible. That alone would have kept me going, if I'd had any thought of giving up.