“Let’s begin in Tadasana. Inhale. Exhale, move into uttanasana . . . Place your legs wide, turn the right foot out, moving into utthita parsvakonasana. Sally, not trikonasana. Ian? We’ll do parivrtta parsvakonasana later. Right now, it’s utthita parsvakonasana. Remember? No, like this.”

Sanskrit was the sacred language of Hindu gods, so why are local yoga teachers delivering it to the world’s least receptive audience? For most Aussies, primary-school Mandarin and even `easier’ Latin faves like French broke the brain belt. Yet here we are, a nation of eager yoga students, straining to understand a zombie language barely uttered in India. (About 50,000 of the 1.1 billion population speak Sanskrit fluently). Even Catholics gave up on the Latin mass…

And yet, I love Sanskrit, the way those cascading consonants limber my lips, and it can be wonderfully soothing to chant foreign words, gliding along a soundscape instead of intellectualising its content.

As in all things yoga, there is a profound point to Sanskrit. Its spoken or sung vibration has therapeutic effects on the mind and body, whether you understand it or not. That “Om” tattooed on your “buttock”? You’re better off “omming” it, than wearing it, because its three-part chant delivers a vibrational connection to universal consciousness.

I did, however, spend eight years at an Iyengar school feeling like the slackest twice-weekly yoga student on Earth for not understanding the consonants that tumbled like dry pebbles from my teacher’s mouth. “Do what?” I’d desperately cast sideways for someone already in the pose. It was a big ask, I thought, to absorb kilometre-long foreign words in a one-hour yoga class as we swept from one asana to the next. I felt stupid, alienated.

I still do at times, because Sanskrit wasn’t a major part of my teacher training. There is earnest discussion among the teaching community about the use of Sanskrit for instruction in classes, and we’re divided over the issue.

While we can all appreciate the rousing vibration of a choir in full anthem, it’s only a select few who honour Italian Opera, and they’re given a program to understand the story, which isn’t the norm in an your average yoga class. “Here’s your Sanskrit sheet, now place your shoes to the side.”

You’ll find plenty of teachers who say “Mountain Pose”, “Extended Side Angle Pose” and “This is Really Good for Alleviating Stress Pose” to save the facial anguish that betrays Sanskrit-challenged students. And plenty more who make up lively mnemonics for poses: “Peeling Pelvis”, “Upface Puppy” or “Flopping Fish on the Pier”.

If you want to hook into the mystery of Sanskrit, check out the Sanskrit for the postures you do at Yoga Journal.com, ask your teacher for a word sheet, or to consider using English translations. And if it’s all a bit beyond you, relax in the knowledge that you’re in the student majority.


YOGA SPEAK
It must sound weird the way yoga teachers desert street-side English for arcane forms of expression like “breath into your belly” and “linger in your heartspace”.

You’re thinking: “Okaaay. How exactly do I do that?” Then the seemingly impossible
metaphoric task arrives: “Imagine you’re a jellyfish, and as you expand and contract, the cells of your body pulse to receive life force and expel toxins”. (fab photo by Erwin Kodiat).



Teachers strive to make the practice meaningful for you and hope like hell you’ve got the Discovery Channel’s `corps de ballet’ jellyfish in your head, not some mashed-up, beached gelatine. They have some fairly nebulous concepts to get across as they guide your yoga practice toward a spiritual experience, and beautiful, evocative language is the key.

“Breath into your armpits”. You already know your aluminium-free deodorant doesn’t cut it. This instruction is about visualising the loosening of your muscles. Picture your breath, say, as a wave gathering momentum through your body and into the muscles of your armpit region, where it swells and, on the out breath, dissolves the tightness gained from hunching over a computer all day. It’s a far more useful direction, for some, than “stretch your pecs”; particularly if you don’t know what, or where, your pecs are.

“Fill your heartspace with light”. . . sure, the left chest cavity is filled with blood, soft tissue and bulky organ but, energetically (and we are just a collection of atoms), the heartspace is the seat of love, and light is the highest, most pure vibration we can see . Why not fill your heartspace with light, instead of less choice vibrations like car horns, text messages, or aching emotion?

Every lingo has its place. Imagine translating media footy-speak from “Juddy dug the ball out of the pack” to “Chris pulled the football away from his competitors”…

The language of yoga, be it bizarre, analogous, metaphoric and figurative, is about getting you to view your mind and body as something far more than just a physical presence. It’s about heightening your awareness on every level in order to peel back the layers to reveal your innate spiritual centre.

Lisa Mitchell is a hatha yoga teacher, relaxation instructor and freelance writer/editor who specialises in holistic wellbeing.