Ana Forrest

Last year, I read a book called Fierce Medicine and ever since, I’ve periodically stalked Ana Forrest’s website for opportunities to attend one of her yoga events. So when I found out that she would be leading a series of workshops down in Portland at the beginning of October, I didn’t hesitate to make the trip. 

Ana’s story had struck me from page one. This was not going to be some fluffy yogi making their teachings inaccessible to the masses that use yoga to try to get in touch with a meandered spirit. Ana’s story of abuse, self-inflicted pain, scarcity and challenge had led her to create a practice embraced the painful and the defunct. From start to finish, the text was written with brazen honesty. I felt like I was allowed to be struggling with my own shit and I didn’t have to be a certain ideal to be reading a book about yoga. 

When I walked into the small studio space on Thursday evening, I had an immediate, surreal “star-struck” sort of moment as I realized I was in the same room with this warrior woman. As I took a seat among the rapidly expanding circle of people ready to drum, I found myself foolishly hoping that something about my energy might make her look my way or bring me to the forefront of her attention through the practice. Instead of course, she was preoccupied, fussing with mix adjustments and lighting settings (this portion was to be filmed for an online streaming). I watched her demeanor - seemingly absorbed in ego, almost diva-like in the way she floated about trying to perfect the settings - and noticed that I was forming all of these adverse opinions of her and analyzing, analyzing, analyzing. After a few minutes, I imagined the way she was coming across from her perspective and thought it was probably more a sort of method for dealing with the awkwardness of this spotlight more than anything else. But I was still analyzing. My head swam with the possibility that I may be thoroughly disappointed in coming face to face with this woman whom I’d considered such a powerful inspiration on the page for so long. 

I was quickly knocked right out of my ego, humbled and pleasantly surprised. 

Ana’s presence in being was akin to what she exuded on the page; an honest, no-bullshit confrontation of all we try to distract ourselves from while still carrying incredible warmth and vulnerability in her tone that made that all okay. furthermore, when the session began, introductions were made that reminded me to get out of this higher-than-thou attitude. Many others in the room had an intimate connection with Ana and a better understanding of the community I had entered into. Quietly dismissing my trite preconceptions, I sunk into the space as much as I could - not feeling my most connected amidst the haste of my life these days - and called in the four directions with the group as we entered into some drumming. I’d brought my own drum but again, my anticipation of the event was miscalculated when everyone either pulled out or was given a Remo - a native hand-held drum - for this style of gathering. Mine was made out of Elk skin and as we bagan, Ana spoke about getting in touch not with a specific rhythm but with the embodiment of the animal that sacrificed itself for the gift we each held. I found it suiting that of the skins they had, I’d picked Elk. Eyes closed, I went through the music - some chants of which I knew of in one variant or another - and allowed myself to hear my beating as heartbeat, trying to feel it emerging from my heart, as Ana had advised. 

The drumming came to a close and we did one last exercise before Ana took questions. Crouching down and wiggling her rump into the ground, Ana spoke of her time in the desert with the Coyotes. “I learned their call” which she described as the “closest thing to truth”. Then she welcomed each of us into our own haunched position and the whole room howled long, high-pitched howls for as long as we could. 

during questions afterwards, Ana got one that produced an elaborate anecdote from the story told in her book, going into her abuse and her experiences of living in complete absence of other human beings. At this point, she also shared a story about prayer. I paraphrase: we think we have to look perfect to go pray and speak to a greater spirit - to ask for help - high up on a mountaintop with wind blowing our hair. Well, last year I was in China and I was stumbling through my hotel hallway trying to find my room after coming down with food poisoning. I blearily reached for the door and stumbled in and there on my sill is a Chinese Eagle. This is in the middle of the polluted city atmosphere. And this eagle stayed with me and the whole time it was there on that sill. I did not feel sick. It came back to my window every day during my lunch break until I was better. You don’t have to look glamorous. You just have to ask for guidance.

When I’d realized Ana’s workshops fell on the same weekend as Yom Kippur, I had begun to invision the perfect Yom Kippur schedule. Drumming, a day in a park for my fast on Friday (I was practicing a day early due to scheduling) and an evening of yoga with Ana. Fortunately, she had set up this preface of necessary imperfection because the next day, Mercury went retrograde…

The only thing I had to worry about was a brief phone call to the team around 10:30 for some input during our meeting back in WA. Then I would go lay in the grass and while away the day with a pen and paper and the sun and water and the trees….and then 10 o’clock came around with a message from my teammate that I was supposed to go to Seattle with the next day. She had forgotten she had to work and it was too late to find a cover. No Seattle. My tendency towards stress was looming and I called in my conscious to do all I could to take this in stride as I began to readjust my day. There were big-city things needing to be dealt with that I had planned to tackle in Seattle which now needed to be fit into my Yom Kippur Friday. After the meeting call, I went to the store and then reluctantly headed downtown to the epicenter of traffic chaos where I swore I would never venture again for an Apple Store visit. I’d been told my cracked phone could be replaced for free under warranty and was anticipating a quick in/out. As per the vibe of the day, anticipate not what you truly hope for. My phone was not covered. At least, they explained, the machine that usually replaces only the screen for a reduced price was broken and so they were giving everyone whole new phones for that cheaper price: $129. Whatever. I wasn’t going to go on a deal-hunt. I went into my wallet to prepare to fork over the money and discovered that my card was no where to be found. I had been paid a lot of cash jobs recently so I had the cash to pay for the phone, but now my brain was in another level of ‘frantic’. When they informed me they didn’t validate for the expensive parking, it was a small disappointment but on top of the day, it felt like a slap in the face. I swirled down the driveway as fast as I could, tempted to sit in my car and immediately make calls about my card. But I didn’t want to spend on wasted time in the lot. One-track focus, I let my phone guide me to the biggest, greenest place on the map in Portland: Forest Park. There, after making calls that got me busy signals or automated messages, I finally sent an e-mail to my bank simply stating “Help me! I lost my card!” Doing all I could, I set it aside and went into the woods. 

Forest park is a 5,000 acre old growth forest in the middle of Portland. And it is exactly what I needed. It was a bit chilly in the valley of towering trees by the water but the solitude and fresh air was worth it. I found a bench to sit and journal on until my fingers were too cold and then I walked until I hit neighborhood before turning around to trek back up the valley to my car. The few hours had finally allowed me to decompress and remind myself of Ana’s message. I’d gotten meaning in my day even amidst it’s unpredictable outcome. And now soon, I would be in a setting surrounded by others with the same intent of relaxing and reflecting. 

“Do you want to create more shit? Or do you want to find your spirit?”

This was the mantra of the evening. Ana’s class led us in and out of twists and bends and holds I’d never heard of but it also made us look at yoga as a tool with vast potential. Ana teaches on the basis of what she calls “tracking”, like an animal tracking a scent.She opened the evening with a breathing exercise that asked us to find where we connected our breath. Some of us, she said, would know how to find our spirit and let our breath reside there. Others of us may have a spirit that has gotten muddled or meandered away from us and may be inaccessible to our connection right now. That’s okay. Reside your breath in your heart. I was a heart. 

Even in the poses that I couldn’t access more deeply, Ana’s insight into the resource each pose provided was intriguing. Poses that had been in her book which I tended to bypass on my own time for lack of understanding their subtleties were now made clearer under the direction of her and her assistants. And she moved throughout the group, correcting us with a gentle hand on the back here and there (yes, a bit starstruck still). 

As I drove home that night, I constant had to speak myself out of that “perfection” bias, questioning whether the trip had been worth it. The moments above should speak for themselves. Each one was valuable.