I don’t say “futility” to imply that the pursuit is pointless,  that no progress occurs, or to indicate any measure of disillusionment with my practice and what practicing this way has yielded.  I say “futility” to pierce through the perfectionistic, competency-driven, type-A expectations that drew me to the alignment-based approach in the first place. As I participate sincerely in this exercise of futility called alignment-based yoga, I am using the alignment protocols— no matter how impossible they may be to achieve perfectly— as  a guide. As my guide, these principles give me a mirror upon which to see where I am, where I am not, what is stiff, tight, weak, strong, supple, movable, immovable, and so on within me. I can see my relationship to being both  able and not able. I can see my relationship to understanding and confusion.

​I can see my relationship to preferences, opinions, rationalizations, limits and boundaries.  I can see the ways my body conforms to “common tendencies in the pose” also known  “common misalignments.”  I can see where, in some cases, the protocols simply do not work for me  or my body at a given time and I am beholden to myself, not guiding structures or mental concepts.  As my guide, these principles and structures— so often confused with right and wrong, good and bad, and imposing outer standards— have helped me develop an internalized awareness that is  personal and empowering.

The act of aligning oneself in yoga requires a relationship with one’s attention. And as we tend to the position of the body, muscular recruitment, the energetics of the biomechanical action, the resultant physical, emotional and attitudinal effects, etc.   we are in a field of consciousness that can, over time, open a portal well beyond the shape in which we are taking such an interest.  While all that outer maneuvering  and inner churning is happening, there is another level of possibility that can be found. 

In 2004, I was in Northern  India at an Iyengar yoga school in the mountains. One day our teacher,  Rajiv Chanchani, looked at us and said, “Here we are,  dressed for gym class for an exercise in consciousness.”

Since that time, our gym clothes have gotten a heck of a lot nicer and yet the exercise in consciousness remains the same; the call to attention every bit as potent. When I bring my consciousness to bear on my posture, coupled with  my awareness that I am doing such a thing, I am weaving web much deeper than physical position, perfectionistic expectations, dogmatic compliance or rigid adherence to protocols.  I am placing myself in a stream that says,  “Pay attention because your prana will follow your attention.  And as you watch all those details in your body, watch, feel, sense and come into relationship with who is doing all that watching in the first place.”

So, like that. ​

​Tonight is February 13th. Tomorrow is February 14th. Most of you will celebrate tomorrow as Valentine’s Day. I will mark the day remembering my mother who died last year on February 14th, after 6 days in the  ICU. 

                                                                                       ***
I miss my mother. 

Weirdly, I also feel my mom  constantly since she died so her absence has brought new meaning to what it means to me  miss someone. How is it that missing someone sits  right alongside feeling them always with me?

This question, I suppose,  is the wonder of human potential. 

I used to be interested in human potential as it related to yogic powers, extra-sensory perception, and utilizing  100% of our brain.  Somewhere between my 45th year and now (months away from 50)  I became  more interested in my personal  human potential to love, to care, to sacrifice intelligently, willingly and whole-heartedly. I became less interested in ESP and more interested in what it means in practical application  to be who I most truly am. And, while I know the thread of “who I most truly am” is a long and winding road to something well beyond my psychology, that very same  thread passes through my very  human life, my very human psychological structures as well as my very deepest longings of Spirit. 

                                                                                   ***
I am a quiet, withdrawn, “do-not-talk-to-unless-you-have-to-before-10am” kind of person. Like, unless there is a fire. (Or, to be honest, unless if I want to talk. I know, the rules are inconsistent, but, well, I contain multitudes...) And while I am funny, charismatic, outspoken, opinionated and prone to long diatribes of story-telling and explanation in my teaching, alone at home, first thing in the morning, I want the world to shut the eff up.

Mom, on the other hand,  used to wake up and start talking., She would walk with her walker and an assistant through the house commenting on all the toys Locket had chewed and were left eviscerated in the living room. Then she would  talk to the cats who were waiting for her on the kitchen table. (Don’t judge— I have terrible boundaries and I know it.) Then,   Mom would talk to Dad and me and Kelly and whoever else might be around.  She asked questions like,  “What kind of bird is that?” She made comments like, “Look at the deer!” And when we had a rare three days of cloudy weather and she could no longer see the mountains out front, she looked at me and said, “I miss my majesty. I want to see my mountains again.”

"Don’t we all, Mom?"  I remember thinking… “Don’t we all?” (Miss our majesty, that is.)

Of course, as life would have it,  on February 15th, the day after she died, the house was silent in the morning.

What did I miss most?

I  missed her chatter, her laughter, her inane comments and  her questions to which I never had very good  answers. The same  behaviors  I was annoyed by every morning were what  I missed the most the first day she was no longer with us physically. 

                                                                                ***

​My mom’s physical presence was B-roll. She wasn’t the one out front selling content, making a living, insisting on structure, order and common sense at all costs. Mom— especially in her later years— was the one behind the scenes, cracking up on her mat, and finding fun where she could. 

Of course, that sense of joy was not always the case.

Her recovery after her second stroke was hard. I witnessed her struggle with walking, which she was never able to do again without assistance. I witnessed her struggle to find her words again and give voice to her ideas and concerns.  And, later than I wish, I witnessed the way her quick-witted, highly-verbal, fast-talking and loving family members didn’t slow down long enough to make it safe for her to speak. I witnessed her withdrawal and her depression as she dug deep to make peace with her situation.

I also witnessed her emergence from that underworld.

I saw  the ways she came back to life when she and Dad  moved in with us a few years ago. I watcher her  find  joy in the dog, the cats, the mountains, her church, her PT and  OT, and the women in her Bible Study group. She also liked my cooking and the homemade ice cream I made for her, but that is probably another story.

The thing is, Mom was the B-roll for our family.  She didn’t just talk or ask questions or insist that everything be presented in a neat and orderly way. She  cracked herself up. Sometimes she laughed about life. Sometimes she laughed  about others. Sometimes she laughed about herself. She had an irrepressible joy and a smile that could light up a room. 

I do not mean she was never depressed. I mean, that she never gave up and life never stopped answering her question of how to find joy.  In that way, she was super-human.

​At the very least, she was a super human.

                                                                                           ***

​On the eve of the first anniversary of her  passing,  after filming some content and some “B-roll” far away from home, I am writing with tears in my eyes and gratitude in my heart for what she taught me while she was alive and for what her living memory continues to reveal to me. Andrea Cheek Frosolono was an exemplary mother to me and my sister,  a great wife to my father and a wonderful, reliable  friend to many. She lives on in the sound of my own cackling laughter, my commitment to bring joy to life and to “make fun” in the ways that I can and in the numerous contributions she made to those she loved.

                                                                                             ***

One of my friends from high school wrote me after he found out Mom died. He asked me how I was doing. He had lost his dad a year or two earlier. I said, “Well, I am fine. And yet, I woke up this morning  and realized this was the first day of my entire life when I didn’t have my Mom.”

He told me, “Yeah. That feeling that something isn’t quite right and that you are missing something you have always had doesn’t really go away. At least it hasn’t for me. But it does get easier to live with. You will get more used to it.”

As I have gotten older, I find promises such as his more meaningful than larger notions of transcendence and “complete recovery.” I don't mind living with a tinge of sorrow remembering my mom because it keeps me tender-hearted. It’s okay that life  won’t ever be the same, that I won't  ever be the same because who I am growing into is being formed by the whole of life, not just the easy parts. That is the example Mom set, whether she knew she was doing  it or not.  

Like I said, she was a super human.

                                                                                      ***

And if you have gotten this far into my entry, thank you for staying the course. I have been keeping these entires  to 1000 words this last year or so and now I am watching my word count creep up to almost 1400. To paraphrase Mark Twain,  "If  I had more time, I could have written a shorter blog entry."  Thanks for reading and taking time to share your stories with me. Mom's life was a testimony to community and the support that is possible when "two or more are gathered" and I am happy to be gathered with you. 

More soon. 

We are experiencing a good snow season in Colorado, which means many of us here are on the local mountains snowboarding, skiing, snowshoeing and making merry. As I was putting my snowboarding gear away the other day, I glanced over at my mountain bike and felt a bit of nostalgia for riding my bike on the amazing trails we have here.  Snow season means no biking. Biking season generally means no snowboarding.  Long story short, outdoor sports in Colorado are seasonal endeavors.

Seasonal  activities are great because  when the spring thaw comes and I am back on my bike, I will feel elated for the return to the trail in much the same way the opening of snow season brings with it a joyful return to the slopes.  Each season is  made a bit sweeter by time away involved in other pursuits.

Yoga, unlike most sports, doesn’t  run by seasons. I am not only talking about the fact that since we  practice mostly inside, in temperature-controlled environments, we are not dependent or deterred by weather patterns. I am talking about a stated or unstated imperative that we practice daily, no matter what, maintaining inspiration, enthusiasm, and devotion throughout the process.

Almost every other serious physical endeavor has an off-season and a on-season. Take body builders or triathletes, for instance— they have a season where they bulk up, eat more and gain weight and a season where they slim down, lean out and so on. Many  yogi’s expect to exist happily all year round on green drinks  and weight fluctuations indicate some loss of discipline or moral high ground. (Don’t go too far down the road on the food or the sports analogy, I am just saying poking a little bit at the unrealistic expectations that often result in shame, self-criticism, feelings of isolation.)

And the double binds are endless— practice daily, but don’t be compulsive; get better at asana, don’t be attached to the poses; make sacrifices for your practice, have a full life.

​And so on.

Truth be told,  my practice has had very definite seasons over the years. I have maintained a regular practice but certainly not always an inspired one. I have had cycles where the only thing  I wanted to do was spend my day working on postures. I have had phases where the topic of poses seemed absurd and irrelevant. I have found joyful connection in the online platforms of social media  and I have wanted to throw my phone across the room when I saw someone post a yet another yoga photo.
​
I have felt strong, supple, and capable. I have felt weak, stiff, and limited. I have felt inspired by the possibility of enlightened community as often as I have felt betrayed, cynical, and hopeless about what can happen when two or more are gathered in the name of yoga.  I have loved by body. I have hated it. I have felt good about my practice. I have felt critical about my practice. I’ve had periods of puritanical restriction and periods of bacchanalian indulgence. To be clear,  I am not talking about a night or two. I am talking about seasons of each swing on the pendulum.

​As a teacher, I have showed up to my classes, workshops and trainings regardless of what my own personal seasonal weather pattern has been. I have done my best and admittedly, my best has varied over the years.

None of my teachers ever talked much about the waxing and waning of their enthusiasm for practice, so I am writing a blog entry to talk about mine  in case you are on a downswing of some kind and judging yourself. No matter how you feel, you are not alone-- at least two of us in the world have struggled  to accept the seasonal nature of the  inner and outer lives of our practice.

There is no single way to sustain a relationship to practice over the course of one's life. My approach might make your life miserable and yours might not work well for me. None of those outer expressions matter so much to me these days. I have come to appreciate what gets built over the long haul, in the cumulative effects of sustaining some connection to practice through the different seasons of my interest and involvement. While there are pivotal moments and threshold experiences that can usher us into new depths,  the gifts of the practice are not  built in any one practice, class or workshop. In the same way that riding my bike in the spring  is made sweeter because of a 4-month break, sometimes my appreciation for asana returns when I allow myself some time away to pursue other activities.

I am on a bit of an upswing with asana  these days, finding inspiration and delight through my Asana Junkies webinar and some recent, rewarding teaching experiences. Kelly also re-did my practice space and  that change has helped me settle in again. Ever since my move to Colorado, I haven’t liked the space I have had to practice very much and now I love my whole office/practice space scenario. (This is a high-class complaint, I know, but since my practice is 90% solitary and home-based, not studio-based, having a space I like is pretty important. More so than I realized, in fact.)

At any rate, I trust the process this many years in.  Sometimes I see my students  in the season of zeal and I miss that season. I see other students in the dark night of the yoga soul and I recognize  that season from personal experience,  although I would be lying to say I miss it.  My point is that yoga is a relationship like any other relationship and, after the flush of new love fades, the work of intimacy begins, often marked by a period of conflict, restlessness, and/or  boredom. And, as any one who has worked through any of those issues in any of their relationships knows, the seasons of difficulty where things are burning, dying, or laying fallow can become  fertile soil for future growth.

And, two  practical pieces of advice in closing:
1.) Occasionally, give yourself permission NOT to practice. 
2.) Don’t underestimate the power of 15 or 20  minutes to keep your connection to asana alive. The short practice we actually do is way better than the long practice we don’t do. 

​(Yes, I know, these ideas are sort of  “blinding flashes of the obvious.”  However, perfectionistic types out there often find these teachings quite difficult to take to heart.  You know who you are.)

​Keep the faith.

And yet, I have also learned that I am crazy person if I try to meet the divergent, varied needs, interests, and capacities in the room.  And look, I write thoughtful sequences, I tell stories of my struggles, I make jokes (some funnier than others) in the  hope that humor can dismantle some of the frustrations that inevitably occur in a class or workshop. I do my best. I make mistakes. I get it right and I get it wrong. ​

Recently I realized that I have made just about every mistake in the book when it comes to teaching yoga, except sleeping with my students. And, I am pretty sure if I had been single when I started teaching yoga, I would have made that mistake also. (Not that being married is any guarantee that a yoga teacher won’t have sex with their students, but that is another entry for another day.) My point is that I have gained most of my insight about practicing and teaching through the school of mistake-making.

I lean very heavily on a teaching from the 12-step communities that says “Take what you can use and leave the rest” and encourage my students to do the same when they take my classes and workshops. Not to be confused with cherry-picking or “taking-only-what-you-like-or-agree-with-or-are-comforted-by,”  taking what you can use is a much more nuanced, refined, and complex protocol.
​
If, for instance, I have a back injury that is aided by a deep lumbar curve and aggravated when that curve isn’t maintained, then poses like malasana, kurmasana, bakasana, and so on, all of which round the spine and move us away from the natural curve of the lumbar spine, are not useful for me physically. However, if they show up in a teacher’s sequence, they might be useful for me in other ways. For instance, I might get a chance to work with preliminary or intermediate stages of the pose or  use a different pose all together, which often gives  me a chance to practice the postures of self-respect, self-care, and self-honesty. Almost always, my desire to “fit In” and “be like everyone else”  and my very valid need for a sense of belonging is going to be worked a little bit when I can’t do what I see others doing.

And, as luck would have it,  the challenges also live beyond the  poses. 

I was in a class one time when a long-legged, slender yoga female teacher made a comment about all the “bulky muscular thighs” that were in the room. Now, while I think she needed a better word that was a little more inclusive with less trigger potential, I made use of that moment to acknowledge and soothe myself by offering  myself my own loving support. I had an internal moment where I was able to say (silently, of course),  “Wow, she says bulky like its a bad thing….”

My point is that no teacher gets it right all the time. And, no matter how careful we are and well-meaning, the yoga classroom is fraught with potential for upset, misunderstandings, and problems of all kinds.  And yet, against all the odds and challenges, amazing transformation occurs, insight dawns, and people come back day after day, year after year to  roll out a mat, practice the postures, and engage a process that offers both  solace as well as   grist for the mill of growth.

I used to think that the classroom was supposed to provide some kind of utopian, corrective experience  that would occur when I did it all right and when everyone liked what I offered. I expected the same of my teachers also.  And yet, what I have come to know is that while much of the  correcting, repairing, and healing many of us need comes through  feeling heard, seen, and understood, some patterns are only shifted when we work in what can  feel like the photographic negative of those desirable, affirming moments. Oftentimes, something of great value  is born when we rise up from within for ourselves in the midst of something that seems (or is) less-than-optimal on the outside.​

Not to be confused with tolerating abuse, minimizing dysfunction, pretending we aren’t hurt when we are, or some new-age notion that “no one can rob your joy if you don’t let them,” I am simply talking about a kind of educational  environment where as teachers, we continually refine ourselves and our offerings and as students, we empower ourselves to meet the inherent and probable imperfections of group learning with as much clarity and self-compassion as possible.

​Of course, there is nothing simple about what I am describing.

We didn’t have a big confrontational weekend or anything. In fact, most people really did seem to like the workshop. I know I had a great time teaching. And yet, these issues are never far from my mind and heart.  Every year I teach, I grow more confident and feel more stable in myself and my offering. And, right alongside that deepening, every year I am more aware of all the ways I might miss the mark and the potential harm that might be done.

I often say that most yoga teachers fall into one of two categories. The first category of teachers is the “I have my playlist, I have my cute tights, I have my Instagram account— good luck out there”  kind of teacher. I do not personally know any of these teachers I am describing, but I am told they exist by people I believe are trustworthy. 

The  second category of teachers tends  to feel responsible for everyone’s experience being 100% positive, feels the need to not just teach  a solid class but to heal injuries, address trauma sensitively, and cover social issues with depth and insight that is also non-divisive and inclusive.  This teacher aims to offer a physically challenging-but-not-too-challenging class with philosophical inspiration that is both accurate, ecumenical, non-upsetting and runs no risk of cultural appropriation in a room that is somehow a comfortable temperature for everyone and that is affordable to all while still pays them a living and keeps the studio in business. I could go on for a while, because the list grows longer every year.

So, obviously, teachers in group #1 have to care a bit more. However,  teachers in group #2 have to well, calm the fuck down and get real about the inherent limitations of group learning, which is easier said than done for most. 

For me, the capacity to calm down as a teacher rests on three primary assertions:
1.)The power of transformation lives beyond “doing it right or wrong.”
2.) The power of transformation  is sourced deeper than “people like me or my class  or they don’t,” and,
3.) The process in which we are involved together is bound and directed by a Grace that is intelligent, benevolent, and ever-present. 

Keep the faith.  More soon.

There is a game on Facebook currently that involves posting a profile picture from ten years ago with a current profile photo. From what I can tell, the accompanying narrative involves a consideration of "how well you have aged." 

This morning I looked through my profile photos and found the first one I posted in 2007. 

I don't have a lot of great face shots from the last few months but I did take this selfie a day ago that can be a decent point of comparison, even though I was right out of the shower and generally my hair does look a tad bit better than how it looks in this picture.

So, Facebook, you ask how well have I aged?

I need glasses to read now, I have more grey hair, more wrinkles, my skin is thinner and looser, and while I weigh about the same, my body composition is surely different and the rate at which my body recovers from activity has changed. Without a doubt, anyone with eyes to see can observe for themselves the visible signs of physical aging I am describing.   And look, I moisturize, take my vitamins, exercise, meditate,  eat reasonably well and still,   my physical body is changing. I am okay with the changes so far. 

What I am not sure the photos capture is the inner work of aging well. 

I have been lucky to be  mentored by  wise women since I was a teenager. From counselors and college professors, to 12-step sponsors,  friends, students, and colleagues, I have always had friends both older and younger than me. One of my mentors once told me that "Aging gracefully does not happen by itself. If you want to age gracefully, Christina, you will have to work at it."

We live an a culture obsessed with appearances. Of course, this statement is not news to anyone reading this blog. My point is that a zillion times a day, not only are we bombarded with images of beauty that are generally white,  young,  thin, able-bodied, etc.,  we are also battered with the message that beauty and appearances are things in which we should invest our time, money, energy and attention. A question such as "How well have you aged?" is resting in a context of youth-centric, appearance-based values, as if continuing to look young, and therefore beautiful,  means we are somehow succeeding at the process of aging. 

Truth be told, I find that  culturally-sanctioned premise shallow and uninteresting. And yet, because of the prevalence of such messages, it seems to me that we do have to "work" a bit on aging gracefully, 

A few years ago, I decided not to color my hair as it was becoming streaked with grey and silver because it seemed to me that built into the mechanisms of physical aging are reminders of mortality. Personally, I want a reminder that I do not have all the time in the world to live my life. I want a daily reminder that time is passing and I want to make use of the time I have to live authentically. From grey hair to wrinkles to crepey skin (which I didn't even know was a thing to look forward to until a few years ago!) our bodies are reminding us that they are going to go. 

Conventional thinking on aging seems to fall  into two primary categories, from what I observe. One strategy that many try  is to hide all signs of aging, to ignore the inevitability of aging and death and to, in a variety of ways, shake one's fist at fate saying, "Aging, you won't get me!"  The second orientation seems to be a type of  resignation that blames aging for an inevitable decline in vitality, capacity, etc. 

Aging gracefully, for me, is some kind of middle ground between these two extremes of conventional thinking. The middle ground I seek- and that I  witnessed in my many wise mentors over the years- acknowledges the necessary changes and losses that time has brought and will continue to bring, while developing  a deeper understanding of Life and Self. For me, how well I am aging, has more to do with who I am growing into and giving expression to, than how youthful I appear. From a yoga perspective, that the body is going to go, is not bad news because the teachings remind us that our spiritual essence, our truest nature, continues after the body dies. Aging gracefully, for me, rests on the promise that I can deepen my connection to that essence and live in an expanding relationship to what is deepest and truest within me.

And look, I don't mean to get too  lofty about it. I am just saying that in the twelve years between the two pictures I shared, I have grown a lot. My life didn't get better in twelve years; my life got different. I stopped asking "Who do I want to be?" and setting external goals to improve myself. I started asking, "Who am I?" and found  ways to let myself be who I actually am, rather than who I think I should be or who I think others think I should be.

​In a lot of ways, on the surface I am a bit less together than I used to be. On the inside, however, I feel like myself more of the time.  I am more spacious with the wholeness of who I am-- a caring, compassionate, full-of-fire, opinionated, outspoken, anxious, joyful, funny, and suspicious, etc. person full of flaws and gifts in equal measure.  I am quicker to forgive myself and others. I have learned how to ask for forgiveness when I make mistakes and hurt other people. I feel more loving more of the time. I feel loved more of the time. I also stopped worrying when I didn't feel loved or loving, trusting in what is deeper than the inevitable ebbs and flows of my emotional life. 

So I  have more wrinkles and more grey hair.  My body is aging.  And my perspectives are maturing and expanding. All in all, a pretty good trade so far. 

​

“Consciousness, which tends to contract,
expands when a group of people come together with a common aim.” 
— Paul Muller Ortega * ​

I spent last  weekend teaching a 3-day intensive with my long-time friend and colleague, Darren Rhodes, at his yoga studio, Yoga Oasis. We have taught over 1000 hours of teacher trainings together and countless intensives and workshops. In many ways, Darren  and I grew up together in yoga, first meeting almost twenty years ago in Anusara yoga workshops with John Friend.  As I have written before, Darren and the Yoga Oasis community are a vital part of who I am as a practitioner and teacher.  I always learn a lot about myself, about the larger implications of my practice, and about the shared journey of yoga when I visit Yoga Oasis.

After Darren and I resigned our licenses to teach Anusara yoga, we explored the possibilities of continuing to teach collaboratively.  As it became clear  we were taking different directions in our teaching work, we stopped teaching together. A few years ago, I pitched the idea of a yearly team teaching weekend to Darren. He agreed. This year was the second annual weekend called “The Work.”

I first heard the term, ‘The Work” from  Lee Lozowick, my spiritual teacher, in reference to The Fourth Way teachings by G.I. Gurdjieff.  I am not a formal student of the Fourth Way, but I have been around its principles and practices for many years. Same with Darren.  More could certainly be said about that another time. 

As is usually the case at Yoga Oasis, the room was full of seasoned, sincere, passionate practitioners and teachers willing to dive deeply  into self-observation, self-reflection, and self-awareness. Last year, our workshop ended with a strong discussion about how work on,  and with, one’s self relates to privilege— racial, economic, gender-normative, etc. This year, the topic of privilege  surfaced  on the morning of the second day, as though, as a group, we had simply pressed “pause” for a year.

Of course, not everyone who was in the room this year was in the room last year. And not everyone who was in the room last year returned this year. And, truth be told, because time does not actually have a pause button, the conversation that began in the room continued personally for  participants when they returned home and collectively within the unfolding of  larger cultural streams.  For me, due to a confluence of many factors, discussing the high ideals of yoga without acknowledging the gross inequities of our cultural paradigm, is to be  tone deaf at best and, at worst, to be a willing participant in a sick, societal norm.

Don’t  get me wrong. I do not think every Wednesday night asana class should begin with a diatribe about systemic oppression, the evils of  misogyny,  and the tragedy of how those forces are often internalized and operative in our personal biases and behaviors.  I mean, Wednesday night class might be a great place for those kinds of considerations if a group was ready for the message. However,   in the same way that preparation is important for advanced asana, a certain measure of preparedness can be helpful when considering the nuances of how personal work both is, and is not, political.

Personally, I think yogis are perfectly poised to unravel the knots of culturally-conditioned belief systems, because I believe unraveling conditioning is what yoga is actually about. The number of people who have unravelled the knots of their personal anxiety, depression, addictions, eating disorders, self-hatred, etc. through yoga indicates that re-wiring toxic patterns is possible through yoga. Of course, yoga practice works best on the knots to which we are applying the technology and not so great  on the stuff we don’t, can’t, or won’t look at.  And, keep in mind, I make plenty of distinctions between what it means to practice yoga and simply practicing asana or going to public classes. When I say “practice” I am referencing a larger endeavor that sometimes involves, but is never  limited to, postural practice.

As I am writing, I am feeling that there is an impersonal nature to transformational group work. As personal as our yoga practice is, as deeply meaningful as our experiences can be, and as unique as each student’s perspective  is, the conversation  that began in the room last year, continued with different people in the room this year. Not to sound too far-out, but on one level,it is almost as if there is a conversation wanting to be had looking for a place to come into being, a place to land.

One key piece of clarity I offered the group this year was that I believe it is important to look squarely at certain problems and investigate our inner life in relationship to those issues before jumping to a solution. For instance, before figuring out how to make our studios and classes  more inclusive, which is a wonderful aim, it is important to unravel the many ways our own biases and blind spots operate. Any good workshop facilitator can give a script for inclusive language and teach us how to say the right things and avoid saying the wrong things, but if those scripts are funneled through our own unexamined perspectives, there will be unconscious toxic  energy behind our well-intentioned words. Additionally, we run the risk of trying to help as a way to avoid the pain of our complicity rather than doing the work to face what lives in the shadows of our culturally-conditioned psyches.

Of course,  exploring problems without immediate solutions takes fortitude and stamina, which is where yoga practice comes in. In the same way, a yoga practice is built slowly over time, our capacity to grapple with the challenging issues of our times, for all its urgent necessity, is also going to built slowly over time. As we see the structures of our culture continually  exposed as unjust and/or incapable of managing the moment in which inhabit as a human race, I believe we are also seeing— at least in many communities— yoga students and teachers grappling with how to cope, contribute, and evolve. We are not necessarily good at the work yet, and I expect to make plenty of  mistakes along the way, and yet, the same dedication we bring to practice can be brought to bear on the messy business of standing together  to insist upon “a more perfect Union… and to secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.”

As is often the case, I left Tucson feeling inspired by the everyone who was part of the weekend and heartened by the experience we shared.

And for those of you white men reading, or folks who know white men who are reading, I have a friend,  Chris Crass, who is offering an online seminar focusing on Anti racism and feminism for white, male faith leaders. If you practice and teach yoga, please consider yourself a faith leader and avail yourself of an opportunity to dive deep into your personal work and to learn  practical tools for bringing love, faith and justice into your practice and teaching. Please help get the word out about this seminar. https://www.facebook.com/events/518295371989664/ 

I head to New Orleans for a weekend workshop today. I am looking forward to my last teaching weekend of 2018 and then some time home to snowboard, read, practice and prepare the course materials for my upcoming Asana Junkies webinar. More on that soon.

*I have this quote written in my personal notes from when Paul spoke at an Anusara yoga Certified Teacher’s Gathering in Denver. I think it was around 2006, but I do not have the date in my notes.

I met Stacey Millner-Collins almost ten years ago when I had the opportunity to assess her Anusara yoga certification video. I remember how dynamic and strong she was as a teacher, how skillful  her students were, and how powerful her message beyond the asana was. When we were discussing her video, (She passed on the first try, by the way.) she told me about how great her community was. I first taught at City Yoga in  2011 and made several visits over the years. This weekend was the first time I have been back to teach in over five years. I believe this visit  was better than ever, due largely in part to the ways that Stacy has been a trustworthy steward of the teachings and her students and teachers.

The City Yoga community is a shining example of what long-standing, Spirit-led leadership can look like when such leadership is met with sincere and dedicated students and sustained for more than a decade. For all the problems in the world of modern yoga, I visit many studios that  exist as places of sanctuary, hope, and healing. Don’t get me wrong— every studio has issues, conflicts, and problems they face. My point is that for all the places where  yoga seems to be broken, there are many places where yoga is working. City Yoga is one of those places.

Last weekend, I was teaching in Tucson when the news of the Philadelphia synagogue shooting was announced. This weekend, while I was teaching, we heard the news of a yoga studio shooting in Tallahassee. My Facebook feed was flooded with outrage, upset, and prayers of concern, none of which was surprising, and all of which I understand. I am fortunate to know many politically-engaged yoga teachers and practitioners in my immediate circles of association, which I am told is unusual. I suppose I keep good company.

And, of course, there was more than one person in my feed who posted about the yoga studio shooting who have remained silent on every other national calamity. That is a post for another day.

That being said,  I also spend a lot of time in conversation with teachers and students about what is our responsibility as teachers  in the classroom during  this unique time in history. Do we stay silent about current events and let the yoga do what it does? Do we use our platform as teachers to speak out against injustice, oppression, and systemic issues that manifest in the almost-daily atrocities that show up in  our news feeds? I have no practical advice for what anyone else should do.

For me,  the teachings and practices of yoga have the capacity to help me only to the degree that I admit what I need help with.

Will yoga help with addiction? Sure, but yoga  going to be of greater help to me once I admit I have a problem.

Will yoga help with the ways that I have been indoctrinated into unconscious bias due to living in a culture founded on systemic, institutionalized racism? Yes, but only to the degree that I acknowledge I need help with unraveling the knots of those conditioned patterns.

Will yoga help me feel more peaceful? Sure, but yoga is going to provide only  a cosmetic, surface-level solution until I recognize the pockets of anger, violence, and vindictiveness  that live inside me.

And so on.

From the personal to the cultural, from the psychological to the political, yoga’s utility in my life exists in direct relationship to my willingness to see,  and give voice to, what is actually going on, not what I wish was happening.

To be clear, I do not advocate standing in front of a room a bashing all things Republican. Nor, do I think anything of value will be accomplished with a F*ck Trump tirade from the front of the room. I do not think we need to proclaim that, “chances-are-as-a-white-women-in-a-pair-of-expensive-yoga-tights-you-might-just-be-unconsciously-invested-in-toxic-patriarchy-and-so-before-your-first-down-dog-today-you-need-to-check-your-privilege.” And while that essential idea may be true, it’s not going to create a teachable moment or a change from within for anyone in the class.

(To be clear, I am grateful for the disturbing voices in the world of activism who have said just that so that I could examine myself in relationship to my upset, defensiveness, and recoil when my “I do good things in the world” identity meets up with the impact of how marginalized groups often feel in the face of me personally, or me as part of a larger demographic— a.k.a. white women. Again, commentary on this aspect of my post is  part of a future  post where I will write about my own white woman fragility in the first person. My point is that I have been upset and I have felt  uncomfortable in ways that have helped me grow and know myself more fully. As a yoga practitioner, I am grateful for these learning opportunities. Truth be told, I rarely like being called out, I hate not getting it “right” and, more importantly, I have come to know there is more to me than the drive of perfectionism, more to my role than keeping people comfortable, and more to my  life than maintaining and contributing to a sick, societal norm.)

When it comes down to to brass tacks,  I am interested in yoga only so much as it is practical, accessible, and applicable to my life. While I am truly inspired by Possibility,  I am anchored in reality.  And so I speak to that in my classroom.

I closed our weekend with a story. Anusara yoga got its name from a passage in the Kularnava Tantra. The text opens with Shiva seated on the mountain top in deep meditation. Parvati has climbed the mountain to see her Beloved and she begins by extolling his virtues: “Oh great guru, You who are omniscient, ever-present, and steeped in the deepest Reality… and so on. (I am paraphrasing here as I am on a plane and do not have the actual text  AND more than a few years have passed since I read the actual verse to which I am referring.)  She goes on saying, “You who are the Highest of the High, the Deepest of the Deep, tell me…. I have been in the world and I have seen suffering and people are hurting. Please, oh great Lord, tell me what I can do to help….”

And Shiva  answers her, outlining a path of the Heart, a path of  the family of the Heart, that makes human life an opportunity to bring the Highest into form. In one passage, Shiva says that on the path of the Kula “one's enjoyment becomes yoga, one’s sin is made into art, and all life is liberation.”  He basically says, “You— IN THE WORLD— strengthened by ME ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP— are the answer to the suffering you are hoping to heal.”

So, go to the mountain top, dive to the depths of the oceans within you,  and  find whatever access point you can to what is Highest and Deepest within you and then, because it is your duty, because to stay silent would betray the majesty of what you know to be true, because you want to Help, speak to the  beauty of Spirit,  testify to  its power to strengthen you in the face of suffering,  and unapologetically  invite people into that same place inside  themselves.  

Each one of us is the answer. More importantly, each one of us together we  can be the meeting point of Heaven and Earth that the text points to as the Possibility of the Path and the end to unnecessary suffering. 

And vote.

I taught my first workshop at Yoga Oasis in 2003. As I was collecting my belongings and preparing to drive to Tucson, the phone rang.  Bronwin Rhodes was on the line. She said, “I just wanted you to know that we have had a tragedy here. One of our  beloved Yoga Oasis  teachers was found  murdered in his home.”

I asked Bronwin if they still wanted me to come, given the circumstances.

She stated unequivocally, “We need you to come.”

I had been teaching yoga about five years. This workshop was my first experience as a guest instructor. I was a bit freaked out, to say the least. As I made my way to Tucson, I prayed that I could be of service to the community. I called  my father for advice and he reminded me of Paul’s letter to Romans in Chapter 8:38-39 which reads: 

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,  neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  (New International Version)

I remember contemplating how closely that scripture aligned with the chant we sang in the beginning of yoga class which  affirms the nature of Ultimate Consciousness  as “ever-present, full of peace… shining independently, as it is, as the essence of Spirit.”

My guess is that most spiritual traditions some means  of reminding folks that something essential and whole  lives beneath and  beyond  the surface of life and it’s often-times painful circumstances.

At any rate, I managed to overcome my  self-doubt enough to  teach asana, speak to the tragedy, and in some imperfect way, minister to a community who was grieving, angry, and hurting.  And, the Yoga Oasis community gave me the gift of allowing me to help them. Deep in the bones of the Yoga Oasis organization is a rare kind of vulnerability and strength that runs in two directions simultaneously. As a community they offer a place of support to others while providing people with the opportunity to discover the gift of Spirit that only comes when one is in service to something larger than themselves.  Not that Yoga Oasis is a perfect place or that they always get it “right” the first time, but, as the name implies, Yoga Oasis is a place of healing and nourishment in a culture that can  feel  as dry as a desert when it comes to hope and inspiration.

Fifteen years later, I am reflecting on my first visit to Yoga Oasis, after another strong teaching experience there this weekend. I headed into the visit— like everyone else in this country— on the heels of the  Kavanaugh hearings, a violent shooting of two black men in Kroger, a plan to erase transgendered people, a fear-mongering commentary on an immigrant caravan, and pipe bombs being mailed to outspoken Democratic leaders. And, as you know,  the news of hatred and intolerance continued into the weekend with a mass shooting in a synagogue.

There is no easy answer for modern day yoga teachers about how much one should acknowledge current events in the classroom. Personally, I do not know what other teachers should or could do. I do know for me that  teachings like “The Light of God is ever present and full of peace”  or “Nothing can separate us from the Love of God” can seem  a bit tone death in our current cultural landscape. And yet, interestingly enough, those are the very teachings I lean on heavily in times  where darkness rises up in the cracks and crevices of unexamined, conditioned  biases and fears, both personally and collectively.

Far from a reassuring or trite sound bite, I hear these teachings as a call to radical faith and enlightened action. It seems to me that if my operating assumption as a person of faith is that the Light of God shines brightly no matter what happening, that Love endures in the face of all tragedy,  and that  Spirit is indivisible and untouched by circumstances,  then the only logical pathway forward in the current times  is to allow my heart to break over and  again as I feel the disparity between what I believe to be true at the deepest levels of reality and what is actually happening in the midst of my waking life.

For me, any wholeness I experience from practice, any sense of relief that I find, and  any  expansion I encounter is not a “time out” from the horrific news cycle but is a touchstone of courage  to do the work necessary to face hatred and deceit directly. Sometimes the work happens in psychotherapy as I examine the darker pockets of my own psyche. Sometimes the work happens in difficult conversations with loved ones. Sometimes the work is in writing articles like this one which I write a) for my own clarity and understanding,  b) with the hope someone else might find them useful,  and c) so there is no doubt in anyone's mind about which side of this fight I am on and where I stand. The lines between personal and political seem to be coming closer together.

At any rate, I am not interested in abstract theories, dogmatic rules, or prescribed protocols for what it means to be a good Christian, a good yogi, a good teacher, or even  a good person. I am interested in the direct experience of my own wholeness and its source, which to me  is the indivisible, inseparable, and abiding force of Love. I am comfortable calling that force God although  I know it by many names. More importantly than what I call it, however, is that I find refuge and strength in its remembrance. And as I see it today, high teachings of Love are only as good as they are brought into being through practice. And, once integrated, these teachings no longer belong to a tradition or a religion, but exist as my own  knowledge and wisdom.

In some ways, it seems to me that the message I have been exploring for  fifteen years worth of visits to Yoga Oasis  is  the same as it ever was and the support of that community is, to me, an example of the abiding power of  Love of which I am speaking.

So, we did lots of asana. I preached a bit. I made a new friend. I connected with amazing students I have known for years and met new ones. I saw A Star is Born in a fancy movie theater with reclining seats and beer. 

All in all, a good day at the office.

Oh, and VOTE. Please. 

I spent a few days last week filming some online content for Yoga International. On the final day, we were shooting B-roll for promotions and marketing— photos in my yard, me playing with my dog, stirring a pot of soup in my kitchen, and answering questions about my relationship to yoga. One of the questions I get asked the most in interviews such as these  is how I stay inspired to practice.

My answer to the question of inspiration has a few different layers.

The first layer is that I do not stay inspired all the time. Like anyone else, I fall in and out of love with my practice. I do not always appreciate what is  required to sustain my sadhana.  I go through periods of inspiration and periods of boredom and disinterest. Asana practice, meditation, mantra, writing, etc. are  like any other relationship in my life. Some days I devote great attention to them and other days my relationship might best be described as avoidant.

That being said, the next layer is that inspiration is not required for sustaining a practice over the course of one’s life, participation is. I brush my teeth twice every day and I am rarely inspired to do it. I just do it.  I even brush my teeth on days I feel so tired all I want to do is get in bed as soon as possible. So,  another layer to my answer is that inspiration, when it comes to a lifelong practice, may be overrated.

I think it is unrealistic to expect to feel constantly inspired. Take  marriage, for instance.  I am not inspired every day to be married.  And during the tough periods, I am not always inspired for the work it takes  for me and Kelly to find the common ground required to go forward together. But more days than not, my marriage is simply part of the warp and weft  of my life and I participate in it without thinking too much about it. In a lot of ways, asana,  meditation and teaching are like that— part of the loom upon which the rest of life is woven.

The next layer to my answer regarding inspiration is  that I am a student of myself. I don’t have to study myself long to observe the knots  of psychological contraction that take the forms of defensiveness, fragility, insecurity, anger, fear,  jealousy and suspicion to find some inspiration to stay the course on the path of practice. Honestly  recognizing how much work I have to do usually provides a useful dose of inspiration to keep me going.

Lest the news seem bleak, the flip side to how much work I have to do is that I can also see how far I have come over the years.  I am not the same person who set foot on the journey thirty years ago. For all the contraction that still requires my attention, I have changed and expanded in surprising and beautiful ways. I know what self-compassion is and how to offer it to myself, I have discovered softness, kindness, forbearance, patience, and I  have the capacity to experience my life more fully and directly than I ever dreamed was possible. The perspectives, practices and protocols I have used over the years have worked and I find inspiration in the many ways I have grown, overcome, and moved through my various challenges.

And, of course,  one look beyond my immediate life and I am confronted with reminders of how many ways power is abused and how much we all  suffer due to avidya, or ignorance. From the  political arena to  the corporate world, from universities to churches and ashrams, oppressive structures of power  permeate even the most seemingly-benign and well-intentioned institutions. I personally feel a bit weary from trying to keep up with the latest examples of oppression, coercion, and manipulative tactics used to maintain a status quo that is inherently unjust and yet, I find the situation  in which we find ourselves as a culture a source of inspiration for practice.

At the heart of yoga practice for me, is not a better body, a more rewarding career, a head full of esoteric explanations or anything else that  typically shows up on the brochures and web pages  we use to peddle our craft as yoga teachers. At the heart of the yoga experiment to me is wholeness and the tools and techniques to dig beneath and beyond the many fractured aspects of my psychology, perceptions, and conditioned perspectives to more fully know where wholeness is sourced. Sometimes the work feels graceful and at other times,  gritty. That’s the way of it. But, I do think that, as yoga practitioners, we are equipped to look beneath the surface of life and find inroads that are real, viable, sustaining and sustainable.

On the surface of life, I urge you to vote. If I had my preference, I would have you vote Blue, but I am not so simple as to think that everyone who shares a practice of yogic inquiry comes to the same political conclusions. So, please vote, donate money to good causes, protest, write letters, make phone calls, and participate in the political process in any way you can.

And while I do not think that a well-aligned trikonasana or a handstand in the middle of the room stands a chance against the forces of misogyny, racism, climate change, and corrupt politics, I do think yogic practice can work to dismantle the ways  those forces have taken root inside of us individually. And, call me idealistic,  I also believe  that our individual work can ripple into our yoga communities and provide us with  a conscious microcosm in which to practice ideals of justice, unity, diversity,  and harmony.  Of course, we can bring our fragility, fear, suspicion and defensiveness into those same spaces and create further damage to ourselves, to one another, and particularly to  people in marginalized groups. There are no guarantees and yet, I find the possibility of who we can become through conscious community infinitely inspiring.

And, we can move and  breathe, which will not change who is in the White House, but will most certainly change the way we inhabit the house  we call our own body and the “small nation that is our own being.” (BKS Iyengar) 

Keep the faith.

More soon.