our-yoga

Yesterday, I found out that I had not made the shortlist for a tenure-track academic position that I had interviewed for about a month ago, and which I was, frankly, pretty excited about. In his email to me, the hiring manager (that's really not his official title, but I want to try to keep things vague here, so we'll go with this) was quite diplomatic: He told me that although I had not made the shortlist, nobody is really out of the running yet, since there is no objective way of knowing whether they will like the people who are now on the shortlist. But really, I think we know how these things go; who are we kidding?

When I first got the news, many, many not-so-positive thoughts went through my head, but they all boil down to a few very simple words: Why? Why me? (Or rather, why not me?) For the past few years, ever since I got my PhD, academia has been like this big ship that is sailing on stormy seas, and I am like somebody who is just clinging onto the side of the ship with the skin of my nails, just a hair's breadth away from being washed overboard. Which brings up another why question: Why can't I find a more secure position on this ship? How much longer do I have to stay in this precarious position? Or perhaps the better question to ask is: How much longer can I stay in this position, before even my nails give out?

Some people have suggested to me that objectively speaking, what I need to do is to make myself more attractive to employers. At my stage of the game, this basically means getting stuff published in peer-reviewed journals. Well, I'm working on that, but it's not always the easiest thing to do when you have to move every couple of years (or less), and to teach a whole bunch of classes to pay the bills when you're not on the move.

A few people here and there have also suggested that maybe a career change is in order. Well, I don't know about that. What else can I do? Teach yoga? Now, don't get me wrong: I have the greatest respect for all of you yoga teachers out there who are making an honest living while contributing to the physical and emotional well-being of many people around you. But the whole idea of running from one studio to another and teaching classes that people want me to teach (which may or may not be Ashtanga classes) just to pay the bills seems to me to be, in the end, simply the yoga version of what I am already doing right now in the academic world. I'm just not sure I want to jump out of one pot just to land in another frying pan, to put it very bluntly.

Moreover, on a more immediate level, I'm not sure how I can continue to stay in this country if I'm not in academia (there's a whole bunch of employment-visa-related stuff that I don't feel like going into right now). I suppose you might ask: Why do you want to be in this country? Aren't political boundaries simply man-made constructs? Shouldn't you be able to make good wherever you go, if you are a good person?

All these are good questions and valid points, and I'm not sure I have good answers to them. Suffice to say that having spent the majority of my adult life here, I went through a lot of important life experiences here. Moreover, I'm actually pretty sure that I wouldn't have formed the connection with yoga and practiced it the way I did (much less write this blog) if I had never come to this country. I know that none of these are ultimately decisive reasons for wanting to live in these United States rather than anywhere else. But when I ask myself: Where else would I rather live? I find myself not having an answer to this question.  

Well, I'm sure you can already see that this is not a very uplifting post. I can go on and on about this (because I actually do go on and on about this in my head all the time when I'm not on my mat), but all this will do is bring up a whole bunch of questions, questions which I don't have any good answers to at this point in time. So I guess I'll leave things at this.

But here's another way of looking at all this. Perhaps I have to grapple with these questions in the same way in which I have to grapple with, say, Karandavasana on the mat (or in the same way in which somebody else might have to grapple with Mari D or Supta K, or with whatever challenging asana there is out there). Just as the way to master Karandavasana hasn't opened up for me yet, perhaps in the same way, the answers to these questions haven't opened up for me yet. So the only thing to do is to keep forging forward (or hanging on with my nails) just a little more, and wait. And wait. Not that it makes things any easier...    

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What should I blog about today? Gosh, it's only the third day of 2012, and I'm already asking myself this question. No good, no good. I suppose I could give you a blow-by-blow account of this morning's practice, but I don't think this is going to be very interesting; in any case, I'm not in a talking-about-practice mood right now. Besides, I have the rest of 2012 (and hopefully beyond, if the world doesn't end on December 31st 2012) to bore you with my, ahem, infamous practice reports :-)

Maybe I'll start by relating an encounter I just had a few minutes ago. Right now, I'm sitting in the coffeeshop on the ground floor of my apartment complex, writing this post. A few minutes ago, this older gentleman who is also a regular at this place came in and ordered his usual poison (a medium mocha and two (yes, two!) chocolate croissants). We know each other casually, and have exchanged a few words here and there in the past. As he was standing around waiting for his order to come up, he moved over to where I was sitting. At that moment, I was doing my usual coffeeshop act: Sit as inconspicuously as possible in a corner, stare very hard (or at least pretend to stare very hard) at my computer or at some book that I may or may not be reading, and simultaneously observe the world without drawing attention to myself.

Why do I put up this act? You may ask. Well, the reason is twofold: (1) I actually go to coffeeshops to get stuff done (including blogging). In order to do this, I try to socialize as little as I can get away with. (2) While little distractions like taking a couple of minutes to observe the world can be fun, and can be a welcome break from whatever I happen to be doing, I try not to be distracted for more than a couple of minutes at a time, because if I get distracted for longer than that, I get taken away from whatever it is that I am supposed to be doing. I know, I'm weird like that. 

Well, in any case, the fact that this older gentleman noticed me meant that my act was unsuccessful this time. So, as I was saying, he moved over to where I was sitting, and asked me how I was doing ("Quite good", I replied). And then he asked me if it was snowing in Japan! Heck, I thought to myself, how on earth am I supposed to know if it was snowing in Japan? Do I look like some kind of global-weather geek who has some funny Iphone app that gives a moment-by-moment update on the weather in every obscure corner of the globe? (Full disclosure: I don't even own an Iphone.)

Or maybe (probably more likely) he thought I was Japanese, and would therefore know whether it was snowing in Japan. (Which is another questionable assumption: Would every Japanese currently in this country know whether it is snowing in Japan now?)

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Earlier today, I went for my twice-a-month acupuncture session. The acupuncturist who was working with me today had just completed a 200-hour yoga teacher training, and we chatted briefly about yoga while she was inserting needles into various parts of my physical body (can't remember the last time I had a yoga conversation with somebody who was sticking needles into me...). She is still in the process of finding a yoga style that works for her personal practice, and she had learnt from the other acupuncturist that I practice Ashtanga, so she took this opportunity to find out more about Ashtanga from me. Here's how part of the conversation unfolded:

Acupuncturist: I heard somewhere that Ashtanga was originally developed as a practice for teenage boys who are physically strong and have lots of energy, and that because of this, it is not suitable for those of us who are not teenage boys to practice Ashtanga daily.

Nobel: Uh, yes, it is true that people do say that. But the idea behind Ashtanga isn't that people need to be able to do full primary the very first time they step into a shala. If you learn Ashtanga in a traditional mysore class, you are taught a couple of postures each time you are there, and you basically do as many (or as few) postures as you can, according to your capacity. Some people eventually do full primary or beyond, some people do half-primary, others are somewhere in between. Whichever way, it's fine. You do whatever you can. 

Acupuncturist: That's interesting. I'm the kind of person who tires easily. Which is why I think that perhaps the thing for me to do is to alternate between doing a powerful practice such as Ashtanga one day, and doing a more gentle restorative practice the next day, and so on. That way, I can build up strength and energy without over-straining myself.

Nobel: I think that's a good way to go. I think I might be the opposite of you, energy-wise. Several years ago, I went to a restorative class in the morning, and felt very lethargic and tired the rest of the day. I feel that Ashtanga gives me that morning energy boost that no other practice has been able to give me. Actually, come to think of it, I probably practice Ashtanga more for the energy boost than for any other reason. The postures are really secondary, in this sense. And samadhi? Well, it comes when it comes. No point thinking too much about it.

The conversation pretty much ended at this point. I decided that, given the context, it would be very inappropriate for me to try to sell Ashtanga too much (if nothing else, you don't want to even remotely come across as being pushy when you are lying more or less spread-eagled, and somebody is hovering over you with needles!). So she proceeded to stick the rest of the needles into me, and left me to "be with the universe." Actually, I have come to enjoy being with the universe with needles stuck inside of me. It actually feels like a sort of restorative practice in and of itself.

But back to the conversation. From this conversation, I learned a couple of things. First, I am reminded that many people out there in the "greater yoga world" hold the view that Ashtanga is something that should only be practiced by teenage boys; I have heard this view years ago, but since I "move" mostly within Ashtanga circles these days, it's been a while since I've heard anybody articulate it. The cynical part of me always thinks that people who hold this view are really thinking: Since yoga is hardly the sport of choice for teenage boys in the west, Ashtanga is too rigorous for any real-life yogi, and therefore should not be practiced if you want to stay in one piece, stay sane, etc. Well, I don't know, there may actually be some truth to this. I sometimes feel that I may be a little bit insane...

Through this conversation, I also learned what the main thing is that brings me to the mat every morning: The energy boost that comes from the practice. No matter how tired I feel when I get up in the morning, I always feel so much more energized by the time I finish the practice. To me, the practice is like an energy-creating machine: I go into it with little or no energy, give out so much energy while doing the practice, and yet always come out at the other end with more energy than when I started. How is this possible? Pretty amazing, don't you think? If nothing else, it shows that you don't have to be a teenage boy to experience the power of this practice.

What's perhaps even more amazing is that if I did not have this conversation, I probably would never have thought to articulate the reasons that bring me to the mat every morning. Isn't it amazing how conversation can serve as a mirror into your thoughts and your inner life in this way?

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"Sit quietly and close your eyes. The light within is sufficient."   (Marianne Williamson)

My week in photos. Well, to be honest these photographs were taken over the course of several weeks, but whose counting?! I'd like to make this a weekly feature on my blog. Next time a more accurate feature, haha. When spring finally makes an appearance in Stockholm, it explodes. Believe me, it is the most welcome sight for those who live here. I especially had a harder time this past winter and believe it or not, the Spring has been one of the coldest on record. Wonder what the Summer has in store for us? I only have a few little jaunts to take but will be spending most my time in Sweden. Summer can alway be mixed bag and never a sure thing. I'll cross my fingers! 

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Earlier today, I was at Starbucks, reading Nietzsche and preparing for my class tomorrow morning. Yes, this is the first time I am officially teaching Nietzsche in my Intro to Ethics class, and I am quite excited about it. Oh, and by the way, I got my class to watch two episodes of Battlestar Galactica earlier this week (those two episodes which involved Starbuck crashing on that moon, and the crew of the Galactica mounting a search-and-rescue mission for her). I'm happy to report that most people seemed to really enjoy it.

But back to what happened earlier today. After reading Nietzsche for about an hour, I decided to take a little break. So I got out of Starbucks, and went for a little walk in the strip mall where the Starbucks was located. Probably because of the demanding nature of my second series practice earlier this morning, and probably also because of the fact that I was wearing some rather heavy walking shoes, I found myself unconsciously walking in a rather slow and deliberate manner in order to conserve energy. I also found myself walking up and down that same strip mall for 15 minutes, because there really wasn't anywhere else to go.

To a bystander, I probably looked rather preoccupied, maybe even a bit sad and lonely, because this middle-aged woman suddenly came up to me out of the middle of nowhere (or so it seemed to me), and remarked, "You look so lonely and sad. It must be hard to be so far from home. Unlike me: All of America is my backyard! Anyway, I've always wanted to go to Hong Kong... great banking industry!"

And then she walked away as suddenly as she had appeared. Hmm... Hong Kong? Banking? I'm guessing she must be referring to HSBC. Which is probably all that some Idaho hill-billy would know about Hong Kong, come to think of it...

What's even more interesting was my reaction to what she said. When I first heard what she said, my very first instinct was to go on the defensive ("How the hell do you know I'm from Hong Kong or from Timbuktu, you $%^#@?"). But I stopped myself from going there, because in some corner of my mind, I was entertaining the possibility that she might be some kind of psychic, or even a holy woman dressed as an Idaho hill-billy who has somehow decided to appear here in Pocatello, Idaho, to test my faith and to possibly magically grant me some siddhi. Best not to offend her, in case she is really a holy woman, I thought to myself.

My second instinct was to say something naughty, like "Well, would you like to make me a little less lonely...?" But, being the sort of person who is generally not quick on the uptake, she was already gone by the time I had come up with this reply in my mind. Come to think of it, if she really was a holy woman, it probably was a good thing that I did not say this, anyway. Being naughty with holy women is generally not a good way to go.

Then again, come to think of it, perhaps I really did look sad and lonely: Reading Nietzsche does that to you. And I think all the backbending I do also puts me in a rather pensive, somewhat sad state of mind at least some of the time. Not sad in a crying-your-eyes-out kind of way. But there's just this sense of accessing and coming into touch with certain feelings and emotions that you did not even know were there, and feeling them.

Anyway, what do you do?... Just another day, I guess...          

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Earlier today, I was chatting with a friend. She was trying to plan what kinds of food to cook for her family for the coming week, and was running out of ideas. In an attempt to get me to give her some ideas, she asked, "What kind of food do you like to eat?" I was about to respond by saying things like Indian food, Thai food, etc., but then I stopped myself: It occurred to me that she wanted suggestions on things that she could cook at home given her culinary expertise (i.e. typical North American housewife cooking skills--somewhere above mac-and-cheese, but not at bistro or restaurant level, and definitely not at the level of restaurant-level Indian or Thai food).

Seeing that she wasn't getting much out of me in the way of culinary suggestions, she tried a different tack: "Well, what would you ask your mom to cook for you if she were in town?" Ha! Actually, this is an even harder question for me. Firstly, my parents live on the other side of this planet, and I don't get to see them that often. Secondly, I've never had the sort of relationship with my mom which involves me asking her to make my favorite foods whenever I'm in her presence. Not sure why this is so; for as long as I can remember, when I lived under the same roof as my parents, I basically just ate what they cooked. This might have to change the next time I visit them, though: Having been vegetarian for the last four years, I don't think I can (or even want to) revert to the omnivorous diet that is so ubiquitous of Chinese cooking. There is a (Chinese) saying that the Chinese eat anything that crawls, swims or flies. And I know, from personal experience, that this is literally true. And without being preachy or all-high-and-mighty, I really don't want to go back to eating things that crawl, swim or fly.

But I digress. Back to my conversation with my friend. Rather than go into a long discourse about the ubiquity of Chinese cuisine (as outlined in the previous paragraph) and possibly bore her, I decided on what I thought was a more straightforward response. "Well," I said, "I actually don't know what I would ask my mom to cook for me. The last time I saw my parents, I was still a meat-eater. But neither of my parents are vegetarian (actually, nobody else in my family is), so I honestly won't know what to ask them to cook for me when I see them [Note to self: I need to start thinking about this at some point.]."

Needless to say, my friend didn't quite know what to make of what I said. I can't really remember what she said after this point, but I'm pretty sure she (or I) changed the subject, and the conversation went in a completely different direction.

Not the most interesting thing to blog about, I know, but this is my life right now. Just another day...      

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Ta

Just under a month I've been back home after an intense and transformational summer in Mysore, India. As always it took me a while to land and digest all that transpired, and in many ways I feel as if I am still digesting. I know transformational is a word that is thrown around a lot these days, and the only way to describe it is something shifted, for better or worse, who knows. I felt challenged on every level, mentally, emotionally, physically and most definitely spiritually. I cried this summer more than I had in a long time. I was broken down to be built back up. A toning from the inside out. A reckoning. The buzz of practicing there has just about worn off. It seems like the more you hold on to it the faster it goes. At the same time there is an inkling of a light that has been lit and the knowing it won't ever burn out.

Having the opportunity to immerse oneself in the way that we did this past summer was an opportunity of a life time, and really every trip I feel it, but this was on another level. I am always so grateful to have the time and space to focus on practice, ultimately focusing on the truer parts of life. I need these reminders. If I didn't I would be lost. It all goes back to the quality we lead in our hearts and minds in day to day living. Thankfully the practice of yoga helps to lead us there.

Moving forward there is so much that comes to mind. It is so easy to be swept away by the rhythm of our rushed society. I'm learning not to be so dictated by it. I too see how distracted I can be and how challenging it is to maintain this internal connection, but no one said it would be easy. It comes down to one's thirst for ultimate freedom as I contemplate what is that really? What does that look like? I'm getting the tiniest sense of it and yet it feels exciting and scary at the same time. Funny how that works. It's like balancing on the edge of a razor. 

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A few evenings ago, I got together with some friends at the house of my friends J and L. There were five of us present: J, L, S, M and myself. After a few drinks, the conversation turned to the subject of sexual fantasies. There is some kind of rational professional rationale for talking about this subject, because J is a sociologist who does research in sexual deviance. In fact, I often have the feeling that J often uses his friends as impromptu and unofficial study subjects for his ongoing ruminations relating to his research.

Anyway, at one point in the conversation, J claimed that all people, no matter what their sexual orientation, have had fantasies about doing something sexual with somebody of the same sex at at least one point in their lives. Upon hearing this, M, who is a heterosexual female (as far as I know), objected that she had never ever had any sexual fantasies involving somebody of her own sex.

S immediately responded to M's objection with a very resounding "Bullshit!". S might be described as a predominantly heterosexual male who has, by his own admission, also had a couple of sexual encounters with members of his own sex. I do not know what M's internal reaction was to S's calling bullshit on her; after a few drinks, my social perception is usually less acute than it normally is... well, actually, my social perception even when sober isn't really all that acute either. But that's a story for another day. In any case, J immediately seized upon S's pronouncement of "Bullshit", and went on to expound what I understand to be a certain neo-Marxist socio-theoretical view. According to this view, as I understand it, a person's thoughts and feelings about things are really just epiphenomena that are parasitic on physical events and happenings. Well, I suppose a bit of explanation is in order here: To say that feelings and thoughts are epiphenomena is to say that feelings and thoughts really have no effect on events and happenings in the world, even though the person who is experiencing these thoughts and feelings might nevertheless have the illusion that her thoughts and feelings are affecting events and happenings. This view is neo-Marxist, because it is influenced by the Marxist view that many ideas (like religious ideas, for instance) have no effect on the progression of history, but are nevertheless seen by their adherents as having such an effect. Which is why Marxists typically believe that religion, being such an illusion, is the opium of the people, and that religious adherents are sufferers of false consciousness who must be rehabilitated or re-educated.

J, as I understand it, meant to apply this socio-theoretical view to explain why M might persist in believing that she has never had any sexual fantasies involving somebody of her own sex. The upshot is that if M claims that she has never had any same-sex sexual fantasies, then she must be suffering from some kind of illusion or is under the sway of false consciousness. Hmm... does this mean that M needs to undergo some kind of rehabilitation or re-education?

Leaving aside the question of whether or not M is in need of rehabilitation or re-education, I think you might be able to see that there are certain problems with this neo-Marxist socio-theoretical view. For one, if all thoughts and feelings are epiphenomena, then I think it is safe to say that about 99% of the human race suffer from some kind of illusion or false consciousness, since I'm pretty sure that about 99% of human beings believe that their thoughts and feelings do affect the course of events in the world. Wouldn't that mean that 99% of human beings need to be rehabilitated or re-educated? I'm sure you can see that this is patently absurd.

Moreover, even if this theory happens to be true, it still wouldn't explain why all people have had same-sex sexual fantasies, even if they aren't consciously aware of it. In order to be able to say that all people have had same-sex fantasies even if they aren't consciously aware of it, we would have to invoke some kind of Freudian theory of the subconscious or unconscious (or whatever the appropriate term is here), which would presumably explain how it is that people can have sexual fantasies without ever knowing that they have had them. Which means that if we want to be able to convincingly explain how all people have had same-sex fantasies, we would have to have some kind of hybrid Freudian-Marxist theoretical construct...

I don't know about you, but my head is really beginning to spin at this point. Which means I should probably quit writing right now, and go get something to eat. In the meantime, if you have any thoughts about any or all or some of what I have written above, I'd love to hear from you.       

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“Love is a tremendous caring that arises in the wake of transcending the personal self. In the wake of this transcendence, something amazing arises. A deep love and caring arises from within emptiness, from nowhere. This love and caring seeks only the Truth in every moment and in all circumstances. True love is something far greater than anything that could be called personal. True love is a non-personal miracle. It is the nature of reality itself. It is the natural and spontaneous expression of the undivided Self.”

(Adyashanti)

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Today is the first day of classes of the fall semester here in Idaho. About half an hour ago, I was walking around in the student union food court, when a Chinese student stopped me. I know she's Chinese, because I had overheard her saying something in Mandarin to one of her compatriots just a few seconds earlier.

Anyway, Chinese person came up to me and asked (in English), "Hey, where are you from?" I stood in surprise for about two seconds, and then blurted out, "Uh... Singapore?" Her face visibly fell, and she said, "Oh, okay." And then she turned away from me. Apparently, I wasn't the person she thought I was, whoever that person might be.

As I walked away from her in a slightly puzzled state of mind ("Who did she mistake me for?"), a slightly mischievous thought struck me: If I were a little quicker on the uptake, I should probably have said, "My mother's uterus," instead of plain old boring "Singapore". Because, if nothing else, it is technically true that I am from my mother's uterus (as is she, and everybody else).

But since I am not quick on the uptake, I guess I will never find out what her response to this alternate response would be. Ah, the woes of not being quicker on one's feet!

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I love the following story. If we followed this example there would be much healing in the world. The best part is we don't have to wait. We can start today. I think even recent news guides us that one just never knows what pain is held inside someone.

There is an old story of a farmer who was proud of the fruits produced in his orchard. There was one diseased tree that never produced  anything of value but merely took up space in the orchard. He tried everything, but couldn't get rid of that tree. He tried cutting it down, but it would grow again from a shoot. He tried poisoning it, but it never quite died. Then one day, following someone's advice, he planted many healthy trees around it. They were vigorous and healthy trees that suited the environment well. Soon it was difficult to see where that diseased tree was amongst them. Gradually those beneficial healthy trees took over the entire space and when the farmer looked for his old adversary, that diseased tree couldn't be found; it had become healthy and on its branches were growing crops of beautiful fruits.  

(B.K.S. Iyengar, from Core of the Yoga Sutras)

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I'm in Singapore right now. I came here last week to attend my younger brother's wedding, and will be here for another couple of weeks before I head back to the U.S.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you may remember that for the longest time, I have been experiencing a lot of fear about coming back to Singapore, or even thinking about the place itself (for more details, see this post). So why have I decided to come back this time? Ostensibly, it was because of my brother's wedding. He sent me an invite a few months ago, and even somebody as hard-headed and hard-hearted as yours truly cannot resist the pull of some basic familial obligations (along with some guilt-tripping on the part of my parents).

But on another, deeper level, there is a more powerful reason for my being back this time. On some level, I have decided that it is time for me to really come to terms with certain things from the past, that if I am to move forward confidently with my life in a way that is free and unencumbered, I need to come back here and squarely face up to the baggage that I have been carrying with me from the past. I'm not going to bore you with the details of what exactly this baggage consists in: That would take another long post or two, and I'm not in the mood to write that much at the moment, anyway. Suffice to say that there were some promises that I made to certain people many many years ago, and I have been burdened with guilt over the fact that I have not fulfilled those promises and have therefore betrayed these people. Anyway, I met up with these people over the last week. All of them understand that my life is now in a very different place from where it was years ago, and that it would be unreasonable to hold me up to those promises. Actually, a few of these people were surprised that I even felt guilty about the whole thing, as they themselves could barely even remember me making that promise to them!

I understand that all of this is probably very vague and probably very unsatisfying, from a story-telling point of view. But as I said, I don't feel like writing a whole other post explaining the content and background story of these promises. And in any case, I feel that the explicit content of the promises do not matter so much as the emotional and spiritual anguish involved in holding on to something that has outlived its relevance, and the liberation that comes from finally letting go of these things.

Right now, I feel a lot more free and confident about moving on with my life. One thing that has really bothered me a lot in the past few years is the question of where home is. On the one hand, nothing can change the fact that I was born in Singapore and have gone through many irreplaceable formative experiences and encountered so many wonderful people here. But ever since coming to the U.S., I have also had many other experiences and met so many people that are just as irreplaceable. I have always been uncomfortable with the notion, held by many people, that home is only the place where you were born and where most of your family is. I think that there is something to this notion, but this cannot be the whole truth, because I also believe that as a person evolves and grows, what kind of place he comes to call home must also evolve and change. This is especially true if he has moved to a place that is different from his birthplace, and has allowed that place to irrevocably shape who he is as a person.

Because of these considerations, I have, after much reflection and soul-searching, come to the conclusion that I am a person with two homes: Singapore will always be my home, but the United States is also equally my home. For me, there is no other way, because I simply cannot bring myself to put down one place in order to elevate the other. I have tried to do this in the past, and the result has always been a lot of unnecessary emotional anguish and suffering. What all this means is that I have to grow to become somebody whose life and heart is big enough to encompass both these places, whose life is big enough to enable him to truly become a man of the world. 

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Now May, already, it is hard to believe, and as spring slowly begins to awaken, you know it's a slow process here in Sweden, you must have patience, once again, I find myself in a reflective mood. I enjoy the transitions of the seasons. I like change. There is something dynamic and hopeful in regards to change that I feel comfortable with. Granted not all change feels all that great but it is my feeling that more times than not change brings opportunity to more deeply understand ourselves and the world we live in.

When I think back to a year ago, which in reality doesn't feel that long ago, I can't say I've experienced any radical changes, only the fact that somehow I feel even more comfortable in my own skin. A settling in. A strength that radiates deep within my core. My gut. A connection to center. It's a good feeling. Going back to last year I felt more of an unraveling. Tiredness and exhaustion. Now instead of feeling low or high I see value in steadiness.

Steadiness of mind is the true fruit of yoga practice. Valuable beyond anything else once the thought waves subside and fade in the background the voice of our soul can finally speak. It will not yell over the mindless chatter of the mind. Sometimes I feel close to this space of awareness and other times seems more elusive. Whenever I step away to then come back inside to center I ultimately realize how deeply it has been missed. There is nothing more tranquil. There is nothing that can fulfill it from the outside. A lesson that takes constant reminding. However, the more it is experienced to be true the more it reaffirms in our state of being.

The remembering, it is the most challenging part. It is so easy to default to old patterns and comfort zones. Why? Thankfully, the practice of yoga gives space to watch and observe. To strengthen our resolve to what really charges our spirit. It is no easy task but one that once you get the smallest of tastes one will never yearn for anything less. 

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