In classical Hindu mythology the sun, with its heat and power represents masculinity, and the feminine is represented by the cool, calm and gentle moon. That beautiful contrast is acknowledged across time and culture, over and over again, and while different cultures have different symbols for the genders, in an encouraging number of cases, the feminine is celebrated as both a powerful and honor-worthy thing.
Hindus worship Shakti as the great mother goddess, and dignity, grace and intelligence are her defining characteristics. I particularly like about her that she is called the great mother goddess specifically, and not the great woman goddess or the great princess goddess or any other typical western expression of femininity. She is a nurturer, a teacher, a shaper of worlds and a creator of beauty.
This has been on my mind as a theme lately for two reasons: one is another book I picked up again after several years, and the other is my own watching myself be myself in the lives of the people around me. There are some encounters after which I feel drained, fragile, defeated, and other encounters that leave me feeling whole, calm, happy, even beautiful, and the contrast between them has become easier and easier to see. In the same way yoga teaches us body awareness, so that we engage our bellies when we fold over instead of caving our chests and rounding our shoulders; we stop eating when we are satisfied, we relax what's tense when we are still, we know what we have to relax and what to engage to move smoothly through our ranges of motion... yoga also teaches awareness of our states of mind, so that we can stop doing what changes our mental state for the worse, and do more of what releases our stress and lifts us up.
So, what I've noticed and, having noticed once now notice more and more, is that the interactions in which I've been at all harsh or demanding are the interactions I leave feeling more fragile for having experienced. Even when logic would say I should have felt tough, I still walk away feeling fractured. On the other hand, when I've been nurturing, encouraging, reassuring, and have felt (I'll just go on ahead and say it) pretty and put together, I walk away feeling calm and whole. Even when I have been pouring out of my cup and logic would say I should be feeling drained, I feel even more full.
I see the same phenomenon in my husband: when he is able to be in the mountains, kayak through intense white water, teach his son the skills and adventures of masculinity, he comes alive to a degree I rarely see when we are living our domesticated and calm lives at home. And, as a woman, I feel and enjoy my femininity all the more for his enjoying and displaying the best and strongest of his masculinity.
The book I talked about having picked up again after having read it several years ago is called "Captivating" by John & Stacie Eldridge. The book to which it is a compliment is called "Wild at Heart" by John Eldgridge only, and is about the way a man's instinct for the wildness of adventure, competition and heroism are the languages in which he was created to worship, and doing them is when he is being his most complete self. "Captivating" follows the same logic in exploring the idea that when a woman is doing the ancient, celebrated parts of being female, like creating life, health and beauty, she is speaking the language her creator gave her as her act of worship. They write from a Biblical take on the world, but explore in a really timeless and universal way the same idea of balance of opposites, and seeing the best of one by contrast with the other that humanity has been celebrating since her earliest myths.
Yoga's literal translation is "balance", and at this Vernal Equinox, when the sun and the moon are balancing each other with perfect symmetry, and our bodies balance the opposites of inhale and exhale, tension and release, right and left, up and down, front and back, I plan to continue forging the path deeper into the feminine, peaceful expressions that prove themselves over and over to be the ones my body and mind wear best. Enjoy the opening days of Spring!!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Learning to Play
Something that comes to mind frequently, both as I practice and as I teach, is how valuable it is to be able to come to practice in the same frame of mind in which I used to go to the playground: tons of possibilities are there waiting for me, and while some of them will be harder than others, and some might even leave me wimpering and quivery-chinned in a pile on the ground, all of them exist for my pleasure and to make me strong.
When we are children, absolutely everything is a game, and everything is worth exploring, fiddling around with, giggling about. We are still learning to use our bodies, so trying on new tricks is an adventure and something worth sticking with. As adults, I think because we think we ought to have learned all of our tricks by now, we allow ourselves to scold our bodies and brains on the mat in a way that squashes all of the joy right out of practice and would, no doubt, utterly bewilder the children we once were.
The most concentrated educated I ever got in physical discipline as play came when I was in college, and I had the unexpected pleasure of teaching dance to 5 and 6 year old kids in their daycare centers. Since they were in the settings that had only ever been used for play before, the beginning was a struggle to say the least. I drove away bawling more than once in the first 3 or 4 weeks, so frustrated that my hard-earned dance education was insufficient to fascinate, and completely stumped as to how I was going to face these little creatures week after week. I was a college kid, but so far from being a kid in my idea of myself, that it had been years since I had really played... gotten down on the floor and let reality and my image of myself as an educated adult float away. Inexplicable mercy took me to class one day feeling just a little flippant and ornery, and therefore holding my agenda a little more loosely. For the first time in at least a decade, I sat on the floor and dove head-first into the world of the imaginary. I named toes, listened with fascination to stories and let myself just become one of the tiny people. Then, when I asked them to dance, it was as play... an extension of the play we were already doing.
Without wanting to endulge too much in the superlative, I have to tell you, it busted something loose in me, unburied something that shook the dirt off with relish, and I have remained irresistably attracted to the world of childhood play ever since. It's become a problem at garden parties! When there are children in attendence, I will very likely be wandering through fairyland and chasing butterflies. Reality is far too serious a place never to leave, and the lesson is applicable on the mat as much as anywhere in life.
It's another reason I like teaching in a slightly darkened room, so that each mat can become its own tiny universe, and each practicioner get lost in his or her own exploration. Walking through woods, snorkeling over a well-populated reef, lying in the grass and letting your eyes imagine the distance to the stars, are all perfect parallels to the mental exploration of the miraculous phenomenon of nature that happens on the mat. I hope to teach more and more from a place that invites that kind of freedom of exploration: to let both the bravery and the light-heartedness that made us strong and free as children continue to shape us as adults.
I'll leave you with a book recommendation: It is by Diane Ackerman, and it is called "Deep Play". It is about bringing the wonderment and awe of childhood forward into every stage of life. It is one I read in spread out pieces years ago, and have just picked up again to my overwhelming delight. You won't be disappointed.
"Swirling round with this familiar parable
Spinning, weaving round each new experience
Recognize this as a holy gift and
Celebrate this chance to be
Alive and breathing"
-Tool
When we are children, absolutely everything is a game, and everything is worth exploring, fiddling around with, giggling about. We are still learning to use our bodies, so trying on new tricks is an adventure and something worth sticking with. As adults, I think because we think we ought to have learned all of our tricks by now, we allow ourselves to scold our bodies and brains on the mat in a way that squashes all of the joy right out of practice and would, no doubt, utterly bewilder the children we once were.
The most concentrated educated I ever got in physical discipline as play came when I was in college, and I had the unexpected pleasure of teaching dance to 5 and 6 year old kids in their daycare centers. Since they were in the settings that had only ever been used for play before, the beginning was a struggle to say the least. I drove away bawling more than once in the first 3 or 4 weeks, so frustrated that my hard-earned dance education was insufficient to fascinate, and completely stumped as to how I was going to face these little creatures week after week. I was a college kid, but so far from being a kid in my idea of myself, that it had been years since I had really played... gotten down on the floor and let reality and my image of myself as an educated adult float away. Inexplicable mercy took me to class one day feeling just a little flippant and ornery, and therefore holding my agenda a little more loosely. For the first time in at least a decade, I sat on the floor and dove head-first into the world of the imaginary. I named toes, listened with fascination to stories and let myself just become one of the tiny people. Then, when I asked them to dance, it was as play... an extension of the play we were already doing.
Without wanting to endulge too much in the superlative, I have to tell you, it busted something loose in me, unburied something that shook the dirt off with relish, and I have remained irresistably attracted to the world of childhood play ever since. It's become a problem at garden parties! When there are children in attendence, I will very likely be wandering through fairyland and chasing butterflies. Reality is far too serious a place never to leave, and the lesson is applicable on the mat as much as anywhere in life.
It's another reason I like teaching in a slightly darkened room, so that each mat can become its own tiny universe, and each practicioner get lost in his or her own exploration. Walking through woods, snorkeling over a well-populated reef, lying in the grass and letting your eyes imagine the distance to the stars, are all perfect parallels to the mental exploration of the miraculous phenomenon of nature that happens on the mat. I hope to teach more and more from a place that invites that kind of freedom of exploration: to let both the bravery and the light-heartedness that made us strong and free as children continue to shape us as adults.
I'll leave you with a book recommendation: It is by Diane Ackerman, and it is called "Deep Play". It is about bringing the wonderment and awe of childhood forward into every stage of life. It is one I read in spread out pieces years ago, and have just picked up again to my overwhelming delight. You won't be disappointed.
"Swirling round with this familiar parable
Spinning, weaving round each new experience
Recognize this as a holy gift and
Celebrate this chance to be
Alive and breathing"
-Tool
Friday, February 5, 2010
One Moment at a Time
Albert Einstein is famously quoted as having said that "the only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once"... Confucius gifted humanity with the reminder that "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step"... Even President Obama calls us to action by reminding us of "the fierce urgency of now". We all know the feeling of the future pressing on our consciousness, pulling our attention from the moment we are in into the whirlwind of possibilities that float unformed ahead of us.
Worry is practically a virtue in Western society, and we live at such a pace that it seems impractical not to fret a little, since the future is coming hard on the heels of a present that presents very little time to prepare. The constant evolutions of relationships, the sameness of our daily routines, the frustrating world of politics, the moods that fall over us in the gray of midwestern winters, all steal our attention from the sacred and fleeting gift of this entirely unique moment.
One of yoga's most invaluable contributions to the way my brain works has been to bring me regularly back to my breath, and into this moment. Since our bodies are different every time we come to the mat, we get an unmatched kind of practice at meeting each breath, each motion as a completely unique experience... a discovery, an exploration, and a lesson in how to attend to all of our moments with that kind of calm attention.
I had a conversation with a friend whose life has been a whirlwind of change for the whole past year, and who still sees in the world in front of her a dizzying number of equally possible futures. Having come to the end of the usefulness of just shaking our heads at the overwhelm of our early 30s, we concluded that all we can do is to live attentively and with integrity one moment, one conversation, one breath at a time. Not only is living well in this present moment all we are able to do, it is our most sincere act of gratitude for the moments we are given. What other way is there to create a future we will enjoy than by living in a way today that keeps a garden of healthy relationships, happy memories, and work we can be proud of? By learning to learn what each moment has to teach us, exploring where each moment as the potential to take us as if we are on, not waiting for, our life's great adventure.
Yoga teaches that our only responsibility is for the spirit in which we act: our intention is all we have the ability to choose. Then, we lay control of the outcome of our actions at the feet of God. Ishvarapranidana. So I invite you to think about your intention, the attentiveness you bring to this present moment, the next time you are on the mat. If you don't already, start to think about the pace at which you are breathing, and the sensation of each individual motion as you practice. Then see how far beyond the mat you can keep your attentivenes in the here and now. Live in your five senses, enter into the stories of the people who surround you and let them be invitations to learn and to teach. Let each moment be just as valid and wide open an invitation to peace and clarity as the moments of full breath and fluid motion you practice on the mat.
I'd love to hear your stories as I train my attention to one moment at a time, as well... and I'll leave you with the words of Toni Morrison: "if you surrender to the wind, you can ride it!"
Namaste!
Worry is practically a virtue in Western society, and we live at such a pace that it seems impractical not to fret a little, since the future is coming hard on the heels of a present that presents very little time to prepare. The constant evolutions of relationships, the sameness of our daily routines, the frustrating world of politics, the moods that fall over us in the gray of midwestern winters, all steal our attention from the sacred and fleeting gift of this entirely unique moment.
One of yoga's most invaluable contributions to the way my brain works has been to bring me regularly back to my breath, and into this moment. Since our bodies are different every time we come to the mat, we get an unmatched kind of practice at meeting each breath, each motion as a completely unique experience... a discovery, an exploration, and a lesson in how to attend to all of our moments with that kind of calm attention.
I had a conversation with a friend whose life has been a whirlwind of change for the whole past year, and who still sees in the world in front of her a dizzying number of equally possible futures. Having come to the end of the usefulness of just shaking our heads at the overwhelm of our early 30s, we concluded that all we can do is to live attentively and with integrity one moment, one conversation, one breath at a time. Not only is living well in this present moment all we are able to do, it is our most sincere act of gratitude for the moments we are given. What other way is there to create a future we will enjoy than by living in a way today that keeps a garden of healthy relationships, happy memories, and work we can be proud of? By learning to learn what each moment has to teach us, exploring where each moment as the potential to take us as if we are on, not waiting for, our life's great adventure.
Yoga teaches that our only responsibility is for the spirit in which we act: our intention is all we have the ability to choose. Then, we lay control of the outcome of our actions at the feet of God. Ishvarapranidana. So I invite you to think about your intention, the attentiveness you bring to this present moment, the next time you are on the mat. If you don't already, start to think about the pace at which you are breathing, and the sensation of each individual motion as you practice. Then see how far beyond the mat you can keep your attentivenes in the here and now. Live in your five senses, enter into the stories of the people who surround you and let them be invitations to learn and to teach. Let each moment be just as valid and wide open an invitation to peace and clarity as the moments of full breath and fluid motion you practice on the mat.
I'd love to hear your stories as I train my attention to one moment at a time, as well... and I'll leave you with the words of Toni Morrison: "if you surrender to the wind, you can ride it!"
Namaste!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Samskara
I've always loved yoga's approach to the conditioning of one's state of mind, but my fascination was recently refreshed when my husband and I went to see three nights of music in Miami over the holidays. We spent our days quiet and blissful, walking on the beach, watching the people and the waves, and we filled our nights with the kind of music that swept us up, body and mind, and just let us hang-glide in the bliss of music that made us dance and laugh, throw up our hands and scream with the pleasure of deeply felt, celebratory music. And, as we hung there, that state of mind started to become more familiar, broken-in, and so much easier to find in the days that followed, like a favorite spot in the woods whose path just needs to be re-beaten every now and again.
It was my most tangible experience in a while of the yogic practice of familiarizing oneself with bliss. If yoga means balance, then vacation, time in nature, time with music and beauty that feeds our souls, all serve to balance our daily business-doing state of mind with its complete opposite: reminding us how to play, and beating open the path to the parts of our brains where we are still children, innocent, open, curious and ready to play.
In yogic philosophy, samskara is the term used to refer to states of mind that become habitual. It is a fact with which every practicioner of yoga (and every conscious liv-er of life) will eventually contend. Samskara can be thought of as the ruts in a road when wagon wheels keep finding the same path to drive on, until they are deep and nearly impossible for future wheels not to settle into. Samskara, from the words "sam", meaning same and "skara", meaning action, refers to the habits of thought that just become the familiar way our brain works, until that sameness starts to feel to us like wisdom... instinct... when all it is, for better or worse, is simple, blind habit.
Throughout our lives, our brains are remaking themselves, just like our bodies are, in order to make themselves optimal for the tasks that are required of them. So, when what we experience day after day is stressful, drama-driven and chaotic, then that is the state to which our minds most readily default, even to the point that they are so much more comfortable with drama that they will find it even where it does not exist. Conversely, when we make a practice of finding and lingering in bliss.... or at least in peace as a mid-point to bliss... that state is easier to find the next time we are in need of it.
In yogic meditation, mental ruts are what mantras are created to address, every time we exhale. Poetry, scripture, song lyrics, quotes from favorite books or people... anything that ushers your mind into a state of calm, hopefulness, benevolence, gratitude. It's also soothing just to meditate on breath itself: inhaling strength, exhaling tension; inhaling joy, exhaling frustration; inhaling light, exhaling dark. When we are finally able to rest in a mantra, our bodies respond the same way they do to things like laughter and celebration: we become more alkaline, and so less prone to inflammation, our parasympathetic nervous system engages to lower our blood pressure, and we release even our deep, habitual tension.
In asana yoga, have you ever changed your whole state of mind just by adopting an open-hearted, exuberant posture, and breathing deeply into the extension, just taking up space? Since we throw our faces to heaven and our hearts open in moments of exuberance, our bodies can effect the same change inversely, reminding our minds of the path back to the state of mind that has inspired that posture before.
I'll write more in the future about learning mental quiet, but I can't leave this subject without also inviting comment on the off-the-mat mental peace that grows out of the same mindfulness we practice on the mat when we are finally able to rest in a difficult posture. When we can be both calm and challenged at the same time, when we can keep our breath relaxed and joyful while our bodies are working, we are learning to let our calm exist next to our discomfort: to observe the work without reacting to it and losing our peace. Then is when whole-body transformation takes place. The muscles we are trying to strengthen can finally take responsibility for the work that is theirs, and the muscles that have been straining under habitual tension can melt into the breath.
Our bodies have the potential to be powerful teachers for our minds, and our minds for our bodies. Just like practicing a difficult pose strengthens our bodies' ability to be there, practicing a positive state of mind strengthens our minds' ability to be there. I'd love to hear how you as practicioners learn to be familiar with the state of mind that allows both effort and surrender, strength and ease, focus and adventurous play. May that be the mental posture from which we move into the moments in life when we know we need to establish a new pattern: cultivate a new strength, let go of a habitual tension, compose a new mantra, and just breathe the bliss!
Namaste!
It was my most tangible experience in a while of the yogic practice of familiarizing oneself with bliss. If yoga means balance, then vacation, time in nature, time with music and beauty that feeds our souls, all serve to balance our daily business-doing state of mind with its complete opposite: reminding us how to play, and beating open the path to the parts of our brains where we are still children, innocent, open, curious and ready to play.
In yogic philosophy, samskara is the term used to refer to states of mind that become habitual. It is a fact with which every practicioner of yoga (and every conscious liv-er of life) will eventually contend. Samskara can be thought of as the ruts in a road when wagon wheels keep finding the same path to drive on, until they are deep and nearly impossible for future wheels not to settle into. Samskara, from the words "sam", meaning same and "skara", meaning action, refers to the habits of thought that just become the familiar way our brain works, until that sameness starts to feel to us like wisdom... instinct... when all it is, for better or worse, is simple, blind habit.
Throughout our lives, our brains are remaking themselves, just like our bodies are, in order to make themselves optimal for the tasks that are required of them. So, when what we experience day after day is stressful, drama-driven and chaotic, then that is the state to which our minds most readily default, even to the point that they are so much more comfortable with drama that they will find it even where it does not exist. Conversely, when we make a practice of finding and lingering in bliss.... or at least in peace as a mid-point to bliss... that state is easier to find the next time we are in need of it.
In yogic meditation, mental ruts are what mantras are created to address, every time we exhale. Poetry, scripture, song lyrics, quotes from favorite books or people... anything that ushers your mind into a state of calm, hopefulness, benevolence, gratitude. It's also soothing just to meditate on breath itself: inhaling strength, exhaling tension; inhaling joy, exhaling frustration; inhaling light, exhaling dark. When we are finally able to rest in a mantra, our bodies respond the same way they do to things like laughter and celebration: we become more alkaline, and so less prone to inflammation, our parasympathetic nervous system engages to lower our blood pressure, and we release even our deep, habitual tension.
In asana yoga, have you ever changed your whole state of mind just by adopting an open-hearted, exuberant posture, and breathing deeply into the extension, just taking up space? Since we throw our faces to heaven and our hearts open in moments of exuberance, our bodies can effect the same change inversely, reminding our minds of the path back to the state of mind that has inspired that posture before.
I'll write more in the future about learning mental quiet, but I can't leave this subject without also inviting comment on the off-the-mat mental peace that grows out of the same mindfulness we practice on the mat when we are finally able to rest in a difficult posture. When we can be both calm and challenged at the same time, when we can keep our breath relaxed and joyful while our bodies are working, we are learning to let our calm exist next to our discomfort: to observe the work without reacting to it and losing our peace. Then is when whole-body transformation takes place. The muscles we are trying to strengthen can finally take responsibility for the work that is theirs, and the muscles that have been straining under habitual tension can melt into the breath.
Our bodies have the potential to be powerful teachers for our minds, and our minds for our bodies. Just like practicing a difficult pose strengthens our bodies' ability to be there, practicing a positive state of mind strengthens our minds' ability to be there. I'd love to hear how you as practicioners learn to be familiar with the state of mind that allows both effort and surrender, strength and ease, focus and adventurous play. May that be the mental posture from which we move into the moments in life when we know we need to establish a new pattern: cultivate a new strength, let go of a habitual tension, compose a new mantra, and just breathe the bliss!
Namaste!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Baby's First Blog
Never having had a blog before, but having kept many diaries -- under various more sophisticated-sounding psuedonyms, and to varying degrees of usefulness for venting, dreaming, envisioning and romanticizing -- I would like to approach keeping a blog in very much the same way, with the exception that this blog is meant to allow venting, dreaming, envisioning and yes, perhaps the tiniest amount of romanticizing on the topic of yoga very specifically.
The beautiful thing about yoga, however, is that it is a practice by which our body and our breath -- the things with us more constantly than any frame of mind or resolution to a certain philosophy -- become teachers that permeate every moment. So, every moment is an opportunity to learn, and every activity is a teacher, so every detail of life is fair game for a blog about yoga!
I'll use this first post to explain the reason for the blog's name: Practical Grace. Grace has been a favorite idea of mine ever since I learned as a little girl that in addition to referring to the kind of strong, fluid ease of movement we strove to create in dance classes, it is also the undeserved, unearned kindness we receive from our Creator. There are graces all around us: the beauty of nature, the kindness of the people who love us (and who don't), and the circumstances that nurture us even when we know we are undeserving of such nurture. It was a part of that childhood lesson as well, that as creatures showered with graces, we are meant to extend that same grace to the people we encounter -- never seeking vengeance, being kind to the unlovable, and forgiving even when it is hard.
As practicioners of yoga, we are taught to meet our bodies with grace, as well, and here is where grace becomes practical, and practice-able. We are taught to meet our bodies in just the state they are in this day, and to breathe with gratitude right there. Then and only then is the progress we make genuine and sustainable. Vinyasa krama is the sanskrit term for taking the right step at the right time, when our bodies are ready to take the next step, moving deeper into the potential of our bodies as they open and grow strong. As a dancer in background, I am quite familiar with the approach to a body that simply insists, pushes, demands to the point of damaging a body rather than honoring it as a vessel that has the potential to carry us into old age with all the strength, ease and fluidity of our youth.
The definition of forgiveness I have always liked best is relinquishing the right to hurt the person who has injured us. We don't have to say that what they did was not wrong, we simply leave their fate in the hands of God, or Karma, instead of punishing them with our own actions. So, as we approach our bodies with grace, we must leave out of our approach any grudges we may have against them... our frustrations with shape, range of motion, injury, must all dissolve with our slow, relaxed exhales. We must practice, as intently as we practice our breath and our posture, meeting our bodies with undeserved, unearned kindness, forgiveness, patience and even, when we are quite grown up, gratitude.
May that be the place from which I always teach, and may it be the lesson my students most internalize into their own yogic journeys. Namaste.
The beautiful thing about yoga, however, is that it is a practice by which our body and our breath -- the things with us more constantly than any frame of mind or resolution to a certain philosophy -- become teachers that permeate every moment. So, every moment is an opportunity to learn, and every activity is a teacher, so every detail of life is fair game for a blog about yoga!
I'll use this first post to explain the reason for the blog's name: Practical Grace. Grace has been a favorite idea of mine ever since I learned as a little girl that in addition to referring to the kind of strong, fluid ease of movement we strove to create in dance classes, it is also the undeserved, unearned kindness we receive from our Creator. There are graces all around us: the beauty of nature, the kindness of the people who love us (and who don't), and the circumstances that nurture us even when we know we are undeserving of such nurture. It was a part of that childhood lesson as well, that as creatures showered with graces, we are meant to extend that same grace to the people we encounter -- never seeking vengeance, being kind to the unlovable, and forgiving even when it is hard.
As practicioners of yoga, we are taught to meet our bodies with grace, as well, and here is where grace becomes practical, and practice-able. We are taught to meet our bodies in just the state they are in this day, and to breathe with gratitude right there. Then and only then is the progress we make genuine and sustainable. Vinyasa krama is the sanskrit term for taking the right step at the right time, when our bodies are ready to take the next step, moving deeper into the potential of our bodies as they open and grow strong. As a dancer in background, I am quite familiar with the approach to a body that simply insists, pushes, demands to the point of damaging a body rather than honoring it as a vessel that has the potential to carry us into old age with all the strength, ease and fluidity of our youth.
The definition of forgiveness I have always liked best is relinquishing the right to hurt the person who has injured us. We don't have to say that what they did was not wrong, we simply leave their fate in the hands of God, or Karma, instead of punishing them with our own actions. So, as we approach our bodies with grace, we must leave out of our approach any grudges we may have against them... our frustrations with shape, range of motion, injury, must all dissolve with our slow, relaxed exhales. We must practice, as intently as we practice our breath and our posture, meeting our bodies with undeserved, unearned kindness, forgiveness, patience and even, when we are quite grown up, gratitude.
May that be the place from which I always teach, and may it be the lesson my students most internalize into their own yogic journeys. Namaste.
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