City Stew: The Next Chapter

Over the past eight years I've been struggling with a sense of spiritual dearth. Eight years ago, I left behind a blissful state of self-actualization (along with my soulmate, the one person who could fuel my spiritual flame to its fullest), and moved across the country against my will. I traded in my beloved Idaho mountains for the base beaches of Florida, and out of loneliness lost myself to new passions - the most powerful of which being competition (a force I now recognize as a symptom of forgetting the most fundamental concept of existence: that we're all one and the same). 

After I moved I had nobody to distract me with propositions of spontaneous adventure and nobody to remind me of the beauty within my soul. So I put all my energy into getting ahead. Even in the context of relationships, I developed the need to always "win" and come out on top. By the time I started college, I was consumed by this motivation. 

Yet the more "successful" I became, the more I felt something was missing in my life: specifically, spirituality. I felt incomplete for eight years. Then everything changed six months ago, when the yoga journey commenced.

Yoga teacher training helped me remember who I really am and what makes life worth living. (Hint: it isn't winning an argument or getting into Duke or landing a job at Google.) But the training is over as of a few weeks. It happened - I'm a graduate! Now the question is how to self-sustain the kind of growth that was originally sustained by a rigid study schedule, regular group therapy sessions and, most importantly, my community of like-minded teachers and classmates. Just as the goal at the conclusion of a yoga class is to bring forth - into the "real" world - the stillness attained in class, my goal is to keep focusing on pursuing a purposeful existence without somebody else constantly reminding me to. It won't be easy, but I simply can't fall into the same trap I did when I left behind the zen of Idaho and the joy of being with my soulmate. The trap of thinking I need something or someone outside myself for fulfillment.

I just spent a week in New York City, the city that utterly embodies the everyone-out-for-herself attitude that I held close as my personal mantra for so many years. Even as I recognized the city getting to me last week, I couldn't resist its effect. Compounded my the discomfort of the heat and the rain, and, if we're being honest, probably also by the booze, I felt myself reverting to the unstable mindset I inhabited when I lived in New York the summer after freshman year when I was in the peak of my competitive grip. Last week as I conversed with strangers as well as friends, old fear-induced thoughts kept creeping to the surface. I couldn't understand where they were coming from. And I couldn't stop them. The stewing set in on my first night in the city as I dined with a friend, even as I shared with her the yogi view that approaching life through a lens of "me versus them" will not ultimately lead to happiness. And when she left to catch a train home, I took my stewing to the streets. The night hot, the air thick, the rain steady: conditions were perfect for a good stew, one that would lead me to walk alone for two hours from Chelsea to Washington Square Park and back to my hotel. In the dark and the rain, I walked and stewed, soaking my work shoes and rubbing deep into a few choice blisters. 

My goal wasn't to stew. As I embarked to my old stomping ground, my goal was to calm myself down. To recharge. But all the sat-nams in the world couldn't do the trick. I was in too much of a negative New York rut. Instead of counting my blessings as the night wore on, instead I kept thinking about more and more things that piss me off. 

But all the while, as I was brooding over my resentments and my intolerances, I was really trying to get to what they say about me. Because, thanks to yoga, even as I stewed I knew my frustration was revealing more about myself than the objects of my frustration. 

And that's exactly what saved me from stewing myself into a New York sewer: the awareness that's a by-product of yoga. It's easy to maintain chi in the middle of nowhere, Idaho or when on the mat, surrounded by people "om"-ing with breath slowed down 5x, but true zen is being able to maintain that chi anywhere (including the city that never sleeps) at anytime. And Step #1 is awareness. Awareness that we create our own chi. Awareness that all thoughts stem from either fear or love. Awareness of self. With awareness comes the opportunity for conscious change.

So that's where I'll start my "life after teacher training" chapter: with focusing on becoming more aware. (Heaven knows one can never be aware enough.) And, as much as I love avoiding it, that means meditating regularly. Starting yesterday. The saga continues!

Oh, and that soulmate I mentioned? The universe is reuniting us this weekend. Stories to come.

Almost a yoga teacher!

I started my yoga journey via a 200-hour yoga teacher training program five months ago, on Valentines Day. Every weekend since then (with the exception of Memorial Day weekend and Easter weekend) I've been devoting each Friday night and three solid hours smack dab in the middle of each Saturday and Sunday to the study of yoga - specifically to the study of yoga history, alignment, pranayama, anatomy, yoga and pregnancy, assisting, meditation and philosophy. There are just a few weeks left, during which we'll cover sequencing. Then - come end of June, it's all over! Wait, what?

The last few months of training have reinforced for me that attachment is the root of all suffering. Despite all teachings though, I've acquired many attachments - okay, addictions - as a direct result of training. And I'm too addicted to say goodbye.

First off, I don't know just how I'm supposed to quit my fellow yogis and teacher trainees. It's hard to pay attention to our lecturers sometimes when all I want to do is turn around and gaze lovingly at the 30-or-so wonderful souls I've been traveling this strange road with and think about just how much I love each and every one of them. There's Abby. She's quiet but her crazy headstand variations and countless colorful tattoos speak volumes. There's theatre-star Kathryn with her half-shaved head and animal sounds. Every week I look forward to our Friday nights - starting with "happy hour" heated yoga class at Valencia (where the teacher thinks we're dating) followed by teacher training philosophy lecture and drives home during which we geek out together about silent retreats, self rediscovery and the simple beauty of life. Then there's dancer Andrew, a sassy, mystical, irreverent vinyasa master. We take class together often and we have similar teaching styles. I would love to co-teach a class with him someday. There's also Alissa, a fellow blogger. She's been through some major shit over the past few years and her healing process is visible. She's so strong and so smart and so beautiful - she's pure power. And of course there's Remington Bain - only his full name would do him justice - an ex-Marine turned acupuncturist, always sitting in full lotus, always interjecting with nuggets of wisdom about the human anatomy and the subtle body and life itself. These are some of the souls on which I've gotten hooked. I'm addicted to my classmates.

Then there's my addiction to the asana practice. At the beginning of class: "Come to a comfortable sitting position at the top of your mats." These words make me giddy every time I hear them, even though I hear them almost every day now. And I can't help but smile to myself when after a few namaskars the class starts to glisten and the smell of yoga begins to slice the room, specifically the piercingly tangy scent of our yoga mats and/or kombucha sweat (almost indistinguishable smells if you haven't yet noticed). It's gross but it pleases me. Conditioning. I've also become addicted to certain teachers and styles of yoga. I'm constantly checking the schedule to see who's teaching what where and when. If I can't find one of MY teachers, I generally choose to practice by myself in my room with my music at my pace. This lone-wolf practice, something rather new to me, is something I've become addicted to as well.

Finally, I must mention my addiction to the new outlook teacher training (and yoga in general) has given me. Over the past five months, I've renewed my spirituality, shifted my priorities and have begun the process of remembering who I really am. I can't help it. I'm attached - obsessed - addicted to cultivating inner Awareness.

All suffering results from the perception of loss directly correlated with attachment to that which was lost. The greater your attachment, the greater your perceived loss and, therefore, the greater your suffering. Despite knowing this, and reinforcing it regularly through my practice, I have developed the aforementioned attachments thanks to teacher training, and I'm not quite ready for the journey to be over.

But it isn't over yet. It's never over, just as the smell of kombucha will never leave the linings of my nostrils. The love will continue to live on and that comfortable seat at the top of the mat will always be there for the assuming. We can always come home, because home is within. And so is yoga.

The Subtle Body

My favorite yoga asana of all time is probably Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon Pose). I also love Camel Pose, Urdhva Dhanurasana (Upward Facing Bow Pose) and backbends in general. And I'm a big fan of handstands, though I'm still too scared to do them away from the wall (or, more accurately, my dresser). Recently, however, Savasana ("Dead Man's Pose") has been climbing my asana affinity charts. But not for rest or even absorption of the benefits worked towards during the practice - the reasons you might guess I'd enjoy it. I look forward to the obligatory end-of-class Savasana because I'm savoring a new courtship with my subtle body (the energy body we each have, made up of "nadis" instead of nerves), and this shape provides the optimal conditions for subtle body work and awareness.

We don't pay enough attention to the energy we're made up of. Until recently, I only paid attention to mine when walking under streetlights at night. (If you know me well, you know I have a strange capacity to turn streetlights on or off when I pass by.) Or on accident, perhaps when stumbling upon a particularly moving song. But lately I'm drinking the energy of life in a little deeper. And Savasana is tasting a little sweeter as a result. (As an example, I've been working on recruiting my focus to create spheres of concentrated energy in my open palms in Savasana - the successful manifestation of which I find exciting and extremely gratifying - and I'm getting pretty good at it!) This Saturday, though, my Savasana game was taken to a whole new level. Let me tell you about Kundalini.

Kundalini is the term used by some yogis to refer to our life force, housed at the base of the spine, which can be awakened with practice (via breathing, meditation, chanting and asana) to rise up through and engage our seven chakras. I experienced my first Kundalini yoga class on Saturday. The vibrations have mellowed out somewhat since I left the Portrero studio, but I still smell the rose oil our teacher had us rub between our hands before we left. And I still feel high as a kite. 

The class was unlike any yoga class I've ever attended. We did a lot of chanting, waving around, shimmying and singing. The urge to burst into laughter was pretty strong at the beginning (for example, when we were instructed to shimmy WHILE doing figure eights with our hips), but I did my best to avoid eye contact with my fellow teacher trainer and I soon surrendered to the weirdness. (This class was not the place to be self conscious.) We did a "happy dance," we practiced different breathing techniques, we shimmied some more and we sent a few praises to the sun, all while internally repeating the mantra "Sat Nam," meaning "truth is my name." We abandoned all concerns, and before I knew it we were done.

Finally, it was time for Savasana. Exhausted from the breathing and dancing, I laid back, closed my eyes and happily emulated a dead man. 

Shortly thereafter, ninety minutes' worth of meditation and Kundalini-stirring declared itself as power beyond measure. To my surprise as I lay there, energy coursed through me like a charging river. I already felt electric there, in the silence of our meditation, but then our (beautiful!) teacher began playing a loud gong. The electricity turned up ten notches. Maybe the craziest I've ever felt, I swear I could hear something celestial ringing true through the vibrations. For a few minutes, my soul sang.

I haven't been the same since Saturday, when I learned how to really pay attention to the universe. Somehow, I feel so alive it almost hurts. I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to smile at everyone I see. Maybe the new San Francisco heat is partially to blame, but, as the yogis say, "something shifted in me" that morning as my subtle body awakened. And I'm not looking back. 

Universal Truths

This post is less about the universe and more about the existence of universal truths (defined here as scientific absolutes), but the cosmos will play a big role. AND I wanted to use that quote. If you think Carl Sagan - rest in peace - is kind of amazing, read on. If you don't know who Carl Sagan is, do yourself a favor and get acquainted before we continue: 

Gravity. The Golden Ratio. Hubble's Law of Cosmic Expansion.

Universal truths exist, and I believe they exist as part of a collective consciousness. This is not to be confused with Carl #2, father of analytical psychology Carl Jung's "collective unconscious," which refers to the sum reservoir of experience inherited and identical in each being. Rather, I'm referring to the idea that we evolve mentally and spiritually as a collective (though not necessarily progressively in all aspects at all times.) (Some yogis even believe that the cosmos are the physical manifestation of this collective consciousness, ever growing, ever changing.)

If universal truths exist as part of our collective consciousness, they are accessible to all. Their revelation is not exclusive to savant scientists and mathematicians. These truths, instead, are at the tips of our collective fingers. 

We all have the potential to access them through dreams, for example, as Giordano Bruno did in the late 1500's when he glimpsed truth at a time when it was held as law that the earth was the center of the universe. Not a scientist, Bruno was just a man searching for answers. With no regard to scientific "worthiness," answers came to Bruno in a lucid dream: the earth is not the center of the universe and our sun is but one of a multitude of stars. (He was burned at the stake for defending this radical-at-the-time claim, which we, of course, now know to be fact.) 

Multiple discovery further supports the existence of universal truths. Multiple discovery is the phenomenon in which scientists (or mathematicians, artists, etc.) simultaneously converge on the same reality-shaking breakthroughs while working independently, often on opposite ends of the earth. The discovery (or maybe rather "uncovery") of calculus is one famous case. Why does multiple discovery happen? I believe it's simply a matter of the time becoming ripe for one universal truth or another to bubble to the top of our collective consciousness, sometimes manifested through more than one individual.

So universal truths exist as part of our collective consciousness. What does this mean for the aspiring yogis and mind-masters among us (and everyone else for that matter)? It means we have the power (through dreams, yoga and meditation) to tap into absolute knowledge without necessarily conducting first-hand research. If we can pay attention and keep our hearts and minds open, we will be ready for receiving the truths we need (and want) to know. The point is: they're already within. 

A still more glorious dawn awaits!

The Dream Yoga Diaries

I'm on a quest to explore the essence of consciousness and a mission to master the mind. Through the practice of "dream yoga," more commonly known as lucid dreaming, I plan to become a Dream MasterMind.

I've always had an active dream life (from the ripe age of four when I remember dreaming of an owl with wide yellow eyes) and I'm endlessly intrigued by the human psyche. (I even wrote my Common App personal statement about my love affair with the mind. Extreme? Maybe. Did it work? Why yes it did.) Dream yoga is the magic link between these two passions of mine - dreaming and psychology. Because I believe its mastery can unlock the answers to some of the most interesting scientific, psychological and metaphysical questions every posed, I'm invested in becoming a master myself. And I'd like to share my journey with you.

The great news is: you can join in the fun! Anyone can become a practitioner. Anyone who sleeps, dreams. And anyone who dreams has the capacity to become lucid in the dream state. Then once you unlock this innate power, you can work on awakening the consciousness even while you're asleep - which could very well be for around 1/3 of your life. In future posts I'll provide lucid dreaming "how to" techniques, highlighting my own tips and tricks, to help you on your personal journey. But first let me fill you in on where I'm at so far.

I've dabbled in dream yoga from my teens, inspired by my father's books on the topic (and on the similar topic of OBEs, or out-of-body experiences), but they've never been consistent for me. I had a brief uptick in LDs after attending a lecture by one of the world's premier lucid dreaming experts, Stephen LaBerge, last year, but they've been few and far between ever since. Then, this weekend at a bookstore in the Haight I picked up Lucid Dreaming: Gateway to the Inner Self  by Robert Waggoner. The book, one of the sweetest delights I've ever encountered, has completely reignited my awe before the power we have in our lucid dreams, starting with the power to ask for and obtain information through the dream.

A few months ago I found myself walking down a bleak suburban hill at dusk. I decided the sharp zigzag of the road down the hill between the houses was too odd and thought, "Hey! This is a dream!" Immediately overjoyed with the realization I was lucid and energized by the exploration possibilities before me, I began to sing at the top of my lungs as I skipped down the hill, leaping several feet into the air with each step. I ran into a handsome man in a news cap and asked him if he knew who I was.

He laughed and said, "Of course I know who you are!" I asked him what my destiny was. (I've since learned from the book that this is probably too general of a question to ask.) He said he'd show me. Next thing I knew we were on the first floor of a tall factory in the shape of a tree. People in lab coats were milling above and around us. The news cap man asked me if I wanted to go into "the heart center" and I said I did. He led me to a vertical tube lined with some kind of red liquid. He opened the door to the tube and a woman behind the door instructed me to sit down inside. She did not seem amused. "Who made all this?" I asked her. "You did," she said, without looking at me. Then we began to ascend up the tube as if it were an elevator. I woke up before I could find out what was awaiting us above.

This was my first experience of three treating dream characters as a source of information. In another dream, in a luscious green valley, I asked a man I thought looked like a sage what my destiny was. Unfortunately his response was pure gibberish. Finally, just a few nights ago, after a months-long lucid dream hiatus, after becoming lucid in my dream I actively sought out an "aware" dream character among the human figures in my mall dreamscape. I came upon a wise-looking older lady with a smile on her face. I could tell she'd be able to help. "Hello!" I said to her. "Can you show me something important?" She said, "You know more than most of the people here, but sure." 

She then opened a thick book before me and pointed to the first chapter. "The most important thing," she said, "is Ashtanga." The following day I remembered to research what was special about Ashtanga yoga which I recognized as another "type" of yoga such as Bikram or Iyengar. However, my Google searching reminded me that "Ashtanga" yoga also refers to the Patanjali's eightfold path, which is meant to provide guidelines for living a meaningful life. I was thrilled. My dream character's advice was actually useful! 

I've started compiling a list of questions to draw from when I next find myself lucid in the dream state, including, "what will the froyo flavors be at the Google San Francisco office tomorrow?" (There are always two and they're usually pretty unique - for example, "avocado vanilla." (I'm skeptical about the effectiveness of lucid dreams in terms of precognition as I can't understand scientifically how precognition would work or spiritually why it would, but people have reported success so I'd like to try my mind at it too.)

I also plan to ask the dream characters I encounter what they represent. And I might ask the dream itself to play me a beautiful song or show me what pure creativity looks like. The possibilities are endless. I couldn't possibly fathom them all, so I may even ask the dream to give me suggestions.

Now all I can do is continue reading my book, "incubate" and wait for my next opportunity to try out some new techniques and to ask some burning questions. But I'll keep you updated. I'll be sure to report back on new adventures and insights as soon as I have them. Until then, if this stuff gets you excited, read Waggoner's book (and maybe also re-watch Inception!)

Bring your soul and your Friday energy

Imagine it's the break of dawn and we're standing in the middle of nowhere.

Together, we connect through our breathing and the vibrations of the earth below us. Overhead, the mass of stars begins to fade as the sky gets lighter. What was black is now magenta and blue and peach and pink. We raise up our arms to salute the sun rising from behind the regal mountains which surround us, snow still frosting their tips. Blades of grass are shimmering with fresh dew at our feet. We aren't in a valley in Wyoming. We're actually within the four painted walls of my future yoga studio, Mount Yoga. And class has just begun. I look around at my students: their intentions are strong and their energy is palpable. There's nowhere I'd rather be. This is what I dream about before I drift off to sleep these days.

I thought I'd be sick to death of yoga by now but in fact it's quite the opposite. As the non-yoga hours of my life flip like the pages of a book before me, try as I might to live in the moment, some part of me is ever yearning for my next vinyasa flow or teacher training session or Bhagavad Gita chapter. But even as I'm being flattened between my corporate inbox and the clock, I'm at peace knowing I always have energetic Mondays with Kerri to look forward to, as well as strengthening Tuesdays with Jonathan, scientific Saturdays with Sean, and rejuvenating Sundays with Julie. And while I'm looking forward to these classes I can hold myself over by perfecting the playlist I'm creating for the first few classes of my own. (Looking for guinea pigs for these by the way - get at me if bored and curious!) 

Yoga continues to bring me joy on joy. And - the thing is - I never have to worry about this joy running out! That's because yoga's gifts come from a bottomless well. How can this be? 

Kerri put it into words for me this past Monday evening at the Portrero Hill Yoga Tree. Her challenge for us that night was to forget our manic Mondays and instead bring our "Friday energy" to our work on the mat. It was a sweaty, slow-paced, endurance-testing 90 minutes. But instead of forcing ourselves into every pose "Monday style," we deliberately let our Friday hearts pull us through. This made all the difference. I felt the stress and agitation float off my body layer by layer as the minutes passed and the sun set outside. And at the end of it, just before our final meditation, Kerri said, "Notice how you feel right now." I felt amazing. We sat in stillness for a few moments. Then she said, "Remember that you don't need anything to feel this way. There is nothing outside yourself, no material thing that can ever do this for you." She was right. The "yoga glow" can't be bought, but it can easily be accessed.

Through yoga we develop the ability to tap into our own awareness, and thus the power of the universe at large. This is a skill that one can continue to develop over a lifetime and the more you learn, the less you realize you know. There is always more work to be done in yoga, and, beautifully, the goal is the work itself. Yoga isn't about achievement. It's about commitment. And it's available to anyone, anywhere, at any time. Even bodies aren't necessary (remember, physical "asana" yoga is only one of eight limbs) - just bring your soul. 

I don't know about you, but I'm already packed and ready to go! But don't worry, there's enough for everyone. And it will never run out.

Who Am I?!

As the beat rocked and the candle flickered in the fading light, before my own mat a full class naturally unfolded. It probably lasted an hour, from all three Warriors to Dolphin to Hanuma to Wheel with plenty of Downward Dog pose in between. Through my free style, I learned that I like long sequences on one side before switching to the other and that I prefer to move slowly (but powerfully) through the poses as well as the flows. (Doing so helps me slow down my breath and feel everything more deeply.) I also learned that I really need to do more outer-hip openers or I'll never come close to Full Lotus (which is supposed to be the best position for meditating). But most importantly, I learned that I can trust myself. Completely.

It's my 24th birthday tomorrow. If we assume a life expectancy of 96 (just go with it), now would be an appropriate time to entertain a quarter life crisis. Thanks to yoga teacher training, it's already happening and somehow I never saw it coming.

Now I'm four weeks in and questioning everything in my life from the way I choose to I spend my time and the people I choose to spend it with to the books I read and shows I watch. 

It's exhausting, this thorough introspection and self re-evaluation. Not that I had a full grip on the affairs of my soul (let alone the universe at large) before I kicked off my 200 hours of yoga teacher training - which, by the way, I'm so happy I get to stretch over six full months. But now I have no choice but to deal with myself, my baggage, etc., because a lot of the principles we're being taught directly contradict the way I've lived my life so far.

Who knew yoga could be so therapeutical beyond the physical realm? (Not I.) But you know what they say about therapy: before it gets better it usually gets a lot worse. And that's what's going on right now with all the questioning. It ain't comfortable. And it ain't pretty.

Questions I've asked myself in the past week: Why did my parents have to raise me to be so damn competitive? Why does our need for validation so often outweigh our desire for happiness? What if I were to jump off the corporate ladder and teach yoga full-time? Why don't I have the balls to do that? Why do we have to suffocate kids' creativity? Why is my ego so out-of-control? Why can't I stop being so hard on myself? Do I have to be Vegan?? Is yoga completely bogus? Who am I, even?!

The below story will shed some light on where I've turned for answers.

Everyone ("everyone" being the YTTT program teachers as well as the authors of our required yoga books) keeps harping on the importance for teachers to have a daily practice not only of their own but on their own. Just you and your body.

"Practice what you teach" seems obvious enough, but the idea of practicing it alone has always freaked me out. I love going to class, yet there are days scheduling and logistics won't allow it. And other days I'm just too lazy to leave my house. Specifically for these days, I've adopted yogaglo.com, a Netflix for yoga, if you will, that, for a monthly fee, allows you to watch unlimited yoga class videos with the option to filter classes by duration, teacher, level and style. It's quite addicting, actually. 

Yes, alone with a video I can definitely do. But alone, calling the shots myself as I go? That, to me, has never sounded comfortable or effective in the slightest - instead, painfully awkward and frustrating.

But I thought I should give it a shot regardless. After all, if I can't teach myself without someone telling me what to do and when to do it, how can I expect to teach a room full of people? So Friday evening before our lecture on the ancient yoga texts, I re-arranged some furniture in my room, unrolled my bubblegum pink mat in the space created, lit a candle, put on some new trance-y jams, resisted the urge to pull up yogaglo, took a deep breath, and dove into sun-salutations, not knowing what would happen next. And that's when I learned we're each equipped with all the knowledge of all the universe within our very cells. All we have to do is learn how to listen.

Beginner's Mind

Yoga Teacher Training was kicked off on Valentines Day in the original Yoga Tree location at Stanyon and Haight. That night, instead of pouring over prix fixe menus and gazing into our lovers' eyes, 33 of us chose to sit in a circle under painted clouds and opened our hearts to a new relationship that would last at least six months (and a lifetime if we are lucky). 

We didn't know each other, but I think it's safe to say most of us thought we knew what yoga was. A few of us probably even considered ourselves pretty advanced yogis. (I mean, I mastered side crow recently. Just saying.) But all it took was one weekend to clarify that none of us had a clue and even if we did, we would get the most out of our training (and our teaching) if we believed we didn't. "Knowing is the enemy of learning," they told us. "Your goal is to cultivate a Beginner's Mind." My first major Beginner's moment (in which I surfaced my own cluelessness)? When I was told that the sweaty vinyasa practice I hold so dear is merely one variation of one of eight limbs of yoga. The other seven aren't even physical!

In fact, Beginner's Mind goes beyond the idea of coming to the yoga mat with a humble and open mind. It's about approaching mind, body, spirit, community, the current moment, all of life, really, with a fresh outlook and a curious disposition, all expectations set aside. Our teacher gave the example of the difference between an adult and a child attempting a balance-challenging asana. Can you imagine a young child thinking, "What's wrong with me? Why can't I balance here peacefully? I hate my quivering feet. I HATE YOGA!" Who do you think gets more upset when they fall out of the pose - child or adult? Who has more fun?

But after just a few years of life, even children lose Beginner's Mind. They pick up detrimental thought patterns from their parents as well as from the wider world they know. Their teachers, their parents, the media, their friends' parents ceaselessly reinforce the false idea that we are our bodies and thus you and everything around you are separate, instead of united through spirit or universal energy. And by introducing the illusion of separateness, the world consciously or subconsciously creates Ego while narrowing children's internal exploration spaces. Thus children (who grow to become adults) learn fear and develop negative samskaras (habitual thought patterns or "imprints").

So, for me, to have a Beginner's Mind is to approach every moment not as a yoga novice or a blind person who just found sight or even as a child having fun with tree pose. I think the ideal Beginner more closely resembles a wide-eyed infant than any of these.

Babies have no ego. Babies are never looking for a means to an end. They don't know past or future, and so aren't distracted by either; they simply show up in every moment ready to observe and explore whole-heartedly. (On a slightly unrelated note, I love that there's an asana colloquially referred to as "happy baby pose." What's more beautiful than a happy baby, amused by every single feature on your face, drooling ecstatically, ready to burst out into laughter at the next peek-a-boo?) The point is: to get the most out of yoga, don't stop - START - being a baby.

"How many of you have spontaneously burst into tears during a yoga class?" Every teacher we've had so far has posed this question to the room and, to my surprise, about half of my peers admit that they have. "If you haven't yet," our teachers say, "You will." I personally have never experienced such spontaneous tears, but I know if I want to fully embrace Beginner's Mind I should be ready to. So I am. I'm ready to open up and I'm ready to be surprised by yoga. I'm ready to be a baby, baby!

All you have to do is...

“Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.”

— Carl Jung

It first clicked for me during a three-day "inversion immersion" retreat in Mount Shasta. (Mount Shasta, for those of you unfamiliar, is a small California town about halfway between San Francisco and Portland inhabited by a host of New Agers and believed by many to be a spiritual power center.) It was my first yoga retreat. I had never done a handstand before and wasn't sure I'd ever be able to, thanks to a lifelong fear of falling on my head and damaging my most precious resource. (My sister and I both practiced gymnastics when we were younger. When it became time to learn backflips, I gave it up in exchange for ballet where I knew my skull would be safe.) Still, I had been studying yoga with my teacher for about a year at the time and was ready to deepen my practice by attending a retreat, inversions not withstanding. Little did I know I would return to San Francisco with the intention of becoming a teacher myself.

It happened in the last few minutes of the last night of the retreat. Our teacher had finally cut the lights after an hour of sweaty flow followed by an hour of inversion-strengthening exercises, and we were in the dark but for a few candles in the middle of the hotel ballroom that served as our studio. We were already at the walls of the room where we had just been practicing supported handstands, headstands and forearm stands. He guided us to our backs and instructed us bring our legs perpendicular to the floor against the wall, sacrums pressed into the ground. "Close your eyes," he said. "Just be."

I was still worked up, heart pounding, still sweating. But then he turned on the song he always played for savasana, the one which evoked a vision of horse hooves, clouds and wet pavement for me, and, like a charm, the knuckles of self-control relaxed and my heart rate began to return to a place of calm. He let us lay in meditation for about five minutes before he spoke again.

"Bring your awareness back to your breath and to the sound of the breath of your friends to the left and right of you. Now," he said, "this next part is important so listen close. I'm going to fill you in on a little secret. All you have to do is..." He paused for several breaths. "Nothing."

"All you have to do is." He could have said anything. I loved that he said "nothing." It made all the sense in the world.

I got a taste of it then, with my legs resting against the wall of a ballroom in an old hotel in Mount Shasta. I got a taste of Self. Not the ego self with all its wants and needs and judgments and fear, but the Self with a capital "S," the higher version of who we are, collectively. The God Self within each of us, pure prana, or energy. The Self that can just Be. The Self I am now learning how to connect others to, within themselves, through yoga.

First stab at a bucket list

1. Relearn Russian until I'm 100% fluent in reading and writing
2. Work in another country for a few years
3. Take a writing sabbatical for a few months (in Italy or Greece, perhaps?)
4. Paint something I'd be proud to hang in my own house...and hang it
5. Write and submit a screenplay
6. Teach hip hop again
7. Open up a yoga studio, even if it's just a modest one for friends and family run out of my house
8. Live in a big, beautiful cabin somewhere in the Northwest
9. Live in New York for at least a year
10. Publish a novel or book of short stories
11. Get a tattoo
12. Participate in some kind of tribal ritual
13. Master lucid dreaming (and have at least one almost every night)