Scott's Yoga Forum

Warror I: A Valentine

2012-02-12T23:13:00.003-07:00

Dear Warrior I,

I love you. You’re so amazing. You make me feel so strong and powerful. With you, I feel so solid and alive. You remind me how to be strong and soft at the same time. Another thing I love so much about you is how you point me to heaven while keeping me grounded; I really love how you can connect both. It makes me feel so charged like I’m a circuit connecting heaven and earth. Thank you for everything you teach me and for how good you make me feel.

Dear, Camel Pose,

You’re so hot, I love your curves. I love the way my heart opens with you. I just tilt my head back and surrender to you. I feel so much bliss with you. I admit, it took me a little while to open up to you. Maybe it took me a while to learn how to open up my heart. Now that I can, though, I gotta tell you: you are second to none! If we were shipwrecked and survived but swam to shore only to find ourselves stranded on a desert island, I think I could live out the rest of my days with you. That kind of happiness, that kind of bliss, that kind of heart connection. . . especially if once in a while we could have some chocolate wash up on shore. I’m just sayin’ . . .

Dear Handstand,

You turn my whole world upside-down. I’m head over heels for you! I love that you’re fickle: if I don’t hold you just right, you leave. I respect that. I’m learning to hold you just right. Thanks for being patient with me as I practice. I’ll work my hardest to show up for you. One of the greatest things you teach me is balance. Plus, you’re just so fun to be with. When we are aligned, time seems to stop. I feel amazing! There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, no one else I’d rather be with. I’m so madly in love with you, I find myself thinking about you all of the time. Is that even healthy? I don’t care if that makes me codependent; I love you and can’t live without you. Please, turn my world over and over.

Dear Side Angle Pose,

You’re long lines are incredible. I always breathe deeply with you. You make my head turn upward; make me feel really good about myself. You help me to be a stronger person. You help me see that potential inside of me. What greater gift could you give someone? Feeling you, mirrors my own amazing inner-self. That’s magical. Plus, you can be a little kinky when you bind my arms behind me. So long as you’re gentle.

Dearest Savasana,

I’m so relaxed when I’m with you. The lights turn low, I close my eyes and I feel like I can just be myself, my true self, when I’m with you. I don’t have to prove anything with you. I can just be. I dream of you., you know. Every part of my body loves you. You are so good for me. You teach me how to pay attention. You teach me how to let the business of my mind go and simply trust my heart. I could die with you.

Your True Love,

Scott

The Worry Haiku

2012-01-10T07:59:00.000-07:00

Here is a story . . .

We are all subject to doubt and indecision from time to time. Recently I was wallowing in my routine despair about life and all of its desperate decisions. You know, the typical:
What am I doing with my life? What would have happened if I would have done things differently? Why is Pluto suddenly not a planet anymore and why didn't I get to vote? So, feeling burdened by the weight and whirlwind of indecision about what direction my life should go, I decided to meditate. After mulling my mind over the various directions I could choose, I got tired of the fruitlessness of freaking out and instead tried to simply be aware, to focus on my breath rather than focus on my problems, to find that place that I've heard is always peaceful.

It took a while but I found some peace there in my heart. And in a moment of clarity, my mind recalled that all these temporary and illusorily (but still important) decisions will be made clear the more I cultivate and understand that peace, that inner self. I realized that I didn't need to make a decision about those things now. That what I could to do is grow my relationship with what I call the True Self, the part that isn't defined by all of these temporary details of those momentarily important decisions. I felt that perhaps whatever my decisions, actions, or endeavors I faced, when made based from a grounded place of inner-peace, will be the product of something trusted and sure. Also, when I looked at my decisions or problems from that place of real clarity, I could see how I was reacting to fears and worries instead of looking at these questions with objectivity where I could move forward with power and conviction. With that sure knowledge of seeing things as they are, I had the courage to step out to those precarious edges of potential, pushed by a power of my own grounded knowledge of Self.

And then suddenly there was no more searching because I'd momentarily found the source-it was right here all along. I've also discovered that when I've made a decision based on this knowledge of Self, it doesn't exempt me from problems or struggles further down the road but at least I know that the difficulty I will encounter is necessary turbulence for the path I've chosen. It is the Tapas, the medicine, the heat necessary for transformation that will continue to lead me down my path of self-discovery, the path that feels the most right to me because ultimately it is the product of my True Self.

And as I go, that True Self whispers like Gandalf in my ear, "Speak your truth, act with honesty and integrity, and always listen."

Haiku:

The Clash wails questions
Weighed down by indecision.
All things grow from Self.

The End.

What's your Haiku?

This week let's practice our relationship with that inner Self by listening to our bodies and breath. See you in yoga.

Singing in the Dead of Night

2011-12-11T22:16:00.001-07:00

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
All your life, you were only for this moment to be free. Lennon-McCartney.

People have problems. We grant ourselves a certain majesty by allowing ourselves to simply see, and be a witness to our own circumstance, even before trying to change them. Just be there. I suppose this being where we are is what we practice when we do yoga poses.

The Sanskrit word for yoga posture is Asana. It’s sometimes translated as your seat. In yoga, like in life, it sometimes feels like you’re in the hot seat. Sometimes it feels like you’re sitting in the epitome of bliss. And sometimes it feels like you’re sitting behind the wheel of a 1960 Ford Falcon with whitewall tires, red leather interior, and a tired song on the am radio as you travel down some unknown dark road (random, I know but work with me). It’s hard to imagine that even in the darkest of nights, in the deep, cold winter when it feels as if the world will never warm again, that something miraculous can happen. But just like flashes of brilliant or subtle insight can come during a difficult asana, the light can shine in our dark moments of life and something inside us will illuminate. Maybe it’s because in these difficult places there’s no other choice. From the bottom and the dark there is only up and there is only light. Learn to fly with your broken wings because we’re all broken and maybe that’s the only way to fly. Everybody’s going through their own stuff and that’s why it’s wonderful to practice with other people, because comfort knowing that we are all working our stuff out together. And despite how destitute your situation may seem, this is the moment for you to learn to fly. Now, because there is only now. There is only the present. This is what we are practicing in yoga.

Let’s take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life you were waiting for this moment to arise.

See you in class.

Yoga Under a Microscope

2011-12-04T20:56:00.000-07:00

Yoga is a lot of things. It’s an art, it’s a philosophy, it’s therapy. Perhaps more than any of these yoga is a science. Science is often misunderstood as a bundle of facts—information that has been proven and is now called Truth. But science isn’t that at all. Science is only one thing: a method of inquiry. It’s a system of asking questions from which comes insight and clarity. So is yoga.

The scientific method is to start with a question: how can I better understand myself or my environment? Is there a better, less harmful, more efficient way to be in the world? How could I help alleviate the suffering around me with a cure for diseases? The question leads to a theory, the theory to experiments. Then comes the most profound part, the observation. Watching. Once the scientist sees, once the mystery is revealed through data, that data organized, translated, and applied, that information qualifies the observer for more refined questions, more refined data, and closer observation. This is the process of unraveling the mystery.

As any good scientist will tell you, the job of the scientist during an experiment is to watch and allow the subject to do whatever it’s going to do. Check your ego at the door. It’s not like the scientist is passionless about what they are studying. The reason they are watching, collecting data, working so hard, is because they feel they might be able to see something which hasn’t been seen before, to learn something new about the world, to understand something more profoundly. The process requires that the scientist simply be an observer and not to mess with the subject. Let it be. But then skillfully apply that information to the betterment or understanding of the world.

And I guess what yoga and scientific have in common is that they both lead toward understanding and they both center in observation. Maybe it’s the intention to understand and heal our bodies or to relieve tension. Maybe it’s the desire to heal a bruised heart or to find some mental quietness. Now we experiment using that which is most practical, basic and real—our bodies and breath. As we observe, we gather specialized information and start to see the nature or our being, pain or disquietude. This insight then invites us to ask even deeper, more refined questions and the process of inquiry continues.

Remember, it is all just a practice. It’s about asking the question even more than finding the answers. So, I invite you to come to yoga ready to observe and let’s practice without expectation.

My Dog Thinks I'm Perfect

2011-11-27T20:49:00.000-07:00

There is a fantastic bumper sticker that says something to the effect of, " May I be the type of person that my dog thinks I am."

For those of us who own dogs. . . who am I kidding, every person in this town owns a dog-you get one free when you buy your Subaru. Anyway, dogs know us better than we know ourselves. Our dog worships the ground we walk on, even though, ironically, we are the ones who pick up their poop, go figure. Back to dogs' undying love for us . . . yes, in our own mind we could be the most miserable wretch who ever climbed out of the pond, the dumbest thing to ever darken a doorway, but at the end of the day, we'd come home to sit on the porch and revel in our misery, only to have our best four-legged friend, come prancing up to us with nothing but profound love and worship for us.

Maybe dogs can see something about us that we can't see. The same way that a dog's sense of smell is dramatically more sophisticated than our own, perhaps the K-9 sense of goodness, the ability to sniff out the best parts of us (not just our crotch) is somehow innate in those creatures. They remind us that we, too, are lovable and amazing creatures.

In yoga, we are trying to see that our own inner-awesomeness, as one wise woman (my wife) puts it, is just beneath the surface. In part, yoga is finding focus, strengthening, and removing the physical obstacles of an unhealthy body. Yoga is also cultivating a relationship with both the numinous parts of ourselves as well as those ethereal parts of the world around us. Yoga carves away the crap that blinds us from that lovable person that our dog sees all the time. If our dog can see it all the time, then why can't we? Maybe it's because we forget. Yoga helps us to simultaneously discover and remember who we really are and perhaps see our selves the way our dog sees us: supercool.

Come to yoga and practice being the person your dog thinks you are.

Here's a supercool video to illustrate this point.

Hey You Know What I Love?

2011-11-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

Instead of saying I’m grateful for something, I like to speak to all those things I love. Those are the things for which I’m grateful, but it touches my heart more to speak to love, the more refined source of gratitude. I both look forward to and loathe this letter. A couple of years ago, I decided that on the week of Thanksgiving, I’d write down all that I love and share it on my newsletter. I loathe it because it makes me so vulnerable and raw, I love it because it fills my heart up to the brim until it spills out through my eyes. And so, with a lump in my throat and my heart on fire, here she goes . . .

You know what I love? I love coming into my apartment at night, all alone, locking the door and standing there for a second in the dark, silence. I love sitting in my big green chair with a good book and a beverage with Chet Baker blowing plaintive notes through his trumpet on record player.

I love, love, love, the bliss of running on a long, mountain trail, deep, fresh air in my lungs, my feet which feel they can take me anywhere, and this body feeling like it could do anything. I love having running partners who will listen to the long-winded drama of my life as we wind our way through the trails of the Wasatch.

I love practicing yoga. I love the inquiry into my body and heart, the work to focus my mind. I love how fun it is to practice handstands or arm balances or to flow though a great yoga sequence. I love savasana and how solid I feel physically and mentally when it’s all done. I love meditation.

I love Celeste. We split up a few months ago. Yep. She’s doing well, she just moved back to Hawaii. I love that woman immensely and we’re wonderful friends. We just need really different things. She’ll know parts of me that no one else will. We’ve had an amazing journey together, the best and hardest times of our lives and I know our lives will somehow always be connected. So, a special love to you. I love all the amazing friends who have been there for us during this time of change and challenge, tears and transition. Pardon me while I wipe my face free of tears and snot. Ah-Hem!

I love Prana Yoga. Running a new business is the full-spectrum of difficulty and reward. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I love everybody who has wished me well and supported me emotionally, financially and energetically this new endeavor. I love to see you in class. I love the fact that people show up to classes and enjoy this beautiful studio that Matt built. I love my business partners, Matt and Jennifer Ellen. They are amazing teachers, yogis, and business partners. Mostly, they are wonderful friends. I’m very grateful for that. I can’t tell you how touched I am that I get to do what I do. I love it. I am passionate about teaching and still get choked up that people want to come to my yoga class and move and breathe and listen to my voice.

I love Jazz. I love to blow through the saxophone. I love the way it feels in my mouth, the weight around my neck, and the vibration of the reed singing out notes that I couldn’t make on my own. I love to sit with my sax teacher as he’s trying to teach me a song, we will be right in the thick of it and he will blow out some amazing line on his sax to me, his one-person audience. All I can do is shake my head in stunned disbelief that something could be so hip, sophisticated, and soul rending.

I love sitting around dinner table of dear friends, laughing or singing along to the guitar someone brought as their date. I have such amazing friends, people who really get me and know my secrets and my issues and still love me. These are people who also trust me with their hardest things. I love all the people whom I fee have my back in tough times. I’ve had an incredibly transformational past year or two. With transformation comes a lot of the extremes and I feel like I’ve had a legion of peeps around me, picking me up, and reminding me about what’s important. I feel like I have so many friends who really share their heart with me and who are equally willing to let me hold their heart. It’s a beautiful thing.

I have an amazing twin brother, he’s far away but I feel like he’s right here, always there when I need him. He doesn’t have to say a lot because for so much of our lives we were experiencing concurrent variations of the same thing. I love that he’s patient enough to teach me to fly fish. All I catch is bushes and trees. It’s catch and release so the trees go on living. He can read my mind. He’s still the funniest guy I know. I have some pretty amazing parents. They have always supported me and offered love. They gave me a pretty solid upbringing and helped encourage me to follow my dreams, and didn’t freak out when I did something off the wall. I have two fantastic sisters.

I love to laugh until tears run down my face and someone has to stage and intervention to get me to breathe again. I love a poem that will knock me on the floor with its poignancy or simplicity or elegance. I love live music. I love great food. I love to see people who struggle (we all do) and who get up off the floor and try again and try to make a difference, for themselves and others. I love people who stand for something. I love animals. I love motorcycles. I love a really rockin’ and loud concert. I love Hatch Family Chocolates. I love the Tandoor Grill. I love the Coffee Garden. I love Tabula Rasa. I love the Beehive Tea Room. I love Eva’s. I love the Broadway Theater. I love Antelope Island and the Great Salt Lake. I love Zions and Moab. I love the Farmer’s Market. I love Tony Caputo’s.
Most importantly, I love. I love all of you. A toast you all of us!

May I invite you to write out all the things you love, things you might be grateful for, and watch to see how your entire day turns bright and shines to all around you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Angels in the Rafters

2011-11-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

I love rituals. They make the everyday special. I also love chocolate. So it's no wonder that one of my rituals is to regularly and consciously go to my favorite chocolate shops and deliberately enjoy. Everything about the experience becomes part of the ritual, including the people who work at the shop. It turned out that as part of one of the rituals, one of my sister's good friends worked at one of these shops. His name was Ryan.

When I lived in Korea, one day I was talking to my sister on the telephone and she mentioned that Ryan had killed himself, tragically, along with his sister in a joint-suicide. Even though I wasn't extremely close to Ryan and had never met his sister, this news weighed on me immeasurably. I couldn't shake the thought from my head. Lucy, my sister, asked me if I would go to a Buddhist temple and light a candle for Ryan and his sister. I didn't know if they even did that in Buddhism but I told her I would.

It was about this time that we went on a meditation retreat up in the mountains with our dear friend and guide, Jin-Soon. After our time at the retreat was spent, Jin-Soon suggested that we go on a light hike up the mountain to her favorite temple. It was late Autumn and we hiked, swimming in the warmth and light of the sun, especially after the biting cold of the morning.

We came to a small temple and quietly, we took off our shoes and stepped inside. Already sitting inside the temple were two female monks, both with shaved heads and gray habit, sitting on mats, deep in meditation. I thought about my own meditation experience, how difficult it can be at times, and I wondered how long they had been there or planned to be there. They looked as though they may as well have been permanent fixtures in the temple. Jin-Soon handed Celeste and me a mat, and we all sat down and began our own meditation. The sun shone through the window of the door in a perfect rectangle that surrounded my body like a picture frame. I was warm and quiet. I don't know how much time we spent there. Time just dissolved.

Once we finished our meditation, outside of the temple, I remembered the promise I had made to Lucy to someday light a candle for Ryan and his sister. I asked Jin-Soon how to go about getting candles lit in the temple. She kindly walked me to the center of the compound not far away and helped me buy two 14-inch candles.

With the candles in hand, I walked to the main temple, took off my shoes, and solemnly entered the door. Just inside the door was an old monk whose face was perfectly wrinkled, obviously from a lifetime of smiling. He saw the candles in my hand and speaking no Korean, I motioned that I wished to place them on the alter. He understood and beckoned me to follow his lead. I watched as he approached the enormous, golden Buddha in the front of the room and performed a dramatic bow, lowering himself to the floor then standing up again with his hands together in a prayer motion. I was amazed and how similar this bow was to the Sun Salutations, Surya Namskar, we practice in yoga. The monk performed this beautiful bow simultaneously honoring both the Buddha and the Buddha Nature in himself and all beings. I approached the Buddha to give it a try. I kept Ryan and his sister in my mind and intended to honor their Buddha nature as well as my own and that of every other being. As I accomplished my bow, I tried to remember all the steps I saw the monk perform. I did my best version and then together the monk and I walked to the alter and placed the candles gently on the candle offering.

After placing and lighting the candles, I retreated slowly backward and made motions to leave. My monk, however, had more to teach me. He held up seven fingers and motioned that it was now necessary to complete seven more bows. Again, he made dramatic motions for me to see the precise actions to perform this rite. I tried to follow his exact gestures but got lost in the details. The kind smiling monk instructed me to do it again and made me watch him again to get it right this time. Again I tried and by now the monk was softly laughing. Despite the spectacle I was making, I couldn't help but smile as well. With my every attempt at a bow, the monk hovered over me and corrected me where I forgot. Before too long, the monk decided that I was all but hopeless and encouraged my actions by physically helping me put body in the right places. After what seemed like 30 tries, I eventually performed seven correct bows. I guess this is how I learn the best-- by experience. This is the process: Stand with legs together, hands in a prayer stance. Kneel down and cross the left foot over the right while placing the palms on the floor and lowering the forehead to the floor. The butt must come down and touch your ankles (which must be much easier for him than it was for me because the monk couldn't figure out why I couldn't get that right and corrected me repeatedly on this point). With the forehead on the ground, raise the hands off the ground, palms facing up. Replace the hands on the ground, palms down, uncross your feet, and press yourself to a squatting position. Then stand up, feet together, without using hands. Finally, with hand pressed together in a prayer, make a deep bow toward the Buddha. When I completed my offering, my monk gave me a gentle bow and an enormous smile. I reciprocated in bowing and smiling my deep thanks to him.

As I left the temple, I was certain that Ryan and his sister were sitting as angels in the rafters, laughing at my tutelage and grateful for my gesture. I'm sure of it.

Whatever you may have in your intention for practice, come and make a ritual to honor the angels in your rafters. I'll see you in practice.

Wide Eyed

2011-10-09T21:34:00.000-06:00

The Yoga Sutras is a book written by an ancient yoga scholar, Patanjali, (200 AD) which outlines much of the philosophy of the practice of yoga. A major principle in the Yoga Sutras is the principle of Avidya, or misapprehension. In Sanskrit, the word Vidya means to see clearly. Avidya is the opposite of clear seeing. Unfortunately our human experience is rife with Avidya, this unclear seeing. I believe that one of our major lessons in this earthly existence is to learn to recognize our Avidya and enlighten ourselves by learning to see clearly.

Seeing clearly precedes good judgment. The world exists. Things just are. We all translate what is and color it with judgment: good, bad; right, wrong. Often, our judgment of the world, our misapprehension, prevents us from seeing what is and makes us see only what we believe about what is. An old story goes like this: Once, a man was walking through the jungle at night and was very afraid of being eaten by a tiger. He heard something coming toward him and knew that it was a tiger so he pulled out his knife. When the animal stepped out onto the path in front of him, he immediately stabbed it and it fell dead. Only after he killed it did he realize that he had killed his best friend. His Avidya prevented him from seeing what truly was and caused death and suffering.

With the practice of yoga we can learn to place a little space between occurrence and judgment. With this space we reduce our Avidya by practicing seeing things as they are and not how we judge them. The principle of reducing our Avidya is not about being emotionless and dispassionate, but rather learning to stop our judgment for a moment and attempt to see things as they are before making a mindful next step.

A simple but effective way of practicing Vidya, clear seeing, is by doing a simple form of meditation which I learned from my teachers and which I call the There Is Practice. You can do this anywhere and while doing anything but one way to do it is by simply sitting comfortably with a cushion on the floor (a chair or couch works nice, too), close your eyes and acknowledge all the things you are currently experiencing with the phrase There Is. "There is the sound of traffic. There is apprehension. There is a 20-pound cat sitting in my lap and licking my big toe." Anything you sense, feel, think, do, point to it with the phrase, "There Is. . ." Try to erase the personal pronoun "I, Me, or My" from what you perceive. This tends to change our apprehension of what is as something that is only in relationship to ourselves. The There Is practice is about seeing things just how they are without our own personal judgment getting in the way. It allows permission for the world to be the way it is and not just the way I think it should be. I like to set a timer and practice until the timer rings. Start with10 minutes and increase the time as you like.

I invite you to practice Vidya this week by coming to yoga and also practicing the There Is practice. With more accurate perception, we will be less reactive and more mindful in our decisions. With practices like yoga and the There Is practice we reduce our Avidya and begin to see the world and what really is.

To Whom Are We Beautiful As We Go?

2011-09-25T22:09:00.001-06:00

I wish I knew the beauty of leaves falling.
To whom are we beautiful when we go?
David Ingnato

And to whom are we beautiful as we go? This poem seems to point to the fact that even in our failing, there is a part of creation and therefore a part of ourselves that can grant a magnificence to any loss. Such a beautiful concept. Such a bittersweet truth. And perhaps this is why Autumn is so colorful: it is the opulent funeral procession of the death of so much. It is the rush of fireworks before the quiet stillness of winter.

Many of the Hindu icons tell stories. The Dancing Shiva is a story-telling icon depicting Shiva, the creator of the universe, and illustrates the five acts of Shiva. The concept is the same whether you call the creator, Shiva, God, the Universe, or Krusty the Clown. In this statue, these 5 acts are depicted by his many arms, one of which is celebrating creation, another that is sustaining his creation, another is allowing death, and another that is not only inviting things back to life, but to live again with a higher consciousness than before. This statue reminds us that our job is to allow Shiva to lead in this dance of life, to follow along as we are slowly refined into greater beings. It reminds us that death is a part of life and with a broader perspective, we can, to some degree, appreciate it as a necessary part of the cycle.

Mary Oliver writes about learning to accept death and loss in her poem, Maker of All Things, Even Healings. I love the title of the poem because it suggests that the healing, the bringing back to life for a fuller measure of life as in the Dancing Shiva, comes only after accepting death which she does so humbly.

All night
under the pines
the fox
moves through the darkness
with a mouthful of teeth
and a reputation for death
which it deserves.
In the spicy
villages of the mice
he is famous,
his nose
in the grass
is like an earthquake,
his feet
on the path
is a message so absolute
that the mouse, hearing it,
makes himself
as small as he can
as he sits silent
or, trembling, goes on
hunting among the grasses
for the ripe seeds.

Maker of All Things,
including appetite,
including stealth,
including the fear that makes
all of us, sometime or other,
flee for the sake
of our small and precious lives,
let me abide in your shadow--
let me hold on
to the edge of your robe
as you determine
what you must let be lost
and what will be saved.

As we celebrate the panoply of fall colors, may we, too, remember the beauty of leaves falling, the beauty and magnificence of this amazing dance in which we are all twirling, living and dying.

The Spirit Playing Dress Up

2011-09-18T19:52:00.000-06:00

Since my very first yoga class, I’ve be trying to answer the question, “what is this?” Is it a health promoting regimen, is it meditation in motion, is it a physical ritual on my way to spiritual understanding? It could be all of these. And 12 years later, I suppose I’m still asking that same question. Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, when I think I’ve nailed down exactly what yoga is, I experience or discover something new about yoga and I have to expand my definition to include something bigger.
I believe that everybody’s definition of yoga is individual. Here’s my current working definition (warning: this is subject to change at any moment); drum roll please. . . Yoga is the processes of understanding who I am through the method of listening. There it is. Pretty spare. I didn’t even say anything about physical poses, but of course one of the ways I listen is by feeling and becoming aware of my body.
There are many levels on the pathway to understanding who I am. I believe this understanding starts with the grossest levels of awareness and being like how I treat other people and the ways I choose to organize my life. Then, I get to apply that same sort of attention and organization to something practical and close to home: my bod. If I’m paying attention to my body, I might also feel those parts of me which are more subtle, energy—in yoga we call it prana—and find the ways that prana and body marry. I can feel the animating force of the muscles and bones and get to dance with it with clarity and consciousness.
By the way, I’m convinced that the body isn’t merely something to transcend on our way to higher understanding. The body is one of the most practical ways of feeling and experiencing my own divinity. After all, if you’ve ever seen someone who is extremely physically adept, like Michal Jordan or Mikhail Baryshnikov, it looks like you’re witnessing God. And indeed to some degree you are. You’re witnessing someone so developed in that line of understanding that they are reaching a sublime state of being.
Our physical body gives us such immediate and practical information about our being. And, because this is the vehicle, the container, of heart and mind, it makes sense to not only learn from it, but to also keep it healthy so that it can take us where we want to go. Besides, it’s fun. It feels good. What could heaven possibly be but some variation of those two things. Even when I experience love, I can only do that through the nuts and bolts of this body. When my heart feels like it’s going to grow bigger than my chest and burst out of it, or like it’s being stepped on and smooshed black, it’s still within the container of my body that I experience and understand that.
Someone who understood this beautifully is Mary Oliver in her poem about this discovery of who we are through listening and how the body plays a vital role in that discovery. I’m convinced that Mary Oliver is a yogi but who works with a pen rather than a mat. Check it out.
POEM

The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning

in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather

plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body's world,
instinct

and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,

to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is --

so it enters us --
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;

and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
by Mary Oliver, from Dream Work

Join me in yoga this week and let’s practice understanding ourselves better through the pleasure of wonderful yoga practice.

Running in the Light of Darkness

2011-09-12T21:21:00.000-06:00

A few years ago, I was with two great friends spending an afternoon in the paradoxical desert of the Great Salt Lake. The texture of the sand, crusted with salt, weather, and time is a sensational feast for bare feet. We played a game: In this extremely barren, extremely flat land, we decided to close our eyes and run blindly at full speed in any direction for 100 paces. Eager for the adventure, we closed our eyes and shouted, "GO!" I bolted into the darkness of the afternoon sun. My other senses came alive. I could smell the mud, the salt, the sulfur, the decaying brine. I felt the texture of crusty-soft sand beneath my feet as they beat across the surface of the desert. I could hear my companions several paces from me, their feet slapping the sand, laughing and panting.

Then a thought entered into my head, "Hadn't I seen some ominous-looking spikes sticking out of the sand? I would really prefer not to impale my foot on one of those." Regardless, I tightened my closed eyes, quickened my pace, and began to laugh, wild with wonder and worry. "53, 54, 55 . . ." My paces were whizzing by but the thought of stepping blindly onto something sharp had almost put me into a panic. "71, 72, 73 . . ." I could no longer hear my fellow runners and wondered if I'd veered wildly off-course. "83, 84, 85 . . ." Still running with only fifteen paces to go, I desperately wanted to stop and open my eyes. Instead, I let out all the stops, opened my running to as fast as I could, and sprinted madly in any direction, no direction, the only direction--forward. From deep in my gut came a raw and uncontrolled scream of anticipation and fear and fun. "98, 99, 100!" At this point I dug my feet into the sand and did an immediate halt. I stood there panting, then slowly opened up my eyes and looked down at my feet, muddy, unspoiled, unharmed--these feet who willingly had leaped me through space as I ran through the darkness toward fear, away from fear. After a moment, I looked up and around for any spikes. None. Nothing for miles. What a rush!

An important concept as explained in the Yoga Sutras explores the relationship between perceptions and actions. If our perceptions are incorrect, we'll often find ourselves in difficulty or fear. If we know what creates such problems, it is easier to avoid them. If I knew for sure that there were no obstacles in my path, I'd have had an easy run. These misperceptions are called Avidya. One of the most common misperceptions is called Dvesa, the action of rejecting things because of fear. We have a difficult experience and are afraid of repeating it so we project the effects of the past to try to illuminate the future and end up making our present moment unpleasant. Unfortunately the effects of Dvesa tend to make us reject things that are unfamiliar, even if we have no history with them. Along human history, we've often been afraid of and rejected that which we haven't understood.

Until we are enlightened, it is impossible to avoid all fears, and therefore we have a model to face those that remain with a sense of adventure. I've referenced a few times one of my favorite movies, Wings of Desire (if you haven't seen it, go out and rent it tonight but bring a glass of milk to wash it down--it's rich). In this film, an angel, Damiel, decides he'd prefer to live one life, fully human, sentient, and alive, than an eternity of the colorless, only observational life of an angel. Once mortal, Damiel happens upon another angel-turned-mortal (who, interestingly, is Peter Falk playing himself). Damiel pleas for Falk to tell him everything there is to know about being human, he want's Falk to solve this mystery for him. Peter Falk turns to Damiel and playfully shouts, "No you have to figure it out for yourself. That's the fun of it!" You've got to shut your eyes and run full-out and experience what you are going to experience. Since we can't avoid all fears, to the extent that it is possible, we must somehow learn to see the beauty and adventure in them.

Even in our fears and failings there is amazement and beauty. Poet David Ignetow says, "I wish I knew the beauty of leaves falling. To whom are we beautiful as we go?" He says that even in our failing, there is a part of the Universe that finds us astonishing in that going. In yoga, we explore the relationship between what is personal and what is universal--the Universal inside. Therefore, there is a corner of your heart that can grant a magnificence to the most difficult of circumstances.

Through yoga and mindfulness, we learn and experience more about our True Self, Home, whose opposite is fear and worry. With the remembrance of our True Self, we are less and less persuaded by Dvesa's misperception of fear. Against the backdrop of the magnificence of our True Self, even the smallest understanding of it, many of our fears simply dissolve. And from this courageous place, we face what fears remain with presence and boldness. We run into the darkness screaming, laughing, and fully alive.

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

Wendell Berry

It Happened on the Way to Work

2011-09-05T12:37:00.000-06:00

Has it really been 10 years? It happened on the way to work. I remember driving in the morning (in a different life I worked in an accounting department before I taught yoga full-time) and listening to NPR, hearing the coverage of the planes striking the towers. I felt like I was living out a bad dream or some prank that just wouldn’t stop. I remember feeling powerless and vulnerable. I couldn’t think straight. I remember feeling surreal that people at work were going about life as normal while this horror was happening in real time on the radio.
I’m thinking about how yoga relates to the anniversary of 9/11. Of course, the first yogic principle of Ahimsa or non-violence comes to mind. I’m thinking that the bigger principle of non-violence is not merely keeping my airplanes to myself, but to make it a practice to cultivate the kind of love and respect that would preclude such an attack and subsequent wars. I suppose the more challenging practice is to practice non-violence through its highest form of expression of love when someone has seriously wronged us. How do you do that? Seriously.

It reminds me of the movie, The Mission, with Robert De Niro where and 18th century De Niro tries to atone for a life of killing and capturing slaves in South America by joining the Jesuit order. As an act of penance, De Niro carries a net full of implements of war and slavery up a mountain and nearly dies in the process. After an immense struggle, De Niro arrives at the top of the mountain exhausted and almost dead at which point he is met by the chief of the indigenous people whom he’d killed and kidnaped for several years. The chief places his knife on De Niro’s neck but instead of cutting his throat, the chief cuts the ropes that bind De Niro to his net, what represents his heavy past of murder and subjugation, and pushes it of over the cliff to be swallowed deep in the ocean below. Both De Niro and the chief cry and laugh at this miraculous display of forgiveness and love.

This kind of love and acceptance is synonymous with our True Nature, the deep, deep part of us that is the foundation of who we are. Call it what you want: your spirit, your divine nature, your Buddha nature, your fundamental humanity. When we practice understanding this True Nature, we see past the smaller part of ourselves that needs to express itself with hate and violence. Yoga practice is one way to learn to understand our True Nature. Every time we practice yoga we, honor each other with the the word Namaste means essentially: “my True Nature honors your True Nature.”

So Namaste twin towers, the Pentagon, and United Airlines flight 93. Namaste, to the survivors of this 10-year tragedy. Namaste to those who fight and don’t fight for this nation. Namaste to those we are trying to lead this nation. Namaste to our nation’s enemies. Yep, them too. Namaste to those who are trying to understand this act of violence a decade later. Namaste to those who are trying their best to make this world one that reflects our communal True Nature.

Feel At Home

2011-08-28T21:58:00.000-06:00

A really good friend of mine today bemoaned the fact she hasn't been to yoga in awhile. She said her body and heart and mind all missed it. She's been neglecting this important and basic way of taking care of herself, and now she's feeling it. At a time when she needs it most (school, kids, relationships, LIFE), she let it go.
Without yoga, her well was running dry. And even though she was hiking and biking, her body missed the consummate depth and body/mind/spirit connection of a yoga practice.
Now she's committed to coming back again and taking care of herself as a first priority, as a way of replenishing the source.

There really is something special about a yoga practice. The way it meets the needs of both body and soul is hard to replace. The way it gives such a focus to all the other aspects of life. The way it energizes you and provides deep relaxation. The way it makes everything make sense.

Does this situation sound familiar? We all go through this. And sometimes it can be difficult and overwhelming to come back. But, like my friend, you eventually reach the point of understanding that going to yoga practice is about honoring yourself. Taking care of yourself is taking care of all the other aspects of your life. Besides, it just feels so dad gum good.

Even if you can't make it to a practice, on your own do 5 minutes of something: a few favorite asanas, some deep breathing, some smiling. Try counting your breaths down from 50, focusing on LONG exhales.

So I invite you to come back. You'll be met with a smile. And it'll feel great.
Welcome back home,

The Good Student

2011-08-22T07:50:00.001-06:00

First and foremost, I am a student of yoga. I feel that my ability to teach first comes from my ability to learn and experience. Sometimes we give the teacher role too much credit. There is a great value in being an effective student. I teach private yoga lessons to a gentleman who is much more intelligent than I and who has had many more experiences in life than I, yet when we are in session together he honors me with the utmost respect as the teacher. He ponders and practices what I say and asks the most thoughtful questions. And I believe it is because of his studentship rather than any profound teaching that he progresses so abundantly in his practice.

What are the qualities of a good student? What does it mean to be teachable? Certainly the ability to listen is key. As a good student, one must listen not only to what the teacher is saying but more importantly, one must listen to that quiet inner-teacher. I practice listening to the words of the teacher and how the experience of the practice on my body resonates with that deeper part of my mind and soul. I feel that any teacher worth their salt will always point you back to the real teacher—yourself. Of course listening to your own limits in yoga practice is essential and an effective teacher will help to invite and encourage you to explore those boundaries safely and with awareness.

No matter the level of talent or the experience level of the teacher, I make it a point to always try to learn something from each teacher. You could expand this idea to try to learn something from every conversation you have with another person. As a student, it is easy to become trapped in cynicism incredulity and close off to something potentially opening and changing. There is no one way to practice yoga. Yoga is thousands of years old and what we practice today is most likely the amalgam of several different traditions. Yoga serves the people practicing it. So, to think that there is fundamentally only one way to do a posture is preposterous. The joke is this. How many yogis does it take to change a light bulb? 10: one to change the light bulb and 9 others to say they learned how to do it differently. Since there are several ways to approach what we call yoga, try doing something different in your practice, even if you learned it differently from someone else. Even if what you end up practicing is being humble and teachable. Of course you must honor your physical limits over the instruction of the teacher. Hopefully a skillful teacher will give you permission to navigate that skillfully.

This week in and out of practice, I propose we all practice being good students. I invite you to consider what makes a good student and employ that in your dealings with others as well as yoga practice. See you in practice.

Yoga Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook

2011-08-14T20:16:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite and most useful books in my library is one called The Complete Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook. Its bright yellow hard-backed cover makes it durable so I can take it with me everywhere and easy to find when I'm in a pinch. This Survival Handbook, contains a lot of essential information; you know, practical and essential know-how for things like giving your cat the Heimlich Maneuver, how to escape your car when it has been completely submerged in water, and how to escape from killer bees.

One section that is glaringly absent from this essential how-to is a section on what to do for those "Worst-Case Scenarios" involving your yoga practice. So, in the interest of helping humanity avoid any preventable disasters (and I realize I may be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for this) I would like to offer my own appendage to this already very informative book. I offer this information from personal experience either in practice or teaching. It cannot be overstated that I have experienced or seen everything in a yoga class--EVERYTHING.

What to Do in Class When Your Cell Phone Rings
1. Look disapprovingly at someone else in the room.
2. Pretend it didn't ring and pray the battery in your phone dies.
3. Calmly walk over and silence then turn off your phone. Under NO circumstance should you answer the call.
4. If you are a doctor or have a young child at home who may call you during an emergency, tell the instructor before class that you will put your phone on vibrate and if in the rare circumstance it should ring, that you'll discretely leave and take the call out of the studio.

How to Come in Late to or Leave Early from Class
If possible, plan your day to arrive early, and leave un-rushed from yoga class. If that’s not possible, I'd personally rather people come late or leave early than not come at all.
1. If coming late, while standing outside the studio, unroll your yoga mat and place it long-ways over your shoulder. Do not whip open your mat in the studio.
2. If possible, scout a spot in the studio to place your mat quickly and quietly.
3. Before entering the studio, listen at the door and make sure to come into the studio after the class has chanted and once the class begins moving.
4. If you are leaving early, tell the instructor beforehand that you'll be leaving. Plan to sit or rest in savasana for a few minutes before you leave.

How to Keep from Coughing in Savasana
In this desert climate and with all the ujjai breathing (whisper breath) we do during class, it's common to have a dry throat at the end of class.
1. Hydrate before class and keep water close to your person.
2. Most studios allow students to bring water to class. Swig several ounces right before savasana.
3. If you feel a cough coming on, focus on a different chakra than your throat chakra and repeat this mantra, "I am hydrated. I am calm. I am the ocean. . . or something."
4. If you begin coughing, discretely leave the room and find liquid.

How to Survive if Someone in Class Has Severe Body Odor
Unfortunately some practitioners do not apply the ancient yoga philosophy of Sauca (pronounced sow-cha), the virtue of cleanliness, in body, mind, spirit and relating to personal hygiene.
1. Focus on pranayama (breath work) that emphasizes your exhale.
2. Slip the odoriferous individual a copy of the yoga sutras with highlighted passages pointing to this philosophical tenet of cleanliness
3. Remember that we are all sentient beings (though some of us have more acute senses than others) and each of us are a valued part of the Whole, even those individuals who have really, really, bad B.O.
4. If you realize that you are the one with the B.O., discretely find a restroom and rinse your pits. Hand sanitizer contains mostly alcohol which kills bacteria. Rubbing some under your armpits may neutralize the odor. Shower regularly and use deodorant.

What to Do When You Are Trying to Impress Someone and Can't Do the Pose
1. Fake a cramp.
2. Mutter in semi-audible tones that you are tired from performing this same pose (which is usually very easy) earlier on that day in your 3-hour personal practice and need to rest.
3. Complain that you learned how to do the pose differently.
4. Perform a different pose that you can do very well.

What to Do When You Have a Real Muscle Cramp
The exact cause of muscle cramping is not well understood. Cramps are thought to be the result of overexertion and fatigue of a muscle and loss of vital minerals such as sodium, potassium, phosphorus, calcium, and magnesium. Oxygen deprivation is also a possible cause for muscles to cramp (inefficient energy resources in the muscles when oxygen is deprived).
1. Stay well hydrated to prevent cramping.
2. Ease your way into and through each pose. Practice the balance of steadiness and ease (Sthirum and Sukam) while performing every pose, especially if it is an unfamiliar pose or you have previously fatigued the targeted muscles.
3. Maintain your deep and slow breathing. Oxygen may help muscles perform regular energy production. See Krebs Cycle.
4. Increase the aforementioned minerals into your diet by eating bananas, watermelon, low-fat milk, kale, spinach, leafy greens, or broccoli however make sure that these foods are appropriate for you Prakruti according to the Ayurveda model. And of course avoid eating anything at least 2 hours before class. Which brings me to my next point . . .

How to Avoid Passing Gas in Class
Yoga is designed to be very cleansing . . . on several levels. Unfortunately social norms don't support all methods of cleansing caused by yoga.
1. Like mentioned earlier, avoid eating at least two hours before class.
2. Visit the restroom before class.
3. If you feel air moving in your digestive organs, discretely leave class, visit the restroom and practice a squat pose until gas is relieved.
4. If you or someone proximal does pass gas, apply similar methods as sections: How to Survive if Someone in Class Has Sever Body Odor and What to Do In Class When Your Cell Phone Rings

How to Avoid Doing Partner Yoga Postures with "Sweaty Guy"
1. Fake a cramp
2. Invent an injury and explain that you will need to do a different pose.
3. Pretend your cell phone rang, that you’re a doctor and need to take the emergency call.
4. Use this opportunity to use the restroom.
5. If you are the "Sweaty Guy," consider bringing a towel to class or and perhaps and extra t-shirt to put on in case you are partnering in poses.

Please comment below and add any other additional "Survival" tactics you have discovered along this sometimes treacherous path of yoga.

For your own copy of The Complete Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, please support our fabulous local bookshop, The Kings English Bookshop at 15th and 15th. Please know that the Yoga section has yet to be added.

Listening in the Dark

2011-08-07T22:33:00.000-06:00

What do you do in life when you are lost, when you don’t know the way? Really, what do you do? I guess I can only speak for myself. For me, I love the honesty of the first lines of Dante’s La Comedia: “In the middle of the road of my life, I awoke in a dark wood where the true way was wholly lost.” I love this because of his voice of vulnerability—he’s saying he doesn’t have the answers. But he says it with a quality that also suggests a willingness to search. While it’s hard to not know where to go, it’s also an amazing opportunity for discovery. Dante finds himself lost and unsure but willing to search and listen and try something new. I love the honesty there. After all, what other choice is there?

I suppose that when we arrive to those dark points in life, we really have no choice but to use our resources and tune into our senses. We must become very grounded and present and first allow ourselves to be exactly where we are—lost. Like I said in my letter a few weeks ago, we have to learn to be here in order to move on. Then, I would imagine that we have to listen really hard. Not just to the sounds, like the crickets chirping out my window somehow in sync with Joshua James playing softly on my stereo, but also to the way our body feels. We must learn to listen to all the things which aren’t said.

Yoga suggests that each part is connected to each other part. Sometimes my body whispers the sentences my heart can’t bear to. I love to look and listen for the symbols that seem to embellish the events of my life with irony and richness, like when I went on a run recently and decided to make a playlist on my iPod that sung to all the different emotions I’m feeling in life right now. I looked down at my heart monitor and it indicated that my heart was almost ready to break. Damn, those Garmin’s are amazing!

So whether you are in a dark place in life, a bright place, or what’s more likely somewhere in between, I invite you to join me at yoga class this week and practice listening to your heart, mind, and body. Come with some of that investigative vulnerability and see what mysterious paths open up for you.
Click here to read one of my favorite poems called Lost.

Naked Truth

2011-07-25T08:04:00.000-06:00

If it hasn't happened already, there will come a time when we stop trying to produce that infallible vision of ourselves and allow ourselves the radical permission to be exactly what and how we are. This permission revolves around the yogic principle of Satya or truth. To be honest with who and where we are, both our strengths and weaknesses, allows us a solid platform from which we can skillfully step to the next place. We stop trying to be everything that we're not and finally find how perfectly we belong to exactly where we are.

With intention, direction, work, and most of all appreciation for our present situation, our dreams of where we want to end up will start to fill out. If we feel stuck, indecisive, depressed, or angry, our truth is to speak to that place. We can speak to all our situations with yoga, an embodiment of all our inner landscapes.

What we want is within our reach; it's simply laced with a bit of irony: the key to fulfillment in the future is to be content now. If we're committed to the honesty of where we are and are content for what is, knowing things change, we create a bridge of present content moments which links us to contentment in our fulfilled future. Without present contentment, without appreciating the truth of where we are, we may find ourselves where we previously hoped for only to discover our habit of malcontent, and, disgruntlement, wishing we were back where we started or somewhere else. We're back in the viscous cycle of hoping for anything but what is true, what is here.

Our main task as I see it is to understand where we are, where our love lies, and bravely organize our lives to focus on what matters most.

I hope that this truth and brave path may lead you to yoga this week.

Here is an offering I learned from my teacher that you may want to use in your meditations:

By the power and truth of our simply practice,
May we and all beings have happiness and the causes of happiness.
May we and all beings be free from sorrow and any causes of sorrow.
May we and all beings never be separated from that sacred happiness which is beyond sorrow.
And may we and all beings live in equanimity, without too much attachment and too much aversion.
And may we live recognizing and honoring the equality of all that lives.

Sarva Mangalam (May the greatest goodness unfold)

Scott

Flood the Soul

2011-07-17T20:32:00.000-06:00

The Experience and Practice of Yoga

The experience of yoga and the practice of yoga are different things and both are different for each person. When I feel the experience of yoga, I feel like everything is perfect, like the world is just the way that it needs to be and I am a privileged be a guest here. When I feel yoga, I feel boundless, like my body is able, lithe, and strong. I feel like my heart is huge and sturdy enough to hold any pain. When I experience yoga I am aware and intuitive. I am still. Sometimes the experience of yoga is subtle and fleeting, just happy and aware. Mostly, when I feel yoga, I feel like I've sourced something inside that I knew was there all along: a wellspring of creativity, love and understanding and a contentedness to just be.

The experience of yoga is about transformation, the transformation of recognizing our True Selves. It's not that our current self isn't real or true, it's that yoga helps us see the big and deep part of ourselves that doesn't change. It's about coming home and seeing ourselves in our true identity.

The practice of yoga is about making the conditions right in body, mind and spirit, for the experience of yoga to happen. In our asana practice, we become stronger, more flexible, and balanced. We ease tension from muscles and set our nervous system at ease. We focus our minds and learn presence. All these qualifiers are vital for the experience of yoga to happen but don't replace the experience of yoga. In other words, there is a difference between the practice of yoga and the experience of yoga.
When I feel the experience of yoga, I feel like everything is in balance. My body feels great, my mind feels at ease, and I feel like myself. I feel timeless. In these moment’s, it’s easy to see how the word yoga means to yoke or unite. When I experience yoga I feel like everything makes. You may feel a little differently when you experience yoga.

We may not feel the experience of yoga each time we practice. Some of us may have never felt or maybe just haven't recognized the experience of yoga. That doesn't mean that we are doing anything wrong or should stop practicing. The more we practice, the easier we discover how to most effectively travel our own pathway to transformation until one day the path becomes well-worn. Simone Weil said, " Even if our efforts of attention seem for years to be producing no result, one day a light that is in exact proportion to them will flood the soul." She's saying to keep practicing and one day it will all pay off. Often when we are least expecting it, going about our practice like any other day, we'll find ourselves in a posture or something and suddenly everything opens up to the experience of yoga, or some sudden insight about ourselves will come flooding in. Sometimes it’s not so grand, but rather subtle and sweet, a simple feeling of contentment. Either way the more we practice, the more frequent these moments come.

I'm excited to be on this journey with you all. Every day I experience the value of this practice. I feel honored to be able to help direct you down your own path of transformation. I am a practitioner first and foremost and a teacher second and I am humbled by the privilege to walk this path next to you. I hope that through yoga you can all taste of that rich experience of yoga, transformation, and experiencing your True Self.

I'll see you in class!

Summer Yoga Reading List

2011-07-11T15:04:00.000-06:00

Part of yoga practice is study.We can effectively improve our understanding our who we are, what we are doing here, and why and how to practice yoga as we read or hear the teachings of masters.

I leave it up to you to determine who is a master, guru, or sage. Whether the texts are religious, philosophical, narrative or mythic, with the same awareness and sensitivity we practice in yoga, we can understand and resonate with the message and open ourselves up to higher learning. This deeper knowledge will invariably affect our yoga practice and our practice of every-day living.

Here are just a few of my favorite yoga and philosophical texts that I think you may enjoy reading.

The Heart of Yoga: Developing a Personal Practice

by T.K.V Desikachar

I love this book. For me, this book has everything in there in an understandable and concise manner. The son of Krishnamacharia who is essentially the father of most of the yoga practiced in the west, Desikachar is an amazing source of knowledge, quoting the teachings of his father. In this book Desikachar talks explores the fundamental yoga philosophy, technique, and considerations concerning practicing yoga in a conscious, safe, and informed way. Plus, he offers his complete translation of the Yoga Sutras with commentary in the back of the book. This is number 1 in my yoga reference library.

Bringing Yoga to Life: The Everyday Practice of Enlightened Living by Dona Farhi

This is another one of my favorite books. I'm here to say that not all great yogis are great writers. This one is. Not only is Dona Farhi an internationally recognized master teacher, but she is also the author of several books, all of which are wonderful. In this book, she offers light onto some of the basic tenets of yoga philosophy as stated in the yoga sutras in a way that is completely approachable to modern-day mentality. It's less of a how-to and more of narrative/expose. Great book.

Yoga: The Spirit and Practice of Moving Into Stillness by Erich Schiffmann

This book is more of a how-to with pictures and diagrams and the whole bit, offered by one of the most qualified teachers in the country. In this book, he has very detailed information about poses, meditation, and pranayama. It even lists a few yoga routines in the appendix of the book. I teach yoga as an adjunct faculty professor at Westminster College and this is one of the books I require for that course because of it varied and detailed information.

The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupéry

I hope that you've read this book in the past. It's a very rich adult book that also appeals to kids. There is so much good stuff in here about valuing what matters most in life and how to care for those things that you have, even if they seem difficult and challenging. It is a book that I will read over and over again throughout my life. If you haven't read it in a while (or even if you have) check out this book. It's a great way of looking at those things that matter most in life. Yoga is really trying to create a practice that does the same thing.

If you read one or all of these books and still find yourself hungry to learn more about yoga or are interested in our yoga immersion and teacher training, please consider attending Prana Yoga's Yoga Immersion and Teacher Training this fall, beginning in September. You can find the details below.

Also if you have another book you'd recommend, please comment for others to see.

Join the Dance

2011-07-03T23:09:00.001-06:00

Everything, down to the last molecule in the last corner of the universe, is moving. As we seek to find stillness for body, mind, and spirit, ours is not to hold up our hands and try to arrest this inevitable motion. Instead, we are to join the dance--and by so doing, find the stillness that comes from moving in tandem with the larger motion, like a surfer riding a wave, like friends walking together, like the fluid motion of a yoga class. Please join me this week, as we enter the dance of life, and thereby find stillness.

According to the Gospel of Freemont.

2011-06-28T23:01:00.000-06:00

There are many kinds of churches. This past Sunday, I attended Fishing Church. I was moved by the angelic hymns of the birds. I performed the ritual of casting: ten o’clock, two o’ clock, ten o’clock, two o’ clock, release. I felt the holy spirit of the wind move through me the same way it rippled through the marsh grasses.

I learned something profound from the gospel of Freemont (the Freemont River). I learned that I must go with the flow of things. As I stood in the water casting my line, it dawned on me that this is what the Universe seems to be saying over and over to me. Whatever I hope for, work for, whatever I desire, be that answers to questions, solutions to life’s complications, or a fat rainbow trout, I can’t reach in and grab it. The “fish” is much too sly for that. What I can do is put myself in right relationship with it. I must align myself to my environment. To catch this fish, I must look at the placement of the sun to ensure that it’s feeding time, careful that my shadow isn’t cast upon the water. I must notice the speed and depth of the river, must notice which insects are floating around. All this helps me choose how and when and with what, and then as I cast my line into the water, my hope is to align my fly with the current, unperturbed, unmechanical. I gotta move with the flow or the fish won’t buy it.

Sometimes all I had to do was simply stay put, grounded in one place and watch the river run, the wind flow, and the sun move around me. Then other times that hole had no lovin’ and I needed to move on. This too was practicing being in the flow.
Obviously, I’m still learning to be in the flow because no fish found their way onto my clumsy line that sacred Sunday. No worries. I wasn’t there necessarily to catch fish, but rather I was just practicing fishing and enjoying the fruits of being there. I was Practicing being in the flow.

In yoga, we practice flowing with the current of our breath and heartbeat and by aligning body with breath. We float on the current of steadiness and ease. We ride gravity and lift. We flow in the current of practicing with a group of people. Come practice being in the flow of a great yoga class.

The Road to There is Here

2011-06-18T10:51:00.000-06:00

Wherever you hope to move in life, be that physically, mentally, spiritually, or anything, that journey begins with the first step. And though we envision our end point, we must first look at the ground at our feet to calibrate our our first step. We must find solid ground where we stand before we can move forward.

To move forward, to find there, we must first
see here. This means learning to take an objective look at ourselves. Equipped with compassion, hope, courage, appreciation, praise, and a healthy sense of humor, we take a good look at ourselves and try to see, not judge. As closely as possible, see what is rather that what we fear, detest, or covet. If we want to improve our asanas, loose weight, stop smoking, become more financially abundant, or anything else, we have to honestly accept and thrive exactly where we are with what we have. The refusal to inhabit where you are ironically makes you a prisoner of that place. It's like we have to learn the lesson on how to move past that place and the only instructions are at that place.

One we've become clear and comfortable with where we are, next we view where we wish to move with a pure intention, like a guiding star. We can move forward with clarity based on the real information of our practice of seeing clearly. We move forward driven by the hope of Intention rather than the hindrance of expectation.Though we may have a direction, we must realize that part of the fun of this journey is the improvisation along the way. We know the direction, not the exact path. This allows us the freedom to feed our spirits by working creatively toward our own unfolding.

And like Antonio Machado, a wonderful Spanish poet, says:

Why call
those random paths
roads?
Everyone who walks
walks
like Jesus
on water.

We're all moving forward and every step for every person is a miracle. Thus the entire process makes us grow, not only by the measurable strides of seeing what we'd intended come to pass, but also by the refining heat of moving through the process. Soon, we habituate living with presence. Its walking around the next bend on the path of life, fully aware yet totally surprised and thrilled to experience the unknown steps toward there.

Soon we'll realize that we may always be looking forward but the one constant, again, is here. Always here will eventually take us there. The present is the only firm platform from which we can project ourselves to there.

Holding Space

2011-06-12T23:25:00.001-06:00

We don't need to change or be better than we are. We practice deep compassion as we extend this same privilege to other people and things around us and allow them to simply be, especially those things that would easily turn our hearts bitter.

As we practice yoga and meditation, we cultivate and practice being. We also reduce the suffering known as Dukkah, which would hold us back from experiencing our highest self.

One act of holding space is allowing yourself to be with a person or thing and allow them to be just as they or it is. I'm thinking of a friend who is sick or experiencing something mentally or spiritually challenging. Simply being with that person and holding space for them, without the need to fix or change anything, just being, allows a deep compassion to exist between the two of you.

Another act of holding space is the decisive act of making room in your heart for that which would sooner canker your heart with feelings and make your mind fester with "shoulds" and what-ifs." When you hold space for someone or something, you don't have to fall in love with this person or thing but you are simply offering compassion toward them or it by not becoming sour toward it. And by so doing, you ultimately offer your own heart and mind in the same compassion--the heart that flourishes when it feels abundance and love, not bitterness, and the mind that abounds when it is sheltered from shoulds and what-ifs."

Here are a few examples of holding space:

The NYC 4 Train:

stopped en route causing me and my wife, Celeste, to miss our flight home.

Me: bought a NYC 4 Train T-Shirt--holding space for the 4 Train.

World: Just as it is.

Me: Accepting the world as it is.

Holding space is often the first part of forgiveness toward yourself and others.

This week, practice holding space for things that your either don't understand or which bother you.

I'm out of town for the next two weeks hosting my annual Hawaii yoga retreat. I've arranged some wonderful subs. Try out some other wonderful teachers at Prana Yoga.

Daily Dose

2011-06-05T20:58:00.000-06:00

We all deserve a moment in the day where we enter the timeless; we forget our job, our responsibilities, the persona that we've created for ourselves, and abide in the part of ourselves that feels the most real. It's coming home. It's not about escaping our lives. It's about everyday building a discipline of presence and awareness where we can enter back into the conversation of what is most real.

This conversation with what is most real depends on awareness--paying attention. There are many harvests in our lives, the opportunity to gather the richness of everyday miracles, and if we are not aware, these harvests will pass us by. The seasons changing, the seasons of our lives coming and going, the richness of sharing the lives of our children, are all examples of our different harvests. Without awareness, seasons come and go unaware. Without presence, we think we are living our lives but instead our lives are living us. We go on day by day simply perpetuating the daily "to do" list without ever getting the feeling like we are experiencing anything real. But with awareness, we can fully receive the richness of the moment because we've apprenticed ourselves to see it. By practicing awareness it's not that our lives suddenly don a reality but now we open our eyes to see the beauty and realness that was there all along. With awareness, even our "to do" list will seem magical and inviting.

To find this realness requires radical grounding, some form of practice to which we can travel each day. Coming to yoga and moving into the practice-realm of our body and breath, this nuts-and-bolts portion of being, gives us passage into the chambers of the more ethereal parts of being, mind and heart. The combination or uniting of these different elements, body/mind/spirit, is yoga. Yoga isn't the only way to do this, meditation, poetry, music, running, Ben and Jerry's (that's right) or anything else that makes you fully aware of the moment and alive are all good ways to practice this sort of realness. With it's emphasis on breath and presence, the immediacy of our bodies sensation, yoga, however, is a particularly effective and calibrated method to help us develop and maintain our awareness--sort of a template whereby we can then base our life's events and decisions from.

Once we've grounded ourselves with our yoga practice and removed the peripheries, once we've practiced being in that space that is so real, we then go back into the conversation of our jobs, families, and relationships armed with that realness, with a quality of being that feels very authentic and very natural.

Then, having replenished the source (us) we can benefit those things that grow out of us instead of sapping them. A medicine man recently told me that if we refuse to take care of ourselves through practices like yoga, we end up becoming a burdening rather than helping those things that depend on us.

Come to yoga and get your daily dose of this essential and vital part of you.

The True Love

2011-05-29T19:49:00.000-06:00

In yoga philosophy, there are a couple of steps we take toward learning to become our best selves. Once we've been refined through the heat of work, the craft necessary for transformation, once we've come to know our True Self to some degree, one task remains, ultimate and necessary to complete the process: YOU MUST LET GO!

The ultimate act of our will is the act of releasing it in the conversation between you that big thing, whatever you call it, The Universe, Creation, God, or simply Things That Be. This final culmination of will and knowledge is known in yoga as Ishvarapranidhana. If yoga is anything, it is that interplay between what is real and practical in our lives and that which is ethereal, mental or emotional. It is knowing yourself enough to work up the courage to finally step off that edge of the cliff. And only when you begin to fall do you find your wings.

Ishvarapranidhana means to reach out your hand into the darkness and ask to know it. It is asking to be known deeper by what is in the darkness, the unknown. It is stepping out onto surfaces that you are not sure will hold your weight as you keep your fierce gaze at that which you love.

In this wonderful place, we allow our internal achiever to take a break and open up to simply being. And in the cosmic chess game of existence, we pause for a moment and allow for that which is larger than ourselves to make a move. And with this act of letting go, what we thought we knew about ourselves, what we planned on for our existence, doesn't seem to matter much anymore. The divine opens us up and we've discovered something new and magical about ourselves and the world, something exponentially greater than our previous conception.

David Whyte points to this perfectly in his Poem The Truelove

There is a faith in loving fiercely
the one who is rightfully yours,
especially if you have
waited years and especially
if part of you never believed
you could deserve this
loved and beckoning hand
held out to you this way.

I am thinking of faith now
and the testaments of loneliness
and what we feel we are
worthy of in this world.

Years ago in the Hebrides
I remember an old man
who walked every morning
on the grey stones
to the shore of the baying seals,

who would press his hat
to his chest in the blustering
salt wind and say his prayer
to the turbulent Jesus
hidden in the water,

and I think of the story
of the storm and everyone
waking and seeing
the distant
yet familiar figure
far across the water
calling to them,

and how we are all
preparing for that
abrupt waking,
and that calling,
and that moment
we have to say yes,
except it will
not come so grandly,
so Biblically,
but more subtly
and intimately in the face
of the one you know
you have to love,

so that when we finally step out of the boat
toward them, we find
everything holds
us, and confirms
our courage, and if you wanted
to drown you could,
but you don't

because finally
after all the struggle
and all the years,
you don't want to any more,
you've simply had enough
of drowning
and you want to live and you
want to love and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness,
however fluid and however
dangerous, to take the
one hand you know
belongs in yours.

Come to class this week and let's practice ways to let go of tension, stress, worry, illness, old ways of being, etc. Open up to the Divine by practicing Ishvarapranidhana.

Shine On

2011-05-23T06:28:00.000-06:00

Light is fading quickly and the late-spring bright green leaves pop against this evening’s stormy slate gray skies. Scanning the Salt Lake City skyline, my eyes first find the brightly lit Trolley Tower, a beacon showing me the star that I helped to build. But I’m not looking for the Trolley Tower. Instead, my eyes rest on the historic Walker Tower, a tall Eiffel-esque structure atop the Walker building, shining over the city. Seeing it is like rediscovering a constellation, a familiar formation in the middle of the sky.

The Walker Tower shines a different color depending on the weather. Blue means clear skies, flashing blue means cloudy skies, flashing red, snow. Tonight is solid red, meaning rain. The Walker Tower is a monolith of meteorology, a dinosaur outsmarted by my wee phone, which displays satellite-accurate information of the weather, including the high/low temperature and weekly forecast, all in a cute graphic format, I suppose to accommodate for those who, through the simplicity of technology, have lost the skill to read numbers.

The Walker Tower is the lighthouse of Salt Lake, silently sounding the weather to those who might pause and notice. As I stand on the front porch in my bare feet on the cold, wet concrete, I wonder if I’m the only one looking at the Walker Tower tonight. Most of the time I’m like everybody else, too busy to notice. I’m living a life that needs constant attention, like gardenias, a life busied by tasks, like tapping broken, uneven rhythms on my laptop, changing laundry, cooking food, taking and giving love—all necessary things. But right now, living means simply standing here watching the old Walker Tower shine solid red into the night, almost hidden, almost a postscript, between the taller, more modern buildings.

Standing there so solidly and immovable against the turbulent skies, it speaks to what is real and now, and at the same time says that despite the current climate of our lives, the weather changes. Storms pass. They may come again, but so does the sun. Maybe tomorrow night it will be shining solid blue: clear skies. Despite its history (turns 100 next year), the tower stands as something constant and now. The Walker Tower reminds me that there are some things, regardless of new inventions, which stand through the storms and keep shining the way brightly, even when the other lights go out. Celeste is a shining tower for me. My family, and Chris, especially, my twin brother, are towers for me. All these, so important, yet I know that unless I choose to pause every once in a while, especially in those rainy nights of the soul, unless I stop and look inside to what is constant, to that silent, shining light, I’m truly lost to the night.

I could choose to look at my smartphone in my pocket to learn about the weather. Instead, I choose to find the Walker Tower. Shine on, Walker Tower. Even if it’s for just one lonely person living across town, shivering on the porch.

Tibetan Caves Are Overrated

2011-05-15T21:23:00.000-06:00

I sit on my green cushion resting on my yellow rug that covers the honey-wood floor in the front room of my rented space, and close my eyes to meditate. A single thread of incense smoke, sweet and pervasive, rises as if pulled heavenward by some unseen force, like a wispy prayer into the ether. Two large candles on my alter burn a soft glow as they sit like sentinels on either side of the frantic list I’ve placed there, my list of nerves and worries, big hopes and sterile to-dos. I like to write it all down and put it on the alter. The list seems to be the CliffsNotes version of a prayer I hope lifts upward, like the smoke. Plus, once I’ve written it down, maybe it will free up my mind to not think for a while and just be present.

I am about eye level to one of the several windows in this room—that is, if my eyes were open. But they are not. I’m trying to be present. As I sit, I hear traffic pass like waves, the current of the arteries of our city. I hear a neighbor in the laundry room directly below me, stuffing wet laundry with heavy thuds into the dryer and then listen as the dryer buzzes to life and starts to breathe. Dakota, the German shepherd who lives in the apartment above me, groans and barks excitedly as the pizza deliverer searches for apartment number 1, not mine.

No, I don’t live in a cave in Tibet. Nor would I want to—harder for the pizza delivery guys to find. These city distractions are not distractions at all but merely the environment in which I choose to live. And I guess that’s the point, right? We live here, and despite loud laundry, neighbors, barking dogs, and cars, one can find peace in the gentle hum of a city. When I visit my family in New York, I open the window from the apartment in the high-rise and listen to the sounds of the city, one long, sustained exhale. I actually find it quite peaceful. Part of the quest for peace involves creating a comfortable tolerance for things that would otherwise create aversion. We don’t have to love them, but with many things that are part of our everyday environment, we can simply be present in the moment and witness them. We are but one cell in this larger being, the community, the city, the world. We can circulate and find purpose and stillness in that motion.

Come to yoga and practice finding peace despite the busy world around us.

Drum Roll Please . . .

2011-05-01T23:56:00.000-06:00

The moment has come! Prana Yoga is open for business and is offering classes in the most beautiful practice space in Salt Lake City. We (Matt) have been building this studio for several months; Jennifer Ellen and I have been building the infrastructure. We've had set backs, delays, frustrations, huge learning curves, and a LOT of really hard work. But walking through this studio and coming into this space I feel overwhelmed with abundance. You know, I feel like we've been pulling this project, Prana Yoga, up a steep hill for a long time. And last week, when we hosted a sneak preview workshop with Shiva Rea, I felt like we'd crested a small bump on the way to the summit. Now that the studio is operable, this beautiful space is ready to practice yoga in, it feels like this truck I've been pulling up hill now has it's own momentum and is actually much, much bigger than me and will continue to push me to grow to my own potential. And of course this studio is much bigger than me. I feel the collective momentum of all of you who have graciously waited as we've been building and planning, you who have been coming to our classes in our temporary space, and you who have offered emotional support and help along the way. Our hope is that this studio will serve us all for a long, long time.

I'm adding a bunch of classes to my schedule, including Restore Yoga! This week I'm here teaching Monday's and Tuesday's classes but fly to Hawaii on Wednesday to see my love--terrible timing but I gotta go.

Join me this week at Prana Yoga:

Mon. 10:00 am Restore Yoga

Mon. 5:45 pm Power Vinyasa

Tues. 6:00 am Power Vinyasa 6AM CLASSES RETURN!

Starting next week you can find me at Prana teaching 7 classes a week:

Mon. 10:00 am Restore Yoga

Mon. 5:45 pm Power Vinyasa
Tues. 6:00 am Power Vinyasa
Thurs. 6:00 am Power Vinyasa
Fri. 10:00 am Restore Yoga
Fri. 5:45 pm Power Vinyasa
Sat. 8:30 am Basics-- a great class for those who like a gentler pace but want to still move, to receive accommodations for the way YOU need to practice yoga and with more instruction on alignment and cues to make the practice really work for you.

Go to www.pranayogaslc.com

to see our full schedule and buy passes etc.

See you in class!

Scott

Coming Home

2011-04-18T16:42:00.000-06:00

Sometimes it feels like we are a house-full of sorrows. Every corner, under every piece of furniture, in every drawer, memories, thoughts, regrets, disappointments, worry, grief. It's all there and what do you do with it?

The ancient Sufi poet Rumi suggests we welcome our sorrows, make them a cup of tea, sit, and listen.

In the highly relative world of emotion, one thing that is certain is that those sorrows do exist, at least for the moment. They feel so real because we can feel them. This is countered by another thing which is true which is: when we learn to uncover our True Nature through practices such as meditation and yoga, we see clearly that what we are is deeper than even these pervasive, transitory emotions which seem to rule our lives. From the grand perspective of our True Nature, which, the ancients say and invite us to discover for ourselves, is boundless equanimity, we allow ourselves to experience our emotions fully, knowing that when all is said and done, our emotions will come and go but this True Nature will stay constant. By experiencing our emotions from this perspective, often these sorrows seem to get whatever it was off their chest, finish their tea, and then see themselves out. Regardless, each thing that comes to our door, like Rumi says, is our teacher.

In yoga, it's nice to know that we're not trying to "fix" anything but rather simply uncovering the most True part of ourselves, the part that is not subjective like our emotions. Plus, it just feels really good to be with that True part of ourselves. It's like coming home.

The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi ~

Provocative Evolution

2011-04-03T21:42:00.000-06:00

Whether we are new or seasoned practitioners, our objective in practice is always the same: to step up to the the comfortable relationship with our edge. That invitation to step to our edge is so provocative! It suggests leaving the comfort of what we know and move toward our yet unknown greatness. Yet, the invitation is to be in proper relationship with your edge so that it doesn't overcome you. If I were to experience the Grand Canyon by standing on the very edge, all I could think about would be my own imminent death. With a little space, I can appreciate my edge rather than repel from it.

I like the word "frontier." In my mind, it conjures images of rugged people working with the land and wrestling with the unknown, growing and learning and being present with a life that is bigger than them but in which they play a part. The word "frontier" suggests perhaps our edge, our limit of experience or ability. It is the place which we have never been.

I think that whether you are working at a frontier of mindfulness, spirituality, or physicality, to place yourself at that edge of your experience is to truly live. Being at the edge isn't always easy but it is always real.

Simply being at our edge, we become stronger, literally in the case of asanas, but in every aspect of living, we find ourselves more and more able to sit in the heat of our own growth and the inevitable unfolding of the unknown. Because we have to be observant at that edge, we will notice the miracle of what we've created by being there. It's the miracle of watching our frontier, limitations we thought were so fixed and immovable, recede away from us. So that where we find ourselves is no longer the limit of our experience or ability. I could only touch my knees when I began practice, now I can touch my toes. I could only focus for a few seconds when I started, now I can stay in rapt attention for several moments. I barely understood myself before, now I see a divine creature unfolding.

As this edge recedes, we are again provoked by our own potential to take another step closer toward that edge. And again we find ourselves at the familiar relationship and distance with our frontier. Periodically, we may look back to see all the ground we've covered. That growth is a nice reminder that we're moving in the direction of our intention but ultimately secondary to what's real and present and constant--our commitment to be at the frontier. Our commitment to growth.

So here's the biggest paradox: the only way to get there is to be here, where you are currently. And here is always changing.

Until one day we realize that this is where we've set down our roots, in the paradox of constant movement as we chase our frontier, the eternal growth toward our highest self. We have arrived as we witness our own evolution.

Come to practice this week and join me as we practice living at this frontier, especially at the special workshop that Erin and I will teach where we will explore the radical idea of backing way off from the edge.

Home, Jeeves

2011-03-27T21:27:00.002-06:00

Sometimes when life gets tricky, I want to type in a random address and turn on my GPS navigator just to hear a comforting voice tell me where to go. Maybe in a perfect world, one might choose from the list of GPS guiding voices to be that of a sage (mine would be Gandalf’s voice) who would while en route, maybe at a stop light or on a long stretch of road, offer a piece of true direction. Maybe that in some way you’re supposed to be lost because that’s what starts you asking the questions, what keeps your eyes alert, your ears open, your senses alive. That you’re going in the right direction just by living and struggling and searching. Sure, it’s good to turn at this stop sign, and travel another couple of years down this road, but most importantly, it’s important to keep going.

And hopefully that voice always tells you to listen to your heart.

So type Prana Yoga’s address into your GPS (600 south 700 east Salt Lake City—the old Banana Republic store) and let listen to it guide you to yoga class this week to practice listening to that inner voice, that wise part of you that knows where to go or if not where to go, maybe how to enjoy the ride.
See you in class.

The Rites of Spring

2011-03-20T20:26:00.000-06:00

Get out your running shoes. Put away your snow boots. Put away your thermals. Find your swimsuit, or at least a pair of shorts.Put away your heavy coat. Start saying your goodbyes to the the ski season. Go and tune up your bike. Store your snow shovel. Open the windows and air out your soul after a long winter of hibernating. It is officially Spring!

Sunday, at exactly 9:21 pm, the sun will make its grand appearance (somewhere around the globe) at exactly half way up the horizon. It's a foreshadowing of the hot months to come. We will be blessed with as many daylight hours as nighttime hours as the sun rises directly east and sets directly west.

The spring equinox is one of those cosmically sacred times of the year that marks an exact quarter-turn around the sun. It's a time for us to pause and thank the Powers That Be that the sun is coming back. The warmth of brightness and hope and resolve is rising.

The spring equinox It's a great time to remember our intentions we made at the beginning of the year and see how things are progressing. If one of those intentions was to do more yoga, kindly get your asana to class.

Winter is a great time to hibernate and meditate. To make intentions. Find stillness. But now it's time to balance the mindfulness with with movement. Let's get some fresh air! In yoga, the balance between activity (Rajas) and stillness (Tamas) is called Satva. It is one of the qualities known as the Gunas. This week, I invite you to reflect on your intentions you made at the beginning of the year and asess. Make adjustments if you need to.

Come to yoga and let's practice some of this balance into Satva with a little movement, breath, and mindfulness. Let's put some action to our mindfulness and air out our soul.

See you in class.
Scott

The Temple on the Way to Costco

2011-03-14T01:34:00.000-06:00

My teacher told me a story of master yoga teacher Richard Freeman who was once demonstrating an outrageously technical yoga position to a group of advanced practitioners. After the pose, someone raised their hand and inquired, “What do you do to prepare yourself for that pose?” Richard Freeman paused in thought, then frankly responded: “Three deep breaths.”

Another profound teaching came to me a few years ago when my wife, Celeste, was visiting her cousin Robin in Hawai’i. Celeste was happily carless and mostly careless on the remote beach in Robin’s backyard. Occasionally, when Robin was heading into town, she’d invite Celeste to come along. On the ride, Celeste mentioned that she would like to visit the Buddhist temple, famous on Oahu. “You mean the temple on the way to Costco?” Robin said, as if this sacred temple were merely a landmark on the way to the more substantial temple of abundance and commercialism. Still, I hate to draw too much of a line between Costco and the Temple on the Way To Costco because for me what I’ve learned about temples and sacred places is the only spirit you find there is the spirit that you bring with you. The point is, we go to temples to be reminded of the divine part of ourselves, but what yoga teaches and what we get to practice every time we come to our mat, is that any place—a temple, a prison cell, a yoga mat, a piece of nature, your workplace—can become sacred ground with the right attitude and attention to details. You can find spirit in Costco, too.

This week as you work to provide for yourself and your family, you might just find yourself standing at the entrance of Costco. Before entering, maybe pause. The Costapo (the sentinels at the temple gate) and other shoppers rushing in and out won’t suspect anything as you pull out your grocery list. They won’t notice the mantra you’ve perhaps written on your list before the broccoli and bread and cat food. And before stepping in, you might wonder, “How can I do it? How can I possibly remain mindful and grounded in this circus, this craziness?” Try this: three deep breaths.

Costco Mantra
May we all have happiness, like the way you feel after a good laugh, or finding five pounds of your favorite cereal on sale for a steal.
May we all be free from sorrow, even though sad things happen in life.
May we all enjoy that deep, lasting happiness despite our ups and downs.
And may we enjoy balance in life, even at Costco where things get too loud, too busy, and too much, without being too clingy or too annoyed by things.
And no matter what, may we honor everybody as a unique and special thing.

(Modified from Sogyal Rimpoche The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

Valuing Perplexity

2011-02-28T09:06:00.000-07:00

We all have problems. We all grapple with the unknown, about the Universe, sure, but more specifically about our own complicated life. We all want to solve our problems as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Sometimes it is only by questioning, or struggling, that we are driven to understand an otherwise hidden part of ourselves and our potential. Our questions fuel us to open our hearts, to seek for inspiration, to perform the necessary work, and more profoundly, to abandon our will to the grander wisdom of the divine. We must at once be willing to seek and do, and also sit comfortably and simply be with what we don't know or with what doesn't feel comfortable-happily resolved with the phrase, "I don't know." And sometimes to get real answers we must be willing to sit in our own darkness for a while.

This human tendency for control occurs regularly in our yoga practice as many of us strive to either know everything there is to know about yoga or try to perfect our poses; we usually eagerly fill in whatever blanks present themselves in our life's scripts.

Instead, let us practice this week the yoga principle of Santosha, or contentment, by learning to sit with and even value perplexity.

The following poem by David Whyte seems to speak directly to learning from the darkness, instead of running from it.

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired

the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone

no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark

where the night has eyes

to recognize its own.

There you can be sure

you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb

tonight.

The night will give you a horizon

further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.

The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds

except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

~ David Whyte ~

I'm out of town this weekend. See you at Prana next week.

Bone

2011-02-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of that big part of our yoga practice, our souls. What is that, anyway? This week, as I was practicing yoga, I felt it again for the millionth time. That big, big, part which is right there, which is everything but which is the part that I can't really put a name to. It's not Scott. It's bigger.

And I guess this is what people have been trying to point to since there have been people. We all have such a grand language for it. Such a crisis over it. We go to war over it. We put each other in hell for it. Something that isn't a question. Something that's right there. I can reach out and touch it. And sometimes, I feel that you can too-- yours, yes but mine, too. As I'm teaching and I can see you getting into your groove, I see you breathing, I see the focus. Then I see it when things click, lights go on behind your eyes and I see you think to yourself, "There it is!"

And if you're like me, you get it and before you know it, it slips between your fingers and suddenly you're looking all over for it again, under the couch, behind the dresser, because you thought you knew what it was and what it looked like but now you're not so sure any more.

Then it seems to find you because it was there all the time, or you were there and you and it are all the same thing.

Pretty soon, I guess we get so comfortable with it--it's like Peter Pan stitching his shadow onto the sole of his shoe--it doesn't go away anymore. Maybe Patantaji, the ancient guru/yoga scholar who wrote the yoga sutras about finding that big part of yourself called Samadhi, maybe his first given name was Peter Pan until he was reborn with the truth that his sole is always there, right at his feet, and it was then that he was bestowed the honorable name, Patanjali. He learned and teaches that it is by singular concentration that we simply open our eyes to it. We learn to see again.

This is what our practice is about. This is why it's a practice, yes, because it is slippery. And because it feels really, really, good every time we make that discovery, and even the journey leading up to it.

One of my guru teachers is poet Mary Oliver. She's a teacher whom I've never met but who has taught me so much by her simple and astounding words, written after she has paid acute attention to this amazing heaven, the world around us. She wrote (in much fewer words than I, mind you) something about this practice of searching for the soul. Enjoy.

Bone

1.

Understand, I am always trying to figure out

what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape--

and so, last week,
when I found on the beach
the ear bone
of a pilot whale that may have died

hundreds of years ago, I thought
maybe I was close
to discovering something--
for the ear bone

2.

is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where

once, in the lively swimmer's head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing,
it was only

two inches long--
and I thought: the soul
might be like this--
so hard, so necessary--

3.

yet almost nothing.
Beside me
the gray sea
was opening and shutting its wave-doors,

unfolding over and over
its time-ridiculing roar;
I looked but I couldn't see anything
through its dark-knit glare;

yet don't we all know, the golden sand
is there at the bottom,
though our eyes have never seen it,
nor can our hands ever catch it

4.

lest we would sift it down
into fractions, and facts--
certainties--
and what the soul is, also

I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,
but looking, and touching, and loving,
which is the way I walked on,
softly,
through
the pale-pink morning light.

I hope to see you in class.

Scott

A Love Letter

2011-02-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

The root of the practice of yoga is loving awareness. So to that end, and because it’s Valentine’s Day, I’ve written a love letter. Here goes . . .

I love moving my body. I love a moment of stillness and the chance to draw inward and feel the moment. I love to watch someone else offer a random and selfless act of kindness, to see a person stoop to drop a dollar into the worn hat of a street musician. I love sitting around a table of friends, our cheek muscles sore from smiling and laughing, breaking bread and simply stewing in each other’s presence. I love to teach yoga. I love to sing my guts out to a really, really good song, most often alone and most often in the car. I love it when someone shares something personal or painful and trusts me enough to hold their heart for a moment as we look into each other’s eyes. I love the permission to be held in the same way. I deeply love Celeste who gets me more than anyone else and who believes in me more than I do. She reminds me of who I am. I love the opportunity to grow and to learn, even if it’s after scraping your way up a grueling mountainside only to realize that you’ve crawled up the wrong mountain and now that you’ve learned that lesson, you’re on to the next peak, clueless about new struggles. It’s especially easy to love that last one after you’ve been away from it long enough to appreciate the lesson. I love playing the saxophone. I love the feeling of the weight of sax around my neck. I love the action of the keys under my fingers. I love the freedom to dance along a form of a song and find some way of carving a path, a message inside that path. Sometimes, I’ll be sitting next to my teacher in a sax lesson and we’re both practicing improvising together and he’ll rip off some outrageous line of notes that makes me take me sax out of my mouth in some sort of clear deference and all I can do is shake my head in equal parts amazement and equal parts “blues face.” I love that. I love it when people hug me. I love it when I get to see people grow. I love it when someone comes to some realization or learns something and things I’d understand so they share it with me. I love that people are willing to share who they are with me. I love the perfectly timed joke, its wit and gracious power to send a lightning bolt of laughter through my guts and I love it when an entire room explodes into laughter. I love that scene in the movie Invincible when the character Vince Papale, played by Mark Wahlberg, shows up to open tryouts for the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles in 1976 without a hope of making the team, without a chance to make even the first cut, just a regular guy without the support of even his family members, not even himself believing that it could happen. But he shows up nonetheless, in jeans and a t-shirt, a scowl on his face reflecting the fear in his heart and almost smothering the single ember of hope buried deep down inside. But he showed up. I love that hope. I love walking with my love around the block late at night, shivering hand in shivering hand, barely hanging on to all of this, but hanging on, together, with nothing that needs be said but the sound of our boots scraping along the street as the cold light filters from the street light onto our shoulders. I love seeing someone do what they are really good at, a guitar player, a teacher, an asana practitioner. I love my family who lets me be whoever I am and loves me for it. I love listening to people’s stories. I love moving my body. I love running in the canyon at dusk when the night is beginning to come alive and I feel invited into that mystery, my lungs pumping, my legs moving, my feet dancing on the trail beneath me as they somehow navigate rocks, roots and dirt in the dark. I love the support I have received as I’ve taken a leap to start this new adventure of Prana Yoga. I love all those who believe in me. I love meeting someone for the first time. I love it when people are creative. I love a great discussion. I love art. I love to hear music that makes my face turn sour with the funk of a great lick. I love the warmth of a coffee house. I love the Morning Bun and hot chocolate at Tulie Bakery. I love the feeling when I know someone has my back, even simply by patting me on the back and giving the old shoulder a squeeze, tacitly telling me that it’s going to be ok. I love a good poem. I love a good story. I love driving away from my uncle’s ranch in Woodland, after a fantastic retreat, snow piled high beside the road, the sun light and warmth soaking through the window and landing on my face, nothing but the sound of the engine and my own thoughts, as I feel the hum of the road beneath me and the hum of the heart inside me purr to some rhythm, understood by something deeper than intellect. Love that. I love a heart-wrenching song. I love a mean harmonica or banjo or fiddle player. I love it all. May I invite you to write your own love letter and then watch how you walk around all day filled with the enchantment of what you love. Watch how this shines to all those around you.

I’ve decided to include some fantastic love poems as well.

(For Scott, From Celeste)
By Celeste keele

To be the size of a butterfly,
my soft, colorful wings
folded 'round me,
and rest from this flying
inside a smooth canyon
of his broad heart.
To be small enough,
tonight, To be the size
in this dark,
to find refuge there.
To be in his cupped hands,
fingers parting
and releasing me at dawn,
sending me
with his prayers
to the sun.

The Gift
By Hafiz

Our
Union is like this:

You feel cold
So I reach for a blanket to cover
Our shivering feet.

A hunger comes into your body
So I run to my garden
And start digging potatoes.

You ask for a few words of comfort and guidance,
I quickly kneel at your side offering you
This whole book—
As a gift.

You ache with loneliness one night
So much you weep

And I say,

Here’s a rope,
Tie it around me,

Hafiz
Will be your companion
For life.

LAUGHING AT THE WORD TWO
Hafiz

Only

The illuminated
One

Whoe keeps
Seducing the formless into form

Had the charm to win my
Heart.

Only a Perfect One

Who is always
Laughing at the word
Two

Can make you know

Of

Love.

Like This
by Rumi

If anyone asks you about the huris, show your face, say: like this!
If anyone asks you about the moon, climb up on the roof, say: like this!
If anyone seeks a fairy, let them see your countenance,
If anyone talks about the aroma of musk, untie your hair [and] say: like this!
If anyone asks: "How do the clouds uncover the moon?" untie the front of
Your robe, knot by knot, say: like this!

If anyone asks: "How did Jesus raise the dead?" kiss me on the lips, say:
like this!

If anyone asks: What are those killed by love like?" direct him to me, say:
like this!

If anyone kindly asks you how tall I am, show him your arched eyebrows,
say: like this!

The Winter of Listening

2011-01-31T07:34:00.001-07:00

What does it look like to close your eyes, to go inside your head and to go inside your heart and really take a look at what’s inside there? I’m talking a deep knowing of your own soul, away from the chatter of our every-day business. The process is as easy as closing the door, turning off your phone, sitting on the floor and closing your eyes. Yet, Sometimes we’re afraid to go inside and turn off the chatter because we’re afraid of what it might look like in there. We’re so accustomed to the noise that we don’t know who we’d be if we turned it all off. And indeed we have to prepare ourselves to take that big look inside and confront whatever might come to the surface, sometimes a well-spring of grief or loneliness or hurt. Sometimes we find a world of doubt, worry, ennui, or maybe the worst of them all, The Shoulds—that damning list of expectations about our life which is not fulfilled nor is it on track to be.

With a little practice and maybe a smidge of direction, what’s possible is to apprentice oneself to the true and deep knowing of Self. What’s possible is the ability to see yourself for who you are, a radiant, conscious, sentient being with beautiful complexities that might include sadness or loneliness or worry but seeing that who you are is fundamentally whole. I may have worry, but who I am is larger than worry. So, it’s the ability to hold and even love the complexity of our own being, to somehow embrace and love what feels like the damaged parts of ourselves, knowing we’re deeper than that.

Here’s my invitation: today, right after you read this, maybe, or sometime today, go into a different room or turn off the computer and sit. Close your eyes and do what I call the “There Is” practice. This is where you simply point to all the things you are aware of or become aware of with the phrase, “there is” in a way that puts you as the observer rather than the subject. If you were to hear my thoughts do this practice it would sound like this: “There are closed eyes. There is semi-comfortable sitting position. There is worry about responsibilities later today. There is a cat licking my toe. There is a feeling of sadness. There is business in my head. There is peacefulness creeping around the corner.” Notice there are no personal pronouns: I, me, my. This enables us to observe the world as it is on its terms rather than from the egocentric realm of “me.” Or, if you want to go deep, it helps me see that who I am is all of these things. Another form of simple meditation is to notice what comes up and if, say, an emotion emerges, say in your mind, “I have worry, but who I am is larger than worry,” or “I have a busy mind but who I am is larger than a busy mind.” This inevitably invites us to consider the larger concept of our being.
This is exactly what I’ve dedicated to this year’s Winter Yoga Retreat happening this Thursday evening through Sunday afternoon in Woodland, Utah, near Kamas. It’s the opportunity through meditation, yoga, fun, storytelling, snowshoeing and ceremony to put us back into conversation with the True Self. There is so much I want to share which takes a few days and some time away to set in. I have a couple spots left and would love to have you join me for this remarkable weekend. Here is some basic information. Click on the link below for more details.
February 3-6. Show up around 5 pm Thursday evening and leave Sunday 12pm.
Prices:
$345 Cozy, dorm-style log bunk bed

$375 Each for you and a friend to share a private bedroom with a queen-size bed

$295 Couch spot, (1 spots left).

Highlights:
• Amazing all-levels yoga, and meditation
• Breathtaking winter landscapes, pines and juniper trees and fresh air!
• Cozy lodging and sleeping arrangements
• Native American sweat lodge ceremony
• Snowshoe hike
• Gourmet food prepared by chef Amanda Gooch.
• On-site massage therapist
• Stars like you've never seen in the city
• Thee of the happiest dogs you'll ever meet
• Poetry, music, stories
• People meet their best friends up here
• Deeper practice in body, mind, and heart.

www.Wolfcreekretreats.blogspot.com

The "E" Word

2011-01-23T19:10:00.000-07:00

There is a new four-letter word, the "E" word. This word is "The Economy." Strangely, it's neither four letters long nor even one word. Regardless, hearing the phrase (brace yourself), "The Economy" probably conjures worry and a knot in the stomach. Analysts on NPR say we’re on the slow train up. Regardless, whether directly or indirectly, we are all being effected by what's happening with (here it is again) "The Economy."

Unfortunately, hard financial times often makes us feel like we need to circle the wagons, draw in our resources, and look out for our own interests. The scarcity of financial means sometimes leads to scarcity of good will toward each other.

But despite what is happening on Wall Street, there is another form of abundance we can all cash in and rely upon. This resource is each other. Us. You and me. Instead of shielding ourselves from others, we can enrich ourselves and others during this tricky financial time by investing our sincere humanity (our love, compassion, trust, and laughter) into the reservoir of well-being and happiness of each other. We are each other's bail-out plan in the essential economics of human capital, a resource without a deficit and yes, one that is even more vital that dollars. We are each other's interest and will receive an immediate return on our investment each time we share a little of love and care from our endless account of humanity.

This is yoga's (read:union) true meaning. One-ness of all.

Tough financial times is an opportunity to draw together and build friendships and communities because sometimes that is all that is left. Community is what's essential. Community will get us through. Ask your grandparents who may have lived through the Great Depression. We can help each other out in myriad ways. Give each other rides. Share job opportunities. Even just making the effort to come to yoga and give your best effort is an investment into the energy and spirit of everyone else who came to class. We feed each other. Plus, tough times moves us toward fun creative solutions that we'd otherwise never have discovered.

I love my job. I love it because I am constantly feed by your generosity and your human capital. One of my treasures of what I do is connecting with you on a personal as well as group level. I am often allowed a sneak peak into many of your hearts and get to see first hand how yoga has effected your lives. Countless times, I have looked into your eyes as you've spoken volumes to me by the tender tears rolling down your cheeks and perhaps mixed in a few words to describe some of your unspeakable challenges. You've shared with me your immense peace and joy and your stunning moments of clarity. You've shared with me the ways in which yoga has been your lifesaver, an island, an oasis. I'm deeply honored to play a small part in your unfolding.

I love these emails. For one, I can practice being vulnerable, something I'm still learning. You all know much more about me than I think I'd normally be comfortable with, but you know, it's only in that vulnerability that connection can happen. This is part of my growth. Unfortunately, you don't see the tears in my eyes as I type this jazz. I also love these emails because I often get responses back from you in which you share your personal stories, insight, and appreciation for these principles and thoughts. Thank you.

I communicate with you. You communicate back to me. But I feel a little selfish. There is a missing link with this connection--your connection to each other.

In this community that we're building by practicing yoga together, I feel I would be remiss if I didn't encourage you to see who else might be feeling the same way you do or what other insights others might offer each other.

Therefore, I encourage you to visit my Facebook page or my blog where you can both read this same message, review past emails, but perhaps more importantly, comment on the message and share your experiences (either anonymously or publicly, you have a choice on the blog).

I also invite you to check out my Facebook page as a way to see how big your yoga community really is. You may be pleased to see that you have several friends who are coming to other classes. You may make new connections and friends. One dear friend predicts 3 marriages from this idea. We'll see. Maybe you can find friends with whom you can carpool to yoga. If you know your friend is going to pick you up for 6 am yoga (coming soon to a Studio near you) it's an added incentive to do 'Get-'Yer-Butt-Out-Of-Bed Asana.'

Please don't stop sending me your personal emails. But you may also want to consider posting a comment for others to read. To see this same message on my blog and to post a comment about this or another message, check out my blog (see the link below). At the bottom of the blog, you'll see "comment" where you can click and leave a comment and see what others have said.

Please know that all of the information you send me is private. You are in charge of what you post. I will not post anything you say unless I have your permission.

Click on Add Friend. If you're not a member of Facebook, it'll ask you to join. Don't worry, there is no fee, no hype, and its fun.

Now, I know that this invites more technology mayhem into our lives but if managed with mindfulness, I feel this can be a great way to connect to each other during difficult times. And, it's free. Possibly priceless.

Scott

I asked one of my private students to write in her journal what she feels about yoga. She's a woman who I'm so proud of, a woman who has seen immense personal growth since she's started to practice yoga. She gave me permission to copy it here.

I Love Yoga!

Recently when I was planning out my week, looking to see which days I could attend a yoga class and which days I would need to practice at home, it suddenly came to me: I LOVE YOGA. The truth is, I love almost everything about it. I love thinking about it, talking about it, practicing asanas, meditating, learning from my teachers, going to the studio, being with my yoga friends, putting on my yoga clothes, reading yoga books, studying about it...You get the idea. For whatever reason, yoga just does it for me. I'm addicted to those yoga "moments" - when I'm in a pose and I feel completely weightless and at ease, when I'm meditating and I lose track of time and place or when I'm consciously breathing and I feel it in every inch on my being. I started practicing yoga about 2 ½ years ago and I was hooked from the beginning. I'm a fairly straight-forward, no nonsense person so I feel a bit silly writing this. But truthfully, I feel like a five year old who's found the hidden candy jar. I love yoga and it has changed my life.

"Don't Make Me Come Down There!"

2011-01-17T10:47:00.000-07:00

Radical creativity is crucial in order to live in a world where “freedom rings.” It’s changed a bit, but racial and other discrimination still exist in this country. Yes, there are some complex political and social issues tied to our country’s discriminatory tensions, but what it boils down to is compassion and respect—love for self and for those around us. The very first yogic principle of Ahimsa helps us practice expanding our vision of what’s possible for social equality.

Ahimsa, or nonviolence, written about in the Yoga Sutras almost two thousand years ago, addresses our current social problems squarely. If I truly understand the lesson of nonviolence, I learn that I must refuse not only to harm someone (including ourselves) but I also must refuse to hate that person (paraphrasing Dr. King). The ultimate evolution of the principle of nonviolence is love. With love, nothing is impossible, not even a solution to this country’s immigration issue, or gay rights issue, or gender inequality issue, or religious tensions issue. Certainly it was radical creativity that gave Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. his dream. And whether we know it or not, the Glenn Becks and Jon Stewarts, the Sarah Palins and Gabrielle Giffords, as well as all of us, we are all a part of Dr. King’s dream and we all have a responsibility. Wherever we fall on the political spectrum, our responsibility, as I see it, is to pay forward the gratitude for the sacrifice and work of people like Dr. King (and Ghandi and Nelson Mandela and others) by perpetuating this radical creativity and dreaming of a country driven by love, where all people receive complete and abiding respect regardless of that person’s ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or financial or legal status. First dream, then act.

Failure to recognize oneself in another is the form of ignorance I call “the autoimmune disease of humanity,” one part of the organism fighting another in some backward way of finding wholeness. Be kind to Self by being kind to others. Through practice, the possibility of yoga is to slowly recognize our true nature by unraveling the layers of ignorance until we truly see. With radical creativity we envision, just like Dr. King, what’s possible with nonviolence, nonharming, and nonhating, by seeing the big picture that we’re all in it together and that we all need to change—but that social equality is possible. That vision gives us the strength and perspective to work and practice tirelessly until it happens. One way of practicing social equality is with yoga. Yep. If Dr. King were alive today, I’m confident he would approve of practicing yoga, practicing Ahimsa, on the day set aside to honor him. This week, I invite you to find ways to practice Ahimsa, nonviolence (therefore love), to self and others.

A Ticket Home

2011-01-10T06:02:00.000-07:00

Once when I was 21, I saw a guy on the side of the freeway off-ramp with a cardboard sign that said he was stranded and hungry. My heart broke. He looked like a nice, clean-cut guy who just needed a break. I turned the car around and picked him up. I bought him lunch. He said his name was Darren. As we ate together, he told me bits about his life: that he said he lived in San Diego, worked construction and had recently traveled to Nebraska to attend his mother’s funeral. He said that he had a wife and two kids at home but had somehow become stranded in Utah and couldn’t get back home to keep working. Without work he couldn’t get home and all he needed was money for a bus ticket.
Just a week before, I had executed a brilliant plan to quit my lame desk job, take out a loan from the bank, and travel to Europe to spend 5 weeks with Celeste (we later got married, so I guess that it all worked out). I didn’t have much money, most of it was borrowed, but my heart ached that I had the means to travel to be with the one I loved and he didn’t. So, with my travel plans imminent, pressing preparations looming, and two thousand dollars of borrowed money in my pocket, I did what any naïve 21 year-old, eager to solve the problems of the universe would do: I bought Darren a bus ticket home. I even bought the dude a ticket to the movies next door to the Greyhound station so he could kill some time while he was waiting the three hours for his bus to leave. I drove away from the bus station feeling great, like I’d really helped somebody out.
I went to Europe, had an enchanting five weeks in Austria and Germany with Celeste, and came back jobless and in debt but in love and happy to be alive. I immediately began an all-out assault on the job market, desperate to join the ranks of that elite class of society known as The Employed. While driving around looking for anyone reckless enough to hire such an unfledged bohemian, I came off the same freeway off-ramp and to my great surprise, saw Darren standing there—same dude, different sign. And though I felt I might regret it, I did it anyway. I couldn’t help myself. I turned around, picked him up (again) and took him to lunch (again). Darren didn’t seem to remember me. I told him that I was the kid who bought him the ticket to San Diego about six weeks earlier and I didn’t mind telling him that I was a little pissed off that he was still stranded in Utah when I had paid his way home. I asked him why he didn’t go to San Diego. He said he’d lost his bus ticket while at the movies. I told him that I felt that he’d taken advantage of me. He just sort of shrugged and went about eating his Big Mac. We went our separate ways.
In the years that followed, I’d see Darren now and again. His hair would be longer and he’d grown a beard. Every time that I saw him, he looked older. Time on the street was certainly not being kind to him. Still, I couldn’t judge Darren too harshly. I couldn’t help but worry about this guy, this homeless guy I didn’t really know. Darren didn’t seem all the way right in his mind, you know? How could someone who probably needed institutional help be out there at the mercy of the streets? And in some way, in my mind he put a real face to the entire homelessness blight, something which feels bigger than me to help. And I guess that was the deeper realization for this naïve kid who thought he could somehow fix the world’s problems with a little money: that homelessness is bigger than buying someone a Big Mac and or even springing for a Greyhound ticket for somebody. And looking back, I guess I have also learned that it’s not bad to try. Even if the results are different than what you’d hoped for. I guess I learned that the answer isn’t to stop trying, but to try in better ways. How could I not try when Darren in out there somewhere?
And yes, years later, even though I think it’s wisest to donate time or money to the shelter, I still can’t resist giving a few coins to someone down on their luck. And though I wouldn’t do it again, I don’t regret buying Darren a Greyhound ticket to San Diego. And yes, I hope Darren gets what he deserves: happiness, a warm meal, and the chance to be with the people he loves. I’m not the less for trying. Nor am I a saint. Who knows, someday if I’m down and out, maybe some guy named Darren will buy be a Big Mac and a ticket back home.
I believe the entrance into compassion for the outside world is to first develop a ready and familiar compassion for Self. Yoga is the best way I know to honor and nurture all aspects of Self. It may seem oblique, but in this light, coming to yoga practice or practicing yoga on your own is a powerful preliminary to helping solve the world’s problems. It doesn’t preclude us from lifting a finger in other ways, it just helps us lift said finger from the place of a clear mind, strong body, and a pure heart.
Simon Park is visiting from Philadelphia this week and so my classes at Prana will be canceled. But come and have an amazing experience with Simon. He is one of the most amazing presenters I’ve had the pleasure of working with.

Shoveling Snow With Buddha

2011-01-02T20:51:00.001-07:00

This poem is called Shoveling Snow With Buddha by Billy Collins. Perfect for this time of year.

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.

The Promise of a Brighter Day

2010-12-27T08:01:00.000-07:00

Last week we experienced the darkest and longest night of the year. Like I mentioned last week, this time of year reminds us that there's something about this journey toward understanding ourselves that requires that we embrace darkness. And while being in the dark is very harrowing, an encouraging thing begins the very next day—it starts to get light again. There is a new dawn and the days begin to get longer and longer, the promise of summer and warmth and brightness.

One thing I've discovered this year when I've hosted my special Glowga events, where we turn off the lights, black out the windows, paint each other in glow in the dark paint and have gobs and gobs of fun while doing yoga in the dark, is just how difficult it is to get it completely dark. That no matter how dark it seems to be, there's always some light shining through somewhere. That light, no matter how minute, seems to draw all of our attention. The most encouraging lesson with Glowga is the fact that in the moment of our greatest darkness, what shines the brightest and gives us encouragement and joy is each other. Surely you have been bright lights for me this year.

Unlike any other year, this has been a seminal year for me. I've experienced some wonderful growth and changes this year and have been overwhelmed by the incredible support and encouragement offered by so many friends. I guess what makes me the most emotional is how many friends have stood up next to me and have effectively said, "I'm pickin' up, what you're puttin' down." When I wrote This is Where I Stand, so many of you stood up next to me, took my hand, and bravely and honestly proclaimed likewise. When Celeste and I went to India at the beginning of this year, so many of you supported us when it was our moment to say "YES!" and go. I will never forget the moment when I came back from India to a yoga class filled to the brim and told them all two things I learned in India: first, you don't need to go to India to find what you're looking for, that it can only be found within; second, that the greatest treasure in the world is a true friend. Truly in that moment, I was standing in a room of treasure.

This year I made a very courageous move away from my comfortable and beloved Centered City Yoga to open Prana Yoga with Matt and Jennifer Ellen, something which has and will inevitably cause me exponential growth. And even though we are still in our temporary space at Banana Republic while Matt is over at our permanent space swinging hammers, you have shown up. You've come to classes and have supported me and us. I can't tell you how touching that is. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I love you all!

I want to celebrate this new year with you. I invite you come to Prana Yoga with me on New Year's Day at noon (sober up, then show up) and with ceremony and yoga and meditation, bury the old year and prepare for the brightness of what's to come. I invite you to come and sit and practice in the presence of like friends, some whom you've not met, friends who are like shining stars, and practice together as we shine our way toward a new day and a bright future. See you there!

Scott

Singing in the Dark

2010-12-20T08:27:00.000-07:00

One thing I've learned from life and from sages is that on the journey toward self-understanding, we must inevitably experience darkness, grief, and loss to some degree or other. Part of our understanding is to see the whole picture, not only the parts which are peachy. We evolve from our naive understanding of God or the Universe as something which is only beneficent to the ability to hold the fact that to understand the whole picture means that we have to hold both of life's pleasures and life's losses. That to truly fall in love with this life we must somehow embrace the darkness. And I guess the true lesson, that lesson that ultimately will apprentice ourselves to experience the greatest joy, is the lesson of how to sing when you are in the midst of great loss and sorrow, when you feel the most abandoned. I guess we learn that it's not about that shallow definition of "success," but what "success" really means is defined by who can speak to whatever place they find themselves, who can stand at the end of the battle, when your house is burned down, your life feels like it's in ruins and stand with your integrity and honor and sing into the darkness. Or at least hum a little, even if it's interrupted by tears.

The universe has promised us a very dark night tonight. Tonight is the winter Solstice, when the sun is at its lowest point on the horizon, the days are the shortest and the nights are the longest. Solstice means "sun stands still." On this winter solstice, something very rare indeed is happening tonight: a lunar eclipse on the same date as the winter solstice, an occurrence which hasn't happened since December 21st 1638. And, weather permitting, those of us in North America will have prime seats to see this celestial show. At around 12:41 am, early Tuesday morning, we'll get to see what darkness really means. If you can see it, or can't bear to go outside in the cold, NASA will be streaming it online.

Yoga, of course, is a mirror for our life. Our practice of every-day living finds expression and offers us understanding through the ancient wisdom of yoga. So tonight, I'll be the crazy person outside singing to my darkness around 1 am practicing moon salutes to a vanishing moon as I learn and celebrate what it means to be utterly in the dark.

I'd like to leave you with a beautiful poem Celeste wrote about this deeper understanding of life and loss.

Poetry and Prayers

I speak poetry and prayers to myself.

These are my nursery rhymes,

sung soft and low,

as I wash with a fresh mango

and the gauzy morning sun in the bathtub.

Clean and feed myself,

(yes, that is what you can do)

and then

come to rest

change the shape of my body, and

begin to pray . . .

Let the sweetness and the harshness

wash over me.

(Both.)

I prop my warm, clean chest open,

arms and legs wide on the wood floor,

and move out,

here and there,

beyond my thoughts,

into here,

into what surely must be bliss.

I taste the tender, sweet morsels

so easily now,

heart open to breeze and birdsong,

the life moving outside my window,

reminding me

how to breathe.

Though my heart has not forgotten last night,

on rough hands and knees

drilling into the wood planks

beneath me,

wet with tears and anguish,

the wild animal of my heart

moaning its tenderness and loss.

Yes, my body is a canvas

of both fevers and flavors,

and does not forget.

The shadow of last night still

hugs me in deep places,

Echoing.

Yet in the rebirth of morning,

I've enticed myself

gently

into a quieter and softer shape,

releasing.

So that joy and hope

sift quickly and easily

in and through, and effortlessly

take me

home.

Dance with Destiny aka The Bare Knuckle Brawl

2010-12-13T15:20:00.002-07:00

Almost exactly 10 years ago, I worked in a different town for a little loan company , processing loans. The man who owned this company (we'll call him "Jeff," mostly because that was his name) taught me many valuable things, many about people, others about myself. He taught me that even more important than processing people's loans, my real business was connecting to people. Among other things, he taught me how to focus under pressure and how to organize around priority. He taught me principles which I've used every day for a decade. He showed me parts of myself waiting to come out.

Everybody has their Kryptonite. Despite Jeff's shining attributes, he wasn't a very good business person. I grew very concerned the day that my paycheck bounced. When I approached him with this dilemma, he asserted that even though the company was in a little slump, everything would soon be ironed out.

It never was.

When I finally left the company, he owed me about $1,000 in wages--a lot of money for a starving student, right before Christmas, who needed to pay tuition for next semester's classes. Come to think of it, that's a lot of money, period.

I became bitter. I wasn't going to easily let this go. I called the Utah Labor Commission and filed a complaint. They began to subpoena Jeff to arrive in court. The process was unfruitful and painfully slow. I soon realized that I could easily gain my $1,000 back if I were only paid five cents every time I heard the Labor Commission say the phrase, "your file is under review and we'll notify you once we know anything different." This empty search continued for over two . . . (I pause for effect) YEARS. Each new attempt to resurrect my file brought more pain and frustration.

Then I had a dream. I dreamed that I met Jeff. I saw him not as the evil person I'd made him out to be but as just a simple dude with a five-O'clock shadow (that's the way he was in my dream) who fell on rough times. In my dream, I forgave him of the whole thing. Completely. In my dream, he didn't seem very thankful or changed, nor did he seem really to even care, but that didn't matter because I had changed. Instead of angry and dark, I was light and free. So, I woke up that next morning let it go. I let it all go. Immediately, I felt better. I even began to forget that the whole thing had happened.

It took me several years to understand that even though Jeff wasn't a good business person and I had suffered because of it, he still taught me some very valuable things. I began to think that my lost $1,000 was a tuition paid for some very valuable lessons. Unbeknownst to me, my lessons weren't over yet.

I hadn't thought of Jeff and that incident for several years until one day about 10 years later when something on the radio jolted my memory of Jeff. I didn't remember so much his faults but all the positive things he taught me. Not only did I harbor no ill will, but remembering Jeff, I felt like I'd even grown from the experience. Proud, I said to myself, "If I ever meet Jeff again, I promise that I will vocally forgive him and thank him for what he has taught me."

Something else I've learned: when you call Destiny out for a bare-knuckle brawl, know that she'll come. She'll test you just like you asked her to. She'll give you what you wanted but expect a little more blood--your blood.

Almost exactly an hour later after I'd promised Destiny to make amends with Jeff, I was relaxing at The Beehive Tea Room, nursing a cup of Raspberry Mint tea when over my shoulder I heard a disturbingly familiar voice. I didn't have to turn my head to know that it was Jeff. It was 10 years later, a different town, in an entirely different context and I already promised Destiny that I'd forgive him.

I sat there in a cold sweat. Now that it came to it, I didn't know that I go through with it. I hadn't seen him in several years. It felt like I'd just noticed an old girlfriend who didn't leave on very good terms. I'd had even subpoenaed Jeff in court. There surely wasn't a good vibe between us. He started to get up to leave. If I was going to act, it had to be now.

I took a deep breath, stood up, and turned to face Jeff. As I stood there, I reintroduced myself. It took him a minute to remember me but when he did, he sort of stepped back as if I were about to throw punches. As I explained who I was, I reminded him of how he had hurt me and with a genuine smile, told him, "but you know what? I forgive you." I also explained all the things that I learned from him and how valuable that information was in everything that I do. He stood there for a silent second, stunned. He didn't know what to say. He made no apologies. He didn't try to explain. He simply told me that I made his day. I made mine, too. At the end of the day he gave me his business card, I don't know why. Maybe it was a token of remembrance.

And no, he didn't write me out a check for $1,000.

I learned that intentions are powerful. Our yoga practice is one way to act upon the privilege of dancing with Destiny. With clarity and self-awareness, we can see through the muddy waters toward the lotus.

Sitting Around the Fire

2010-11-29T06:02:00.003-07:00

Celeste and I spent the last several days in Central Utah enjoying Thanksgiving with a few friends. What I love most about that part of the world is the mind-blowing landscapes and the gobs and gobs of peace and quiet. One day we went on a day-trip over Boulder Mountain and among other things, stopped at the Anasazi State Park in Boulder, Utah. The relentless wind, ever-present in that part of the world, blew right through us making our teeth chatter as we explored with wonder the remains of an ancient people who used to inhabit these lands. We saw their homes they made of rock and mud and imagined what it would look like to live at that time in this harsh environment during the wintertime.
As I looked into their homes, it was clear to see that the interior designer of these small abodes made a striking thematic presence of the small fire in the center of the living quarters. The winter time is the time to go inside, to hibernate, to sit around the fire and hear listen to stories. These stories were not simply to pass the time on long winter days but to help the storyteller as well as the listener to remember their identity, where they came from and what their purpose is.

So, as you’re bundled up on this winter day, here’s a story about another people from a cold part of the world.

The Story of Skeleton Woman

The story of Skeleton Woman is a hunting story told by those who live in the far north. It is a story that outlines the life-death-life cycle of relationship. I heard the story as told by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. She heard the story from an Inuit woman who was a cook on a expedition she attended.

Those who tell the story cannot remember why, but one day a man who was very angry with his daughter drug her from the house, brought her to a cliff at the edge of the sea, and threw her in. As she sank deep, deep, deep, into the water, the fish in the sea ate her flesh and eyes so that eventually, all that was left of her were her bones which were churned by the currents of the water as they lay on the floor of the sea.

Most people stayed away from those waters because they felt they were haunted. But one day, a lonely hunter, a man who had never married, strayed off course and ended up in these waters, fishing. He threw his bone-hook connected to his line and fishing-stick into the water and let it sink deep, deep, deep. The hook caught the ribcage of Skeleton Woman and as the fisherman gave his line a jerk, he thought, “Oh! I’ve caught a big one.” The hunter dreamed of the many people he would feed with this big fish and the leisure he would enjoy, freed for a while from the task of hunting. As he began to pull up his catch, Skeleton Woman began to thrash against the line which only made her more tangled. The closer that Skeleton came to the surface of the water, the more the water turned to a turbulent froth. Finally, the fisherman gave a big pull and up from the surface of the water arose Skeleton Woman’s bald, skull with crustaceans on her cheeks and teeth. The fisherman screamed with fright, dropped his fishing stick in his kayak, and immediately began to paddle toward the shore. Not realizing that Skeleton Woman was tangled in his line, she thrashed and kicked as she was pulled directly behind the fisherman. The faster the fisherman paddled toward the shore, the faster Skeleton Woman seemed to be chasing him.

Finally, the fisherman came to the shore, grabbed his fishing stick, leapt out of his kayak, and ran for his snow house. Directly behind him, he could hear the clatter of bones against the rocks as Skeleton Woman followed, still tangled in his line. Eventually, he dove into his snow house and lay on the floor panting, “Oh, thank the gods, Raven and Sedna, for keeping me safe from harm. I am safe now in my house.” Slowly as the fisherman gained strength, he lit his wale-oil lamp and to his amazement saw Skeleton Woman in a heap of bones on the floor.
It may have been the soft lamplight, it may have been how tangled and sorry she looked, but the fisherman began to have compassion on Skeleton Woman. He very carefully crept over to her and began to untangle his line from her bones. Then, bone by bone, he cleaned her and placed each bone in the order that a persons should be. Finally, he wrapped her in skins to keep her warm. Skeleton Woman lay completely quiet, lest the fisherman become scared and drag her out of his warm house and break her bones on the rocks. The fisherman rewound his fishing line, became very drowsy, and fell asleep. Skeleton Woman lay completely still, listening to the fisherman breathe.

And as dreamers sometimes do, a tear formed in the corner of the fisherman’s eye. Skeleton Woman was very thirsty and she saw this tear in the corner of the fisherman’s eye glimmer in the lamp light. So, very quietly, she crept over and put her mouth on the fisherman’s cheek, close to his eye and drank the tear which quenched her thirst. She looked at the fisherman and longed to have flesh. Very carefully, she reached into the fisherman’s body and pulled out his heart. And beating his heart as drum, she began to sing for flesh and hair and fingernails to form again on her bones. Bit by bit, Skeleton Woman gained flesh, and hair, and fingernails, everything that a normal woman would have. Once Skeleton Woman had flesh, she carefully placed the fisherman’s heart back into his body. She looked at him and longed for the feeling of flesh on flesh, so she climbed very carefully into the fisherman’s skins with him.
In the morning, the fisherman and Skeleton Woman woke, tangled from a night of love making. While no one knows exactly what happened to the fisherman and Skeleton Woman, it is said that they left that area and lived the rest of their lives together, very happy. For the rest of their lives, the fisherman and Skeleton Woman lived on the bounty of fish, the very fish that ate the flesh of Skeleton Woman and who now offered themselves as food for the fisherman and Skeleton Woman.

As so we see that both the fisherman and Skeleton Woman needed each other to become complete. The fisherman thought he had hooked into a “good catch” and would live an easy life. He was tangled together with Skeleton Woman, and though at first it was scary and messy, eventually it was this entanglement that drove them together and eventually made them both whole. It was compassion that began the conversation of give and take between the couple that ended in the happy entanglement of lovemaking. When all was said and done, were it not for the life-death-life cycle as shown by the fisherman and Skeleton Woman, neither would have been made whole. In relationship, we hope for one thing, maybe an easy life or relationship, but by the necessary entanglement of this cycle, we receive something much more valuable and lasting. Do not be afraid of the life-death-life cycle of relationship, it is the necessary step that will lead you to your greatest fulfillment.

Remembering with Food: A Mindful Approach to Thanksgiving

2010-11-22T05:01:00.003-07:00

Several years ago, my wife, Celeste, and I studied meditation in Korea. Nearly every day we performed the same ritual: Around mid-morning, we’d walk the mile or so to the meditation center, don our blue martial-arts-style uniform tied with the lofty white belt (the first level), and take our seats on the padded floor with the other practitioners. We were the only Americans. We’d slowly move through martial-arts sequences, and then meditate while standing, sitting, and lying down. Often, at the end of practice, the master would pull out a small table, place a few tea cups, procure a thermos of hot water, and begin making tea without a word. With the tea now steeped, the master would ceremoniously pour a rivulet of tea into cups whose small veined cracks were stained by a thousand previous pours and a thousand previous conversations. We’d sit quietly and drink tea. I understand now the tea was part of the meditation.

After our very first meditation class, our Korean friend and fellow meditation student, Jin-soon, led us down the street to the most unsuspecting little concrete building containing a church on the top floor, a karaoke lounge on the bottom, and something called Purin Nuri (“green-blue world”) in the middle. We climbed the stairs, slipped off our shoes, and entered through the door into a different world, leaving the garish and abrasive city behind. Inside, we were embraced by the comforting smell of freshly baked bread, aromatic rice porridge, and steaming soup. Soft Korean music floated through the air as we followed Jin-soon to pick up a simple wooden bowl, spoon, and chopsticks, and began to sift contentedly through the Buddhist buffet, containing fresh lettuce leaves, glass noodles with mushrooms, tofu and veggie dishes, and a traditional cinnamon drink made with jujube berries and new pine needles. This style of food is called monk’s cuisine in Korea and attempts to be as close to the earth as possible. In fact, much of the food would be harvested from the wild that day by the owner, Moon-kyung, and her friend and helper, Sun-hee: bitter wild dandelion leaves, sharp-tasting new pine needles, and fragrant and edible flowers. These two were the only people running this intimate culinary temple. Once we filled our bowls, we sat on the floor on a cushion, our legs crossed under a low wooden table. We paused for a moment of gratitude for this feast and for our lives, and then began the long, happy process of mindfully eating. Like tea, our meditation extended through lunch. This, too, became part of our daily ritual.

Meditation is, in part, a method designed to help us understand better who and what we are through the process of mindfulness. Most of us eat three times a day, every day. No wonder it’s so easy to allow something as wonderful, sensual, and delicious as eating to become mundane or a chore. With the ease of consuming on the fly what I call edible non-food substances (read: energy bars), it’s easy to forget that eating is a sacred connection. Eating is a natural break in the day where we stop to eat the roses. We stop our work and our intellectual spinning, and fortify ourselves with something as simple and immediate as physical sensation that brings life to our bodies.

Eating is the sacred ritual of cycling life through our bodies as we ask the life of other beings, plants and animals, to become a sacred part of our own life. We re-member ourselves—as in to make ourselves whole from a dismembered state, by consuming other life and making it a part of us. Eating is like many of the old stories and myths from ancient cultures (stories like Isis and Osiris, Rama and Sita, Tristan and Isolde, even the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ) where gods, creatures, and people are re-membered, are brought back together and made whole again, after the refining and learning process of death and dismemberment. And like these ancient stories, so are we re-membered, or placed back into a greater wholeness (the whole of creation), as we stop the process of hunger and death, and assimilate other life by eating. We are gathered and re-membered into an even greater whole during the sacred sacrament of sitting at supper with friends and family, laughing, sharing, eating, drinking. This reverential ritual deserves mindfulness.

The mindful approach to food invites us to pay close attention to what we eat, where our food comes from, and what impact this food has not only on us but on our environment and our economy and peoples. When considering food in this way, we may be tantalized by the panoply of flavors, colors, cultures, temperatures, textures, stories, and histories of the food we consume. With mindfulness, even a humble meal of rice and beans becomes a banquet. With mindfulness, we may sense the love that went into preparing the meal or envision the farm where the food was raised or grown. We may also sense the financial benefit to our community when we choose to support local sources. This heart and soul of eating can be gone in a flash: a fine nine-course French meal may as well be fast food if it’s mindlessly gulped down and barely chewed between commercial breaks, newspaper headlines, or text messages.

Regardless of your spiritual beliefs, a way of practicing mindfulness is to pause for a moment of gratitude before your meal. If you don’t pray, you may be creative in your expression of thankfulness by reading a poem about food or gratitude, offering thanks to the elements that are sustaining your life, or telling your dining partner(s) what you appreciate about them or the meal. I’ll never forget the Thanksgiving I spent in Zion National Park, under the afternoon shadows of the red cliffs of Angels Landing, where Celeste and I shared a meal with a wonderful friend and her daughters. For their gratitude for the meal, these friends sang a simple song together, smiling and giggling. After, we all clapped, laughed, expressed how we appreciated one another as well as the meal, and then dug into our cold turkey, green beans, and potatoes, lovingly hauled down to Southern Utah in a couple of giant coolers.

With the right mindfulness, there is no guilt in food. We may choose to eat what we feel is nourishing for us, body and heart. And we get to decide what that means on any given day. For my birthday this year, I went to the Beehive Tea Room (300 S. Main Street) and enjoyed my favorite pot of raspberry mint tea and the biggest piece of chocolate cake in the history of chocolate cake. I ate it without a shred of remorse, knowing that this is a way I celebrate my life, and chose to enjoy every decadent bite. It nourished something deeper than body. With mindful eating, we’ll know when to treat ourselves, when to nourish ourselves, and when those two happily intersect.

At the end of the day, ordinary or extravagant food becomes exquisite with mindfulness. Without mindfulness, anything can become as bland as a chalky protein bar. But with the right mindfulness, even a naked bowl of oatmeal could prove to be very provocative!

Here is a quote from one of my favorite poets, Wendell Berry. Post it next to your dinner table, perhaps, as we have:

Eating with the fullest pleasure—pleasure, that is, that does not depend on ignorance—is perhaps the profoundest enactment of our connection with the world. In this pleasure we experience and celebrate our dependence and our gratitude, for we are living from mystery, from creatures we did not make and powers we cannot comprehend.
(from his essay “What Are People For?”)

That's How the Light Gets In

2010-11-15T06:44:00.003-07:00

Last week's message was about standing where you are, unafraid to be with what is most real for you. I was extremely touched by your responses to my letter. Many of you responded to my email with real and honest stories about where you stand, many of you came to class and practiced standing tall despite our challenges, and I'm sure many of you read the message and perhaps forwarded it on to a friend or simply walked silently into another week with increased courage to be exactly where you are. One lesson that writing these newsletters has taught me is when I am the most genuine to my own heart, when I am real, it invites others to be likewise. Not just back to me, but I hear the stories of how people are moved to be genuine to their spouses, families, friends, and strangers. This is the real message of yoga for me. Yoga literally means union. I'm honored to be connected with you in this way.

I feel honored to practice this union not only through the healthy benefits of moving through our bodies, reducing stress in our lives, yes, but in the important work of the nit and grit of every-day life, the practice of every-day living. It's apologetically showing up on the yoga mat and/or in life and simply speaking to where we are. Doesn't have to be pretty.

So I've been thinking of another cool way for us to practice this union. It's with song lyrics. Yep. I did an experiment on Facebook recently and I want to try this out on a bigger scale. I'm interested in the words, set to a groove or a melody, that have spoken wisdom to you, given you courage, or simply made you think. I feel that some of the most powerful poets of our time, those so able to speak to place, have been standing behind a guitar with three chords in their heads and a mic in front of their mouths.

Here's what you do, one of two things: You can click on the "B" at the bottom of this message that says Blogger next to it. This takes you to the comment section of my blog. Write a line or a few lines of lyrics that have moved you, include the artist and the song (you can sign your name as the one submitting the lyrics if you want), then click on "anonymous" and the big orange bar that says "publish your comment." The second way is through Facebook. If you Facebook, click on the "F" at the bottom of this message and on my page you'll see other people's posts with their favorite song lyrics. Add your favorite by commenting on the post. That way everyone who comes by these list of comments, either through my blog or Facebook, can read everyone else's words. This will be a fun way to connect with each other.

I'll start . . .

"Ring the bells that still can ring.

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything,

That's how the light gets in."

Leonard Cohen in Anthem.

See you in class.

This Is Where I Stand

2010-11-08T08:05:00.003-07:00

You know that pose firefly or titibasana? Can't do it. Splits or Hanumanasana? Nope. Not me. And you know what's even more real for me? It's not embracing the challenge of whether or not I can do the splits, 'cuz who really cares, right?

The hardest things I'm faced with is having someone I dearly love battle pain and fatigue every day because of an autoimmune disease she's got. What's real is the fact that I've put my career on the line for a business that I hope will go well but is still concrete and I-beams, while I sit back and hope that people still read this stuff that I send out each week. At this place in my life, I come to the mat and practice working through my own insecurities on a daily basis. Truthfully, I flirt between confidence and insecurity. I hope. I hope, I hope, I hope that one day my love will find her strength again and end this long night of illness (8 years). No pity. I don't need understanding. This is simply the most honest picture of where I am. This is where I stand.

I don't care if you can touch your toes, or if you have perfected a backbend or can hold a handstand. I don't care if you've practiced every day for a decade or haven't looked at your mat in a year. I don't care. I'm more interested in whether or not you are willing to come to your yoga mat today and meet yourself exactly where you are physically, emotionally, and mentally, to practice engaging life from that radical frontier. It's not about who has won or achieved some shallow level of success. For me, it's more about being willing to stand where you are, where life has put you, and with dignity and integrity, look the world straight in the eyes saying, "This is where I stand." In this embrace with the world, there is no wallowing, only an honesty of being. For me there is nothing more powerful.

The word Asana means "your seat" or "where you stand." In Yoga practice, we place ourselves in postures, in asana, to practice standing assertively like the warrior, virabhadrasana, and firmly like the mountain, tadasana, or in submission like the child, balasana. More importantly, we place ourselves in these asanas to explore and expose the place we stand in life. Maybe you stand in a place of deep loss or insecurity. Maybe you stand in a place of strength and security. I've invented a pose called "weeping hovel" asana that speaks to where I get sometimes. I should likewise invent "Toyota Jump" asana for when things are awesome. It really doesn't matter as along as you are willing to engage. And once you do, once you speak to that place through your breath and your body, you open up to the real conversation of the practice which is really the practice of every-day living.

Join me this week. come to practice and take your seat. Stand on your mat and say, "This is where I stand."

Scott

Finding the Middle: Satva

2010-10-18T06:56:00.002-06:00

The Samkhya school of classical yoga philosophy describes the universe and all its qualities using three main humors, called Gunas. These are Rajas, Tamas, Sattva.

Rajas is generally building, full of fire, or energizing, while Tamas is generally grounding, calming, and inert. The skillful negotiation of the two brings us to the precious middle path, Sattva. If we went into a yoga class feeling sluggish and tired and came out feeling wired and spastic, we would not have served ourselves other than to experience the opposite end of miserable. Instead, we use the balance of steadiness and ease (in the yoga Sutras, Patanjali calls these sukum and sthirum) to bring us to the place where we feel both energized and calm. We are neither looking to be revved-up and wired nor to be too sluggish and sleepy, but rather to optimize the perfect balance, the Sattvic state. This is why savasana is so essential at the end of an energizing yoga practice. This is also why it sometimes helps to go on a gentle walk after a very relaxing practice. Middle feels like home.

For those of us who love to bliss out on Rajas and train or play really hard, don't worry. Just remember that there is a time to sit and meditate too. Also, those of us who could indulge in Tamas and stay on our cozy meditation cushions all day long and then celebrate with a box of Hatch Family Chocolates, well, maybe you could try at least walking to the Avenues to get your chocolate.

Most importantly, these principles remind us that balance is not only comfortable, but optimal. If you need to add more Tamas to your life, more ease, come to my Restore class at Sego Lily (see schedule on the left side of this email). If you could balance out some sluggishness by adding a little Rajas, come to my flow class on Tuesday morning. Yes, it's early but it feels great.

Scott

OM: Adding Your Voice to the Family of Things

2010-10-11T07:28:00.001-06:00

Om is a word which is derived by joining the first vowel in the Sanskrit alphabet with the last consonant. Om acts like bookends for everything that could be said with language. By chanting Om, we essentially add our voice to the larger voice of everything else that is. Our yoga practice is, in part, a conversation between us and the world around us. It is one way of invoking a divine presence, the creator of all things. The keeper of the symbol OM is the elephant God, Ganesh. Often, you'll see the symbol OM inscribed on the palm of Ganesh.

When we chant OM as a group at the beginning of yoga practice, we join our voices together and thereby yoke or bind ourselves together, as one modern yoga scholar, Douglas Brooks, says, like solders going into battle, bound together in order to serve and protect each other.
I like the idea of adding my voice to your powerful presence. I also like adding my voice to the mighty voice of everything else that is. I feel it allows me to participate whole-heartedly in this marvelous, paradoxical, and mysterious game of life.

Mary Oliver really understood this when in her poem, Wild Geese, she says:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

She points to the fact that you don't have to do anything special to be of value. You "only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves." You just have to be. All parts of us, even despair are beautiful aspects of the landscape, just like the rain, the sun, the prairies and deep trees. Nature, specifically geese as they call to us as they fly over head, reminds us that we too belong in the big family of things. And more than that, nature offers itself to our imagination, to our remembrance of belonging.

The next time you hear the geese fly over head, their call "harsh and exciting," call back to them, " Om."

I'll meet you in class. We are bound together like migrating geese on our way back home.

You Just Haven't Earned it Yet, Baby.

2010-10-05T20:58:00.001-06:00

Often, when I get bogged down, I'm unsure and rendered immobile by the decisions I need to make or overwhelmed by the feats I feel I must accomplish, instead of worrying about all the logistical details, I often remember my first task, which is to go inside. I practice yoga and meditate and thereby nurture the relationship with that deep part of myself. Then, all that needs to happen, as well as the energy to act, will often rise to the surface from that sure place. I can't go wrong with this method. This method invariably helps me to put my worries and fears into perspective and sometimes gives me the clarity to make radicle changes I'd not even previously considered.

I sometimes think that when I need to make those big life-changing decisions, it is much harder to find this inner place of stillness if I haven't sought a entrance into this place on a regular basis. Some truths can only be discovered by the compounded practice of weeks, months, and years. I hear the iconic words of The Smiths in my ears, "You just haven't earned it yet, Baby." That's why the idea of a practice is so settling. Practicing mindfulness, through yoga or meditation, brings us to this reassuring place on a regular basis and builds a foundation of mindfulness that will help us weather any storm that passes through our life. One could do worse than to practice yoga every day, even if for only 10 minutes; or meditate, or listen to music, or go on a walk in the park, deliberately leaving your cell phone at home, whatever will put you into that place of the timeless, whatever will connect you with your deeper self. And from that place, you know that you'll never be lost.

This week, I invite you to draw inward with whatever practice that makes you mindful. We'll be holding sneak preview classes at Trolley Square starting this week. We'll be in the old Banana Republic space.

Dark Feet and Dark Wings

2010-09-27T08:01:00.002-06:00

I find something magical about being willing to step away from what is comfortable and stable into the darkness, into the unknown. It's these blind steps which strip all the haze that blocks my vision. And you know, I find that when I make those courageous steps, everything narrows, and for a breathtaking moment everything is dark. But it's amazing how what really matters suddenly starts to shine, like fireflies dancing against the pitch, leading me forward. I feel like for me, creating a relationship with the unknown is sometimes the price to grow in the ways I really need to grow. I have amazing presence in those moments when I can't see where I'm going but walk forward nonetheless. This relationship with the unknown empowers me with a simple yet crucial investigative vulnerability. It shakes me enough to really open my eyes. With my faculties honed, the sleepiness of mundane life shaken from my eyes, I feel alive, more present, more like myself than I have in years.

Yes, the darkness can be scary. It can also be mystical and magical. Like Wendell Berry says in his poem To Know the Darkness:

To go into the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

I invite you to take a step into the darkness. You know that scary thing that sort of nags you, that you almost don't dare to consider because then you may have to confront it? I invite you to consider stepping toward that thing. Yep. And even thinking about it, it's already begun. Take that step. Rest assured, you will be challenged. But you too will create a relationship with the unknown and you will grow and bloom and discover new things about yourself that will most likely surprise and amaze you.

So in preparation for that big step into the darkness, I'd like to invite you to join me for a special event. Here's my idea: On Saturday, October 9th, from 7-9 pm, I've reserved the Sugar Space (616 Willmington Ave ) for us to explore the darkness in such a fun and inviting way. I call it G L O W G A. You heard me,
G L O W G A. And you guessed it, we're gonna paint each other in glow paint, turn off the lights and celebrate the darkness by doing yoga in dark. Try balancing in tree pose in the dark then looking around and seeing phosphorescent lines of light swaying all together. We'll be moving, flowing, nay even grooving in the darkness. We'll move our dark feet, and we'll spread our dark wings. Go dark without going to the dark side, you hear what I'm sayin'. The talented Leraine will rock our souls as she plays live music. I can't tell you how fun this is. This has got to be one of the best ideas in the history of good ideas. Yes, it's crazy but really, really fun. Really, everybody. You don't want to miss this. Get a sitter, bring all your friends, your family, your neighbor, your dentist, your taxidermist, (random, yes, but work with me) and get to G L O W G A!

Space is limited so reserve your spot TODAY by sending me a check or using PayPal register. I'll bring the glow stuff. Just bring a towel, yourself-oh, and 14 or so of your friends. See you there!
G L O W G A
October 9th 7-9 pm
616 Wilmington Ave (between 21st and 22nd So. Just past Pep Boys on 7th East)
$30
Bring a towel to put over your mat. Wear a tank top and shorts and/or clothes you don't mind getting glow goo on, it washes out but don't wear your nicest stuff. Again, I'll bring the glow goo.

This will fill up so sign up NOW!

find the pay pal link on the side of this post to pay online.

or send a check for $30 to:
Scott Moore
1020 East 800 South #2
Salt Lake City, UT 84102

We Built This City on Rock and Roll

2010-09-20T07:15:00.002-06:00

We Built This City on Rock and Roll.
We Built This City . . .
In the summer of 2003, Celeste and I moved from Korea to Salt Lake City to help D’ana Baptiste open Centered City Yoga. We really wanted to open something at the 9th and 9th area but simply could not find a location. I remember vividly the day when Celeste and I were simply walking around the neighborhood looking for inspiration, we stopped at the front of the Children’s Hour (what is now Orange Boutique), Celeste pointed up and asked, “What’s up there?” There was no sign on the door saying it was available but it looked vacant. A month later, almost to the day, we were teaching classes at what is now Centered City Yoga.
It was a long month, however. Upon our first walk through, I thought it couldn’t happen, that space could not serve as a yoga studio. Did you know it used to be a bakery at one time? In the back of the main studio, you’ll see a post under the ceiling material which extends out the wooden door in the back of the studio. They used it to haul big bags of flour up to the second level by a chain, a remnant of which still exists if you look. It used to be Orion Music. Once I asked a student what he did for a living. He said he was an artist. I asked if he owned a studio. He said that it was funny I should ask because the room we were standing in, the main studio at CCY, used to serve as his art studio. Again, it was Celeste who had the vision to transform this space from its many incarnations into what it is now.
Over the next month, Celeste, D’ana, and I spent 17 hours a day in blood, sweat and tears, 7 days a week preparing the space by tearing down walls, ripping out carpet, chipping away floor tile, inserting windows, installing floors, insulating and covering the ceiling, installing bathrooms, adding baseboards, lighting, ceiling fans, and sanding the stairs and the metal railings. And in time, we opened Centered City Yoga at the end of September, just after the 9th and 9th street fair of 2003. I bear scars on my body that will always be a happy reminder of the work I put it to build Centered City.
In those early days, I remember meager classes with one student in them. In many ways these early classes at Centered City Yoga taught me how to teach yoga. I wouldn’t have believed it then if you told me that on January 1st of 2010 I would teach 86 people at once in the big studio to ring in the New Year with a yoga class. I remember a bright treasure room full of friends greeting me when I came back from India early this year, waiting to hear the message I brought back which was, you don’t need to go to India to find what you’re looking for or to figure out who you are, you can do it right here. I GLOWGA, exploring who we are as we moved our phosphorescent bodies through the dark (Check it out! GLOWGA will happen again on October 9th at Sugar Space. See details below). I remember fun and laughable partner yoga workshop with Kim. I have burned my soul into those walls and floor by practicing thousands of hours of yoga in those studios, sweating and breathing, and sometimes laughing. Two of my favorite teaching faux pas: #1 instead of saying, “move your knees and hips,” I conveniently consolidated those words and said, “move your nips,” and completely broke the concentration of the class; and #2, during a quiet and restful restore practice I asserted that this practice would bring you “wealth and hellness” instead of health and wellness. I’ll always love Centered City Yoga.
Now It’s Time to Rock and Roll
After much deliberation and meditation, I’ve decided to leave CCY and open a new studio in Trolley Square with some friends, Matt Newman and Jennifer Ellen Mueller, called Prana Yoga Center. It’s just a few blocks away from Centered City. I’ll be excited to not only teach yoga classes but also be an owner of the studio as well as help direct and teach the teacher training program. Many of you have said that you would wait to do a yoga teacher training program until I taught it, well here’s your chance. My vision is to teach at and help direct a yoga studio that will be inclusive to all types of people, regardless of experience or ability, to be a tour guide along this crazy ride of being human, pointing out a few things I’ve learned from yoga, and to welcome all into a sacred space as they search for themselves what it means to be human through the amazing practice of yoga. This new facility is going to be AMAZING. Prana yoga Center will be conveniently located just behind the new Whole Foods, with plenty of parking below and will even be connected to a café operated by the people at Sages. There will be massage rooms, steam showers, and lots of clean, pristine space in which to practice yoga. Our goal is to practice community and personal awareness through the skillful art of yoga. We hope to open around the middle of November, so stay tuned! Please visit our facebook page.

Again, though I feel it was the correct decision, it nonetheless was a difficult decision to leave Centered City Yoga. I want to thank D’ana, all the teachers, and especially the students at t CCY, who gave me such a rich experience there. I’ll always love you and hope to see you often. I feel my new adventure is a good choice and I hope you’ll all come and see me as I continue to teach workshops, retreats, and very soon when Prana Yoga Center gets rolling. I’m looking forward to inviting you into this new space. Look at our facebook page to see the construction of our space.

If you’ve practiced with me at Centered City, I’d be deeply honored if you chose to respond to this email by clicking here and posting your most memorable experience with me at Centered City Yoga.
I’ll continue to post this weekly dialogue about yoga. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere!

Love your guts!

So What

2010-09-08T10:50:00.003-06:00

An 2003, I attended a life-changing concert--Herbie Hancock teamed up with other jazz greats such as Michael Brecker (now passed on) and Roy Hargrove. Whether yoga asana or jazz, both modes point to that oneness of being we all share. Both point to and celebrate spirit. The following is an excerpt of something I wrote about this event.

Holy.

It was Spiritual. There was a moment in the concert when the horns were off stage allowing the rhythm section to solo. The concert hall was dark except for three dim spotlights, each illuminating a musician on stage. Herbie Hancock was hunched over his keys popping dissonant chords like ice on a red-hot stove. John Patitucci's fingers blurred and tangled as they whirred around the fretboard of his double bass. The drummer was nimbly tap-dancing around his set. Popping, clinking, banging, like someone rummaging through a junk drawer. Then, each musician began to play as if oblivious to the other musicians. All three seemed to abandon the song's underlying structure, the musical map that makes playing together possible. They were alone--lost and consumed in the rite of making their own art. Time began to slip away, and it became more of an abstract idea than a perceptible pulse--impossible to find a down-beat.

The music floated like this for eternally long minutes. I could see the music personified on the furrowed brows and grimaces of the musicians. Their notes were together turbulent, raging, furious, and at times lackadaisical. I too drifted with the music. Despite the joy of this ride, however, something was gnawing at me. It was my rational mind wondering how the music could possibly come back together from this entropy. I could see no signs that the musicians were following any sort of map in the song's structure. How would the horns know when to come in and start the melody again, the head? How would the rhythm section come back together? And with these questions, my eyes fixed upon the musicians, hypnotized to the scene before me. Afraid to miss a single note, I stared wide-eyed, wondering what would happen next. Minutes and seconds had ceased.

And after an age, suddenly the horns were back on stage. Without a word, and without a cue, without a gesture, not even a glance, the rhythm section simultaneously aligned to a slow, swung 4/4 meter at the precise fraction of a second that both sax and trumpet blew a soft, low, singular, note. The timbre of this note could not be discerned by the nature of the instruments; it was both sax and trumpet. A third horn. A new name. Invisible but right in front of me. And with this new horn they began the head.

All five were playing as individuals, carving out their own signature and personalities with their instrument. Yet despite the apparent autonomy, chaos, and dissonance, every sound by each musician originated from the same steady beat of one shared heart. It is this heart that makes the maps and this heart that sews the musicians together with an invisible thread. My soul was witnessing a miracle: as I watched and heard them play, I was sensing this shared, invisible heart. I was seeing the finger of God.

One my favorite songs of the night was one that Roy Hargrove wrote called The Poet. It honors Miles Davis and tells an emotional musical story about Miles' character. When Roy took his solo, I was particularly honed to what Roy was saying with his trumpet. As he played, he told me: " if you look in your heart, look deep inside, look way down, keep going deeper, and listen really carefully, amid the discord of life you will find the answer to what you are looking for. You'll find the peaceful and beautiful melody of your deepest inner soul. But be patient and diligent because it will be fleeting; nonetheless, be privy to it. It's there and it's the peace and joy that always resides in you."

I hope that you have similar experiences in your practice of daily living, in those moments of being awake. Maybe you'll find one like this in yoga this week.

Click here for the full text.

Running in the Light of Darkness

2010-08-16T07:23:00.001-06:00

A couple years ago, I was with my wife, Celeste, and our friend Ben spending an afternoon in the paradoxical desert of the Great Salt Lake. The texture of the sand, crusted with salt, weather, and time is a sensational feast for bare feet. We played a game: In this extremely barren, extremely flat land, we decided to close our eyes and run blindly and at full speed in any direction for 100 paces. Eager for the adventure, we closed our eyes and shouted, "GO!" I bolted into the darkness of the afternoon sun. My other senses came alive. I could smell the mud, the salt, the sulfur, the decaying brine. I felt the texture of crusty-soft sand beneath my feet as they beat across the surface of the desert. I could hear my companions several paces from me, their feet slapping the sand, laughing and panting.

Then a thought entered into my head, "Hadn't I seen some ominous-looking spikes sticking out of the sand? I would really prefer not to impale my foot on one of those." Regardless, I tightened my closed eyes, quickened my pace, and began to laugh, wild with wonder and worry. " . . .53, 54, 55 . . . ." My paces were whizzing by but the thought of me stepping blindly onto something sharp had almost put me into a panic. ". . .71,72,73 . . ." I could no longer hear my fellow runners and wondered if I'd veered wildly off-course. " . . . 83,84,85 . . ." Only fifteen paces to go. I desperately wanted to stop and open my eyes. Instead, I let out all the stops, opened my running to as fast as I could, and sprinted madly in any direction, no direction, the only direction-forward. From deep in my gut came a raw and uncontrolled scream of anticipation and fear and fun, "98, 99, 100!" at which point I dug my feet into the sand and did an immediate halt. As I stood there panting, I slowly opened up my eyes and looked down at my feet, muddy, unspoiled, unharmed, these feet who willingly leapt me through space as I ran through the darkness toward fear, away from fear. After a moment, I looked up and around for any spikes. None. Nothing for miles. What a rush!

An important concept as explained in the Yoga Sutras explores the relationship between perceptions and actions. If our perceptions are incorrect, we'll often find ourselves in difficulty or fear. If we know what creates such problems, it is easier to avoid them. If I knew for sure that there were no obstacles in my path, I'd have had an easy run. These elements of faulty perceptions are called Avidya. Interestingly, one of the most common false perceptions is called Dvesa, the action of rejecting things because of fear. We have a difficult experience and are afraid of repeating it so we project the effects of the past to try to illuminate the future and end up making our present moment unpleasant. Unfortunately the effects of Dvesa tend to make us reject things that are unfamiliar, even if we have no history with them.

Until we are enlightened, it is impossible to avoid all fears, and therefore we have a model to face those that remain with a sense of adventure. I've referenced a few times one of my favorite movies, Wings of Desire (if you haven't seen it, go out and watch it tonight, but bring a glass of milk to wash it down-it's rich). In this film, an angel, Damiel, decides he'd prefer to live one life, fully human, sentient, and alive, than an eternity of the colorless, only observational life of an angel. Once mortal, Damiel happens upon another mortal who was once an angel (who, interestingly, is Peter Falk playing himself--what better character to decipher the mystery of life than a sleuth). Damiel pleas for Peter Falk to tell him everything there is to know about being human. As he's walking away, Peter Falk turns to Damiel and playfully shouts, "No! You have to figure it out for yourself. That's the fun of it!" You've got to shut your eyes and run full out and experience what you are going to experience. Since we can't avoid all fears, to the extent that it is possible, we must somehow learn to see the beauty and adventure in them.

Even in our fears and failings there is amazement and beauty. Poet David Ignetow says, "I wish I knew the beauty of leaves falling. To whom are we beautiful as we go?" He says that even in our failing, there is a part of the Universe that finds us astonishing in that going. In yoga, we explore the relationship between what is personal and what is universal-the universe inside. Therefore, there is a corner of your heart that can grant a magnificence to the most difficult of circumstances.

Through yoga and mindfulness, we learn and experience more about our True Self, Home, who's opposite is fear and worry. With the remembrance of our True Self, we are less and less persuaded by Dvesa's false perception of fear. Against the backdrop of the magnificence our True Self, even in the smallest understanding of it, many of our fears simply dissolve. And from this courageous place, we face what fears remain with presence and boldness. We run into the darkness screaming, laughing, and fully alive.

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

--Wendell Berry.

Scott

The Wisdom of Kenny Rogers

2010-08-09T08:28:00.003-06:00

You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em . . . (lyrics by Don Schlitz)

Everything dies. And hallelujah. Like that first job I had when I was a teenager when I'd dress up like a chicken and go stand on the sidewalk and invite people over to eat at a fast food restaurant while fielding drive-by cat calls, single fingered gestures, and death threats. I'm glad that job
died. And the restaurant too, for that matter. I was happy the day that my fifth-grade romance with Kelly Campbell died. Something about our relationship was very sweet: I gave her the Twinkie from by lunch box. When I lost my interest in Twinkies, she lost her interest in me. So I'm happy that died. Breaking up with Kelly Campbell made way for my romance with Brooke
Anderson to whom I even gave a locket on valentines day with my picture in it. I was 11 at the time. It was very serious.

We die too-several times. Regardless of what you believe in regarding reincarnation, try the idea that we die and are reborn several times during our lifetime. I'm certainly somebody different
now than I was even five years ago. We all are. That old self who was a little flaky or maybe overly committed to work and underly committed to also having a personal life might need to die in order to give birth to a more satisfying way of living. Old habits, relationships, the old self, can all die. Some things live their season then croak on their own and other things need to be euthanized. With the mindfulness we practice in yoga, perhaps we'll be savvy enough to know when to sustain things, when to let things die, and when to kill them.

The Yoga Nataraj is a statue that depicts Shiva, a Hindu deity, as a dancer with four arms. The dance refers to the constant cycle of birth and death, sustaining and evolution, that happens with all things. We set ourselves up for disappointment if we attach ourselves to any part of this cycle understanding that everything is changing. It's like trying to enjoy the scenic view while riding
the Scrambler, that diabolic amusement park ride designed to spin you mercilessly in circles, eventually scrambling your brain, or making you puke, or both. The Nataraj suggests that everything is turning, changing as we speak. Just as things are dying, something else is being born.

We practice this death every time we rest at the end of class in savasana. In many ways, our yoga practice represents our life: we're born, we grow and learn, we slow down and eventually lie
down. But at then we get to start over. We do so with renewed life, keeping all the good stuff and letting the rest decompose. It's like a computer update-we get to use the most current version of
our own personal operating system.

Practice rolling through this cycle by coming to yoga this week. What in your life needs to die so something else can be born?

See you in class.

Radical Permission for Truth

2010-08-02T09:32:00.001-06:00

Yoga with a Knife

2010-07-26T15:38:00.001-06:00

There are many ingredients to this soup. Read like a mantra, there is zucchini and summer squash from mom and dad's garden. There are carrots, sprouts, macadamia nuts, sunflower seeds, veggie broth, Bragg's, oregano, parsley, and salt and pepper. And, of course, a knife--to cut through what was once solid. And fire--to cook it up so I can assimilate it.

Another essential ingredient to this practice is breath. I breathe in deeply and smell the aromatic cauldron of veggies boiling on the stove; a scent so pure and strong, it reaches each room with misty tendrils, filling the entire apartment. The broth has turned an orange-brown color and juggles the bits of veggies--orange, green, and yellow--with its rolling boil. Each breath fills me with calm satisfaction, a sensual comfort of work close to Earth.

Like many rituals, this one has a costume. Instead of tight lycra, here I don my bulky, heavy-cotton chef shirt; a now-dirty white, the sleeves rolled up to the wrists, the chef shirt boasts two columns of buttons on either side, with my jazz moniker "SP Train" sewn into the correct place, over my heart. The jazz reference seems fitting. After all, cooking is a performance of sorts. The kitchen is my venue, my Village Vanguard. The other players are the stove on bass, the cutting board on drums, and the sink on piano. It's a concert. It's like jazz and yoga, both: equal parts recipe and improvisation.

Music is part of the ritual. Usually it's Chet Baker or Miles Davis (the trumpet sounds so good in the kitchen). But today, it's the indie band Fleet Fox. My good friend who's struggling right now just discovered this band and gave us a CD as a thank-you gift for letting him stay with us last week. I let the sounds waft through the kitchen on repeat so I can digest all of it: the album, the memory of my friend, the ingredients, the time at home, and the opportunity to savor a moment lost in my own thoughts and designs. I can't help but think how "tasty" this music is, how easy on the ears.

Of course, there is an order, an alignment, to this practice. In the same way I'd align my body in yoga practice, I align all the members of my kitchen. I boil the carrots before the squash to get the texture right. I cut and cook before I clean. At the end, this knife goes here, this plate there. I stretch and reach to put away the tall glasses in the top of the cupboard. I squat to put away the heavy pot in the drawer beneath the stove. My body knows what to do next, accustomed to this ritual.

My life changed the day I realized that I would be doing dishes every day, sometimes a couple times a day, for the rest of my life. This was not a sigh of resignation, but a relaxing realization. Regardless of any other important mental, spiritual, or physical work I may do in this lifetime, one of my most fundamental tasks will be dish washing. It is something simple and ordinary but grounding and essential. Like breathing, I guess. Like moving my body through the same sun salutations. In this way, I get new lessons from old teachers.

There is contentment and ease in this practice. I love the sensation of the warm water and suds over my hands, the stable feel of my feet planted into the kitchen floor. Celeste is in the other room reading; her peaceful pleasure is palpable throughout the apartment, like a sigh and a slow, beating heart. I can feel she's as content as I am, happy to have the comfort of both of us at home, me creating a meal for us in my favorite practice in the kitchen.

Eventually comes the moment of enlightenment: eating. I struggle not to analyze the food. What if I would have added some fennel while the veggies were cooking? I decide in time before I've spoiled the magic that it's good enough, that there's nothing else to do. But eat. This is the moment for enjoyment, nourishing body and soul. I savor it slowly and eat just enough, not too much, like we practice with yoga postures, finding the balance--so we're satiated but not uncomfortable.

This practice starts with me directing the kitchen into chaos: pots boiling, utensils strewn on counters, something dribbling over the stove onto the floor, the molten hot contents of the blender exploding into a veggie volcano when I hit the pulse button... Then calmly, happily, I use a little bit of muscle and bring it all back into order, one sponge wipe at a time. I towel off the last bit of the silverware and put it back into the drawer. I bask in the clean, clear quiet at the end, and then, finally, take off my chef shirt and hang it on its familiar peg as I walk out the door. Only to do it again tomorrow.

As the old Zen adage, "Cut wood. Carry water," teaches us, if we don't find enlightenment, meaning, and purpose in life's everyday tasks, we are moving too fast and missing the bigger picture. Slow down, and find a way to enjoy it. This daily life is the practice. Eat it up!
Scott

Rest in Natural Great Peace

2010-07-19T09:21:00.002-06:00

This week I'd like to invite you to rest in natural great peace. This invitation was introduced to me recently by a poem written by Nyoshul Khen Rinpoche, a Tibetan Buddhist monk. For me, to rest in natural great peace means to come to that place of deep, abiding calm. I believe there are many tools we can use to find this peace, even if our experience of it is momentary. In yoga this week, I'd like to invite you to come and practice creating the conditions for this great peace by moving through your body, accessing your breath, and clearing your mind. Come. This will feel really good.

Oh, and in case you aren't familiar with the term, samsara is a term meaning the continuous flow of recapitulation as a result of the choices we make and patterns we develop. The idea is once we break those patterns, and therefore stop the results (karma) which develop from those patterns, we are not longer beaten by the continuous waves of those past ways of being; we are free.

Here's the poem:

Rest in natural great peace
This exhausted mind
Beaten helpless by karma and neurotic thought,
Like the relentless fury of the pounding waves,
In the infinite ocean of samsara

The Things That Scare You

2010-07-05T09:36:00.002-06:00

What if this week you practiced being with those things that scare you? Call on the spirit of Virabadra, the warrior, to practice strength and focus, call on Tadasana, Mountain Pose, to practice being steady and strong and unmovable, call on Dhanurasana, bow pose, to at once shoot the sacred arrows designed to strike the demons of fear that plague your heart and at the same time keep that heart wide and open.

This week, I invite you to step up to the edge, call on your higher self, and take the leap. Only you know the fears which creep in your heart. This week, practice inviting your fears to the surface to find the power you know is there somewhere and remind yourself of the part of you that is beyond fear. This week, come to yoga with the intention of addressing your fears. Come ready to walk away with greater strength in body and heart. Come ready to find the strength to abide with those things that scare you.

Scott Open Heart Great SAlt Lake

I Go Among Trees and Sit Still.

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

Wendell berry

So, What's Your Neurosis

2010-06-28T09:29:00.002-06:00

The Yoga Sutras, an ancient text written around 200 CE, acts as one of the most authoritative texts about yoga. In this book, verses (called sutras, meaning sutures) string together directional truths that give us clues about what we are looking for in the practice of yoga and how to go about finding it.

Patanjali, the author and yoga scholar who wrote the Yoga Sutras, gives us a definition of yoga right off the bat. In the second verse he states, "Yoga chitta vritti nirodha," which means "Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind." So, yoga is stopping the mind from its endless neurotic volatility. Later in the Sutras he states that we've found the experience of yoga once our mind stops moving, once we become one with an object, be that our body, an idea, or another person, etc. Let me make a distinction: the experience of yoga may differ from the practice of yoga. We may practice getting to that place of unity by the refined and skillful means of our asana practice, connecting body and breath for a sophisticated method of listening and focusing, which brings physical health, understanding, and mental clarity-- and still only find the experience of yoga once in a while. Regardless, the practice of finding yoga is itself very centering, grounding, and worthwhile. And with regular practice, we become gradually adept at finding this place of mental stillness and focus and will learn to enjoy the experience of yoga more readily.

Be warned! The experience of yoga may come on suddenly and without any preamble or effort on your part. It may happen in a yoga class, while walking your dog, or while contemplating the meaning of life as you sit in the maddening lines at the DMV. The experience of yoga is different for everybody. For me it feels like everything makes sense, like the universe is expansive and inviting. For me it's calming bouts of real clarity and connection.

Come and practice with me! I invite you to consider your experience and practice of yoga this week. I would love to hear about times you feel you have experienced yoga. Feel free to click the facebook or blogger icon and leave your comment to this message.

Scott

Share the Love

2010-06-21T09:09:00.001-06:00

Yoga means union. I’ve never experienced such a union, such a sweet manifestation of community as when people from all over came to help out when Celeste was in a very serious car accident in 2006. People stopped by to be with her, to love her, to read to her. People organized kirtans, taught yoga classes and then donated the money to us, and brought us meals every night for two months straight. I gained 10 pounds from all that lovin’. People donated time, money, and energy and in so doing they helped heal Celeste, and therefore heal me, but also they healed the community as they all came together in a common cause. It has also been inspiring to participate in Yogis Give Back, the benefit yoga workshop where the community of yoga teachers and practitioners come together and practice for a common cause to the tune of several thousands of dollars that we can donate to that cause.

Whether it’s the Arts Festival, Gallery Stroll, the Farmer’s Market, Strut Your Mutt, The Salt Lake City Marathon, or the Twilight Concert Series, one of the reasons that Salt Lake City is such an amazing place to live is that it is both large enough and small enough to celebrate a wonderful community.

One of the reasons we come to yoga class is to be a part of the diverse community of yoga practitioners. By coming to this communal practice we offer our personal voice, our body, our breath to the diversity of the practice, a diversity that has been celebrated for thousands of years. We gain enormously from the power of practicing together by feeding off each other’s energy. Nothing is as electrifying as practicing yoga with a lot people in class. Surely yoga means first union of body mind spirit of individual and second we are invited to participate in the union of body mind spirit of a community, then of the world.

Yoga, like life, is very personal. A personal practice is very important yet this personal practice doesn’t have to necessarily exclude other people. One of our greatest personal lessons is how to live and thrive with other people with whom we share this community and this earth. It’s about learning to accept and celebrate differences, work out our problems, and to learn to love each other, even when someone has a different political philosophy than us, even when someone practices differently than we do.

I invite you to practice community this week by coming to yoga class. Celebrate community this week by coming to our Partner Yoga workshop this Friday night at Centered City Yoga (see details below). Come and be with us!

No Shirt. No Shoes. No Problem.

2010-06-15T21:22:00.002-06:00

I just spent two weeks in Kaua'i, where I co-hosted a yoga retreat, practiced relaxing, and connected to a very special place. In Kaua'i, there is a feeling that permeates the island, inborn to the locals and infectious to its visitors. For me the feeling can be summed up in a simple motto: No Shirt. No Shoes. No Problem. The island spirit seems to welcome all people to come as they are, whether they are bronzed beach bums or uptight tourists.

I'd like to adopt some of this aloha spirit in our yoga culture. Yoga is about getting to know yourself and the world around you by practicing awareness. It's about willing to refine yourself through the transformational heat of the practice (any change, even gentle change, is refining). It's about practicing surrender and submitting to a force larger than yourself. All of this can be done from whatever place you find yourself in life. Whether you're fit or fat, got a tight butt or just tight hamstrings, stressed out or blissed out, there's a place for you in yoga. Whether you feel like you're falling apart or feel like the world is rolling your way, whether you're going through your daily ho-hum, or major changes are stretching your life, whether you're a soccer mom, a corporate bigwig, or a total wide-eyed beginner, yoga's for you. Whether it's advanced asana practice or meditation or restorative yoga, there's a practice for you.

Besides, yoga class seems to be one of those few places not proximal to the beach that can also boast the motto: No Shirt. No Shoes. No Problem.

Radical Simplification

2010-05-24T08:23:00.004-06:00

When something isn't working in our life, often the best remedy is a radical simplification. Simplify to the point where our bodies, mind, and spirit can digest easily and clearly the task at hand. Simplification means choosing to release the unessential, those things that cling to our lives like barnacles. Simplification means organizing your life to focus on that which is most essential, that which makes you feel the most alive, and then putting your energy there.

One mode of radical simplification is to connect back to our bodies through the grounding practice of yoga. Here, everything is boiled down to inhale and exhale, expansion and contraction. Here, everything seems to make sense. Here is where we practice the art of simplification. And from that simple, most basic place we manage our lives in a way that really works for us.

While doing asana (poses) this week, we will focus on our breath. This is such a simple but essential part of our practice. It is one of the secrets to what we are trying to achieve in our yoga practice, this discovery of our True Self through the union of body, mind, and spirit. As we focus on our breath and the simple practice of connecting to our body, my hope is that we leave class feeling freedom and clarity, as well as a deeper understanding what is essential.

I hope to see you in class this week.
By the way, Yoga Nidra (see below) is a great way to practice radical simplification.
Scott

Shakti to the System

2010-05-17T08:11:00.002-06:00

In non-duelist thought, everything has an equal counterpart that ultimately balances the universe into one balanced state. The symbol of yin and yang is a perfect example of this: each side is not only balanced by the opposite of the other, but more poignantly, the essence of one is located in the heart of the other represented by the black circle in the white space, and the white circle in the black space.

Balancing out the masculine energy of light and spirit, in yoga philosophy the energy of Shiva, is the creative and dynamic female energy of Shakti. According to this model of yogic philosophy, while the masculine energy is contemplative and spiritual, the female energy, however, is determined to do something about it-to dance and celebrate that spirit into form. It should be noted that despite our gender we all have energies and traits that are both masculine and feminine. Therefore, Shakti could be described as the spirit producing action. I’m guessing that we’ve all experienced this feeling of Shakti sometime or other when we’ve been inspired to action.

When we express this Shakti, we feel powerful and creative, we breathe and we move. This feeling of Shakti is very empowering. It is the defining action that changes worry into something productive. After all, as one of my teachers, Judith Lasater taught me, “What is worrying but praying for what you don’t want.” Not only worry, though. Shakti tells the Universe that you are serious by putting action to your resolve. Even if our answers to our doubt or what is moving in those subtle realms of thought and spirit isn’t immediately available, by expressing this Shakti, we’ve open up a channel whereby more spirit and clarity can shine through. Sometimes it takes physical motion, a little re-arranging of the furniture, to realize the bigger changes that you’d like to see. Besides, it’s fun! Fun is exactly this: motion on spirit.

I’d like to invite you to familiarize yourself with this feeling of Shakti. My mode to become familiar with this is by first drawing in through breathwork and meditation to identify spirit. Then using asana, we’ll explore a way to celebrate that spirit that will be fun and challenging. We’ll breathe, move, and sweat. Once we’ve been reminded of our higher selves through this practice of yoga, I invite you to apply the added spirit you will feel into the vital elements of your practice of everyday living, your relationships and work.

I invite you to join me and Jami Larsen this Sunday as we explore this concept in a fun and sweaty workshop at Sugar Space. See details below.

See you in class.

New Arrivals: Greetings from India

2010-02-12T07:39:00.002-07:00

I'm writing this on Friday morning because I know that I'll be in no shape to write when I get to India. If everything went as planned, Celeste and I arrived in India today after a grueling flight. We woke up on Friday morning and flew to New York, then to Dubai, then on to Kerala, India. I don't have to be psychic to can assure you that we're jet lagged, grumpy, but happy to be on solid ground beginning our new adventures in India.

We both received such an abundance of well-wishes, hugs, and encouragement before we left. This trip to India is bigger than just an adventure: it is faithfully walking into the dark, the unknown, it is taking a risk to find help for my love, and it is bringing us all together during the process. Thanks for taking part in this by simply reading, and keeping us in your thoughts and prayers. We'll update you all soon. . .

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

Not Troubled

2010-01-31T22:05:00.000-07:00

Yoga gives us a chance to start seeing our reactions: our aversion to suffering, and our clinging and attachment to pleasure andjoy . It gives us a breath, a pause, a chance to ALLOW for the world and our lives to play themselves out, even if it is uncomfortable or awkward or even painful sometimes. We can take lesson, as usual, from nature, of which we're a part...
The Buddha teaches his servant Rahula:
"Develop a state of mind like the EARTH, Rahula, for on the earth all manner of things are thrown, clean and unclean, dung and urine, spittle, pus and blood, and the earth is not troubled or repelled or disgusted...
"Develop a state of mind like WATER, for in the water many things are thrown, clean and unclean, and the water is not troubled or repelled or disgusted. And so too with FIRE, which burns all things, clean and unclean, and with AIR, which blows upon them all, and with SPACE, which is nowhere established."
(From "The Glass Palace," by Amitav Ghosh)

I Have a Dream

2010-01-18T09:06:00.004-07:00

On that sweltering hot day of August 28th, 1963, Americans gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., to hear the social revolutionary Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. sing to the hearts of the world the song of his dream of racial equality. Even though racism isn't completely erased in America, who would have even dared to imagine that 45 years later we would be inaugurating our nation's first African American president?
Dr. King knew of the imperative for nonviolence as did his Open Heart Great SAlt Lakepredecessor of peace, Mahatma Gandhi. The principle of nonviolent revolutions and nonviolent living parallels the ancient yogic principle of nonviolence, Ahimsa. The ancient yoga scholar, Patanjali, lists Ahimsa as the first step toward finding Samadhi, our highest self. Yoga teaches that to truly know one's self, one must also extend this knowledge out to all others. Consider the idea of not only personal Samadhi but a Samadhi of community or collective.
Open Heart Great SAlt Lake If, as we learn from yoga, we originate from the same source, call it God, Universe, Creation, then to hate or harm someone else is ultimately to harm ourselves. This self infliction is therefore the autoimmunity of humanity, the failure of one part of the organism to recognize itself and therefore to fight against it.
But Ahimsa goes deeper than learning not to throw punches. The gate into the temple of peace is nonviolence; however, the true lesson of Ahimsa is to honestly and deeply love each other, even when your brother or sister holds radically different ideals, morals, or opinions than you. When the power of our conviction meets the peace of our compassion, we can sit together as brothers and sisters and build lasting solutions to differences and problems. These solutions last because they are built from the most durable and fundamental element common to all of us-- love. Dr. King said, "Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him."
Ahimsa also means not harming YOU. Remember, you are a part of the universe and deserve to be here, to be happy, and to have abundance. I believe you cannot truly love someone else until you honestly love yourself. You deserve the pleasure of peace. I believe that Dr. King and Gandhi would both agree with this idea.
Let's practice peace in yoga this week. One of my teachers quotes her teacher who said, "Yoga is one of the most compassionate things we can do for others because suddenly we are not such a pain in the a## to be around anymore."
Please remember our brothers and sisters in Haiti. Meditate and pray for them. If you have the means, please contribute to one of their relief funds. One of the ways some organizations are collecting donations is through text message. You can text "HAITI" to 90999 to donate $10 to American Red Cross relief for Haiti, charged to your cell phone bill.

Inversions: If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em.

2010-01-10T15:24:00.004-07:00

Most of the time, higher air temperature is cooler than lower air temperature. This is because the sun’s energy is converted to heat as it hits the ground and makes the temperature near the surface warm. Once this heat radiates off the earth, the air expands and rises, cooling it as it goes. Sometimes, especially in winter and at night, this process is reversed when with clear skies (classic Utah) the sun goes down and the ground gets cold, cooling the air close to the ground. The higher air is suddenly warmer than the new cold air on bottom, and voila! an inversion is born. The warm air on top acts like a lid and traps the cool air on bottom as well as all the pollution that is sitting in that cold air, pollution from cars, fireplaces, and industry, etc. Us creatures who live near the surface are left to stew in our own muck and breathe all the gunk we would otherwise hope to drift out of sight and out of mind. In the murky inversion, we see clearly just what kind of pollution we emit every day, and we are forced to breathe that pollution.

The Sanskrit term for inversions is Viprita Karani, meaning active reversal. The ancients knew the value of changing things up, flipping things on their head for a different perspective and a different way of operating. Physically, getting upside-down is great for strengthening the muscles in the shoulders and arms as well as abdominals. Inversions are also great for cultivating balance and activating sluggish digestion. Getting upside-down reminds us that when life gets turned in the opposite direction than you’d expected, not only can you deal but maybe even learn to thrive. Inversions bring a lot of blood and energy to your head, great for stimulating your brain. Plus, inversions (the yoga kind) are fun. The not-so-fun kind of inversion is great for keeping us mindful about what we are doing to our air.

This week, let’s practice turning things around. There are inversions for every body in every practice, ranging from simple, restorative poses to fun, intense poses. Let’s find a version that matches your practice.

Perhaps with this clarity of turning upside-down and putting all this new energy into our noggins, we can come up with some great solutions for the pollution we are forced to sit in during these temperature inversions. I’ve come up with a few. Please feel free to add to the list.

1) If we all work together using the breathing techniques of our pranayama practice, maybe we can blow out all the gunk and start out fresh.

2) Carpool to practice or take the bus, eliminating excess pollution; and don't idle your car longer than 10 to 15 seconds.

3) Turn off lights and other electrical devises that don’t need to be running. Much of our electricity comes from coal, which causes pollution.

4) Pretend that pollution doesn't exist and continue doing what we want until we all die of lung cancer from smokin' two packs of car exhaust a day.

5) Write yet another folk song about air pollution and add some more hot air to the atmosphere.

6) Skate, blade, run, bike, ski, dog sled, luge, skip, walk, pogo, moonwalk, saunter, strut, dance, lurk, creep, levitate, paddle, row, swim, climb, or fly to class.

Click comment below to add to the list.

Animate Your Intentions

2010-01-01T08:16:00.003-07:00

We’ve made it! We’re here. It’s 2010. It’s been an incredible year full of struggle and happiness and amazement. I hope you’ve set some intentions as you prepare to let go of old stuff and I invite you to hope and expect new things to come, both joys and struggles. But with presence you are free, not free from problems, but free to be completely engaged in whatever this Universe throws at you. With presence you may find that deep part of you that can respond powerfully to whatever situation comes. And with presence you can feel and see these events that happen in a context of a larger perspective which gives meaning to all events as they sew themselves together into the tapestry of our lives.

Let’s put those New Year’s intentions into action—literally. Come to yoga and animate your intention. Watch your intentions, whatever they are, blossom and come alive through the practice of yoga. Give these hopes a form and breath—life. Let your yoga practice be a powerful tool to guide you through this winding path that is unfolding for you this year. You’ll be mesmerized at what comes, what is always and already there, as you practice paying attention, as you practice feeling mindful with a body that is healthy and strong.

Regular schedule this week for yoga. Yipee! See you there!

Scott

The Longest Night

2009-12-21T09:16:00.002-07:00

Part of me feels like she’s already dead. I say “already” as if I know that somehow she’s not long on this earth. She has left and come back, you know.

The Winter Solstice is today, December 21st, the astronomical occurrence where the earth is the furthest point away from the sun. It makes me think about those times in life when life gets dark and warmth and brightness seem very far off.

I guess it was me thinking about Celeste’s accident on the 15th of January 2006 after a grueling, stripping day of terror and pain at the University Hospital after Celeste was crushed in a car accident. Her accident occurred at noon. I was in the hospital with her. It was now 2 am or something, I hadn’t eaten in 14 hours and searched for food. I walked alone along impossibly long hallways, down fields—miles—of, of fluorescent lights, millenniums, through the universe. I exited through the double doors that I was sure they’d told me to go through, only to find myself locked out and in the cold, no coat, in the dark, nighttime, winter—alone. I walked outside in the dark, hot clouds of steam rising from my mouth as I clamored around packed snow mounds and found my way back. Eventually I walked across a hallway that floated above the ground, connecting one part of the hospital with the other. I felt the hallway connected this world to the next. I found a cafeteria and bought some sorry excuse for a chicken sandwich and gobbled it down, eating in pity of myself and in fear that I would miss something if I didn’t hurry back. I fear that the doctors would come, something would happen, some complication would occur, something we’d not foreseen. We’d not foreseen any of this.

I swallowed and rushed back. I knew my way back up and when I entered into the small, impersonal, partitioned hospital room, I was greeted with an empty sheets and only a dim light above her bed. The machines that had tracked her heartbeat, that recorded the signal, the proof of her life, were extinguished. Where was she? It was like she was dead. Taken. They had only taken her for more tests. I didn’t know that. All I could do was sit in the dim light of that hospital room and steep in the dark, bitter tea of wonder and worry.

When she was hit, she blacked out. More serious, though, she went away. She told me later that she saw herself dancing barefoot upon a green field set on a cliff in Ireland overlooking the sea. The wind was tossing her hair, the air was sweet and perfect. The ocean rose in waves to greet her. She was content and felt she belonged there. She looked over and saw me a few steps away further from the edge on solid ground, a calm but focused look on my face. I simply reached out my hand and beckoned her to take my hand. She had a moment of choice. She paused then grabbed my hand.

Immediately she was back, conscious, in the cold, smashed car, forehead leaning on the steering wheel, shattered glass everywhere. She became aware of an emergency worker asking her probing questions through the shattered driver-side window. “Do you feel any pain?” he asked directly. “I think my sacrum is broken,” she proffered as equally direct. “Do you mean your tailbone?” he encouraged. “No, my sacrum,” she corrected.

16 hours later she lay in a hospital bed upon a multi-fractured pelvis, her head supported by a neck brace, life-support machines pumping oxygen into her lungs which were surrounded by several broken ribs. A menacing blue-grey bruise wiped a long swath across her left temple and forehead. It was the middle of the night. I sat in a chair next to her, worry and fear rattling my soul, exhausted and destitute. Two desperate souls alone in the dark with one borrowed iPod shuffle, a single ray of light. It’s a genius contraption; designed with two ear-pieces, one for each ear, mine and hers. Two voices in the dark singing together softly at almost a whisper, Dave Mathews, “Celebrate we will, ‘cuz life is short but sweet for certain.” These destitute moments of beautiful desperateness.

And it seems that we celebrate this longest night, this Winter Solstice because the light and warmth are on their way. We greet them upon their return.

Celeste has recovered fully from her car accident. She is working seriously with some other, pre-existing health issues. And despite all of it, we have seen the return of light and warmth after long nights of pain and frustration, some of which endures, but we look over the mountains and expect the sun to return.

The following is an excerpt of something I wrote for two dear friends who held their wedding ceremony at Dead Horse Point. It comes to mind and seems to fit here. It fits because by chance, circumstances, and destiny, I’ve learned a little about relationship and the deeper meaning of marriage.

As we stand on the edge and look over to the immense gulf below, look up toward the elevated mountains, what confirms the majesty of this scene in our hearts is not merely its beauty but more specifically our own vulnerability. As we see our own insignificance against the backdrop of such immensity, we are humbled and awestruck. . .So in this vulnerability, we stand on the edge and cling to each other in that fierce heat and embrace of deep pounding love. We hold tight, not knowing any other way, like two moths beating their wings furiously at the screen door, looking for the light and warmth beyond the threshold. This is our hope and our faith. And the rain and the hail, the snow and even stones rain from the sky and bring it on because, here we are, standing on this edge, willing to take anything that this enormous, loving universe can throw at us, and by God we will stand here all day and all night, this furiously long night, with death below us and heaven above us, and we will be here when the morning light creeps over that horizon, still clutching each other tightly. We will be here on this edge. We will be here with this one heart, not just beating but pounding. We will be here, still bleeding from this long night. And we will be here, weeping with joy at the divine privilege of standing on the edge of heaven and hell and earth combined, in the majesty of these mountains, in the wonder of this wind, at the hope of heaven for we have tasted heaven in this fierce embrace.

My Dog Thinks I'm Perfect

2009-12-15T15:07:00.003-07:00

Heavenly Distortion

2009-12-07T07:23:00.002-07:00

A few years ago, I decided to run a marathon. I was ready. I’d trained for weeks. I’d even completed as much as a 13 mile run. All I had to do was essentially double the furthest distance I’d ever run in my life. Easy.

The race was like life. There were up-hills and down-hills. There were really joyful times, and really hard times. There were times when I had to run off the side of the road and pee on a tree. Miles 16-20 were the hardest for me. This is where my hamstrings began to cramp. My calves were aching. My lungs were burning. My lower-back held a vicious knot.

At mile 21 Celeste somehow found me on her bike. I felt like I had emerged from a battle, bruised, bleeding but strong and virile, pumping my way to the finish line. When she approached me I was in a surprisingly good mood. Her first words to me were, “Wow. You’re not running very fast.” I was happy to still be in the race and moving forward without the aid of a wheelchair. I suppose I was creeping along compared to how I normally ran.

At the last mile I stopped communicating. I really dug in and kept my mind on each footstep. I became very focused, very present. It so happened that there was a big gap between the runners in front and behind of me so I felt like I was running all by myself, like I was the only one in the race.

The last leg of the course took me down the long stretch of road that bisects the Gateway (shopping center). There were people everywhere, on each side of the road and on the second balcony level to the shopping center. The whole last partial mile was buzzing like a hive of cheers, encouragement, and excitement. As I rounded the corner, a burst of cheers hit me directly like an explosion and for a moment, it felt like everyone was there simply to cheer me on. At that same moment, the rockin’est blues band in the history of rockin' blues bands was positioned to greet me as I rounded the corner. They were playing ferociously. I could feel the music as much as hear it; the bass and the rhythm punched clear through me. Gathering my last drop of energy, I surged forward. As I limped past the band, the electric guitar player began to rip out a loud and nasty, bluesy solo. A grimace uncontrollably spread across my face, not because of the 26.1 miles I’d run, not because of the double hamstring cramp I was experiencing, not because my lungs felt as if I’d hacked them out somewhere around mile 19, but because the music was so right on, so dirty and so perfect that it evoked uncontrollable Blues Face, that face one gets when the music, the experience is rich with soul, rich with spirit. Blues face is what some musicians get when they enter the timeless. So good it hurts.

I believe that this is what heaven will be like some day when I get there. As I’m rounding the corner, finishing the race that has been hard, long, challenging, but beautiful and joyful, I’ll be greeted by a chorus of angles-friends cheering me -and a rockin’ blues band will be playing a song called, Welcome Home, Scottro P (my nickname). If any of you beat me to heaven, I hope to see you in my angelic chorus, even if you don’t think you have a very nice voice. And I hope that some of you will be wielding electric guitars.

Come to yoga and let's practice life in the form of yoga. Let's feel yoga; so good that it will give you blues face.

The Sacred Has a Way of Sneaking up on You

2009-11-30T08:09:00.001-07:00

St. George Utah can be kind of a quirky place. It’s a remote and arid landscape that grows outlet malls, golf courses, retirement communities, tanning salons, and time-share condominiums. Despite this oddness, St. George is simultaneously sublime: red rocks, eternal desert wilderness trails, breathtaking desert landscapes, and so close to Kolob canyon and Zions National Park. Besides, compared to St. George’s next-door neighbor, Las Vegas, everything seems mild.

Celeste and I were enjoying a warm Thanksgiving in Zions and stayed in St. George for a few nights before coming back north. Like an oasis in the wilderness of red rock-desert and frozen yogurt shacks stands an amazing restaurant named after its owner, Benja which serves wonderful Thai and Japanese food. We had ordered our meals and were sipping some aromatic jasmine tea when Celeste noticed the music playing in the restaurant. It was very minimal, a soft chant set to simple and basic music. Celeste closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair and listened. After a moment of reverie she said, “We may as well be in a Benedictine monastery in Europe. It’s amazing how the sacred has a way of sneaking up on you.”

And it is amazing how it seems that in the most unlikely of places, this oasis in the desert, both culturally and literally, how we could find this snippet of time at a restaurant where we can sit and enjoy such a beautiful reminder of the Divine. With awareness, one begins to see the sacred in everything, how indeed it can sneak up on you and surprise you when you least expect it. It may take stepping out of our own personal paradigm prison but with a little awareness, we see how not only the desert is a spectacular landscape, but somehow even the tanning salons, outlet malls, and golf courses contain some magic about them. Somehow, if we look deep enough, everything points back to the Divine.

We are being hurled into the holidays and it’s so easy to become cynical and jaded by the commercialism and rat-race of it all. With a little awareness, perhaps we can see how the Divine reveals itself in many ways, from the various spiritual traditions around this time, to people’s desire to give something to others, to somehow even the hustle of holiday shopping. There’s something of the Divine in it all. Perhaps we can see the nuggets of the Divine in the least of likely places this season rather than chalking it up to another year of the same. It’s amazing how the sacred has a way of sneaking up on you.

Come to yoga and let’s practice.

All Weepy and Such

2009-11-23T09:02:00.002-07:00

This is my vulnerable letter. It’s the one where I decided to tell you what I love. I make it vulnerable on purpose because in my mind it doesn’t count unless I let you in and let you see past the wall that has taken me years and years and years to build. We all have one. It’s the wall that we build so that people can see our general form, the basic shape but they can’t see our soul, they can’t see all the way in. Because if they did see in, if we were exposed naked and raw, then people would know our secret, that dark secret that no one would believe but us: that what’s deep inside doesn’t matter. And this week I’ve decided I don’t care and that the real way to give something back, to offer gratitude for all that I have is to give that biggest thing, give up the wall and let you see what’s inside.

Let’s go straight for the jugular here. I love, love, love—heart -aching, squeeze my breath out, leave a pit in my gut, a pull in my throat and tearing up as I type kind of love—my wife Celeste. It’s that kind of love that makes me stupid. I’d do anything for that woman. She understands me better than any other human on the planet. She gives me eyes to see this world.

I love my twin brother. Yes, I have a twin. In addition to sharing DNA, we share our sense of humor, although he was portioned much more of it, and much more creativity than me. Good thing I was given all the good looks (understand that we’re identical). I love that I can call him (he lives in LA) and that we can drop suddenly and seamlessly into the mundane details of each other’s lives and both understand that it’s not the minutia that we’re talking about but that we’re holding an underlying tacit conversation of connection and support.

I love yoga, this amazing path toward self-understanding. It’s beautiful, challenging, mentally, spiritually, and physically engaging, and at the end of the day just feels damn good. I love this healthy body, my vehicle for driving me toward understanding this crazy/beautiful world. I know unequivocally that not all bodies work like they should and to have one that does is an amazing blessing.

I love to feel this body move whether that’s by yoga, running or dancing. I’m a closeted dancer, you know, who is starting to come out into the light. I love Ecstatic Dance for inviting that part of me to live.

I love God.

I love waking up and lying there in bed, warm listening to the silence, soaking up that peace and contentment. I love watching someone play and sing their guts out on a guitar. I love the sound of a cello. I love to listen to someone who knows their business on a stand-up bass. Who ever invented the concept of hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, I want to kiss you on the mouth! I love stepping into my apartment, closing the front door and standing there for a moment in the dark and the quiet, safe. I love my dearest friends who’ve got my back and who know my problems and secrets and neuroses and who still want to hang out with me and drink tea or eat Indian food. I love those people who really get me. I guess I feel that I really need that. I love my mentor, Teri. I love hanging out with my dad and just listening to music, no need to talk, just sit and listen, mostly jazz. I love stepping into my moms house and smelling her home-made rolls. I love my Thursday morning ritual: led by my sax teacher, spelunking into the heads of John Coltrane and Miles Davis and others and I find my own voice as I blow through my saxophone on maps that the masters have drawn. I love to sing though my sax. I love Jazz’s freedom and language, it’s soul. Then getting chocolate after at Hatch Family Chocolates.

I love to be privileged to have found work that feeds me. It never feels like work. I love the sacred privilege you give me to sometimes step into your lives. I love you all.

Most importantly and simply I love. Along my own journey, it’s taken me years to take down the walls. Thanks for visiting this soul. And here’s the paradox, I’m trying to give something back and have spent the most beautiful hour filling my heart with all the things I love until I’m weepy and sappy. Any you know, I can’t wait to live this day! Hey everyone, try this. It’s fantastic!

Angels in the Rafters

2009-11-16T08:50:00.002-07:00

I love rituals. They make the everyday special. I also love chocolate. So it's no wonder that one of my rituals is to regularly and consciously go to my favorite chocolate shops and deliberately enjoy. Everything about the experience becomes part of the ritual, including the people who work at the shop. It turned out that as part of one of the rituals, one of my sister's good friends worked at one of these shops. His name was Ryan.

When Celeste and I lived in Korea, one day I was talking to my sister on the telephone and she mentioned that Ryan had killed himself, tragically, along with his sister in a joint-suicide. Even though I wasn't extremely close to Ryan and had never met his sister, this news weighed on me immeasurably. I couldn't shake the thought from my head. Lucy, my sister, asked me if I would go to a Buddhist temple and light a candle for Ryan and his sister. I didn't know if they even did that in Buddhism but I told her I would.

It was about this time that we went on a meditation retreat up in the mountains with our dear friend and guide, Jin-Soon. After our time at the retreat was spent, Jin-Soon suggested that we go on a light hike up the mountain to her favorite temple. It was late Autumn and we hiked, swimming in the warmth and light of the sun, especially after the biting cold of the morning.

We came to a small temple and quietly, we took off our shoes and stepped inside. Already sitting inside the temple were 2 female monks, both with shaved heads and gray habit, sitting on mats deep in meditation. I thought about my own meditation experience, how difficult it can be at times, and I wondered how long they had been there or planned to be there. They looked as though they may as well have been permanent fixtures in the temple. Jin-Soon handed Celeste and me a mat, and we all sat down and began our own meditation. The sun shone through the window of the door in a perfect rectangle that surrounded my body like a picture frame. I was warm and quiet. I don't know how much time we spent there. Time just dissolved.

Once we finished our meditation, outside of the temple, I remembered the promise I had made to Lucy to someday light a candle for Ryan and his sister. I asked Jin-Soon how to go about getting candles lit in the temple. She kindly walked me to the center of the compound not far away and helped me buy two 14 inch candles.

With the candles in hand, I walked to the main temple, took off my shoes, and solemnly entered the door. Just inside the door was an old monk whose face was perfectly wrinkled, obviously from a life-time of smiling. He saw the candles in my hand and speaking no Korean, I motioned that I wished to place them on the alter. He understood and beckoned me to follow his lead. I watched as he approached the enormous, golden Buddha in the front of the room and performed a dramatic bow, lowering himself to the floor then standing up again with his hands together in a prayer motion. I was amazed and how similar this bow was to the Sun Salutations, Surya Namskar, we practice in yoga. The monk performed this beautiful bow simultaneously honoring both the Buddha and the Buddha Nature in himself and all beings. I approached the Buddha to give it a try. I kept Ryan and his sister in my mind and intended to honor their Buddha nature as well as my own and that of every other being. As I accomplished my bow, I tried to remember all the steps I saw the monk perform. I did my best version and then together the monk and I walked to the alter and placed the candles gently on the candle offering.

After placing and lighting the candles, I retreated slowly backward and made motions to leave. My monk, however, had more to teach me. He held up seven fingers and motioned that it was now necessary to complete seven more bows. Again, he made dramatic motions for me to see the precise actions to perform this rite. I tried to follow his exact gestures but got lost in the details. The kind smiling monk instructed me to do it again and made me watch him again to get it right this time. Again I tried and by now the monk was softly laughing. Despite the spectacle I was making, I couldn't help but smile as well. With my every attempt at a bow, the monk hovered over me and corrected me where I forgot. Before too long, the monk decided that I was all but hopeless and encouraged my actions by physically helping me put body in the right places. After what seemed like 30 tries, I eventually performed seven correct bows. I guess this is how I learn the best; by experience. This is the process: Stand with legs together, hands in a prayer stance. Kneel down and cross the left foot over the right while placing the palms on the floor and lowering the forehead to the floor. The butt must come down and touch your ankles (which must be much easier for him than it was for me because the monk couldn't figure out why I couldn't get that right and corrected me repeatedly on this point). With the forehead on the ground, raise the hands off the ground, palms facing up. Replace the hands on the ground, palms down, uncross your feet, and press yourself to a squatting position. Then stand up, feet together, without using hand. Finally, with hand pressed together in a prayer, make a deep bow toward the Buddha. When I completed my offering, my monk gave me a gentle bow and an enormous smile. I reciprocated in bowing and smiling my deep thanks to him.

As I left the temple, I was certain that Ryan and his sister were sitting as angels in the rafters, laughing at my tutelage and grateful for my gesture. I'm sure of it.

Not an Escape

2009-11-09T08:13:00.002-07:00

Something unique happens when we come to the yoga studio. We close the door behind us, shutting the noisy world outside. We remove the dirt and insulation of our well-worn shoes, forgetting for a moment the path we trod to arrive. We shed our coat, those heavy responsibilities we carry like burdens. We even drop our bag carrying our identification card proclaiming who we are. And then, lighter, like walking on sacred ground, we enter the yoga studio and roll out our mat, our sacred practice space.

It’s difficult not to feel like we are escaping from something. The irony is that the more we try to escape the world, the more the world seems to be on our heels. You may say to yourself, “I’m consciously escaping the world. Ah how sweet.” But what happens the second you step out of the studio? “Darn you, World!” you say as you pump your fist in the air, “I was escaping you and here you are again!” Unfortunately, our problems don’t go away because we choose to ignore them.

Instead, as we practice yoga, we choose to momentarily hang up our responsibilities and problems like our coat on the hook. Yes, and so doing, we refine the conversation with our truer selves, the constant part of us that is the same whether or not we made our mortgage payment on time. In yoga practice, we quiet and focus our minds, open our hearts, and ground ourselves as we move, strengthen, and stretch our bodies, the divine vehicle for mind and spirit. And as we get into the groove of our practice, our practice feels more real than even our mortgage payment.

After class, having touched this truer self, we now have the privilege to go back and grab our bag, don our coat, and put on our shoes, now with a different relationship to our responsibilities. Either they are no longer a burden but rather a sacred stewardship, one that grows from the relationship we have with the brilliance of our truer selves, or we now have the clarity and courage to change that which doesn’t make us feel alive. Our problems don’t change but our relationship to them does.

As we practice yoga regularly and apply this concept of relationship, we begin to treat our life like our yoga practice, balanced with steadiness and ease, with power and grace, and with an open heart and full attention. Now, we are summoning our highest selves to lead this life. With this higher self in control, what we finally escape is not the entire world, just the part of it that contained that old self who carried all those burdens and who lacked the power to make courageous changes.

See you in class!!

Now is Harvest Time

2009-11-01T20:32:00.002-07:00

It's Harvest time. I think that this meant a lot more to our grandparents and great-grandparents, many of whom were raised on the farm or who were agrarian for much of their lives. Even if we aren't running our hands through the soil for our daily sustenance, I believe there are many forms of harvests in life. These Harvests equal understanding what you've cultivated, understanding what is, and learning to enjoy the present moment. Yoga teaches us that now is the time to feast on the banquet of what life is offering.

We celebrate the life that causes us to grow. We celebrate understanding that we are all somewhere in our season of growing, of blossoming into our own potential. We make several harvests along the path to this potential. These harvests are not only harvests of years or experience, but also harvests of understanding and realization. Perhaps we have ripened in our career and its time to ask for a raise; perhaps its time to try a more advanced yoga practice, or commit to a consistent meditation practice. Or perhaps our harvest is realizing that things are perfect the way they are and we can learn to be still and appreciate that. I believe one of the richest harvests is simply being present with what is right now. These harvests come and go, and if we are not prepared to see them, if we are not present and mindful, the opportunity, the realization, will pass us by. Rainer Maria Rilke says in his poem, "Ripening Barberries," that unless we learn to harvest what is here and now, unless we come to realize this cornucopia of abundant being inside, we are lost in a world of seasonless stagnancy. Kinda harsh but very true. Here it is:

Already the ripening barberries are red
And the old asters hardly breathe in their beds.
The man who is not rich now as summer goes
Will wait and wait and never be himself.

The man who cannot quietly close his eyes
certain that there is vision after vision inside,
simply waiting for nighttime
to rise all around him in darkness--
it's all over for him, he's like an old man.

Nothing else will come; no more days will open
and everything that does happen will cheat him.
Even you, my God. And you are like a stone
that draws him daily deeper into the depths.

We cannot wait for some other time to gather what we are searching for. We must find it, to whatever degree, now. We cannot base our life on contingencies. Unless we learn what abundance is present here and now, we can never hope to see it in the future. Yoga, meditation, breathwork are all ways of learning to open our eyes and see what is here. Every practice is a harvest. We practice until we find the harvest in every minute, where the regale of the world opens up to our understanding and we feast on our lives.

Why I Wake Early

2009-10-27T21:53:00.004-06:00

I awake today and sit enjoying the silence of a Sunday morning. Even as I sit, I'm watching the bright morning sun dance its procession around my front room. It is playing with the crystal hung in my eastern window and splattering rainbow prisms across each wall. Even as I look, the color changes and fades, showing me that the earth is revolving around this sun. Things are changing. As I look out the window the sun is celebrating these autumn trees with its light, making the yellow leaves explode with color against a cloudless and pale-blue sky. I see a small bird sitting in a shadow who decides to leap up higher and rest in the bright sun's warmth. And then it begins to sing.

Aren't we all like this bird, eager for the creature comforts of warmth on our skin, eager to leave the shadows for the sun and the opportunity to feel life pulsing through our veins, eager to feel how we may reflect that same brightness and joy through our song?

And perhaps this is why in yoga we practice celebrating the sun with Surya Namaskar, or sun salutations. Surya means "sun" and Namaskar means "a deep honoring." You might notice the same root word Namas as the base of the word Namaste, another Sanskrit word meaning to honor the True Nature or heart of hearts, the most sacred element and potential of another. Surya Namaskar is like offering a Namaste to our source, the sun, as it brings life to us and everything on this planet and we're dependent on it for all aspects of our well-being. Sun salutations are also a physical practice, a ritual, for acknowledging and honoring anything else you feel is your source (God, Creation, the Universe, Buddha nature, or whatever). But just as important, this practice reveals that we are part of that source and reflect a bit of that same light within ourselves. By acknowledging this similarity between ourselves and our source we empower ourselves with the memory of our True Nature. We are not dark creatures in a dark world, and where there is shadow, we can choose to leave it for the sun or shine light into it. We are beings of light, filled with life and love. And we are here to celebrate that, to learn from it, and to shine our light everywhere. Mary Oliver says in her poem Why I Wake Early:

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety -

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light -
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

Please join me this week as we practice Surya Namaskar and other poses to remind ourselves of this bigger picture. We show gratitude, rekindle our fire, and celebrate our own light.

Seeing Clearly

2009-10-19T07:42:00.002-06:00

The Yoga Sutras is a book written by an ancient yoga scholar, Patanjali, (200 AD) which outlines much of the philosophy of the practice of yoga. A major principle in the Yoga Sutras is the principle of Avidya, or misapprehension. In Sanskrit, the word Vidya means to see clearly. Avidya is the opposite of clear seeing. Unfortunately our human experience is rife with Avidya, this unclear seeing. I believe that one of our major lessons in this earthly existence is to learn to recognize our Avidya and enlighten ourselves by learning to see clearly.

Seeing clearly precedes good judgment. The world exists. Things just are. We all translate what is and color it with judgment: good, bad; right, wrong. Often, our judgment of the world, our misapprehension, prevents us from seeing what is and makes us see only what we believe about what is. An old story goes like this: Once, a man was walking through the jungle at night and was very afraid of being eaten by a tiger. He heard something coming toward him and knew that it was a tiger so he pulled out his knife. When the animal stepped out onto the path in front of him, he immediately stabbed it and it fell dead. Only after he killed it did he realize that he had killed his best friend. His Avidya prevented him from seeing what truly was and caused death and suffering.

With the practice of yoga we can learn to place a little space between occurrence and judgment. With this space we reduce our Avidya by practicing seeing things as they are and not how we judge them. The principle of reducing our Avidya is not about being emotionless and dispassionate, but rather learning to stop our judgment for a moment and attempt to see things as they are before making a mindful next step.

A simple but effective way of practicing Vidya, clear seeing, is by doing a simple form of meditation which I learned from my teachers and which I call the There Is Practice. You can do this anywhere and while doing anything but one way to do it is by simply sitting comfortably with a cushion on the floor (a chair or couch works nice, too), close your eyes and acknowledge all the things you are currently experiencing with the phrase There Is. “There is the sound of traffic. There is apprehension. There is a 20-pound cat sitting in my lap and licking my big toe.” Anything you sense, feel, think, do, point to it with the phrase, “There Is. . .” Try to erase the personal pronoun “I, Me, or My” from what you perceive. This tends to change our apprehension of what is as something that is only in relationship to ourselves. The There Is practice is about seeing things just how they are without our own personal judgment getting in the way. It allows permission for the world to be the way it is and not just the way I think it should be. I like to set a timer and practice until the timer rings. Start with10 minutes and increase the time as you like.

I invite you to practice Vidya this week by coming to yoga and also practicing the There Is practice. With more accurate perception, we will be less reactive and more mindful in our decisions. With practices like yoga and the There Is practice we reduce our Avidya and begin to see the world and what really is.

To Whom Are We Beautiful as We Go?

2009-10-12T08:23:00.004-06:00

I wish I knew the beauty of leaves falling.
To whom are we beautiful when we go?
David Ingnato

And to whom are we beautiful as we go? This poem seems to point to the fact that even in our failing, there is a part of creation and therefore a part of ourselves that can grant a magnificence to any loss. Such a beautiful concept. Such a bittersweet truth. And perhaps this is why Autumn is so colorful: it is the opulent funeral procession of the death of so much. It is the rush of fireworks before the quiet stillness of winter.

Open Heart Great SAlt LakeMany of the Hindu icons tell stories. The Dancing Shiva is a story-telling icon depicting Shiva, the creator of the universe, and illustrates the five acts of Shiva. The concept is the same whether you call the creator, Shiva, God, the Universe, or Krusty the Clown. In this statue, these 5 acts are depicted by his many arms, one of which is celebrating creation, another that is sustaining his creation, another is allowing death, and another that is not only inviting things back to life, but to live again with a higher consciousness than before. This statue reminds us that our job is to allow Shiva to lead in this dance of life, to follow along as we are slowly refined into greater beings. It reminds us that death is a part of life and with a broader perspective, we can, to some degree, appreciate it as a necessary part of the cycle.

Mary Oliver writes about learning to accept death and loss in her poem, Maker of All Things, Even Healings. I love the title of the poem because it suggests that the healing, the bringing back to life for a fuller measure of life as in the Dancing Shiva, comes only after accepting death which she does so humbly.

All night
under the pines
the fox
moves through the darkness
with a mouthful of teeth
and a reputation for death
which it deserves.
In the spicy
villages of the mice
he is famous,
his nose
in the grass
is like an earthquake,
his feet
on the path
is a message so absolute
that the mouse, hearing it,
makes himself
as small as he can
as he sits silent
or, trembling, goes on
hunting among the grasses
for the ripe seeds.

Maker of All Things,
including appetite,
including stealth,
including the fear that makes
all of us, sometime or other,
flee for the sake
of our small and precious lives,
let me abide in your shadow--
let me hold on
to the edge of your robe
as you determine
what you must let be lost
and what will be saved.

Mary Oliver

As we celebrate the panoply of fall colors, may we too remember the beauty of leaves falling, the beauty and magnificence of this amazing dance in which we are all twirling, living and dying.

When Life Gets Real.

2009-09-30T21:01:00.002-06:00

Something happens when life slaps you in the face. You wake up from that doldrum dream of your tired routine and start to see what is really going on. Unfortunately, sometimes it takes tragedy to strike before we realize how far we had dozed off into a life of meaninglessness.

The spiritual teacher Pema Chodron says, "Before we can know what natural warmth really is, often we must experience loss. . . .The natural warmth that emerges when we experience pain includes all the heart qualities: love, compassion, gratitude, tenderness in any form. These feelings that we've become so accomplished at avoiding can soften us, transform us." (Shambala Sun Nov. 2009)

Years ago, my wife, Celeste said something similar when faced with the stark reality of a friends death: "When you prepare to die, or get close to death (perhaps someone you know), you might finally get awake enough to realize and experience the part of yourself that doesn't die. You are free in that moment. I am alive in that moment. I am experiencing everything in that moment. And I am grateful and I weep--thank you, Missy Barron for your presence and the reminder. You pass in to that place of the whole. You remind us to experience ourselves as whole and alive more often." (Please read the whole story: Destiny's Willing Student.)

Yoga helps us practice mindfulness so that we can live fully and appreciate life every day, and not only when tragedy knocks you about the head. Yoga is not an escape from life but a way to carve right into the heart of it, with presence, so that every day is beautiful, not only the ones after near misses.

May I suggest this week we practice experiencing this rich and colorful life, and let it open our hearts.

I'll Take "Inner Guru" for 500, Please.

2009-09-26T10:56:00.005-06:00

All good teachers or interviewers know that the secret to evoking answers lies in asking the right questions.

As I was training to teach yoga, I would meet regularly with my teachers. We'd practice together. My teachers were available to answer questions I had. After several weeks of working together like this, I found that sometimes entire sessions would pass, their expertise readily available, and I hadn't so much as said hello to them. I really wanted to engage them; I wanted to be taught by them but didn't know what to ask. I came to understand that my teachers were willing to give me what I asked for. Judging by the type and quality of my questions, my teachers understood how much and what type of teaching I was ready to absorb. If I wasn't asking, they weren't teaching. In these sessions, they gave neither unsolicited information nor information I wasn't ready to absorb.

I started to formulate questions, often several days before our sessions. By searching and contemplating, I was amazed at how many of my questions were answered by experience and my own insight before I even proffered them to my teachers. The questions that did make it to my teachers were refined; they were specific, honed. With this specificity, my teachers and I were able to engage on the level I had craved.

After years of study, I approached one of my teachers and with wonder and confusion in my eyes I asked, "All of this knowledge is beautiful and inspiring, but what does it have to do with teaching a yoga class?" Wisely, my teacher smiled and without saying a word, she simply shook her head. Nothing else needed be said. I knew I was to find this out for myself. This question lit a flame inside me to find the answer. Years later, I'm still looking for this answer, pleased with each new discovery that seems to piece together the puzzle. Not long after, I asked my other teacher who was moving, "What else do I need to know? How will I be taught?" To which he looked at me solemnly and said, "You have everything you need. You have the answers."

And somewhere inside we do have the answers, or at very least something inside knows where to look. Yoga is in part understanding our place in this Universe and appreciating the conversation between us and it. It seems to me that our opportunity to participate in this conversation depends largely on the questions that we ask, by how much we search. If we aren't asking, our teachers aren't teaching. Searching for and asking the right questions refines the listening of our everyday lives and prepares us for the type of learning we hope for. Carrying these questions into our yoga practice, our meditations, prayers, work, and daily lives prepares us to receive answers, sometimes in the least likely of ways. It teaches us in the ways we crave for.

Sometimes it is just enough to ask the question. Let the answer come organically, when it's time for you to receive it. In the meantime, enjoy the game of watching the Universe respond. Enjoy the mindfulness of listening. Herein lies many of our answers. And maybe there are no answers. This is the answer.

Every part of you has a secret language.
Your hands and your feet say what you've done.
And every need brings in what's needed.
Pain bears its cure like a child
Having nothing produces provisions.
Ask a difficult question,
And the marvelous answer appears.

--Rumi

I encourage you to contemplate your big questions. Bring them to yoga class and listen, feel, experience the ways your practice, your inner-knowing, responds.
Scott

Coming Home

2009-09-20T21:40:00.001-06:00

A Holy Moment in Hell

2009-09-14T05:47:00.005-06:00

It was my Folsom Prison moment. I stood there on stage with my sax around my neck, stunned like a trapped animal while 200 prison inmates wearing light-blue prison scrubs came walking single-file past guards wielding shotguns into the meeting room. The inmates quietly took their seats and looked up at the 4 of us with silent anticipation. We stood on the stage and met their stares in a speechless tremble.

Months previous, a relative asked if I knew anyone who could possibly tune the prison pianos where her uncle was incarcerated at the maximum security Central Utah Correctional Facility in Gunnison. The piano player in my band tunes piano as his day job and had agreed to tune the pianos and suggested we bring the whole band down for a concert. Brilliant!

Up to this point, the idea of playing in a prison had seemed pretty nostalgic, but I hadn't realized how proximal I'd be to these guys. . . you know, the criminals. As we were setting up, I kept looking over my shoulder. I couldn't help but be suspicious. I mean these guys were in here for doing really, really bad things, right? You don't arrive at a maximum security penitentiary for shoplifting candy from convenience stores

Once everyone was seated, the crowd turned very quiet and all eyes bored strait into us. The lights dimmed except a spotlight that shone directly into our eyes. I turned and faced the band as much to escape the probing glares of the criminals as to begin the concert. "Alright, everyone," I said to the band with counterfeit confidence, "Blue Skies," and began to snap in time, counting off the first tune. Our singer's voice came in with: "Blue Skies, smiling at me, nothing but blue skies, do I see." After the tune, I expected the audience to be silent, like they way they came in, and feared possibly worse, a snicker or a boo. And for a second or two there was nothing but silence. Then, almost like someone had cued them, suddenly the room erupted with applause and cheers.

With only slightly more confidence, we entered the next tune: It Don't Mean a Thing if it Ain't Got That Swing. We played the melody, and then I nodded to Brig, the piano player, to take a solo. He bowed his head in an act that seemed like reverence to the piano and began to play--or maybe he, too, was praying. He got right to work and pounded out a great solo, his fingers rippling along the keyboard like a small blur of falling water. After a couple of choruses, he nodded to me.

My turn. I closed my eyes and put my horn in my mouth. Then something magical happened. The feeling in the room turned completely electric. Even with my eyes closed, I became vividly aware of this impossibly perfect moment. Every eye and ear was riveted on me. I held everyone's complete and unflinching attention. We were their prison visitors who were bringing them Blue Skies and a chance to swing a little. Suddenly, I relaxed and my playing opened up. Something incredible was channeled inside me as I began to sing out the bell of my horn. Maybe I was channeling my great uncle, Lester, who had given me his horns when he died, the horns I was playing on then and still play now, the horns that I believe still hold a portion of him.

I played. And I played, and I played, and I played and let whatever grace my soul held at that moment find some sultry voice out the end of my saxophone. A sound came out that I'd never heard before. Notes like I'd never imagined flew off my fingers and out my horn into the ears and minds and hearts of 200 expectant people. I was in conversation with something inside that I didn't know, something that had never been tapped. And though I had never driven this thing before, whatever it was, I stomped the pedal to the floor. I'm convinced that I was not the only one that night to feel this pulse, this magic.

Eventually, I finished my solo, we played once more through the melody, and in unison, we stopped together after riffing on "Do wa, do wa, do wa, do wa, do wa, do wa, do WA!" Then, without even a fraction of a pause, out burst deafening cheers and whistles, an applause twice as loud and long as the previous. I couldn't control myself from laughing: it was a mixture of equal parts self-consciousness and pure amazement at what I'd found in my soul and had somehow translated through my saxophone. It was feeling the excitement and appreciation and somehow even the love of these people in the audience, these prisoners who for a moment were free. Brig leaned over and shouted above the applause, "Scottro! That was the best you have ever played!" It was the single most incredible musical experience I've had in my life. And I realized that for a moment we were all the same: we were all in prison and we were all free, groovin' on jazz and feeling something together.

The band played several more tunes, played a few encores, and then the lights came on. With a rush, I looked happily into the crowd and I saw smiles and happy faces. I didn't see criminals anymore. I saw people. They hadn't changed, of course. I had. I saw past the prison ID sewn on the chest down to the heart of these people that held a fundamental identity of goodness. I put my horn down and stepped off the stage and walked into the crowd and was welcomed with handshakes, slaps on the back, and congratulations and thank you's from these new friends, many of whom had an impressive knowledge of jazz music. "Hey, I used to play the trumpet!" one guy said. "My son plays the saxophone," another one interrupted. These were regular people.

As we were driving home, completely elated, I realized that if given the chance, I was capable of accessing something beautiful and amazing and unknown inside me. And if that magical part could be somehow liberated and expressed in me, then such was true for each person, even those doing time in prison, despite whatever sour notes they may have played in the past.

This is the essence of yoga. This is oneness.

Running in the Light of Darkness

2009-09-05T06:24:00.002-06:00

A few years ago, I was with my wife, Celeste, and our friend Ben spending an afternoon in the paradoxical desert of the Great Salt lake. The texture of the sand, crusted with salt, weather, and time is a sensational feast for bare feat. We played a game: in this extremely barren , extremely flat land, we decided to close our eyes and run blindly at full speed in any direction for 100 paces. Eager for the adventure, we closed our eyes and shouted, "GO!" I bolted into the darkness of the afternoon sun. My other senses came alive. I could smell the mud, the salt, the sulfur, the decaying brine. I felt the texture of crusty-soft sand beneath my feet as they beat across the surface of the desert. I could hear my companions several paces from me, their feet slapping the sand, laughing and panting.

Then a thought entered into my head, "Hadn't I seen some ominous-looking spikes sticking out of the sand? I would reallyprefer not to impale my foot on one of those." Regardless, I tightened my closed eyes, quikcened my pace, and began to laugh, wild with wonder and worry. " . . .53, 54, 55 . . . " My paces were whizzing by but the thought of stepping blindly onto something sharp had almost put me into a panic. " . . .71, 72, 73 . . . " I could no longer hear my fellow runners and wondered if I'd veered wildly off-course. " . . .83,84,85 . . ." Still running with only fifteen paces to go, I desperately wanted to stop and open my eyes. Instead, I let out all the stops, opened my running to as fast as I could, and sprinted madly in any direction, no direction, the only direction--forward. From deep in my gut came a raw and uncontrolled cream of anticipation and fear and fun. ". . .98,99,100!" at which point I dug my feet into the sand and did and immediate halt. I stood there panting then slowly opened up my eyes and looked down at my feet, muddy, unspoiled, unharmed, these feet who willingly had leapt me through space as I ran through the darkeness toward fear, away from fear. After a moment, I looked up and around for any spikes. None. Nothing for miles. What a rush!

An important concept as explained in the Yoga Sutras explores the relationship between perceptions and actions. If our perceptions are incorrect, we'll often find ourselves in difficulty or fear. if we know what creates such problems, it is easier to avoid them. If I knew for sure that there were no obstacles in my path, I'd have had an easy run. These misperceptions are called Avidya. One of the most common misperceptions is called Dvesa, the action of rejecting things because of fear. We have a difficult experience and are afraid of repeating it so we project the effects of the past to try to illuminate the future and end up making our present moment unpleasant. Unfortunately the effects of Dvesa tend to make us reject things that are unfamiliar, even if we have no history with them. Along human history, we've often been afraid of and rejected that which we haven't understood.

Until we are enlightened, it is impossible to avoid all fears, and therefore we have a model to face those that remain with a sense of adventure. I've referenced a few times one of my favorite movies, Wings of Desire (if you haven't seen it, go out and rent it tonight but bring a glass of milk to wash it down--it's rich). In this film, an angel, Damiel, decides he'd prefer to live one life, fully human, sentient, and alive, than an eternity of the colorless, only observational life of an angel. Once mortal, Damiel happens upon another angel-turned-mortal (who, interestingly, is Peter Falk playing himself). Damiel pleas for Falk to tell him everything there is to know about being human, he want's Falk to solve this mystery for him. Peter Falk turns to Damiel and playfully shouts, "No you have to figure it out for yourself. That's the fun of it!" You've got to shut your eyes and run full-out and experience what you are going to experience. Since we can't avoid all fears, to the extent that it is possible, we must somehow learn to see the beauty and adventure in them.

Even in our fears and failings there is amazement and beauty. Poet David Ignetow says, I wish I knew the beauty of leaves falling. To Whom are we beautiful as we go?" He says that even in our failing, there is a part of the Universte that finds us astonishing in that going. In yoga, we explore the relationship between what is personal and what is universal--the Universal inside. Therefore, there is a conrner of your heart that can grant a magnificence to the most difficult of circumstances.

Through yoga and mindfulness, we learn and experience more about our Ture Self, Home, who's opposite is fear and worry. With the remembrance of our True Self, we are less and less persuaded by Dvesa's misperception of fear. Against the backdrop of the magnificence of our True Self, even the smallest understanding of it, many of our fears simply dissolve. And from this courageous plce, we face what fears remain with presence and boldness. We run into the darkenss screaming, laughing, and fully alive.

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

Wendell Berry

Sthiram and Sukham: Stediness and Ease

2009-08-31T04:52:00.002-06:00

Of the 196 versus in the Yoga Sutras, there are only two which speak uniquely about the quality of our asanas, our yoga poses. The Yoga Sturas summarily advise asana to be negotiated with the skillful balance of , Sthiram and Sukham, stediness and ease. In our asana practice, if we do too much too quickly, our body will stiffen and resist the movement or release and we will likely injure ourselves, If we don't do enough, we get bored--we don't feel the exhilaration and joy of moving and approprately challenging our body.

Each pose, and even our practice as a whole, should be balanced between these two qualities of Sukaham and Sthiram. When we get the balance just right, something magical happens: suddenly, everything feels amazing and the pose comes alive! At that moment, you feel like you are the center of the universe and that you could stay in that position for the rest of time. For a moment everything makes sense. And to a samll degree we are able to tast that allusive True Self we are searching for in yoga practice. One may go for months or years without ever experiencing this feeling but as we continue to practice regularly and negotiate Sthiram and Sukham, sooner or later, you too will have this experience. As we become more skillful in our practice, we will find it easier and easier to get into this perfect balance of Sthiram and Sukahm.

Our yoga practice is the mirror of our lives. So, when we then apply this teaching of balancing Sthiram and Sukham to our practice of every-day living, we feel how the effects of balanced living affect our experience at home, the office, kids, and our relationships, including the vital relationship with ourselves. Just like in our yoga practice, things will come alive. And just like our yoga practice everything will make sense.

This week in practice, I'd like to find a fun sequence of poses where we can use our power of negotiation to find a test our perfect balance, looking for that "yoga glow" you get when everything feels right. Then, once our bodies are warm, let's do some long, slow, and deep muscle releases that will help us seek for balance in a different way. I hope we can all walk out of class feeling balanced between body, mind, and spirit with the desire to apply this same balance to all of the other aspects of living.

I'll see you in class.

The Yoga Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook

2009-08-24T00:27:00.002-06:00

One of my favorite and most useful books in my library is one called The Complete Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook. Its bright yellow hard-backed cover makes is durable so I can take it with me everywhere and easy to find when I'm in a pinch. This Survival Handbook, contains a lot of information; you know, practical and essential know-how for things like giving your cat the Heimlich Maneuver, how to escape your car when it has been completely submerged in water, and how to escape from killer bees.

One section that is glaringly absent from this essential how-to is a section on what to do for those "Worst-Case Scenarios" involving your yoga practice. So, in the interest of helping humanity avoid any preventable disasters (and I realize I may be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for this) I would like to offer my own appendage to this already very informative book. I offer this information from personal experience either in practice or teaching. It cannot be overstated that I have experienced or seen everything in a yoga class--EVERYTHING.

What to Do in Class When Your Cell Phone Rings
1. Look disapprovingly at someone else in the room.
2. Pretend it didn't ring and pray the battery in your phone dies.
3. Calmly walk over and silence then turn off your phone. Under NO circumstance should you answer the call.
4. If you are a doctor or have a young child at home who may call you during an emergency, tell the instructor before class that you will put your phone on vibrate and if in the rare circumstance it should ring, that you'll discretely leave and take the call out of the studio.

How to Come in Late to or Leave Early from Class
If possible, plan your day to arrive early, and leave unrushed but I'd personally rather people come late or leave early than not come at all.
1. If coming late, while standing outside the studio, unroll your yoga mat and place it longways over your shoulder. Do not whip open your mat in the studio.
2. If possible, scout a spot in the studio to place your mat quickly and quietly.
3. Listen and make sure to come into the studio after the class has chanted and once the class begins moving.
4. If you are leaving early, tell the instructor beforehand that you'll be leaving. Plan to sit or rest in savasana for a few minutes before you leave.

How to Keep from Coughing in Savasana
In this desert climate and with all the ujjai breathing (whisper breath) we do during class, it's common to have a dry throat at the end of class.
1. Hydrate before class and keep water close to your person.
2. Most studios allow students to bring water to class. Swig several ounces right before savasana.
3. If you feel a cough coming on, focus on a different chakra than your throat chakra and repeat this mantra, "I am hydrated. I am calm. I am the ocean. . . or something."
4. If you begin coughing, discretely leave the room and find liquid.

How to Survive if Someone in Class Has Severe Body Odor
Unfortunately some practitioners do not apply the ancient yoga philosophy of Sauca (pronounced sow-cha), the virtue of cleanliness, in body, mind, spirit and relating to personal hygiene.
1. Focus on pranayama (breath work) that emphasizes your exhale.
2. Slip the odiferous individual a copy of the yoga sutras with highlighted passages pointing to this philisophical point of cleanliness
3. Remember that we are all sentient beings (though some of us have more acute senses than others) and each are part of the Whole, even those individuals who have really, really, bad B.O.
4. If you realize that you are the one with the B.O., discretely find a restroom and rinse your pits. Hand sanitizer contains mostly alcohol which kills bacteria. Rubbing some under your armpits may neutralize the odor. Shower regularly and use deodorant.

What to Do When You Are Trying to Impress Somone and Can't Do the Pose.
1. Fake a cramp.
2. Mutter in semi-audible tones that you are tired from performing this same pose (which is usually very easy) earlier on that day in your 3-hour personal practice and need to rest.
3. Complain that you learned how to do the pose differently.
4. Perform a different pose that you can do very well.

What to Do When You Have a Real Muscle Cramp
The exact cause of muscle cramping is not well understood. Cramps are thought to be the result of overexertion and fatigue of a muscle and loss of vital minerals such as Sodium, Potassium, Phosphorus, Calcium, and Magnesium. Oxygen deprivation is also a possible cause for muscles to cramp (inefficient energy resources in the muscles when oxygen is deprived).
1. Stay well hydrated to prevent cramping.
2. Ease your way into and through each pose. Practice the balance of steadiness and ease (Sthirum and Sukam) while performing every pose, especially if it is an unfamiliar pose or you have previously fatigued the targeted muscles.
3. Maintain your deep and slow breathing. Oxygen may help muscles perform regular energy production. See Krebs Cycle
4. Increase the aforementioned minerals into your diet by eating bananas, watermelon, low-fat milk, kale, spinach, leafy greens, or broccoli however make sure that these foods are appropriate for you Prakruti according to the Ayurveda model.

How to Avoid Passing Gas in Class
Yoga is designed to be very cleansing . . . on several levels. Unfortunately social norms don't support all methods of cleansing caused by yoga.
1. Avoid eating at least two hours before class.
2. Visit the restroom before class.
3. If you feel air moving in your digestive organs, descretely leave class, visit the restroom and practice a squat pose until gas is releived.
4. If you or someone proximal does pass gas, apply similar methods as sections: How to Survive if Someone in Class Has Sever Body Odor and What to Do In Class When Your Cell Phone Rings

How to Avoid Doing Partner Yoga Postures with "Sweaty Guy"
1. Fake a cramp
2. Invent an injury and explain that you will need to do a different pose.
3. Pretend your cell phone rang, that your a doctor and need to take the emergency call.
4. Use this opportunity to use the restroom.
5. If you are the "Sweaty Guy," consider bringing a towel to class or and perhaps and extra t-shirt to put on in case you are partnering in poses.

For your own copy of The Complete Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, please support our fabulous local bookshop, The Kings English Bookshop at 15th and 15th

Scott

Sankalpa: Planting the Seed of Intention

2009-08-16T21:21:00.001-06:00

I believe intentions are powerful. Salkalpa is the Sanskrit word for our intention and is likened to planting a seed. Setting intentions has everything to do with what we feel we are worthy of in this world, and then having the courage to ask for what we want. Yoga is one way of holding a conversation with that something that is larger than us. Yoga is a practice of becoming mindful, and conditioning body, mind, and spirit to do something about our intentions. It is preparing the soil for our intentions to grow.

We prepare the soil of our intentions by making the time (even just a few minutes daily) to clear the chatter in our minds. Clear your mind, and then tune in and plant the seed of what you want. The seed you plant, your Sankalpa, could be for greater health, mental or spiritual clarity, an improved relationship, a better work situation, financial abundance, world peace, a lifetime supply of chocolate, or anything else. As we start our yoga or meditation practice, we give ourselves a moment to reflect on why we are practicing, even if what we need or want seems like it has nothing to do with yoga postures. Then, as we practice, each step, each breath, each yoga posture, is a move forward, in that direction, a dedication to our Sankalpa.

Our internal conversation could go something like, "I may not know what to do to help make the world more peaceful, but that is my intention and at this moment silencing my distractions and practicing Warrior II is the step I'm taking toward that end." Remember that yoga is a gift to help us understand a bigger picture of who we are. With that greater experience and knowledge, with that health and clarity, we have the tools to accomplish what we set out for. At other times, our attention and effort of yoga are a type of preparation, so that we eventually can see more clearly and act more purposefully. Some might even see yoga practice best as a prayer in body and breath. In any case, it is starting the conversation with the universe regarding what we'd like to see grow in our lives.

Whether consciously or not, or with clear wise purpose or not, we are intending things all the time. Where are you putting your mental, emotional, and physical energy? Like one of my teachers, Judith Lasater says, "What is worrying, but praying for what you don't want."

So, what do you want? Put it out there. Then work and watch and see how God or the Universe (or whatever you feel is that bigger "something") responds. Be ready to learn from that response. Open your mind to possibility, but do not deceive yourself. We are not dictators in this large universe; we are not in complete control (thank goodness!), but we can confidently join our voices in the song, confidently twirl our bodies in the dance--creating with Life, in a partnership. In this cosmic game of chess, Sankalpa is making a move and watching to see what comes next. This is yoga, aligning ourselves with what's bigger.

Be thinking about what you need or want in your life. Come to class with this intention and place it on the proverbial altar. We'll plant the seed and watch how it grows.

The following is a very old mantra (taken from a hymn in the Rigveda) that you may want to learn as you are working with your Sankalpa.

Gayatri Mantra

Everything on the earth and in the sky and in between
Is arising from one effulgent source.
If my thoughts, words, and deeds
Reflected a complete understanding of this unity,
I would be the peace I am seeking in this moment

oṃ bhur bhuvaḥ svaḥa
tat savitur vareṇyaṃ
bhargo devasya dhimahi
dhiyo yo naḥ pracodayat

Scott

Satya: Truth

2009-08-09T23:03:00.001-06:00

If it hasn’t happened already, there will come a time when we stop trying to produce that infallible vision of ourselves and allow ourselves the radical permission to be exactly what and how we are. This permission revolves around the yogic principle of Satya or truth. To be honest with who and where we are, both our strengths and weaknesses, allows us a solid platform from which we can skillfully step to the next place. We stop trying to be everything that we’re not and finally find how perfectly we belong to exactly where we are.

With intention, direction, work, and most of all appreciation for our present situation, our dreams of where we want to end up will start to fill out. If we feel stuck, indecisive, depressed, or angry, our truth is to speak to that place. We can speak to all our situations with yoga, an embodiment of all our inner landscapes.

What we want is within our reach; it’s simply laced with a bit of irony: the key to fulfillment in the future is to be content now. If we’re committed to the honesty of where we are and are content for what is, knowing things change, we create a bridge of present content moments which links us to contentment in our fulfilled future. Without present contentment, without appreciating the truth of where we are, we may find ourselves where we previously hoped for only to discover our habit of malcontent, and, disgruntlement, wishing we were back where we started or somewhere else. We’re back in the viscous cycle of hoping for anything but what is true, what is here.

Our main task as I see it is to understand where we are, where our love lies, and bravely organize our lives to focus on what matters most.

I hope that this truth and brave path may lead you to yoga this week.

Here is an offering I learned from my teacher that you may want to use in your meditations:

By the power and truth of our simply practice,
May we and all beings have happiness and the causes of happiness.
May we and all beings be free from sorrow and any causes of sorrow.
May we and all beings never be separated from that sacred happiness which is beyond sorrow.
And may we and all beings live in equanimity, without too much attachment and too much aversion.
And may we live recognizing and honoring the equality of all that lives.

Sarva Mangalam (May the greatest goodness unfold)

Scott

Baking a Difference

2009-07-30T22:25:00.002-06:00

Hey, everyone. My name is Nan. I'm a friend of Scott's and he asked me to be a guest writer on his weekly email this week. I own one of the Great Harvest Bread stores in Salt Lake City and am passionate about baking and making a difference in people's lives. Please read my story below and check out the opportunity to help less-fortunate families AND check out the coupon below to get a free loaf of artisan bread from the Great Harvest store at 9th and 9th.

Last week I had the opportunity to be with bakery friends serving dinner at the Road Home family shelter. I have been there before serving dinners to homeless families, but this time was a bit different. Instead of serving approximately 75 people as we had in the past, I believe we served closer to 150. This time, the line of people, mostly young children, seemed unending. Ashley, the volunteer coordinator, explained that the shelter is currently overflowing with so many families that many have to sleep on cots in the halls. I assumed that many service groups would be bringing dinners in the summer, but Ashley told me that the dinner we were serving was the first brought in over a month.

We came back two nights later to share a family bread making activity with the shelter. In my time at Great Harvest I have led hundreds of bread making parties and field trips; kneading dough, reading The Little Red Hen, grinding wheat into flour, and teaching kids about whole grains. Like all the others, this activity was fun but it was also uniquely challenging. Children participating ranged in age between 3 and 12, all of them eager to take part and be noticed. The only space available for this activity was the crowded and unequipped common shelter kitchen- it is the communal living space for all the families and there is a lot of comings and goings making it difficult to stay organized and be heard. With a lot of help from my bakery friends, all the kids kneaded their own dough and baked their own bread. Against all odds, eventually the smell of fresh baked bread filled the kitchen. The highlight of the evening was helping the kids take turns grinding wheat on the small mill. When they turned the handle, we had everyone count "One, two, three.." Something about having a whole room full of people counting out loud for them really lights kids up. From the curly haired three year old girl to the teenage boys trying to look and act a lot tougher than they felt, every kid was just beaming when it came to their turn.

Although I went home tired and feeling discouraged about all the things these kids are lacking, I held joy in remembering the small shiny moments from our evening. I thought about how Scott's guided meditations of Yoga Nidra (Thursday nights at Centered City Millcreek) have taught me to hold joy and pain at the same time while understanding that my divine essential nature is bigger than both. In the past, without this perspective, I have sometimes collapsed under the weight of a broken heart and chosen not do anything just because I can't fix everything. With a Yoga Nidra perspective, I am able to do something else: to remember that a broken heart is an open heart and to use my open heart to do all the small things that I can, remembering that life is nothing but an accumulation of small moments and each one makes a difference. My invitation to you is to join me in some small things. Here are three easy things that you can do:

*
Join us at our Great Harvest pancake breakfast to benefit The Road Home on Saturday, August 8th from 8:30 to 10:30. All you can eat, 100% whole-grain pancakes will be served for a suggested minimum donation of $3.00 per person. Feel free to give more because all proceeds from the breakfast will be donated directly to the Road Home. The Holladay, Draper, Downtown, and Taylorsville Great Harvest bakeries are all participating. (See www.greatharvestutah for addresses.) Our goal is to raise $5000 with the breakfast.
*
Buy a great looking limited edition t-shirt designed specifically to benefit the Road Home. Shirts can be purchased at www.8leggedgecko.com, but are only available until August 31st so order yours today. The shirts look great and our goal is to help sell just 500 shirts in order to raise an additional $3000 for the Road Home. ( Christmas gifts, if you are thinking ahead!)
* Please forward this message to your friends and family and courage them to participate.
* Forward to a Friend

Thanks for reading and helping. I hope to see you at Scott's Yoga Nidra class on Thursdays. Peace and love.
Namaste,
Nan

2009-07-26T22:47:00.003-06:00

The experience of yoga and the practice of yoga are different things and both are different for each person. When I feel the experience of yoga, I feel like everything is perfect, like the world is just the way that it needs to be and I am a privileged be a guest here. When I feel yoga, I feel boundless, like my body is able, lithe, and strong. I feel like my heart is huge and sturdy enough to hold any pain. When I experience yoga I am aware and intuitive. I am still. Sometimes the experience of yoga is subtle and fleeting, just happy and aware. Mostly, when I feel yoga, I feel like I've sourced something inside that I knew was there all along: a wellspring of creativity, love and understanding and a contentedness to just be.

The experience of yoga is about transformation, the transformation of recognizing our True Selves. It's not that our current self isn't real or true, it's that yoga helps us see the big and deep part of ourselves that doesn't change. It's about coming home and seeing ourselves in our true identity.

The practice of yoga is about making the conditions right in body, mind and spirit, for the experience of yoga to happen. In our asana practice, we become stronger, more flexible, and balanced. We ease tension from muscles and set our nervous system at ease. We focus our minds and learn presence. All these qualifiers are vital for the experience of yoga to happen but don't replace the experience of yoga.

We may not feel the experience of yoga each time we practice. Some of us may have never felt or maybe just haven't recognized the experience of yoga. That doesn't mean that we are doing anything wrong or should stop practicing. The more we practice, we find how to most effectively travel our own pathway to transformation until the path is well-worn. Simone Weil said, " Even if our efforts of attention seem for years to be producing no result, one day a light that is in exact proportion to them will flood the soul." She's saying to keep practicing and one day it will all pay off. Often when we are least expecting it, going about our practice like any other day, we'll find ourselves in a posture or something and suddenly everything opens up to the experience of yoga, or some sudden insight about ourselves will come flooding in. Sometimes its not so grand, but rather subtle and sweet, a simple feeling of contentment. Either way the more we practice, the more frequent these moments come.

I'm excited to be on this journey with you all. Every day I experience the value of this practice. I feel honored to be able to help direct you down your own path of transformation. I am a practitioner first and foremost and a teacher second and I am humbled by the privilege to walk this path next to you. I hope that through yoga you can all taste of that rich experience of yoga, transformation, and experiencing your True Self.

Join the Dance

2009-07-19T20:41:00.000-06:00

The Road to There is Here

2009-07-04T02:10:00.002-06:00