Mirror Dancer, Milton Avery
Our brains are deep into the business
of prediction, always looking for patterns.
When we see what we expect to see,
it feels like all is well in our world.
Calmed by met expectations, the
parasympathetic nervous system
comes into its own: supporting rest,
clear thinking, digestion, and recovery.
Unpredictability or chaos throws us
into high alert, and and we quickly
become frazzled, fearful, just worn out.
Especially when it keeps happening.
Anyone? America in 2026? Anyone?
Our sympathetic nervous system
holds us in a low grade vigilance when
uncertainty after uncertainty arises.
Yoga can be your antidote. Not because
it's relaxing or distracting from troubles.
It's an opportunity for cohesive coherence.
The breath rises and falls just as you
purposely move it. You hold a steady pose
as you knew you could. You flow through
a familiar series with ease. You anticipate,
move, and experience window after
window of successful prediction.
Tiny yeses everywhere.
Even if only for an hour.
Things actually shift on the inside.
Ah.... thank you.
Join me this week?
Anyone see p.3 in this Sunday's New York Times?
I had a kickin' bright yellow beanbag
in my bedroom as a teenager. I loved it.
I'm not so sure about that fitting into my
present vibe, but point taken.
Get down on the floor, or close to it,
as often as you can. And then,
of course, back up again. Repeat.
I do my happiest reading in a butterfly chair,
which provides an up & down challenge.
You could sit on the floor in front of
your sofa, letting the seat support
your back body while you learn to sit tall
on the ground or a folded blanket.
For some clients, I prescribe sitting tall
with back against the wall and legs
straight ahead. Hello, hamstrings.
Bright, open chest and back of the
head touching the wall so head is stacked.
Find your own way to the ground. Often.
It fosters playfulness!
And a supple, responsive body.
To the yoga mat!
I've returned from graduation weekend
watching my brilliant son receive his
Master of Music in Vocal Pedagogy.
Sitting through ceremonies of both
conservatory graduate hooding and
university wide commencement
involved watching legions of strangers
moving across stages and best of all,
distinct pods of elated family & friends
absolutely vibrating with praise & pride.
Witnessing uncontained emotions
spilling left and right in celebration of
a single soul's progress is just the
most joyful thing I've known lately.
The singular look of pride in a loved
one's face is unmatchable. I couldn't
get enough, everywhere I looked.
My favorite moment? When I spied
my own boy processing in a cloud of
his cohort, I suddenly burst out of
my seat shooting my right hand high
with a cry of elation. Our eyes locked,
and he did the same.
There is absolutely n o t h i n g
to compare to that feeling of
being seen, loved, and celebrated.
We both felt it, hard and true.
I hope to try to find some shade
of this in the normal world.
Opportunities where I could share
a look, an action, an offering of
cohesion with another person.
Where we both might feel seen,
acknowledging our very existences
among the legions.
I hope this for you, too.
I hope to see you on a yoga mat this week!
Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1906 woodcut)
Mystery is not much in favor these days.
The notion that there are limits to what
we can do, what we can know, limits to
our dominion, does not set well with
kings and queens of the hill. ...
Why tell stories about a power
we cannot photograph?
-Scott Russell Sanders
Our soft, fragile insides always seek
safety, knowing, assurance. Me too.
Especially in things I don't understand
or am frightened of. I look for data,
proof, someone in charge telling me
what will certainly happen or not happen.
This makes us especially vulnerable
to the promise of corralled information
holding all the answers on a screen.
Lately, I am drawn to stories about
powers one cannot photograph.
Myths and fables, fantastically stitched
with deeper truths to wonder at.
They help me believe there is much
we can never know for certain.
Look for answers in unexpected places.
Become comfortable with mystery.
Eschew certainty, if you can.
It opens up unforeseen possibility.
On the yoga mat too.
The power of quiet and stillness
is worth seeking out.
Whether in a forest, a vast library,
or here, in a church.
Read philosophy prof Mary Townsend
as to why. . . . .
"Alone in church I find air, a silence like nothing else. In that quiet spot off to the back, I don't have to explain anything to anyone, about my job, my family, my plans.
I can take a moment to do nothing at all. It's the purposelessness of this quiet, the putting to the side almost every other task I have to do, that lightens the tension.
[...]
The church felt like a sailing ship, carrying me in infinite space. Few things have mattered to me more.
A church is, after all, most concretely a building; a place built to collect desire and to give a shape to hope.
It is the precise architecture for what we humanly want, when no human being can fully know what may be or what will happen next.
And when I'm sitting there, with nothing to do and no one saying a word, something does happen to me. [...]
It's not that the shape of the roof or light from a window brings clarity,
but it reminds me that clarity and decisiveness exist.
To me, at least, that's worth the adventure of trying the door."
Your yoga mat, too,
can serve as a sanctuary.
A place where clarity can be found
and hope finds a shape.
Let's share practice this week.
Photogravure by Edward S. Curtis 1868
When all the trees have been cut down,
when all the animals have been hunted,
when all the waters are polluted,
when all the air is unsafe to breathe,
only then will you discover
you cannot eat money.
-Cree prophecy
Gosh, this feels a little ominous
and prescient just now.
While I realize I cannot stop the
despoiling of nature singlehanded,
I can take note of my own choices
whether prioritizing my own
convenience and economy or
choosing to leave as small a mark
upon the ecosystem as possible.
Never perfect, but inspiring
some shifts to my general
habits of consumption.
And beyond this, the stark image
of eating money fires my imagination.
My predilection to hoard every
dollar I can to assure my own safety
suddenly rebukes me.
What is really worth preserving?
Worth valuing and enjoying?
My people. The trees. The sky.
My breath.
A bit more present, please.
More fluid. More faith.
Less controlling, grasping.
More honoring.
Ah, this sounds familiar...
.... to the yoga mat with me!
I hope you too.
My little brother and I took in some
East Nashville spirit last weekend.
The Rock Down to 🎶 Electric Avenue
robot parade.
Yes, we have an Electric Avenue.
Yes, Eddy Grant's 1982 tune was blasting.
Best of all, scores of people in homemade
robot costumes danced, stumbled and
marched en masse t o g e t h e r .
It was marvelously low-tech as promised.
It made me realize that anytime
a few people join in creative spirit
it's like a little spark of simple joy.
One can put one's head through a box,
pretend to be something different,
and bumble around into other
people just as kooky as you are.
It's good to feel held by the edges
of your small world where people
just want to be together.
A yoga practice, when shared,
can feel a little like this.
Let's practice this week!
The Heart (1899) Edvard Munch
Now that you are older, wiser and fiercer, you have learned that emotions are no more dependable than the weather. Like a summer storm, feelings arise and quickly fade away, often from a host of factors too complex to effectively address let alone resolve. When unwanted emotion pours down, pause to at least consider the possibility that you are not being called to solve your emotion to get to the other side as quickly as possible, but rather to hold yourself as lovingly as possible for as long as it takes.
-Carol Osborn
As a person sensitive to all emotion,
my own and others' in equal measure,
I try to remember not to act or react
to everything I feel. Sometimes I succeed.
Sometimes, well, not so much.
I love this idea of not trying to solve
what comes up in order to escape
the icky I don't like this feeling.
Rather, to hold myself with care,
like a really good mama would,
for as long as it takes until
the emotion moves on through.
It always does.
Less problem solving.
More loving.
I think I should write this on a post-it.
Come do yoga with me this week,
won't you?
-Edward Penfield (1866-1925)
Whatever's inconstant, leave it as inconstant
and don't make it you.
Whatever's stressful, leave it as stressful
and don't make it you.
There's no you in any of those things.
- Phra Ajaan Suwat Suvaco
As I'm writing this, the knot of concern
I'm holding about a time sensitive problem
suddenly loosens its grip as I realize
I can differentiate myself from this worry.
Oy! The way I take on trouble, my own
and sometimes even someone else's,
and wear it like a bodystocking. Ick.
It's a cry of freedom to read
and to believe
There's no you in any of those things.
Free yourself from
something this week.
Declare your independence on the yoga mat.
The first time I tried yoga, I kinda
hated it. But much later, I tried again.
And, well, my journey began.
Sucking at something new is close
to intolerable for me, but over time
yoga and I came to understand each
other and my being began to shift.
David Brooks writes that when you
see people ensconced in their craft,
"They are not manic; they are persistent.
They're not burning out with frantic
energy; they are just plowing their
furrow, a little bit farther, day after day.
By the time you've reached craftsman
status, you don't just love the product,
you love the process, the tiny disciplines,
the long hours, the remorseless work.
[...] which begin to feel like the
unfurling of your very nature. One falls
into a rhythm that becomes your own.
Effort becomes its own reward."
We each stand at different points
on our yoga path, but I hope you
do /will /have experienced this
personal unfurling, even allowed
yourself to find your own rhythm as
you move and breathe on your mat.
If not, keep going. It's coming.
Steady devotion offers sweet reward.