"Inhale to the father, exhale to the mother..."

As the words flowed from Seane's mouth, I could feel my breath expanding as greater awareness guided each of my movements. Each breath I took and movement I made became a liquid expression of prayer and intention. The room seemed to move as one and breathe as one as different voices spoke their truth while the rest of us listened and received. Leaving the room, I felt different than when I first entered - my body was grounded, mind present and spirit connected.

For me, morning yoga practice seemed to be the needle that threaded the day together. We left Phnom Penh late morning and drove out to the countryside. It was fun getting out of the city and witnessing a different scene - the rice paddies were of a vibrant green, colorful pagodas dotted the fields, and half clothed children continuously waved beneath their stilted huts. When we finally arrived to our destination, we were warmly greeted by the families that occupied the land. These men, women and children, had been relocated from the Steung Meanchey landfill to this beautiful countryside retreat. Some were single moms who had the courage to leave their abusive husbands, while others were families who embodied an entrepreneurial spirit and a commitment to a life free from abuse.

Our job for the day was to create a vegetable and flower garden for the families that live in the community. Kicking off my shoes, I immediately sunk my feet into the rich soil and noticed how my own Asian roots penetrated the earth beneath my feet. As I hoed, weeded, tilled and sowed the seeds, I felt connected to a continent of distant ancestors and alive to the breath of the journey unfolding before my eyes. I remained present to the sweat rolling down my back, the sore muscles of my body and my inner child that got the rare opportunity to fling fertilizer (and I am not talking MiracleGro) across the lengthy humps that rose from the land. As I boarded the bus for the 90-minute journey back to Phnom Penh, a wave of serenity washed over my dirty body - despite my sore body , my breath was full and heart open to the connected community of each other and the families who supported us as much as we supported them.

That night, Luong Ung, the auther of First They Killed My Father, joined our group to share her personal experience of surviving the Khmer Rouge. As I sat there in the presence of this courageous, empowered spiritual activist who expressed the importance of speaking one's truth, setting an intention, and the power that communities have to create change, I noticed the room, once again, breathing as one.