Today while deleting the no longer useful off of my snail of a laptop I came across a file in which I had saved a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke. One of my favorite poets, Rilke had an astonishing ability to put into words those emotions you thought couldn't be described. I found it quite fitting the poem I happened upon on today's Autumnal Equinox was called Autumn Day, and perfectly mirrored my own melancholy mood:
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
The last of the peaches and strawberries, the darkening skies, the descent from summer's high. I bristle with resistance and struggle with acceptance. We need this retreat, my mind tells me, to unwind, decompress, recharge. But I'm not done basking in the sun!
I will take this time to stay up, read, write long letters, and maybe restlessly wander a few avenues. I have quite a collection of yoga books beckoning to me from the shelves. I aim to read a few and share with you my thoughts. I will also be taking some Ayurvedic courses with Pratichi Mathur at Vedika Gurukula, and will be attending the first workshop in CIIS's new Certificate in Yoga course, taught by none other than T. K. V. Desikachar! What was I complaining about earlier?
I am very close with someone who grapples with serious addictions. I have had to create distance from this person in the effort of self-preservation. I have been quickly and brutally introduced to the unbelievably complicated formulae of genetics, childhood history, mental chemistry, and socialization that contribute to addiction (and even that is oversimplifying). I have tried every possible way to convince another person of what they must do, and have failed and finally come to the conclusion that nothing I do or say will change anything. At this I feel both helpless and relieved.
It is a heavy thing to admit powerlessness. I think one of the reasons Alcoholics Anonymous is so successful, aside from
the social support it provides, are the 2nd and 3rd Steps of its 12 Step Program:
We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
The insecurities, shame, regret, and self-hatred perpetuated by addiction make it extremely difficult to love yourself enough to care to change. Belief in a Higher Power puts it into sharper perspective and change becomes possible, hope dawns.
While these steps are aimed at the addict, they speak to me louder and more clear every day. I am not in charge of the universe, and I do not get to decide how people should and should not behave. My preferences have nothing to do with the hills and valleys of another's path. I pray that I can remember this arduous lesson.
Hello friends, long time no post. Many are the excuses: My ex crashed my car and I might be getting sued by a slick posse of insurance lawyers. Why did I let him drive it? He had to take our sick daughter to my mother's house because I couldn't get off work and pobrecita couldn't go to school. I didn't need the car back right away, but would have reconsidered had I known he was going to take it out late-night and poorly time red lights on Geary Ave. Did I mention the car was in my big brother's name, and how he is much less than amused? My grandmother suddenly fell ill and passed away within a matter of weeks. Between work and school I saw my little girl only while she slept, or when I was shouting at her to hurry because we were going to be late for * (*insert any destination here). There were other things going on too, but of those I shall spare ya'll the visceral details.
Fortuitously, during this time of extreme friction I was also swimming the limpid waters of yoga philosophy, and surrounded by a fantastic, supportive community (I'd like to shout a big mahalo to everyone that took care of my daughter while I was in class...it takes a village indeed). As I swerved around town oscillating between an anxious panic and a serene calm, I often experienced moments of intense gratitude that any such calm ever existed, and that I was sometimes granted access to it, even in the midst of chaos. Funny thing about gratitude: the more you indulge in it, the more it comes to visit. I am awed at the blessings showered upon me on a daily basis. So when someone shakes their head in pity and tut tuts about how I've had a rough couple of months, I don't mean to be flippant when I shrug, "C'est la vie!" I'm not pretending I don't care, but I am most certainly drinking out of an over-flowing cup!
Excuses and rapid personal growth aside, I apologize for my absence. I simply had to take inventory and focus on the basics for a minute. This blog was one of the things that could await the return of my attention. The kid, the job, Granny, and the team of lawyers were not. I am very happy to be back.
I'm not sure why I thought this would be easy. Every time I sit down to post an entry I wage an internal battle with myself. First there is what I should write, witty observations on the philosophical life. Then there is what I want to write, the stuff that is really on my mind. This stuff is slightly more biographical, certainly more intimate and, for the most part, totally inappropriate. Finally, there is what I am allowed to write, what is left that falls into the narrow alley of acceptable. The first + the second, filtered through the third = this blog.
This is problematic for me. How can I adequately relate my experiences while taking this course if I am unable tell ya'll what is really going on? A blog is a public as public gets, and we humans take great pains to be respectful and gracious in public, even if we are the opposite behind closed doors. We are forced to observe social requirements, or face ostracization. So I can't really write about my family, or my job, or the guy I am sort-of seeing, for fear of being disowned, fired, or dumped. But these are the people and the relationships that make up my life, and to what I am attempting to apply my newfound knowledge. Do you see where I'm coming from? I want to write the truth, but I can't...and that just sucks.
The week before Sally Kempton's workshop on Tantric Yoga in the
spacious Namaste Hall at CIIS, I came across an article she had
written for Yoga Journal. Called Free Yourself, it discussed the
tendency we humans have to resist the things in life we know to be
positive. A kind of stubborn offensive at anything that might cause
lasting change in our lives, even change for the better. Eventually
this resistance becomes so "deeply ingrained" that we don't even know
we are sabotaging ourselves.
Word. What isit
that that keeps me from doing those things I know will make me happy?
And keeps me doing things that I pretend make me happy but really just
make me tired? And all the while there is that little voice that knows
exactly what to do. We silence that voice in fearful defiance because
if we recognize it as Truth we will then be held accountable for our
actions. As Kempton points out, "Perhaps that means acknowledging your
responsibility to others, or accepting that some of your priorities are
not serving your authentic Self." Ouch. Come to find out, acknowledging my responsibilities and weaknesses is not one of my, um, strengths.
When I arrived on the first day of the workshop I felt that Kempton could see right through me. Her wisdom and experience was intimidating, as can be the case when you meet someone who seems to be writing articles about you personally. Could she tell I was a fraud? Could she tell I wasn't acknowledging all of my responsibilities and that I was aware that many of my priorities did not serve my authentic Self?
If she could, she didn't let on. That day and the next we proceeded to lighty scratch the surface of the beautiful, life-affirming yoga philosophy of Tantra. Never having been of the ascetic, world-denying persuation, I relate to the idea of seeking bliss in this life rather than trying to transcend this life. Kempton was able to illuminate a severely misunderstood philosophy in a way that challenges me to hold myself a little more accountable.
I am not really sure about any of it. Sometimes this bothers me, but increasingly it does not. I am finding it a refreshing relief to settle into the downy soft comfort of the faith that I am trying my absolute best, and that has to count for something. Of course, I'd like to know slightly more precise answers, be given slightly more direct instructions. Directions. Or perhaps what is needed is the enhanced ability to interpret the directions that are quite possibly being given, but not identified, or understood. Yearning for an answer that I am not ready for is folly. Thinking I can understand the answers to questions I don't understand is folly. Worrying too much about all of these follies causes mental turbulence that is not aligned with the goals of yoga and to which I am now more inclined to say "Whatevas!" But in a surrendering, ishvara pranidhana kind of way, mind you, and not a flippant "who cares" kind of way. Which is to say, "Whatevas, the Divine's got my back, and as long as I am doing my part progress will be made on this long and winding path of Truth."
I have spent the last week fasting. Not a juice fast, or a raw foods fast, but rather an applesauce and vicodin fast. And now my left eyelid won't stop twitching. What could have possessed me? A little form of torture called oral surgery. I had my wisdom teeth removed. No me gusta. I suppose it did feel like some kind of rite of passage, and it allowed me to finally finish that second season of Lost I borrowed from my brother a year ago. After this I m probably through with applesauce for a while, though.
My yoga practice has suffered. If I go anywhere near downward dog my jaw feels as if it may throb off onto my mat. Meditating is fun, but seems cheapened by the narcotics, and then there's that eye twitch thing. Super distracting. I missed class due to mental cloudiness and my vanity, preferring to drool in private. I can't focus my eyes on words on a page, and even if I could they wouldn't make any sense. I fear perhaps my wisdom teeth were indeed the repositories of my wisdom.
But oh, it is rather nice to simply lie here, everyone tip-toeing past and leaving me in sweet, swollen peace. The only thing on my list at this moment is "HEAL." And gratitude settles in for this blessing in disguise. But I still can't wait to chew on something.
I am at a point in my studies where I feel myself naturally gravitating towards the practice of dharana, one-pointed concentration. There is an urge to focus on dharana that I can't quite explain. Focus on dharana? Sounds a bit redundant. But isn't that what yogis do? Practice practicing, concentrate on concentration. My attention will roam if I let it, this I know all too well. I need to create, as Ian Whicher said, a beneficial samskara. A samskara of dharana, so that this kind of one-pointed concentration becomes second nature, like buckling my seat-belt when I hop in the car.
Dharana is the the 6th limb of Patanjali's classical yoga. Previously I had assumed that the 8-limbed path was a linear one: first one fully integrates the yamas and niyamas, then masters asana, pranayama, and pratyahara before moving on to the internal practices of dharana, dhyana, and samadhi. Now I laugh at this assumption, knowing that if I waited for mastery of the lower limbs I would never get around to dharana!
Our weekend workshop at CIIS with Patricia Sullivan was quite timely for me (actually, all of our classes have been...funny how that works). Called "Cultivating Effortless Effort in Meditation" the workshop refreshed my take on many familiar practices, and introduced me to a few new ones as well. One method in particular struck a chord with me. We were practicing Nadi Shodhana, alternate nostril breathing. Sullivan noted that if we were particularly stuffed up we could still practice the pranayama with our awareness only, instead of physically closing off each nostril. Huh? How could that possibly have the same effect? After trying it a few times I realized the gift Sullivan had just given to me. The concentration that it took to see and feel the breath flowing into my left nostril and out of my right, into my right and out of my left (without the aid of my fingers) was intense. I wasn't relying on habit, I was fully there, present and aware and in the midst of perhaps my first true experience with dharana. Thank you, Patricia!
Last Friday after work I met Yoga Journal's Managing Editor, Kelle Walsh, at Farmer Brown's in the Tenderloin for a bite to eat. I had never been there before because, even though they focus on local and sustainable ingredients, Farmer Brown's is a soul food restaurant. Traditionally, soul food is not so vegan friendly. Somehow I found out (through the vegan grapevine) that Bryant Terry, author of Vegan Soul Kitchen, had the folks in the kitchen cookin' up his vegan gumbo, and so I hightailed it on over. Come to find out they also make a vegan jambalaya AND a vegan tempeh sandwich! Love me that Frisco style soul!
After filling up on gumbo we walked many sobering blocks through the Tenderloin district of town, where there are more people "living" on the street than anywhere I have ever seen. Once we reached Herbst Theater, Kelle and I were ready to hear what the smiling mystic who's face we kept seeing advertised on buses had to say about the world and its incongruities. The Theater was packed to capacity with a calm and polite crowd of all sizes, ages, and origins to hear Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev, who turned out to be not quite what I expected. Yes he is Indian, and yes he wears flowing robes and has a huge, white beard--but this is no traditional Guru! The serious, solemn vibe I have felt in ashrams and around other guru figures was conspicuously absent from the evening. Instead there was a palpable joy and eternal optimism radiating from this chuckling man who ended every other sentence with a lilting, rhetorical "Isn't it?" He sat, he spoke, he laughed, and before we knew it, two hours had gone by.
Part of me wishes that when Sadhguru walked out on stage I recognized immediately and absolutely that he was the embodiment of the Divine. I have never had a guru, and I think it might be easier, or at least a refreshing change of pace, for someone to tell me the what, when, where, why, and hows of spiritual practice, instead of stumbling around trying to figure them out on my own. But it seems there is to be no immediate and absolute for me right now, only patience and possibility.
What's with the picture of the bull, you ask? A Sadhguru anecdote:
There once was a pheasant sitting atop a bull. The bird was complaining to the bull that he was too weak fly to the top of a beautiful, shady tree nearby. The bull told the pheasant not to worry, if he ate a little of his dung he would regain his strength and be able to fly to the top of the tree. "Nonsense!" exclaimed the bird, but then remembered how people used the bull's dung to grow food, and decided to try. Every day he ate a little of the bull's dung, and every day he was able to fly higher and higher until, at last, he was at the top of the tree. In the distance, a farmer saw a nice, fat pheasant sitting high up in a tree. Thinking of dinner, he took out his gun and shot the pheasant dead. Moral of the story? Bull$#!% may get you to the top, but it won't keep you there!
Ian Whicher is one serious yoga philosopher. While I realize it is the job of the scholar to contribute new interpretations of humanity's existing knowledge, I think challenging the traditional dualistic view of the Classical Yoga Darshana was a pretty bold move! Imagine: from Advaita Vedanta to today, everyone else is certain of Patanali's separate Purusha (pure consciousness) and Prakrti (nature/the world), and the final goal of yoga as transcendence from this world. As in "Sayonara, see 'ya later, I am enlightened and so out of here. Best of luck to you!" And then along comes Whicher who flips it and reinterprets Patanjali's Yoga Sutra to be non-dual, Prakrti and Purusha equal parts of the liberated self. AND instead of renouncing the world, he politely argues that yoga has an ultimate goal of "living liberation," or jivanmukti. I am inclined to agree with Whicher, non-dualist that I am, and world-renouncer that I am not.
Perhaps this explains the current guru explosion? This month there are no less than 3 "self-realized masters" visiting San Francisco. I am going to listen to one of them tomorow night, Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev. He's giving a free talk at Herbst Theater. I'll let you know how it goes!
My two favorite definitions of a yogi so far? Both Whicher's: "one who gains through practice increased discernment to override compulsion," and "one who incorporates a clarity of awareness with integrity of being and action." How kind of him to put into words what I am trying to do!
I am finding that just as I prefer different types of asana depending on my mood, I also modify my meditation practice to suit my current space. In asana sometimes I want to move and sweat and play the edge, other times I just can't wait to get an eye pillow and some sandbags and put my legs up the wall. Likewise with meditation. Some days I am inquisitive and excited and ready for some philosophical wrestling, "net, neti" style. Other days, when there happens to be a lot going on around me, much noise and external distraction, mantra repitition is just the thing to center and quiet. Then there are those days when I am already quiet and internal, the days when I am not mad, or sad...but still don't really want to talk to you. My meditation for these days is usually some sort of visualization.
I am not very good at visualization, mind you. My skeptical self complains "Poppycock! A waste of time!" as I try to envision that bright, white, healing light. I have been attempting to work on my visualization game, however, with another Upanisadic meditation Carlos Pomeda introduced to us. While I had heard of "lotus heart" meditation before, I didn't realize this was a traditional meditation and not some new age creation (of which I am judgemental and wary, but that is another post). But there it is, in the Chandogya: Within the body there is the heart, and within the heart there is a cave, in the shape of a lotus flower, and within this lotus flower of the heart exists everything. Pomeda suggested we see this everything as pure, white light (I'm trying!), the size of the top half of a thumb, and located in the middle of the chest. He then quoted Kabir, which really helped explain just what "everything" might be. Kabir had said, "Everyone knows the drop is contained in the ocean, but very few know the ocean is contained in the drop." So now, when I am feeling particularly insignificant, I shall meditate on the macrocosm of the universe contained in microcosm of my heart. It's nice to know (if only for a fleeting moment) that it's all in there already.
I have a confession to make. Before last weekend's intensive on the Upanisads with Carlos Pomeda at CIIS I thought the word neti referred only to the little white pot I use to irrigate my sinuses (jala neti), or that infernal piece of waxed string I had the pleasure of inserting into my nostrils and pulling out of my mouth during my yoga teacher training at Mount Madonna (sutra neti).
Neti, neti, which translates as "not thus, not thus" (or "not this, not that" in more modern language) is in fact not a shat karma excercise, but one of the three main meditations set forth in the Upanisads and lovingly expounded on by Pomeda, my favorite Spanish former-monk. With his 18 years of traditional training as a monk in the Sarasvati order and his degrees in Religious Studies and Sanskrit, Pomeda is an expert on the Upanisads. Ancient texts written (a term used loosely as these teachings were passed down orally for hundreds of years before ever actually being written down) over a period of about 800-1000 years, the Upanisads cover more philosophical ground than could ever be explored in a four-month course (or four-year course, for that matter)!
The neti, neti meditation is found in the oldest and longest Upanisad, the Brhadaranyaka, and becomes the foundation of the Vedantic system of meditation on "the witness." Basically it is a practice of identifying everything that you are not in order to be left with what you are. I am not this body. I am not this breath. I am not this mind, etc. The kick of it is that what you are trying to grasp, the Self, you cannot ever grasp because it is, well, ungraspable. The one who is grasping is the Self, not what is being grasped. The Self is the subject and anything it can know and perceive is therefore not the subject, it is "not this."
I know. It's confusing. If you ever have the chance, I suggest you ask Carlos Pomeda about "neti, neti." I promise you will not be disappointed! In the meantime, I am not this blog.
Perhaps it is our common thirst for the roots of yoga, or maybe the result of spending entire weekends together wading through recondite philosophies, but our Yoga Philosophy Kula (community) is really starting to solidify. No longer single seekers, my fellow yoga scholars and I are learning the value of satsang. As you can see in the above picture, all this seeking makes us hungry! We have decided to have a pot-luck whenever we have 2-day workshops (of which there are many) and this makes me very happy. If there is anything better than good company, it is good company and good food!
What I find so amazing about this Yoga Philosophy course at CIIS is that we are being taught by folks that literally "wrote the book." In the case of Richard Rosen, Director of Piedmont Yoga Studio in Oakland, CA, and contributing editor here at Yoga Journal, the book was Pranayama Beyond the Fundamentals. When I was first interning here I picked it up in the YJ library after realizing it was written by the same guy that teaches our Thursday afternoon yoga class. I remember reading it and thinking Rosen was fully living his dharma by writing this book.
I have since learned that Rosen has written a couple more books, and is a highly respected teacher in the Bay Area--which is why he was chosen to squeeze the entire history of yoga and its westward migration into three, two-hour classes for the program. Daunting task, but superbly accomplished! From the Rig Veda to modern day yoga fusions, we all sat in a circle and talked about yoga. And now I am thinking I need to talk to more people about yoga more often. Yoga Salon? Who's with me?
I don't know why I never thought of it before. I suppose usually I have a book with me (my preferred method of escape) when I ride the bus to and from work everyday. But this morning I forgot to grab one from the pile that resides by my bed and was, gasp, bookless on the MUNI!
My choice was to either stare out of the window and try to pretend the person a few rows away wasn't flicking boogers at other passengers, or close my eyes and breathe. Gauging myself to be out of flicking range, I took a deep breath, sat up in my seat, and closed my eyes. Deciding mantra meditation would perhaps be best to drown out the incessant coughing, sniffling, grumbling and shuffling of my fellow Monday morning commuters, I settled into my breath with So 'ham (or Hamsa). It didn't happen instantly...but little by little the sounds of the bus ceased to be distinguishable from the sound of my breath. The techno-country-metal orchestra streaming from various i-pods, the periodic "move back," the panicked "back door please!," the "stop requested" bell...all faded into my inhaled so's and my exhaled ham's. And wouldn't you know it I opened my eyes just in time for my stop!
I think perhaps tomorrow I just might forget to slip a book into my bag again...
Jim Ryan, a professor of Sanskrit and Indian Philosophy at
CIIS for the last 26 years, has a charming little giggle that bursts out whenever
he speaks of the Divine Mother--which happens quite often even though he is lecturing us on the fairly patriarchal Yoga Sutra of Patanjali.
A little giggling is essential, as the Sutra can be quite challenging to study. This is especially the case when one's Sanskrit skills leave much to be desired, and one is not a Brahmin boy sitting devotedly at the foot of a master who can expertly expound upon the poetic little threads of yogic instruction. We have to take the translators' words for it, and confound it if they don't all use different words! And what's in a word? Well, everything and nothing, according to Ryan!
Take for example, Sutra 1.2, the most famously quoted of the lot.
"Yogah cittavritti nirodhah." This sutra is usually translated as "yoga is the cessation of the thought-waves of the mind." It is also often translated as "yoga is the suppression of the thought-waves of the mind." Cessation, suppression--totally different things, by the way! In the former, thoughts have completely stopped...which sounds an awful lot like death. In the latter, thoughts are being suppressed, insinuating man can possibly suppress Prakrti (the Universe), which is in Ryan's view a pretty arrogant suggestion. Ryan, in agreement with scholar Ian Whicher (also one of our esteemed teachers for this course), suggests defining it closer to the concept of pratyahara, a withdrawal. So instead of struggling to "think of nothing" we instead concentrate on being selective with those thoughts that do come, and cultivating them. So who is right? Everyone and no one, of course! I am beginning to sense a theme...
Let's just get right down to it, shall we? Here is our problem: We are unchanging, pure, radiant beings who unfortunately identify ourselves with our always changing mental and physical realities. This misidentification is the source of all suffering. Our goal is to realize our true nature and become established in our authentic selves. This seems reasonable enough. As soon as I really think about it, though, I get stuck.
I like the idea of releasing all the negative ideas I have about myself: I am not this jealousy I feel towards my good friend who can play any instrument beautifully. I am not this big zit on my forehead, nor am I that pulled adductor muscle in my thigh that prevents me from getting anywhere near the floor in Upavistha Konasana. Sweet. I didn't want to be any of those things anyway.
But what about the stuff I really identify with? I am not the mother of a beautiful 7 year old girl? What about the person I have known for the last 31 years...that blonde woman who collects books she may never read, who loves big earrings and bracelets that jingle, and listens to sweet reggae music? This I am not me business is crazy. If I am not who I thought I was this whole time, then just who am I?
An unending source of awareness. Oh yes. I keep forgetting. And that is why we are here.
Last weekend's 3 day workshop with Gary Kraftsow, founder and director of the American Viniyoga Institute and the first American to be certified by T.K.V. Desikachar, was what I would call an "awareness immersion." Through the simultaneous practice of asana, pranayama, mantra and visualization, we "directed our awareness through intention via attention" (Kraftsow). I can't tell you the last time I concentrated so hard on so many levels...childbirth, maybe? This kind of sarvanga sadhana (a practice for the whole body, not just individual parts) results in a level of awareness I have never felt after 108 vinyasas!
Kraftsow says, "Through the application of intelligent intention you can direct change in a positive direction." This Yoga Philosophy course at CIIS is supplying me with that intelligence, the intention I have, and the application...well, it's called practice for a reason. Satchitananda, here I come! .
Well, I did it. I took the leap, Hanuman style. I dove into the icy cold of waters unknown. I got up off the couch of comfortable complacency and hopped a little education validation train, destination unknown. Katherine Rae...is back in school!
But this, my friends, is no ordinary school. This is a magical land where, in the company of world renowned scholars of yoga I can read, discuss, and experience the roots and foundations of this yoga thing that seems to be gently but firmly directing the course of my life. Yoga &mdash I know I need it, and I know it's good...but what I would really like is to be able to explain why this is so. Coherently.
Enter the California Institute of Integral Studies' (CIIS) Yoga Philosophy Certificate course. This 150 hour program is taught by nine of the most respected teachers in their fields, and is designed to shed light upon the philosophical and psychological teachings of yoga by studying the ancient texts. What is particularly refreshing about this course, and a large part of why I am here, is the focus on building a community of support for the ultimate goal of personal growth via the cultivation of a sustainable spiritual practice. This is also why I am scared, because although I am well aware that ignorance is not bliss, it certainly doesn't require difficult applications of commitment and discipline! So here's to getting up earlier, and going to bed later...I hope you'll join me on my journey!
Om Namah Shivaya &mdash I bow to the end and to the beginning!
For more information on CIIS and the Yoga Philosophy Course, contact:
Katherine Elizabeth Rae was born in Frankfurt, Germany, but was raised mostly on the East Side of San Jose, CA. Extended stays in Santa Cruz and Hawaii sent her running towards the electric hum of San Francisco, where she now resides in a "cozy" apartment in the Western Addition with her wickedly talented daughter Talia Lehua, and another radical mama/monkey duo. Katherine can't help but smile every day that she reads the Yoga Journal placard on the wall next to the front door of the office where she works full-time as Sales Assistant in the Advertising Dept., even and especially on those mornings when her aforementioned little princess refuses to get out of bed for school, and then her bus swipes the fender off of a garbage truck (true story!). A certified yoga teacher, Katherine is still searching for that studio that only needs her to teach one sweet Sunday morning class a week.
Prizes include a spa vacation in Vermont,
a stained-glass window depicting the seven energy centers of the body,
Yoga DVDs, a yoga vacation in San Francisco and more...
Your subscription includes
2 FREE GIFTS: Yoga to the Rescue:
Poses for Stress
The next time you find your
nerves frazzled, use this
rejuvenating flow sequence to
relieve the effects of stress.
Yoga to the Rescue: Poses for a Headache
Got a pounding headache?
This sequence of supported
poses can send it packing.
yogajournal.com
vegetariantimes.com
backpacker.com
optimumwellness.com
wholefoodsmarket.com
betternutrition.com
