Trial by Delhi Belly: My Indian Initiation

JH Day 5

Night men photos

KM Mustard fields

There isn't a corner in India that hasn't been pissed in.I thought this as I traipsed worriedly through the Haridwar train station. It was 5am, still dark, and I knew that sooner or later I was going to vomit.I'd woken up before my 4 a.m. alarm with that familiar and sickening feeling: Oh no! It's going to happen to me! Delhi-belly! India's legendary greeting. Now it was my turn.I could expect vomiting, crapping, or both at once. Worse, I wouldn't be able to sleep it off in my hotel room: I had 8 hours of travel ahead of me: 1 hour taxi to Haridwar, 6 hour train to Delhi, 1 hour subway to my friend's apartment in the suburbs.I'd have dubious bathroom options all along the way.I half expected to be let off easy. Maybe I just feel a bit funky this morning. After all, I was eating a lot of strange food these days.So, putting on a false optimism, at 4:15am I dressed and walked down from above Rishikesh's Swargashram area where the budget hotels clustered, past closed shops, my favorite chai-wallah's stand, down between the begging sadhus (saints) now asleep by the side of the uneven pathway, over the Ram Jhula suspension bridge that spanned the left and the right banks of the now-darkened Ganges.I was hopeful that I could overcome that nagging feeling.My taxi driver, Mukesh, arrived on time at 4:45am and drove at breakneck speed through Rishikesh town to Haridwar. We arrived early---plenty of time for me to realize that the growing ache in my belly was not going away.I picked my way through the lobby of the Haridwar station, stepping over people asleep on plastic sacks covered in wool shawls rolled up like big soft cigars.Too poor to get hotels for the night, they stretched out on the marble floor. They were lone men, families or a few women together with their children, misshapen lumps with not a foot, hand, or tuft of hair visible.The bathroom options were not good. I went to explore the “first class” waiting room. The toilets were wet and filthy. The whole place stunk of urine and ammonia. At a sink stood an old man noisily horking up phlegm.I walked back out onto the platform and into the dark, hoping there might be a private place away from the main station building. Near the side of the building, say, or near a field.The first darkened corner I came to a man was taking a piss---as thousands, if not millions, had before him. Men are always pissing by the side of the road, in alleys or darkened corners here. Also in broad daylight. Nix that option.The field next to the Haridwar train terminal reeked of all manner of rotten things, from simple garbage—paper chai cups and foil snack bags—to nastier stuff like kitchen waste, rancid cooking oil, and probably some toxic old paint, construction materials and fetid water. It smelled awful. There was no chance I was getting closer.The degree of filth in India has taken some getting used to. I'm generally not squeamish but the piercing smell of unflushed human excrement affects some primal part of me. I veer away instinctively. If I have to use the toilet, but the only options are filthy, I will somehow lose my need to go.But even the clean public bathrooms have at least a whiff of acrid urine or the putrid stink of sewage. Then there's all that moisture on the floor, usually laced with sandy dirt from the bottom of people's shoes and sandals—footwear that has been out walking the streets littered with centuries of cow-dung, human feces, urine, laundry soap, and many other liquids that have spilled there over time (chai, fruit pulp, samosa crumbs, dog vomit etc).Normally, the surfaces in the bathrooms look dubious too: if there's a flush toilet, uncertain fluids rest on the toilet seat as well as in it. The sinks have a noticeable filigree of black on the porcelain and the taps are usually crusty. I never want to touch anything.In short—-between the smells, the fluids, the dirt, and the obvious presence of others who may or may not wash their hands regularly, public bathrooms in India are generally an unpleasant adventure.I wouldn't even want to throw up in most of them.My belly continued to churn, ache, pinch, and cramp. The situation was well past the stage of mind over cucumber, tomato, olives, and cheese cubes with a honey olive-oil dressing matter. This was a question of when.And about that salad.... Yes, I know, I know: all the guidebooks, and every friend who's ever been to India gives the same warning: avoid all uncooked fruits and vegetables except ones you peel. Especially avoid salad!Contact with contaminated water tends to be the culprit. Bad water leaves many a Westerner, used to impeccable hygiene, vomiting, crapping or both at the same time.Then there's all the roadside dust (tremendous quantities), diesel fumes and—-- importantly--—the cow dung that India's produce is exposed to on its journey from field to table. All potential culprits.But the Health Cafe in Rishikesh washed their produce in fresh water, not tap water (they said), and used the fresh, organic ingredients. I'd eaten a few salads there already no ill effect. It was such a relief to eat fresh food!But I'd taken things a bit too far. This one was not going to stay down.Maybe because the three skinny and serious guys running the cafe had been distracted while cooking that particular night. There had been some Borat-style sketch comedy clips on the Internet; the men had gathered around to watch and laugh. Maybe they hadn't paid attention to how those veggies got washed that night.Back in the Haridwar train station, I ran out of ideas for where to do my business. Then, I saw someone I recognized from Rishikesh and realized that I had forgotten to find out what platform my train was leaving from. So I waved down the tall guy with clear Dennis Hopper-style glasses and a wildly scraggly beard.“Platform 4,” he said, looking surprised to be recognized. In spite of the fashionable stuff going on with his face, I knew him as a friendly person. At the Health Cafe, we'd talked briefly about yoga teachers in Rishikesh.“Where do you go?” I'd inquired.“Well, Surinder at the Raj Palace Hotel has been sick lately. But for me he's the best. There's Usha across the river at Omkarananda but it's 500 rupees ($10). Otherwise Kamal the Astanga guy is pretty famous.”“I'm done with Astanga,” I said. “I leave it to other people now.”He laughed, “Yeah, too hard on the joints!”We were on the same page.At the railway station, we found the pedestrian overpass to Platform 4 and climbed the stairs together. I wondered whether to tell him that I was on the verge of upchucking. It was all I could think about. On Platform 4, we sat ourselves and our packs down on a metal bench and I noticed there were no places to get sick here. Except onto the tracks themselves. In front of everyone.I hate making a demonstration of myself in public. It is one of my worst nightmares. It looked like I was going to have to either be very brave, or very creative, in how I managed this situation It had all the signs of being painfully embarrassing.But for now, here was Jaime, 24, tall and lanky and Italian-looking. He spoke with the carefree, go-with-the-flow Italian poise; I'd seen him around town with several different people. I could imagine him on a scooter, drinking coffee at an outside trattoria, waving “ciao!” to his friends.So I was surprised to learn not only that he was Mexican but that he suffered the same curse I do: worrying. In fact I was worrying right now, and had been since I'd woken up.But it was hard to imagine him worrying. He looked so chill. But like me, he was an over-planner, thinking that if all the details were in place ahead of time, everything would go well.I had new respect for him.“Do you remember what Mooji said?” I asked him. The charismatic Jamaican-English teacher had been in Rishikesh giving satsangs (question and answer periods) and I'd seen Jaime get up and ask a question.“No, what?”“He said, 'You can't breathe tomorrow's air.' ”“Wow, I don't remember that, it's a good one. Really great,” said Jaime, nodding. “I also like to plan, but actually,” he raised a long, thin finger, “it doesn't make things better.”“I know, right? Because you get so frustrated and disappointed when things don't go the way you want them to.” This seemed to apply well right at this moment. “And you can't stop them.”“In fact, I think it makes things worse,” said Jaime. “India really forces you to deal with this...it's simply impossible to maintain your plans here. Too chaotic. Everything changes. Nothing goes the way you think it will. ”“Totally."As Jaime and I bonded over our own poor attempts to control our reality, I realized I was not thinking about my stomach ache. Maybe if I kept talking to Jaime, I would actually be fine.Or maybe if Jaime and I kept talking about Mooji and the overwhelming feeling of peace and love that the accomplished Vendanta teacher brought into the room, I could overcome my food poisoning altogether. Maybe I could use mind over matter. And somehow just the memory of Mooji would guide me.Dawn was beginning to light the railway tracks. Many more people had gathered on the platform. A woman asked Jaime to move his pack so that she could sit down on our metal bench. A poor man wrapped in a dirty white cloth and a dirty brown cloth, carrying a gnarled walking stick, came to beg for money. He touched me on the head several times and pointed to his cloudy eyes. A woman stuck a portable Durga shrine lit with sticks of incense under my nose and insisted on coin donations.But then, suddenly, quickly the train arrived, a few minutes late, and the growing crowd on the platform surged towards the train with their packages, scarves, slippers, small children, tiffin pots full of portable lunches. As we got up and shrugged into our packs, a surge of nausea hit me. I wasn't going to escape so easily.Jaime and I said goodbye: he was in a car at the opposite end of the train from me. All our seats were pre-assigned so I knew I wouldn't see him again. He would transfer in Delhi for a 31-hour train to Goa on the coast.As I slipped into my window seat next to a devout Muslim man who later gave a copy of his Qur'an, I prayed that, if throwing up was truly inescapable, please let me have the safest, cleanest, most peaceful experience of being sick possible, one that was not humiliating.And when the time came, I found a passable porcelain sink in a reasonably un-smelly bathroom. The door locked. I managed to keep my balance on the wildly swaying train. Given the options, this little set-up was a bit of a miracle. I managed. I figured it out. It was kind of okay.This was definitely one of those things I couldn't plan for and couldn't know how to manage ahead of time. It wasn't great—because throwing up is by definition awful—but of all the options I had been given, it was okay.And that was a decent compromise for me.

Holiday Presents (Books!) for Your Yogi

I believe this is Lorr on the cover

Garden State

21st Century Yoga

Time for presents! What do you get the yogi on your holiday list?What I have to suggest has nothing to do with LuluLemon or your local studio, but rather books. Books!Three notable books come across the Yoga Nation desk this fall. Should you be fortunate enough to have yogis---plural--- to shop for, there's likely a match for everyone.For your discriminating reader at any point in their yogic career, I suggest Benjamin Lorr's engrossing memoir Hell-Bent: Obsession, Pain, and the Search for Something Like Transcendence in Competitive Yoga.Lorr went from no-good, overweight drunk to hooked on Bikram yoga. Yeah, that stinky hot yoga that people rave about. I mean hooked--- he went deep, did the teacher training, entered the notorious competitions, experienced Bikram and his coterie up close and in the flesh.While the book is a great story, it is truly remarkable how much time Lorr spends in  describing and justifying pain.He cites research, talks to experts, but after all his hard work, I actually wanted him to do something simple, like distinguish between the intense discomfort of stretching something stiff and the sharp pain of injury, something everyone in yoga can relate to.I confess that I worried about him---about the fate of his body and his sanity (and the state of yoga). At the same time, I was fascinated by his obsessive fascination and kept reading to the end.Lorr goes to great lengths to disabuse you, reader, of your quaint notion that yoga is not meant to be competitive. It is, he says. In fact, it can be anything we want it to be. There isn't a script (except in Bikram teacher-training where there is a very strict script).And while he admires Bikram Choudhury for his knowledge and skill, he clearly has mixed feelings about Bikram as an undeniablemegalomanic. (Example: Bikram requires that his teacher-trainees stay up til 3, 4, or 5am watching Bollywood movies just so he doesn't have to be alone.) Even if this is a wack story, it's a highly enjoyable read. Lorr is a gifted writer. And he gives you lots to think about. Recommended. Next up, and probably best suited to your newbie yogi, is Brian Leaf's memoir, Misadventures of a Garden State Yogi. The book's subtitle---My Humble Quest to Heal my Colitis, Calm my ADD, and Find the Key to Happiness---promises a strange brew, and even several chapters in, I was trying hard to peg the flavor of this cocktail.Leaf tells of his beginnings in yoga (and eventual journeys and questings) in a self-deprecating, slapstick voice that would be well-suited for stand-up. (Yoga stand up? Why not?!). And so this book might appeal beginning yogis who will be able to relate to his foibles.In the end, too much bud-duh-bah becomes distracting in book form. Leaf offers advice throughout and appendixes of hands-on stuff at the back.Watch the book video here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcYFYjnU9CwNext, for the yogi intellectual is21st Century Yoga: Culture, Politics and Practice. A collection of essays edited by It's All Yoga Baby's editrix Roseanne Harvey and former Elephant Journal blogger Carol Horton, this self-published collection gives critical perspective on yoga culture today. Essays range from how the yoga scene reinforces negative stereotypes of women's bodies, how yoga needs to include activism, speak to non-violence, how it can heal addition etc. Warning: a lot of essays have two-part titles that include colons (the punctuation mark), e.g. "Yoga for War: The Politics of the Divine."). You know what that means. Graduate school!The first essay absolutely infuriated me with its mushed up logic, but otherwise these are conversations the yoga world needs to be having. At long last. Amen.Finally, forget about William Broad's The Science of Yoga from earlier this year unless you want to confuse your yogi. Broad may be a senior editor at the New York Times, but he's no yoga expert. Gary Kraftsow of American Viniyoga Institute expertly tore him a new you-know-what at the Yoga Journal Conference in NYC, 2012. In front of an audience of, oh, a thousand or more. Problematic understanding of Tantra and yoga's origins (Lorr is much better on this point) and interesting but shady research overall. That's it! Happy holidays!(And drop a comment here or a tweet me @yoganation to let me know what you bought your yogi this year, book or no... ) 

...and this just in: One More Book!

Jaimal Yogis Fear

This just in! Got a note this morning from surfer yogi dude, Jaimal Yogis, that his new book will be out January 8th.Yogis's 2009 book Saltwater Buddha: A Surfer's Quest to Find Zen on the Seatook a koan-ic approach to the chillest sport ever, as he searched for enlightenment on the waves.In his new book, The Fear Project, Yogis hopes to answer this question (click to watch):Since I don't have the book in my hands---but I can vouch for Yogis as a writer---I'm giving you the marketing copy below (you know, the stuff you'd read on Amazon or Library Journal).Great gift for your the surfer yogi in your family?

This provocative, entertaining story follows Yogis as he navigated his own fears, from the monsters under his childhood bed to his personal quest to surf bigger and more difficult waves, culminating in northern California Mavericks—huge, crushing (and sometimes deadly) waves in the dead of winter. The Fear Project explores the complicated spectrum of why we feel afraid: fear of loss, fear of not being good enough, fear of being alone, fear of being trapped in the wrong job, fear of not being able to realize our dreams, fear of pain, and ultimately, fear of our own mortality.Yogis embarks on a memorable journey as he seeks answers from neuroscientists, meditation teachers, psychologists, and elite athletes. As he learns how to identify and overcome his own fears, he shares the secret to unlocking a sense of renewed possibility and a more rewarding life.The Fear Project is a captivating look at the age-old lesson that by recognizing our fears and embracing them—instead of running away—we can harness fear's powerful energy to find true happiness and fulfillment.

Sign of the Times? OM Yoga to Close After 15 Years

Cyndi Lee

On Sunday, yoga doyenne (and former Cyndi Lauper choreographer) Cyndi Lee gave the closing remarks at last weekend's Yoga Journal 3rd conference in New York.By Monday---the day after the conference---she announced, via email to long-time students, that the studio had lost its lease and would be closing by the end of June.(Read the announcement on the studio's Web site.)Lee, who established OM in 1997 on 14th street, said the landlord at 826 Broadway, OM's home above The Strand bookstore for about 7 years, didn't give her an option to renew. According to an interview on Well+Good:

She gave us 90 days notice and rented it to someone else. She just didn’t want a yoga studio there anymore.

OM yoga studio

According to some long-time NYC yogis, OM had begun to lose its fire a little while ago. Once-loyal students had already moved on to other studios or classes that seemed eager to move with the changing trends of yoga.Still, the pioneer studio had nurtured beloved NYC teachers such as Margi Young, Christy Clark, Lippy Orem, Joe Miller, and Brian Liem, and gave others such as Brooklyn maverick Jonathan FitzGordon his start.It also was one of the first to explicitly bring yoga asana practice and Buddhist meditation techniques together. Lee frequently hosted her Tibetan teacher, and held workshops by David Nichtern, music producer and senior teacher in the Shambhala Buddhist lineage (and Lee's husband), and her step-son, Ethan Nicthern, author of One City: A Declaration of Interdependence and founder of the popular Interdependence Project.Teachers and students recite the dedication of merit at the end of (most!) classes, offering their work to the greater good of all beings.OM is not completely going away---it's transforming its teachings and services into more of a "homeless" or online-based studio. Lee and her senior teachers will continue to give workshops and trainings, although there are speculations that some may branch off altogether.For now, enjoy the last 2 months of this breezy and popular studio that trained a lot of eager new teachers, brought teachers as diverse as Judith Lasater and Meredith Monk to students, and gave a very chill American spin to a practice that can be be altogether too many things to too many people.

Get Real: Controversial Writer talks about "The Science of Yoga"

Science of Yoga

Picture 2

New York Times senior science writer, William J. Broad came under fire in early January for his article “How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body". In it, he recounted shocking stories and studies of yoga-related injuries. The article enraged parts of the yoga community who felt it scared newcomers and discredited yoga.As provocative as the article was, Broad's book, The Science of Yoga, is solidly researched---and fascinating. He reviews 150 years of studies, giving readers a very good idea of the scientifically measured benefits (healing, inspiration, sexual power) and the dangers (physical injury, group thinking) of yoga asana practice. I had the chance to interview WJB about the whole experience.

YN: Were you surprised by the response to the NYTimes article?

WJB: I was surprised by lots of things. On the one hand there was lots of email about, “if you think that’s bad, let me tell you my horror story.” Spinal infarcts, vertigo, that kind of thing. But I also got extremely un-yogic responses like the bitter invective from a 30-year veteran yoga teacher who said, “Go fuck yourself,” and a yogini in L.A. who said, “You are a jerk, you don’t know anything about yoga.”

YN:Do you attribute this to the growing pains of what you call Yoga 2.0, “the modern variety” of yoga, especially in the West?

WJB: I hope that’s what it is! That’s part of my naive optimism. Science demonstrates lots of benefits of yoga---neuro-transmitters that help your mood, help your sex life and so on. The science also clearly demonstrates that yoga as we know it contains alluring myths such as, that yoga helps you lose weight, or it’s the only exercise you need, etc. This just isn’t true.I hope the outcry is part of the process of starting a conversation. And I’m hopeful that there’s a growing realization that yoga can be better. Which for some people is a contradiction. They think, yoga is ancient and what can be better than that? But the science says that there are issues and it can be better.Another surprising aspect of the feedback has been the depth of the reform movement. I had no idea. People using props, Iyengar teachers tailoring poses to people rather than the other way around. There are dozens of groups, schools, and styles that are working hard to provide this evolutionary agenda. That delighted me.

YN:So the reform movement would be more in the direction of Yoga 3.0 or 4.0.

WJB: Of course, those are arbitrary numbers. Yoga is this thing that’s being born all around us.

YN:What were some of your favorite “me too” stories from the letters you received?

WJB: Some of them moved me almost to tears. Two people who stand out are former studio owners, who say, ”Woah, you ain’t kidding. Do we have things to tell you,” such as a lifetime of surgery and therapy on their own spines. In one case, one of them had been working with celebrity yogis, creating curriculums. She was forming very visible programs and was very much in the mainstream.

YN:Speaking of reform, have you heard of International Association of Yoga Therapists (IAYT)?

WJB: I talk about IAYT in the chapter on healing. For 3 years I was a member. I’d send them my membership fee and they’d send me a credential with gold fancy lettering. I’ve seen them hanging in yoga studios—I hope they stop that practice because it’s just about the $75, not about having an actual diploma.To their credit—because what I want is for yoga to become more professional—they are trying to create standards and schools with standardized curriculum. That’s great! I’m hoping for yoga doctors, myself. I think it’s an outrage that we spend 10s of billion dollars on fix-this, fix-that pills when anyone who does yoga seriously knows it’s a better way. Yoga done right is grown up. It says, “I take responsibility for myself and I have control over what I do” in a way that popping pills doesn’t.So, I applaud them but on the other hand they did send me three fake diplomas.

YN: So you think they don’t go far enough.

WJB: There’s a lot of guru worship out there and cultish schools finely dividing themselves into factions and sticking to what they think is the truth. That’s why science is so powerful because it looks at what is real and what is not real. It can be more objective.The Science of Yoga is the first book to look at the century and a half of science on yoga. The science can illuminate a lot of what are bogus claims and what are understated truths.

YN: It seems like you’re saying that yoga is both much better and also worse than we thought. It’s much more extreme—handle with care!

WJB: Exactly. In my own practice, I did it for stress management. But fundamentally, yoga is much more extreme than a stress management system. As a science journalist I was blown away by the mysteries of the practice.

YN: Can you give an example?

WJB: How low can the human metabolism go while maintaining a level of consciousness? Is suspended animation possible? We can actually go into a deeper hibernation that a turtle or a bear—that’s quite amazing.How possible is continuous bliss—sexual, or whatever you want? Some people can so stir their inner fire that they enter these states of continuous ecstasy that is allied with sexual ecstasy. Possibly these are states of enlightenment.

YN: You say that you started to research in 2006—did the subject matter require more research than you expected?

WJB: I thought I was going to do it in 9 months but it took 5 years. In many cases, the science was more difficult than I thought.The sexual chapter alone took 3 years. There was some evidence to wrestle with. Some research said that yoga makes sex hormones decline. That wasn’t intuitively right to me and had not been my experience. I put that away for a while. When I’d go back to it, I’d still think that it didn’t add up. Then some advanced yogis talked to me about continuous bliss and all kinds of stuff, and then things started falling into place. But it took time.

YN:Speaking of sexual bliss, I noticed that you refer to Tantra only as a sex cult. The Himalayan Institute, where I’ve been studying, takes pains to separate left and right-handed Tantra. You don’t do that. Was this a conscious choice?

WJB: It’s very much in their interest to separate left and right handed, isn’t it? Tantra is a muddy subject. There’s layer after layer of symbolic misrepresentation. It’s gets so convoluted and strange—it’s a deep well.

YN: It strays into the magical, for sure.

WJB: Tantra gets into magic and trickery, frauds and pretexts for having fun. And they call it spirituality. Then there are serial philanderers such as Muktananda and Swami Rama, their 60-yr old bodies humming with vitality and they’re going down on any woman who’s willing—it’s bizarre.How can they rationalize that appalling behavior? There’s lots of literature about the hard effects of betraying that doctor-patient relationship. There are women traumatized by these swamis: he was their God and their God kept going down on them and doing these weird things!

YN: It’s hard to understand—puzzling and disappointing.

WJB: And yet it’s worth meditating on in the sense that it’s real so we don’t want to hide from it.

YN: Your parameters for “yoga” didn’t include much meditation and pranayama. I’m sure you know of the research studies done by Jon Kabat-Zinn (on mindfulness meditation) and Richard Miller (on yoga nidra/iRest). What was your thinking there?

WJB: Initially, I wanted to have the research to be physically-based, but then my research went over into neurological areas such as in the muse and sex chapter. There’s a hugely overlooked area in what yoga does as a powerful stimulus to creativity, for example. It’s also because it’s the way the industry goes right now—so much of the yoga we do is physical and doesn’t tolerate any meditation or pranayama. This is not Patanjali’s 8-fold path. It may be a misrepresentative slice of what got shipped out from India.

A Letter from Brazil

drawing

handwritten

translation of Ana's letter

Last month I talked about my very personal reasons to sponsor a needy child---in Brazil. About two weeks ago I received my first letter from Ana Vitoria, who lives in the northeast of South America's largest country. Cool!I've always loved getting letters in the mail. In high school, I wrote to my friends regularly---and they wrote back. I even wrote to strangers I met while traveling--and they wrote back. I remember very clearly how great it was to catalog my thoughts and the events in my life. Even more thrilling to receive a response.So, I was smiling from ear to ear as I opened the white World Vision envelope postmarked "Recife, BR."  Ana's funny, 7-year old thoughts were penciled in crooked letters on the organization's stationary: she has a cat named Shena. Her favorite color is pink. She likes rice pudding.I made my way through the Portuguese first (hard to read in crooked pencil marks) and then read the translation. Fun! I imagined her sitting down with her project worker, maybe on some porch or outdoor bench near her school, maybe the fields are green around her, or maybe they are brown and parched. I see her answering his questions about what she might want to say to me, this stranger so many thousands of miles away in this famous city of this famous country. I imagined how my life that must seem, in her imagination, to be overflowing with luxuries. As we head into December---a time of unrelenting indulgences with presents to buy, trips to take, parties to go to, New Year's hopes and dreams on the horizon---I'm gearing up to write Ana a letter of my own. I'll be thinking about how to put my life into simple words. I'll be thinking about all the many, many blessings that I have, all the advantages I overlook everyday. I'll look for the words that a 7-year-old would understand, one who struggles to have enough to eat. It makes me wonder if I couldn't do more for Ana than just send her a Christmas card.(In some countries that World Vision sponsors, you can buy a child's family a goat!) And in the meantime, I'm feeling pretty grateful to be sending her a little money every month. It's a great feeling to contribute to her well-being. Maybe you'll contribute at the office this year, or volunteer at a local food bank, or even sponsor a child of your own?Happy holiday month and Hari Om!

RIP Jack the Cat

Maybe it's pre-11.11.11 vibes---you know, on Friday we shift into the long-awaited Acquarian age, according to Yogi Bhajan. Oct 28 marked the long-awaited end of one big cycle of the Mayan calendar.Or maybe it's just me---I've  spontaneously stopped eating much meat or drinking much alcohol lately, and it's making me sensitive to, you know, broccoli, kale, and stories about animals. This story about Jack the Cat really got to me today.Jack the Cat escaped his carrying case before being loaded onto and American Airlines flight bound for California on August 25, where his owner, Karen, was moving.Lost in the airport for 61 days, he fell through the ceiling at JFK customs on October 25 and was rushed to pet hospital in Manhattan.American Airlines flew Karen back to New York to attend to her cat. But he was too weak from malnutrition and dehydration to continue on. On Sunday, after Karen had flown back home, Jack was put to sleep, surrounded by Karen's friends and supporters.

Despite measures like a feeding tube, intravenous fluids, antibiotics and one operation, veterinarians finally recommended euthanasia.“Forty to 60 percent of his body area was affected by devitalized tissue, tissue without blood flow,” Dr. Daly said.A Facebook page devoted to Jack, Jack the Cat Is Lost in AA Baggage at J.F.K., had more than 24,400 “likes” as of Monday morning. On Sunday, a post entitled “RIP Jack — Full Info” reported that Jack had “gone over the rainbow bridge.”

Rest in peace, furry friend. Sniff.

3 Reasons Why I'm Sponsoring a Child in Brazil

Flying back from my brother's home in September was emotional. He was 4 weeks (out of 6) into intensive chemo and radiation, confused, weak, and scared about the future. His wife and I were working around the clock to care for him--and his two kids who were just starting kindergarten and pre-school.It was hard to leave at that moment, especially to return to my rather foreign life in New York. I was a part of his family more than ever now, and they needed all the help they could get. (Two 1/2 months earlier, Bill had been diagnosed with a stage 4 brain cancer, just a few weeks after his 36th birthday.) On that September trip, I had gotten close to my 5-yr old nephew, Alex, and my 3-yr old niece, Sammie. I had gotten to know my sister-in-law in a way that only people thrown together into crisis can. I had one of the most intense---and in an odd way, satisfying---experiences of family I'd ever had.I worried about leaving them at this moment, yet I needed to get back home to keep my own life going.  If my life fell apart---emotionally, financially, or otherwise---I wouldn't be much good to anyone. On my poignant plane ride back, thinking so much about family, I also felt lucky to be in a position to help. My brother's airline (he's a pilot) was flying me out to the west coast of Canada and back. My job as an editor was giving me the time off. I was able-bodied and I had a enough savings to afford miss a paycheck. Still, I also felt the temptation to retreat into worry, sadness, and self-pity. Nothing compared to my younger---and only---brother getting stage 4 cancer. Yet instead of descending into self-indulgence, something else, completely surprising, happened. On the plane's head-set TV,  an advertisement came on for an organization that sponsors children and their communities in impoverished parts of the world. Usually I leave that kind of work to other humanitarians. But that morning I felt an instant connection to those children. I deeply understood what it would mean for them to have some extra help. In fact, for the price of a sandwich every week I could get a child a visit to a doctor, help her (or him) grow a garden, or even buy her textbooks or help her go to school for the first time. Thinking about it made me cry all over again. I thought about it back at home and I investigated the organization. I waffled and I wavered. But the feeling that I needed to do this persisted. So here are the three reasons why I decided to sponsor Ana Souza Silva, age 7, of northeastern Brazil.

1. There is almost no price on giving ($10 a week? nothing), but there is a huge price to not receiving. To give to someone who needs help is an honor and a privilege.

2. I am Ana; Ana is me. We are connected. The act of giving is the understanding that our lives are, ultimately, bound together. It's the, "there but for the grace of God go I" idea.

3. I've felt a special connection with Brazil for several years, and it's a country I will most likely visit again. The fact that I might meet Ana one day makes giving her money all the more real, and all the more meaningful. (I've already started the paperwork!)

4. (I know I said three, but there are more!) It's really, really easy. It's the easiest way I know to give thanks for the privilege of my own life. It *is* the embodiment of "thanksgiving." Why wait for the date in November before I embrace this commitment to living?

5. It's almost hard to describe how exciting and moving it is to give a little money to Ana each week. It chokes me up every time.Maybe this holiday season you might also give to a needy child or a needy family. It really feels amazing. I chose to work through World Vision. They are a Christian organization, but they get great reports.

Happy November!

Adding "Namaste" to Bachelorette Parties

As reported in theNew York Times today, more young brides are adding fitness to their bachelorette parties. And that includes yoga.Are you surprised?What surprises me (constantly, sigh) is the endless creative ways that entrepreneurs organize yoga for busy brides-to-be. Writes the Times:

It’s not just New Yorkers: The Los Angeles-based company Yoga for Weddings (slogan: “Bringing the Deep Breath to the Big Day”) offers private 90-minute classes, with a focus on “heart-opening poses” like the Cobra, for brides-to-be and their pals in nine United States cities (cost: $500). Innerlight Center for Yoga and Meditation in Middletown, R.I., started offering $200-an-hour bachelorette parties last year; already demand this year has tripled, said Kim Chandler, the center’s director.

20BACHELORETTE1-articleLarge

That's a lot of cash for a little namaste with your girlfriends.... but it's about priorities.I'm guessing smart companies know that a few sweaty down dogs with your closest lady friends might work out better in the long run than a big drunken glitter-covered mess that you don't remember well even the next morning.

Protest or Party? Yoga as Political Theater or Giant Concert, your choice

According to the New York Times today, agitators in India are using hunger strikes---and yoga---to protest corruption in their government. While some people, such as Mr Anna Hazare, of the DMK political party are fasting to affect change, others such as  yoga guru Swami Ramdev, are planning mass yoga sessions.

... Swami Ramdev, a yoga guru with political aspirations and hundreds of thousands of followers, has created another front of protest. Tents have been prepared at a campsite in New Delhi for a mass yoga session on Saturday followed by a hunger strike. Mr. Sibal and other top ministers met Swami Ramdev at New Delhi’s airport on Wednesday and spent nearly two hours trying in vain to persuade him not to protest. --NYTimes

Wanderlust standard

Meanwhile, in Manhattan, where we have not a thing to protest, and only joy in our hearts, yogis and music lovers are preparing for the second attempt at a ginormous public yoga class in the city. As you might remember---maybe you were there---last year's Flavorpill event was rained out. This year, the Wanderlust team has taken over, and will be offering instruction by Anusara's golden child, Elena Brower, Breakti's creator Anya Porter, and Kula Yoga/Wanderlust director, Schuyler Grant at Pier 63 near 24th Street and the Westside Highway on June 7th. Music will be provided by New York's favorite in-class musician, Garth Stevenson, and Earthrise Soundsystem.From political theater to giant concert, appropriate use of yoga has once again proven to be hard to establish. But a lot of people do seem to think it's more fun when attached to another agenda, and when practiced with a lot of other people. Maybe.

The Blue Tape

2011 Yoga Journal Conference, NYC Part DeuxOne of my favorite passages from Neal Pollack's hilarious book Stretch: The Unlikely Making of a Yoga Dude involves him going to a Yoga Journal conference in San Francisco. He describes it thus:

Lurching through the doors of the Hyatt, I entered a sea of crazy old ladies seeking their next kundalini high, as well as a decent number of smokin' hot babes in tight lululemon pants. A few men floated about carefully, like Triassic-era furry mammals looking for eggs to gnaw not wanting to disturb the dominant species. Everyone seemed excited and awake. I was a midnight guy in the Valley of the Morning People."Pretty accurate.

Blue tape

More blue tape

He goes on to describe the sub-basement room his workshop takes place in, and the blue masking tape that marked "even rectangular spaces each large enough for a yoga mat and some miscellaneous props."I was in the middle of a mind-boggling lecture on Tantra when I remembered Pollack's line about the tape. And as I looked around me, I realized---I was surrounded. The blue tape was everywhere, in every lecture room and practice space. Fronts of rooms were taped, backs of rooms, even spaces that it was unlikely anyone would ever practice, such as beside the stage or right near the door. The only places that weren't taped were the marketplace and the lecture hall (which did, however, look like a powder-blue tea cup). Clearly, the blue tape is a pragmatic solution to human tendency towards chaos. And I admit it made me feel somehow safer from the throngs of people: I had space to put my shoes, my bag, my notebook, and pen. It gave me some private property, and acted as a psychological barrier in a radically impersonal space full of strangers. Still, it did have an elementary school feel to it, like it was meant to help us to color more neatly between the lines. And it could not protect us from our thoughts, like, "that's an unfortunate hair style" or "wish I had started yoga in the womb so I wouldn't feel so behind now." Nor could the ubiquitous blue tape protect us from weird vibes or aromas, like my neighbor's unbrushed-teeth smell that he blew on me as we did an excruciating IT band release in Bo Forbes's "Mind-Body Flow: Crafting a Therapeutic Practice." Since Pollack had pointed out the tape---and it had lodged in my memory---it did add some levity to my endeavors at the conference. There I was, one of a thousand women and a hundred men flip-flopping around the Hilton Hotel, loaded with yoga mats, blankets, bags, water bottles and swag, like perky Spandex-clad pack-horses. We were searching for yoga knowledge---or just yoga fun---to be delivered in neat packages that appealed to our upper-middle class sensibilities (with a dash of the hippie dippie). Who were we kidding? Were we for real? Most of us were earnestly excited, but our questing also seemed a bit silly. So maybe we do need help coloring between the lines, playing nice, and staying on point. "Hi, that's MY Prana mat bag, don't touch it," or "Keep your eco-friendly, hand-dyed shoes on YOUR side of the blue tape, please." Now, now, kiddies.

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

2011 Yoga Journal Conference, NYC Part UneThis weekend in is the second Yoga Journal conference in New York (the first was in 2009), and through a stroke of good fortune I was able to attend. Not wanting to waste a single drop of my precious pass, I chose to do the Friday all-day intensive with Rod Stryker, creator of Para Yoga. In other words, I would spend the entire day with a Tantric teacher instead of at my day job. You can imagine that my choice was not difficult: reviewing manuscript for a remedial English textbook, or learning about how to overcome my limitations by becoming a living embodiment of the divine. Hmm. I put in for a personal day, rolled up my blue piling yoga mat, and packed off to the Hilton Hotel in mid-town.

I had another agenda, too. Stryker is a long-time student of Panditji Rajmani Tigunait, the spiritual head of the Himalayan Institute where I've been doing the Living Tantra series since July 2010. I wanted to see how Stryker interpreted the teachings of Panditji---and Panditji's teacher, Swami Rama---for American yoga people. Truth be told, I was having some trouble with the mysterious and magical stories of Tantra's history and practices. How exactly was I supposed to conduct a fire ceremony, or the secret rituals? How did my urban Brooklyn life fit in with Tantra's esoteric take on reality?

So here they all were again, Tantra's basic ideas, but presented in the low-lit conference room of a corporate hotel, rather than in a vegetarian ashram in northeastern Pennsylvania. In Tantra, Styrker reminded us, we don't make the self go away in order to have a spiritual practice. Rather, we alchemize ourselves so that the divine works through us. How do we attract divinity? Not by giving up worldly things, but by becoming more like the divine in our daily lives. Tantric asana practice is a discipline to refine your energy so that the alchemy can happen.What about sex and death, you ask? Well, in the left-handed path, which is all about enjoyment, no desire is denied because all desires are expressions of the divine. In the left-handed path, you can have all the sex you want, but you might also meditate in a cremation ground by sitting on a corpse. Ewww.

Since many people are not always comfortable with corpses---and truthfully probably not so much with hedonistic sex either---they have to practice asana, pranayama, mantra and ritual to clear out their misconceptions of the Source and limitated conceptions of the Self. In other words, on the right-handed path, which emphasizes liberation, people have to work to align their desires with the divine, to know that there IS a source behind everything. And this source is beyond what we can conceive of with the rational mind. In the right-handed path, no ecstatic copulation---and no visits to graveyards---is required.

Stryker talked for most of the morning session, introducing the subject of "god" and all its forms at about the half an hour mark. "We have all these choices but they are not related, not integrated. It's like going to several specialists and getting several opinions--it almost paralyzes you. In Tantra we integrate them. Then we practiced. Gentle asana---that reminded me very much of ViniYoga asana practices---with the emphasis on the breathing pattern. On the inhale bring the breath down the spine and relax the bandhas, on the exhale bring the breath up the spine and contract the lower two locks. We were trying to build fire in the belly, the fire of manipura chakra, where our issues get burned up and purified, and where our sense of agency originates.

We did this in standing poses, back bends, and forward extensions, even adding in the mantra, Om Agni Namaha---the mantra to stimulate and propitiate the fire at our navel center. Then we sat for meditation. By the time we broke for lunch---and again after the afternoon session---I was high as a kite, floating on a pulsing current that eliminated every thought and even the need to breathe. When I asked Stryker a question in person afterward, my eyes felt dilated like I'd become a wide-eyed alien who had just visited the optometrist. It seemed like light and energy were pouring through them, but Rod answered my question without seeming to notice. No matter, I will bathe everyone I meet with my Tantric-generated fire, I thought, walking unsteadily out into the glaring hallway of the enormous hotel. Clearly that wasn't going to last long.

In the evening I was signed up for David Romanelli's "Yoga & Chocolate" class. While "yoga & chocolate" might seem to qualify for the left-handed path, it wasn't hedonistic at all. In fact, going from Stryker to Romanelli was like falling from the breathless heights of Kilimanjaro and landing with a thump in a Starbucks.Not that the chocolates weren't good---the Vosges chocolates were complex and intriguing, especially the vegan one with Oaxaca chilis. It was the yoga that was prosaic. Your basic sun salutation, your basic back bend, your basic forward fold. And the sprinkling of interesting factoids throughout the class felt calculated to deliver a message to a demographic to which Romanelli, a self-proclaimed "major Gemini," assumed we belonged---the too busy, too distracted crowd who was out of touch with our emotions and our five senses.Romanelli was a clever marketer, but his delivery was flat---and in fact, he read from his factoids from a script. He seemed happiest when he was embracing beautiful women---of whom he seemed to know a great many (I saw him embracing them all over the Hilton).Still, the 100 or so women---and 8 or so men---in attendance thought that "Yoga & Chocolate" was the way to go, and who am I to question how people approach meaning in their lives? I'd just dropped in from Mars, after all.

Yoga + Infertility = Baby?

Women battling infertility is a familiar (though harrowing) story these days. Women using yoga to reduce stress and love themselves better is another familiar story. So it comes as no surprise that yoga is helping women to cope with the physical and emotional stress of infertility and its treatments...It's also not a new idea. My ob/gyn, Dr. Eden Fromberg, opened Lila Wellness Center in New York several years ago to meet women's pre-and post- (and pre- pre-) natal needs. And there have been programs such as Receptive Nest, and studios such as Brooklyn's Bend & Bloom, helping women to reach full "bloom" in their childbearing years. Other renegade yoga specialists have been helping women for years to make the all-important mind-body connection necessary. But the NYTime's article this weekend, "Yoga as Stress Relief: An Aid for Infertility?" raises this issue with a new twist: once-skeptical fertility professionals (doctors) are giving yoga the green light. The tide is turning in how acceptable yoga is to support women in their quest to become pregnant.

Medical acceptance of yoga as a stress reliever for infertility patients is slowly growing. In 1990, when Dr. Domar first published research advocating a role for stress reduction in infertility treatment, “I wasn’t just laughed at by physicians,” she said. “I was laughed at by Resolve, the national infertility organization. They all said I was perpetuating a myth of ‘Just relax, and you’ll get pregnant.’ ” At the last meeting for the American Society for Reproductive Medicine, Dr. Domar, now on the national board of Resolve, gave multiple talks, including one about how to help the mind and body work together in infertile couples.

And this is a national phenomenon, not just a jag in New York or San Francisco where there are always a handful of people pushing the envelope. Still, even with yoga's help, infertility doesn't sound like too much fun.

“A lot of people want to boil it down to ‘If you relax, it will happen,’ ” Ms. Petigara, a former in vitro fertilization patient who adopted a son, wrote in an e-mail. “I absolutely feel that yoga can have a very positive impact on infertility, but infertility is a lot more than ‘just relaxing.’ ”

Oh!!! As in, lie back and think of England? Well, yoga never was really about passivity.If you happen to be dealing with infertility right now, you can attend the March 17th tele-seminar on “Yoga for Fertility” led by Jill Petigara, who teaches in the Philadelphia area. But you'll have to Google the details. Food for thought

Round 2: Yoga on the Great Lawn pushed til 2011

In June, nature and the NYC Park's Department were more powerful than 13,000 people doing sun salutations on NYC's Central Park: we got rained out. (More reason for mind training, folks! Were you really thinking about the sun??!?!? Or were you eyeing your cute neighbor? Or drooling over that tasty treat in your goodie bag?) Flavorpill promised to try Y@GL again in September. But as of last week, they've moved Attempt #2 to 2011, promising not just a better experience then (lines fewer than 20 blocks long), but more tie-ins to charities, a national edition of these gi-normous "yoga experiences," and a weekly health and wellness mailer.It makes a lot more sense for an event that size to generate something more useful than an entry in the Guinness World Records. After all, most yogis want to make a difference.In case you've forgotten---or couldn't make it in June---you can watch Flavorpill's videos and catch up. (They must have been shot from the helicopter that hovered over us making it impossible to hear.) And they really do provide a better view than we got from the lawn itself.So even if you can't do your downdogs in a throng of thousands, on a nubby lawn, with a new slippery mat (c/o Jet Blue) this September, you can still attend Flavorpill's smaller yoga events (at places like MoMA) during the year. And of course, you'll start getting the wellness mailer next month. Just think: there's a whole year of them to warm you up for Y@GL 2011. And if you're among those who find the so-what factor fairly high, then you've got an entire month free of cheek-chewing. No more massive public gatherings in the name of yoga.... for at least September.

Need a Spot? Yoga on the Great Lawn, June 22

YogaGreat Lawn

Be one of the 10,000 people moving your asana on Central Park's Great Lawn next Tuesday (1 week folks!) June 22 for a HUGE group yoga class.Flavorpill sponsors Elena Brower (who' s done previous events at MoMA and The Standard Hotel) plus 20 live acts including musicians to lead an evening of yoga and New York City sweaty fun.Be one of the first 5 people to leave a comment on this post (or DM me on Twitter: "@Yoga Nation") and I'll guarantee you a spot! (be sure to leave me your email address)To take your chances in the open lottery (remember, they expect to overflow 10,000), register here and invite your friends.See you there!

No Plans Yet? Hit Yogi Fest Today

Sometimes it's just too much to make Memorial Day plans ahead of time. If you leave now, you'll still have time to catch most of Yogi Fest 2010 in New Windsor, NY. Swing by for a yoga class, some yummy food, entertainment in the children's tent and an amazing kirtan with various Bhakti Collective folk, including Shyamdas this evening. Here are the deets:Directions to Yogi Fest 2010

2010: Yogi Fest  March 29th

MAIN HALL

11:30 AM-12:45 PM - Yoga and Pranayam with Amy Pearce-Hayden (The Yogascape Carmel, NY) (All levels)

1:15-2:30 PM - Yoga with Bryn  (Laughing Lotus) (All levels)

3:00-4:15 PM - Energizing Your Spine: The Science of Twisting with Raghunath  and Bridget Cappo

4:30-5:00 PM - The Yoga of Gratitude with Dhanurdhara Swami and Raghunath

5:00-5:30 PM - Arati (traditional puja with ghee lamps with kirtan.)Kirtan by Prema Hara

5:30-7:00 PM - Prasadam (feast) official end of our program. You're invited to stay as more and more Indian families come for kirtan and talks with two distinguished guests:

7:00 PM -?  Krishna Kirtan and Katha with Shyam Das and Dhanurdhara Swami

KIRTAN TENT

11:30 AM-12:20PM - Kirtan  with Keli Lalita  ( Karuna Shakti Yoga)

12:30-1:30 PM - How to Play Kartalas (Indian hand cymbals) with Balaram Chandra (Kripalu Yoga)

1:40-2:20 PM - Transcendental Poetry with Mark Oppenheimer

2:30-3:10 PM - Yoga for Depression: Q&A with Mark Oppenheimer and Raghunath

3:15-420 PM - Chanting with Keli

CHILDREN'S TENT

11:00 AM-4:15 PM - kids yoga, Crafts and games, stories

2:30 PM - Special Event: Pyari the Magician

REJUVENATION CENTER: COMPLIMENTARY BODY WORK:

• Mark Terza of Metta Massage @ The YogaScape

• Balarama Chandra Thai Massage

• Tammi Price of Sacred Traditions: Acupuncture

• Melinda & TJ Macchiaroli Thai and chair massage from Bodhi Spa Hudson NY

All Things Considered tracks The Great Oom

Earlier this spring Columbia Journalism professor Robert Love published his book The Great Oom, The Improbably Birth of Yoga in America (Viking Adult, $27.95). This biography chronicles  Pierre Bernard's transformation from an Iowa-born nobody into a radical leader of mind-body consciousness--in the late 19th century. According to this NPR story, contemporary yogis have Bernard to thank for the existence of yoga in America. All Things Considers interviews Love on this fascinating story in which author Robert Love tells NPR's Guy Raz how Bernard weathered early rumors of rampant sex and drug use, and later an arrest, to lay the foundation for an empire. Listen to the interview with Robert Love on NPR here (opens an MP3 file).

Yoga in LA, Part 3

Silver Lake

In Casbah Cafe on W Sunset Blvd, eating a huge bowl of spicy chicken soup with a slab of chicken meat in the middle, huge hunks of carrots, potato, onion and half a cob of corn. Surely this brew will cure any bugs that have jumped on board for my quick three-day excursion to LA. My body wants to know what the hell we are doing staying up till 3am New York time. By 9pm at night LA time, I'm feeling so loopy that I mistake my white rental car with blue Nevada plates for someone else's almost identical white car with California plates. I can't understand why the doors won't unlock until my eyes refocus on the Starbucks cup inside near the driver's seat and I realize it's not even my car. The outside of the Casbah borders on Hyperion Street, and a few slanted tables are set into the deep trellised shrubbery of jasmine, bougainvillea, and grape vines. A mural of seductive women peeks out from behind the vertical garden, and tiny white lights have been strung along the top of the trailing plants. It's a fragrant and ebullient environment. "Ah," says Neal Pollack, wearing a tight-fitted blue leather jacket and jeans, "we take it for granted. It can't mask the rotten stink that is LA." Inside, the cafe sells straw hats and silk brocade bedspreads, handmade dolls, and girls' silk dresses. Its Moroccan theme means a variety of teas, a generous selection of sweets including honey-glazed apricots, figs, and puddings. Seventies Brazilian music plays on the stereo lending the cavernous space an echo-y flashback to airier times.

Yoga at The Raven, Tony Guiliano, used to work at Still YogaStrip mall off RowenaSpa called The Raven; yoga room is off that, one open room, Anusara with guest appearances by Acro Yogis (look at schedule) IS it just that one room? what's his deal with the spa? Walk in through a covered wood walkway with rattan furniture and big tropical plants--bougainvillea, big broad palm leaves, low tiled tables. Feels very Asian. Like walking into a hotel in Bali? Malaysia? When I leave just after 8, it's sunset and "The Raven Spa" neon sign is on, a bright pink against the dark wood of the building and the river flashing headlights.Tony Guiliano, handsome Italian guy in blue canvas martial arts pants folded over at the waist, white tank top, and a mala of rudraksh and white crystal around his neck. Sits on slightly elevated stage with huge garlanded Ganesh in a circle behind him. I almost walk in the front door off the street smack into a room of yogis meditating in perfect posture--catch myself and re-route, as usual, I'm having timing and parking issues. A lot of dudes in this class; everyone seems to be in their late 30s, early 40s, Tony's peers, a good looking healthy lot. And they seems to know the principles of AnusaraI come in late, parking shenanigans, pay in a frenzy, changing hurriedly, slip in during OM and chanting kneel on my shins and when we're done unroll my mat. The class is small and Tony notices me, peeks out from behind a pillar, "Hi! What's your name?" I tell him. "Everyone, this is Joelle." Ah yes, the Anusara greeting, so embarrassing to me as a more private New Yorker. Even if the class wasn’t small Tony would probably call me out. He's friendly, verbal, tactile. He knows everyone's name, and gives lots of hands on adjustments and verbal encouragement during the class. Class begins and Tony comes over, "So it looks like you've done Anusara before?""A little. I've done a lot of yoga."He comes over many many times during the class. During my updog, "Beautiful, now bring the tops of your ears back. Beautiful alignment, beautiful earrings, just gorgeous. Okay, now take the top of your head down. Beautiful! Wow!" Tony gives a lot of compliments and gives me a lot of adjustments including putting his fingers on my tailbone to direct  the action of my pelvis--an intimate action even for me to do on myself!-- grabbing my entire upper thigh close to my groin and rotating it inwards in splits pose, and putting his hands around my rib cage to show the necessary cinching action for a good handstand. It's a lot of physical attention, and part of me loves it and craves it. Tony's clearly a great guy, heart's in the right place. Another part of me wonders if this is how he treats every new student? Or is it just new female students? Or is it just me? When I'm in a reclined twist on my back and he's adjusting my neighbor we talk in whispers about Michele, my friend who recommended his class.

"Are you a cook, too?" He asks.

"I'm a writer; so is Michele!"

"She just took off didn't she?"

"Yeah, she's staying at my place."

"So do you live nearby?"

"I live in Brooklyn!"

"No way!" He looks disappointed.

"Do you know Dumbo--well you must--"

I interrupt him. I know what he's going to say. "I know that studio, I know Tara." I know he's going to mention Abhaya, a new Anusara studio in Brooklyn, "I'm good friends with her boyfriend."

In spite of the manhandling, and Tony's unstoppable positivity--which is overwhelming for a New Yorker who is used to more anonymity than notoriety--the practice is deep and clear and joyful, and I feel the stress of my jet lag, weird sleep, and too much pressure even out. I feel smooth and clear, even some joy in my heart. My final relaxation is not deep--my nervous system is still jumpy--but I feel great afterwards. In seated closing pose I felt my heart connected to Tony's. Sweet. Standing around in the small lobby changing area after class, someone asks about Tony’s wife. "She's here! She was in class! She's back from Hawaii!" Tony gets talking to me and his wife leaves. "See you at home, Tone." She's a very tall woman. A couple of other students are still hanging around to see how our conversation will unfold. I feel a bit like a celebrity myself, being treated with such interest.

Tony says to me, "I was all excited, I thought I was gonna get another excellent student. When you said Brooklyn I thought, oh no! She doesn't live here!"

Tony gives me about 10 hugs before I leave. “Listen, thanks for coming to class. So great to meet you! Michele is a sweetheart, awesome lady. Thanks for coming!"

"Thanks for all the assists. People rarely assist me anymore, and I miss it. I want to learn."

"Yeah you're in that weird place where you're clearly not a 911 case, and also you have a strong energy field, I could see it as soon as you walked into class, you're strong, which people might interpret as 'don't tell me what to do' kind of thing."

"You're probably right; I should be more proactive about making friends with my teachers, letting them know I want the help."

"Yeah, just say hey could you help me out with this or that. Because you have so much physical intelligence--I could just see it so clearly--people are probably thinking they should leave you alone. But let me tell you, 3-4 classes, learn some refinements, your whole practice could change, and open up."

Some other students talk to me after class. A woman around my age with long curly dark hair says, "As soon as you walked in I thought I knew you. I used to live in New York."

"Maybe it's from the New York yoga world?" I say not really believing it.

The truth is, all my adult life people have told me that I remind them of someone they know. Once a guy ran into a restaurant in New York where I was having dinner with an old friend, and exclaimed between the packed tables, "Wow I didn't know you were in town, how are you? How's everything?" And when he realized his mistake, he backed away awkwardly and ran out of the restaurant.

A sunburned guy asks if I've ever taken Kenneth's class. "I don't usually practice Anusara in New York," I say, but that seems inconceivable to him. "Me and my wife are good friends of his," he says like he was saying that Derek Jeter was a close personal friend. I'm at a loss, but appreciate that he wants to share this with me. He's proud and excited about his connection. "I'll have to keep my eye out for him."--Anusara community--heart centered--very American, very appealing after the rush and muscularity and celebrity of the Mother Ship yoga.

Kundalini--Golden Bridge

Moved Feb 14, 2011 from farther west in Hollywood when AMC (??) bought their building to make a museum (from DeLongpre and Vine) New building seems especially built for Kundalini, and they are the sort of organization that would fundraise like a church to built something special for themselves, dedicated parking lot, cheap prices--$3 for first 2 hours, $3 after that. Where the old space was cavernous, ramshackle, and kind of a wonderland of merchandise (books, clothes, props, weird misc things) the new space is compact: a small boutique, a thoughtfully constructed cafe, and a modest bookstore. The check in desk is in the center like a central panel. Bathrooms are unisex, many self-published titles, Yogi Bhajan--give history--Gurmukh--give history from the interview she gave at Omega in 2009--"I Am a Woman: Creative, Sacred, and Invincible" Kundalini by Yogi Bhajan, essential Kriyas for Women in the Aquarian Age. "Man to Man--A Journal of Discovery for the Conscious Man.” "Transitions to a Heart-Centered World.” "Relax & Renew"--"Sexuality & Spirituality" explicit directions on when and where and how to have sex ** GET THIS TITLE & INSERT INFO IN TANTRA CHAPTER AS CONTRAST? "The sex game must start 72 hours before sex, and somewhere outside of the bedroom. So, for 2-3 days in advance, prepare the mind, think it over, and build yourself up to it. The mind is the biggest sex organ in the human body. Sex is an attitude of love, when every cell ad part of the body is stimulated and awakened. In the days before, take time to do the Venus kriyas." Rules of thumb: open communication, empty stomach, man breathes through right nostril, woman breathes through left; 2-3 hours to play; massage various body parts: breasts, neck, lips, cheeks, ears, spine, thighs, calves, clit, vagina--also rules for after sex as well.

Framed poster in the boutique: SUTRAS FOR THE ACQUARIAN AGE 1. understand through compassion otherwise you will misunderstand the times 2. Recognize that the other person is you 3. when the time is on you start, and the pressure will be off 4. there's a way through every block 5. Vibrate the cosmos and the cosmos shall clear the path WHAT IS THE ACQUARIAN AGE? WHEN DID IT START? DID YOGI BHAJAN LIVE IN IT?

BOUTIQUE: aroma candles, soaps, oils, Buddha’s, incense, meditation cushions, white clothes for sale, cotton bags, men’s and women’s.

STUDIO: Can be separated into two studios--one door says Rishikesh, the other says Amri, retractable divider folded back, so we're in one huge room with a very high ceiling--wood beams and air ducts--raftered ceiling, dark wood floor, brick walls on three sides, and a removable fourth wall--large high stage--large gong on the right back, large illuminated orange crystal on the right front (salt?)--two bronze cow statues seated on floor beneath stage, bronze goddess (4 hands, two in prayer, two out to the side) crown, cross legged, btw the 2 cows)--framed prints of gods and goddess behind the stage and set into the brick wall by the door--also Krishna and Yogi Bhajan; also Govinda leading a flock of cows (pan figure)--good mix of men and women in the class, younger and older, one woman brought her son who looks about 7--a few people are wearing white: pants, shirt, and kerchief or turban, there's actually a black man beside me and the other newcomer beside me is a Korean man--about 25 people in class. Begin by chanting--very loud--OM NAMO GURU DEV NAMO x3--Motherly women in white dress, and turban with a jewel in the center and a string of clear beads, unlikely person to have a mixing board under her right hand (and a white Mac that she was DJing from )tells us about a guy who says after 13 years of not making it in LA he's moving to New York, Things go well and then they fall apart, they go well and then they fall apart. She says, I don't know what he should do, but I know when there's some unmovable obstacle that doesn't make sense that I can't solve, I ask for help from Ram Dass, give it up to the mysterious powers, and don't try to solve it yourself. Ask for help. Also, this morning a woman in class started feeling dizzy so she lay down, and couldn't get up, All class she couldn't get up, at the end of class she couldn't get up. So we called her husband and still she couldn’t get up, then the paramedics came. She was vomiting and in a terrible state and they don't know what's wrong with her. So she's been on my mind all day. She's got 4 kids and a sweet husband. I'd like to ask Ram Dass to help her, and you do the same. See her laughing, see her healthy, see her doing yoga with no issues.--that's how things are up and down, so this practice is going to strengthen your will, your solar plexus. It's strong, but then we’ll have a long break.--at the END much love to you, SAT NAM. Are you okay to drive? Be careful driving now.--CLASS--doing breath of fire (kapalabhati) (leg scissors, leg lifts, arm lifts slapping the floor, sitting up batting the air with our arms, cobras up and down (worry about hurting back), inclined plank up and down, head to knees with legs lifted (neck hurts), lift up and down thumping bum on the floor (exhausted my arms); on back, on belly, legs lifted, arms lifted up and down--do the actions for 3-5 minutes without stopping, brief break between--"Big shifts are coming in the next 10 years, get ready for what's coming, strengthen your nervous system, and get ready for those shifts."--all the time music--recorded by hypnotic voices, kind of sappy sounding, kind of sweet, good voices very simple arrangements that you can get lost in not musically but energetically--did they supercharge the tracks with vibrations?? like delta waves etc?--I'm EXHAUSTED by the end, really feeling like I don't have the strength to go one and THEN we have to do 1 1/2 minutes of push ups!! I just do baby pushups and not too many--finally we get a long rest--13 minutes on our bellies. My neck is super tense from the abs work (lifting head to knees) and all the arm raises.--At first thoughts are all over the place from the over stimulation physically, then they calm down and I "see" an image of Bradford as a boy and I embrace him into my heart. Mind: why are you still caring about Bradford as a boy? He betrayed you. Don't continue to mother him. I have such a feeling of him--wonder what he really looked like at 5, how smart and vulnerable he must have been, how I wish I could comfort that hurt and confused part of him, how I feel like I could do that, wish I could help him, Where does this image, this feeling coming from?!? Then I'm angry and talking to him at Peter’s saying "You let yourself off the hook too easily," just like that sharply in front of everyone and walking out of the room. I don't like your self-indulgence, you hurt me carelessly, and I'm still not okay with it. I pull myself back from this fantasy==be in the NOW==turn my attention back to the music again feel energy from my sacrum rising up--how much I want sex, how long it's been, how much I miss the physical comfort of sleeping with someone, pull myself back from THAT and try to focus on the music which is happening now, but my heart is still spilling open---tears, snot running out, can't breathe bc nose is filling up with gooey liquid, forehead on hands. This Kundalini stuff made me drop into the pain that's STILL in my heart --about Bradford specifically, and love generally---I've been running away from the last bits of this pain by diving into work--it gets so silent in the room that I wonder if everyone has gone. All I hear is the music, but no longer feel the presence of other bodies. I feel so disoriented from the sudden wave of emotion that I wonder if I've missed an instruction? How long have I been lying here struggling with myself? How much time has passed? More snot and tears come, I decide I don’t have to look up, I'll hear the instruction when it comes, I turn my head one way and then the other, and the tears run both ways down my cheeks and a puddle of snot is forming on the floor,--Come up to sit feeling messy, chant to Ram Dass to offer up unfathomable obstacles to the mysterious workings of the universe and ask for help from nonlogical sources--she instructs us to think of people in our lives who need our help, people who are in our care, and send them our prayer, tears are streaming down my face now as I think of how much I want to care for people, also seeing everyone’s struggle--David, Marisa, Phoebe, Lizza, James, Steph, Michele, Frances--the  anonymous woman in class who could not get up and was taken to the hospital--singing to Ram Dass (this is the "meditation" part of the class)(who is he?)--swaying our bodies and chanting along, she turns the music up to guide us--then praying for people, praying for selves, singing SAT NAM--then announcements: 7-day cleanse, also workshop on strengthening selves so no more insecurity "People say this and that, they can't do things, they don't know what to do, but I think NO ! That's not who you truly are. Be yourself, you are strong, be bold about yourself."--she's motherly, straightforward, older, except she's wearing a white turban with a jewel stuck in the front, and she’s talking to the young men leaving the class like they are her sons.

Yoga in LA, Part 1

Santa Monica has Yoga Works (Main Street) and Venice has Exhale Center for Sacred Movement, and between them they have Vinnie Marino, Sara Ivanhoe, Kathyrn Budig, Sarah Mato, Kia Miller, Sean Corn, Erich Schiffman, Shiva Rea, Annie Carpenter, Saul David Raye, and Hala Khouri. This is a phenomenal number of celebrity yoga teachers just a few miles apart.

In fact, I've heard people joke that if a bomb took out that 1 mile stretch between Venice and Santa Monica the American Yoga world would be significantly diminished. (Others don't think that would be such a bad thing.

No one is comfortable pairing "celebrity" with "yoga teacher" in public, although that doesn't stop thousands of new teachers secretly hope for a similar fame.)

I decided to start my LA yoga tour at Venice's Center for Sacred Movement.

I just landed in LA, picked up my white rental car, and drove to the beach. Well, I drove to the sand-colored, two story shopping complex that houses Exhale, among other shops and restaurants (including a sketchy CVS pharmacy, a Subway, and a nice-looking organic restaurant) parked underground, paid for my class, and took a walk.

I had interviewed the owner of RAWvolution, a raw foods restaurant, for a piece I wrote a few years ago, and knew it was in this general area, so I decided to check it out. The friendly Exhale desk folk assured me I could get there in 10 minutes, but at a leisurely jet-lagged pace it took me 20.

On the way, I passed cute boutiques selling loose white cotton shirts and dresses, Frye boots, and sun glasses. Familiar brands such as Free People, Patagonia, and American Apparel popped up here and there, and there were a number of “eco friendly” places such as the Natural High Lifestyle Shop, The Green Life, and One Life Natural Foods Market.

Plus, there were places that suggested everything that happened in this 10-block strip was carefully considered, including Mindfulness: Adornments for Your Home, Body & Soul, the Animal Wellness Centers, and the offices for Medicines Sans Frontieres.

There were plenty of coffee and teashops: I counted at least 8, and that didn't include what I glimpsed down the side streets. Not a lot of people were out mid-afternoon, but one guy I walked behind as he assessed the architecture of a bank with his buddy was wearing a standard issue LuluLemon jacket.

Once I got closer to Santa Monica, the loose and flowing clothing stores changed into edgier surf shops and skater supply stores. Younger boys in baggy pants starting appearing, as well as older, iconic buildings such as the Village Car Wash, and Surf Shore Motel, still very much in operation.

At last, I came across RAWvolution, a stone-floored cafe with comfortably mismatched tables and chairs and a big kitchen at the back where the foods were dehydrated and prepared. Everyone working there seemed extremely happy in his or her choice of employment, and everything there was expensive.

I had decided, as a special treat, I would indulge my fondness for kale chips no matter how much they cost. I just suspended all judgment as I handed over $7 for the 2 oz, the size of a small bag of potato chips (that in NYC go for $1.50).

With the help of the milk-skinned staff, I also decided to have a shake---something I could digest quickly before class. The Chai Milk Shake with coconut water, chai spices, almond milk and cinnamon would be too sweet, they told me, and so instead I ordered the Aztec Maca Shake: a low-sugar drink, said the menu. It had cacao, maca powder, coconut meat, coconut water, and mesquite. Maca was a Peruvian root that could boost dragging energy.

"Are you a raw foodist?" asked the wide-eyed guy with the thick bowl haircut behind the counter.

"No, just in town and wanted to check out your place."

"For work?" He asked, and I wondered if that meant I look old.

"Are you a yogi?"

"Yeah," I smiled. Yogi undercover."

“And you work out, you're into fitness?" He asked and I wondered if I looked buff to him, or just skinny.

"No, just a yogi," I smiled.

He looked hopeful for more conversation. I had the feeling he wanted me to tell him something extraordinary, like how I was raised by raw foodists on a remote island long before anyone had heard of raw food, or how I'd had a vision at the age of 3 and knew that I would never eat meat or cooked foods again.

Alas, I am just a curious but confirmed skeptic.

And, ironically, around the time I'd interviewed Matt Amsden, the founder of RAWvolution, I'd had such intense —and regular—stomach pain that I could *only* eat cooked food. Everything raw hurt me. For his part, Amsden admitted that he had just kicked his addiction to Doritos.

I sat at the communal table. In the middle had once been a bouquet of spring flowers, but they were now very dead, stems drooping, and the water mildewy.

Nearby was a deck of cards to accompany the popular New Age book by Don Miguel Ruiz, The Four Agreements.

Around the cafe a few people were reading, a couple of friends were playing cards, others were working at their laptops.

Distracted, I picked up the top card of the deck. It said, "stay in the present moment." That must mean stop making so many judgments. Because as much as I wanted to like the Aztec Maca Shake it was unpleasantly thick, kind of gravelly in texture, and so free of sugar that it tasted almost bitter.

It also had an unappealing near-chocolate color. "Carob brown," I thought. It tasted "good for you."

Still, it cost $7.50 so I intended to drink it all.

As I sipped, I glanced around. The walls were hung with framed prints of monks in orange robes and Acro Yogis in partner poses, set again a brilliant blue background. Someone had touched up photographs so that the figures looked smudged and lively, like they were still moving. Robert Storman was the mixed media artist, I read from text on the wall, and his bio said he was the "official artist of 2005's 47th Annual Grammy Awards" and that he's created a "body of work celebrating asana and soul."

I was officially in L.A. now.

+   +  +

"Namaste, yogis!" said Annie, a former dancer, walking off the stage in Exhale's large Sun Room. "Tonight we're going to do forward bends."

Great, I thought. That will totally pacify my nervous system after a long flight and all the work it took to make this trip happen.

The practice space at Exhale has a seasoned wood floor and a wall of glass brick facing Main Street. The side door was open while students filed in, and a pleasant early-evening breeze—and childrens' voices—wafted in, bringing a promise of long lazy summer evenings ahead.

Once we got going, I realized I was being too literal, thinking "forward bending" meant "seated poses."

What Annie meant was deep hip flexion: all those calming forward bends were happening in standing poses. And to do those, we released hamstrings and hip flexors—which after sitting and frowning over manuscript on the plane for 5 hours, were pretty tight on me.

As a former dance mistress, Annie's instructions were all business, and she held us in the poses FOREVER.

"I know, I know," she said, "I did this myself earlier today, just a few more breaths."

And for the first time in a good long while, I broke a sweat in a very slow and precise, alignment-oriented class. It was uber satisfying to feel my scattered, whiny mind focused, and my jet lag shift under the pressure of my concentration.

The class was deep and quiet, but *big,* with 40 or 50 people in it, very few men, and lots of 30s-40s age women with long brown hair.

Annie herself was a dynamo—insightful, thorough, fun—though so skinny that a few times I found myself wanting to feed her a heaping bowl of ice cream.

Maybe because she gave such super subtle and detailed instructions, at one point found myself much deeper into a standing forward bend than usual. Or maybe it was her adjustments. Somehow, in such a big class, she managed to make it over to me once or twice.

In cool down poses my mind was literally blank, and in savasana totally silent. Yum.

I left wondering why the alignment-oriented classes in New York have to leave me feeling like I still need a workout. Annie had worked me well.

After, I still had some kale chips left from my earlier snack. I could've eaten the whole bag on the spot.

In fact, the only thing that stopped me was that 3/4 of the bag were crumbs and hard to eat without spilling them all over myself. I waited to do that later in the privacy of my car.

When I did, I got crumbs all over myself and the car. I thanked the pros at Avis—in my mind— for vacuuming up the sea of small green flecks that decorated the seats and the parking brake.