Sharon Gannon at Jivamukti

Sharon Gannon, director of Jivamukti Yoga School, made a rare appearance at the Manhattan flagship this weekend. dropping in to teach two classes. I was fortunate enough to secure a spot the Saturday class.

I say fortunate, because although I was an invited guest (by Jivamukti's PR person), it was a battle to get into the studio. By the time I reached the front desk--at 4:40 for a 5pm class--the three young girls working check-in had no knowledge of me, my name appeared on no list. Nor did they care to know or go out of their way to accommodate me. I was flustered and aggravated. The girls'--in matching shirts-- sunny 20-year old charm quickly dissolved into an "I really don't care" attitude. "You can sign in on the waiting list" was as much help as I got. "Next!" (Fat chance I'd get in, either, since a friend of mine, waiting since 4:10, hadn't.) Why wouldn't Jivamukti want to be nice to the press?

This was my first experience at Jivamukti on Saturday.

The rest followed in a similar fashion.

I took matters into my own hands, found the studio manager, and got myself a place in class (though even he, too, had to insist that I belonged there.) Then, there was the question of physical space. One of the floor monitors thoughtfully put out a mat for me. But we were jam-packed, mat to mat, end to end, just like the old days.

And just like the old days, people around me seemed more oblivious than attentive. Coming into a stretch, the blond newbie in the row in front of me kicked me hard in the neck and shoulder. She then got up and looked at me as if astonished to see someone behind her. Her look seemed to say: why are YOU there? I asked myself the same question-- why am I here?--as I moved my mat three inches back, out of harm's way. She didn't seem to plan to move her mat (and why would she, really? kicking someone in yoga class is a normal way to defend your space, isn't it?). She offered no apology.

Sharon began the class with a slow, simple vinyasa, getting us into the mood to flow. (I should mention that Russell Simmons was practicing in the back row, to everyone's rapt attention.) Then we sat down and sang--I'm not kidding--a George Harrison song that expressed an idea Sharon wanted us to consider, "Any road will take you there." "Sometimes you're cool, sometimes you're lame." The class was about setting an intention and then setting sail. Where is "there" you might ask? Apparently, it's "nowhere, duh." A concept that required no further explanation. (As in that popular 70s expression, wherever you go, there you are?)

Harrison's song was something Cat Stevens might have sung on a groovy afternoon in the 1960s--but in fact Harrison wrote and recorded it in 2002. The lyrics were sloppy, the sentiment easy, and the arrangement wildly outdated. I sang along the first time, while Sharon brought her headset around and had students sing into the mike, because I didn't want to be caught not singing along. I feared punishment. So did the friend beside me.

The we did a free-style vinyasa practice and they played the dreadful song again. I used my yogic skills to block it out (and then got kicked in the head).

Sharon continued with the class, nicely sequenced, fairly basic, nothing too sweaty. Then suddenly came some advanced poses quite close to the warm-up poses. Most of the class were women in their 20s, whose bodies are sort of perpetually ready for the challenge, but the men and the older women probably needed more time to warm up in order to avoid injury.

More than halfway through, Sharon handed the headset to her co-teacher Jules, a skinny man, with sparse facial hair, who got us into a deep forward bend and then went into a long, rambling story about teaching yoga in prisons. Sharon leapt to the rescue saying, "Jules, is this going to be a long story? You're going to keep them there all that time? Inhale up!"

Jules seemed hesitant and insecure. In fairness, what could he do when Sharon (rightly) corrected him? Perhaps having the studio director in his class made him stumble. His teaching seemed rote, not inventive, not coming from the heart, or from lived experience, but coming from a book or a set of directions. He gave instructions too slowly or too fast, and his jokes missed their mark.

He got us into wheel and embarked on yet another long story, from which Sharon again rescued us. Then he lashed out at her, "So I've got an embarrassing story about Sharon...." She objected--Hey!--and he admitted it was he who was embarrassed. But the whole situation was juvenile. It was highly unprofessional, and dare I say it, irresponsible. The guy seemed to have the most basic yoga training, and no understanding of the deeper reasons for practicing yoga--even as he was instructing us in these meanings.

To her credit, Sharon managed the situation well, but who was it who trained this poor, lost soul? I can't help feeling that the chaos, unfriendliness, and gracelessness of the studio is trickledown: directors instruct staff by their example as much as by their edicts. I get a sense of how the directors behave when they're not on stage.

Finally, we safely reached the end of the class. My nerves were fraught from the discombobulated instructions, poses, music, commentary, the closeness and obliviousness of other students, and the drab colors on the studio walls. What happened to the Jivamukti that was fun and exciting, if a little kooky? What I witnessed on Saturday was a relic--an organization trying to preserve a time gone by. Not Jivamukti's glory days, but the days of hippies, when alternative (and shallow, if I may say so) spiritualities justified themselves by their very existence, and were accompanied by a feeling of superiority, of not being "caught" in someone else's misconceptions, or even lies. Surely we (yogis included) are beyond that?

It was then especially irritating to have Jules read a bad--and rhyming, I might add--poem written by Gannon throughout our 5 minute meditation practice. At the end of a brief savasana, the lights came on abruptly and the music came back--George Harrison once again, ladies and gentlemen! Another sing-a-long with another chance to be broadcast throughout the studio.

This time, I gave my chant sheet to my friend beside me. I declined to sing along. I wondered where the dignity was in this. Where was the yoga? Was it fun for anyone? Or was I alone in feeling alienated, uncomfortable, and vaguely like I was trying out for a club I had no interest in joining?

There's almost never a yoga class that I can't get something from, at least the basic feeling of being more open and receptive. But I left Jivamukti feeling frayed and distressed. It was like being in Whole Foods for an hour at peak time, trying over and over again to pay for groceries, waiting on line, being jostled, trying to be patient. That's okay for Whole Foods--you know what you're getting into--but it's not okay for yoga, any yoga experience. Rather than feeling closer to the divine--in me or in anything else--I felt like I needed to start my day again. Which is too bad since I'd been having a good day up till then. The jangled feeling lasted all night.

Sharon or no Sharon, Jivamukti has grown into a force beyond its directors. It is unfocused, chaotic, and, sad to say, unhelpful. I was surprised that Sharon's presence didn't even things out at the center at all. Let's hope, in spite of this, that this mega-influential studio is still introducing impressionable youngster to the joys of yoga--in spite of what I experienced.

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.

Donna Karan Launches Urban Zen Wellness Project

See her project here: Urban Zen

Read the press release below--it's fascinating in itself. Look at the scope of her initiative, and the celebrities from fashion, publishing, health and wellness she has rounded up for the cause:

Donna Karan Launches Urban Zen's First Initiative, THE WELL-BEING FORUM

A Two-Week Workshop to Explore A New Model for Wellness and Patient Care

NEW YORK, April 26 /PRNewswire/ --

"Imagine if Eastern Philosophy harmonized with Western medical practice
and if we treated the patient with the same passion with which we treat
the disease ... When my husband Stephan, and best friend Lynn Kohlman
were stricken with cancer, so much was missing from their care. They
needed the powerful science from Western medicine, but they also needed
the healing that can only be accessed from the heart, spirit and
alternative approaches. Out of my frustration with the care they
received at even the best medical facilities, a commitment was born. My
mission is to create a working environment where the worlds of
conventional and alternative medical practices unite to create new ways
of healing, health and well being, focused on the total human and
medical needs of the patient." Donna Karan

Determined to support a new approach to care and treatment for
patients, Donna Karan will host a ten day Well-Being Forum at the Stephan
Weiss Studio, 711 Greenwich Street, NYC, from May 14th to 24th.

The forum will unite the world's foremost leaders in Integrative and
conventional Medicine, the most respected yoga instructors, as well as
healthcare leaders, nurses, patients, and spiritual teachers. They will
conduct hands-on workshops that will push the boundaries of how we think
about Integrative Medicine and patient care.

More here:Press Release

Yoga Explosion! More studios in Williamsburg and Everywhere

Hyper-popular Kula Yoga is set to open a branch in the uber-trendy Williamsburg after Labor Day, a neighborhood that already has at least 5 yoga studios within a 10 block radius, one with 3 locations. No doubt long-timers such as Go Yoga (full disclosure: I teach 2 classes at Go) are nervous, especially when such publications as New York Magazine list Kula's newest addition in a beauty feature.

Earlier in the summer, Yogamaya opened in Chelsea and Abhaya Yoga, an Anusara studio, opened in Dumbo. Then there are the donations-based studios popping up. One in Greenpoint, I noticed one hot July day as I was strolling over to Green Street, and I believe there are more.

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 2

Path to my AirBnB

Coffee Intensity on Abbot Kinney

Pretty LA

When I found out I had to go to LA for a quick work trip I started planning what yoga classes I could slip in.

I would take Annie Carpenter at Exhale as soon as I landed, and Vinnie Marino at Yoga Works right before I flew out. With filming all day Tuesday in Glendale, east of LA, and meetings on Wednesday, there wasn't going to be time for much more.

And so I went for the high notes: two yoga world big shots who both taught in an area of the yoga world that is sometimes called The Mothership: Venice and Santa Monica.

For the few days I was working, I was psyched anticipating Vinnie Marion's class at Yoga Works before I returned to New York. I knew he had become somewhat of a celebrity since I was last in LA, in 2008, so I checked the schedule obsessively to make sure he would actually be teaching on the Thursday morning I had available.

I spoke to Joni Yong, L.A.'s Accidental Yogist blogger, who said she'd join me there. She warned me to arrive early since Vinnie's classes---even at 80 people in a room, and one inch between mats---sell out.

"Get there thirty minutes before. And bring a towel. You are going to sweat, and Yoga Works doesn't rent towels.

"Duly warned.The next day, I was up at 6 and already strategizing how to handle Vinnie's class.

I couldn't reserve a spot online—the YWMain web site was not set up for that—and I didn't have a towel. I didn't want to eat too much before class. But more to the point, I didn't know where to eat.

My friendly AirBnB host pointed me to some coffee shops along Abbot Kinney and Main Street. That's how I ended up at Intelligentsia for an over-the-top experience of a latte.

It was just after 7am, and the glass and steel cafe, set back dramatically from the boutique-filled boulevard, had only 4 or 5 customers.

("I never go there," said my host, "The lines are out the door. And it's such a scene. But at this time you should be fine.")

I parked right out in front and walked up into the recessed space. The guy ahead of me paused at the threshold. "PLEASE WAIT HERE" said a sign, "Your friendly barista will be right with you."

"You have to wait?" I asked the guy. "Right here?"

"Yeah, it's weird isn't it?"

It felt like being summoned before the royal court.

For their roles as courtiers, the four baristas, men and women in their late 20s, wore ties of a hipster persuasion: short, or frayed, or exactly matching material, or tucked in between the buttons of their shirt. They had determined but relaxed expressions as if gracefully embarking on difficult and highly important diplomatic missions. They were ambassadors, we were foreigners, and coffee was the king.

My courtier, once I was called to the bar, looked like he could be a cinephile when he wasn't pouring milky drinks. He had that wiry look (and scrubby facial hair) of the very smart and hyper active. He complemented my necklace and named the metal. Then he disappeared and two young women took over.

Caffeinated, I remembered I needed a towel. So I asked the baristas where, at 7:30 am on a Thursday, could I buy something, anything, even a face cloth or a dish towel.

"I'm about to take a really sweaty yoga class." I said, "And I'm getting on a plane right after."

They paused their creative work mid stream. "I think there's a CVS down on Main Street, not far away," said the younger-looking one. "They should have dish towels."

I found the CVS. It did indeed have dishtowels. I bought a package of 3 for a mere $2.99. Things were going well. And I have to say that the latte was delicious. Milk counts as food, I thought. This smooth and creamy beverage can be breakfast.

It was now 8:30.  I drove to Yoga Works and parked, proud to have found a spot (finding parking is an art that, as a car-less NYer, I needed more time to master). I was also way early, not my usual style.

Yoga Works is in a low building right on Main Street, with a small clothing boutique in the front and a lot of cubbyholes for shoes. The people waiting for class chatting comfortably with each other, like they might have known each other for a long time. They might have lived near the beach in Santa Monica for a long time, too. They were sunburned, fit, older, standing around  with their mats rolled under their armpits.

"I'd like to take Vinnie's class," I told the fresh-faced woman behind the desk

.And then I heard the words I most didn't want to hear.

"Actually Vinnie is not teaching this morning."

Argh! I'd booked my flight around his class. I'd arranged my schedule just so I could be here. I'd even checked the schedule repeatedly. How could this be happening? "But the sub is someone he's handpicked to teach for him."

That might be true, I thought, but she wasn't Vinnie.

I noticed that Joni, a self-described short Asian woman, was not there among the students waiting to take class. Later—too late—I got her Tweet: "Just found out Vinnie's class is subbed out this am and I've never heard of the sub teacher..."

There would be no happy pictures of this New York yoga blogger and that LA yoga blogger chumming it up at Yoga Works Santa Monica. Not today.

I had a few minutes to decide what to do, but I was pretty much backed into a corner. Classes at nearby Exhale were starting in 5 minutes, but I didn't know those teachers, either. Plus, I'd wanted to have a total Mothership Experience, so if I abandoned Yoga Works now, my experience would be lopsided.

I decided to stay. The nice desk girl gave me a free mat. I went into the studio and sat on the large, golden-colored floor imagining it covered, mat to mat, with sweating and grunting yogis. The Hispanic-looking cleaning ladies, in smock vests, were busily Swiffering the floor and ventilating the room with multiple fans. If Vinnie had been teaching, I knew I'd be one of those puddles they were now mopping up. My arms were still shaky from the Kundalini class I'd taken the night before in Hollywood, and my abs were totally wrecked.

Vinnie’s sub taught a muscular class that began with a quick Rumi quote and a long abdominal sequence. We were 10 sweaty folks instead of the rumored 80. Shortly after, she was calling out big poses that I didn't feel ready for. The general tone of the class was 'push your body.'

Maybe because I'd already done a yoga class each day for the last 3 days, or maybe because the rumor is true that in New York, yoga is not as hard as in L.A., I wasn't into working on such a purely physical level.

And, I thought, it was probably just as well that Vinnie wasn't there. He might have driven me completely into the ground.

Towards the end, the sub asked us to do more abdominal work, 20-30 "reps" of boat-pose to half-boat-pose and back. Instead, I sat cross-legged on my mat. I didn't want to, even to make her feel okay about her difficult position of subbing for a yoga celebrity.

Disappointed, tired—and frustrated by my incomplete Mothership experience—I headed to the showers. I was thinking about my flight back,  contemplating the differences between NY and LA, both culturally and yogically, as the water cooled me down. I got out, toweled my hair and wiped down my face, arms and shoulders. A woman from class was talking to me about the shower, was it warm enough, or cold enough, wasn't the temperature impossible to regulate? Were they going to fix it etc.

Half-listening, I looked back into the mirror I noticed my face was covered in pils of blue fluff. A slight blue tint was showing on my arms: the dishtowel was disintegrating on me. The more I wiped, the more the fluff appeared.

I switched to paper towel—but the fluff and the blue die was everywhere and I couldn't get it off me.

Naked, and a mess, I threw out all the towels and got back into the shower. This time, I wiped off with my dirty yoga clothes. It wasn't perfect. You know: their stretchy, wicking fabric is designed *not* to absorb water.

The best method, I realized, was to let the California air dry me. Maybe this is the updated version of letting it all hang out.

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.

NYTimes Revisits Yoga + Chocolate Issue

The whole luxury food items + yoga issue broke a couple of years ago---and was controversial then. Today, the NYTimes Dining section revisits the concept. Spearheaded by Dave Rominelli, Yoga + Chocolate is supposed to unite two great tastes that taste great together, heightening our sense of sensuality and our enjoyment of asana practice. When I took his workshop last year at Exhale in Manhattan, it wasn't chocolate that we were enjoying, but cheese. A little plate of fromage appeared at the top of my yoga mat after savasana.

Some of the cheese was artisinal, but most was from Whole Foods.

Drawing Yoga--Special Workshop this Saturday

Sponsored by the awesome Yoga City NYC:

This Saturday, senior Iyengar yoga teacher Bobby Clennell will lead a unique yoga class. You won't do any asana or pranayama---in fact, you'll have a sketch pad and a pencil. Yes, you'll be drawing yoga. From 1:30 - 4pm,  Clennell, who is also a talented illustrator, will lead students to "see" yoga poses in a different way---by drawing models as they make the poses. No drawing experience necessary. Just bring your desire to read the essence of yoga poses in a new way.

Read an interview with Bobby Clennell as she talks about the concept.

Saturday, January 16, 20101:30 - 4:00pmOm Factory

265 West 37th Street, 17th Floor

To sign-up email info@yogacitynycspecialevents.com

Yoga Beneath the Whale

AMNH Whale

Not news so much as---wow!Take Adrianna Gyorfi, 23, entry level exhibitions travel coordinator at the American Museum of Natural History. Just got to New York. Landed a job. Doing yoga. Well, doing yoga beneath a multi-ton plaster cast of a life-size blue whale, hung from the museum's ceiling.

Care of the New York Times:

"Among her job’s perks: yoga beneath the museum’s famed suspended blue whale."

Here it is. Imagine: nose to nose.

Adrianna says: "I came here and I’d taken four yoga classes in my life; I’m not a Zen sort of California resident. I got a museumwide e-mail and signed up for yoga classes. We had it in the Hall of Plains Indians, but when we couldn’t have it there, we had it under the whale. That was amazing. It was after-hours and very relaxing."

After hours and extra super beyond terrestrial. Oceanic!

May Brings World Laughter

yoga laff in the park

I didn't understand one iota of Laughter Yoga at all until I saw scenes of it in Kate Churchill's movie, Enlighten Up! (A small group of older Indian men and women stand around doing simple stretches and laughing helplessly. It was absurd---but also sweet and simple, and utterly harmless.) Yesterday in Central Park under changeable skies, the New York chapter of Laughter Yoga celebrated World Laughter Day. Who knew?According to World Yoga Day's web site laughter, "directly impacts one’s electro-magnetic field and creates a positive aura around that person. When a group of individuals laugh together, they create a collective community aura."Back in New York, the New York Daily News reports: "There's certain things you can't do while laughing: fighting, arguing, being mad."  True!"For two hours, the group convulsed with laughter, ignoring trivial problems like the economic crisis or the flu pandemic." A good way to spend your time!According to Wikipedia, after 11 years in existence, Laughter Yoga now has 6,000 clubs spread over 5 continents. Its originator, Dr. Madan Kataria, of Mumbai, India, says that laughter can unite the world and bring world peace.Yeah--a lot better than a a bag of anthrax could. Laugh away!

Upper East Side: Hands Off the Crackberry

Pure Yoga May 2009

Stress levels on Upper East Side are rising, the NYTimes reported on Friday. Impulse buying is down, as is luxury shopping. And while yoga is doing quite fine, thank you, bad behavior in classes is on the rise. Put that crackberry down, Suzie! The NYTimes reports from Pure Yoga, the Asian-inspired yoga boutique owned by Equinox Fitness: "Ms. Demus has been battling a growing number of people trying to check their BlackBerrys and take cellphone calls in the middle of yoga sessions. Her instructors “gently” tell them to switch them off and perhaps take a break from their worries. “It’s great for them to realize that the world will continue spinning,” Ms. Demus said, “if they let go for an hour.”Image: Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times Or maybe it's the space-ship lighting at Pure Yoga making them frantic?

Ocean Breezes for Navy Lady

Paula Puopolo in old flight suit in her Florida garden

Photo Credit: Mackenzie Stroh

Phew, this one's heavy--with a happy ending.

From the Wall Street Journal. In the early 1990s, Paula Puopolo was a trained anti-submarine helicopter pilot rising through the ranks in the Navy. Impressive.In September 1991, she accompanied her boss to a military convention at which 200 fellow aviators---as a part of a sketchy hazing ritual---ambushed her as she came out of the elevator. They passed her from man to man, groping and fondling her in a drunken, testosterone induced hysteria. (Oh no!)Puopolo's complaints did not see justice done---in fact she was transferred and ignored until she went to the press. This was the early 1990s, remember. The military wasn't so willing to deal with sexual harassment and assault. Paula Puopolo meditating in her Florida garden, wearing her old flight suit. Military career ruined, Puopolo sued for damages. Though she ultimately won the case and a respectable settlement, Puopolo spent much of her life in tears, taking prescription pills. She suffered the defense attorneys' slanderous accusations as well as the hostility of her home town and naval comrades. That's when she started doing yoga. “I figured if I could trade 10 seconds thinking about my hamstring for 10 seconds worrying about the trial, it was a good swap,” she says. As the trial progressed, her yoga sessions grew longer: “It became a 90-minute window in the day when I didn’t cry," says Puapolo, in the WSJ.

Eventually, in 2008, she used money from the settlement to open Ocean Yoga whose mission is "to empower our students to find and explore their path to health and well-being so they may feel better through safe, compassionate yoga teachings. "Something she knows about first hand, I'd say.In fact, she says yoga---inspired by John Friend's Anusara Yoga---helped her stop taking medication and eased her anger at the attackers.  “The philosophy opened me up to the idea that I could really stop hating so much stuff.” “Everybody’s got a story, everybody’s got something that really deeply informs the way they move for the rest of their lives,” she says. “In yoga you can work through the story to your benefit, you can use it to rise up. But in the Navy, those events? Tough s—, keep moving.” "In teaching yoga she says she does much the same thing as she did in the military---strives to be "a good leader and to get the best  from the people around her."A tough row to hoe, but lucky students of Ocean Yoga.Hari Om Tat Sat, Paula.

Doga... Done.

I'm suprised that the NYTimes ran the Yoga for Dogs piece: this topic has been done, done, done. That's all I have to say. Doga in Seattle. Photo by Stuart Isett for the NYTimes

Cutthroat Spirituality

IN THE NEWS lately--a bunch of articles the over-seriousness of yogis and their teachers. Yay! I was hoping someone would bring that up.

It started with a post in Rick Cohen's ethics column, The Ethicist, in the New York Times Magazine, December 5th.

A San Francisco yoga teacher, up for promotion, wanted to shoot down a competing colleague's chances of promotion by outing his relationship with a yoga student (a relationship forbidden by studio policy). But she seemed to care more about getting the promotion than helping to promote the ethics of the yoga studio. Sadly, this striving to be holier-than-thou (literally) is all too common in the yoga world. Years ago, when I didn't know what puja meant, an astangi explained it to me with barely contained distain. 

The letter-writer's question to Cohen--"if the owner knew about this, my colleague would not get the promotion and might be fired. Should I tell?"--reveals her thinly veiled competitiveness. I loved Cohen's answer because it was so direct. The yoga world seems unable to be so frankly self-scrutinizing even though self-study is an important aspect of the practice.

Cohen writes, "If, as your actions — or inactions — suggest, you believed silence was appropriate during the past year, then it is still appropriate today. All that has changed is your self-interest. You now have a chance to trip up a rival for a promotion, a poor motive for reversing course." Yes. Who knows, maybe the letter writer couldn't admit her competitiveness even to herself. This is, I would say, an obstacle to good teaching and good practice.

NEXT, we have an MNBC feature Dec 7, 2008 --an outtake from Self magazine--about a woman who overcomes her skepticism about yoga and starts a regular practice, only to become an instant yoga-snob. The writer, Marjorie Ingall, who also writes for the Jewish Forward, catches herself judging fellow students and wonders what happened to the spiritual component of the practice.

She writes, "too many yoga students in this country have taken a tiny piece of a wider Indian worldview, one that isn’t just about exercise, and turned it into a new kind of self-absorption. Exercise is not sacred, much as we want to pretend it is. Worse, some yogis have internalized only the most negative aspect of religion — the tendency to think that outsiders are bad and wrong. The dark side of faith is when it turns on others."

She goes on to say that what we all want deep down inside is a yoga butt and the right to feel superior to people doing other kinds of exercise. Well, that doesn't describe everyone's practice, but I'm sure that's true for lots of people. It's the downside of projecting our needs for authenticity, prowess, and purity onto yoga, yoga teachers, and fellow students (not sure what the upside is). Really, it's an ongoing psych experiment that no one is taking notes on (yet).

MEANWHILE Adele R. McDowell writes on American Chronicle about falling off her mat and out of her pose in her very serious gym yoga class. No one noticed her dramatic kathunk onto the floor mid-class (not even the teacher) and the class continued without missing a beat.

She writes, "The class is filled to capacity with bright-eyed, Gumby-like students in form-fitting togs. They are awe-struck and reverential to the instructor, a lean, sleek and uber-serious young woman. The room bows before the altar of her yogic wisdom as she leads us in pose after pose. The teacher´s style is stern. One could well imagine this woman striding about in riding boots complete with crop in hand, rhythmically tapping her palm."

Is that militaristic image familiar or what? And what's it for, I wonder? Do those striding boots inspire people to have better practices and more authentic experiences with themselves and the world?

I know that sounds hokey, but we can be beaten up any time we like. Just walk outside and try to catch a bus. Life's basics are not easy, but that's why we go to yoga (I think). Yoga should not make things harder, in my humble opinion. And let's check our egos --check them thoroughly-- at the door.

The 311 on Yoga in LA

The LA Times reports that yoga is necessary in order to stay sane in LA. Er, I thought that applied everywhere...

But since we're on the topic, check out Joni's super cool map of where she's practiced yoga in LA. She's a trooper yogini with a cool blog, The Accidental Yogist. Check it out.

Gawker catches yogis in the buff

It's true--some yogis--mostly men-- like to practice in their birthday suits. The studio in New York (Hot Nude Yoga) has been open for 7 years, making this niche hardly a new one. But still, who knew?

Gawker's take might be more along the lines of what you're *really* thinking (like, naked? wtf?)

The New Hotness is...

Don't Litigate--Meditate?

After San Francisco lawyer, Mark Webb's, successful "total yoga makeover" in which he lost 30 pounds and regained mental clarity, sponsored by (and profiled in) Yoga Journal, he is organizing a yoga course for the legal world. His mission statement says [all caps his!], "WE HAVE GATHERED SEVERAL OF THE FINEST YOGA INSTRUCTORS IN SAN FRANCISCO, WHO ARE DESIGNING A COURSE TAILORED FOR LAWYERS, LAW STUDENTS, & LEGAL SUPPORT STAFF, TO BE GIVEN IN MID-JULY 2007. JUDGES ARE ALSO WELCOME."

Bravo, Mark (but what's the deal with judges?) (and the capital letters?) and long live Yoga Lawyers.com. May we all have a less litigious world.

Arnie Herz of the blog Legal Sanity seconds the motion. Herz has also written about the benefits to the legal profession of yoga and meditation.

Japanese Yoga

Combining principles from Japanese and Indian culture, Japanese Yoga promises to deliver a double-whammy of oriental peace.

The publisher's Web site says: "Emphasizing gentle stretching and meditation exercises, the ultimate goal of Japanese yoga (Shin-shin-toitsu-do) is enhanced mind/body integration, calmness, and willpower for a healthier and fuller life. Developed by Nakamura Tempu Sensei in the early 1900s from Indian Raja yoga, Japanese martial arts and meditation practices, as well as Western medicine and psychotherapy, Japanese yoga offers a new approach to experienced yoga students and a natural methodology that newcomers will find easy to learn."

Fusion is forever.