First cold Friday in November...thoughts and wishes.

This is most certainly an incredible time to be alive.

I thought "hope" was what I felt when we elected Obama; this current is pouring forth from an entirely different wellspring.

I was 17 when the planes hit the two towers. A decade later, I feel my power returning.

Not just mine, all of ours, the collective. It's a cautious excitement, but an excitement nonetheless.

What joy to witness a movement that truly cuts through all ideological lines, you know? An evolution from the power center to the heart, a visible, upward moving connection.

The stakes are higher than they have ever been. And we are rising to the occasion.

I changed over to a credit union today. I was tempted to hop into H&M and peruse the fall merchandise, but I abstained; as alluring as those prices are I am committed to bolstering community with every action, this includes where I use mah monies.

The stakes feel higher inside too. No more lies. No more shirking responsibility. Most of all, no more excuses.

I am so tired of excuses.

May each moment be an opportunity to serve the highest. May we all have the courage to be nonviolent harbingers of TRUTH.

Tomorrow 11am I am assisting Katchie's class, then quick lunch, then will be heading down to march if anyone wants to join...

I'll leave you with this, it's been keeping me going all week, by the incomparable Martha Graham:

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open."

Sigue siguiendo

Things are trundling along. Seven people came to my Monday night class last week, a new record for me in that space so I am excited and humbled and working extra hard to make sure my classes are varied, fun, and challenging to the myriad of levels that are attending lately. The most exciting part is that the students are repeats; that is to say, it wasn't random that seven people showed up that night, I play a part in their presence at my class...suffice to say that I'm doing something right, and I'll be honest, after almost a year of barely one or two people showing up, it feels really good.


Next week is the one year anniversary of the first class I ever taught at Balance in Motion. Teaching yoga is absolutely 100% the opposite of what I imagined it would be during the year I was perpetually enrolled in various trainings and workshops, the year that I attended yoga classes at least five times/week, (even working at the studio to balance this passion--my biggest expense aside from rent), the year I was more-or-less sober and celibate, the year I (and here's where some yogi-speak comes in) remembered my essential nature, and finally stopped filling up the gaps with ridiculous, short-term flings, or searching for answers at the bottom of a pint. I had multiple dreams, vivid, realistic dreams of giving birth, my belly full and ripe; I'd wake up trembling, not so much from the actual details of the dream but from the fact that I knew in my heart I was giving birth to a new part of myself, a delicate, vulnerable part that I would have to hold close and nurture to fruition. It was an exciting time.

Cut to nearly exactly a year to the day later--I experienced some health issues that were quite the opposite of giving birth to something. I won't go into detail here because it's not the place but it was a sharp juxtaposition from my previous year of growth-in both cases, my internal landscape manifested itself physically. I was scared. I had forgotten, in my excitement, that for anything to truly blossom and flourish, old growth must be cut away to make room for the new. I learned that sometimes it feels liberating and expansive to let go of the old; other times, it sucks and I want to do whatever it takes to hold on to it, even after it's no longer useful. It's that old metaphor about the plant: if you don't transfer a plant every so often, it becomes root bound and dies. Same goes for us--my question is, why is the new pot so damn terrifying???


It is a difficult lesson to learn, and one I am still learning, every day. The yoga practice has illuminated the very aspects of myself that I used to run from. I don't know why I ever thought this would be easy! Because it's not, it's actually really fucking intense. That's why this practice works. It's uplifting in that it celebrates all the wonderful things that make you who you are; but it's also really hardcore sometimes to have this very honest mirror held constantly in front of you, and to STILL keep coming back day after day to your mat as a student, practicing, inquiring, listening. I know there is this stereotype of the always-blissed-out yogi, and while I have had moments like that, I've also had the opposite: moments where I feel like a dragon and all I want to do is spit fire at the instructor; or moments at home, where I roll out my mat only to do a couple poses before bursting into tears. I'm not going to tell you it's fun all the time, because that would be a lie, and I'm trying not to do that anymore...


Teaching yoga is an honor and a privilege. I am working on breathing into the growing pains, recognizing when I start to feel anxious about the new growth, and moving forward anyway. It's hard, but it's so worth it. See you on the mat! xoxox

Just what I needed to hear!

Look what the universe sent me this morning:

"I still don't get why people are so surprised that the turtle beat the rabbit over the long run.


Consistent effort, Dani, no matter how small, sparks magic, fills sails, butters bread, turns tides, instills faith, summons friends, improves health, burns calories, creates abundance, yields clarity, builds courage, spins planets, and rewrites destinies."

It's especially welcome as I FINALLY last night updated my yoga fliers and created/purchased updated business cards! It might sound small but it is something, I'm slightly embarrassed to report, I have been putting off for the past 10 months...maybe longer.

These little reminders are so tremendous--I don't know about all of you but I certainly, sometimes on a daily basis, feel like I'm banging my head against a wall. The bigger picture, the greater vision, is so clear, I just want to sink my teeth into it already: and then when I think about how far away I feel from the end result, I can't help but feel bogged down about the state of everything...(initiate thought pattern of doom).

And then I remember! That everything I do is one step closer to the greater vision, that there is no backsliding on the path, that I am doing the best I can, and there is plenty of room for me too, and my particular brand of passion and humor and desire. Sometimes all it takes to tune back into that remembrance is an anonymous email in my inbox on a bright Tuesday morning, on an early fall day, in the glorious city of San Francisco.

Thanks for reading, and remember, "...without you, space, time, and everywhere ever thought of would be far less."

Also, I find it excellent that the universe sounds decidedly like Tom Robbins....
LOVE

Happy Friday!

What's the good word this weekend? If any of y'all are interested, tomorrow morning I'll be at Katchie's 11 AM yoga class @ Yoga Kula, followed by lunch at Stable Cafe, hands down my favorite cafe in the city...

Want to join?

Wishing you all a sunshine filled weekend!

<3

Last night...

..... my teacher said something in class that hit me real good. She said many incredible things, as she is priestess/warrior/sage/yogini, but this one thing stood out in particular:

"By giving up thinking about how things should be, we can get present to how things actually are."

Simple, no? In that instance, she was referring specifically to asana, how, so often, as we are going through the physical motions in yoga class, we get so caught up in how we look: how our pose compares to the person next to us; how, jeez, I've been practicing this pose for years, why can't I just touch my toes/lift my leg higher/stretch my hamstrings et al a little farther; how, if I could just push my foot a little farther or suck my gut in a little more, I would be better... before we know it, we've gotten so caught up in "shoulding" ourselves that we've missed out on the pose completely.

I'm telling you, this blew my mind. I've heard this before but last night, it dug in a little more. Sometimes it's the seemingly simplest of teachings that hit the deepest.

I should all over myself all the damn time... and not just on my yoga mat.

I should have more money saved.

I should be working harder!

I shouldn't eat/drink/smoke/try/indulge/desire/trust/say that. I definitely shouldn't wear that...

I should feel more passion for my job.

I should already be farther along my path than where I am.

I should be more productive!

Sound familiar? The list could go on and on.

My teacher has this uncanny ability to speak to exactly what is going on in our lives--a little three second blurb in an hour and a half class has the ability to pierce right through the bullshit and hit me right where I need it most.

When we come to our mats at the beginning of our practice, but also as we initiate every pose, the first step is to soften simply to what is; open ourselves to the bigger picture, expand our perspective, and accept what is in front of us. Then, into that spaciousness, we organize our bodies in such a way that is optimal, regardless of body type, past injury, pain, and so on. Closing our eyes, breathing deeply, maybe the deepest you've ever breathed before, we drop out of our busy brains and into our bodies, and it is in this sweet spot that yoga occurs.

What I'm trying to say is that we already put enough pressure on ourselves in this foot-always-on-the-gas-pedal culture of ours; yoga doesn't have to be yet another masochistic activity we cram ourselves through. We practice getting present to and creating space around the physical postures during yoga class in the hopes that one day, that presence will trickle over into our "real lives." Once this starts to happen, our experience of life starts to shift, and we create space there too- around our relationships, in our careers, with our creative ideas and projects, and our daily interactions start to flow from this place of space, and we are no longer living at the mercy of habitual patterns and reactions.

What I'm trying to say is, be kinder. Yes, to everyone around you, but first, to your sweet sweet self. Our time is so valuable--don't waste it spending time with the should monster. Enjoy the people in your life-really take time to sit down and listen to them. Go for walks. Touch the things around you. Lay down in the grass. Move your body!

I'm excited to have this little teaching be my guiding light for the next cycle; my practice is going to be, when I catch my self "shoulding," I'm going to stop whatever I'm doing and take 10 long, deep, soulful breaths. I would love for you to join me.

And for you cynics, another nice side effect of the practice is long, leaner muscles, and a stronger core from the inside out. But don't take it from me, try it yourself!

Where do you should yourself? What other practices do you take to ground or return to the present?

"Selling out" vs "Saying yes"

The thing is, I really like saying yes. I like new things, projects, plans, getting people together and doing something, trying something, even when it's corny or stupid. I am not good at saying no. And I do not get along with people who say no. When you could die, and it really could be this afternoon, under the same bus wheels I'll stick my head if need be, you will not be happy about having said no. You will be kicking your ass about all the no's you've said. No to that opportunity or no to that trip to Nova Scotia or no to that night out, or no to that project or no to that person who wants to be naked with you but you worry about what your friends will say.

No is for wimps. No is for pussies. No is to live small and embittered, cherishing the opportunities you missed because they might have sent the wrong message.

What matters is that you do good work. What matters is that you produce things that are true and will stand. What matters is that the Flaming Lips' new album is ravishing and I've listened to it a thousand times already, sometimes for days on end, and it enriches me and makes me want to save people. What matters is that it will stand forever, long after any narrow-hearted curmudgeons have forgotten their appearance on goddamn 90210. What matters is not the perception, nor the fashion, not who's up and who's down, but what someone has done and if they meant it. What matters is that you want to see and make and do, on as grand a scale as you want, regardless of what the tiny voices of tiny people say. Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do no dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a fuckload of work to be open-minded and generous and forgiving and accepting, but Christ that is what matters. What matters is saying yes."

-Dave Eggers

Shifting the Default

With all the talk of cycles ending, moving from light into dark, expansion into contraction, it seems the natural progression of these thoughts brings me to the following question:

How does one navigate transition and change gracefully?

Typically we humans have our defaults set in such a way that we don't even realize we are in a constant cycle of repeating the same patterns over...and over...and over. Usually we react to things (interactions, decisions, relationships, challenges) in one of two ways: we either shy away from it, tune it out ("I can't do it") or we try to conquer it--muscle through, take control, assert our power. This is our default. Think about your tendency: How do you typically react when something unexpected arises, when your buttons get pushed or something triggers you? What are your patterns in relationships, in your career, in your social sphere? If you are having trouble thinking of something, look no further than your family. The holidays are right around the corner, and a lot of us will be spending time with family members we don't see very often. For me, when I go home to visit my family, it is the shiniest mirror I could possibly imagine reflecting back all the things I may the day before thought I had all figured out and squared away. I see my life through a certain lens; I imagine myself a certain way, until I go home and suddenly I'm 17 again and playing out all the old samskaras with my sister, and I'm thinking, what the hell just happened? This isn't how I want to be.

Now imagine a particularly challenging yoga pose, one that causes you to cringe every time your teacher announces it. What is your default here? I'm willing to wager that how you react to a difficult pose translates exactly to how you react to struggle in your day-to-day life.

So how do we shift the default? Just like anything else in life, with practice. This change won't happen overnight; just as our physical bodies on our mats get stronger with consistent asana practice, and those challenging poses begin to open up for us, so does the practice of shifting out default get stronger over time to the point where the practice doesn't fade away the minute you roll up your yoga mat, but is carried with you into the 'real world' as well.

A consistent yoga practice is a call to the highest: can we practice in such a way that every movement, action, thought, and expression begins to move into alignment with our highest nature? By learning to approach challenges on the mat with a sense of curiosity, rather than aversion or assertion, we are more able to work with life's curve-balls instead of being constantly mowed down or blindsided by them.

Ramakrishna said, "The winds of grace are always blowing; it is for us to raise the sails." By opening to the winds of grace, we begin to have more and more of those fantastic "A HA!" moments and it becomes more and more easy to catch ourselves falling into old patterns and snap out of our defaults with greater ease. And the world in turn starts to turn every day a bit rosier.

The Flying Trapeze

Sometimes, I feel my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments, I'm hurtling across space between the trapeze bars.

Mostly, I spend my time hanging on for dear life, to the trapeze bar of the moment. It carries me along a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I am in control. I know most of the right questions, and even some of the right answers. But once in a while, as I'm merrily, or not so merrily, swinging along, I look ahead of me into the distance, and what do I see?

I see another trapeze bar looking at me. It's empty; and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new bar has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart-of-hearts I know that for me to grow, I must release my grip on the present well known bar, to move on to the new one.

Each time it happens, I hope-no, I pray-that I won't have to grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I understand that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moments in time I must hurtle across space before I can grab the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn't matter that in all my previous jumps I've always made it.

Each time, I am afraid I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless basin between the bars.

But I do it anyway, I must.

Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call faith. No guarantees, no net, no insurance, but we do it anyway because somehow, to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer an option. And so for an eternity, that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of "the past is over, the future is not yet here." It's called transition. I've come to believe that it is the only place where real change occurs.

I've noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a "no-thing," a no-place between places. Sure the old trapeze bar was real, and the new one coming towards me, I hope that's real, too. But the void in between? That's just a scary, confusing, disorienting "no-where" that must be gotten through as quickly and as unconsciously as possible. What a shame!

I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone in the only real thing, and the bars are illusions we create to not notice the void. Yes, with all the fear of being out of control that can accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, growth filled, passionate times in our lives.

And so, transformation of fear may have nothing to do with making fear go away, but rather with giving ourselves permission to be aware and awake in the transition zone between trapeze bars.

Allowing ourselves to dwell in the only place where change really happens can be terrifying. It can also be enlightening. Hurtling through the void, we just might learn to fly.

*From The Essene Book of Days

On Contraction and Expansion, Part II

Before the Industrial Revolution, western civilization connected much more deeply with the natural world and its cycles, and the end of summer/beginning of fall marked the new year. We see this in various cultures, as this time is marked by harvest festivals, festivals of the dead, and for us, Halloween. It is considered a magical time when the veil between the two worlds is thinnest, a time during which conscious intention setting is most potent.

It makes sense, right? At least more sense than waiting for January 1st when everything is already dead and barren to "start over," to shift from one day to the next by planning everything you're going to suddenly do differently. Not typically considered the most inspirational part of the year, wouldn't you say?

I'm not advocating that we switch our calendar to reflect this, just that you reconsider fall. Doesn't it feel more intuitive to take a self-inventory now, as the harvest is ripe, before the night comes early and the trees are bare, when the only thing we want to do is hibernate like little honey bees and cozy up by the fireplace (or in some cases, miniature space heaters)?

How does contraction and expansion play into this? For you yoga nerds out there, contraction and expansion plays out on our mats in a multitude of ways, but suffice it to say for the moment that the way we are on our mats is an exact mirror for how we are in life. In yoga class we are often guided to walk our edge, that juicy space between going too far and into potential injury, and it's opposite: constantly backing off and even tuning out the practice. Imagine yourself in a challenging pose; what is your tendency: to immediately retreat (contract), or to muscle through (expand)? Now apply that same exact tendency to how you are in relationships...see any correlation? As practitioners we engage constantly in this sweet dance, riding the edge in seek of balance between two sides, diligently flexing an entirely new set of muscles (both literally and metaphorically). It can be exhilarating and terrifying all within the span of a few breaths.

With this in mind, I ask you to take your own inventory. What seeds planted last spring have now come to fruition (what personal harvest(s) are you reaping?)? What thoughts/ideas/goals/intentions would you like to incubate during the cold months so that you may better tend to them, better nurture their growth come winter's end? How can you skillfully assimilate the expansiveness of summertime in ways that will support you now that the days are moving into contraction (see what I did there?)? Go a step further than just thinking about these things--be in conversation about your intentions, write them down. Do your work and allow the universe to also play its part.

Instead of plowing through the cold months, as I know I for one am wont to do, utilize the natural stillness of fall to turn inward, engaging in some self-reflection; to allow contraction instead of shying away from it or making it wrong. Cozy up to it, even.

As you take this practice on, my wish for you is that you go easy on yourself; in other words, NO "SHOULDS" allowed--they can be poisonous. Simply take a look and ask yourself, what are the areas of my day to day where I can invite more expansion? Where in my life am I perhaps unnecessarily contracted? Or, the best question for you might be, where in my life am I too overextended; where would it benefit me most to scale things back, maybe engage in some rarely taken self care, create a new boundary?

Let me know how it goes, if you dare...

San Francisco Remembered

I have been wrapping my tongue around this poem for a while now (since Dave was here), and with the arrival (finally) of our San Francisco summer it tastes even more juicy. Here's your daily dose of inspiration; I have one request: read it aloud. Even better, read it aloud to someone you love.

San Francisco Remembered
by Philip Schultz

In summer the polleny light bounces off the white buildings
& you can see their spines and nerves & where the joints knot.
You've never seen such polleny light. The whole city shining
& the women wearing dresses so think you could see their wing-
tipped hips
& their tall silvery legs alone can knock your eye out.
But this isn't about women. It's about the city of blue waters
& fog so thick it wraps around your legs & leaves glistening trails
along the dark winding streets. Once I followed such a trail
& wound up beside this red-headed woman who looked up and smiled
& let me tell you you don't see smiles like that in Jersey City.
She was wearing a black raincoat with two hundred pockets
& I wanted to put my hands in each one. But forget her.
I was talking about the fog which steps up and taps your shoulder
like a panhandler who wants bus fare to a joint called The Paradise
& where else could this happen? On Sundays Golden Gate Park
is filled with young girls strolling the transplanted palms
& imported rhododendron beds. You should see the sunset
in their eyes & the sway, the proud sway of their young shoulders.
Believe me, it takes a day or two to recover. Or the trolleys clanking
down the steep hills--why you see legs floating like mirrors! Please,
Lord, please let me talk about San Francisco. How
that gorilla of a bridge twists in the ocean & the earth turns under
your feet & at any moment the whole works can crack
& slip back into the sea like a giant being kicked off his raft
& now if it's all right, I'd like to talk about women...

On Contraction and Expansion, Part I

Ay, fall, the time of year that is historically the juiciest for me. Summer fades away, and there I am, kicking and screaming, sad to see her go, only to be blessedly most pleasantly surprised time and time again by autumn's warm embrace. In this case, quite literally, it's nearly Halloween and the temperatures in the city have been upwards of 85 degrees for the past 10 days at least...

Summer is officially over and, despite the unseasonable heat, there is no denying the sweet signs of fall. The light is jamming in at crooked angles and everything seems backlit with an almost amber glow; although the trees don't really change color here (they kind of go from vivid green to dry and dead almost overnight), the streets are filling with leaves, the branches growing more and more visible every day. It's hard to explain, but things feel slower; despite living in a go-go-go culture (where I feel guilty on the days I come home and take a nap after work instead of doing something productive), if you take a closer look you'll notice a stillness, albeit a subtle one, as we innately, collectively prepare for the impending cold season.

One of the things yoga helps us align with are our natural rhythms, but also the rhythms of the world in which we inhabit. How can yoga do this you may ask? I think it has to do with the fact that it starts with a deep inner listening, both in general on the mat as we move into physical postures but also off the mat--within relationships, both professional and personal, and even more importantly, with the relationship we have with ourselves. The rich inner landscape we cultivate on our mats translates exactly to the way we walk in the world, the way we treat ourselves and each other.

It is with these ideas in mind that I wish to examine within the coming days/weeks this idea of moving into a more natural rhythm, even within the hustle and bustle of city life, how our yoga practice correlates; I'll also make a case for why we feel the way we do depending on the time of year, and how bringing an awareness to this aspect of our lives can help us make better sense of the world and our place in it, and ideally help us to go a little easier on ourselves.

That's a tall order, so go easy on me. And let me know if I'm going overboard on the semi-colons while you're at it.

photo credit: flora douville