Padmani’s Blog

Group Health Insurance for Yoga Teachers

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 22:04:40 -0500

I have a yoga teacher friend who recently had to choose between paying her rent and fixing a chipped tooth. It's simply shocking to me how many of us yoga teachers live a hand-to-mouth existence (no pun intended), without the benefit of paid sick leave, vacation days, health insurance or any guarantee that our classes will stay on studio schedules during lean times.

You see, we are considered independent contractors, not employees, and we are not afforded many of the legal rights that come along with full-time employment. Minimum employment standards just don’t apply to us and, to make things worse, many of us work without having negotiated contracts. I know you don’t like to think about legal mumbo jumbo and I know you’re young, vibrant and healthy today, but all it takes is an injury or illness to take us away from our livelihoods in a scary way.

So, I've been in discussions with a number of health insurance providers and I've finally negotiated a group health insurance plan I'm happy with. It includes extended health care, dental coverage, life insurance, and short- and long-term disability. The monthly cost starts at $103.78 CAD (plus tax) for someone under 35 without any dependants and it runs to over $200 CAD (plus tax) for someone in their 50s who needs family coverage.

Here's the bottom line: this plan is significantly better than anything I could negotiate as an individual or even as a small business owner, but you may be able to do better if you have a partner or parents with benefits through a large corporation or the government.

You'll see that we are defined as an association but I don't propose to formalize this association just for the purposes of gaining insurance coverage and I will not be collecting any kind of fees or dues—this is not a for-profit venture for me in any way and the only people taking a cut are the insurance broker and the insurance company. Robertson Insurance has agreed to manage the plan on our behalf and they will take care of the associated administrative work.

I'm signing up as we speak.

If you are interested, please contact Durant D'Intino directly at DDintino@robertsonhall.com. His phone is 1-800-640-0933. Please send him (1) your name, (2) your email address, (3) your date of birth, and (4) whether you need single of family coverage so he can send you the enrolment forms and provide a quote. Please note that there are medical questions involved and they will not insure you at this price if you are currently on disability leave or have a major illness.

Please feel free to pass along the info. The plan is open to any certified yoga teacher in the province of Ontario who teaches 20 or more hours a week (this can include class prep time and travel to and from classes). As our group grows, I will be in a position to re-negotiate the terms and also to negotiate a good price on liability insurance. If you live outside of Ontario, take the plan details to your local insurance broker and ask them to create something comparable for the yoga teachers in your area.

Please remember that you are important and what you do is important. Take good care of yourselves so you can serve your students they way you are meant to.

The Daily Dozen

Tue, 11 Oct 2011 18:22:14 -0400

The yoga teachers I admire most are also among the busiest people I know. They travel extensively, they write, they manage businesses, they’re socially and politically engaged and, in additional to all that, they somehow manage to maintain a daily practice that fuels their endeavours.

I’ve often wondered what their practices look like on their craziest days, when their schedules are erratic and jam packed from morning to night. What are the poses they do without fail? Inquiring minds want to know...

Enter Sharon Gannon’s Magic 10. This is a nifty 10 minute sequence of yoga asanas narrated by the co-founder of Jivamukti Yoga herself. I like the notion that one’s yoga practice can be distilled down to its essential elements like this—that I can be a devoted yogini without dragging my sleep deprived self out of bed at 4:30 a.m. to get in a 90 minute yoga practice before heading out for a day of go-go-go.

My own list of must-do practices is not much longer—let’s call it the Daily Dozen. It includes the following asanas, self-massage and cleansing techniques:

Sinus irrigation with my trusty neti pot, tongue scraping, and dry body brushing. These yogic detoxification techniques get the breath flowing, sweeten the breath and help out with lymphatic drainage, which is good for the immune system and overall health.

Kapalabhati. I always do this in the shower right after using the neti pot. This is a breath-based cleansing technique that clears the airways, stimulates mind and body, and tones the belly.

Uddiyana Bandha, Agni Saura and Nauli. Isolate the muscles of the core, kick-start the metabolism and overcome sluggish digestion and elimination with these practices. They also make for good parlour tricks!

Self-Massage with Yoga Tune-Up® Therapy Balls. I’m talking about deep tissue massage and myofascial release all in the comfort of your own home. This is a game changer, folks.

Reclining Twist Sequence: apanasana, twist (a.k.a. leg stretch #3), and a shoulder/chest opener. I’ll do a special podcast dedicated to this little gem. It’s the best way I know to restore mobility to the back, chest and shoulders. And it feels so good first thing in the morning.

Downward Facing Dog. Woof!

Bending Tree. A classic Jivamukti pose that improves your balance and offers a deep lateral stretch. Breathe deeply while doing this one and learn something profound about cultivating generosity and ease during unstable times.
Prasarita Padottanasana C. I like to do this one with a block between my hands at its widest width. Imagine you’re pulling the brick apart with the hands for an extra juicy shoulder opener.

Shalabhasana. A safe way to warm and strengthen the back. A shalabhasana a day keeps back pain at bay. You can quote me on that one.

Urdhva Danurasana. A big, bold backbend that’s akin to a shot of expresso for my nervous system when I’m feeling sleepy. Opens shoulders and hip flexors like nothing else. Don’t forget to dedicate this heart opener to someone you love.

Malasana Twist with Bind. This multi-tasking pose works the hips, ankles, spine and shoulders all at once.

Shoulderstand, Plow and Fish or Legs up the Wall. The Hatha Yoga Pradipika says you can defeat aging and death if you practice these inversions regularly. I’m determined to experience this for myself.

As always, I’d love to hear from you about the poses you do without fail.

The Yoga of Deep, Dreamless Sleep

Sun, 14 Aug 2011 10:45:44 -0400

Sleep is a precious commodity these days. So much so that eight hours of uninterrupted rest seems like a luxury reserved for holidays and the odd weekend. And it’s not just the new moms, students, professionals, and workaholics I’m talking about; everyone I know seems to be running at full tilt—even the yoga teachers and artists.

The truth is we cannot survive without sleep. When we lack quality sleep, we quickly become irritable, fuzzy-headed, and depressed. Our stress hormone levels increase, reaction times and accuracy decrease, and everything just plain hurts. Studies have also linked sleep deprivation to serious diseases such as fibromyalgia, type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and even psychosis.

Interestingly, not all sleep is created equal. There are two basic sleep states, the dream state (called swapna in yoga circles and REM Sleep by scientists) and the state of deep, dreamless sleep (called sushupti by yogis and Slow Wave Sleep by scientists). Dreamless sleep is of particular interest to us because it is during this state that our bodies heal themselves and our minds come fully to rest. Theosophists refer to deep sleep as a spiritual reservoir where the soul receives profound nourishment by connecting to its source.

As a former insomniac and someone who cherishes her rest, I now treat sleep as both a physical and spiritual practice, and I’m admittedly a little superstitious about my nightly ritual. Before settling in for the night, I use Lotus Wei’s Quiet Mind line to clear the space and set the mood, then I establish my intention to sleep deeply and connect to Source for the benefit of all beings, consciously relax the body, down-regulate the nervous system and settle the mind. Sleep experts would call this establishing good sleep hygiene; I call it snooze-asana.

When sleep is occasionally elusive and I find myself running on empty, I make a concerted effort to make up for the lost rest by taking the advice of a teacher and nourishing myself on other levels. This includes eating and drinking as virtuously as possible, breathing lots, meditating, practicing yoga nidra and cultivating an attitude of hope.

What are your sleepy-time rituals? I’d love to hear from you.

PS: After speaking to an insomniac student who finds it easier to relax on her yoga mat than in her bed, I’ve decided to offer a workshop on yoga for insomnia, informed by ancient yogic practices, modern science and personal experience. See the event listing here.

Bliss in a Blender

Sun, 19 Jun 2011 09:37:15 -0400

This time last year, I was hanging out in Thailand with my main squeeze. It’s a magical place, Thailand. The people are gracious, the landscape is lush and the cuisine is vibrant, nourishing and utterly fresh. Think mangos and coconuts still warm from the sun; think aromatic ginger, lemongrass and lime leaves; think potent green chilies that whirl up your inner fire. It was pure paradise for a yogini seeking to recharge and renew.

Recently, I asked raw, vegan chef Matthew Kenney for a post-yoga smoothie recommendation and—to my absolute delight— this is the recipe he sent along:

Thai Green

2 cup Frozen Mango
1 cup Young Thai Coconut Meat
1 Date
handful of Spinach
1 teaspoon Spirullina
2 tablespoon Agave
1 tablespoon Lime Juice
1/2 Thai Green Chili (seedless)
pinch salt
1/2 cup Thai Coconut Water
1/2 cup Raw Almond Milk

Blend well, at least 1 minute, until smooth.

I might add, sip slowly while contemplating your next, big adventure!

Pick up one of Matthew’s amazing raw cookbooks online or at your local bookstore. Your body with love you for it.

Ain’t That a Kick in the Head

Wed, 8 Jun 2011 17:30:58 -0400

Getting kicked in the head is one of the occupational hazards that come along with teaching yoga. Yup, it happens all the time. Just ask anyone who instructs headstand, handstand or forearm stand on a regular basis and they’ll tell you. Although I exercise a reasonable degree of caution when assisting students in topsy turvy poses, I’ve certainly had my share of knocks to the noggin.

Turn the human body upside down when it’s not accustomed to being there and the usual response is fear, panic and flailing legs. Master Patanjali calls this knee-jerk reaction abhinivesha, or fear of death, and he states that this brand of fear is one of the five main obstacles to our practice of living lives that are happy and free (see Yoga Sutra II.3).

Because it can trigger abhinivesha, the yoga asana practice is one way we can bring our deeply seated patterns to light. As my teachers like to say, it shows us where we are tight and where we are uptight. And so we deliberately work on the mat with poses that push our buttons to reveal the hidden contours of our suffering.

The amazing thing about getting kicked in the head during a yoga class is that, while it can stun and smart, it doesn’t trigger an emotional response the way the same action would in another context. Many times, in fact, the incident barely registers at all and I have to remind myself of what happened when my husband asks about the shiner.

I wonder if this is what Master Patanjali means when he says, “the practitioner will cease to encounter hostility from others by practicing kindness and non-harming (Yoga Sutra II.35). Sure, a hoof to the head is still a hoof to the head but the key is that it’s not perceived as hostile. It’s nothing more than an accident and it’s the very same thing I did to my teachers who repaid me by holding me extra tight and turning the other cheek.

By the way, you can purchase the vegan shoes shown above at MooShoes.com

Right Livelihood and the Win-Win-Win Situation

Sat, 7 May 2011 13:44:22 -0400

I recently saw a Facebook ad for a lifestyle coach who directs her services towards yogis seeking greater abundance. Seems like a good idea given the sheer number of people practicing yoga today and the complex relationship we yoga-types have with money.

On the one hand, we have the reality of living in a consumer culture. It’s almost impossible to avoid getting swept up in the momentum of materialism, the hustle and bustle of earning and spending. Even if we’ve chosen so-called alternative lifestyles, we still need plenty of the green stuff to secure a quiet place to live, tune-up our bikes, buy organic veggies and pay for yoga classes. No wonder so many North Americans deify and fetishize the almighty dollar and devote the best hours of their days to chasing it. In these parts, money is not only a proxy for love and respect but it can also be a measure of self-worth.

On the other hand, we yogis know deep down that money can’t buy happiness. We’ve all run on the hamster wheel of desire long enough to understand that attaining an object of desire doesn’t bring more than temporary relief, something akin to scratching a recurring itch. In fact there’s evidence to suggest that the more stuff you acquire, the less you value it, the more disenchanted you get with the whole process of buying and selling and the more happiness becomes an elusive commodity. Think about it, if money really was the key to happiness, then celebrities and the über rich would be models of happiness and freedom rather than tabloid fodder. And so we have these deeply held notions in spiritual circles that money is somehow less than spiritual or that it’s downright corrupt.

The implication is that we need to make a choice between material abundance and spiritual riches. Do you want to be a broke yoga teacher or a financially secure office drone? Talk about two bad choices. It’s an impossible conundrum.

Lakshmi, the goddess of abundance, encourages us to view money as prana, pure energy. After all, money is simply energy in paper form. Lakshmi’s outstretched arms and open palms symbolize generosity. Her message is this: you need to give it to get it and, equally as important, you need to get it to give it. Just as us yogis need to get deeply into the body and mind to get over our attachment to the body and mind, we need to learn to earn and we need to spend with awareness to get over our fixation with money, whether that fixation finds its expression through clinging or aversion.

My own experiment with right livelihood began more than a decade ago when I decided to leave behind a highly paid legal career to open a yoga studio. Sounds romantic, I know, but it turned out to be disastrous move because my well-intentioned parters and I suffered from a particularly insidious form of poverty mentality. I remember writing in our business plan that we wanted to be a not for profit business, that we just wanted to make enough to get by. You see, we strenuously objected to the notion of becoming yoga moguls because, well, that would be uncouth. And so, true to our intentions, we ran a subsistence business for a number of years, earning a pittance while working long days and nights teaching yoga, doing the paperwork, sweeping the floors, cleaning toilets and so on. At the time I called it seva, or selfless service. In retrospect, it seems hard to believe that three smart women could think it was a good business strategy to work themselves into the ground. Eventually, we and the business collapsed from sheer exhaustion and lack of nourishment.

In some ways, my legal career and yoga studio were both great teachers. They offered valuable negative research in that I learned something about what doesn’t work. My only regret is that it took me so many years to take the lesson and move on.

Passport to Prana is my latest experiment in putting my yoga to work. It’s a business based on the idea that you can do it all—that you can be virtuous and have fun and make money too. Our multi-studio yoga pass is good for students, it’s good for studios and hopefully it will be good for the small but dedicated team of yogis who run Passport to Prana. Rather than getting stuck in the conundrum of two bad choices, we’re working hard to manifest a win-win-win situation.

So is it a success? That remains to be seen. I’m certainly optimistic.

PS: Comment on this post before May 31, 2011 to be entered in a draw for a free Passport to Prana card. Please include your email address so I can contact you.

PPS: If you’re interested in exploring the world of yoga in your city, please consider purchasing your Passport via the link embedded in the photo at the top of this page (just click on the image). Your purchase will help pay for the web hosting and podcasts on www.padmani.com. Many thanks for your support!

Remembering a Most Gracious Guide

Wed, 19 Jan 2011 23:20:51 -0500

In the quiet morning hours of December 4, 2011, while the stars were still visible, our friend and guide Susan McNaughton departed this life and entered, in the words of her husband Alan, “the Skydom of Love and Light.”

I first got to know Susan when she taught a series of workshops on Jyotisha (Vedic Astrology) at the beautiful yoga studio I had opened with my friends. It didn’t take a genius to see Susan was special. Direct and practical, mind shatteringly honest and deeply compassionate, she was a compelling teacher and an invaluable guide.

Over the years, she was there as I navigated the bumpy terrain that would see me complete the transformation from lawyer to yogini. She offered context and insight when I sensed something was going wrong with the business I had poured my hopes, dreams and life savings into. And when it was time to face facts, when it was finally time to walk away from those distorted hopes and dreams, complex karmic relationships and the very thing that had defined me for so many years, she gave me the swift kick in the pants I needed to take that first faltering step out the door.

It’s a little known fact that Susan also chose my wedding dates. That’s right, she chose both of them. When my now husband and I went to her for a consultation, she initially picked a date that was less than a week away—three days to be exact. We had a good laugh about that before she went ahead and found us another good date the following year. When we got home, I began to see the sweet wisdom of her advice. Marriage is a personal thing, meant to commemorate a relationship between two unique souls in a real and immediate way. The last thing I wanted was a big wedding dress, a DJ and months of planning; I wanted to get married outside with the wind in my hair and my feet on the earth. And so we did. We eloped to the park three days after our consultation and had the most perfect wedding in the history of weddings. The butterflies witnessed our vows and when we said, “I do,” the clouds parted overhead, the sun beamed at us, and we beamed back. Oh yeah, when the second of the two dates came around, we held a party for our friends and family. It was a rollicking good time and it just happened to be Earth Day. Good going, Susan!

One week after Susan’s death, we sat in ceremony for her. Her husband brought her ashes and she rested on the altar. To my left was my amazing husband and to my right was my dear friend, a fellow yoga teacher and student of astrology who was at those early Jyotisha workshops. I had such a sense of the distance we have travelled together as a group; I had such a sense of the good and selfless guidance we’ve been offered every step of the way; and I had such a sense of Susan’s celestial light the whole night through.

Susan’s article, “My Days in the Bush of Ghosts,” appears in the most recent issue of Namarupa (Issue 12, Volume 6). It contains a preface by her friend Dr. Robert. E. Svoboda and a touching afterward by her husband, Alan Reed.

Holiday Gifts for the One Who Has it All

Tue, 14 Dec 2010 09:27:21 -0500

I’ll admit it, I’m a big fan of the holidays. I get all giddy inside when I see snow, hear carols and smell cinnamon, cloves and allspice. Sure, the holidays can be excessive—just think of all the wrapping paper, cards, plastic toys, twinkle lights, and mountains of food—but there’s also something simple and wonderful about the ritual of giving unto others. In case you’re still looking, here are some holiday ideas for the yogi or yogini in your life:

Adopt a rescued animal
Camilla the Chicken, Elliot the Calf, Rachel the Duck and the other residents of Farm Sanctuary rely on sponsorship for their care each and every day. With each adoption, your gift recipients will receive a sweet little sponsorship package that includes a personalized adoption certificate and a color photo, and you will experience the joy of knowing that you’ve made a difference for a being in need.

Share a compassionate meal
Nothing says loving like a beautifully prepared meal chock full of nourishing ingredients that are good for you and good for the earth too. The New York Times has a nifty collection of vegetarian and vegan recipes for the holidays that will satisfy and delight even the most determined carnivore.

Opt for organic pampering
Don’t settle for beauty products that don’t live up to their labels. Saffron Rouge offers organic skin care products without all the yucky stuff, including petroleum, artificial dyes and perfumes, and other blacklisted ingredients. They source only earth-friendly, vegan products that feel and smell great.

Give the gift of yoga
Okay, I’m a little biased here because Passport to Prana is my baby, but I do think our multi-studio yoga pass is a splendid, affordable gift that will keep on giving well into the new year. Why not buy one for all your friends and organize a yoga tour of your town? We’re now available in 20 North American cities, and counting. Purchase using the link above and a portion of the proceeds will go towards funding this website in 2011. Many thanks!

Photo by livingos.com

Samskaras and the Road Less Travelled

Thu, 21 Oct 2010 11:29:41 -0400

This time last year I was on an extended road trip that took me through four time zones, eight cities, three national parks and countless truck stops. Truck stops are fascinating places, worlds unto themselves, really. They’re populated by road warriors who congregate there to refuel, eat, wash-up, and relax between long stints behind the wheel. The interesting thing is if you look carefully, you will see at most truck stops a video game room, and in that room you will see racing games, and at those games you will see glassy-eyed drivers seeking to alleviate the pressures of the road by getting behind a toy wheel and swearing a blue streak as they burn virtual rubber.

Strange as that may seem, I know I’ve repeatedly done the same sort of thing in my own life. Years ago when I was a junior lawyer, for example, I would relax after a tough day in court with takeout in front of the TV, and my shows of choice were, you guessed it, Ally McBeal and Law & Order. More recently, I’ve had days where I’ve practiced yoga before heading out to teach yoga and then, at the end of the day, responded to the question, “what do you want to do tonight?” with the word “yoga!” And what about this one: have you ever caught yourself taking a break from that document on your computer screen by clicking over to Facebook or pulling out your iPhone? Yeah, me too.

So what’s up with this compulsive, repetitive behavior? According to yogic philosophy we create subtle impressions, called samskaras, with each thought, word and action. These samskaras are not unlike the grooves our feet make on the earth when we walk the same path over and over again. Habitual behaviors continually reinforce our samskaras until the ruts becomes so deep and well-worn that we forget what it’s like not to be in them. The result is we become totally conditioned to continue along the same trajectory we’ve always traveled, even when the path is self-destructive or a waste of our time.

Each time we step onto the mat, we bring with us all of our samskaras, good and bad, liberating and binding. Some of us bring our perfectionist tendencies along for the ride and scrutinize each breath and movement under the microscope of self-criticism. Others push themselves to the extreme, striving to go faster, harder, better as they seek to conquer the next spectacular inversion, hand balance or backbend. Others yet hang back in their avoidance of all discomfort and physical exertion, convinced their cool disengagement is safer than actually putting themselves out there and risking failure.

Now, because our samskaras are etched into our bodies and minds, we can approach our time on the mat as an opportunity to see and work with the deeply ingrained habits and patterns of our lives— patterns that are often hidden in plain sight. This is good news for those of us who are willing to trade comfort and complacency for happiness and freedom.

In my experience, good yoga teachers do more than call poses, count breaths and give alignment cues: good yoga teachers also teach us in ways that alert us to our samskaras. They are willing to ask us to go against the grain. They might ask one student to ease up while asking another to get the lead out. Consequently, the best yoga teachers tend not to coddle their students and they may not win any popularity contests either. As my teachers like to say, the yoga practice shows us where we are tight and also where we are being uptight. This means the resistance that shows itself within the microcosm of our mats is not something to be suppressed or negated. I dare say it’s the very point of our practice.

Don’t forget that “the path of least resistance and least trouble is a mental rut already made. It requires troublesome work to undertake the alternation of old beliefs.” (John Dewey)

Photo by Alex Lin

High on Yoga?

Sat, 11 Sep 2010 10:52:49 -0400

Did you see the story on Ganja Yoga in the Globe and Mail this week? This interesting and controversial article describes a “cannabis-enhanced yoga” class taught by Toronto yoga teacher Dee Dussault. The monthly bring-your-own-ganja event is open to the public for $15—less than the cost of an average class in the city. Proponents of the practice say it makes them less competitive and inhibited, and more mindful and aware, while critics voice the concern that it may open the door to injury or even pollute body and soul.

Like it or not, the fact remains that the practice of yoga asana has been linked to the consumption of cannabis for as long as India has had sādhus (mystics, ascetics, and wandering monks and yogis). If ganja fueled yoga is a fad, then it’s a fad that dates back thousands of years and has its roots in the very birth place of yoga. It’s also one that is very much alive today for certain sects of yogis. (see video clip below).

How do you feel about the use of cannabis in conjunction with yoga and meditation practices? How about alcohol, caffeine, nicotine, Asprin, ginko, flower remedies or any other “legal” plant-based substance? Should cannabis should be legalized for spiritual purposes? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Suggestion Box

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 21:33:52 -0400

I’ve been voting a lot with my feet lately—you know, boycotting retailers, service providers, and even entire countries that are accused of illegal, unethical, or just disappointing practices—and, to be honest, I’m not sure it’s such a good thing. You see, this behavior fits with a long-standing pattern of spinning on my heel and leaving sticky situations (jobs, relationships, hair dressers, you name it) at the least provocation. For years I thought the tendency towards snap decisions and abrupt endings was a “grrl power”-thing, but now I’m not so sure.

My teachers often speak about the importance of “going against the grain” in your spiritual practice. They’re absolute masters of this approach: when I’m feeling sleepy, they crack the whip; when I’m feeling over-eager, they slow me way down; and when I want to leave the room for a bathroom break during handstand practice, they ask me to hold my ground—quite literally.

So what’s a girl with a stubborn streak and sore feet to do? Well, part 1 of the plan is to insert a little space between the “oh crap” and the “I’m outta here.” And, to make this a real yogic practice, I’ll do my best to fill that little space with the most lucid, compassionate and constructive communication I can muster. I imagine it might take the form of emails asking for clarification, voice messages expressing my feelings and well-written notes in suggestion boxes, among other things. Part 2 of the plan is to celebrate the good guys and to let them know just how much I appreciate their efforts.

On the topic of suggestion boxes, I am officially hanging my own virtual suggestion box out there. Please send me your questions, comments and any requests for new yoga podcasts—I’m long overdue with my next class and I’d love to hear your ideas...

The Red and Black Blues

Sun, 27 Jun 2010 08:34:56 -0400

The travel advisory for Thailand warned us to “avoid all non-essential travel” due to violent clashes, between the anti-government protestors known as Red Shirts and heavily armed troops, that left dozens dead and downtown Bangkok smoldering. And so we changed our plans because, as Kenny Rogers would say, “you got to know when to walk away and know when to run.”

It’s too bad, I thought, that gentle Thailand, once known as the Land of Smiles, happened to turn all struggle and strife just as we arrived in the neighborhood, but hey these things happen... It’s nothing personal right?

Well imagine my surprise when we returned home this weekend to a G20 Summit and stark scenes of smashing, burning, pillaging and general chaos in the streets of the city we know as “Toronto the Good.” According to the media, the Black Bloc, a faceless group of black-clad protestors, is to blame for much of the mess.

Hmmm... Black Bloc versus the police. Red Shirts versus the military. Is it just me or is it “same, same?” Suddenly, issues that seemed to exist a world away are coming home to roost where I live and work, and I can’t help but take it personally... personally in the best possible way.

The ability to take a hint and to perceive the teachings that are around us and within us at all times is an important yogic skill say my teachers. They explain that it’s even more important to apply these teachings to our lives in a meaningful, constructive way.

According to yogic wisdom, the outer circumstances of our tumultuous human lives provide precious opportunities to see and work on what’s going on inside. In book IV, sutra 15 of the Yoga Sutra, Master Patanjali goes so far as to suggest that our mind-stuff is directly responsible for the way we understand the world: “Each individual person perceives the same object in a different way, according to their own state of mind and projections. Everything is empty from its own side and appears according to how you see it” (translation by Sharon Gannon and David Life). It follows then that the macrocosm contains valuable clues for those interested in exploring the microcosm.

The practice of applying the lessons of the macrocosm to the microcosm of the self is not for the faint of heart. We live in a culture of finger pointing and this paradigm bending approach asks us to take universal responsibility for the problems we see out there. This practice involves a dizzying logical leap, I know, but we yogis take it with eyes wide open.

I might add that I’ve found it’s good to catch on early, while the personal messages inscribed on the world are still subtle. Too many times I’ve left things until the lessons start to hit closer and closer to home; until they became much harsher and harder to ignore. Trust me, it’s no fun when the Red Shirts manifest in your personal life or the Black Bloc shows up in your body or, worse yet, your mind.

So, assuming my recent experiences of conflict are an opportunity for inner work, the questions I’m posing to myself this rainy night are:

■ In what ways do I, in the pursuit of a happy state, hold rigidly to polarized notions of “the good” that, in practice, cause suffering to myself and others?

■ How can I best clean up the mess?

I sure am looking forward to some better news tomorrow.

Nāda Yoga

Wed, 21 Apr 2010 22:57:09 -0400

Have you ever gone mushroom hunting in the woods? I always find the mushrooms you’re looking for are a little elusive, that is until someone who knows them better than you points them out. In an instant, you acquire the magical ability to see them too and, as it turns out, they’re absolutely everywhere. My introduction to nāda yoga, the yoga of sound and deep listening, was a little like that.

I first heard the word nāda yoga at my yoga teachers’ summer home in Woodstock. While waiting out the rain one day, I came upon a book in their rather extensive library called The World Is Sound: Nada Brahma: Music and the Landscape of Consciousness, and I made a point of asking about it. “Oh, that’s a very important book on nāda yoga,” said Sharon with a gleam in her eye. “Sting was so impressed by the copy we gave him, he went ahead and bought a whole box of them to gift to his friends.” Enough said, I was intrigued.

In the weeks that followed, nāda yoga was everywhere: I overheard conversations about it at yoga studios; I was surprised to see it while rereading the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, an ancient yoga manual that lives on my nightstand; and, most significantly, I was introduced to a bona fide nāda yoga master, Laraaji Venus Nadabrahmananda while out for dinner in New York’s East Village with a yoga teacher friend.

Every now and again, you meet people who are extra shiny. You know the ones: they seem cheerful and grounded and authentic to such an extent that it charges the very atmosphere around them. If I’ve learned anything in my spiritual life, it’s to seek out these special people and to stick to them like, well, something sticky. And so, having met one of the shiniest people I’ve ever had the good fortune to encounter, I immediately invited Laraaji to come meet my yoga tribe in Toronto.

That was five years ago and Laraaji has been visiting Toronto ever since. When he’s here next week he will hold a concert, give laughter workshops, play music for yoga classes, and offer therapeutic gong baths (ask me if you don’t know what this is yet).

So, what do yoga, music, laughter and healing have to do with one another other? Well that’s where the subject of nāda yoga comes in for those of us who are interested in learning more about what my teachers call the “fast track” to all you seek. And this is where I point knowingly to Shri Brahmananda Saraswati’s important booklet, Nāda Yoga, before falling silent.

Pay attention, listen deeply (both outside and in) and you’ll hear exactly what has always been there.

Om

I’d Rather be in Savasana

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 11:18:50 -0500

I love savasana. I love it so much I've even contemplated buying one of those "I'd rather be in savasana" T-shirts. And, really, what's not to love? At the end of a sweaty, intense yoga practice, nothing feels better than surrendering the body to stillness in savasana, or the corpse pose. No more movement, no more fancy breathing, just a moment of profound repose before rejoining the flow of a busy life.

Despite the outward simplicity of the pose, we yoga teachers are forever stressing the challenge of getting savasana just right. "Corpse pose is a real yoga pose, no different from triangle, tree and cobra," we insist; "in many ways it's the most important one of all." Speaking in dramatic tones, we describe savasana as a death meditation and characterize the practice of yoga as nothing less than a training program for living and dying with grace.

Being a reasonably diligent practitioner, I figure I had more than 3,000 corpse poses under my belt when I tried ayahuasca for the first time; yet it wasn't until I took savasana on a thin cotton mat in a jungle hut assisted by the Amazonian "vine of the dead" that I really began my tutelage on the subject of my own death.

The "vine of the dead," or "vine of souls," as you can imagine, is not something to be taken lightly. The ritual around the sacred plant medicine in South America encourages reverence, introspection and careful intention setting. A yoga teacher friend, who had lived in Peru while studying under the guidance of some of its most respected ayahuasca shamans and curanderos, gave me some practical email advice on the eve of my first ceremony: "The spirit of ayahuasca will speak to you, so get ready to hold up your side of the conversation."

If I had to put into words my reasons for traveling to Peru, I would say I was there "to let go and let God," as the expression goes. I knew I was carrying emotional baggage and I was ready to set it down. "Take from me all that is not free," I prayed as the shaman bathed us with flower water at sundown by the Amazon River, leaving petals in my hair and a scent that deterred biting and stinging insects. "Take from me all that is not free," I prayed as the shaman blew clouds of mapacho, sacred tobacco, to offer protection from enemies and negative energies. "Take from me all that is not free," I prayed as the shaman blessed a small cup of ayahuasca for me with an icaro, a medicine song, whistled under his breath, "...and please don't let it be too scary."

As the syrupy medicine gurgled its way through my system, I emitted a series of small burps and farts and blushed hotly in the dark. How mortifying: I was hoping for a transcendent experience and here I was preoccupied with my hominid digestive tract and an overblown sense of propriety. "Stay a while," I pleaded with the medicine, hoping I wouldn't be the first to throw up. Embarrassed, anxious and suffering, I suppressed the mounting nausea—until the big guy to my left liberated me by purging noisily. As soon as I let go too, all feelings of self-consciousness gave way and I heaved a lifetime's worth of tarry goo into a plastic tub at my side, writhing and churning to get it out.

Relief.

I was so light after the purge I could have twirled around the ceremonial hut kissing and high-fiving all of the lovable beings in attendance that night. As my concerns receded on an outgoing tide, the self formerly known as me became sublimated into its component parts—breath, DNA molecules, carbon atoms and skittering electrons. The cloud of my awareness continued to grow and dissipate into an immense, glittering dance that was already underway. "Oh my God, it's so beautiful," I exclaimed. "It's like... like... like Dippin' Dots!" No joke, it was all cheerful, gem-colored Dippin' Dots-including me. As this was clearly something worth celebrating, I gleefully danced myself out of existence, at least in my mind's eye.

The next time I experienced my own dissolution, it happened during a ceremony with the Santo Daime, a Brazilian neo-Christian Church that uses ayahuasca, or Daime in Santo Daime parlance, as its sacrament. Because it was my first time, I was asked to sign a contract agreeing not to leave during the lengthy daytime ceremony, and was assigned a chaperone. My chaperone was an earnest, middle-aged woman with the meticulous dress and demeanor of an airline stewardess. Her job was to station herself by my side and guide me to stand, sit, sing, dance, and drink, as appropriate.

She led me to the women's side of the room where we sat facing the central altar. As per the instructions circulated before the event, I was wearing a modest white dress and shawl purchased just for the occasion. The men sitting across from us, also in white, looked uncomfortable, as if their suits were on loan for the day. Perhaps I wasn't the only one who thought white clothing was an impractical choice given the fact that ayahuasca stains?

The congregation sang a folksy hymn in Brazilian Portuguese as we lined up for the first of three cups of Daime served that day. It was thinner and more acrid than the jungle brew. When the sacrament began to work in me, less than an hour later, the room took on a magical patina. The church members transformed into figures from a Rembrandt painting while, miraculously, a framed image of the Virgin Mary began to breathe and come alive. She was divine with those soft, understanding eyes, and we gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity... that is, until nature called. I stood and woozily made my way to the bathroom where there happened to be a large mirror in a gilt frame. Goodness, the reflection in the mirror was something to look at—apparently white is my color. I hate to admit it but I got stuck in the mirror for ages making doe-eyes at myself... that is, until I remembered the contract and my chaperone. When I dutifully returned to my seat and met the eyes of the Virgin once again, she gave me a secret, knowing look. In that moment I understood that the hymns were also meant for me, the newest member of the Queen of the Forest Club. I smiled beatifically.

After the second cup of Daime, I couldn't wait to get back to the bathroom mirror, but the next time wasn't so pretty. You see, I appeared to have developed a disconcerting superpower: let's call it microscopic vision. The face in the mirror was monstrous. I could see every freckle, crease and zit, every hair, pore and flake of skin. My heart sank as I watched the imperfections march across my face like an advancing army of mold in a time lapse film sequence. Soon there was nothing left above my shoulders but clumps of hair and decay.

"Easy come, easy go," came my father's voice, bringing with it a strange sense of perspective. I cautiously re-opened an eye and watched as I continued to fall apart, piece by piece, until I emerged, finally, as an elaborate cathedral of bone. Think Tim Burton meets Gothic architecture meets the Flintstones. Rather than stepping onto the set of a Tim Burton movie, I had become the set of a Tim Burton movie. Still, I could feel the breath, familiar and reassuring, as it blew through my hollow form. I knew I had seen this place before and I knew I would see it again. I stepped in closer, pressed my forehead to the mirror and tried a gappy, jack-o-lantern smile.

The cathedral of bone is now a regular stopping point for me during ceremonies. It feels like a vestibule, or maybe a mudroom, of sorts; it's a place to put down my material concerns before entering the non-corporeal world. I can't truthfully say that I like it and I don't often linger there, but I do bow my head and lower my eyes on the way through as a gesture of respect.

Ironically, the one time I came to ceremony seeking direct access to the realm of the dead, I was denied the privilege, or so I thought. The private ceremony took place in our living room on the night of the spring equinox, just days after my grandmother died. Distance and ugly family politics had kept me from her funeral and, although I was twisted up inside about the loss, I just couldn't cry. My husband and I reached out to a friend, a local shaman, who had coincidentally lost his mother-in-law that same week, and we agreed to hold a ceremony to honor our mothers and our mother's mothers. How perfect, I thought, since ayahuasca is generally understood to be a female spirit—some even call her Mother or Grandmother Ayahuasca. Who better to help me commune with my departed grandmother?

As the ceremony opened, I accepted the medicine without my usual trepidation. It was much easier to swallow knowing my grandmother had swallowed more than her share of bitter pills during her long and tumultuous life. I sat up straight, got focused, and waited for the familiar feeling of lift-off, but nothing happened. The first cup didn't have any noticeable effect, aside from making my innards sensitive. Hoping to reach escape velocity, I jumped at the opportunity to take a second cup. It was a doozey, and I braced myself for a hyperspace flight to the bardo, the liminal realm of the afterlife.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I landed with a thud on a dark, rain-soaked city street. Looking around I saw parked cars and street lights and traffic signs. I knew where I was, and it was definitely not the bardo. This city was I place I knew intimately but hadn't seen in more than a decade. I was confused: this place couldn't have been further away in my mind from my grandmother. "This can't be right," I thought, and tried to refocus my intention. But, try as I might, the medicine kept plopping me down in the same old place, a place I had defiantly left behind at the end of a shitty relationship.

Have you noticed that some relationships are more real than others? More sharply defined somehow? This was one of those relationships. Okay, it was really, really good but it was also really, really bad, and the combination of the two made for an impossible situation. What do you do when the love of your life has a bad day? What do you do when the love of your life has a bad year, or four? What do you do when the love of your life, thrashing wildly in distress, shouts and shoves and breaks and hurts? What can you do, really, when you come to hate the love of your life?

The relationship was painful; the break-up was not. After years of struggle, I mechanically packed a small bag one day, bought a train ticket and walked away from my former life without turning back -- without so much as a tear. It felt good to start over: new place, new job, new clothes, new friends. Simple. At the time, I thought it was the easiest break-up of my life.

That night, during our living room ceremony, a badly overgrown retaining wall in my mind gave way, and I found myself deep in the mess I assumed I'd long since left behind. I had no choice but to be in it. There, I was in it. I was there in it. And the tears came. My God, how I cried. I cried for myself and for him; I cried over lost hope and ruined plans; I cried over the ways my heart had hardened around the experience of unacknowledged hurt; I cried about the coming of loathing, false strength, and cool composure; and I cried about the stony distance that crept into all my relationships thereafter.

That night in ceremony, I also cried for my grandmother, a rock—no, a gem—of a woman who survived a war, lost a child and buried not one but two husbands who treated her like a second-class citizen. I cried for my grandmother who suffered in silence; I cried for my grandmother who never had the freedom to walk away; and I cried for my grandmother who was finally free. In the end, I cried tears of gratitude for my grandmother and for Grandmother Ayahuasca who, by allowing me to mourn what was lost, freed a part of me too.

I've noticed that at the end of good yoga classes, the students tend to leave things behind: mats, jewelry, and even shoes on occasion. I used to think forgetfulness was a side-effect of the endorphins. Now, I wonder if it's not an outer manifestation of a deeper letting go—a letting go of the need to hold it together so tightly, a letting go of dogma, and a letting go of fear. One of my teachers likes to say about savasana: die today and you'll live the rest of your life free from the fear of death. I'd very much like that on a T-shirt.

Image by Morgan Maher, used courtesy of a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Happy and Free!

Mon, 25 Jan 2010 15:10:58 -0500

Do you value the things you receive for free?
A rich and famous yoga teacher once told me the more you charge for your teaching, the more it will be valued by the world. I see the logic but it saddens me to think it applies to matters of spirit. On the other hand, a poor but happy musician I know tells me the more something is shared, the more valuable it becomes.

So, as a life experiment, I'm making a collection of free, full length yoga class podcasts available online. Please have a listen, circulate them freely to your friends, and let's discuss how we can make a share economy fulfilling and regenerative for all beings everywhere.