My First Yoga Mag!

(Well, okay, it's the Kripalu catalog...but still!!)

A fire is a ragin'...

For the last two days I have regretted the fact that every shirt I own is scoop or v-necked, because I have had no reasonable way to cover the terrific heat rash that has appeared all over my chest.

If my Ayurvedic doctor read this, he would be very disappointed. ("My" being a bit of a stretch, as I've only been to see him once, and haven't really done a very good job of following his edicts...hence the disappointment). He told me! He told me that Los Angeles was aggravatting my Pitta self ("You have to remember, you're living in a desert..") and that I needed to do my best to cool down all that excess heat. He told me. He told me it wouldn't require all that much...cut back on the spicy foods, cut out the ice-cold drinks (this seems like a contradiction, but apparently ice-cold stuff heats a body up), cut out the coffee, do some coconut oil massage, take it a little easy in yoga class (not too much of the crazy stuff)...meditate, meditate, meditate. Basically...chill the f*&! out.

Yes, sir, doctor, sir!

Cut to: yours truly starting every morning with an iced latte and a cliff bar, rounding out the day with a bowl of piping hot spicy tom kah soup, kicking my own ass in yoga class, sticking the coconut oil in the way back of the bathroom shelf and, oh yeah, did I mention cutting WAY down on my daily water intake?

Um, wait. What?

So, yes, two days ago my chest exploded in a heat rash. And even though at the moment the heat rash appeared I was also dealing with a leaking bedroom, a broken kitchen sink, failing brakes, an absentee sublettor and an ant infestation, somehow the idea that my skin is no longer as perfect as it once was is what dissolved me into a wet sobbing mess.

What do they call that, again? Oh right...vanity.

I think what really sent me over the edge was asking myself "what is the lesson in all of this?" every time each new minor crises appeared. I don't think there is anything more aggravatting than feeling completely screwed by ones day and then asking oneself in a fake-y detached voice what the lesson is in all of this? The only readily available lesson at that moment is that if that voice doesn't stop asking what the lesson is there is going to be some serious trouble.

What's the lesson?! This apartment sucks and I should no longer go out in public! That's the lesson, you a-hole!

Ahem.

Now that I've had a few days, I have a slightly (note it, "slightly") larger view on the whole situation. Or at least, these are the things that strike me:

That all of my immediate problems seem to be due to an excess of heat, and that the advice I have been given has been to try and "chill", and that learning how to chill is the lesson I perhaps need to learn more than any other. That I have moved to this desert city to enact some large push towards an even larger goal and that the seat of the will (necessary for accomplishing said goal) is also the seat of fire in the body. And lastly, that the parts of my body affected by my heat-related skin eruptions are my forehead and my chest, which are also the places of the intuition and of the heart...whether that means I am paying too much attention or not enough attention to those places is anyone's guess.

All I can say for sure is that there is fire in me and it is trying to get out, and it may be time to actually commit to dousing some of those flames. And I will try to begin by being grateful to my body for attempting this vivid, complicated, mysterious communication with me. A speaker I really love often says, "if you ignore it, don't worry, it will get bigger!"

I am happy that there is fire in me...I want fire. I just don't want it to burn the entire house down. I'm going to go apologize to my Ayurvedic doctor now, and have a glass of water...no ice.

Victory!!!

Well, Shanti-Town, it's been a wild couple of weeks; I have been to the desert, I have turned one apartment into a another apartment, I have belted out some Carrie Underwood in front of a room full of strangers, I have celebrated A LOT and today I turned a corner...

Today marks the first day of the last year of my twenties. That's right, folks, today this little yogaholic turns 29. A birthday surprising in its momentousness. 29? Who knew THAT would be a big birthday? 30 is what it's all about. 30 is the birthday deserving of some total skin-shedding. Right? Am I right? Well...I may BE right, but 29 sure snuck up on me.

This morning, while getting in a quick cuddle with my love before heading off to (ugh) work, I was quietly overcome with a chest-gripping nostalgia: My god, time is just moving. It is a train that I have boarded and can not get off of (wouldn't, even if I could), but man is it just my imagination, or is it SPEEDING UP? My twenties have been such a mass of confusing emotions and big changes that for a long time I've felt...well, let's just say more than ready to say goodbye to them. But this morning my twenties did not seem to me like an aggravating ball of crazy, no, this morning I could feel all the sweetness, all the energy, all the veil-dropping-ness of what it is to be a twenty-something. I could have cried.

I could go on, trust me, all about growing up and revelation and this illusive thing called "womanhood", but I'll digress...because this post (please reference above title) is about victory. It is about a little tiny (giant) personal victory.

Drum-roll please!

Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, while sequestered in the tiny gym on the 7th floor of the lawfirm where I work weekends, I DID MY FIRST UNASSISTED DROPBACK!!!

(For those of you who don't know what one is, THIS is a dropback.)

Now, I've been doing assisted dropbacks for quite a while now, and I know--have known for some time--that I have all the flexibility and strength and know-how I need in order to be able to do one on my one, but, until today, I never have. I have wanted to, oh, how I have wanted to! I salivate over dropbacks. I have given myself many a neck crink just watching other people do them in class...they are...DELICIOUS. But, I have always waited for the teacher to come over, or some good old fashioned wall-time in order to get them done. And why? Because dropbacks are S-C-A-R-Y. Scary.

In Anusara they say that the back of the body represents the unknown (and of course for most of us the back of the body literally IS unknown, unless you happen to have a 360 degree mirror in your home, or have ever been on that Tim Gunn show where he makes a 3D computer mock-up of your body) and so for most of us dropping backwards in space is pretty f-ing freaky. (This is also what makes inversions pretty difficult for many of us...upside down AND backwards! Yikes!)

But, people, I have had a nearly daily practice for over 3 years now,and knowing myself and my own body there is no reason for me not to be able to dropback. Except for fear.

Fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, feeeeear. (My arch nemesis).

So, this evening, as I was winding up my practice with some backbends, I suddenly decided that NOW was the time. I decided that, damnit, it is my 29th birthday, I have been stuck at work all day...I am going to overcome this one tiny pesky little fear. I figured, if I can start here, on this first day of my 29th year...if I can just conquer one small fear...well, the sky's the limit.

I stood up, heart pounding.

I started sort of sticking my toe in the water, bending back, bending back, bending back...whoop! Right back up to standing again. No go.

Heart pounding more, now.

Little voice says, "oh, come on, you don't need to do this today!"

Other little voice joins in, "yeah, who's gonna know? You'll do it later. You'll do it next time you're in class...when there's a teacher."

New little voice, "you could do it at home...maybe you can have Paul come stand near you when you do it, just to spot you."

First little voice again, "yeah, you should really have someone else there. Just so you don't hurt yourself. What if you hurt yourself!? What then? You're all alone in this little gym..."

And then, BIG voice chimes in, "No! Hush. I'm doing it."

I'm doing it, goddamnit. Heart still pounding. I breathe. I settle in to my feet. I set myself up--thighs back, tailbone down, ground through my legs. I lift up and start opening up to the sky and then behind me. I breathe. And then...like magic...like I've been doing it my whole life, I dropback into a perfect, silent, backbend.

I immediately get up and do it again, giddy, so that I know it wasn't a fluke and then, when I am finally on my back and on the floor, I pump my two fists in the air and let out a little whoop.

I did it!

And when I stand up I am shaking from the exhiliration and the adrenaline and for the second time today I well up with emotion. I did it. I did it. No one there to see it. No safety net. I did it.

I am twenty-freakin'-nine years old and I can do anything! Well...I can at least do one thing today that I was scared to do yesterday, and that is a huge birthday victory.

All my love,
YogaLia

Ode to my Bro...

I have been meaning to do this for quite awhile, but better late than never...

(ahem)

Dear Shanti-Town Readers, I humbly present to you....(drumroll pleeeease)...

MY BROTHER'S BLOG (and website)!!!

For those of you who know me in real-life (not just cyber-life), you know how deeply I admire and respect and L-O-V-E (love) my big brother (and you know why he deserves a place of honor in Shanti-Town), for those of you who don't know me, you may be wondering what a bunch of plain ole' family pride is doing on a yoga blog? Well, I'll tell you. In addition to being just an all-around excellent person and stellar older sibling, my brother is also a FITNESS GOD.

I am not exaggerating. Following is proof of his other-worldy fitness skills:

1. When he was 9 and I was 5, we both started taking "karate class", for fun. My mom bought us matching white gi (the kind you could buy in plastic packages in the store, made of cotton, with iron-on dragons and stuff all over them) and in them we took ourselves proudly to class at the local Civic Center. I lasted about 8 months. My brother has never stopped.

2. When my brother was just a tyke he was tall and skinny-skinny and he wasn't so crazy about the skinny-skinny part so he started adding weights and various sports of force to his karate training. Now my brother looks like this:


3. When my brother was a teenager and running and lifting and karate-ing his brains out (and I was getting chubby and writing poetry) I once tabulated how many calories he was eating in a day (for breakfast he ate a mixing bowl full of cereal, so I figured it had to be a lot, and it was)....8,000 calories a day, people. 8,000 calories a day and not an inch of fat on him. (This is because he was already a FITNESS GOD-in-training).

4. At the tender age of 32, twenty-three years after he took his first karate class, my brother now holds the following distinctions:

He is a 3rd degree black-belt in Ishinryu Karate. (That's...well, that's really high up)

He holds a black-belt in Choy-lay-fut Kung Fu.

He holds a black belt in Arnis.

(Are you counting? That's three black-belts in three different styles of martial art.)

He runs an amazing karate/kung-fu academy in Washington State, which he has single-handedly made into a beautiful, dedicated, serious place of study for people of all ages.

He also heads up a thriving personal training/fitness business, AND...

He is developing HIS OWN STYLE of martial art.

I'm proud. Can you tell how proud I am?

My brother is one of the most focused, dedicated, passionate people I have ever been blessed to know. He has a rigor of mind and spirit that I am in awe of, and EVERYTHING I know about discipline, I have learned from watching him. He loves what he does. He loves martial arts and the improvement/movement of the body in a way that is so deep it makes me question my own dedication to everything in my life. And, to top it all off, watching my brother perform (no exaggeration) is like watching silk dance through water. Martial arts is his gift. His dharma.

Okay, enough, enough. I know. What can I say? I'm his little sister...I idolize the guy. But there is no need to simply take my word for it:

Check out the Academy HERE.

Check out the Personal Training HERE.

Check out the new martial arts style he's creating HERE.

Read his words, check out his photo galleries, and if you're ever in the Gig Harbor area, go and take a class from him. You will not regret it.

xo,
YogaLia

Blow it Out, People!

I'm thinking of the expressiveness of the body. I'm listening to a lot of passionate ballads (thank you, Beyonce) and thinking of nothing but explosive dance routines. And I'm no dancer. I'm thinking about how Seane Corn talks of the body as a vehicle for prayer. I'm thinking about watching an inspired performance and how the body really does seem to be a conduit for grace. I'm thinking that it is possible for the body to light up with the practice...I'm thinking that the body might just be the bridge between the mind, which desires divinity, and Divinity itself.

So, now I'm going to really piss off all my teachers who have spent so much time teaching me alignment and encourage everyone reading this to attempt the following: next time you are practicing, at home or in class, forget about everything except the potential for your body to be the carrier of inspiration. For just this one practice, worry less about if you're doing it right and more about what is moving through you. You are a channel for everything larger than yourself! Creativity, imagination, passion, grace, generosity, exuberance, f-ing ecstasy...it might just be in the air around you, and I dare you to consider how you can use your practice to actually open to the presence of these things.

Forget all the rest. Put your hands down, put your feet down and breathe like the breath might just be liquid gold coursing through you.

Close your eyes and have the most beautiful practice you have ever had in your life. I don't care if you look like a show-off, like a hippy-dippy, like a bad impersonation of a modern dancer, like one possessed. Maybe you don't look like anything at all. Just practice like you would dance alone in your room to your favorite song. Imagine being absolutely bowled over by bliss, and imagine that your body is the only path for that bliss to travel from the ether to your ever-loving mind and heart.

It doesn't matter if you're in a class with a hundred people or if you're at home in your tiny apartment, dressed in tattered sweats, listening to a well-worn yoga dvd (and you feel like you can't do half the poses)...it doesn't matter. Turn it off if you want. Just get in there with your body and turn off the editor. You have so much genius in you.

I want to hear stories of instant enlightenment people!! Or at least of one really really really delicious practice...

Love, love, love,

YogaLia

Listen to this!!

This is why I love Seane Corn.

Seriously, you will not regret it. I've listened to this interview 3 times, and I can not get enough of it. You have two options on the page, the edited (1 hour) and the unedited (1.5 hour) interview. I really dig Krista Tippett, the host, and for anyone who is artistically and/or spiritually minded, the archives of this show are a totally invaluable resource.

New Teachers, New Loves...

I've realized that I have not spoken too much about the teachers I have been taking from in LA...my New York favorites have odes written to them by me in this blog, but I have remained a bit tight-lipped about the Los Angeles lovelies.

Part of this, I have to admit, is a slow to retreat loyalty to my dear sweet Laughing Lotus. Oh my, I miss that studio. It was my home as a developing yogi in New York and there have been many times since coming to LA in which I have fantasized (I kid you not) about running back to New York just to be able to practice there again.

Don't get me wrong, the yoga in LA is great, and I was lucky enough to encounter Steven Espinosa (the great, the inimitable) as my very first Los Angeles yoga teacher and he promptly Blew. My. Mind. So, my seperation anxiety was kind of quelled from day one. But I miss the Lotus all the same. I miss Bryn and Stacey and Edward (now an Angelino himself, but not teaching currently), and Mary Dana and Alison and Sheri and all of them all of them. I miss getting off the crowded streets, riding the clunkly old elevator up to the studio and taking off my shoes for the first time all day. I miss hearing the traffic sounds waft up through open windows during the summer months at the studio. I miss the music and the radiator clunking in winter and oh god, I can barely continue...

You don't know until you leave a place, how deeply it's buried itself in you.

I have these sad little day dreams about Laughing Lotus, made all the sadder because I don't know if I am missed. Students come and go...that's the way of things, and by now I'm sure I am a bit of a memory there, and I can't help but admit that I have some deep heart pangs about that.

But look at me! This post is supposed to be about NEW teachers, and here I am waxing poetic about the radiator sounds, for gosh sakes.

Ahem. So. New teachers. Yes. Steven? I mentioned Steven? Yes...Steven Espinosa, god of yoga. Steven is my connector in the world of LA yoga and I owe my finding a home at Still Yoga in Silverlake entirely to him. He introduced me to Anusara and then graciously helped me to find a place for myself as a work-study student at Still, where I now spend many hours a week, sweating it out.

Side Note: I never thought I could really enjoy a yoga class without amazing music, but it turns out...I can! And I do, many times a week. I think the LA yogis think music is a bit blasephmous (I don't. And sometimes I make little fantasy mixes up in my head..."this is what I would play, if I were teaching...").

Anyhooooo, where was I? Ah, yes. The teaches.

Well, I'm not going to go through them one by one (not yet anyhow), but I will say that there are some AMAZING teachers in this fair city.

Like this one,

And this one

And this one

And also this one. This one has a blog, like me, and it is beautiful, and so is she. I'm going to be keeping an eye on her internet goings-on, whilst continuing to be inspired by her on a weekly basis in class...

These are not the ONLY wonderful teachers, of course, but they are the ones who are becoming my family of teachers here in LA, and I feel so blessed to have them. There has been so much that has been chaotic and unknown about the experience of coming here, and being able to return again and again to the studios at Still has been a hinge-pin for me in this city. No one can replace my first teachers (Jasmine! I love you!), and probably no studio can replace my home studio, but going to Still reminds me that moving forward can provide a respite all its own.

Thank you, to all of my teachers, East and West...

I'm going to go cry a little bit for the big apple now...

xo

YogaLia