When the Body Remembers
Kapotasana has a way of finding me.
I don’t rush into it. I reach up before I reach back. I press my legs firmly into the mat and take my time creating space, especially in my low back where I’ve learned not to collapse. The first round I practice on my own. The second goes deeper, with steady support behind me. I feel grounded. Safe. Strong enough to explore the edge.
When I come upright again—back on my knees—something shifts.
Without my hands on the floor, as my back body lifts the weight of my torso, a surge rises through the front of me. Not joy this time. Something heavier. I can feel it building before I understand it.
I reach for a wheel and fold forward over it, letting my spine return toward neutral. The edge presses just below my sternum. My knees hold it in place. I breathe. And then the tears come.
I know why. Read More
How Much Do We Affect One Another — Even When We Don’t Mean To?
In a recent class, a teacher offered a simple reminder that stayed with me:
our energy on the mat doesn’t exist in isolation. It affects the people practicing beside us.
They invited us to consider practicing not just for ourselves, but for our neighbors.
To let that awareness shape the way we move and breathe — almost like an intention we carry through the practice.
It immediately brought to mind an experience I had earlier this year.
Two students were practicing near one another. One arrived clearly carrying a lot — moving quickly, breathing loudly, pushing hard through the sequence. The other seemed increasingly affected by that pace and intensity. Eventually, they rolled up their mat and left early.
When I later encouraged the first student to slow down and find a bit more ease, the suggestion didn’t land well. There was frustration. Tension. Only later did I learn what they had been carrying into the room that day — a high-stakes test or interview later that morning, the kind that tightens the body long before we’re aware it’s happening.
That conversation stayed with me.
Not because anyone did anything wrong, but because it revealed something subtle and true:
we often show up to practice carrying far more than we realize — and what we carry doesn’t stay contained.
I was in the middle of my own stressful season at the time, navigating uncertainty and change. It made me wonder how often my energy had spilled into shared spaces without my noticing. How often I, too, had practiced while holding tension, urgency, or distraction — and how that may have affected others.
None of this is about blame.
It’s about awareness. Read More
The Shape Is Never the Point
The shape is never the point.
It’s the calming of the mind,
the steadying of breath,
the quiet that rises when we soften around the edges.
This is where peace lives.
Where spiritual happiness finds room to grow.
Where practice becomes a way back to yourself.
Some days the body feels open and willing.
Other days it feels heavy, resistant, unfamiliar.
But the mat doesn’t keep score — we do.
We’re the ones who label a practice “good” or “bad,”
who compare today’s body to yesterday’s,
who expect our poses to look a certain way
and then silently scold ourselves when they don’t.
But what if the practice isn’t asking for perfection at all?
What if it’s asking for presence?
Inspired, Grateful, and Growing
Six months ago, I stepped into something new: teaching a led class at BTY. I called it Ashtanga Inspired Yoga because I wanted to move away from the word Intro. To me, “intro” suggested that the class was only for beginners, or that it would stop serving students once they learned the basics. My hope was to create a space that honors the traditional Ashtanga sequences while leaving room for creativity — and, most importantly, a space where every student feels safe, welcome, and respected in their practice.
At first, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel teaching a full hour-long led class after so many years of teaching Mysore-style. Mysore has always felt like home — the quiet room, the one-to-one attention, the steady rhythm of students practicing at their own pace. But something unexpected happened. Over these past six months, a core group of students has returned week after week. I’ve found myself inspired by their dedication, their curiosity, and their questions — constant reminders that yoga isn’t about hierarchy, but about shared exploration.
Their energy has spilled into my own practice. I’ve been exploring new ways of inhabiting familiar poses and playing with how the sequence can open up when approached with curiosity. Teaching this class has reminded me that yoga is both tradition and living practice — something that grows with us.
And now, the class itself is about to grow too. Beginning in October, Ashtanga Inspired Yoga will shift and simplify to become Ashtanga Yoga. It will continue in person at BTY and will also be available online via Zoom.
Zen and the Art of Robot Vacuums
Lately I’ve been exploring how technology can help create a little more space for the things that matter to me most — like yoga. Enter my household cleaning crew: two robot vacuums with very different personalities.
Upstairs, I’ve got Robbie. Robbie is the quiet type — reliable, steady, and perfectly content handling only my bedroom and yoga practice space. He’s small but mighty enough for his little domain. Think of him as the zen monk of vacuums: he keeps the sanctuary clean without complaint.
Downstairs, though, is where the real drama happens. Enter Roberta (may she rest in dusty peace). Roberta was my first downstairs vac, but once Labrador number two joined the family, she simply threw in the towel. After battling endless tumbleweeds of fur, she waved the white flag and retired. Honestly, I don’t blame her — I was vacuuming daily (or at least every other day) on top of her efforts, and still losing the battle.
That’s when Euphie came on the scene. Bigger. Stronger. Armed with a self-emptying station the size of a small outpost. Euphie is determined to win the shedding war (knock on wood). She doesn’t flinch at dog hair — she inhales it, powers up, and goes back for more. Around here, we call her the commander of the main floor.
Just today, as I was writing this, Euphie performed her very first self-empty. The roar of fur disappearing into her station sounded like a victory cheer. Even Kobe and Diesel came trotting over, ears perked, tails wagging. To them, it must have sounded like a spaceship docking. They watched wide-eyed as if to say: what new sorcery is this?
Between Robbie upstairs and Euphie downstairs, I no longer spend my Saturdays chasing fur balls with a broom. Instead, I get to roll out my mat, breathe, and practice.
Yoga reminds us that clearing clutter matters — in the body, in the mind, and, apparently, on the floor. Thanks to Robbie and Euphie, I still pitch in when needed, but the weight of daily cleaning is lighter. And with that, there’s more space for practice: less dog hair, more down dog.