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Showing posts from February, 2014

A High Heel Wearing, Sequin Loving Yogi's Reflection on the Bhagavad Gita

A little over a year ago, I was accepted into a 300 hour teacher training program at Bodhi Tree Yoga, taught by Colin Hall and Sarah Garden.  I had no idea what to expect, or how it would change me. I just wanted to begin the journey of deepening my own practice and understanding of yoga, and hopefully learning to become the kind of teacher that might help people develop their own yoga practice.

I am not sure sometimes why they let me in. I am not what one might associate with the term "yogi".  I am a high heel wearing, sequin loving, capitalistic free market economy entrepreneur who believes in doing good things, doing what I do with love, and loving what I do.

But there I was with 21 other people, each of one us there with a collective life lived, a compendium of experiences and stories. I remember listening to each person's story that day thinking, how do I fit in?   I was later to learn that fitting in was not the point.  That there was no expectation of fulfilling…


This morning as I was walking to my favourite neighbourhood coffee joint in Vancouver, I passed a man carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in red plastic.  He was carrying the flowers in his arm as one could carry a baby. I surmised that he was on his way to deliver his carefully chosen bouquet to his true love.  We smiled at each other as we passed.

Love is a story we tell, just like my story about the man with the flowers. Maybe he just likes flowers. On another day, I wouldn't notice, but today I not only noticed, but in the 30 seconds of time it took to notice, smile and pass, I had already written a romantic story in my mind.

Today is Valentines Day.  A day reserved especially for expressing the sentiment of love and romance.  This is a day of flowers, candy, cards and chocolates, of dinners out and wine. On this day the sun shines a little brighter, and the sky lights up and sparkles by night.

Love.  It's a word that exists in the English language only.  It's our …

The Corporate Yoga Mirth

I am in Vancouver this week where leggings are pants, transparent or not. I came here to visit my daughter, write and take in some yoga classes.

I visited a corporate yoga studio that I have frequented many times, where the floors are perfectly honed white marble, soft white walls and the wafting scent of sanctuary beckons me.

The glowing desk shiny-haired yogis offer me a special promotion of $80 for five classes, which truthfully I can burn up in two days I explain.  I am from out of town, I explain.  I ask for another option.  My working yoga vacation could easily cost me $160.00 this week alone.  She offered me an unlimited pass at $140.00 because that's what her screen said.  She says I can use it any time I come to Vancouver, however, my daughter who lives here cannot use it.

I was not compelled to walk the hallway, not for $80.00, anyway.  If they had offered me a 5 class pass at half the price, which I paid the first time, I would have skipped down the hallway.  But why…

The Working Warrior

I know that place.  I have been there many times over.  I lived there.  It became my being, my measure of self-worth, my drug. My work. We all work, and work often demands more of us than we know.  It takes away time from our families, our desires, and our personal goals.  Work always comes first.  We are off balance and we know it.

Over the past 2 weeks I have been practicing what I call "goal-less" yoga.  This is not yoga without a goal. It is yoga that interrupts goals and asks the student to navigate what happens next.

So, here 's how it works, more or less.  The key is the sequence is precariousness.

Begin with the truth that we are goal beings. Admit our goal junkee-ness if you will and then settle into a sitting position preparing the breathe, only to be hoist on to your feet to Tadasana.  Find your balance.  Relocate your feet.  What happened to breathing?  Oh yes, here is it is.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale . . .

Feet pressed firmly on the the floor, shoulde…

Sunday Morning Coffee

So I am sitting here at Bute and Alberni, in a JJBean restaurant, in Vancouver, eating a vegan pumpkin apple made in house muffin and drinking a cup of Gusama Rwanda coffee. It's a chic little place, with concrete floors and black triangular shaped chairs.  The coffee is good and the chairs are comfortable to assume the writing position.

I am distracted, or maybe entertained. I am still thinking about it.  It was pretty quiet, until a 20 something young woman and her 50 something mother and silent friend sat down behind me.  She has talked endlessly, dropping key words and phrases like "you need to own your happiness" and "luon" and "because it breathes with you". Her mother innocently asks, why do you want another tatoo? She blurts - "because I want one".  Her mother recedes into the shadows of her verbose and highly intelligent daughter, hoping she will some day grow up and do as little damage to herself in the meantime.