As a fellow traveler on the path, I invite you to share in my stories and adventures for your inspiration.
If you’re like most yogis, you really enjoy how yoga makes you feel. Your skin glows. Your body looks great. And you don’t sweat the small stuff as much as you used to.
As you get more hooked on yoga, you discover your life force. You realize how deeply your breath influences your emotions…how the right food affects your energy…how being around positive people puts you in a better state of mind.
This is where most yogis stop growing on the path of yoga.
It’s not that you want to. You just don’t know where else your yoga practice is supposed to lead you. You’re like the beggar who doesn’t know he’s sitting on a field of diamonds.
Once there was a beggar who lived in a run-down hut sitting on a field. The villagers complained to the king because they didn’t like the beggar taking up space that they could be farming. So the king made an offer to the beggar. He...
You will never understand the Yoga Sutras if you read them in English. The only way to really imbibe their meaning is to feel them in Sanskrit.
Each Sanskrit syllable has an emotional quality that cultures your deepest way of knowing—your intuition.
You don’t need a dictionary to know what a word in Sanskrit means, in other words. You just need to teach yourself how to understand through feeling, like the great Sanskrit poet Kalidasa.
Kalidasa wasn’t always a great poet, however. In fact, he was born a mute. Although he could hear, he never uttered a single sound—which made him unteachable.
You see, Vedic education requires listening and repeating in Sanskrit. If a child can’t speak she can’t be taught. So Kalidasa’s father abandoned his son’s studies and left him alone to play in the forest.
As a result, Kalidasa spent many hours alone in the nearby forest observing nature and enjoying the innocent play of the...
I once discovered the real benefit of a daily yoga practice while sequestered in Didholi, a remote Indian village along the banks of the Narmada River. Officially I was there to conduct my doctoral dissertation research, but really I was on an inner quest of self-discovery.
I was staying with Nani (my best friend’s grandmother) where I shared a bed with five other women, bathed at 4 a.m. in the river with the rest of the villagers, and helped milk the cow for my morning chai.
Privacy was a luxury I had to sacrifice—until I discovered an abandoned storeroom, which was a perfect sanctuary for my morning yoga and meditation practice. No one could bug me in there.
Before anyone stirred awake from sleep, I slipped out from under the leaden arm of one of my bed mates, tip-toed to my private refuge and unfurled my yoga mat. Swooping my arms above my head, I relished the flow of each breath as I invoked the sun in my body.
Alone with myself at last, I really missed being an...