If there’s one question I receive on the regular, it’s: “Do you teach yoga?” Or some variant thereof. (i.e., Where do you teach? Are you teaching yet? Why aren’t you teaching?) My answer has become pull-string. “Well, I’ve completed 200 hours of teacher training and have been practicing since age 15,...
This has shit to do with yoga…in the specific sense. Now, in the grandest scheme of things, well, it makes perfect sense. I choose ringtones like I choose yoga mats, the perfect chunky ring, books, and who to wreak havoc upon for the day. So. Very. Carefully. So you’ll understand...
Because I attend The Church of Lo (uhm, the temple in my mind), I don’t really have anywhere to confess. So I thought maybe I could confess to you. I hope that’s okay. ;) This may become a regular thing, if I get good at telling the so very bad…...
Well, do you?! (Okay, not you, my fellow yogis and yoginis. I freaking love you guys. Dearly. I’m talking to my life.) There are times when I feel like a well-oiled machine. Sleek, quick-firing, and infinitely capable. But just a machine. Everywhere I turn, somebody wants something. Somebody needs something....
Attachment. Think velcro, double-stick tape, and superglue. Love is a motherf*cker, isn’t it? The love of others, be they friends, companions, family, mates, says Dangerous Adhesives Ahead. It connects us, brings us closer to the fire. We’re wide open to having our hearts ripped out and flung about. This love...