Me with my hour-old-niece, Molly.

Tuesday afternoon, my brother’s wife went into labor. It was a long and difficult birth: the baby was “sunny side up,” and after eighteen hours of no “progress,” the doctor began to suggest other birth options. He gave her one more hour: if she didn’t “progress” after sixty more minutes, it would be time to re-think things. It was a scary moment for everyone.

For some reason, I decided to go to yoga. I needed to calm the hell down and clear my head. It wasn’t pretty, I was distracted and tired and thinking of my sister with every breath that I took, but it helped. At the end of class, everyone said three Oms to welcome the new baby into the world. I was surprisingly overcome: crying in yoga class, check. Never thought I’d be that girl. Whatever. It was so beautiful, the day actually seemed warmer and brighter when I stepped outside.

Minutes after class, I got a text from my mom. The baby had just flipped, and my sister was pushing. The end was in sight! I drove to the hospital like a crazy woman, and made a sweaty, stinky first impression on my beautiful niece. She is so lovely, and fuzzy, and loud. Even the doctor said, That girl is going to be a firecracker!

Now, you can believe what you like. I don’t know what to make of the whole baby-turning-right-at-the-moment-we-were-Om-ing. I guess I don’t really care. She’s here, she’s beautiful, and my sister was lucky enough to have exactly the kind of welcome-to-the-world experience she had hoped for. In short, she’s a warrior. They both are.

The world is a strange and beautiful place. That’s all I know.

Well, not really a manifesto. But I’m reading To Kill a Mockingbird with my students this summer (one of my favorite books of all time… if you haven’t read it in the last decade, do so!) and it really got me thinking.

This is one of my favorite passages in the book. It comes just after Ms. Dubose, the horrid neighbor who terrorized Jem and Scout as children, dies. When Atticus tells his children about her death, he reveals that she battled a morphine addiction, and instead of resenting her, Scout and Jem should respect her. At the end of Part I, Atticus says:

“Son… I wanted you to see something about her– I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to her views, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravest person I ever knew.” (Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, page 149).

Of course, that gets me thinking about intentions, and my practice, and all the fights I’m fighting even though I’m “licked” before I begin. Do you forget about all that when you’re on your mat? Or do all your efforts and struggles somehow inform your practice?

If you’re thinking about it, YogaDork has a great article for anyone interested in changing career paths and becoming a yoga teacher.

More importantly, our own William and Aaron have first hand experience with this!

I won’t lie. It’s crossed my mind. Yoga teachers are super hot, I’d like to be super hot, hmmm.

Getting a head start on Monday without a manifesto. But beautiful nonetheless.

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver
from New and Selected Poems, 1992
Beacon Press, Boston, MA

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Photo: Kyoto Katsura, the women’s division champion at the New York Regional Yoga Championship

Some of you probably know that Rajashree and Bikram Choudhury, the husband-and-wife team behind Bikram yoga, are pushing for yoga to be recognized as an Olympic sport. For those of you that don’t know the story, the idea can be a little baffling at first.

“Wait, what?” You ask, “Yoga in the Olympics? Isn’t that against everything yoga stands for?”

Good question. Yoga is a practice that focuses on inner growth, and accepting yourself. Even the yoga vernacular reflects this: we “practice” yoga, we don’t “play” yoga or “do” yoga. Some say that directly conflicts with making yoga a competitive sport.

Others argue that yoga is a set of skills just like anything else, and that those skills can be measured and scored, including things like focus and breathing. Yoga competitions do exist in India, and some people see the Olympics as a natural place for talented athletes, er, yogis, to showcase their skills.

What do you think? Should yoga belong in the Olympics? Should it be a competitive sport?

Photo courtesy of nytimes.com

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.” ~D.H. Lawrence

Happy Passover to everyone around the world celebrating freedom, new life, and the courage to take control of their destinies.

Even if you’ve never hunted for the afikoman or choked down maror, I invite you to think about all the ways that you are, and are not, free. What is in your way? What can you do about it?  What is stopping your loved ones, your state, your country, the world?

What is worth fighting for? What is worth letting go?

“This is your life. Do what you love, and do it often. If you don’t like something, change it. If you don’t like your job, quit. If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV. If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love. Stop over analyzing, life is simple. All emotions are beautiful. When you eat, appreciate every last bite. Open your mind, arms and heart, to new things and people, we are united in our differences. Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them. Travel often. Getting lost will help you find yourself. Some opportunities only come once, seize them. Life is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them, so go out and start creating. Life is short. Live your dream and share your passion.”

–The Holstee Manifesto, 2009.
Order the poster here

It’s Thursday. Which means it’s almost Friday. And yesterday Asya and I met for happy hour instead of going to Will’s class, which I was trying to justify, when I came across this poem by the Indian master-poet, Ghalib. I think he’d understand…

For Tomorrow’s Sake, Don’t Skimp With Me On Wine Today
By Ghalib
Translated by Agha Shahid Ali

For tomorrow’s sake, don’t skimp with me on wine today.
A stingy portion implies a suspicion of heaven’s abundance.

The horse of life is galloping; we’ll never know the stopping place.
Our hands are not touching the reins, nor our feet the stirrups.

I keep a certain distance from the reality of things.
It’s the same distance between me and utter confusion.

The scene, the one looking, and the ability to see are all the same.
If that is so, why am I confused about what is in front of me?

The greatness of a river depends on its magnificent face.
If we break it into bubbles and drops and waves, we are lost.

She is not free from her ways to increase her beauty.
The mirror she sees is on the inside of her veil.

What we think is obvious is so far beyond our comprehension.
We are still dreaming even when we dream we are awake.

From the smell of my friend’s friend I get the smell of my friend.
Listen, Ghalib, you are busy worshiping God’s friend.