The Year of the Celebrated Loser

Hi.  My name is Angela.  I’m a loser.  Every now and then there’s a window during my day when I feel connected to a greater source that insists I am a normal, worthy, moderately attractive, well-educated, loving, loveable, apt and capable person.   But that window usually closes in the same breath it took to bust it open. 

Luckily, circumstances lend a heavy hand to prevent that window from widening.  Take today, for example….

I saddled up on my bike for a ride in the midday sun.  I love my bike.  Not in a ‘competitive cyclist’ kind of way, or even ‘doing this for exercise’ kind of way. I love my bike in an “I’m playing outside” kind of way.  Purely for joy.  Childlike, unabashed, innocent and pure, tear-to-your-eye joy.  The kind of fruit so juicy you have to eat it in a bath tub naked.

My translucent skin soaked up the plentiful Vitamin D. I held a half-smile for 35 minutes of riding and solitude.  Just me, the sun, and the electrocardiographical zigzag of mountains guarding the valley I now call home.   As I peddle and try to ignore how badly my squeaky, neglected bicycle needs a tune-up that I can’t afford, my thoughts dilly dally between gratitude and excitement, “ I have a new job!  My sister’s baby is perfect!  My whole family is healthy.  I love my sweetheart.  I got a job at last!  I can help us!  New possibilities!  Financial stability!   The stars!  Yoga! How lucky I am!”

Poof.   No you’re not.

With the retreival of a single voice; that of our foreign receptionist, I lost my job.  Lost that possibility.  Lost that financial stability.  Lost that gratitude. Lost the stars.  

Why? 

No explanation offered.  However I’m acutely certain that no one gets cut if they are “too good” at their job.  Though in this case, I hadn’t even begun my job, hadn’t even been given the opportunity to perform. 

I’m left to surmise only that I was absolutely poor in some way; no matter how massive or minute that way.    I sucked at it.  

Folks.  I began training for a job on Monday.  Today, I was asked not to continue.  They didn’t tell me why.  Considering we sat in our seats all three days of training, maybe I’m just really really bad at sitting in a chair? I’ve fondled the swiss cheese in my cranium for answers.  See, without a valid explanation, my imagination is afforded too much room to roam.  

I got cut because I wasn’t good enough.  For a simple job at the bottom of the totem pole….I wasn’t even good enough for it.  

This afternoon my dear friends and loved ones puffed me up with sympathetic excuses, “that’s how restaurants are.” ”restaurants always overhire before they open and then lay people off”, “it wasn’t meant to be”, “there’s a better job waiting for you right around the corner”.

Really?  Really.

I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that “when one door closes another opens.”   Just saying.  I don’t.  When one door closes, it’s closed.  Period.  End of the story.   Funny. My high school English teacher noted that I was a genuine Pessimist (to which I took grave offense at age 17).  How on point he turned out to be.

I do believe every time I say yes to one thing, I am inherently saying no to another.  

Due to ’inclement’ circumstances, I feel appointed to nix the outside world and welcome  my raging loserhood this evening.  Excuse me while I crawl into my balasana (child’s pose) and water my bedroom carpet with celebratory tears.  This too shall pass.   

Signed,

-Natural Born Pessimist. Foolishly aspiring to contribute to the world in a positive way.  In perpetual life training.

Adrift among the cosmos

At long last I resume my blogging.  It’s been so long I’m embarrassed to say I’d even forgotten my password to log in to this thing.   It’s not as if I’ve been overly busy or ‘tied up’ with other obligations. On the contraire, these past five weeks have felt more like the real me went to sleep; leaving only the  randomest (and not so sightly) parts of myself to sustain the appearance of life.

I diverged from my career goals after losing a tank of confidence.  The days I spend idling in the foul mouth of discouragement; its tongue filing my spirit down to the marrow. (I remember suddenly the story of G-d sparing Jonah in the belly of a whale).   

The stormy transition was to be expected.  Change as radical as this is never seamless.  But I am not, nor ever was, the pinnacle of grace and seasoned prudence that probably should’ve been required to continue the committment I made to yoga practice.

 I have tried numerous yoga instructors and numerous studios in search of solace and mentorship to replace that which I lost when I left Chicago.  After ten or more mismatches, I finally found beacons of hope. Diamonds in the rough.

Since mid-June, I was added to the schedule to teach Monday and Friday mornings at A Body in Balance on the NW side of Las Vegas.  To date, not a single student has participated in my class.

Since mid-June, I was added to the schedule to teach Monday and Thursday evenings at Child’s Play on the SW side of Las Vegas.  To date, one student participated in my class.

It is disheartening.   But enough about my personal “sticky”. Let’s get back to the meat.  The real reason I do this.  The passion and the beauty.  The yoga!

Today’s class (which no one showed up to) began in a sitting meditation (Sukhasana) pose.  First some time for breath awareness.  Then some shoulder massage, neck rolls, shoulder shrugs and shoulder rolls.  Side stretches and a little repetition I like to call “knee bows”:  you bow while on your knees.  Duh.

I wanted to do Sun Salutations A,  Yoga Mudra, Warrior I, Pyramid, and Warrior III.  I was so pumped to try this sequence with the arms wrapped behind the back, cupping the elbows.  I like the way the forearms rest just above the kidney loop, in the valley of the thoracic spine. It’s soothing to me.  I wondered if it might soothe students equally? 

Returning to a sun vinyasa to wipe the slate clean,  I wanted to move to low lunges on the knee to open the iliosoas muscles, followed by hamstring stretches to open the backs of the legs in preparation for Hanumasana.  Hanumasana, monkey, is one of my personal favs.  While I’m not particularly comfortable in the pose, I still love it.  I use a block for support beneath the hip bone, and I love to suspend the “leaping monkey” for a few breaths; imagining I too am leaping over my strife with an open heart and a sense of childlike playfulness.

I’d have continued with Down dog, into Pigeon and Marichyasana.  I’d have ended Savasana with legs up the wall, block under sacrum.  I love this energizing, restorative, healing, happy pose. 

 

I suppose I’ll pocket the plan for another class.  It’s just that I really enjoy writing a sequence the day of or the night before I teach.  I spend time on it.  I run through it myself and adjust the sequence where things don’t feel natural.  I really love to weave in affirmation and meditation.  I LOVE teaching yoga classes. 

 
Some of the other, more established instructors at my studio utilized me as a substitute on occasion.  I LOVED these opportunities because students actually showed up!  The pressure was one but I did what I had to do.  I am constantly doubting my abilities, but I get out there and do it anyway.  I know the only way to improve is by doing-ya know, make your mistakes – learn from them and move on. 

 

I’m aimless and I feel as if this post is an appropriate reflection of my aimlessness.   It’s good to record these strange moods on the page.  I wonder often how I will look back on this year of my life.  I wonder if I will write it off as the year I went crazy.  Or the year I made the best decision of my life.

 
I need love.  Every day, through all the funniness, breakdowns, zigzagging, trying and failing, reaching, restraining, lifting, dropping, spending, saving, beating, breaking, building and blinding…I always know the one true fatality of my world.  And it’s that I need love.  

I can’t describe the gestures, or the ways, or the measurement of my need.  Just that it’s probably borderline excessive and it probably needs to come from within where I keep prodding for it out there.

 

Heavy knuckles and eyelids ask me to end here.  Good night.

A question of worth…

I’ve been living in Las Vegas for a week as of 4:00 p.m. today.  I’m conflicted about my future of employment.  I moved out here to teach yoga.  I thank my lucky stars for the opportunities I have to do precisely that:

A Body in Balance, NW Las Vegas www.abodyinbalancelv.com

Mondays & Fridays 9:00 a.m.  Pre-registration required.

Herbally Grounded, N Las Vegas www.herballygrounded.com

Mondays & Fridays 12:00 p.m.  Donations only.  Preregistration (call 847.804.1541 to RSVP) or Drop ins welcome

I have realized that teaching yoga does not pay my living expenses.   I’m not sure what I have envisioned for myself. I guess I expected that I could line up a teaching schedule about town and then go secure part-time hours in retail or office admin.  However I have succumbed to the harsh reality that even part-time work is nearly impossible to secure during such ecnonomic distress.

Given these limitations, I fear I may have to let go of my dream to teach yoga for the sake of another, dismal cubicle job simple to support myself.   

I’m adrift.  I belong nowhere.  I look to the universe for what to do next, for if I look to my heart I see an unprotected, frightened child crouching in the corner of an empty room.

 

 

 

 

Rich.

I leave Chicago in less than six days. I have not succumbed to panic of the unknown. On the contraire, I have slept better the last four nights than I have in the last four months combined.

I realize I should be devoting my energy to tying up loose ends at my office, so this entry will be brief.

There is a part of me that is perplexed by the surreality of earning a living outside an office cubicle. I’ve spent the last nine years in this grey, dismal world. The financial sacrifice is embarrassing. I believe it is worth it. I ask myself often whether I can be happy with less money, less “stuff” than I have today.

The answer is a resounding yes (despite a close friend’s opinion that I prefer “living comfortably”) I do not believe the career changes I initiated will result in sudden poverty or financial struggle. I believe my life will remain comfortable; save for those scant luxuries I can do without.

I am serene with this because I value meaning over the pursuit of pleasure or power. I read about neurologist, psychiatrist, and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl recently. While I’ve yet to intimate with Frankl’s influential 1956 contribution, Man’s Search for Meaning ,I do understand the concept at hand, and fully agree that human beings ( this human being, anyway) is, indeed, motivated by the life-affirming satiety of meaning.

I trust my decision to follow my heart.

“Aaaah.”  The sigh after a great practice.  A much-needed, overdue meditation too.  You’d think, given my solitary lifestyle that I’d have ample time to sit quietly and meditate.  I suppose I do have plenty of time when I look at my schedule.  Somehow, though, my hours of alone time seem reserved exclusively for “panic”, “doubt”, “reliving the past” or “overanalysis of existing relationships”.  

 

Realizing that I’d gotten too lost inside my own maze of thoughts, I forced myself to commit to a quiet place this morning.  There are days when meditation comes easy.  Those days are pretty rare.  The Air element dominates my nature (as it does most urbanites). As such, I’m usually juggling a simultaneity of activities and thoughts ranging from food to philosophy.

 

On those atypical days where I am dedicated to softening and simplifying my harsh inner voice, the thoughts in my meditation morph from that of first person to third person.   I get answers here.  But only after I’ve activated some sort of technique to help me get there.  Usually I attune to my surroundings through my senses.  I listen. I look.  I feel.  I taste.  I smell.  Then I close my eyes and redirect my focus to pranayama; breath work. 

 

Sometimes I can work with my breath.  Sometimes, I can only observe.  It’s all good.  Sometimes I rest my hands beside me and feel the way my limp fingertips lightly lift off the floor on my inhale and then settle back on the exhale.  I picked up the sensation of “sinking on the exhale” from one of my favorite yoga teachers, Paul.[1]

 

Then, I ask each of my senses to take a break.  “Hey, team Angela, it’s totally cool if you want to rest now”. I start listening to my inner monologue (thank you, Austin Powers).  Today

-I was reminded to Look For The Good everywhere in my day. 

-I was absolved for some of the self-destructive things I did yesterday. 

-I thought about someone who I hadn’t talked to in a while . 

-I heard worries about what’s going to happen next and

-I settled those worries with a prayer.

 This was what my meditation looked like today.  I have no idea what, if any, religious subscription this experience supports.  I always resort to the common slogan, “the only way to pray wrong is not to pray at all”.  Pray versus Meditate?  Are these synonymous I wonder?  Or are they completely separate exercises that I should heed and respect as such?

I’m still a little unsure of myself as an effective yoga instructor.  I need to find my sea legs, as they say.  I’ve lined up a couple teaching positions in my new city {details forthcoming}, as well as a commitment to teach free Yoga for my friends’ network.[2]  I am eager to lead the free classes first.  It’s the most forgiving audience I can think of if I’m going to make mistakes. (If? Rather, When.)  

I’ve been taking more time with Uttanasana/Standing Forward Fold this week.   Uttanasana is typically a pose I zip through on my way to Salute the Sun.   When I pumped the brakes on Uttansana, I discovered subtle nuances in my back body that led to a heightened self-awareness and restoration.

Uttanasana, the posture, consists of standing with feet together or hip width apart and hinging forward from the hips.

 Taking an Uttanasana with knees bent really zeros in on the lower back.   The sense of expansion around the sacrum is immense.[3]   Alternatively, taking Uttanasana with legs straight initiates more of a hamstring than sacral stretch.

I play this game with myself in straight-legged Uttanasana where I challenge myself to lift my heart further forward on the inhale, then tuck my tailbone down on the exhale.  I repeat the lifting and tucking as I continue my breath work. It’s an antagonistic movement of sorts, shallow in expression; but one that unites opposing forces, strengthens the core, charges the hamstrings, and puffs the kidney loop.

If you are unfamiliar with the term, a kidney loop is the wheel of energy that flows up the back body from waistline to the bottoms of the shoulder blades.   

Sometimes I hang out in Uttanasana with my hands cupping my elbows; shoulder bones freely releasing from their sockets.  I was taught to forever hug the head of the arm bones in.  Once in a while though, it just feels so good to hang loose.  Cowabunga, dude.[4]

Weight distribution is a factor in Uttanasana.  I like to rock my body weight back onto my heels.  Then shift it forward to the ball mounds of my front feet.  See how it affects stability.  Notice if the inner arches of the feet are lifted of scrunched.  Notice if the outer edges are rolling under or spread flat.  Equally distributing the weight between heels and ball mound.  Imagine the heels sinking comfortably deep into the ground at each exhalation.

Fanning the toes engages the leg muscles in a forward fold.  Pressing the big toes down, raising the others, and pressing the pinky toes down. I often try to “will” my pinky toes down telekinetically but they hardly ever cooperate.  Most of my life all my toes operated as a single unit: a hoof.  Today I can spread them.  Today I got some mobility in the big toes.  Those pinkies, though.  little rebels. Something to shoot for, Carl[5].

 Some teachers will encourage you to feel your knee caps clench up in a forward fold.   Others will ask you to let knee caps relax.  Knee caps clenched will generate heat.  Caps unclenched will cool.  But who’s splitting hairs?   Your eyes are already aiming at or slightly above knee level anyway.  Might as well observe them.

Uttanasana. Active. Engaged.  Folding inward.  Back body rounded like a protective sheild. Blocking the outside in.  Blood flowing down into my head.  Alot happening at once.   Sure, it’s a transition pose.  Sure, it’s a link between other powerhouses of yogi’s choice.  But it’s also a stand-alone goody if you give it some extra special TLC.

I went into some unintentional, serious dissection here.  In sum, Uttanasana is a familiar buddy of ours that we often overlook in practice.  It can be a highly active pose if you take the time to observe its subtlety.  I’d encourage you to take this or any other pose you usually breeze through, maybe a pose you struggle with?, and work on its refinement.  Take it easy.  Only go halfway.  Go where you know, then go deeper.  You’ll be amazed by your discoveries.

 

---

[1] I am somewhat afraid of exhaling.  It physically evokes a fear in my, as if I’ll not wake back up, as if my root chakra clamps tight and implodes into itself.  I’m working to replace this fear with a “letting go” of my torso by reaffirming that as I exhale, the weight of my muscles and bone sink into the Earth.  My fear decreases when I adopt this grounded, safe attitude toward emptying my body of its life force: the breath.

 

[2] Girls just wanna, they just wanna….Girls Just Wanna Have Fu-un! OH Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

 

[3] Womens’ sacral regions are wider and shorter than in men.   I’m interested if this particular “expanding” sensation of the lower back is true for men?

 

[4] Bart Simpson

 

[5] Bob Swerski, Chicago SuperFan, SNL cast 1991

Peace

A dear friend at my current workplace forwarded this quote on to my attention.  I felt it was worth a share. 

<Peace: It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of these things and STILL be calm in your heart.>

Rise and Shine

RISE and SHINE!

You hear it every day.  You see it in a dunkin donuts ad.  You read it on a Pace bus blocking your righthand turn. Rise and Shine. 

Rise!

And, then, Shine.

Honestly? It’s rather poetic when you pause to think about it. 

It’s ideal for a yoga class theme.  How easily you can connect your poses to the rising and shining of the sun.  How crucially sacred with Anusara it can be and yet how shockingly commonplace at the same time.

My daily “rise and shine” consists of heaving my sleepy bones upright unwillingly and moseying to the bathroom half comatose.  I really come alive once I turn on the water. 

Here is where I work the faucet levers like a conductor directing a philharmonic orchestra. I start with Hot first.  Then I raise the Cold lever to cue the woodwinds and weeping strings.  I twist the Hot lever a little further to summon  jazzier brass and percussion instruments. 

I keep tipping each lever… a little more…a little less…until I create a harmonious symphony between Hot and Cold: a lukewarm stream with which to rinse my “wishing you were here” away.

Like telling your loved ones how much you care, we often forget that Wyoming is a state.  I suppose the commercialized abuse of  “Rise and Shine”  can be a simple reminder not to take things for granted.  

I want to use the tagline to bloom from the heart out.  I want to literally grow inches taller just by thinking about the words Rise and Shine.  I want to beam like rays of light into the wild blue yonder and leap like rainbows arching into the horizon line.  Backbending into the possibilities behind it like the Tchiakovsky violin concerto flowing from my faucet.

From Student to Teacher

I subbed at Self-Centered Yoga last night.  It was the first time I’d substituted in a few weeks.  I’ve been primarily focusing all my energy into this relocation, and my own personal practice to maintain some semblence of serenity.

As the hour approached, I grew nervous and uncomfortable.  On my way to the studio, I asked myself why the hell had I put myself in such a position as this?  One in which I am essentially ‘on stage’ and obligated to deliver?  Why could I not simply be happy plugging away behind my cubicle walls, isolated and unobtrusive?  Why’d I have to break out and position myself to connect with other people in a deeper, more meaningful way?  Couldn’t I have been content to hide out anonymously?

I guess not. And so my opportunity to teach came and went with moments of Grace and moments of not-so-graceful.  Apparently I still haven’t learned my right from my left.  Doh!  (One of my favorite yoga instructors, Suzanne Day, says “nobody’s perfect.  And, Perfection is boring.”  to which I say, heck yeah!  I’d rather make mistakes than lead a boring life)

I mulled over what I could remember, having siphoned my energy between being ‘in the moment’ versus ‘in my unforgiving, self-concsious thoughts’. I’d only retained a partial imprint of the whole experience. 

We are all our worst critics.  As such, I spent much of the aftermath correcting myself on simple things I should have and could have done different.  For example, one of my students was unable to reach her hips back to her heels in Balasana (child’s pose).  I tried to work her lower, but her body wouldn’t budge.  I wedged a blanket between her calves and hamstrings so that she could relax comfortably despite the gap between her legs. 

The next morning, it dawned on me that she had her forehead on the mat.  All teachers know that hips on heels is more important in Balsana, than forehead on the mat.  How easily I could have instructed her to recline her hips to her heels if only I’d suggested she stack her hands, or fists, under her third eye to lift her head up and send her seat down.  ugh.  Why didn’t I have the sense to do this at the time?  Why only after the fact is it so glaringly obvious?

I concluded the following:  The most important thing of all in a yoga class is THE STUDENT.  If I am getting swept up my own practice during the class, then I have no business teaching.  Bottom line.

Unfortunately, the only method to cultivate this devotion to students is by practice-teaching.  There needs to be a shift from personal practice to guiding practice.  I am so grateful for the experience that showed me where I can quit demonstrating and start relying on verbal cues. 

When I think about my favorite instructors, hardly are they practicing along with us.  They aren’t planted in a corner or a seat shouting out commands either.   They wander up and down the aisle of the studio room.  They spend minutes at a time near each student.  They offer instructions while simultaneously attuning to the students’ adherence to those instructions. 

When I enrolled in my teacher training, I remember being taunted by dreams of grandoise.  When we were asked whether and what we wanted to teach after graduation, many of us buckled under our fantasies and fell back on the padded response, “I’m not sure I want to teach.  I’m just here to deepen my own understanding of the practice”.  yeah, right. 

We all WANTED to teach.  Why else had we paid thousands of dollars and invested an entire year of our lives to store away our knowledge & skill set without sharing it?  What a disservice to our community. 

There is a terrific misnomer out there that yoga instructors are unorthodox in some way, that we are ‘flightly’ and offbeat.  This is a myth.  If there’s one thing I learned in my intensive training, it’s that Yoga is a highly disciplined practice.  The June 2009’s issue of Yoga Journal, Sally Kempton writes “Are you committed to a life of creative expression?  In that case, you probably shouldn’t sign up to be a certified teacher in a rule-bound yoga system…”

Given the strict framework underwhich we teach, and the performance anxiety I endure beforehand, I have to ask myself whether I’ve been honest with my little heart in pursuing this dream? 

In an article with the same name as this post, a four-year veteran shares his less-than-spectacular start in Kripalu’s summer publication.  Sam Chase explains

The first time I taught after getting certified was a last-minute substitute at a studio near my apartment.  I reall didn’t like teaching at all at first.  After that first class I remember thinking, ‘Thank God that’s over’. I had this skill set that was largely untested. And it was really uncomfortable.

Yay!  I’m not alone!  Chase kept teaching despite his discomfort because he wanted to “give back the gift that practicing yoga had given him.”  (Couldn’t have said it better myself)

For years I’d hid in neurology and pscyhology-related blogs, news stories, and podcasts trying to make sense of who I was, and why.  It wasn’t until I began practicing Yoga that I truly began to develop a safeness, and even a fondess for being in my own skin. 

There are moments in my classes where it all clicks.  I’d been out of teaching for a few weeks.  My instructions were rusty.  Despite an urge to use my mistakes to beat myself up inside, I’m going to trust them as my learning tools.  It seems I have a stubborn heart that won’t let me detour now.

My dad told me earlier this week that he ‘prefers the straight and narrow road’.  He likes to see and prepare for everything coming down the pipeline.  Whereas I prefer not to discover what lies around the bend.  Is it any wonder? I like to bend. 

 

I heart yoga 4-eva! teehee

Big hugs,

Angela, An imperfect RYT

The Baby Huey Complex

“I am too big”

“I am in the way.”

…the Oscar winning screenplay in my head.

I understand how pivotal it is to accept oneself as is.  Yet the pathological framework of my ego cannot.  I always thought my profile matched that of Baby Huey.

(Insert unnecessarily sadistic pity party)

Much like the beloved “baby giant” duckling, I picked up the lesson that any decision I make is incorrect.  Anything I do is probably wrong.  I look odd and disproportionate.  I do not act well.  I do not choose well.  I don’t just make mistakes.  I am, simply put, the mistake. “Whenever he tried to involve himself in the activities of his peers, Baby Huey would inadvertently cause more problems, and as a result they would drive him away through trickery (and into tears).”

 

Last weekend’s yoga experiences enabled my shame to surface, crest and at last recede at a lighter weight.

Physical limitations are frustring.  When classes are small, it’s harder to hide mine.  Instructors try to talk me through action with lovingkindness but fear & humiliation debilitate me. 

I love Anne Lamott’s passage in Crooked Little Heart, “If you are pretty, the secret of your essential un-okayness remains a secret.”

There are amazing people, and amazing spiritual experiences in my life that prop me upright again. 

My yoga mentor, for one, believes “being big” is something to go celebrate.  Reconciling her own body image issues, she writes:

     Yeah, That’s my belly, I love it.  Of course it’s full. I just ate.  Shut up man, that ’s my lustrous gem, it’s compusting and creating my destiny.  Get your own personal will, stopy trying to take away mine. (Dazzling sparkling yellow light radiates in and around the belly and kidneys.)  I walk away, head held high.  End Scene

Yoga is not a One-Size-Fits-All activity. It’s a personal practice.  As painful as it can be to accept oneself, the darkness pushes one into light.

I wave goodbye to harsh winter. Welcoming warmth, peace, and possibility of spring and summer.

NAMASTE

Crazytown, USA

Why is it that everyone assumes I’ve gone insane simply because I quit my job to move to Las Vegas & open a yoga studio? Lots of people migrate west everyday. It’s not that uncommon. Sheesh.

Furthermore, I spent over a year in my certification program all the while nursing my dream on the backburner.  I’ve been patient.  Now is my time to act. 

There is a pandemic fear of The Unknown here in Chicago. The muscle of Complacency scares naysayers into their bacon-insulated houses.

Don’t get me wrong.

I like bacon.

I just like celestial espionage a little more.

Ya know, spying on the stars.

Shadowing butterflies.

The playful path in life. 

With or without a dress rehearsal.

The idea of Limitations has been on my mind.  (Possibly b/c I’ve been greeted daily by a laundry list of them?).  …The theory that obstacles in life erode the spirit?  I’ve been trained in the art of Pessimism by my parents. My true nature is not so.   Satya-May I be true to myself in every way.  Be fully who I am and do what I say.  May I speak my truth without any fear. And make it gentle enough for all to hear.

You can catch my next Hatha Level 1-2 class at Self-Centered Yoga on Friday, May 8th at 6:00 p.m. 
Self-Centered Yoga   2201 W. Belmont Ave  Chicago IL 60618

My heart is lifted

to Heaven,

to Sky

to Possibility

To Connecting with you

-az