Sattva Yoga Studios

Reconciling #simplegratitude with #metoo

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by Ali Valdez

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

Recently, I was forced to revisit a rather difficult period in my academic life. Without belaboring a long-winded back story, I’ll just say he was heavily advised to, and promptly resigned. It was a #metoo moment that I tried to brush aside with fortitude and resilience.

Although there a sort of vindication in going through an exhaustive process that leaves many young ladies hung out to dry or ostracized, it doesn’t mean that years later something won’t trigger you, bringing back aspects of the situation left incomplete or not fully healed.

We are all products of our society. Inevitably, something will come along, bursting the seam of the collective subconscious and ignite a fire nestled deep within. It seems even for me, the woman chiseled from the side of a mountain, that time had come.

Why now? The solidarity of the female power brokers in Hollywood for starters. Seeing women begin to come forward, unapologetically sharing their stories, using their platform in a bold way. Then, the news broke about the girls’ Olympic gymnastics team. Personally, this shattered me. I was a young girl separated from my parents, too, entrusted to the care of another, an authority who knew best, even in spite of my own discernment that something was not right. Girls had complained before me, but no action was taken on their behalf.

Today I mentor a young competitive gymnast in yoga, and I am the mother of an eleven-year- old girl. May this never be their story. At some point, it becomes a responsibility to create breathing room for young women to know their voice matters and to speak up, always trusting their intuition. All I needed was one well-intended compliment that brought up those once buried, bad memories. There was now nowhere to run; I had to face the pain one more time, as if reliving it all over again.

Now, without having to focus just to get through it, I gave myself the space I never had before. I wanted to simply feel, to address its impact on an emotional level; something that is seldom, if ever, encouraged in one’s professional life. I lead a team of young professional women that report to me. I shared my story with complete vulnerability and candor. It was important for
them to know why maybe I was a bit more tender at times, most bristling at others. Moreover, I wanted them to know that situations like this can happen to anyone, and that no one needs to remain silent anymore.

In a recent leadership training, the facilitator was talking about keeping a logbook about synchronicity that may transpire through the course of the training. At one point, someone was sharing, and he said, “Maybe that’s something for your log book.” It reminded me that I had been a copious log-keeper during that time. I was dealing with someone trying to use control and coercion to threaten my longer-term academic career and diminish my prospects as an aspiring writer. Maybe the salve that I needed was to go back and dig up thirty year old journals to see what I might find.

Luckily my assistant just sent a text saying she found a box of old journals that she had no idea where to place. A true kismet moment, I went home and there they were, as if waiting for the synchronicity of me finding my place in that moment. Seven years of daily writing. I combed through a few, full of photos, hand written letters on beautiful stationary (people did stuff like that thirty years ago) and a record of every thought, feeling and aspiration I once had. What there wasn’t, at first, was any record of him, and the dirty little imprint he put on my life.

I contemplated calling it a night. Then I saw a little red journal smaller than the others. It had a cover with a golden backdrop and a red angel. I reached for it; the title read:

The Dr. (Name Omitted) Factor.

I read in painstakingly crafted detail of over 63 offenses against me. It was laid out objectively and concise, as if I were writing an article for the newspaper I ran. The facts read:

This was man fantasizing and objectifying one of his students, constantly questioning her mores, baiting and challenging her “innocence and purity” at the bible college she attended.

This was a man who wouldn’t let his student select any other professors, drop out of his classes, and wanted complete visibility into her personal finances as well as badgering her for every detail of her dating life, contriving and verbalizing his lurid and overlaid projections onto them.

This was the man who would insist on closing his office door, saying the most repulsive and vulgar comments about her body and her looks, and then threatening to make any chance of going to graduate school an impossibility without complete cooperation.

Almost thirty years later, the facts still felt crushing. At nineteen, you feel so helpless and vulnerable. You study and prepare for years to reach your goals and right before the finish line, someone who seems so supportive and trustworthy begins to reveal their true colors.

It wasn’t until I refused to stay in his office one afternoon that he lurched from his chair and grabbed me forcefully by the arm. It was the only time, and the last time, he ever touched me. I had had enough. Time was up. Three other women had similar concerns about him. Together, we not only reported him, but threatened together as a unified front to take legal action when the school offered no recourse, only a verbal warning that would not even be placed on his record.

There were a few things I learned about myself by combing back through my journals and navigating this situation in lieu of the larger outcry from other women across the country put in situations such as this or worse. It is my hope that these lessons may serve as inspiration to you as well.

  1. RECLAMATION: Pasted into one of my journals was a photograph of me during Christmas break when I was 19 years old. This was just before this man was assigned my Academic and Graduate advisor. Bright-eyed and full of life, I cannot recall a single photograph since where I looked so joyful. I decided it was time to reclaim that lost part of myself. At any time, we can find our true North and make our way back to center.
  2. ADVOCACY: I wanted to make sure no other student should have to deal with something like this. I wanted to protect other girls. Naively though I was asked to sign a non-disclosure; he went off and was gainfully employed by another small college. This still grips me with immense remorse. I was short-sighted, wanting it all to end. Helping my fellow classmates was small restitution in lieu of what might have been a much larger problem elsewhere. I have an opportunity to make this right now by being a candid advisor to my team, the women I mentor, and the young women in my life. Just because I had been given a chance to speak my voice once, didn’t mean I was then obligated to silence it.
  3. LETTING GO: When it came time for me to testify, I was the last of the four women, taking my seat at the end of an emotionally exhausting day. After I went through my grievances, in a first, he broke down weeping and apologized to me. It isn’t worth holding onto something that shaped a single season at the expense of possibly distorting an entire life. I was able to get some closure for my personal benefit and for the advocacy of others. The lesson here was remembering honestly, completely, and creating space for both sides to grow from the process.
  4. SIMPLE GRATITUDE: Lastly, whilst culling the gory details of my last semester of college (the threats, the gross comments, the exerted control, and the outright obsession) I noticed an equal outpouring of gratitude. Not gratitude towards him, mind you, but gratitude for my friends, my supporters, those who stood by my side, held my hand when I cried. I was grateful that my school, once trying to avoid overthrowing a wildly influential tenured professor, in the end did the right thing and took care of its girls. This was the early nineties, and an evangelical Christian liberal arts bible college at that. I was grateful for my own resolve, resilience, my unquenchable thirst for justice.

I didn’t lose what I loved most. I was grateful I didn’t lose my love of writing, my hope and belief in the goodness of men, nor my nerdom for just wanting to spend every waking minute reading books and studying language. I still became a teacher. I am writing and publishing.

Thirty years later and the women who shared this journey with me still remain my friends. I see that the biggest blessing of all, reliving this event and in spite of its painful memories, has shown me that I am a woman instinctually recognizing the good, even in circumstances that ripped my  heart asunder. I have found that gratitude is an extraordinary asset, a critical tool in the game of life, and something that I have carried with me all along.

 

 

 

The Guru Gap

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In the wake of a succession of passing luminaries in the yoga world, there is a void that remains unfilled. Recently in a training course, I was asked who the next generation leaders in yoga are. This is a question since the passing of Jois, Iyengar and most recently Desikachar, that is flummoxing to ponder. There really are no substantial yoga leaders outside of the realm of asana prowess that come to mind. Chances are the true greats are probably the ones you’ll never hear about and most likely will never know.

This feeling consumes me on many levels. Primarily, I just do not see contemporary teachers who are particularly inspiring or walking the talk in a way that engenders much confidence in their ability to effectively lead or shape the trajectory of future yoga minds or envision a more adaptive form of the practice. We see this in the business world every so often and no one bats an eyelid. It’s a leadership vacuum. As long as the masters of old were still kicking it and coarsely correcting budding Westerners, our bases were covered, maybe. But now they are all gone and the tunnel is long, dark and the dawn of its endgame unclear. We see it with startling alacrity but no one seems to care betwixt the beers, buds and goats. Yoga has segued some places from an enriching contemplative exploration of self to a three-ring circus. Most teachers are training in mimicry, not imagination or innovation.

There are pockets of sincerity and mature guidance. But the voices in our world grow steadily quiet as the yoga goes faddist and run the risk of fading away. A sweet Natarajasana doesn’t make the sting less painful; no amount of Paschimottanasana can cure yoga’s woes. We’re at the point where we can almost hear the pin drop. Now more than ever, society needs a strong yoga voice; ideally one that doesn’t also proclaim his/herself as God and does not exploit or sleep with their students.
From afar, I admire many strong teachers, committed to staying grounded, not getting full or ahead of themselves in the rat race of this billion dollar business. What I do respect are the gently spoken women of quiet power that are influencing the yoga world, namely through Seva-based initiatives and summoning sacred feminine ways of addressing societal and existential concerns. There is tremendous gravitas towards many of my teachers and an appreciation for others under which I have never studied. But the majority pretty much, well…

The power and promise of yoga evolution is not lost. Yoga can contribute pieces to the puzzles of chronic pain, resilience, emotional health, rehabilitation, addiction and influence overall vitality and well-being through all stages of life. It is thrilling to see momentum in these fields and it’s exactly here that I want to channel my intentions and efforts. Substantive practice is hard to come by, but where there are pockets, there is also recognition of its distinction. It isn’t about placing blame, or bashing people or the industry. The critique lies solely on the last generation of teachers failing its students with watered-down teachings, little to no practical or academic cache and less than exceptional standards.

There is a leadership crisis in the yoga world. The hyper-commercialization, the tepid at best proliferation of yoga alliance certification programs, and the self-aggrandizing platform known as social media has spun our Manduka mat world off kilter. There just has not been the raising up of excellent, emotionally-mature, non-egoistic critical thinkers coming into the yoga world these days. This is not to say the old-timers were perfect or enlightened, but they had substance. What? Namely staying power and relevance. The revolving door of relevant yogis reads like last year’s Vogue. As with any trend, things come and go. What is old is new again (ala the “new trend” of Nauli and Agni Sari making its way around Facebook), what was once new, is now getting progressively edgier: Brew to Vino to Whisky to Gin but not evolving any faster.

I have always considered yoga both an evolving science and a sacred art. These values are still held dear to me. I think what has changed is my assumption that Western yoga would pattern itself lock-step with my ideals. This is where my own ego teaches me blind spots and delusions. Today I remain grateful that yoga took me around the world to experience its various manifestations. Gaining appreciation both for what’s out there and what I have gained from the teachers I have met along the way.

Leadership is more than just a certification, a title or an assignment. Leadership is in demand anytime a few people meet, eager to be inspired, taught and guided. We need leaders to take us into the tunnel and get us to see the light within each of us. This should start with the economically impractical burning of the paschal lamb of studio income: 200 hour teacher trainings. Can we agree to call them, if not make them, something else that doesn’t engender another generation of the ill-equipped?

Recently, my personal choice has been smaller segment blocks, big on reading, essay writing and robust discussions. My students around the world join me on Skype building a cadre of highly-diversified people for many cultures discussing yoga and the world we live in. At any time, a dozen languages are spoken among us and many more countries lived in or traveled. No one looks, dresses or talks the same. You can imagine what gets birthed out of that hardly is the same cookie cutter stamp carbon copy. Whether they go on to teach public asana classes is not the point. They are being developed as leaders curating solutions to evolve individually, serve generously and expand their world view broadly.

When teaching a class, contemplate what principles of leadership you are exhibiting, model what you loved best in the example of leadership from your teacher or life mentors. Each day commit yourself to deep studies and meaningful actions. The promise can be kept alive; but we need to be the leaders to step up and do it.

Mercury Mayhem Meets the Real World

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Go anywhere out for lunch with a yoga buddy and record your conversation, and that of the table next to yours. Now play them back and see if the two conversations sound like they are even happening on the same planet.

“Blame Mercury Retrograde.” You won’t hear that at a Denny’s at 10am on a Thursday morning.

Last week, I made the fated choice of fumigating my house. Seldom, if ever, would I consider this but the moth situation was starting to create significant problems. I removed the dogs, took my daughter to school, and went back to fumigate. Cupboards empty and dishes pulled out, linens stripped, bathroom items tucked away. All of my bases were covered.

I picked up my daughter six hours later, went back to my office (internet was funky, cell wouldn’t open the browser), walked the dogs, and ate dinner. Arriving home late, I realized something was amiss. I returned to both my dishwasher and washing machine not working.

“Blame Mercury Retrograde.” You will hear about that over KeVitas at Whole Foods at 10:00am on a Thursday morning.

The next week, also in Mercury Retrograde, my car started smoking and I got a flat tire. My kid and I both got sick, probably from having tons of linens and dishes marinating in fumes prior to the repair of the appliances. Stuff breaks, things don’t work well. So what can we expect to go right?

Mercury retrograde might cross the wires of communication but, within this fractal relationship of planets and people, it can also teach us something we wouldn’t have otherwise seen on our own.

Fast forward to being in sweats and with a mild fever on a gorgeous sunny day. Here I sit at a pancake house adjacent to the shop repairing my tires. Incidentally, the place is packed. I am flummoxed by this, but no matter.

If you are not overweight, you are over sixty.

Because I am a ‘party top of one’, with a laptop, cell phone and two notebooks, I find myself surrounded by a host of adjacent tables. As I work, sipping my hot water with lemon and wait for my, you know it, gluten free breakfast, I hear the following conversations around me.

There are two older women talking about pre-Diabetes and brainstorming strategies for the necessary step of cutting out sugar. One is electing to go to artificial sweeteners in their coffee; the other has resorted to the green packets, stevia. I almost dropped my fork when one of them said “metabolic syndrome.” I couldn’t help but think God put me here at this place right now (maybe even orchestrated the nail in the road that I drove over) to allow me to experience this symphony of conversations.

The pancake house offers low-glycemic Agave syrup as an option and has added a full set of gluten-free replacements and vegan meat alternatives. Mercury has collided with the real world.

The manager greets a new set of women at a two top, “would you like some coffee ladies, or maybe some soda? Anything?” These ladies want their coffee.

The diagonal table is discussing bloat and the need to start eating gluten- free. One womaen is obstinate against the gluten-free movement, insisting instead that she has cut down and the only gluten she will eat is her one slice of morning toast. “I like my whole grains” she says a bit defiantly to her friend,  who holds her coffee mug between her palms like a cherished object.

The table to my left is an older man inquiring about the “veagan” (menu typo) sausage. He turns to his buddy and mentions something about cholesterol.

While I wait for my tire, while I work hard, I see others sitting together, having conversations and enjoying their less-than-healthy foods. Suddenly, it strikes me.

I am the f***ing alien. This IS the real world.


All of my normal conversations, which I love and cherish, fundamentally do not concern the majority of the population. Personally, I am okay with this. Although at this point, I am just dying for the tire company to call me. Why? Because I am the odd man out. Yoga is a beautiful thing; but I think at times we can get a little ahead of ourselves and lose sight of the forest from the trees.

As a practice, my teacher used to say “yoga is like top of pyramid; the one with eye.”

I think of the pyramid and eye on the back of a dollar bill and how it hovers, disconnected from the rest but in essence still very much a part. There seems to be too much focus on the separation of it all. Another popular division right now is that darn Starbucks Unicorn Frappuccino. Love it or hate it, it’s been polarizing. Whether it’s the sugar content, the fat, the ‘buying one for kids’, or the hypocrisy of the Caramel Frappuccino, this new drink has created a minor chasm in our society.

I don’t want to disconnect even though I don’t always relate.

Recently I have joined an amazing team that focuses on developing programs for disease prevention. This has blessed me with access to research and insights about vast segments of our population that I wouldn’t necessarily see on a yoga retreat I am hosting in Bali, or within the four walls of my studio.

The focus of my work is not on raja yoga or esoteric Tantric philosophy. Now, it’s more about Diabetes prevention, heart health, chronic pain, weight management or, in other words, about every single conversation that I had the privilege of chiming into this morning. Conversations I would normally never hear because I am typically not in this environment.

Half of our population is at risk for pre-Diabetes or metabolic syndrome. Education and programs around food choices, unconscious behaviors, sugars and additives, and resilience will have greater and more far-reaching impacts than a simple down- dog.  Our lack of engagement in these meaningful areas of population health, the very baseline of our existence, will lead to higher mortality rates and an increasingly lower quality of living. These are meaningful and important conversations because they are about the wellbeing of my fellow man, the very issues and challenges facing the majority. I care about them, yet I spent the last few years in the yoga bubble forgetting about them.

Everything that went “wrong” this week was validating a big right.

Yoga is great, but I don’t want to forget the ways I might be of service to those for whom a yoga studio might not be an obvious first choice for solutions. We are all in it together; here to help and enable one another to a healthier, happier body, community, and world. I love floating in the eye, but am also willing to work with spackle and brick.

References:

Mercury Retrograde — astrostyle.com/mercery-retrograde

Shaken, Not Deterred

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Grrrrrr…

The Anglicized Yoga world has got its hate on. It’s been hard seeing the slow devolution of social commentaries both catty and snide about the state of affairs in popularized yoga forms. Everyone seems to rebuking everyone else or still cocooning their jivas in the glistening gossamer seams of love and light.

Can’t we all just get along?

Furthermore, it is impossible to not speculate as the Washington Post reported last week, that perhaps the sleek urban appeal of yoga is starting to jump the shark, becoming the Norma Desmond of fitness chic.

Is yoga deluding itself when it’s heading down the staircase for its final close up?

Karen Heller’s Style piece states that between weed yoga (perfectly legal in the state of Washington, the “other” Washington), naked yoga, yoga with goats, dogs, etc. is now part of the social mores menagerie boarding at the house where spirituality and exercise now uncomfortably reside.

Twenty plus years ago, yoga was weird. Now, I cannot think of a single human being within a ten mile radius of my home not knowing a down dog.

Weed yoga, namastizzle.Yoga has gone and empowered millions to improve their lives; it has also become a big fate slice of pie Americana-style. No Barre studio or Zumba class can tout the sheer innovation around positioning of limbs like yoga can, and with each class contributing to a piece of the $17 billion industry that is straight-up “Namastizzle,” the article cites academic research that shows us, even validates the open “malleability” of the practice.

But how open do we in the extended yoga family really want to be?

Sadly, not much. Apparently not all of us want to share our toys. How can we be when there is so much to complain about? Here are a few issues around yoga making the social and newsfeed rounds:

Another hot topic around yoga is the incompetency of Yoga Alliance and its questionable overseeing of some vague notion of “accreditation” whereby if your check clears and you have been certified for at least six months from another program, you are qualified to teach others. That is coupled with the economic reality that most yoga studio with escalating urban rents can almost barely get by without a funnel of teacher trainings and constant merry go round of teacher workshops.

Oh, but why finish there, when we can rip a new asshole into all the glistening filteratis of Instagram.

And if you are a slender, white woman, well forget about it. In some yoga circles it is offensive that white women (and men- although we know their numbers are few) colonize yoga, a practice uniquely reserved for people of India apparently. I am Mexican and Lebanese and other stuff not Indian so not sure where that leaves me.

Here we see the veil of illusion, Maya, rearing its head. But none of those things are what the truth of yoga is in the studio, with a loving, caring and skilled teacher and their students. The clamoring outside noise becomes radio silence. Yoga still means something beautiful to millions of people and isn’t merely a trifle or en vogue ribaldry.


Grrrrr…

Svadyaya.But I haven’t always been open either. I have fallen into these types of limited thinking; it’s impossible not to take the bait and engage with rubes, Centrists and elites alike.

Many people are pursuing a deeper dive into yoga and Eastern Philosophy academically so they know it all. For the intellectually reluctant and morally-fluid, it’s all good and people are free to be themselves.

I’m the lonely island wedged awkwardly in the divide.

Let’s face it, many people still want to just get their sweat on. Others see yoga as a great place to socialize, feel good in their bodies and feel welcomed and loved in a community. At the end of the day does any of that really effect anything about my practice?

It doesn’t affect anything except when I allow these rants and riffs to begin to shake me up and rattle my cage.

It would be disingenuous for me to say that I am thrilled with the direction yoga is taking. But nonetheless I welcome the discourse as well as the debate. This is a captivating topic and the objective of my lifetime- yoga-yoga as one of my beloved teachers calls it. Some days I am troubled and ask myself why bother? On most days, I am up for the fight. Today was one of those days.

What I have realized is the fight is only ever within, and although at times it’s natural to feel shaken, the true yogi is laser-focused like the Jedi is and is seldom if ever deterred.

ResilienceThere are some days where I read commentaries and there is a gnawing in my gut or a pang in my heart. This isn’t the spirit of the practice. But none of us are thousands of years old within this one lifetime to really have a say in it. So when I say the spirit of the practice, I can only explain it through my interpretation of what that is. All I can do is the work, as I understand it to be. That type of sadhana is never a gimmick, nor does it pander to the masses. Either way, the resilience to stay the course is the Vajra, the diamond cultivated within.

And if you know me and my teachings, where there were once coals, by lunch will be diamonds.

No, my yoga hasn’t jumped the shark. It is more rewarding than ever, and try as I may, I could never quit teaching. My yoga won’t ever make it to the Style page of the Washington Post, but it’s forever etched on the book of my spirit.

In that way, yoga has taught me that we are one; just not page one.

What I do know is that I am passionate about the science of yoga. It moves me like a gentle breeze reminding me that spring is here. It would be impossible to reflect back on my naïve early start in yoga without expressing gratitude for my teaching and how it’s grown from the roots where it began. In that I can see how I have changed.

So why has it been so hard for me (and others) to allow other aspects of the practice to change too?

Insights and yoga cultureChange never feels natural although it is the most natural thing around us. It’s hard when you are locked on the way something should be and boldly like a stiff and angry tide, comes crashing down. Resilience allows you to acclimate to these changes without letting them wash you out to sea…

…or roll up and list your used mat on Craig’s List.

In the evolution of the science of yoga there are currents and many types of waves to catch. I just want people to be happy and healthy, and be less concerned with the ways in which they find that, even if it doesn’t match my experience. Our industry isn’t what it used to be twenty years ago, but finally, I am adapting and finding my sea legs. With each breath I steadily regain my balance and find that I remain resolved and resilient enough to weather the storm.

 

Labyrinthian

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by guest writer, Ekta Mittal

From the time I learned about labyrinths I have been fascinated by them. My dream was to visit the Chartres Cathedral in France so I could walk their labyrinth. It was on my bucket list, a dreamed up magical place that will take care of all my problems, allow me to surrender, and silence my internal yearning for stillness.

So I did what any sensible person in the modern world of instant gratification does, I bought a smaller wooden replica of the labyrinth that I can trace with my finger. The instructions on the back of my hand-crafted labyrinth said “The labyrinth is viewed as a metaphor for life’s journey. It offers lessons as we walk the path. Walking the labyrinth can assist in addressing challenges, meditation, prayer and finding peace and serenity. It is not a maze; there is only one way in and one way out.”

After few times of using my labyrinth, I realized my thoughts, my beliefs, the numerous stories in my journals, have not really changed. In my internal world I go round and round in my thoughts, I cling onto my long held beliefs, I am stubborn and rigid in my righteousness. At the center of the labyrinth, I found the stillness I yearned for, for me it lies in detachment from constant obsession to define myself. On my return journey from the center, I set an intention to dissolve these thought patterns that cling on to me like weeds. We don’t use Roundup on weeds, we carefully sow the seeds that we want to nourish and nurture.

While it would be lovely to visit France, I don’t need to physically go anywhere to self-reflect. My growth lies in coming to the center of the labyrinth and carefully observing my thought patterns. In the center is my soul, connection of Atman to Brahman. There is a Native American belief “when you release a pattern, you release it for seven generations before you and seven generations after you.” After I became a mother I felt an immediate burden of generational unresolved issues that would now haunt my daughter. Slowly after a lot of self-work that burden has transformed to love. I am grateful that the seven generations before me and after me have chosen me. With love I am now dissolving these patterns. With love these will get transferred to my daughter. It is my hope that as I follow my path to the center, so will she when the time is right for her.

In the book Kriya Yoga Upanishad, Goswami Kriyananda says “To prefer external pilgrimages to the internal, esoteric pilgrimage-places, is to prefer pottery fragments to jewels.”

All these texts can be interpreted in many ways. External pilgrimages can help in bringing awareness to internal vibrations and energy that are conducive to self-reflection. However one can’t be internally focused only when one is on an external pilgrimage, one has to make self-reflection part of daily life. When we are hit by grief, challenged by poverty, drowned in despair, helpless by external circumstances, the only way forward is to align ourselves with the light within. Whatever journey we take to walk the labyrinth, and whatever labyrinth pattern we choose, we all arrive at the center. At the center, there is no duality, only acceptance.

I have a choice to make – I can dream of Chartres Cathedral or make a labyrinth in my neighborhood and walk it with my neighbors. When we allow ourselves the joy of witnessing our life, we create openness to witness lives of other people. I have often wondered if no one knows I died, then did I even exist. We exist when we become an active witness to our life. We can’t expect others to understand us and know us, until we see ourselves.

Chartres Cathedral labyrinth was my external pilgrimage, what is your external pilgrimage? What problems is that external pilgrimage going to solve for you? And then the hard part – are you willing to prepone that internal journey to now! Like, right now!!

Thank you for being a witness to my story, I hope you find courage to allow yourself and others to witness yours! My next obsession is to visit the beautiful libraries in the world, and I don’t know where that is leading me to…

Namaste,
Ekta 

Ekta is a creativity coach and a yoga teacher. Her passion lies in igniting the spark of creation, child-like curiosity, and compassionate courage to transform life experiences into artistic expressions. What we don’t transform, we transmit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Farewell, My Lover

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By Ali Valdez

Mala beads and a fortune.October mid-month, obligatory mala shopping led me to a small jewel shop off the beaten path, a dusty back road in Rajasthan. The interpreter-chauffeur-tea baron-spice czar tried to explain to the young men behind the glass display cases exuberantly turning on the overhead lights and cranking on the humming AC that we weren’t in the market for fine jewels. Obvious American indicators, we were yoga students merely on the hunt for mala beads which apparently isn’t such an easy feat on a casual shopping jaunt. In denial, they zealously pulled out display cases, heavily encouraging my students to sample bangles and earrings.

One thing that you learn when hosting a retreat in an exotic locale is that you must allot ample time for shopping as this truly matters to even the most spiritually footed yogini. Our malas momentarily forgotten, people obliged and eagerly feasted on the artisanal fruits of the local laborers. Once the feeding frenzy whipped up to a fever pitch, the door from the back office made a sound.

Opening the door, the owner made his way out to observe the melee; although everyone else was buying as I sat playing games on my phone, he honed in directly on me taking a seat eye to eye on the opposite side of the counter with a laser intensity.

“Only looking for mala beads” he looks deeply into my eyes. On the offensive, I fire back “yes, we are not going to be buying jewelry today. Only malas if you can help us.”

His resolve unshaken, the stare down continues.

“You know that I am an astral traveler and Vedic master.”

By the way, he said that, not me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s his standard opening line and perhaps that I need to start rethinking mine.

“I have a message that I would like to share with you. Come back into my office.” Always one to embrace provocation, I took his lead and went into his office while the others continued to try things on, none of them transacting.

Historically, I don’t do well when a man gets psychically aggressive with me, so I was ready to play ball. Once we got back into his office, the door was quietly closed behind me. I wish I remembered his name for this post to humanize him more. Although he was pushy and annoying, he was spot on for many things, taking me to tears with the intimacy he extracted from my aching heart. Those things I won’t share here in this blog; they belong to another chapter, in a book just partially written. We had a connection, I had taken the bait to engage and gained great insights. There are no accidents.

Then he blew my mind with a telling revelation,

Bread, glorious gluten.“It is imperative that you quit consuming foods with gluten.”

Never were any of his words more probing and direct than this message relayed from a-high. Now, I suspect you might be laughing. It would be funny as shit, right, except if I had not already received cloying guidance of a similar message.

I have recoiled in the past at the prospect of being “that guy” who can’t handle his grains.

Recently a dear friend’s young son got diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. During her journey, I was blessed with a lot of wisdom this courageous Mama Bear was sharing along the way. Almost every meditation, every indicator of symbols seen but unspoken in nature were imploring me to revisit some of my dietary choices: going gluten-free practically a scream.

Fast forward five months, and I have made the break. It actually wasn’t that hard. I had spent the earlier part of the year hosting my annual 40 Day Challenge and had broken the shackles off coffee and a radical reduction in sugar consumption. There was a newfound confidence that I could learn to uncover the deeper meanings and motivations for being uncontrollably lured to certain types of foods.

Most of them went well beyond a benign ‘nom-nom’ factor.

Frankly, I felt like shit after I ate bread, naan, pita, pizza, pasta and sandwiches. Living a life on the go, how many times have I unconsciously grabbed for anything that was housed between two buns?

However, I also felt comforted, my brain fed and my emotional landscape sated. So many of my favorite memories from my family life whirled around gluten-based foods, like a spaghetti being swirled around a silver fork.

My first week was easy. I was motivated by the will to live a higher quality of life. This required getting my body into a bigger and better peak state and the ability to maintain that standard for longer periods of time. Then I became aware of the desire to want to have greater energy for my daughter.

By day ten, the allure of a fresh baked pretzel stopped me dead in my tracks. It’s as if my hormones had reset and now the cravings set in. Having gained insights and now understanding motivations, I steered clear and have managed two weeks thus far in highly tempting environments and without the desire to well “break bread.”

The dark eyed man popped back into my mind, reinforcing what I already knew in my mind but that my taste buds weren’t ready to acquiesce.

The baseline of my jaw and face began breaking out with welts; my body broke out into hives. Did I mention the awkward itching that dominated most of last week? Twice I was stopped dead with exhaustion like a massive sugar drop by 3:00pm. My legs felt heavy like lead the last three days, making my usual exercise routine perfunctory at best. It was hard for me to imagine that there may be withdrawal from this and maybe it’s psychosomatic but nonetheless, week one was a breeze and last week sucked.

It’s hard to say goodbye to something that has always been there for you; providing a level of grounding and comfort when you didn’t know that it did. Honestly, I cannot say that I even see any benefits other than some phantom ab contours that I forgot existed after every gluten-heavy meal when my stomach ballooned out. The verdict is out but the guidance has been heeded and this new program I am willing to follow.

The great insight is the awakening. There are moments where we can once again reclaim the absenteeism from our thought process and rationale. Imagine always wanting something, even if it’s something so small like making a decision for yourself on what you put inside your body and not being able to do it. Then it all comes together and in a snap, volition and conviction get you over the finish line.

Glutinous pretzels.In the not so immortal words of James Blunt, “Goodbye, my lover. Goodbye, my friend.”

There may be moments in the future when I forget, failing to realize something I once loved is no longer what enamors me now. Maybe then my Indian friend can put his skills to good use, when in my darkest hour he can astral travel over my way and remind me to buy the Udi’s and leave the pretzel rolls to someone else.

Space Age Bedfellows

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Pluto & Moon: Drawing Towards & Drifting Apart

by Ali Valdez

Snow days and hail storms aside, spring is soon upon us. March 20th is a very special date as it marks the vernal equinox (the start of spring) and signifies the end of the brooding water sign Pisces and the zodiac year. Sigh. So what? It’s time to bang some gongs and receive the benefits of being clear on your intentions during this time of rebirth and regeneration. This means we need to make some space to clear out the old patterns, losing gestalts and habits that no longer serve our higher purpose. I am looking forward to collaborating with Wayne Manto of Beneficial Sound to bring a healing workshop to Sattva Yoga (registration link at the end of the article).

Join us for an evening of Moon and Pluto Gong baths and candlelight Yin Saturday, March 18th.

The majority of humanity is heavily focused personality, clinging to one’s biological karma and emotional patterning. Most of these influences come deeply ingrained by our social conditioning and familial conditioning. We simply are not of our own minds.

It reminds me of this funny quote from Ram Dass: “think you’re enlightened? Spend a weekend with your family.”

Yoga lends itself to help aide us on our journey. Whether it is asana, or pranayama, mantra or gongs, the yogis pretty much thought of everything.  During this workshop, we will be using the valued tools of static stretching and pranayama in slow moving, long held postures to simulate the slow and leisurely transit of Pluto and the cooling feminine aspects of the practice to simulate the energies from the Moon.

In Vedic astrology each of the planets, called grahas, have an inexorable influence over different aspects of our lives. Although they do not dictate, they have a pull that helps us to think beyond ourselves and grow. The closest graha is the Moon; the farthest is Pluto. They help us to travel to move through those facets of our lives that hold sway over our choices: those things both seen and known (ala the Moon) and cast out far, obscured like Pluto. Astrology is the science linking us to our astral bodies if you believe they exist.

If that’s a bit too woo woo for you, please consider this the first form of Machine Learning with Predictive Analytics that we had as a civilization.

Here is a bit more about what these two grahas and Vedic astrology can show us.

There’s something in the way she moves.

Moon is a feminine aspect, gentle and nurturing, working through the emotional body. Its magnetism can keep us bound to the past, tethered to our attachments. It can binds us from growing like when things get rough we may want to be back in our mother’s nurturing arms for safety and protection instead of facing challenges head on. Since the moon works in shadow, it can often obscure, perhaps protect, over protect. With Moon, we hold tight and sometimes refuse to release. We feel safety in the comforts of the familiar and that which we have always known to be.

Pluto is extremely important to those of us undergoing the process of letting go of our ego-defined, lower self and reaching towards our soul identity. Birthing is tough work but necessary to strip away all that we know of attachments, desire and conditioning. Somewhere therein lies a newer you. Pluto is the agent of death, representing a breaking down selfishness and separateness of the lesser ego/personality. It is an intense but purifying energy which enables us to commune more deeply with our soul and greater divine essence. With Pluto we release and let go, if we are ready to do so.

The two forces together greatly enable the spirit of Ha Tha and Yin Yang that we explore through the physical and energetic practice of yoga.

This is evolution in action. Please join us. Register here.

Food, Glorious Food

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It’s No Song & Dance

By Ali Valdez

healthy eatingCurrently, my young daughter is feverishly rehearsing for her upcoming play, Oliver! Yes, the one with the impoverished little Brit boldly asking for “more porridge.”

Oliver is in the work house, scared and alone, without family or means. But all the kids get in dining hall queue is “gruel”.

But our views on food are not always what they should be, especially when aspects of our lives seem incomplete. Emotionally, so many of us have an inner Oliver. We are simply waiting in line anticipating someone else to fulfill our soul’s longings and desires. What we sometimes get when those needs remain unmet feels like the hard clank of a spoon against a tin plate: cold and unsatisfying.

Oliver and the boys yearn for custards, sausages, and mustards. I see these not just as indulgent foods swimming about the grumbling tummies and imaginations of hungry boys, but also a metaphoric dearth of those who possess a hunger to be loved and secure. Food becomes our absentee lover, the merits of our unappreciated outputs.

Our outward pursuits can never truly satisfy our deepest interior needs. We seldom want to do the hard work, reluctant to rend the heart and take the journey.

Having just recently concluded this year’s forty day challenge, I have a few first time revelations about eating and my relationship to food. Although I have countless hours of study in Ayurveda, diet and nutrition studies, I still cannot get a grip on why I approach food the way I do. In each session, I do well during the forty days, being faithful to my system and I see benefits around how I eat. But the challenge is about many things, and food is my weak link in it all. But I do it; however…

Admittedly, it is an intellectual exercise.

Day forty one,  I am driving back to Starbucks for a latte. Day forty two, I am back eating out with friends. Determined, I wanted to do better, authentically and holistically transform. This year and with grace and the inspiration of the women in the group with me, I feel like I have come a few steps closer.

Here is what I learned and may it help and inspire you.

Food for me wears many hats. It has become my ally when I am stressed out, my companion when I am bored, my collaborator and partner in crime when I am working like a dog on mental overdrive. Food spoils me when I feel neglected, even self-neglected due to a mountain of responsibilities. I never thought eating would be my “problem” because I am not an emotional eater and can rationalize everything. I think that is where I went wrong in my personal approach to diet and eating.

What I realized is food should serve needs,yes. Just different needs, serve in a higher order. 

Maybe this is why my program doesn’t always sustain well for me on the diet side as well as the other six dimensions of the challenge which now run like clockwork.

I am not good at peering into my life via an emotional lens. Of course, I am not an emotional eater because I don’t operate well from the emotional body. This recently changed and so have my eating habits.

Although I don’t tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, I do have feelings and they override my rational side much more often than I give them credit.

As a Taurus, I will never be one to say food is fuel. That sounds super depressing. But food doesn’t need to wear the hats that I have assigned it. It should satisfy one though: it should bring me peace.

  1. Food brings me peace when I prepare it myself in my kitchen, prepared by my own hands. I know how to cook and enjoy doing it. For years when I lived in Santa Barbara, I walked to the Farmers Market on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings and stocked up. If I didn’t grow it or prepare it at home, it didn’t make its way onto my plate. I glowed. I also had zero cellulite. Friends loved coming over, often times with food in hand in its raw form, begging for the gift of culinary cultivation.
  2. Food brings me peace when I am caring for myself.  From Santa Barbara, I chased the high tech dream up north to Seattle and soon the global traveling lifestyle of a high-tech executive rewired my brain. Let’s roll call the excuses because that is what they are: I need to work; I need to think; I am too busy to enjoy connecting to my food; I need to entertain clients. In short, someone else needs to cook for me and I am spoiled for choice, so I will pick what I want when I want it. Anyone who has walked this road knows this is not a sustainable lifestyle and the health implications need no restatement.
  3. Food brings me peace when it is a focused activity. Restaurants these days are wall to wall with televisions. When not looking up, people are looking down compulsively on their phones. What people are not doing well anymore is looking forward, eye to eye. I am seeing the wireless world taking hold of my focus. With this comes distraction and a lack of mindfulness of what I am ordering. 
  4. Food brings me peace when I feel great after eating it. Nothing feels better than feeling nourished and vibrant after eating high quality, healthy food. I feel like I can tackle the world and have the stamina and endurance I need.

Going forward, I am moving away from making food my entertainment, my comforter when times are tough, an enabler to my poor work habits, and my indulger when I feel like I am entitled to something. This is the first time that I have gone the entire forty day challenge, as an example, without any coffee. Typically, I may have one or two. It has been over three weeks since the challenge ended and I have lost the desire for the warm, creamy, sweet and caffeinated liquid gold of Starbucks. Hot chocolate, too.

I seriously thought I would NEVER get over that living in the Pacific Northwest.

My eating habits have been radically improved but mostly this time more of it is sustaining after the challenge. I consumed less gluten and increasingly less sugar than ever. I am losing my sugar craving almost all together. Enough of the metaphors already and let’s get down to brass tacks. Here is how I am doing it.

I am blocking time each weekend, a bit on Saturday and a bit on Sunday to be proactive and productive in my own kitchen with batch prepping and meal planning. I prep days’ worth of meals in advance, all balanced, organic and healthy. It’s getting fun as I gain the efficiency producing roasted chicken, grilled salmon, hard boiled eggs, quinoa, wild rice, and about a half dozen different salads and roasted veggies at a go. When I leave or get home, something is waiting for me. There are now few excuses.

The reduction in preservatives, MSG, sodium and fats will make a huge difference is looking and feeling better. Financially, my expenses should go down. Overall, I see this as a win-win.

But let’s face it, not all of us can be Bobby Flay at the grill or some cute Food Network butterflying chicken breasts.

Here are some ideas.

I Can’t Cook Gal: Recipes on Epicurious.com, NomNom paleo and other apps can help those that aren’t intuitive in the kitchen to create new ideas. It’s bad enough if you don’t enjoy cooking. It’s even worse when your food sucks to subject yourself to an infernal quotidian of bummer dining.

I Am Too Busy: If you’re in need of a daily dose of all the good stuff, but don’t have tons of time each morning, supplement with a healthy shake. Find solutions such as Shakeology and add greens like frozen kale or spinach and organic berries and seeds. Save a third of it for when you get a mid day crash and burn and drink the rest then.

I Forget or Lack Discipline: Keeping a food journal or getting into an accountability group also helps. The participants in the forty day challenge set their own goals across seven different aspects of their journey. We always find success supporting one another.

Being open to checking in with your emotions and seeing what triggers (family, relationships, etc.) ignite your triggers and develop a plan. If I can do this, I KNOW, you can do this, too.

Whenever your inner Oliver is asking for more please, pause and see if you can identify what’s really going on. I know hot sausage and mustard, while we’re in the mood, cold jelly and custard sounds like a great idea when the hunger, stress or emotional pangs set in. But you can combat the churlish workhouse brutes by having your prepared meals ready to go and water bottle full. There is always more to your meaningful life than just food, glorious good.

Rebel with a Cause: The true teacher that resides within us all

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By Ali Valdez

This is not my first time writing about teachers, the quality of teaching and the sacred art that comes with enabling and empowering others through our words, example and interpretation and representation of facts. This week, the educational system was dealt a wildcard. It is unclear what the impact will be when B. DeVos takes her post but we all have our opinions and concerns. I am still scratching my head wondering why she was even nominated but that is a conversation for a more politically minded blog.

What I care about is the evolution of the student and the pedagogy and standards we place on teachers and what role, if any, do I play in it?

I play a role in two ways. One, I am the parent of a ten year old. What sort of educational experience do I want her to have? Two, I am a yoga teacher who runs a Washington state vocational school. What is the quality of education going to be like for teachers on the fringe, folks like me who teach adults in non-traditional settings? What can we do to keep progressive thinking and a high standard in the educational world when we do not fall into a conventional structure?

In my field, Yoga Alliance is a thin veneer of annual fees and minimal quality control. That is not a direction that I wish to place my guidance. But it’s a start. I think I can at least find a way to sit comfortably in what it is I am capable of, less by governance and its implied limitations, but rather from my own passion and skill.

First, I admit I may be the worst mother out there because I am probably the only mother who simply doesn’t give a shit about school, its expectations and its rules. When we recently had a snow day, I read many people on Facebook asking what will the school say and do as if planning revolves around school. Our planning revolves around the needs of our life and sometimes bleep happens. Last week, while I waited in the office to take my daughter to an appointment, another mother was arguing with the front desk about why her daughter is showing one tardy when technically it was for a doctor’s appointment and asked for it to be removed.

I thought to myself, who the fuck cares?

I would just as soon manage my own time and make my own rules. Oftentimes, I refer to school as tax subsidized daycare. And maybe I’m an asshole for it. My preference would be showing my daughter the world, reading when and what she wants, taking topics of interest and intrigue in real time and shaping an experience while the mind is eager. I was granted that level of responsibility and liberty my final year in college and produced some of my best work. I loved participating in the act of choosing, allowing my inner muse to play tour guide through the educational process. Back in fourth grade and again in eighth, I was offered similar opportunities and they are the pivotal points of my education.

Please note, I appreciate the hard work and emotional support and structure her awesome teachers have given her over the years. I cannot think of a harder more dedicated class of workers in American than teachers, school teachers. I suspect many of them would want it different, too. But everything these days are tests, a working vocabulary around words like standardization and common; two things I most dread my daughter becoming.  I never imagined I could be so rebellious.

My favorite teacher from school was Dr. John Hoge. My life wouldn’t be the same without him. He initiated the mutiny by insisting I summon the rebel. He teased it out, relentlessly. I am so grateful for his tenacity to work against the system for my benefit.

This is important because I never used to be rebellious until John Hoge made it ok to be so.

And on some level, I know therein lies the fault of public education in America at least as I see it. What I was rebelling against was the person inside of me longing to be free. When I was groomed and molded by the traditional educational models, I systematically had my backbone removed. I was tacitly guided to a place where I wanted to conform and “do good”, to make my teacher proud. Dr. Hoge wanted me to make myself proud; the me that was locked up inside.

I loved him and other teachers. I also have baptism in my church and initiation with my Guru. I love my teachers. Now more than ever I want to honor them because they gave me authentic transference of wisdom (Shakti pat) not just tools to assimilate and confirm. In these scenarios, I am not entangled in the rabble of the rules. I enjoy playing by them.

This is not to say I don’t want my daughter to be respectful of their teachers. But what teachers are asked to teach these days, and the testing and standardization I do not.

It wasn’t until I became a teacher on my own terms, that I saw what wasn’t really a rebellion, but the thirst for a revolution. I want to educate and inspire souls, not just stimulate or shape minds. Perhaps school as we know it isn’t where that is meant to happen.

It is not enough to teach a group of kids mathematic tables (although it is important foundational learning). Children don’t need to punch a clock; my child isn’t going to work in a factory someday. Bells don’t ring at 8am at successful corporations or one’s own business. I feel that children need to learn how to apply reasoning and creativity to solve first small problems, to handle with grace a swath of situations, to cultivate resilience. It would be cliche to say they need yoga, but…

They need to learn to steward and tend to resources, including the quiet calling of their hearts and the whims of their imagination.

Same goes for the yogi, and yoga community. The foundational work must be established. This is for practical reasons of safety and initiation into the mysteries of the body. We all need the tools to awaken consciousness and then commit to doing something constructive with it. Yoga by means of taking forms with our bodies does aid and abet.

But we are also spirits, souls like kernels draped under a dusty shroud of husk.

Yoga cannot be the standard rap education that so many are shilling out today. Something more vital to the moment and more meaningful for our future is at stake. To address today’s challenges, schools need to adapt and rapidly, conventional and non conventional. I would encourage finding ways however possible to empower individual ripening of skills and never neglect the possibility of fostering imagination. Neglecting or shaping this spark and in time they turn to the fabricated fantasy of others.

We call it reality television and we have seen where that is precariously directing our country.

I am not saying everyone needs to go full boat Waldorf and spend hours in a fantasy library shaped like the inside of a magical tree. BTW, I enrolled my child at that school in San Francisco when she was younger and what an incredible Hobbit shire styled learning center it was. I also am not saying learning basics skills like reading and writing are not important. But you can code, learn culinary skills, play football and take tap dancing too. Why cut out the arts or make playing a sport a financial investment?

In yoga, you are not limited to learning some rote sequence, you can and should create your own, weave in themes of interest and be a safe laboratory for innovations starting at the baseline of your body first. I just wish this could happen before adulthood and start sooner when the patterning of conventionality haven’t been yet set into stone.

Consciousness is all expansive; there is plenty of playground to go around.

What I am saying is we all play a role in cultivating the future, our future together. What better way to get things off to a good start then peering through the lens of education. Liberal and conservative agendas aside, as they just two more boxes to stuff our bodies into, I think I will stick with unlimited creativity and structure based on a set of universal governing principles not hindered by culture, socio economic implications and the like.

As a teacher, I want be in the business of moksha, for bodies and spirits alike.

I guess what I really want to say is the world needs more yogis, rebels and dreamers. I just hope the right types of leaders step up wherever they are. No grizzlies need apply.

 

The End of the Year of Endings

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by Ali Valdez

Are we ever ready to truly say goodbye? Are we ever truly ready for change not meted by our own hand?

There is something about the death of a celebrity that jolts the general public into rumination on dying and the injustice of us all at some point taking our final bow. This week, we saw several beloved celebrities dying of heart failure all in their mid-fifties. This is not an age too far from many of my students. It is unsettling when your childhood idols, princess warriors played by Carrie Fisher and your junior high prom song crooners like George Michael leaving so suddenly. It is saddening but also slightly amusing to see the “F— You 2016” memes choking up like tears on my social media feeds. But this is 2016, and it’s been a cruel and curiouser and curiouser year.

So now what?!

In yoga, we teach of kleshas, or forms of suffering created by the illusions and fluctuations of our minds. One of those is the idea of clinging to life or having a fear of dying, abhinivesa. It is the natural process of life to let go, say goodbye. In numerology, the year of 2016 signifies a year of endings (2+0+1+6=9). This should come as no surprise, because we have steadily seen this year build up to an inevitable and for many, devastating denouement. Things as we seemed to have once known them now seem disrupted and a new air of uncertainty perfumes the air with an acrid stench. No one seems to have a problem bidding adieu to 2016.

Nothing is harder than practicing non-attachment, especially when we devote our heart and soul to an endeavor, relationship or shape our understanding of the world as we want to know, conceptualize and understand it.

Yet life is never a one-size fits all and last time I checked, Willy Wonka doesn’t really give out golden tickets just for showing up, especially in 2016.

The idea of non-attachment, vairagya, is a regular theme in my yoga teachings because attachments take such varied shapes and sizes and sometimes insidiously weave into our conscious being in unconscious ways. The more awake we become, the more we realize we commit to doing the work, operating in earnest from a core set of ethics, standards and a foundational belief system. After that, all bets are off. Many circumstances in life seem unfair, but it’s counter-productive to play the victim. Many outcomes are not desired, leaving us in despair, heartbroken that the scenarios played out like a Greek tragedy, but it’s no use resisting the flow of the inevitable.

Honoring your feelings and taking time to craft your farewells in rituals, writing or prayers is a rewarding and vital process. When we lose someone, it is like a link in the chain that connects our lives breaks and drops away. We are forced to ideate new shapes and fashion new starts. My daughter recently wrote it’s like sitting in traffic next to a bright yellow car. The light seems to stay red forever, all cars standing still and then the light goes green and the yellow car zooms off, now never again to be seen.

But please do not despair. There is so much good in all the parts of play along the way. We smile at the start, delight on the path, revel in the journey. Who doesn’t embrace the experience of being loved and sharing love in return?

The good news is 2017 is a year of new beginnings; this is a time when anything can be possible. Maybe the goodbyes are for a temporary reason, perhaps something better is destined to come along. Either way, regardless of circumstance, we are solid bodies built to appreciate, learn, laugh, mourn and live. We can set our sights on new experiences fashioned from lessons learned from the past and keep our focus on the future. But today and this moment are truly the only things within our grasp.

Today, I will celebrate life.