A while ago I was at a dinner party (read: playing a drunken game of dice at a table of foul-mouthed ladies) when the concept of karma came to the floor (as did several ounces of pita chip pieces, a glass of 3 buck chuck, and half a mini brownie).  Here is a summary our arguments, which were repeated with little variation for the duration of the "discussion."

Artist: I think karma means we have limited choices.  Like a choose-your-own-adventure novel.  Hey, I rolled 1000 again!
Social Worker: People aren't born with the same opportunities!  We can't be blamed for our failure to thrive in this unjust  world!  But we can't give up thinking it's fate!  Or the bootstraps thing!  Karma is no excuse!  I'm confused and upset!  Down with the establishment!  And whatever you're talking about!  Is it my turn?
Friend of Friend: I have to roll 3 of a kind in the SAME throw now?  This is bull.  What?  Who cares.
Pastry Chef: Of course I have free will.  I can do whatever I want.  Try to stop me.  Who needs another drink? 
Yoga Teacher: It's just cause and effect, ease down.  No, nothing.  Yeah, again.  Next time maybe I'll meld.

As much as I love to tangle about choice and freedom and fate, I think karma is actually pretty simple.  The way I see it, karma, which means "action," just refers to the causal chain of events in one's life, and yes, past life.  And here's a word on past lives, for the squeamish.  Do you think you were made out of nothing from out of nowhere, suddenly and without warning?  Come on.  Everything is made out of something.  Einstein was on that game years ago.  You have parents, ancestors, a family tree that reaches further back than anyone would care to trace.  And because you have those things, you do not arrive on planet Earth with a clean slate.  Sorry, folks.  Doesn't happen.  Not for anyone.  Thanks to my pre-birth backstory, I came here with blue eyes, impressive external hip rotation, hazardous menses, wicked headaches and a fervent preoccupation with unanswerable questions.

The reason why is nothing more than cause and effect.  My genes are a certain way, so my body and mind are a certain way.  Genes aren't everything, though, and for all that stuff modern science hasn't yet decoded, the answer is karma.  Karma is simply the genealogy of actions.  Folks say things like, if you've done something bad, karma means you get what you deserve.  I've had a hard time swallowing the concept of "deserving," personally, because firstly, it invites a hint of shame when shameless cause and effect will do fine, and secondly, how the hell can deservingness be calculated?  Back when I was a Christian, I got very much into Jesus because it felt right to me that I was deserving of eternal punishment, and simultaneously (because of Jesus Christ's redemptive act) totally pure and cleansed of any guilt.  It was an explanation for a phenomenon that baffled me then and now.  I still feel both evil and holy.  It isn't just that this seems right to me, it's that I actually perceive it with some amount of visceral detail.  There were a few reasons why I left the Christian church, but the main idea was this: I don't think anyone (not even Jesus) can take the effect of my causes for me, and if I am conflicted about feeling both evil and holy, maybe it's because those things don't exist in the way I'm gripping.

A tangent on evil: I'm not going to be one of those rainbow light hippies who say that there is no evil in the world.  But I will say that I don't think it is a distinct force which opposes good.  I think "the force" is probably a scale here, like light and heat.  Dark and cold are the names we've given to a low amount of light and heat.  I might say Evil is the name for a very low amount of Good.  It could be said the opposite way, actually, that Good is a low amount of Evil, but this is a glass full or empty, thing.  My point is that, in a half glass of water, the water and lack of water aren't at war with each other, they simply co-exist in proximity, at a particular and changeable proportion.  As it follows, I harbor Good and Lack of Good, both shaken and stirred in the glass that is me, at a particular and changeable proportion.

Back to the matter at hand.  People get all jacked up about karma for two reasons that I can see.  1) They are afraid this means they are screwed, choice-wise. (Agency)  2) They are afraid this means they have to clean up a mess they don't remember making.  (Justice)  As for forgotten mess-making: too bad.  Those bottles aren't going to recycle themselves, don't matter what you remember.  As for choice, one of the things I carried with me from Calvinism - and by the way, I use Christian references because that's how I grew up, it was my foundational structure for understanding spiritual things, and so its the language I have.  I'd happily use others, but I wouldn't know what the heck I am talking about, and I am, let's face it, already out on a limb here - is the idea that time is an important factor when we are ruling out variables.  We perceive that we have choice because we live inside of time.  We're total chumps to it.  If our awareness reached outside of time, we might not perceive choice at all.  It may look like a fixed causal chain so meticulously specific that there were never any options at all.  Now, sure, it does no one any good to look at things that way.  But it's interesting, isn't it?

Sometimes I think I might not have any choice at all about the way things go.  But thankfully, I live inside of the confines of time, and am here in this moment, making choices like its going out of style.  I can say, "I could have written that sentence differently," for example.  And I could have.  But there the sentence is.  There is an outcome.  That we know.  Is there only one outcome?  That we do not really know.  So, there are a lot of points at which these ideas break down.  Here is what I'm going to say, I think.  My point.  For now.  My point is this: we are so extremely limited by our perception, we shouldn't get too worked up about it.  Karma is the name for the cause and effect of our actions.  It doesn't mean we are slaves to anything.  Here we are!  Making choices!  Dealing with other people's choices!  Bitching about it!  And who can stop us!

For me, karma means I can think before I act: "What chain of events am I about to fire off here?"  It also means I can say to myself, when life seems a disaster-mess that needs a superhero, "this is neither chance, magic nor mystery and shan't be cured by such things."  Chance is a whole nother thing, actually.  It's the thing that had me rolling zero for most of the aforementioned game of dice, in spite of my furvent prayers to meld.  It's a thing that makes all sense and no sense.  A very misunderstood thing.  A thing I will not be tackling today.  I should point out that I am not saying I believe the concept of karma is "true" or "a real thing."  (We don't know whether the id and ego actually exist, but we use them to understand the mind, right?)  Like everything I yammer on about, it is just an idea.  It is a way of looking at things.  And it is a way of looking at things that I find helpful enough, for the moment.  I promise we won't talk about it in class.

Recently a buddy who I'd seen regarding a troubled digestive system (as well as soreness, fatigue, aches and pains, dizzy spells and general discomfort) emailed me at 3:40am to tell me he thought he might have yanked himself up during our session.  When I got online, I summoned him to the google chat to discuss.  What follows is an excerpt of our conversation, which he suggested I post as advice.  For any of you that have not been to class with Karen Faith, please be warned that the following transcript contains her authentic style of exclamation, not suitable for public broadcast.

T: I'm icing my neck and shoulder.  Damn!
me: What?  We barely moved you neck and shoulder.  We were trying to get your sh*tter to fire up, remember?  What happened?
T: Dunno, felt like a pinched nerve.  Ok now.
me: That sucks, let me know if I can help.  Sometimes when one thing releases, another thing yanks up.  It takes some time (and regular practice) to get everybody chilled out, so easy does it.
T: Fine now.
me: Yeah, I heard you, but you shouldn't be up at 4am in terrible pain.  That's bullsh*t.
T: No worries - Maybe I just slept on it wrong. me: Yes I am.

Dear Eka Pada Mukhasana,

What pose do I use to levitate?  Cause I think levitating would be pretty sweet.  I saw David Blaine do it, so I think I should be able to also.It would be good to do at parties. I tried once, but then a funny episode of The Office came on so I got distracted. I'm about 6'3,190lbs.

-Russell

Dear Russell,

Thanks for you question. While it seems as though you have a clear understanding of your height/weight ratio, I believe you lack a firm grasp of the limitations of physics, to say nothing of appropriate modes of entertainment at social events. 

As with any practice, we must begin where we are, and where we are if we are you is heavy (relative to things that float) and distracted. About the heavy, I wouldn't sweat it.  You'd have to lose so much weight to float, maybe all of it, and we're talking achievable, so table that.  As for the attention problem, I must say that The Office, a formerly funny TV program destined to bust with Pam's water this week, is no excuse.  I'm not suggesting that you practice with the TV off, but Russell, even I can't imagine practicing on a Thursday night.  30 Rock? Grey's Anatomy? CSI?  Be reasonable. 

The next thing we are if we are you is misinformed, which is, lucky for the you that is us, 100% curable.  Allow me: what levitation is and what David Blaine does are distinct wiki entries, if you get my meaning.  In order to do what David Blaine does, you will need a pose for the tip toes, a mantra (optional), and a trick quarter (stunt fail back up).

Levitation, on the other hand, that cousin of miracles, magic, and the mail-in rebate, is something that only ever almost happens*.  Its half-happening is so prevalent that we have given it a name and a history, because we do that, we just decide once in a while that formerly nonsense, irrelevant or non-existent stuff is legitimate.  (Check out the new words in the OED.)   But you know what?  In my opinion, being common is no substitute for being real**.  Like, these guys "levitating" while holding a walking stick? Not happening.  That stick is connected to a platform they are sitting on.  Tough balance, ok, applause for that, but give me a break, fakers.

That said, I can get kinda into these Buddhist guys who do a jumping practice thing.  I mean, they are leaping, not hovering***, but that is  just the view through the glasses of silly old time.  Slow the time down, or take it away altogether via photograph, and you've got yourself a floater.  I like to say, in yoga class, that if you stay in a balancing pose for one second, you have a one second success.  No need to call it a failure because you collapsed and smashed your face. Time is a real perception-screwer-upper.  Thankfully it has one loophole, and that is the right now moment, the only place where levitation - in fact the only place where anything - is possible.

With that in mind, the pose I recommend for us, if we are you, is the pose you are in, if by you I mean us, the each and every one.  The only essential thing - and I'm talking the whole deal - is that you and we do it at a very specific moment: this one.

When your done doing that, skip the yoga show and pick up The Beamz for your next party. 


Good Luck Russell!


Eka Pada Mukhasana



*I will also quickly point out that many poses make one feel as though one were levitating.  Tip toes pose, the lotus lift/scales pose,and, more commonly, the savasana following one of those classes that give you The Bliss (also known as The Yoga Stoned Dipshit Space Out).
**Deep thoughts.  You can quote me.  But for the record, I am fairly certain that "real" is a made up word for nothing, and everything.  (See also: God, Meaning, Purpose, Money, and Contemporary Art.)
***They are also not selling tickets to a hovering show.

1) All things considered, 6pm was better than 6:15pm after all, so, come on down to Fridays at 6.  Here's the deal: sometimes things happen due to traffic or whatever, and some folks, maybe the folks who have the keys, are not there right at 6.  Hey, it's ok.  Just hop on over to Filter for some tea and probably by the time it reaches a drinkable temperature, yoga class will be starting.

2) Guess what else we discovered!  On Fridays, we like to go fast.  From this day forward, Happy Hour Yoga invites you to a gentler paced Mental Monday class, a hearty and balanced Winsome Wednesday and a slightly caffeinated Fast Friday.  If you are a brand new baby yogi, or feeling maybe not like a vinyass-kicking, you should come on Monday or Wednesday instead of Friday.  If, on the other hand, you have accumulated weekday resentment, Seasonal Affective Disorder, or excess calories/karma that need dealing with, Friday is your day.  Should you accidentally find yourself there on a Friday and need to take it easy, you can wuss out all you want, no points deducted.  And if you like, I'll tell everyone you are not a chicken shit pansy at all, but that you are honoring your boundaries and maintaining a mindful, balanced practice, because that is probably true.  The rest of us will indulge our egos while attempting to crush them, and probably envy you later.

3) The Spring Potluck is in the works.  I'm thinking a Resurrection Theme maybe on Good Friday, April 2.  If you're going to be out of town for that weekend, tell me now!  The Spring Potluck should be a grand event, and that means your ass showing up with some grub.  Spoiler alert: we will be bringing dead things back to life, zombie style.

4) Eka Pada Mukhasana; The Advice Column, thanks you for your recent inquiries re: fertility, levitation and beer-induced yoga.  All will be answered shortly.  Feel free to send your questions to karenfaith@yogaforthemoment.com, with Eka Pada Mukhasana in the subject line. 

Hey,

Great idea. Here's my question: what are the best exercises/stretches to strengthen your back?

M

--

Hi M,

It sounds like we're looking at a complex web of issues here, the root of which being an apparent unfamiliarity with google.com.  (You're welcome.)  The next thing is, shouldn't you deal with your own back before pointing a finger at mine?  Sure, I don't do as much Shalabhasana as I did before the Projectile Architect Incident, but that's hardly your concern.  Trapezius, Latissimus Dorsi, Erector Spinae, are all fine.  Mostly.  I mean, lower left Iliocostalis is pretty pissed there under a wad of nerve damage near the SI joint.  Meanwhile, upper right Longissimus is gripping me like a popsicle in the summertime.  Shit.  My back is a mess.  Some days I could slap myself for coming into the path of that beautiful flying Scandinavian.  How he flew through the air before igniting my sacral chakra!

Did you feel that somehow?  Were you able to pick up the suffering emanating from my backside into the energy body of the collective unconscious?  Do you sometimes have dreams that come true?  We may have more to deal with than originally anticipated.  In the meantime, more about me.  While most days I think I want a deep forward bend like Plow or Hands-under-the-Feet pose, it just isn't a good idea to get right to it immediately.  The order of operations is super important, particularly regarding backbends, trigonometry, and the baking of savory pastries.  There are some arguments about what should go where in a sequence, but here's what I do, based on my ongoing devotion to The Great One, Guruji Google.  And my professional training.

I warm up in a general way, salutations or whatever.  Actually, the simple up and down (Uttitha Hastasana, followed by Uttanasana and back up) is no small task for the back, and does plenty to wake up the erectors.  So, after that, I'll do a few Baby Cobras (inhale up and exhale down.  If you've got an Upward Dog, hit it), and then start working into deeper bends.  Wheel, Bridge, anything.  Bow is a good one, though my favorite variation involves lassoing your own feet and hoisting them up by reaching the arms overhead and holding the strap like you're santa with his bag of toys. (Handcrafted illustration above.)

After backbends, it's pretty essential to do core work and forward bends.  But don't do the forward bends in between the back bends, or right after them.  I'm serious.  Forward bends and back bends are like toothpaste and orange juice.  Proximal but not conjugal.  After a spacer of a minute or so, I do core-strengthening stuff to help support the back and prevent any sneaky business, particularly in the lowers, then let go of all that with some reclining twists, and then get into the yummy forward bending, like Plow, Rabbit, and Utthita Paschimottanasana.  There's tons of yoga good for backs.  Triangle, Fish, Lord of the Fish, Triangle of Fish, you name it.

The thing is, M, your back is probably fine.  You clearly aren't spending all your time doing online research, so you are probably running around picking up litter and participating in other Culturally Relevant Tasks Which Also Increase Back Strength.  The back is the strongest muscle of the body.  Ok, I just googled that, and its not true, but its pretty strong, and you are likely plenty strong for everyday use, unless you just got a job as a furniture mover, in which case, you will be plenty strong soon.  In fact, forget yoga.  Get a job as a furniture mover.  Just don't forget the toothpaste and orange juice thing. 

SAMSARA HOLLA HOLLA,

Karen

Happy Chinese New Year, Valentine's Day and Presidents Day, friends. 

The Year of the Tiger has kicked off with tributes to romance and government in its first two days.  In case you're worried that the rest of the year will fall short of this glorious opener, fear not.  Tomorrow is Mardi Gras.  Then we've got Michael Jordan's birthday on the 17th, followed by National Crab Stuffed Flounder Day.  The 19th is the day commemorating the Mister Roger's Neighborhood debut, then John Glenn's orbit on the 20th, National Sticky Bun Day, Pebble Flintstone's birthday, Dog Biscuit Day, the Day of the First Multi-Stage Rocket, the Day a Hen Laid the Largest Egg, Levi Strauss' birthday, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's birthday, Smokey the Bear's birthday, and then, if this were the right year, which it is not, we'd have Leap Day.  (Holy Sadie Hawkins, ruiner of womankind, we salute you.)

We'll see about March in March.  In the meantime, please note that due to traffic disturbances, Happy Hour Yoga on Fridays at Stop Smiling will begin at 6:15pm rather than 6:00pm until further notice.  You are welcome. 

More importantly, Yoga, For The Moment is kicking off Eka Pada Mukhasana, an Advice Column!  If you have a question about yoga, or heck, anything else, email me at karenfaith@yogaforthemoment.com with Eka Pada Mukhasana in the subject line.  As always, I am at your service.  You have something to say, andI have something to say about it.  Note: Eka Pada Mukhasana is a posture in which the foot is placed in the mouth.  Let's do it.

The quality of light shifts each morning from what lulled early dreams upon us to what may grant us some hope that yes, this too shall pass.  Or something.  My short walk this morning became a bit longer as I slowed but didn't quite pause to notice a small ball field covered in snow, reflecting bluing skies behind the Diocese board up in scattered mirrors of ice.  The frozen puddles offered up their wares atop a sleek surface: 2 Snapple bottles, the known foil and orange of Doritos, a torn and folded stack of corn tortillas next to their untorn, unfolded paper envelope. 

After a few breaths of sincere awe at the beauty of my one block commute from free breakfast to free wi-fi, I thought to share it with someone, maybe my mom, and this placing of other eyes in front of mine revealed that it was no picture postcard.  If I had taken out my tiny telephone, snapped a pic and txtd it to my mama, she would have 1) looked at it while driving, 2) looked at it while driving past, and ignoring, a doe and her fawn prancing through handsome acres of pine forest delicately sparkling with dew, 3) looked at it while driving past clean natural wonders and considered that it may have been sent as a mistake, 4) looked at it while driving through nature, wondering whether I sent it as a mistake or was I trying to tell her something, and was that something a cry for help, at last, from the coarse, brutality of urban life, and if so, would it mean I am coming back home soon?  Maybe for her birthday this week?  Never again to leave her for the city?  I did not take a picture.

Borrowing my mother's imagined distaste for urban decay, my cognitive landscape soon flooded with the knowledge of Haiti, and my neighborly scene looked magical again, splitscreen with true ruin.  Gratitude and shame rolled around together having charged break-up sex, as is their habit in this here heart situation of mine.  Perspective is a glorious and cruel charm.  There are days that my view cuts and flashes so suddenly, the suspension of disbelief can't be held long enough to compose a worthwhile status update.  My pulse races, feeling no ground under my feet, knowing there is nothing, absolutely nothing which will not shake loose, which will not dissolve, which will not look weird in HD.  When the light changes, our eyes change.  We ask for more, we ask for less, but, please, somebody give us better CGI so we can sleep at night.  We know it's fake, but we wanna believe, for the duration of one scene, that we are alive, that there are diamonds under all this rock, that one of these universes is the one, and god, maybe it's this one here, now.  But our consciousness of illusion is growing just a bit faster than technology can keep up, and it hurts, having to be here, lucid and uneasy.

Pema Chodron has written: "If we're willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated, then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation. This is the first step on the path."  Dear Pema: Typically, when outlining a progressive set of instructions with the intention of being helpful, the first step should read as something vaguely within reach.  With that in mind, giving up hope that we will can relieve our suffering or find something to lean on seems a bit more suited for step 7, level 13, difficulty settings on Total Mastery.  Can I get a modified step one?  I imagine myself telling Pema I have an injury which exempts me from practice.  Yes, severe.  Yes, chronic.  Yes, painful.  She does not hesitate to inform me that there is no modified acceptance of reality.  That it is not something that can be done in part.  I ask her if there is a way I can just get ready to prepare to become willing to start doing it, and then I can't really hear what she says.  Either something about the secret crystal caverns of Atlantis or to stop being such an insatiable brat. 

One of my favorite teachers is my best friend, Rene.  She recently summed up Pema's first step, my current dilemma and the only reasonable solution to it with two words: Stop fantasizing.  There is a difference between hope and fantasy, though I admit I don't know what it is.  As much as I'd like to pretend I'm a ferocious scrutinizer of the world, at heart I'm a believer.  Or, more accurately, a wanna believer.  I wanna believe in miracles, transformation and the ultimate goodness of humanity.  I wanna believe in god, in love, in healers and saints and magic prayers.  My apartment is left unlocked most days.  I don't zip my bag up on the train.  I give love and trust where it has not been earned and is not reciprocated, and not because I've never been burned, but because I'm still longing to have my experience proven wrong.  This is foolish.  It is neither compassionate nor wise, it is plain folly, and just as gross an error as it would be to shut myself in under the belief that there is nothing worthy of my confidence.

My other favorite teacher, Tom the Tutor, then poked his head into my mess of an attempt at faith and said, "if something is true, you don't have to believe in it.  Karen.  You're wasting your energy."  Thanks, Tom.  One can hardly argue with that.  But that doesn't make the truth any more discernible through these eyes.  I'm swamped with dreamscapes, counterfeits and well-intentioned fakers like me.  And sometimes I love them all so much, it doesn't seem that bad.  Believing is fun when its fun.  And one day at a time kind of works if I don't think too much about why it works.  But then the agony of discovering there is no Santa emerges, over and over again.  The bottom line is, I don't know how to navigate an ever-changing, completely phony landscape and still give a crap.  All the early childhood training tools for that kind of thing, Atari, Nintendo, D&D, Glamour Shots, Star Search (I'm in my thirties, give me a break) were off limits in my house, which is not to say that we didn't play our share of I-dare-you-to-call-bullshit-on-my-alternate-reality-right-now.  We did.  And I was the bullshit-caller.  Until the anguish of being that person sent me back to my poetry anthology.  Which is, I suppose, how its done.  Sometimes this, sometimes that, depending on the day.

Today I'm calling bullshit on me.  That's the work I can do for the moment.  That and I might compose a picture on the way home.  The Sun has brightened over the ball field.  The mirrors have melted, the shadows are crisp.  It is a weak masterpiece, banal, unspectacular, temporary, perfect.  If no one is passed out on the bench, I'll have a seat and enjoy the quality of light for a minute.  I'll think about taking it home with me on my handheld digital device, and then I'll decide against it, to practice un-grasping abstractions.  A modified step one. Take that, Pema.

In case you would like a more substantial way to practice getting with the truth, Yoga, For The Moment is teaming up with a local helper and fellow yogini, Misa C, to gather food, clothing and monetary donations for the people of Haiti.  Email me to take part.  Meanwhile, enjoy what light there is and I'll see you in class.

For months I've pondered writing on Devotion To A Harsh Guru (other working titles: Getting Off On Bottom, The Infinite Strength Of Selflessness, or A Southern Woman's Marriage Handbook), but kept getting hung up in realizing that I do not, in fact, have anything like a clear understanding on this.  I can't write about it - the merits and dangers of unconditional devotion to something or someone in the face of what appears to most everyone else as an insanely ill-fated path - because I'm too tangled up to see it, but not tangled enough to forget that the essence of being deceived is ignorance of the fact*.  However, I will say a few things about finding a teacher.  We can just wander on down that road, since I don't pretend to have any authority on any of this. Sometimes I resist saying I'm a "teacher" because it implies that I actually "teach" when I just set up opportunities.  Making time and space for practice is the long and the short of what I do.  Less of a president, more of a community organizer.

Even so, I honor the fact of others' trust in me, and try to find teachers of my own so that I can be more helpful to the people in my life.  Looking for a teacher is like choosing a personal trainer.  The one I like will probably not give me the most profound results.  The one I dread will.  Many of you may have just assumed that the one I like is a softy, and the one I dread a Nazi, but allow me to point out that even if my preference is the Nazi, I'm not going to grow as deeply if I'm simply getting what i want, be it 6 pack abs or naptime in the steam room.

I teach 2 kinds of yoga, basically.  Vinyasa and Restorative.  Yang and Yin.  Vinyasa is active, vigorous, builds heat, strength and endurance.  Restorative is passive, gentle, cools, releases and soothes.  I love them both, but most of my students prefer one or the other.  Here's an impolite example: Type A stress freaks with jobs and kids and frequent flier miles like vinyasa.  Laid back, unemployed, out of shape stoners like restorative**  These stereotypes are typically true because we typically like the familiar.  What we need, however, is often a bit of the opposite.  Workaholics need restorative yoga more than anyone, and, I can assure you, it is excruciating for them.  I have a few students who regularly challenge themselves to take the medicine and get through an hour or so of the very last thing on Earth they would want to be doing, and I applaud them.  They are practicing balance.  Or they enjoy torturing themselves.  Which could mean, if that's what is comfortable, they should maybe try the opposite, which would, in this case, be the thing of similar constitution (hair-of-the-dog-related), unless taken in too large a portion, and so on.

Which is it?  I have no freaking idea, not about you and not about me, so I practice both, and watch my response to each practice shift from Hooray to Oh God Help Me and back again.  I'm wiggly that way.  It's how balance works.  Stand on one foot, notice the shifting.  I like to assure myself that teetering back and forth isn't an indication that one is failing to balance, but that one is defining the center by process of elimination.  The way we do with our beliefs***.  One day we believe one thing, the next day it seems we need contradiction, the following day yet another belief may prove helpful, and so it goes.  If this metaphor holds, what we will briefly glimpse, and ultimately rest with, is none of the above.  All beliefs, all practices are tiny nudges of propulsion, pushing and pulling us into and out of the poles.  In the center, none are needed.

If moving, believing and feeling become unnecessary, what will we do with our time, you ask?  Well, you'll have to ask someone else.  I've never been in the center for longer than a few seconds.  But if you are having trouble filling your schedule due to extreme equanimity, please consider attending yoga class and I'll be sure to knock you around some. 


GRATUITOUS SOLICITATION: Yoga sessions would make a very nice holiday gift for your dearly beloved workaholics or couchpotatoes.  As always, rates are flexible.  Email me.


*Try to sleep at night, pondering this.
**Let it also be made clear that I am fully aware that workaholics experience periods of couchpotato, and stoners have an inner type A.
***Presto change-o!  Physical body translates to mental body!  I'll let you do the emo body as a take home quiz.