Courtesy of Jan Hanus

Inside and out, I’m feeling much better. Most of the numbness, pain and lack of sensation that I’ve been experiencing physically has been lessening.

One the outside, I lack movement in the right side of my face. Its only been three weeks since surgery — this is to be expected. It’s easy to forget how badly I was injured when I feel so good most of the time.

Its not until I kiss my partner and I feel a silencing numbness in a portion of my lips that I’m reminded of my temporary nerve damage. Reminded of my facial”fullness” ( a doctor’s way of saying swelling from my once-crushed cheekbone). Reminded that my smile is limited not unlike a stroke survivors.

It doesn’t make me feel sexy. And then I’m reminded that its good that I want to cry, because it means the numbness on the inside is wearing off, too.

I love the buddha’s noble truth– it’s our attachment to permanence in an impermanent world that leads to suffering.

Alas. I liked my face the way it was. Everything’s temporary though, right? Perhaps my smile is only limited from a lens of comparison, not from a perspective of presentness. Michael still tells me I’m beautiful and I have to believe him because we try not to lie in our house.

A few days ago, my community had a headline making rally to celebrate unity.

Unless you’re new around here (Hi!!), I reckon you know something about all of this yuckiness and subsequent loveliness.  In case you don’t, the nerve damage comes after a random, unprovoked assault on my partner and I outside of our home. “Lovely” doesn’t do the aftermath justice– some pretty amazing things happened. If you haven’t read about it, theres a really wonderful collection of links put together by Mike Graglia.

Michael's Up Dog

Mine (as you well know), is. Today, I could only manage one.

As a teacher, I often caution my students against conflating physical prowess to deeper successes in yoga. In this way, there is room for struggle that doesn’t revel in mastery but instead embraces effort.

At one point today, I couldn’t touch my toes. I tried not to cry.

Eddie Stern has been working with Long Island University researching the quantifiable benefits of a yoga practice based in ashtanga.

“…the practice includes instruction on yogic principles regarding moral precepts (yamas and niyamas); active postures requiring mild-moderate physical exertion; and conscious control of the breath in synchrony with active postures; and meditation.”

My understanding is that participants are run through the Sun Salutations and standing postures. After that, he moves to seated poses. Breath and meditation. I decided to give his modified primary a try. This will be my practice for the next few weeks.

A line from Dan John’s inspirational book Never Let Go repeats itself to me most mornings: “One day I woke up fat.” Dan, a former elite athlete, found himself at the bottom of the fitness totem and decided to do something about it. I applaud tenaciousness in my students (it is zeal that allows the process to become progress in physical practice, after all), and Dan has a powerful streak of it.

Resilience must be practiced. As such, no tears; though, you can cry and be resilient, too! I will keep reaching for my feet. I will show tenacity. I will practice with zeal. I won’t conflate my practice with my prowess.

My parents came to the 108 sun salutations, too. We sat on the grass together, sitting tall. Down Dogs and chatturangas are a bit too daunting for my folks, I have to confess. So we sat on the grass and breathed with the group. As one of my twelve friends led a traditional ashtanga surya namaskar (the teacher who taught me primary series, in fact), we modified  our practice to our capacity. We lifted our arms up on the call of one (“Ekam!”)  and we reached for our toes on two (“Dwi!”).  My Daddy bent his knees to help him get to his feet.  His practice certainly wasn’t “limited”– your practice is your practice, whatever practice it is.

Courtesy of Jan Hanus

Mom, Dad, Michael, and a sea of others lifted what must have been a wave of hearts–together, we looked ahead on three (“Trini!). And as most everyone found their way to a pushup position at the call of four (“Chawari!”), Mom, Dad and I sat nice and tall until everyone came back up together. Because yoga is for everybody. Every body. Even my Dad.

And if it took getting popped in the head to get my Dad to share a practice with me, it was almost bloody well worth it. And thats just one of the many silver linings.

I won’t equate beauty with facial mobility. I’ll keep kissing my boyfriend until I feel sexy again. I’ll do one sun salutation until I can do two.

And I’ll keep reaching for my toes. I hope my Daddy and you do, too.

I just got back from the Doctor’s office. The check up went great… and I have some big news.

As many of you know, on July 21st, my partner and I were the victim of a random, violent assault that left me in the hospital needing major surgery. When the doctor informed me that I would have steel plates placed into my skull, I stopped him. I needed to know what would happen if I didn’t. What if I couldn’t afford to have the work done?

I knew that I hadn’t renewed my health insurance upon returning from India. I knew my place had just burned down. I knew that I was up you-know-what creek and this might be how I lost my last paddle. 

When I woke up to the morphine drip after my first round of surgery with a waiting room full of folks, I had no idea what had happened on the outside. It was the ICU…  I was strapped to more machine than my Mom could handle. The only world I knew was behind a curtain at a University Hospital. I had no idea that I would see an international yoga community rally.  Sometimes you do good and don’t know if you affected change.  Sometimes you don’t know if you make a difference.

I have really great news: you did it.

Spoiler warning: you do make a difference.

No more donations, please.

Your generosity is more than I could have ever imagined, and it was with puffy cheeks of joy I say: We’re covered. With all the pledges, studio classes, and paypal donations, we’re good to go. We’re gonna be able to pay everything. Follow-ups, lost wages, and moving Michael and I into a new place. And its all thanks to you. 

To you, who sent in the $3 donation, thank you. To you who reposted a link to the fundraiser: it’s your work that made this happen. Because off you, I’m able to type this right now. Right this very second. You made a huge difference in someone’s life.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, from the pit of Ganesh’s big ol’ tummy; from Michael Roike, our parents, and me — thank you.

But, listen… If you wouldn’t mind…

I’m ready to change my status as victim to that of survivor advocate. 

My Doctor told me not to make faces (no laughing! no crying! ya right!), so I’m already breakin’ the rules as I type this, but please:  no more donations. We’re gonna take care of the aforementioned, and after that we’re gonna start paying it forward.

I’m not exactly sure what cause I’m ready to champion with whatever money is left over (I think you’ll forgive me, i’ve known for less than 3 hours!), but I’ll be sure to let y’all know as soon as I know. I promise. There is always more good to be done– and you can bet that Peg Mulqueen and Mike Graglia will help see it through.

I just couldn’t wait to tell you all myself.

Lest I forget, we have one last thing to do: celebrate. Celebrate our diversity. Celebrate our equanimity. Celebrate OUR community! Celebrate you.

You changed someone’s life. You saved somebody. YOU did.

And that person is me.

Lets Celebrate a victory, a community, and a vision: we’re doing 108 Sun Salutes in Meridian Hill Park on Sunday, August 5th at 5pm. Please come. Everyone is welcome.

Again, Sunday, August 5^th,  5pm. Seriously: you come.

( and thank you )

Doctor's Visit

Love, 

-mjh

Michael Joel Hall

Transformation: Down 30 Pounds

The sparks from the ne’er-do-well looking contraption illuminated the rain-drenched street as the line of cars changed shape with each pause of both rain and saw. The jaws of life tore through the roof of the turquoise Geo Storm like you might tear through an over-ripe peach. This was a car small enough to be but an hor d’oeuvre for a T-Rex.  I would of screamed, I’m sure, if my jaw hadn’t been broken by the impact with the tree. Then again, maybe I did: I’m not sure anyone would have heard it over the sound of the helicopter in the distance. The grizzly Iron Insect was in cahoots with the Jurassic Contraption, waiting to retrieve and then medivac. The closest hospital to this tiny rural farming community I called home required their aid if I was to make it there alive. Change flew in that day on rolling thunder.

Sutra is sanskrit for thread, as in suture, and they used plenty to stitch me back up.

I can remember the day they took the rod out of my leg. I asked for the wires in my jaw to be taken out without anesthesia. I wanted to feel the change. I wanted to sit with the discomfort (that only lasted one harrowingly bloody piece of wire twine). I may have simply been a masochist.

There was no yoga asana in my life then. I mean, yoga had become mainstream enough that my football coach incorporated some very yoga-looking stretches and movements in our warm ups, but we were still on the outskirts of passing the granola standard. The closest thing I had to eastern philosophy was a copy of the Tao Te Ching.

“If you would have a thing shrink, You must first stretch it” — Ch. 36 “Tao Te Ching”

The first thirty pounds came off in no time. The most decadent meal my mother attempted to puree for me was a pork chop. I remember desperately wanting solid food, and this was a close salve. I remember the first time I was allowed to go out of the house again with friends; our trip was to the brand new, very exciting, McDonald’s at the far end of town. The french fry couldn’t be pressed through the metal. I had forgotten, in that split second, that I was an invalid. The smoosh of processed potato re-reminded.

Transformation: Down Another 50 Pounds

The next fifty pounds took some hard work. Diet and exercise. Learning to walk. Then run.

You know that game. Its the real deal. I had no reason to be just shy of three hundred pounds anymore. I wasn’t a lineman. I wasn’t even a biped. I shunned the walker, and worked with crutches and canes for that first year. Its hard to remember any of it through the haze of percorcet.

Somehow or another, I found myself on the other side. I got way too skinny. I tried on a variety of disordered eating patterns just as I tried on new jeans. I had no idea which one would fit properly. I got wreckless with sex and drugs and when my best friend died in a car accident of her own, not only did I not recognize the reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t relate to the head I inhabited.

There were asanas now. In between highs (and lows), there was occasionally a yoga class. There was sometimes an extra twenty pounds. At other times, I could have really used that twenty. I wanted so badly to be not alive anymore, but having been so close to death, I couldn’t bear the thought of the messages on my parents answering machine. The calls that would sound like they had that rainy night as my small town saw the helicopter and the gossip spread with an inaccurate fervor that rivaled brush fire in speed.

Rock bottom came, as it does, in the guise of violent rock-and-roll… that is, the sex and drugs, of course. But, to the lucky ones, it comes with people who stick around and show you where your boot straps are; the kind that won’t pick you up by them, but instead wait for you to find the moxy to get your own ass up.

And, as it does with me, it all comes back to asana. The toy of bakasana to play with. The sensation of movement in my hip. The chance to feel like I could fly and move. All of these little physical challenges and accomplishments pushed me towards order. My disorders melted away slowly. Year by year.

Transformation: Michael as Marathon Runner

Soon I was registered for my first marathon. After the boyfriend with whom I had registered and I parted ways, I ran a marathon anyway. Then I did it again. At first to beat him. And then to beat myself. By now bakasana (crow pose) was a dear friend, and Mr. Iyengar was the one who whispered the secrets of flight that Orville and Wilbur missed.

“A cup is not a cup, but a label of an object” — Swami Brahmananda

Transformation: Ashram Life

Long-haired, with a good attitude, I looked right at home at the ashram. As the puffiness of the stitch-and-staple marks on my legs slowly became a dull pink beneath my tan from the island’s sun, I learend about sutras. The yoga kind. And transformation. About the power and potential for change.

“You are not your bullshit.” What a revelation! Discernment from your yoga practice allows you to identify the difference between masochistic tendencies and honest discomfort that breeds transformation. Becoming a witness to your feelings begets opportunity for honest obervation, and the labeling of “useful” or “not useful” to actions and thoughts.

Cultivate the useful, dismiss that which isn’t. Easier said than done. But in the same way that starving myself would make me skinny (and somewhat stupid), the means are sometimes more important than the end. Asana practice has begun to change what I do with my head space.

“Cessation of thought is limited by reliance of the phenomenal world” — Yoga Sutra 1.19

Oh, how natural the disorder patterns feel! The loci of the body is so quick to become circumspect with asana-ego and competition. Its this kind of shit that asexually reproduces into violence and force.

The transition to life in India was as violent as it was forceful. Too close to the blade to know for sure if this was more unseemly masochism or an opportunity to sit with discomfort, I used it as an opportunity to explore authenticity. To listen with fresh ears to the chatter of the mind.

Was my digital persona my true self? Did my proficiency in asana beget me special powers of awareness?

I was looking for the clear jewel of awareness that would not reflect the colors of that which was around me, but stay clear and crystaline.

And I’m not there yet.

Everything is a reflection. Be it of the sparks from an over-grown circular saw tearing away at a used car, the flame from the butane torch on a husked out lightbulb, or a sense of worth based on abilities or inabilities. But there in lies the work.

“The profound clarity of intuitive cognition brings inner tranquility.” — Yoga Sutras (1.47)

What did I learn from my travels to India?

The first month felt like shit. No matter how middle-way I attempted to be, I was brought down by the friction and inertia of my attachments and discolorations. The second month was so much easier that I felt somehow enlightened. My third month reminded me that the only color my crystal deserved to be was green. I didn’t know anything except that I was me.

But transformation is alway there waiting. Every decision we make brings us an opportunity. Our own fear and shame keep us from doing the work. It gets dangerous when those same things become the motivators for our work.

Heck, doing the work that is required of me in my Ashtanga practice is not terribly different from the work that I’m determined to do as an active participant in society and my local community. By that I mean, it comes from a place of compassion and acceptance as opposed to being from a place on unworth or shame.

Transformation: Honing the Loci

When I go lift weights, I know that I’m helping to hone my compass. I’m setting conditions for my crystal to be clear. Perhaps, like the cork block I long favored in haumanasana, I won’t need the prop anymore.

I read somewhere that asana wasn’t the only way to get kundalini, you know– spiritual energy, to rise. I think they were referencing heavy back squats. I’m not esoteric enough to know for sure that thats true, but I do believe that the work we do on our physical body effects our subtle bodies. And vice versa. Breath and movement.

Transformation: Learning to Fly

Chatter of the mind becomes chatter of the mouth. Just look how long this is already. When I talk about the powerful effects of yoga, I frequently end up speaking to transformation. Asana as a mindfulness practice. An awareness exercise. It is in this awareness that we can discover the ability to discern. It is in this quest for heightened awareness that I find myself the forever student.

I’m still learning. I’m still testing. And that has to be okay. For most, cessation of thought follows faith, heroic energy, mindfulness, contemplative calm, and wisdom.

I practice yoga to cultivate the paramenters required for transformation. And to be that radically accepting and honest requires work. But, so goes the eternal paradox: it’s easier to do the work than not.

I just wouldn’t know it if I weren’t doing it.

Fraud Police, Ashtanga Police

What do I know about anything?

There I was: a twenty-something, telling a room full of people (with a helluva lot more life experience than me) about these eight steps towards clear contemplation. Or Nirvana. Or ecstasy.

They’re all going to find out I don’t know anything about any of this. 

I know more about the band and the pill than I do about yoga. Shit.

The fraud police are going to get me. I had to get to India. Quick.

“the fraud police are this imaginary, terrifying force of experts and real grown-ups who don’t exist and who come knocking on your door at 3am when you least expect it, saying “fraud police. we’ve been watching you and we have evidence that you have no idea what you are doing. and you stand accused of the crime of completely making shit up as you go along. you do not actually deserve your job and we’re taking everything away. and we’re telling everybody.” —  Amanda Palmer, 2011 commencement speech, New England Institute of Art

10 years leads to a lot of change. Bullshit will be cut through, whether it is with a honed blade of divine ascetism or a simple serated knife best suited for white bread life experience.

How could I be so sure it was “the yoga” that made me the better man? The one of whom my Mom’s so proud? Maybe I’m  just not an obstinate teenager anymore.

They’re all going to find out I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.

The fraud police are going to get me.

 ”i have friends who are teachers and writers and psychologists and scientists and pretty much every profession under the sun. and everybody, every so-called adult i know, has had this feeling about their job and themselves at some level. and i don’t mean to put all of the non-graduates and grown-ups on the spot, but graduates please look around at the adults. and adults please raise your hand if you’ve ever had the feeling that the fraud police are going to come and expose you for not actually being able to do your job. the other ones are lying.”

Everyone fears that they’re going to be found out.

I sat in krounchasana last week convinced Sharath was going to see the way that my hips were uneven. For thirty unadulterated seconds, I knew for certain that the current foremost asana practitioner in the world, the very titleholder of the lineage I am persuing, would see that my extended leg wasn’t perfectly textbook straight.

He knows, I thought.

He knows I’m a fraud.

I was convinced he was going to take all of my poses away.

I’ve asked around. This is not an uncommon fear. But, thank god, the fraud police aren’t real.

THE FRAUD POLICE AREN’T REAL!

No more real than the Ashtanga police.

Its not just ashtanga practitioners who get a bit scared. Nor twenty-something teachers. Not even just artists, communicators,  and party planners. Everyone fears the fraud police.

and do not think for a second that the people that you see out in the real world, working real jobs, all the professionals, do not make the mistake of thinking that they totally know what they are doing. and that they have things totally figured out.

because they don’t.

No one has it all figured out. Not with 200 hours of study nor 500 hours. Maybe not even 10,000 hours, right Ellie?

I’m  not a big phoney– I’m me, and I know what I know. And I don’t know what I don’t.  In India, in America, in a fight with my husband.  That’s not made up.

You’re not a fraud, either. We are authenticly ourselves.

It took a trip to India to prove that to myself, but thank god for Amanda Palmer saying it out loud. And thanks Aimee Echo for tellin’ me she said it.

 ”even a seasoned expert brain surgeon, wielding a scalpel about to cut somebody’s head open, must have that moment. where she thinks, “i can’t believe they’re letting me do this. don’t they know i’m a complete fool. i lost my keys this morning. i dropped my cell phone in a puddle, and it’s broken. and i am here holding a sharp knife about to cut a human being’s head open, and they might die. who is letting me do this? they’re crazy.

“do not make the mistake of thinking that your job does not deal in the realm of life and death. because it actually does. it’s just not as direct. 

“making art is just as important to the whole world as performing brain surgery and building suspension bridges and saving people’s lives in hospitals. and you probably need to talk to a lot of doctors and structural engineers who live to experience art before you will really believe me. “

But the yoga does work. The practice is solid. The alignment I learned from Iyengar works. The principals of Ashtanga are legit. And so is your practice. Now get out there and do it.

The Ashtanga Police
by: janbaggerudlarsen

For the last two months, I’ve been extricated from my comfy little urban bubble and placed smack dab in the middle of Gokulum, a dusty little hamlet on the outskirts of Mysore City, India. I’m doing my daily practice and study at the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute, where the founder of Ashtanga Yoga taught for more than sixty years. Located in deliciously humid South India, where every yoga is hot yoga, I’m here to study with the Jois family in what my mom calls “yoga grad school.”  This is the granddaddy of all the vinyasa (or “flow”) yoga practices — you know the ilk, they’re the ones popping up like Starbucks. Starbucks, friend-o’s, this joint isn’t. In the interest of devoting myself fully to my practice, I’ve taken a sabbatical from CrossFit and contemporary weight training. Even if I had wanted to keep up with overhead squats and organized burpees, Mysore is totally comfort-zone non-gratis.  Alas, no CrossFit box (but I am mostly paleo!). Never fret, I’m not coming home a bendy 500lbs shut-in. Though I deeply miss my friends, colleagues and students at Balance Gym, I think I’ve devised something handy for y’all. Here are 6 sneaky ways I’m staying fit while abroad:

Complimentary Cleanse

Special Cleanse

Free with every visit! Perhaps you’ve heard of the master cleanse? The juice fast? Maybe known some people to just chew chocolate laxatives while drinking champagne? Yes, friends, the end results is always the same (I was tempted to make this one #2!). The easiest five pounds you’ll ever lose is yours… whether you like it or not. Remember the toilet paper (they don’t use it here!)

Carrying Water

Drinking Water

After the cleanse, you’ll inevitably want to get a nice big jug o’ drinking water. You know the kind– every soul-sucking overly air-conditioned office has a water cooler. If you’ve never been the lucky grunt who has to change the jug, let me assure you: they’re a might bit heavy. Weighing in at roughly 42lbs, they have to get from the water salesman to the apartment somehow. Oh, sure, you could hire a rickshaw to carry it for you, but after years of Farmers Walks with dumbells, why not put some of that functional training to work! C’mon, slacker, its not THAT far.

Wrestling

…over prices. India has many beautiful arts: devotional painting, stone and wood carving, dance, chant, tapestry. And Haggling. I had no idea the amount of energy this expends! And calories are just a way of measuring energy, right? So, this must burn a TON of calories. My father sold used cars when I was a young man, so I presumed that I was prepared for this fine art. Remember the aforementioned Rickshaw? They’re like diesel golf carts capable of doing nearly 40 mph… not a bad speed. Even faster?  Being separated from your rupees by a silver-tounged Rickshaw driver ( affectionately called a tuck-tuck). A lesson I learned: “Underestimating others usually goes along with overestimating oneself.”  Carry your own damn water.

Dodging

I want to congratulate everyone who raised money for Cupid’s Undie Run by participating in Dodgeball this year. I have deep respect for your abilities to duck and cover. You see, I’ve been playing what can only be described as live-action frogger. If you choose to walk anywhere past your own porch, you’ll at some point dodge a few (if not all) of the following –(please note: I’m not kidding): Busses. Scooters. Rickshaws. Cows. Goats. Herd of Pig. Dogs. Ponies. Chickens. Geese. Byicyclists. Cartpushers. Angry Sari-wearing wenches. Smiling Sari sporting sisters. Men with bricks on their head. Little kids, demanding any one of the following; candy corn, pens, rupees. Oh yes, and cars. And don’t presume for a second that there are lines to be followed in the road. Nor crosswalks. Nor turnsignals. Nor really any signal of any kind that would let you know that you’re walking straight ahead to your death. Except for the omnipresent horn.  You may as well jump each and every time you hear a honk. Your life depends on it. To train for this, I highly recommend doing boxjumps before coming to this lovely subcontinent.

Hill Climb, Stairs for Time

I’m not exactly sure how they do it, but there is an order of holiness to the hills of India. Mysore is lucky to sport the 5th most holy hill in all of India. Or the 8th. Who knows. I can’t read the language. I do know that there are more than 1100 steps to the top of this holy hill, with a gorgeous temple awaiting you upon completion.

Yoga

This Deserves A Massage, Right?

Okay, fine, you caught me. There is nothing sneaky about yoga in India. It is, after all, why I’m here. Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga uses the body as a tool for exploration of the inner and outer world. Like any good tool, it needs to be honed and trued to do it’s job with accuracy and precision. Thats why we work so hard to balance strength, flexibility, the nervous system, and focus. And so, with our practice of Ashtanga, we begin to calibrate our instrument for higher awareness. Much like NASA’s work to get to the moon gave us such fabulous byproducts as the microwave and tang, so to does yoga give us some bitchin’ side benefits: sexy shoulders, a strong core, and mental clarity under pressure.  If you were paying attention to the previous five sneaky benefits, you can probably imagine how helpful these byproducts are.

Something you should know about India: a lot of stuff is anyone’s guess. Let me lead this post by saying that I climbed a pretty big hill.

This big holy hill I climbed is said to be the 5th Holiest Hill in all of India.Or the eight. Or the sixth. I don’t know.  We’re gonna say 5th.  I’ve got absolutely no idea how people keep track of these things.

• Chamundi Hill, at either 1,000 or 5,000 meters high and 13 kilometers or 3 km out of Mysore City, is both super old and super holy.

Yep, those are both true facts.  There were little worship spots along the way, the steps were covered in the paint from puja, and there was even a sneaky shiva temple half way up.

• The steps we asended were placed in 1664 (or 1659), just like the giant statue of Shiva’s best ride, Nandi the bull which is located at either step 700 or step 800.

I probably should have paid attention, and then I could have at least fixed the wiki article. While I’m in the middle of an aside, I also wanted to talk about Shiva. Shiva’s the supreme yogi, and the hill is named for one of his lady aspects. Isn’t it kinda baller that he’s also a bull rider? You know, I’m a killer mechanical bull rider… I wonder if its in my yogi-blood?

• Anyway, climbing up and down all 1,180 steps is one way the locals stay fit.   We heard that  fit folks get all the way up in 12 minutes, less than fit folks in 60.

Ellie and I briefly contemplated using this as an opportunity to get in a WOD.  Briefly, cause its sure not as though we rushed up– the monkeys, the cows, and the  giant bull were all too interesting.  Anna and John actually stayed a fair shake ahead of us the whole time!  The climb wasn’t too rough.

Before we get to the pictures a few fun (and questionable!) Chamundi Facts:

• A panoramic view of the city is seen from the top of the hills. Among other landmarks, you can see the race course, the Lalitha Mahal palace, Mysore Palace, Karanji and Kukkarahalli lakes.
• En route to the top, the steps pass the large statue of Nandi the bull; the statue is about 16 feet high and 25 feet in length. Nandi is the vahana (vehicle) of Lord Shiva. Local monarch Dodda DevarajaWodeyar directed the steps’ creation in 1664 and the installation of the statue of Nandi.
• The temple atop the hill is named after Chamundeshwari or Durga, the fierce form of Shakti.
• Leopards have been sighted near the roads during late evenings leading to the top and have been photographed, providing a sense of additional thrill to people who seek adventure walking up the slopes.

“For the full story, please check out:
http://midcityyoga.com/michaeljoelhall/michael-in-mysore-chamundi-hill/”

From Michael in Mysore: Chamundi Hill, posted by on 3/01/2012 (15 items)

Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher


(Michael in Mysore: Chamundi Hill)

Obligatory Smoosh Pic

Before the Adventure

I didn’t come to India specifically to be alone. No one would call me an introvert, but as my dear sage friend Lauren Waggner once put it “I know you need to drink from the well of solitude.”

Nor would anyone call me old fashioned, except perhaps for my manners. But, Michael and I had a very long courtship (yes, yes, same name, don’t get confused on me). Such is life. Who knew I’d be the kind of man who waits? Now in the thick of life together, our intertwined paths took its course. No longer would I be living alone.

One part pilgramage, one part personal exploration (are they the same?), this sojourn to India was also most  certainly a chance for me to steel my reserves and refill the well. I would not have as many opportunities to drink from it when I returned, so best to fill it deeply in this moment.

You know its forever when this boy lets a television, much less a man, into the house.

The Temple:

Pic Courtesy Ellie

Worried conversely that I’d be overwhelmed by a country of one billion and not have room for my own headspace; alternately, foolishly, that I’d not make any worthwhile connections and come home emotionally empty.

Silly. Idiotic oscillating.

I’ve not lacked for good company. I’ll not be the mayor of Mysore, for certain, but I’ve met some wonderful mates. Practitioners, explorers, artists, and pioneers. This place is filled with a delicious transiency that has allowed me to meet and release a full smattering of the dedicated, the unboxed, and the brilliant. And I’m the blessed.

Case in point: Ellie and Anna.

It is with these two that I hit the road in search of the surprisingly populace refugee camp of  Bylakuppe. Situated less than two hours out of Mysore, this Tibetan settlement (and it’s neighboring sister city) houses just shy of 11,000 beautiful buddhists.

I couldn’t have been gifted better compatriots for the adventure. The non-tibetan visitors to the temple agreed: they were hungry to take photos with us. We were the attraction for them as much as the prayer wheels, as much as the statues.Fascinating, that.

After a lap of the landscape and a pause for reflection (the girls, meditating, me with chai) we snuck over to the neighboring town. A Goddess temple had been reported by a tenured temple go-er. No luck in that effort, for us.

We did  find giant bells that would ring should you walk with a wheel housed within a shed. I resisted the urge to ring it repeatedly, as well as the urge to accompany myself in a rendition of the obvious selection from the late 70′s “Ring My Bell.”

I forget what these are called, so if you’re reading this, please feel free to leave the name in the comments.

Elepun? Elefun. The Elephants:

 Post temple, we had plans to visit an elephant preserve. More than twenty kilometers out, we had folks meeting us. Something you should know, in case you don’t (and you only don’t if we’ve not met): I love elephants. A lot. Like bring them up in casual conversation levels of love.

Pic Courtesy Ellie

Imaginary Friend: “How’s the weather”
Me: “Dry! Like an elephants skin.  *pause* OMG ELEPHANT.”

Okay, seriously: My Mom made me elephant shorts. Michael bought me an elephant travel bag. I pray to an elephant headed deity. I have one dancing tattooed upon my shoulder. I’m a skosh looney for them.

When we arrived at the preserve, we discovered two crucial things about which Travel Advisor neglected to inform us: 1. To get to the preserve, you have to cross a small river. 2. The preserve operators and boat drivers were all on strike.

This posed a make-or-break moment, not unlike the end of Double Dare: Do you go home empty handed, or do take a physical challenge? The oxen were fording the river. The locals were halfway out on rocks, playing in the babble before the rocks turned rapid. We, with all likelihood, could cross. But should we?

Pic Courtesy Ellie

Did I mention the looney? Precisely. Thanks, Crossfit!

Off we went.  And, like the intrepid adventurers we fancied ourselves to be, we made it.

On the other side of the river we found no elephants.  After speaking with a guard, we discovered that the elephants had a regular feeding and bathing time. Surely, no strike would keep an Indian Elephant from a little splish-splash and nom nom. Climbing up the “Elephants Ride” tree-loft, a pachyderm could be seen in the distance. We stayed.

Ellie, Anna, Tameka and Me

We were rewarded with a single elephant. After listing off name after name, eventually we found one that our large friend liked. Tameka. We spent the better part of a half an hour chatting with her before it was time to go home.

We didn’t wait for the rest of the herd. We had our intimate connection.

As it turns out, thats what I really like. Intimacy. Be it with Ellies, Annas, or Elephants.

A special thank you to Ellie Kaufman for letting me steal a bunch of her pictures. Please give the rest of her gorgeous flickr a gander, and also stop by Ellie’s wonderful Blog. You can even check out her version of events

Please, enjoy the pictures below:

“for more of my adventures: please check out midcityyoga.com”

From Michael in Mysore: The Tibetan Temple, Tameka Elephant, posted by Michael Joel Hall on 2/27/2012 (30 items)

Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher

I’m not much of a chanter, as most everyone within earshot can atest. Better I show my devotion with words. This is for my Michael and for Krishna:

Hear the Wild howlin’, 
“Time yet? Time yet?”

“Patience, patience,” 
comes the Calm’s reply. 
“First the garden, 
then the party.” 

With Radha,
Krishna danced.

There are as many cultures swirling around Mysore as there are dust clouds. With a fog so low and hazy and a percentage of population so transient, this town can’t help but create a low-ceiling pressure cooker for practice, communication, and emotion.

One thing you’ll note is that Ashtangis love to talk about what they’re eating (and perhaps moreso, what they’re not). They also love company with their meals. I was fortunate enough to be invited to a going away party (you’ll go to many of those here) hosted by a sweet Palestinian. For us he cooked up some baba ganoush.

Without all the trappings of a proper kitchen (I use a friends food processor to get my almond meal, afterall), its tricky to make a perfect baba ganoush.  But, oh how abundent the eggplants are! And the seasame seeds!

I had to try and make it.

Homemade tahini is easy to come by, or even make yourself (so-so-soooooo good), so I knew I was able to get my hands on all the ingredients. Since the meal was really just for me,  I wanted to make sure it was protein fortified… and try as I might, I can’t just eat baba ganoush out of the bowl and feel right about it.

So, me being me, I just gave it a frou-frou name and called it a day

What Icame up with is delicious, if I do say so myself! It’s also versitle: this one pot creation can be eaten as a breakfast or an afternoon snack with savory banana or carrot chips. It can also be made without the egg to be vegan friendly. Peeling a cucumber for dipping is a pretty safe bet, too.

Paleo One Pot Poached Egg Aubergine
Serves 2-4 

Ingredients:

1 large or 2 medium aubergine/eggplant
1 green pepper (capsicum)
1  medium onion
1 clove garlic
4 eggs
3 heaping tablespoons Tahini
Salt to taste
Optional: ghee

Directions:

1. Slice eggplant in half, then again if large. Dice onion and peppers. Peel garlic. Add to boiling water. **to cheat: throw the eggs in their shell in during this process.
2. Boil until eggplant is nice and mushy, easily poked and melty.  Drain water.
3. Add tahini, salt, and a smidge of ghee of you’d like
4. Crack eggs on top, spooning mushy tahini onto the solidified egg whites **or use your hardboiled eggs
5. Serve!

“Simple Living, Higher Thinking”

When the body is in disease, the mind is in disease. When the mind is in disorder, the body is in disorder. Our approach to yoga is the application of a proper diet, proper exercise, proper breathing, proper relaxation, and positive thinking.

So, let’s say you’ve spent some time exploring what yoga is, and you wanna give it a whirl. You know how the late night soaps all seem to make love look way  easier with nice candles and a good bottle of wine?

Well, yoga is kind of like that, too. The Sivananda tradition, one of the largest schools of yoga in the world, lets us know what yoga practice’s proverbial candles and vino are… ya know, for a little bow-chick-a-wow-wow with our true selves.

Alright, that’s as far as that metaphor is going. Get your minds outta the gutter, and take a look below– these five components will get your body and mind ready to start livin’ a little more easily and get your yoga juices flowin’.

(I said that metaphor was over! gutter. out. now!)

Proper Diet:

A well-balanced, nutritious diet is of the utmost importance: one that keeps us from being inflamed, one that keeps us strong, one that keeps us ready for physical practice. Why a physical practice? Because we use our body and mind’s relationship as instrument for fine-tuning our understanding of “the big picture.”

Classically, a yogi’s diet is “sattvic” diet– a lacto-vegetarian diet.

Take that for what its worth– for me, that’d be about one grain of salt. Or better, a grain of sugar… which is considered “sattvic.” But what if you have diabetes, is it still good for you?

Vegetarianism has not been the most healthful diet for me– that is why I maintain the paleo diet. That means that yes, I eat meat. Before you cry foul, remember: these kinds of decisions are up to each individual’s ethics and beliefs.

One things we can all agree on? A focus on local, fresh fruits and vegetables and an avoidance of anything processed, artificial,  or overly refined will be beneficial to everyone’s constitution.

Proper Exercise:

We have nourished the body with the foods we consume, but now what? These incredible machines are built to move!

For some, a yoga practice consists primarily of physical yoga postures, called asanas, and it is with asana that the body can find health. With a well banaced yoga practice, outside exercise may not be needed. But not all practices are well balanced, and even those that are can sometimes lead to imbalances. While asana can make the weak strong and the stiff mobile, many people will require more balance.

Don’t worry– asana needn’t be the end all be-all of your yoga practice, and it doesn’t have to be the last word on your exercise.

Functional training, running, Crossfit, heck–  just about any physical activity that puts the body into motion keeping it fit, flexible, and young is an essential part of a well rounded yoga practice.

Don’t let the dogma associated with physical activity deter you. We are designed to move and play. Keeping the body in shape is part of that journey, and needn’t be confined to asana.

Proper Breathing:

The breath is magical. It has the power to create and edit moods, emotion, and general way of thinking. It changes with and without conscious thought. Yogis practice a three part yogic breath in day-to-day life.

• Clavicular breath exists in the upper register, by the collar bones.
• Thorasic breath is in the widening of the ribs.
• Abdominal breath fully utilize the lowest register of the lungs.

For a 3-part yogic breath, we use all three of the above to create a full, rhythmical, diaphragmatic breath that is capable of connecting the lower body and the upper body. This leads to one or several muscular lock(s) in the body called ‘bandha‘.

Proper Relaxation:

How many ailments are caused or linked to stress? The United Nations labeled job stress “The 20th Century Disease” for good reason. Take that heart disease and cancer. Heck, stress can even make you fat, job or no.

Not taking care of stress will keep one out of their practice, and as such we work to access thre distinct kinds of relaxation.

• Physical Relaxation: You know that feeling of release a you crumple to the floor after a hard work out? The bliss that comes from laying out on the floor post practice? The are tastes of physical relaxation. Hard to describe, but unforgettable to feel.
• Mental Relaxation: When we control the breath and still our energies, we allow the mind to calm, relaxing what is often called the monkey mind. We’ve all felt the mind dart, swinging from branch to branch. When the mind settles, wherever that may be, we release our mental tension and come to mental relaxation.
• Spiritual Relaxation: Warning– things get heady here, so I’m going in with a quote: “As long as a person identifies with the body and mind, there will be worries, sorrows, anxieties, fears, and anger. In order to let go of this, we work to withdraw our identification from this sort of ego-consciousness.” When a yogi identifies with the all pervading, all powerful, all peaceful and joyous pure consciousness within, the spirit is free and relaxation is complete.  It will come as no surprise that this third relaxation is the most challenging.

Positive Thinking and Meditation:

A positive outlook on life is necessary for a full and fulfilling yoga practice. You can’t go into you r practice thinking its going to be shit each and every time. Garbage in, garbage out, ya know?

By stilling the oscillations of the mind, the mind becomes peaceful. There are many effective forms of meditation ranging from asana practice to vipassana meditation, transendental meditation, to (some might say) golf  or fly-fishing.

Being singularly focused without time, space, or causation is the foundation.  From this peace, meditation can occur. This all starts with positive thoughts and good intentions.