Stories about Life, Freedom and Ashtanga Yoga
The lifeless forms of saints return the silence to the snow /
And still, beneath, the grain is waiting for its time to grow.

Dear boss Hey you in the coach's corner I'm writing in order For someone to explain To my daughter the distinction Between these mandatory group rites of submission And the rallies at Malabar   Specifically the function The ritual serves in conjunction With what everybody knows Is in the end a fool’s game I guess I'm just...

It’s true, I still do. Everyday. And you reading this should too, regardless of what you’ve heard, seen, experienced or been told. Most of what they tell you, is all just a front. There’s a hidden world inside this one we see and play out on...

The process we are going through in our community and in our culture as a whole is something akin to first contact. Abusers have a habit of revealing their true selves to people nobody’s going to find credible — to women who are vulnerable, or women...

If you could change anything, what would you change? Would you go on vacation for the rest of your life? End world hunger and poverty? Practice sixth series? Ask for ethical yoga institutes and teachers? Surely nothing could be more unrealistic than to keep everything...

I ordered “A Way from Darkness” in the first weeks of the year 2017. It had long been on my wish list, but being at home sick with the chickenpox that my lovely daughter passed on to me, and had already exhausted all my books and shows, it was a gift from heaven disguised as next day delivery.

I find myself dwelling into bookstores and finding shelves of books written about “living” and "wellness" — how to find mindfulness and peace of spirit, how to hold one together once it’s found, how to survive its falling apart, how to find one again. Churches offer...

The air is sticky and hot, and as we sit here in this park, discussing the events that brought us all together to Luke’s workshop, sipping coffee, juices, and eating a colourful palette of breads, energy balls and other things I can’t remember, beautifully merged with the cloth tapestry that was serving us as both resting spot and dinning table, someone asks,