True Hearts Yoga

I spoke to a friend of mine tonight.  She is a struggling artist, living in L.A.- one of the hardest places for an artist to live (I know this for a fact).  Not that being an artist anywhere else means that you don't struggle (another fact). This girl has talent, let me tell you.  She has written for several magazines, she takes photos that feel familiar and tug at your heart strings.  She  is a designer.   She assembles, she collaborates, she creates beauty from mundane objects.  Her impressions linger in your mind and heart. She has been let down, let go, and basically discarded by her community.  Her struggle to thrive, let alone surface, has been a constant thing for a decade, or so.  Things look up for a brief moment, and then look bleak the next moment.  Like riding a precarious craft through a torrential storm.  Black then gray.  Hell, we've all been there. But today... today things are different.  The...

One of the teachings in yoga is called, Ahimsa, meaning "non-violence."  The yogi is asked to relate to others and self in this way.  It includes not only the absence of violence, but acting with kindness and considerations in all matters.  You may think to yourself, "well, I am generally kind, I don't beat people up, and I certainly would never kill a fellow human.  I must be living in ahimsa." You may be on the right path, but think of violence as discord.  Think of it not as an aggression, but as (what we in Seattle are known for) a passive aggression as well.  A lot of the violence we partake of are in conversations with others.  We use purposefully stinging words, particularly to ourselves.  Imagine if another person talked down to you the way you talk down to yourself on a daily basis.  I catch myself saying something demeaning to myself every single day.  The key is to catch yourself. Here are some ways you can enhance ahimsa in your life: stop gossiping ...

The following is a poem by Jenny Joseph called, "Warning." When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple With a red hat, which doesn't go,       And doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy And summer gloves and satin sandals And say, "We've no money for butter." I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired. And gobble up samples in shops, And press alarm bells, And run my stick along the public railings, And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain, And pick flowers in other people's gardens,       And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts, And grow more fat, And eat three pounds of sausages at a go, Or only bread and pickles for a week, And hoard pens and pencils and beer-mats       And things in boxes. Yes, but now we must have clothes to keep us dry, And pay the rent And not swear in the street, And set a g...