Real yoga for real people for real life.

What is “real” yoga anyway? And what do “real” people look and act like? And where does “real” life start?

US Army 52840 Soldiers learn to connect mind, ...

US Army 52840 Soldiers learn to connect mind, body, soul through breathing (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Real” yoga is all about listening. Sure, it’s about listening to your teachers and your bestie and your kids and your boss, but all those get better as you learn how to listen to you. And not that “nya nya nya” voice that has a stock list of 100 phrases playing your head, because that is not you. That is habit, that is programming, that is trauma, dear. 
You may not sound like anything at any given day and time. The you you learn to listen to is the you of your breath: what does your breath tell you when you listen for more than an inhale? It is your body: step onto your mat and find out what it has to tell you. The lessons are deeper than words. 

For my money (and time and soul), “real” yoga is not a matter of lineage, tradition, trips to India or ability to do the latest iteration of a one armed, pretzel footed peacock (though those are fun, too). “Real” yoga has to do with what you find, learn, listen and respond to on the mat, when it’s just you. No leading voice, just your experience and intuition.  “Real” yoga is your home practice. Yes, in conjunction with all kinds of outer teachers, but the one ingredient no yogi can miss is home practice. It’s what you do on your own, when no one is looking, in private and without facebook, instagram or twitter that is your yoga. “Real” yoga is the home practice of yoga. 

Think about it this way: the rail thin, leather-skinned dude who lives in a cave and sits in lotus pose 10 hours a day, the 1970s avatar of what yoga looks like… how did he find his yoga? Sure, he probably had a teacher somewhere, but that teacher told him, “Go away, put it into practice. Talk to me in ten years.” And so he went, he practiced. Maybe he found the same teacher again, maybe another. But the teacher didn’t say, “Come to my class for an hour every day, or maybe just twice a week.”

And real people? They look like you, of course. You’re as real as it gets. Someone should really listen to you. That’s a powerful thing to do. Attention. Your attention. It’s the most powerful thing there is. Don’t lavish it all over everyone else and forget to include you. 

And real life? It looks like yours: with bills and friends and family and cars that break down and hearts that soar and hurt and trust and learn and bodies that live and run and hurt and heal. Bodies, hearts and minds that need yoga when they need yoga – maybe in the middle of a meeting (breathing is best here) or first thing in the morning, before you’d realistically leave the house. How long they need yoga: 15 minutes a day has a profound effect. How they need yoga: some days restorative yoga trumps everything. 

Real yoga supports people like us, you and me, listening in the midst of a life that isn’t as simple as living in a cave and may not be near a yoga studio. Heck, yoga studios aren’t always the best places to listen. But where you are – right now? That’s a good place to listen – to you. So roll out a mat, stand at the top and find your Mountain. Then do the next thing. Keep it going and you’ll learn a lot. About you.

For solid support, information and short practices to get you started (you get to riff on them), visit the other Badlands Yoga blog. And leave a comment here or there to tell us about your practice and how you own it. 




gift with ribbon

I’m moving and you’re invited to the housewarming!

Badlands Yoga has a new home and will be growing with online courses, ebooks, and more. You can already download free guided practices and meditations! There’s a survey to let me know what you’re interested in knowing more about and even a forum where you can receive personal answers to your questions!

Want more?! Come on over and check it out 🙂 Sign up for the newsletter on the last tab to be updated with all the news coming this year 🙂 You’ll get free gifts and undying love! Okay, you already have that, but gifts are good, too 😉

I’ll still be writing over here and even at eleJ, but for now, let’s hang out over in the badlands. Let me know what you think!

Where the Wild Things Are: Monsters and Angels are Made So by Words

360 Wild Thing

360 Wild Thing (Photo credit: John Brownlow)

I write from doing, not from thinking. Words come out my fingers, but for that to happen the rest of my body has to have moved. When I’m stuck it’s probably because I’m trying to know: to find that certainty that will bring everything under control; to find the naming that will put life in its place; to let me return to previously scheduled programming. I have appointments and projects and deadlines, don’t you know. Oh, you do. And you don’t care. I see.

When I need to know, I go to my mat. Well, really my yoga room. It’s true, I’ll start on my mat, but there’s no guarantee I’ll stay or end up there. I’m more a choreographer than a researcher. More applied than theoretical. I move to find stillness and close my mouth to find words that are true.

I know that when I sit to write and am overwhelmed with by the enormity of the abyss, my place is not writing: it’s on the mat. I know that when every time I open my mouth gooey, difficult, sticky, hang-in-the-air-and-wish-I-could-reel-back words come out (words like cry and death and sad and how) it’s time to go in, close the door and find out what happens next.

It doesn’t mean that the abyss and the gooey words retreat right away, or even soon. But jumping in makes the abyss less other and strangely allows its native stickiness to permeate and nourish my tissues so I don’t have to pin it down in words. The words that will come later will be truer for this foray into the void.

Yoga is my version of “Where the Wild Things Are.” They are here, all around, waiting for us to shut up and see that they don’t care about our schedules because they care so much about what we have to give.

Why do I love my old stained, torn, lumpy bolster?


bolster (Photo credit: maclauren70)

I have new, sleek, white and blue, rounded edge bolsters. Just waiting in my closet. Part of the reason they’re still new is that I keep reaching for my first massage oil stained, slightly lumpy after too many times stuffed back into its laundered cover, ripped in one seam bolster. When I look for something to drape my spine over in either a restorative forward bend or gentle back bend, I’ll go across the room to grab my ratty old blue bolster, even if the new sleek ones are close by.


Sedona Ridge

Sedona Ridge (Photo credit: quinet)

Maybe its the memory of toting it all over Sedona the summer I spent a week doing yoga on the most improbable sandstone spires, or of my happiness when the motel where I’d absent-mindedly left it shipped it back to me. Or the one of my first restorative seated forward fold over my very own bolster at home. Not a sofa cushion, not three pillows: a bolster. Made for supporting forward folding and hearts. Made for yogis who take their practice to heart. Or the times I’ve wept into it. Or the smiles I’ve melted into over it.


But it’s probably just that all those lumps offer infinite variability and new ways to experience my poses. Put your forehead here and it’s perfectly centered. Here, and it’s ever so slightly turned to one side. Rest your arms at this angle and melt. At this one and feel your edge. The lumps are probably from substandard stuffing or maybe just age. The stains and small seam tears are from living. I’ll never take this bolster for my students to use: it looks like it needs a bath even when just out of the wash. I’ll keep it at home, my personal support, organically molded by my practice and my life.



Practice, from piano to yoga: what’s it mean?

Aum symbol in red

Aum symbol in red (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


I’ve recently begun reading Kara-Leah Grant’s The Yoga Lunchbox, a self-directing guide for committing to your own yoga practice. I’ve only just begun, but can say that hers is an enjoyable voice, self-disclosing and up front. The book isn’t a how-to for yoga per se, but rather a worksheeted, stop-and-think, dig in your heart kind of affair, in which she assumes you’ve been to yoga classes and know what DownDog is, but want to go deeper and make it personal. She also acknowledges the familiar struggles when coming to the mat and offers her book as a tutorial for successfully navigating them and getting your feet under you, or over you, as the case may be.


I love reading how other yogis guide themselves through their inner thickets, and I’m constantly reflecting on the question of  “What is a practice?” You might say it’s my own personal koan.


My first experiences with practice were piano, tap, jazz dance and ballet – and, yes, as I recall, all at once. I think the doctors had suggested I always be involved in dance of some kind after they were finished with my little but growing legs. The piano was a prelude to guitar, and my memories of it are tactile: the finish on the piano my mother


English: A split leap performed during an acro...

This was NOT me. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


bought for my practice, the pleasantly solitary “tock!” of the metronome, and the less pleasant buzz of a kitchen timer. I remember a great deal of discomfort with the dance classes: I didn’t care for the stretchy leotards and no one would ever guess my name was “Grace,” if you know what I mean. Looking back, though, the classes probably provided connection and strength that allowed me to forget for so long that my legs weren’t always so workable.



So I know a little from useful discipline. And I wonder how yoga practice differs from any of these other types of practice, for someone who feels completely at home doing them. Isn’t practice just practice, after all? Isn’t it really a way of meeting yourself over and over and over again in the same place so you can befriend yourself and study yourself in your natural habitat?

Is there a difference, for instance between yoga and meditation practice, beyond the lack of gross movement in the one and the focus in the other? Does yoga also contain meditation practice with the stillness at the end, or does it become the other when you sit up after corpse pose? Or is the common denominator of “practice” what really matters?

And if the rhythm of meeting yourself in circumstances that you control on  a regular basis for the purpose of observing, befriending and perhaps refining yourself is what really matters, is reading practice any different from yoga practice? Or language practice? Or dance? Or shooting?

I think there is a difference in the type of container you’re creating. That’s my hunch anyway. But I’m also certain that having some practice is better than none. And as I work on my own book about yoga, I’m reminded of the dictum that the map is not the territory. If reading a book about having a yoga practice is a practice that gets you to practice yoga, do you already have to be committed to the idea of practice to finish the book? In which case, why don’t we all just meet on the mat?

I suppose one reason is that we can do both, and there’s joy in reading about you love. Writing about it, too. Thanks for reading.




Kapala-mula-bhati in the morning: breath + posture = happiness


Bhati (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Or should that be “Kapala-mala-bhati”? You see, this morning I lingered over coffee with my Darling Hubs longer than I’d planned and so ended up with 20 minutes or so for practice. What’s a girl to do???



This is the week of the mad scientist for me, evidently  so I decided the solution would be to combine. I usually begin seated Japanese style with breath observation and then mix in some technique, moving slowly to sacral pumps and up to full Sun Salutations through Malasan (Squat pose).

So I started in Malasan and moved quickly to Kapalabhati, one of my winter morning go-tos because it is warming and creates wakefulness. It was strange at first: the pelvic floor is stretched in Malasan and the transverse abdominus is released. Generally they work in concert during Skull shining breath, and this position privileges the transverse abdominus and restricts the interlocking muscles of the pelvic floor.

It took a few rounds to get the feel of it, but I liked the added stabilization of the torso created by my elbows pushing the insides of my shins and visa versa and it created a different level of connection to the structure of the pelvis. Kapalabhati in this position took more effort and my usual 3 rounds of 100 wasn’t as breezy as usual, but still steady. I think what I like the most is that it helps discriminate between perception of sensation in the pelvic floor and low belly.

Paired with Mula-lifts at the end of practice, this made for an excellent exploration of pelvic sensation and motion. “Mula-lifts” are what I call a version of leg lifts that I learned from Ally Hamilton of Yogis Anonymous (my current fave online source). Instead of lifting the entire sacrum off the ground and contracting the front of your belly, as you would in most fitness leg lifts, you’re really going for a very small – maybe 2 inch – lift of the tailbone from the floor, with the toes pointed straight up to the ceiling and your belly pressing down toward the floor. The focus is specifically on the pelvic floor and not the abdominals.

What do you do when you realize you have limited time for practice? Are you a combiner or a simplifier? Or are you tempted to do what I almost did: “Oh, I only have 20 minutes, better just leave it til later…” I’m so glad I didn’t! Just remember to get your Savasana in. That’s the best part!



Experimentation and Pranayam: what do you do with “prohibitions”?

My Very Last Breath

Photo credit: Wikipedia


I started thinking about this last December when I was reading a lot about Brahmari, or “Bumble Bee Breath.” I read in several places to always practice Brahmari sitting upright, but never any reason for avoiding other postures. So I asked the writers and what I heard back was that they were simply repeating what they’d read or been taught.


I thought a lot about why practicing Brahmari supine or even prone or twisted or inverted might be cautioned against and wondered if it was because of the mid-forehead focus and pranic flow, or because of the deep, seemingly skeletal vibration, it creates in the torso – or some combination.

Memento Mori

Memento Mori (Photo credit: Reini68)

Many of my students use this technique to power down at night or even to encourage deep sleep and some have asked about doing it in bed. While I know that the ideal for all pranayam and meditation practices is to remain alert, when these techniques are used for what might be considered their “side” effects – calming, relaxing, stress release, anti-insomnia – it makes sense not to fight the very thing you’re courting, right?


After consulting the many and varied sources – primary and secondary, dog eared beloved books and websites – and finding no discussion of “Why not,” I decided that the only way to tell was to run the experiment. After all, I thought, I was taught Kapalabhati as a seated practice, but I’ve experienced power and kundalini classes in which we combined with Fierce (or chair) pose and even Ardha Navasana (or half-boat).


I practiced Brahmari in corpse (modified for hand position) and Viparita Karani primarily, in bed, on the mat, with a cat and in a hat. (Not really; I don’t have a cat.) Having my back on the floor dissipated and dampened the torso vibration more rapidly, so my guess is this is the source of prohibitions against doing so. However, it also released tension in my neck and shoulders (massive for me) and was the perfect pre-sleep ritual.


Going back to my students and reporting my findings after several weeks of practice and experimentation, they told me they’d been secretly doing it, too -and loving it – reporting the same findings.


Hence my question: what do you do when you hear a pose or technique is “contra-indicated” for you or a position or whatever? Inversions are verboten women menstruating, goes the common wisdom, but many report loving the practice.


I’m all for respecting the wisdom of the ages, it’s part of what led me to yoga after all. But the discipline of heeding instruction is balanced by the wisdom of listening to my body, in my experience. How do you maintain this balance? Is there a line you won’t cross?


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Shut your kombucha hole and I’ll shut my coffee hole.

I’ve been listening to the talk in the blog-net-o-sphere about “body” issues. Which is a euphemism for fat issues, because when we refer to “body” issues we are rarely talking about being short or tall, well muscled, paraplegic, in chronic pain, or even back pain, except insofar as how our favorite technique – yoga, massage, EFT, tapping, whatever – will “solve” your back/knee/shoulder pain and how you should live so you never have to face such ignominy.

I’ve learned a lot about what our “body” issues say about our practices. Whether or not we relate to fat or size or shape as a Shiva Dancinglimitation says a lot about what we think of our practice. All yogis, since we are all people, will face some limitation whether it’s big boobs falling in the face in shoulder-stand or inability to get into that super cool arm balance the teacher demos. I’ve learned that while techniques can effectively address limitation in many cases, the disciplines have far more to offer than fixes because our bodies are so much more than items in the world waiting to be fixed. They are living, breathing, self-writing and re-writing stories waiting to told, listened and added to.

I once heard a very well known teacher of yoga say to an assembled gathering of other yoga teachers that overweight people have “no business teaching yoga.” At the time this confused and hurt and enraged me. Where did I fit in all this? Where did I want to fit in all this? Was I to embark on a weight loss regimen outside my beloved practice to conform to this mandate more quickly? Or did I even want to be in the same business as this person? I’ve practiced in all my bodies. And I’ve taught in all of them, too.

I “unmuted” myself and asked a question on that webinar that was made into an example of disability. At the time I felt so embarrassed. I wish I would have told that teacher to shut her kombucha hole and stop getting her own disordered feelings all over other people’s experiences. “You got your judgement all over my question!” “No, you got your question all in the way of my judgement!” I guess I did, it was her call after all. Maybe keeping my own coffee-hole shut would have spared the experience for us both – how mortifying to have a fat yoga teacher ask a question right after she said that?!

The labels we use to distance ourselves from various forms of limitation are ways of keeping our essential nature at bay: we are impermanent, breakable, already disintegrating and re-integrating beings whose only hope is to unmute and share in stories and in silence. To bump up against one another and our attitudes, preferences and judgements and to just keep noticing, opening space, taking up space and sharing time and space. I’ve shared space from a fat body, a broken body, a fit body and a tired body. I’ve unmuted my shoulders, hips and heart after a night of answering 911 calls, thumping chests and tubing throats and I’ve listened to those same shoulders, hips and heart on long retreats and luxurious spa vacations.

Here’s the truth: live and you will face some kind of disability or incapacity. While yoga, my own favored discipline, will help you through whatever limitation you do or will face, the most important part of that help won’t be a solution. The way these disciplines, lifestyles and techniques help is not so much to dig out the root; the root is our very vitality which is also the source of dynamism, change, limitation and degradation. My experience with yoga is not that it takes away all pain or fat or incapacity, but allows a particularly present way of being with all these things. A way of being with and being in the world that undermines  the ideas we use to create distance and renders a very disarming, gritty, nearly indescribably intimate connection that when experienced, makes all the ideas obsolete. Sometimes this brings a kind of healing that makes the limitation disappear, but not always. Intimate connection, however, always eases, heals and vivifies.

The variety of our possibility and experience is the gift of our impermanence. Whether the variety is experienced through our communities or over a long and rich lifetime, it is our privilege to bear its witness.

Savasana Meditation: Gift from yourself, to yourself with Green Tara by Taos Winds

Recline in Savasana and allow your day to melt and your practice to dissolve the obstacles to your true gift while listening to this meditation on  Leave a comment andgift with ribbon let me know how you use these recordings. Do you play them during savasana, before bed, while falling asleep or save for a treat?

Safe Place Visualization mp3 (link to SoundCloud)

If you liked Tracy Weber’s Safe Place Visualization, try this narration with Taos Wind’s “Green TaraIMG_0099in the background. Find your spot, sitting or lying in Savasana, and melt into your safe place. You’ll find it nestled in your badlands. When you’re fully blissed, head on over to Taos Wind’s website and check out his newest Chakra recording – my newest favorite for practice. Leave a comment if you love it, too!