Reorder emerges when fundamentalism has been questioned, the pink cloud has burst, the doubts have been examined, the good and the bad is integrated, and a new relationship to the path emerges organically. Like spring flowers that grow according to a timetable that can not be forced, I have yet to find a way to accelerate my own process beyond its intrinsically determined pace.

Okay, to be clear, I am not saying the bumps and bruises I got in my childhood equate to the complexity of issues facing trans youth today as states like Arkansas pass legislation to deny medical care to transgender youth or South Dakota where there is a bill to ban transgender girls from competing sports that match their gender identity. I am saying that the gender binary has been too small for the full range of human experience and expression for as long as I can remember and well before that, if we are brave enough to take the evidence to heart.

I have never been a person for whom the advice “take it to the mat” or “keep sitting” or even “practice and all is coming” was sufficient. Maybe I am a tough case, but I have needed a whole lot more than the poses to sort through my particular complexities over the years.

I am willing to consider aging with grace, however. The Christian faith of my childhood taught that grace is the mercy of God. Later my yogic studies defined grace as the revelatory power of Supreme Consciousness. I experience grace as the merciful, yet not-always-easy-or-pleasant impulse of Reality to reveal itself to me in and through life as it is. Another way we might say it is that, Reality always wins. In terms of aging, it’s happening whether I like it or not and no one gets out alive. Not at the level of the body, that is.

New Blog Entry is Posted- "The thing is, having it all together is a myth and does very little to connect me with my own humanity or to you in yours. Being a compassionate mess, on the other hand, goes a long way to breaking down the walls of projection, suspicion, and competition that separate me from myself, from you, and from life as it is."

If every time I recall Locket, I put her leash on her, give her a bath, clip her toenails, put her in her crate, or in some way stop her fun, what incentive does she have to return to me? Over time, she will learn that coming when called stops her fun and she will make the well-informed choice to revel in her freedom while she has it. In the same way, when my practice is too austere, too strangled by notions of “good/right” and “bad/wrong” or motivated by the fear of what will happen if I don’t do it, I will find myself less interested in practicing because the freedom of doing my own thing will be more enticing that the restrictions I have imposed on myself.

Of course, all of these ideas are easier said than done. After all, giving a dog a treat is simpler than offering ourselves compassion in the midst of a cycle of self-criticism or in a moment of self-betrayal. Sometimes the best we can do to put the difficulty behind us is go to bed so we can wake up another day and try again. After all, there are no magic formula or guarantees.

At any rate, wherever we find ourselves on the pathways of our aims, may each of us find small moments to celebrate and discover the process of loving just a bit more fully to be its own tasty treat.

Next, in any given moment, I have to get my dog’s attention. Years ago, during an agility lesson with Locket, she was roaming around the ring sniffing and doing her own thing. Our trainer looked at me and said, “What you have is a disinterested dog. You have to find a way to be more interesting than that dirt she is sniffing.” (Note to self: be more interesting than dirt, be sexier than a squirrel, become more thrilling than barking at other dogs.) As we all know, sometimes getting to our mats, to the cushion, or even to the kitchen to make a wholesome meal is not at all as interesting as sniffing around Facebook, not as sexy as it seems on Instagram, nor is it as initially exciting as barking at others.

Sometimes I miss my people with a feeling that can best be described as a tender ache. From the the sound of ujayi breath in a practice hall to the warm embrace of a friend’s arms around me, from smiling at a stranger to lounging on the couch with a friend and a cup of tea, my increasingly isolated life offers endless reminders of what has been lost— or put on hold— in the pandemic. So there is that.

In addition to more open quads or a moveable thoracic spine, we are investing in the dynamic unfolding of a deepened relationship with ourselves, of a strengthened bond with ourselves as a good guardian, and in an ongoing choice to practice because we have become increasing valuable to ourselves over time.

After a point, however, the dominance model— be it authoritarian teachers, high-demand communities, or internalized self-imposed strictures— was decidedly not useful for me and, like a dog who is made to submit becomes anxious over time, I found less joy, more pressure, and a need to rebel from what had previously felt like a saving grace.

After all, even when glass ceilings break, one must still be cautious of the sharp edges of jealousy, the fragments of hatred, the shards of deceit that litter the floor during momentous occasions of breakthrough. And yet, there is a beauty in the mess, dignity can arise in the midst of corruption, and the sound of glass breaking is a reminder of possibility for us all.

And, while I hesitate to use the word, because it has become such a buzz-word, I have a lot of trust in my own resiliency and capacity to meet challenges with a semblance of maturity most days. Not that I am running a perfect game, mind you, but I no longer confuse discomfort and strong emotions with something going wrong or with being a messed-up or flawed individual. Strong feelings, uncomfortable transitions, and awkward moments are simply the stuff of life, along with delightful surprises, heartfelt connections, and transformational insights.

Of course, the principle lives inside my relationship to practice as well. No longer am I the bright-eyed, hopeful young devotee gazing adoringly at my guru, absorbed in the flush of love and grounded in what now seems like an overly simplistic faith. Nor am I the eager asana student I used to be— happy to spend long hours on my mat and interested in talking about poses and industry upsets for hours at a time. And, seasoned by countless visits to, and returns from, the underworld of burnout, disillusionment, and betrayal, I am no longer an idealistic new teacher in wonder at the opportunity to teach.

As time goes by, the profundity of self-love continues to surprise and delight me, showing me that God’s Love is not some far-out, other-than experience, but is the dynamic state of me returning to the practice of offering myself Grace and holding myself and my struggles with tender honesty. Love, for me, is a practice of return rather than an always-forever-arrived-at state. Today, I am happy to be traveling this road of return with so many fine people.

But, as we all know, that is not life, or at least not life as I have come to know it. Life as I have come to know it has taught me that equanimity is the capacity to live in the middle place— with beauty and heartbreak in equal measure, one informing the other through the various contrasts and distinctions that make gratitude and appreciation come to life. And, lest I sound too dramatic on this chilly autumn afternoon, I think that living in the middle place is made possible by regular visits to the Ocean of Grace, or what we have been calling the Field of Love in my podcasts lately.

In fact, my process of growing into myself has always ebbed and flowed, contracted and expanded, allowing me the freedom to come and go, to wander and return as the thread of God’s grace encourages my momentum, thwarts my pride, and redeems my mistakes. Truly, there is no easy way through it and this passage is not over.

I am sitting at my desk watching snow fall from the sky in huge, wet flakes. While a September snowstorm brings a premature end to our bountiful garden, I am hopeful the moisture will ease the forest fires that are burning through Colorado and have filled the Arkansas Valley with smoke the last few days. Between social unrest, the state of American politics, the pandemic, hurricanes, and fires, 2020 continues to deliver challenges of all kinds. Of course, I am not saying anything new here, just reflecting a bit on current times.

On the whole, I am getting my feet underneath me again with the new format— I upgraded my filming set-up with a huge TV screen so I can see everyone in the gallery and offer suggestions, which makes the experience more interactive and fun. At least, I think it makes class more fun. I am sure some people really like the new approach while others would prefer to be left alone! Of course, I do not think I am giving heavy-handed “help” but, well, as we all know, sometimes help feels helpful and sometimes, well— not so much.

I, however, have often needed four, five, or ten-thousand additional thoughts before I could intervene on the machinations of my mind with any success. The point of the teaching, I think, is that as soon as those thoughts can get into consciousness and, subsequently into choice, that is the point at which I can become responsible for them. And, as many of you know, the road between awareness-of and choice-over can be long, thus the need for humor and self-compassion.