I just completed another 2-day workshop in Myofascial Release using the John Barnes method—and I have to admit, I’m hooked. I had planned to take these seminars before COVID, but like many things, those plans got shelved. My goal was to get a shiny new tool to offer those of you dealing with chronic pain, limited range of motion, and that all-too-familiar feeling of “sticky” joints.
Assisted Fascial Release has already worked wonders for many clients, but I knew I needed something more—and I got far more than I expected.
Even after my first training back in May, I was seeing incredible results. My son even admitted that “this new stuff is doing something.” After several sessions, he shared that it was helping to ease his migraines—which, to me, is worth the cost of the trainings! And also, when a 25-year-old guy asks his mom for bodywork, you know something’s working. 
Imagine my surprise this past weekend when I realized I hadn’t been doing it right! Not wrong exactly—but not fully aligned with the primary principle of the method. In my first training, the instructions I heard was “hold for at least 120 seconds.” That seemed daunting, but those of you who came to those early sessions stayed with it and we got through it together. What I learned this weekend blew my mind: the real release doesn’t even begin until after the 120-second mark. The first two minutes are just the lead-in to the fascial system. We are to hold a technique for at least 5 minutes.  (I checked with the instructor about what I misheard. She wisely told me that is why people repeat seminars, we only take in 30% of what is being said. Hmmm... sounds like something I would tell a student...)
This weekend, receiving the techniques held for five full minutes felt like forever—in a really good way. When I was the one applying a 5-minute technique to others, the five minutes felt like 30 seconds.
I started thinking about something Dr. Robert Schleip said recently: to create real change in the fascia, stretches should be held for a minimum of 120 seconds—and ideally for 3 to 5 minutes. He even suggested in a recent video appearance that one hour would be ideal—if you can find someone willing to do that!
Of course, this isn’t news to most John Barnes-trained myofascial release therapists. But for us yoga practitioners—especially those not practicing Yin or Iyengar—it may raise an eyebrow. Those styles, known for longer holds, are becoming increasingly rare around here (after all, us East Coaster favor faster-paced Vinyasa and Ashtanga-inspired practices. Who has time to lie around for five minutes per pose, right?)
If you’ve been to one of my trainings, you’ve probably heard me say this before, but it bears repeating: stretching muscle alone does not significantly increase range of motion. Strengthening muscles, proper structural alignment, and calming the nervous system all contribute to a release—which is what will quickly shift and expand ROM. And now, studies are confirming that real gains to ROM and sustained changes to the fascia come when we gently tug on the fascia and maintain tension for 3–5 minutes (or more).
So what are we actually doing in a yoga asana class with all the movement, balancing, stretching, and contracting if we are not elongating the fascia? We are still doing a lot! We’re hydrating our tissues, preventing adhesions, and maintaining fascial fluidity. We’re lubricating joints, moving prana, relieving stress, toning muscles, deepening our self-connection, training our minds, and raising awareness. Yoga isn’t just about increasing ROM, and it certainly isn’t a waste of time—but it helps to understand what we’re actually achieving on the mat.
If you have restricted ROM somewhere and are coming to a Vinyasa class, don’t expect those limitations to change quickly. In fact, quite honestly, it may get worse if you’re stressing that area—especially in a competitive class environment where the instructor is encouraging you to go to your max (verbally or through hands-on assists).
To address range of motion issues, you may be better off in a therapeutic class or SSR. Even better—a one-on-one session to address your specific issue. But don’t stay home either! The group asana classes you’re attending are helping maintain your range of motion—and your overall ability to move. Just practice with intelligence. And if you feel like holding a pose longer, remember: you’re always welcome to do that at any time. I might just have the whole class join you.

A few weeks ago, I was walking in the woods when I happened upon a chipmunk. I didn’t notice it until it moved—then its white spots suddenly flashed into view. A moment later, I saw a deer. While it stood still, it was completely camouflaged—at least to me. (My dog, however, noticed it instantly, which is what tipped me off.)  As the deer bolted, its white tail flared up like a flag, almost as if to say, “Hit me here with your bow and arrow.”
That got me thinking: Why does nature give animals such effective camouflage, only to build in what seem like flaws? Maybe the animals themselves believe they’re invisible and safe—until they move at just the wrong moment and expose themselves.

And then I started thinking about us—about our karma. We do so many things to stay safe and secure: we wear seat belts, eat well, save money, build routines, even lean on superstitions. For a time, it feels like we’re protected. And then something unexpected sideswipes us, and we think: What did I do wrong? If only I hadn’t…

But maybe it’s not about doing something wrong. Maybe, like the deer and the chipmunk—both hidden until they aren't—our lives unfold as part of a much larger pattern. Maybe the "flaws" in our protection, like the flaw in the camouflage, aren’t mistakes at all.

It might sound bleak—but maybe it’s not. Maybe what we call misfortunes—the things that derail our carefully made plans—aren’t punishments or failures. The Bhagavad Gita suggests that these events are part of our karmic stream. They aren’t random. They’ve been written into the story of our lives from the beginning.

I’ve never liked the term “teaching moments”—it feels too shallow. Yes, these experiences help us mature and grow wiser, but maybe they do more than that. Perhaps they’re how we become who we’re meant to be. Each unexpected turn shapes us.

My teacher used to compare life to a rock tumbler: rough stones tossed and jostled with force until they come out polished, revealing them to be the gleaming gems they always were.
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If we cling to our camouflage—if we hold still just to avoid being seen, avoid being vulnerable—we might miss the polishing altogether. We might miss the chance to become who we truly are.

The first time I visited a country where I didn’t speak the language was during a short trip to Israel with my family. The next place I was completely clueless was India. In these places—unlike Germany, Italy, or Mexico—the languages were so far beyond my comprehension that I didn’t even try to decode what I heard.
Portugal was different. The past two weeks there were eye-opening, especially around communication (and in many other ways, too). I had studied a bit of basic Portuguese beforehand, and my background in Spanish ended up being both a bridge and a barrier. Sometimes it helped me crack open conversations; other times, it led me straight into confusion—especially with those sneaky false cognates that seem familiar but mean entirely different things.
When I needed to express anything complex (more than three words), I defaulted to Spanish. It wasn’t intentional—I would have rather tried to stutter out something in Portuguese, because that’s where I was—but Spanish is the most worn path in my brain after English. Still, we got by. Pantomime, facial expressions, and pointing carried us through. But it was never full communication. Something essential, of course, was always missing.
And that brings me to what I really want to ask:
How fully are you communicating with yourself?
Are you tuned in to all the ways your being speaks to you?
Can you engage in a full conversation with your body, energy, and spirit?
Messages are likely coming your way—but if they don't arrive in the “language” you're used to (words, logic, familiar sensations), you might miss them. The subtle body is always communicating, and what it has to say is often more impactful than whatever story your mind is spinning.
But we’re not really taught how to listen. We brush off this inner voice with phrases like “I had a gut feeling” or “a little voice told me,” as if those insights are rare or magical—when in truth, they’re natural, frequent, and should be a well-worn pathway in your brain.
Here’s an example:
I was recently working with a longtime client using some of the new fascia release techniques. He liked the work, sensed it was helping, but couldn’t explain why. At one point, I mentioned he should be “looking for the release,” and he said, “I don’t know what that means—I’m no good at this stuff. I’m too dense. What are you talking about?”
So I asked him to place his hands on my head the same way I was working on his. I guided him to notice what he felt.
“A pulse,” he said—certain it was the same pulse you’d feel on your wrist.
I asked: Is it even on both sides? Is it changing?
Soon, he realized it wasn’t a heartbeat—it shifted too easily and changed rhythm unpredictably. There was a different quality to it, something not easy to put into words.
I gently suggested: Maybe you’re feeling the fascia move. Maybe that’s the release. Could the pulsation you're feeling be something other than the heart?
Then I worked on him again. Remember, the only thing that had changed was his thinking—“pulse” had become “pulsation.” It shifted from a measurable medical event to an energetic experience that could now be felt and observed.
And the result? Here’s how he described his experience while we worked:
“I feel my head expanding... I’m seeing blue spheres with white lights surrounding them... so many colors... warmth... openness… aliveness…”
All from a shift in perception.
All from a willingness to listen to—and use—a new way of communicating that goes far deeper than any spoken language.

We can all learn this, and we can all begin to decode what our subtle anatomy is saying.

What Does Strength Mean to You?​

I came across two definitions of strength recently. One said: “the quality or state of being physically strong.” Another offered: “the capacity of an object or substance to withstand great force or pressure.”

Yoga practice touches on both of these definitions, no question. But it got me thinking—which kind of strength truly lasts?

Of course, it's wonderful to be able to lift heavy things, walk up hills, ride a bike for miles, or push and pull when needed. Physical strength matters—especially as we age. I remember riding bikes with my kids when they were younger, easily outpacing them. Now, they fly ahead of me without breaking a sweat. These days, I don’t feel the urge to ride faster than my children—or fast at all, really. (Yes, that’s me getting older!)

What I do want is the strength to keep practicing yoga, protect my bones and joints, and have the stamina to go on long walks. But when it's time to haul the air conditioner up to the attic? That’s a job for my strong, young son. I have nothing to prove.

The second kind of strength—the ability to withstand great force—is the one I’m more interested in cultivating now. The dictionary may have meant a retaining wall, but I see it differently. To me, that kind of strength is resilience.

Resilience, according to good old Google, is:
“the ability to adapt well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats, or even significant sources of stress, and to bounce back from difficult experiences. It's a process of adapting successfully and maintaining well-being despite challenges.”

That sounds a lot like strength, doesn’t it?

To be resilient, we need to be flexible—not just in the muscles (though that helps)—but in the heart and mind. We need the ability to pivot, surrender, reframe, accept, and remain steady in the face of what life brings.

Can you see the kind of strength that takes?

Those of you already practicing yoga know: we’re cultivating this resilient strength every time we step onto the mat. It’s in the asana, the meditation, the self-inquiry. A complete yoga practice builds strength not just in our muscles, but throughout our entire being.

One of the reasons I often encourage students to relax more during asana is because this kind of strength—resilient strength—only arises in a state of ease and surrender. When we push, strive, and "try-try-try," we’re moving in the opposite direction. Yes, we may build physical strength that way, but that kind of strength, on its own, isn’t enough for me. It is at best temporary, and it can also come with a certain attachment that goes against what yoga asks of us.

The strength to withstand life’s forces—the ups and downs, the curveballs, the joys, the heartbreaks—that’s the kind of strength I value most as an aging yogi. And I’m grateful I started building it early. But here’s the good news: it’s never too late to begin seeking resilient strength.

And as it turns out, when we pursue that kind of strength, the physical strength often follows naturally.

Lately, I’ve been noticing something—something that’s likely not new but still worth reflecting on. We all tend to define ourselves in rigid ways, often inaccurately. It’s frustrating when others put us in a box, assigning us traits or limitations we don’t agree with. But have you ever noticed how often you do this to yourself?
I see this in students and clients all the time. I’ll suggest a pose, and immediately, someone might say, “That’s not going to work for me” or “I can’t do that.” But then, with focus and attention, they do it—and not only that, sometimes they love it.
What we say to ourselves matters. Our words shape our experience, whether we speak them aloud or not. And often, those words don’t even originate from us. They might be echoes of a parent, a sibling, a teacher, or even an old bully. Yet, every time we repeat them, we reinforce them, manifesting them into reality.
A simple example: when I walk my dog, I’m far more anxious approaching another dog than my husband or son is. If I’m holding the leash and thinking, This isn’t going to go well, it doesn’t. But if I hand the leash over before that thought takes hold, everything unfolds more smoothly. Who do you want holding your leash? We know the saying “Animals can smell fear” and they literally can. Just as we can project scent, we project other kinds of energy as well. And that energy affects how we see ourselves as well as how others see us. The word or thought is creating an environment, and that environment will uphold the energy that has created it, whether negative, neutral or positive.
Why not give it a shot? It only takes the ability to remember and observe. That’s actually a big step—just noticing, observing, that you’re doing it. I would even say that’s the first step. We have to recognize it before we can change the narrative, and most of us are saying these things to ourselves without any conscious awareness.
It can feel like an awkward stage—realizing that we’re saying things to ourselves that we wouldn’t accept from someone else. And at first, all we can do is listen and hear it. But as the practice develops, we gain the ability to replace that narrative with something new.
This isn’t just a modern idea. The Yoga Sutras address it directly—check out Chapter 2, Sutra 33. Patanjali speaks to this exact practice: replacing negative thoughts with their positive counterparts. It’s a simple yet profound shift.
So why not try it? The next time you catch yourself saying, I can’t, pause. Observe. And maybe—just maybe—rewrite the script.


Let me know what you discover.

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner! While it’s often dismissed as a “Hallmark holiday,” its origins run much deeper. Though the exact beginnings remain unclear, several stories connect this day of love and affection to ancient traditions of expressing endearment.

One of the most well-known legends ties the holiday to St. Valentine, a priest martyred by Emperor Claudius II in the 3rd century. According to tradition, Valentine defied the emperor’s ban on marriage by secretly performing weddings for soldiers. Another tale suggests he healed a jailer’s blind daughter and signed a note to her “From your Valentine”—a phrase that has lasted for centuries.

Even if the holiday feels a bit cliché (my husband likes to call it "amateur hour"), there’s something undeniably valuable about reflecting on our connections with others. These days, individuality often overshadows community. We immerse ourselves in our devices, curate our lives on social media, and focus on self-promotion rather than genuine interaction. We’re quick to share what we’re doing, but how often do we truly ask how others are doing?

The truth is, even with people we’ve known for a long time, finding new ways to connect can be challenging. It requires us to set aside assumptions—what we think we know about them, what we believe they want from us, and what we assume they are willing to give in return. Want a hint on how to gain insight into any of these? Be expansive. Be open. Be (gulp) vulnerable. Yes, it can feel uncomfortable, even scary. But I can almost guarantee the result will be worth it—for both of you.

So why not use this day as an opportunity to show up differently? To tell the people in our lives that they matter, that we appreciate them, and that their presence enriches our world? To truly hear what they have to share and let them know they are understood?

The beautiful thing is that when you show up for someone in this way, you are also showing up for yourself. Nothing is excluded. Maybe this year, Valentine’s Day can be more than just cards and chocolates—it can be a a few moments of real connection.

Here is another thing I wanted to share from my self-retreat earlier this month: I reached a level of stillness I had never experienced in over 30 years of practicing yoga.

You might say, "Well, after 30 years, it’s about time!" But it wasn’t just the culmination of decades of chipping away at roaming thoughts. A large part of this stillness came from the retreat’s environment. It wasn’t a glamorous, tropical setting with mangoes fresh off the trees, daily oil massages, and 10 hours of asana practice. Quite the opposite, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of traveling to turquoise waters and doing yoga all day, but let’s call those what they are: vacations with a yoga emphasis. They’re lovely, but they’re not retreats in the traditional sense.

For my retreat, I stayed in a high-rise apartment building at the shore, completely alone. My meals were simple and repetitive: kitchari, dal, and sautéed spinach. Each day, I walked by the ocean, battling 40 mph winds and temperatures in the 20s. I spent about five hours a day on the couch in meditation practice, with the remaining time divided between watching pre-recorded videos from my teacher, cooking, and resting. My asana practice was minimal. I wore the same clothes every day, disengaged from all media (except for the Weather Channel), and read only Yoga Vashistha. My one indulgence? A daily hot bath—a rare luxury for me.
The setup was stark, yet intentional. The external quiet allowed for internal quiet. Finding the mind’s on/off switch is daunting in the midst of family, friends, work—basically, life. That switch is buried beneath to-do lists, distractions, and desires. Attempting to still the mind amidst life’s chaos is like stepping into a highway’s fast lane, waving your arms at a speeding truck, and shouting, “STOP!” No matter how much the truck driver wants to stop, the laws of physics prevail. You will be flattened. Similarly, the physics of the mind’s momentum often win out in our busy lives. Finding stillness in the fast lane is mostly impossible.

Now, a few weeks post-retreat, I’m already wondering when I can retreat again. Until then, I’m seeking to weave stillness into my everyday life—with family, friends, and work. The stillness I touched during the retreat has left a lasting imprint. Even when I’m not still, I remember that I can be. I remember what it felt like, what it tasted like. That memory alone—that it’s possible—is powerful. I doubt I will ever forget it, even in moments when stillness feels out of reach.

If you are interested in stepping out of the fast lane for a bit, take a look at the retreat opportunity in the Berkshires the end of February. If you can’t carve out that much time, the Monday evening class, Mantra, Mudras and Chakras is a good option, as is the Restore and Renew coming up at the end of the month. Get those moments of stillness when you can, even if they are not complete, it is a start. 

This January 1st marks the beginning of my 23rd year running a yoga studio in Frenchtown. Reflecting on who I was when I first opened Yoga Loka and who I am now, I’m struck by the profound transformations that have taken place. It reminds me of the shifting topography around me—the changing landscape of my body, the evolving climate, and the rapid advances in technology. Everything changes, as it always does.
Early on, I realized that one thing needing transformation was my perception of success. Before opening Yoga Loka, I was already running a small business, but turning yoga into a business brought an entirely new set of challenges. Yoga, at its core, teaches non-attachment—a sharp contrast to the realities of running a business where bills must be paid, and doors must remain open.
The bigger challenge, though, wasn’t balancing spreadsheets but quieting the persistent ego-mind whispering, “You have to do better.” Over the years, this has become a focal point of my practice: understanding how this voice influences my actions as a businessperson and learning to loosen its grip.
When attendance is lower than I expect, I remind myself of a simple truth: those who need to be here are here. My dharma is to teach, and all I can do is show up, fully present. If people come, it’s meant to be. If they don’t, that’s also meant to be.
I can confidently say that my decades of practice—30-plus years of wrestling with the ego-mind—are working. Sure, maturity and age might play their part, but the once-daunting “demon of too much/too little” no longer wins every match. What used to feel like bloody, knock-down, drag-out battles have softened into something closer to thumb wrestling—irritating but manageable. That’s what 22 years of consistent practice can do: attend to the desire for freedom with devotion and patience, and transformation will follow.
To everyone who has been part of this journey—those who have attended classes and even those who haven’t—you’ve all been part of my practice. Your presence (or absence) has shaped my sadhana.
I’m especially grateful for the ongoing transformation of how I measure success: shifting from bottom-line thinking to focusing on service. It’s a work in progress—things are still in flux, and I’m still practicing. But I hope that as participants in this journey, you’ve received as much as I have.
Here’s to continuing the practice, embracing change, and walking this path together.

Feeling Overwhelmed?If you’re finding it hard to focus, feeling weighed down by stress or anxiety, struggling to remember things like you used to, or feeling helpless and unsatisfied with the state of the world, it might be time to explore the spiritual aspects of yoga.

While physical self-care is essential (and yoga postures, or asanas, are fantastic for this), yoga goes beyond just the body. The ancient yogis teach us that we are comprised of multiple “bodies” or sheaths, known as koshas. These layers include:

• The Physical Body (Annamaya Kosha): It's obvious when this needs attention—stiffness, pain, or decreased strength and mobility are clear signs.
  
  
• The Energetic Body (Pranamaya Kosha): A lack of energy is one indicator, but subtle imbalances in this layer can go unnoticed, affecting how we feel and function.
  
  
• The Mental Body (Manomaya Kosha): This layer governs our thoughts and emotions. Stress, intrusive thoughts, inability to focus, and worry are signs it may need support.
  
  

These layers are deeply interconnected. For example, recall an awkward or uncomfortable moment from your recent past. Close your eyes and notice how your body reacts—does your chest tighten? Is your breathing shallow? This demonstrates how the mind influences the body and energy, often in an instant.

Similarly, environments can quickly shift our energy and mind. Imagine walking into a chaotic, crowded store with blaring holiday music. The energy of the space can leave you feeling scattered, and by the time you return home, you’re exhausted and wondering why you bought things you didn’t need.

Why Addressing Stress Holistically MattersIf stress is affecting your body (high blood pressure, low immunity, digestive issues, or sleep problems), exercise can help to a degree. However, using physical activity alone can feel like endlessly bailing water from a leaky boat without fixing the hole. Yoga’s spiritual practices address the root cause, helping you restore harmony across all layers of your being.

Begin Your Journey to Holistic WellnessCan 2025 be the year you "fix your boat" and explore yoga beyond the physical? Dive into the upcoming offerings below and discover practices designed to support not just your body, but also your energy and mind.

We have so many opportunities to enter to the spiritual side of yoga coming up, so take a look at the offerings below and see if anything calls to you.

I am trying to stop greeting people by saying, “Hi, how are you?” It has become such a trope, hasn’t it? For one thing, people are not going to tell you how they really are. And most of us don’t really want to know how another person is doing. We say it, and then we basically don’t stick around for the answer—physically, energetically, or emotionally.

It’s not that I don’t care how people are doing. But generally speaking, the times when I might casually ask “How are you?” are not really the best times for people to tell me how they truly are. So, by asking during a casual greeting, I am essentially requesting them to lie, or at least not be truthful, and instead they are compelled to say “Great,” even if they are falling apart inside.

And now, I really want to know: Are you falling apart inside? This time of year is not easy for many. We feel like we have to go around with big smiles on our faces, post about all the amazing things we are doing for the holidays, and pretend we’re as happy as we’re expected to be. Even if we are falling apart.
I was fortunate to hear Oriah Mountain Dreamer read her poem called The Invitation in person. It has stayed with me for decades. I have read it in classes many times, and each time I think, “YES! This is how to show up.” So, I offer it again to everyone who is reading this, so you know that you don’t have to show up “Great.” Your showing up as you really are makes it possible for me to show up as I really am too. I will thank you for that. I will thank you for letting me have a crappy day if it is my turn. I will thank you for allowing me to have an amazing day if it’s my turn. And if I tell you how I’m doing—if you are asking for real—you can trust that my answer will be honest. Let’s either ask for real, or not ask at all. Well, at least that is what I am attempting to do. (I will admit, it is not so easy to remember… )

And by the way, if you are falling apart inside- get outside, reach out to someone, either to ask for help or to offer help. Both will work. Join a community where the energy of the group is uplifting, because you will rise with that. It’s not selfish, it is part of the thing the community is there for.
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You are worthy, you do deserve it, you will add to it. Even if it happens to be your turn to have a crappy day.