Last week, a student came in for class, and someone revealed that it was her birthday. As is my practice, if I know it’s someone’s birthday, they get to choose the topic or pose for the class.
So this student requested Yoga Nidra.

At first, she didn’t know what it was called, but we eventually teased it out. She had experienced it during a class I taught as a last-minute substitute. I happened to be pretty sick that day and was running on very low energy, so all I could manage was a very slow, gentle class with a long period of rest at the end.

Apparently, that accidental Yoga Nidra left an impression! She kept saying, “You need to bottle this!” Well, guess what? It already was.

Yoga Nidra is a progressive relaxation practice that literally means “the sleep of the yogis.” My teacher used to say that 20 minutes of Yoga Nidra was equivalent to three hours of sleep.
Today, I came across an article about research done at McGill University that found that when people haven’t been sleeping well, 20 minutes of exercise or a nap can help with memory retention. (See link below.)

There you have it. Science has once again caught up with yoga!

You can address the effects of lack of sleep through the physical body with asana, or through the energetic and mental bodies with Yoga Nidra.

Over the years, I’ve often suggested Yoga Nidra to people who are having trouble sleeping or who wake up during those mysterious “witching hours” of 1:00–3:00 a.m.
I’ve found that the one-two punch can be particularly effective. And by one-two punch, I mean TRE followed by Yoga Nidra. If you have a mantra practice, you can add that into the mix as well.

When I was a mother of young children, I would be awakened in the middle of the night because someone needed to be fed, changed, or otherwise tended to. Now, like many of us, I’m still sometimes awakened by other forces.

Maybe it’s my body switching into what Ayurveda describes as pitta time, when the body is doing its nighttime housekeeping (usually around 2:00 a.m.). Maybe it’s a bad dream. Maybe it’s some mysterious noise or sensation that I can’t quite identify.

Or sometimes, I like to think it’s the cosmos calling me to do some kind of practice.
Whatever the reason, my nighttime lineup is usually:

Mantra → TRE → Yoga Nidra

I’ve included two Yoga Nidra recordings below for you to try.

One is by Richard Miller, a renowned teacher and expert in Yoga Nidra. He has written several books on the subject and has done remarkable work bringing Yoga Nidra to at-risk populations. Mukunda was a big fan of his work, and Richard was also a great admirer of Mukunda. I had the opportunity to meet him many years ago, after Mukunda’s passing.

I’ve listened to Richard’s voice so many times that hearing him guide a Yoga Nidra is almost like having someone special read me my favorite bedtime story.

The other recording is by Sarah Gerhardt, whom some of you may remember from the local CSA. Sarah taught several workshops at Yoga Loka and occasionally subbed classes. She also has a YouTube channel where you can find other offerings. I’ve included her 20-minute Yoga Nidra below.

So here’s your recipe:

During the day: Try a Mini Flow—a 30-minute flowing asana practice. It can be vigorous, challenging, and fun. They’re short and sweet and include elements of a full yoga practice. We have more than 600 Mini Flows in the library on my website, available to members. This active class can give you the juice the article wrote about—a nice brain boost for those times when you are in the fog created by lack of sleep.
(You can also join us in real time via Zoom on Mondays at 5:30 p.m. and Thursdays at 6:30 p.m.)

In the middle of the night: If you wake up and you’re able to tremor, try about 10 minutes of TRE.
If you’re still awake, put on a Yoga Nidra.

If you’re still awake after that, sit up and do some mantra.

And if you’re still awake after all of that, perhaps it’s time to stop trying to force yourself to sleep. Get up and start your day. During the day, make time to take a brisk walk. Do some jumping jacks. Squeeze in a Mini Flow. It will make a difference.

And if you have the opportunity, lie down and listen to a Yoga Nidra.

You will function better.

And, of course, be as regular as you can with your yoga practice, whether it is meditation, asana, mantra, or mindfulness.

Links:
Research article

Yoga Nidra Richard Miller

Yoga Nidra Sarah

I learned something really interesting about my mother during her funeral.

When my mothers brother spoke at the funeral, he revealed that my mother had been unable to walk while she was a young girl. After several surgeries and a great deal of physical therapy, she eventually became ambulatory. My sisters and I had absolutely no idea. She must have been about 7 or 8, or older, when she left behind her chair because my uncle remembers that remarkable transition.

My mother was understandably fearful about the possibility of ending up in a wheelchair later in life. Now I understand why. She had already worked so hard to overcome one. Unfortunately she ended up back in one when she was in her late 60’s.
My father also ended up in a wheelchair later in life after breaking his hip. He had spent much of his younger life being very active—he was, as my mother used to say, “not much of a sitter.” He had even been very interested in fitness for a time. But after his hip fracture, complications from anesthesia and a prolonged period of being bedridden made it increasingly difficult for him to regain his mobility, and eventually he became a “sitter.”

We can all look back at our lives and see the things that have shaped who we are. I can certainly say that one of the reasons I am so focused on helping people's bodies work better is because of my parents.

During the week, I receive newsletters from various organizations, and I often bookmark articles that I think I might share here. Lately, many of them have been about “superagers”—people who maintain remarkable physical function as they grow older—and about how important movement is to longevity.

Science continues to show us how important it is to pay attention to our muscles as we move them. (There was just a study that showed they will work better and faster when you do, as we in the yoga world already knew! That is one of the many reasons you are asked to focus on what you are doing in an asana). Science, and experience, also tells us we need to keep moving, eat well, and continue challenging our bodies. There are people who, through consistent effort, have maintained physical abilities far beyond what was once thought possible.

I was going to share one of those articles.

But then I remembered what I had just learned about my mother.
And I thought perhaps this story was more valuable.

My mother was unable to walk by the time others her age were running and jumping, yet through surgeries, physical therapy, determination, and hard work, she became a walker. And yet, as I watched both of my parents age, I saw them become less inclined to remain active and mobile. Their bodies became harder to move, and eventually the uphill battle to stay mobile was lost.

I don't think a lot of able-bodied people realize what a blessing it is to have an able body.
You would think with my parents, and the years I worked at the United Cerebral Palsy camp (with disabled children) I would have figured that out a long time ago.  But I don't think it was until I learned about my mothers early challenge that I really got it. 

As we age, we are going to witness our physical abilities gradually change. Strength, balance, flexibility, hearing, vision, skin tone—all of it changes. These changes are a part of being human.

And this is one of the many places a full yoga practice offers us something incredibly valuable.

Yoga teaches us to be content with what is. As our physical abilities change  we learn to meet ourselves where we are rather than constantly fighting against what our bodies can no longer do and wishing for something to be other than what it is.

But yoga also teaches us right action.

If we are still able to move, we should move. We should do it intelligently and safely, in ways that support the body rather than harm it.

So no, you are not doing crazy acrobatic asanas in your 60s and 70s. (Maybe just a few... if they were something you did in your younger years.)

If you still have some range of motion, you may be able to improve it. Or you can keep using it so you don't lose what you have. Same with strength. If you have some, use it. You can improve it, or just not lose it (which is big by the way!).

I meet many older people who come into the store and talk to me about yoga. They have physical limitations and who would really like to begin practicing yoga, but they keep putting it off. They worry that they can't do it, that they might fail, or that they might hurt themselves.
Fair—but it's not going to get easier if you wait longer.

Those of you who know me and have come to classes know that you are going to be okay. You won't be asked to do something you can't do. You will put your toe in the water, and when you are ready, you can go in deeper. And the things that hurt are going to feel better. 

If you're reading this, I'm guessing there is some part of you that wants to remain physically engaged with your life—to continue walking, gardening, traveling, playing with your grandchildren, getting up and down from the floor, or simply being able to move through your day with greater ease.

It's not too late.

You don't have to start where someone else is. You don't have to be flexible. You don't have to be strong. You simply have to begin where you are.

Yoga is meant to be adapted to our lifetime—from beginning to end. Our practice changes as we change.

And perhaps one of the greatest practices is learning to recognize the blessings we have right now.

My mother taught me that without ever saying a word about it.

She knew what it was like to fight for the ability to walk.
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Maybe we can learn from her to appreciate the ability to move while we have it—and to take good care of this remarkable body that carries us through our lives.

I had the opportunity to spend some time with one of my childhood mentors during my mother’s funeral. This woman was a single mother with a young son whom I watched for many years after school and often overnight, for about seven years.

Not only did this woman provide me with my spending money as a teenager by allowing me to watch her son, but she also coached me in some of the ways of the world.

I also have her to thank for introducing me to Motown and, believe it or not, yoga.

She had an extensive record collection that I would peruse while my charge was asleep. She also had one thin little book about yoga in her library called The Sivananda Companion to Yoga, which I read over and over again. I not only enjoyed the beautiful color photos of incredibly flexible and strong people doing asanas, but I was also fascinated by the sections on kriyas, pranayama, and meditation, and by the possibilities that might arise from a full yoga practice.

Some of you know that I went on to take classes at the Sivananda Ashram, by coincidence (or was it?), when I studied at the Fashion Institute of Technology in 1985.

I’ve been practicing yoga for a very long time. (You can do the math!) I can definitely credit this practice with helping me maintain a healthy body, stable energy, and perhaps a more expansive mind. But who really can tell what would have happened otherwise? I can only know where my mind started and where I recognize it is now.
After almost 40 years of practice, I feel like I have something to offer—and I’m so grateful to have the opportunity to do so each and every day. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would teach yoga. I certainly never imagined I would be teaching at 60 years old. But here I am, and here you are.

I want to share with you what’s going to be happening in the upcoming Yoga Immersion and what I will be sharing from my almost 40-year journey.

We had a short meeting yesterday (which was recorded of course), and it comes in two parts. The first part is a guided experience into close self-observation, pranayama, and relaxation, designed to help you connect with your energetic body. All you need is someplace to sit and someplace to lie down if you are going to follow it—nothing fancy. Anyone is welcome to have a listen.

The second part of the recording is me explaining how this year’s immersion is going to work and what it’s going to focus on.

Truthfully, you can go to almost any yoga studio and learn more about asana and how to do the poses. However, it may not be with the same depth of information that might come from a yoga therapist who has been studying anatomy and physiology and studying bodies and how they work—or don’t work. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)

If you are interested in knowing more about how your body works, this immersion will offer a little bit from a usual 200-hour training that teaches you where to put your foot, where to put your hand, and where to put your hip so the pose looks like it does in the books.

I may not know—or even want to know—what happens when I push the accelerator in my car and what makes it go. Many people do know that and understand it quite well. In the same way, some people don’t really care what is activated when you are in Triangle Pose, or how to say "triangle pose" in Sanskrit, or what the energetic components of the pose are.

Personally, I do, and that’s why I focus on these details in the ways that I do. Everybody has their interests, and this happens to be mine. And if it is yours, you are in the right place.

You may know that I still study with my teacher who I took my first teacher training with back in 1999. She has shifted pretty far from teaching asana. (In fact, now when she does an asana, she’ll say something like, “Huh. This feels good! Who knew?”) All those years of study with her, along with all my years of study with Mukunda, as well as my own practice and life experience have given me what I feel is a good insight into the energetics and the structures that underlie the physical and the mental.

I personally don’t feel yoga is practiced efficiently without understanding those structures. They are the forces that drive your experiences here in the waking, conscious state. So why not pay attention to them? A lot of benefits come from giving attention here, and a lot is missed when you don't.

If you’ve been to my classes, you’ve probably heard me say at some point that practicing an asana without awareness is the same as practicing aerobics or gymnastics. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I love aerobics, and I enjoy watching good gymnastics. And I do believe that gymnasts are involved in the same process as yoga, but of most likely that aspect isn’t emphasized when you’re casually engaging in those activities.

Whereas in a yoga class, it is—or at least it should be.

Part of my desire to continue teaching is to help people get back to the roots of the yoga practice—without watering it down, without making it culturally palatable for the comfort of Westerners, but really putting it out there as authentically and completely as I know it to be.

It’s my intention to continue doing that in this next segment of the Yoga Immersion.

This segment will be about awareness of the physical, the energetic, and the mental.

Maybe you feel you’ve already gotten that in class or in an immersion. And maybe you have. But the truth is, as we mature and as we age, we hear things so much differently.

No material is ever really repeated.

I know I’m in a much different place now, so how the material comes out of my mouth is different. And you are in a different place too, as we all are, so how you receive that information is also much different.

We go through all of that in the recording, so I don’t need to repeat it here. If you’re interested in watching the recording, you’ll hear it for yourself.

If you’d like a copy of the recording, just email me and I’ll send you the links. It will be in two parts: the first part is the experience, and the second part is the information.

So, if yoga is calling you in some way, like it did me when I was 12 or 13 back in that apartment in the Bronx, just consider:
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When are you going to answer that call?

Social media can be such a blessing when we use it well. It's really good for letting people know you have had a death in the family without having to actually say it over and over again. So if you follow me on FB or IG, you may have seen that my mother recently passed away. I wanted to share a little about that experience because, sooner or later, it is a journey that most of us will walk.

I am certainly no expert on death or grief. I can only share a small part of my own experience. My mother had been living in a nursing home for several years. She constantly complained about the food and ate very little unless I brought her something from the outside. When I visited her on the Monday after returning from Portugal, she seemed thinner and weaker than usual, but she was chatting away as she always did, but refused to eat anything. I planned to bring her a delicious milkshake, but by the time I arrived on Wednesday she was unresponsive.

Some people wondered whether she waited for me to return from Portugal. It's certainly possible. She lived several days longer than the doctors expected, as sometimes happens, and others wondered if she was waiting for my husband to return from Portugal as well. I like to think she wanted to make sure I had my greatest source of support beside me before she left. Of course, no one really knows.
Over the years I have studied and practiced rituals that are meant to assist someone who is dying. I was grateful to have those practices to use. I can't say if it helped mom or not, but I do know I felt I was supporting her through this mysterious transition by the words I spoke, my presence, and simply by sitting with her as much as I could.

Doctors and nurses can tell us the physical signs of dying and what will most likely happen next, but none of them can really tell us what is happening internally. I spent a lot of the time wondering:  what is she seeing with her staring eyes, what is she trying to say, what is she experiencing. Would she wait until her brother arrived? Was she in pain? Was she distressed?  

I suppose we only truly know when it is our own time to make that journey—and by then, of course, we cannot come back and tell anyone about it. It remains one of life's greatest mysteries: how we leave this world.
I was fortunate to have many people share their own experiences of loosing a mother with me, and they all encourage me to care for myself through the process and take it slow.

My mother and I were never especially close. Honestly there were many (many) years when I was very angry at my mom—as I imagine many of us have, at one time or another, toward our parents. During these last years our relationship was largely logistical- I was the closest daughter physically, so I spent the most time with her. I really began to enjoy this time as she told me so many stories of her time growing up and our extended family.  She really loved to tell stories, and she was good at it.

Many people told me, "Losing your mother is a big one." I am discovering how true that is. To my surprise, this has been harder than losing my father, even though I felt much closer to him. 
When I went to sleep the night she died, I experienced something difficult to describe. It felt as though there was a tremendous severing—a tearing apart. It was physically painful, though not necessarily unpleasant. It felt like something  energetic was happening, and it was beyond what my thinking mind could understand.
The image that came to me was that of being handed a baton in a very long and difficult relay race. As I am part of the maternal generation in my family line who is still living, I suppose that is exactly what happened. I am now the next generation, and me and my sisters I carry the karmas of that maternal lineage.
One of those karmas is silence.

In my family, we did not talk about things—especially not about our feelings- pleasant feelings, painful feelings, personal struggles. Spending time with my mother's brother over these last few days helped me understand that this wasn't simply my mother's way. It came from her parents. My uncle, who is much more emotionally expressive than my mother was, told me that his parents never discussed anything personal or emotional. He often had no idea what anyone was feeling or what was really going on.
He and I are the outliers.

The baton is now in my hands, and I prefer not to continue the silence.
The lack of emotional expression, the fear of looking directly at pain—those ways of being are simply not sustainable in my world.

That doesn't mean sharing everything with everyone. But I have learned over the years that when we honestly share what we are feeling with trusted people, we create a space where others can do the same.

Healing happens there.

Growth happens there.

Relief is experienced.

We can finally exhale.

Talking about personal things or emotions made my mother deeply uncomfortable. I understand that probably came from her parents, the consensus of the culture she was raised in and probably from her disability as well. But just like her macaroni and cheese recipe, it doesn't need to be passed down to the next generation.

I think another part of taking up the baton is that now I am someone who has now lost her mother and I recognize just how significant that is. Even though we weren't emotionally close, and she wasn't one of the great pillars of support in my life the way many mothers are for their children, her death has touched me more deeply than I expected. Perhaps it is because our mothers are our first teachers—actually our first gurus according to the teachings. And if it is our biological mother, she is literally the body from which our own body formed. This is one of those connections that exist far beneath thought and memory. The depth reveals itself when the connection is broken.

So to all of you who have told me over the years that you lost your mother, I want to say something I couldn't have honestly said before: I didn't fully understand, and I am sorry for your loss.

And to those of you whose mothers are still here, but who know that day will eventually come, I want to remind you to be gentle with yourself when it does. There is no "right" way to move through it, and the impact may surprise you.

Finally, to everyone who reached out to me—with kind words, cards, hugs, meals, cookies, flowers, messages, and love—thank you.

My mother was never comfortable receiving these kinds of gestures. She wouldn't even tell you what kind of soda she wanted. "Anything wet is fine," she'd say.

I am trying to do something different. I am allowing myself to receive. That, too, feels like part of breaking the karma.

I am receiving your kindness with gratitude, humility, and joy.
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...But please, no more candy, cookies or cake! 
I have more than enough.