If each day falls
inside each night,
there exists a well
where clarity is imprisoned.
We need to sit on the rim
of the well of darkness
and fish for fallen light
with patience.― Pablo Neruda, If Each Day Falls
We buried my grandmother this weekend. I took a flight home last week, towards a vague feeling of familiarity—of childhood summers making sandcastles and eating fried seafood—and spent three days in this portal where nothing else mattered. Where there was nothing beyond this moment that needed tending to.
It was hard and I definitely haven't processed the last few days, because in a few more days, I'm going to a similar service for my dad. And if I think too hard, it seems like an insurmountable task.
It feels like I'm in the eye of the storm. I'm standing in the epicenter of it all, watching my world get uprooted and trashed around in every which direction. It's not clear which way is out and where everything will land, and if I think too hard, it seems impossible to get through.
But if I come back to feeling, I can begin to feel something beyond the storm. It's not a clearing at the edge of the storm. It's not a silver lining high above me. It's not advice from strangers about how time heals all wounds.
It's actually a step deeper into the storm, closer towards the darkness. It's a liminal space where things get quiet, where stillness becomes movement and silence has a voice. In that space, there is wisdom. I feel a knowing that things won't necessarily be okay but they'll be what they'll be. And that is enough.
If I think too hard, I want to fight the storm. If I come back to feeling, I remember Pema Chödrön's words. You are the sky. Everything else—it's just the weather.
So I take a deep breath in and I come back to feeling. I come back to that liminal space where stillness becomes movement and silence has a voice. I come back to that feeling wedged deep within my core reminding me that there is peace to be found within the turbulence.
When hard things happen and there's a feeling of untethering, I can make my way back to solid ground following this feeling. I can choose to chase the storm or I can make my way to the eye—to that solid bit of calm at the center. And I'm reminded of E.E. Cumming's words. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea. ✨
yoga etc. is my newsletter on yoga, social justice, collective wellbeing, and collective healing. Every week, I share a piece of me—a weekly dose of mindfulness—hoping it resonates. The best way to support my work is by sharing this newsletter with those you think might find a piece of them.
Yoga of movement ✨
I'm teaching one online class this week as I'm still traveling.
Tuesday ✨ Rejuvenate 45 (book)
Sunday ✨ no class
If you'd like to practice with me, I have some lovely pre-filmed classes, below:
10 min ✨ Embodied meditation
15 min ✨ Root yourself with ease
15 min ✨ Energizing core drills
15 min ✨ Yin forward folding
45 min ✨ Sweet symmetrical flow
Please try to sign up at least 3 hours before the start of class, and if you can't make it in real-time, you'll get the recording in your email.
I'm also available for private and corporate classes. I'm offering complimentary corporate classes to nonprofit and not-for-profit organizations. Reply to this email if you're interested!
Yoga of action ✨
I'm tithing 10% of my income from my online yoga classes to organizations that fight against white supremacy. Every month, I'll pick a new organization and highlight it below. If these organizations call to you, please consider contributing (no matter how small).
My November donation will go to The Afiya Center, an advocacy organization dedicated to transforming the lives of Black women and girls through reproductive justice. The Afiya Center provides refuge, education, and resources on reproductive justice, HIV programming, abortion access, and maternal mortality for Black womxn and girls in Texas, where abortions have recently been banned after six weeks.
Have a suggested organization? Leave a comment to share.
Yoga of words ✨
Grab a pen, grab your journal. Have a seat somewhere comfortable. Close your eyes, take a breath in, and let it go. Your weekly writing prompt is below.
Write about joy. What is your favorite way to find joy in times of stress? What does joy feel, taste, smell, and look like? (15 minutes)
Feel free to share what you've written by clicking the link below. But, of course, you’re also welcome to keep this practice as just yours.
Other musings ✨
Alok Vaid-Menon on pronouns (Instagram)
The art of not taking things personally (Medium)
Stanley Tucci is savoring it all (The New Yorker)
How the yoga industry is decentering whiteness (KQED)
Gift giving: Advent of change advent calendar (John Lewis)
Meditating for Black lives uses self-care to sustain a movement (Teen Vogue)
On repeat: La Llorona by Ángela Aguilar (Spotify)
I'm here for you—for class, advice, or anything you need or would like to share. Always a phone call/text/DM/reply button away.
LBC ✨
P.S. If you like this newsletter, please share it with your friends! And if someone sent you this newsletter, you can subscribe below!