my yoga journey
My husband does this hand gesture: palms pressing together then opened out, like the pages of a book. He uses it to signal to me I don't need to tell him anything more: he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Darn, he's usually right. He knows me so well. Although I love him and happily share... Continue Reading →
One, two buckle my shoe I wake up from my after-work nap and it's completely dark. The absolute last thing I want to do is go out. I could so easily transfer my tired body from the bed straight to the sofa for the evening. But instead I put on my yoga clothes including ridiculous... Continue Reading →
I have a new regular student in class. She used to study with the Iyengar family in London -- and now she comes to me. Yikes! I was a bit freaked out at first, wondering what she would make of my lunchtime vinyasa flow class. But she keeps coming back, she seems content with what... Continue Reading →
I don’t like being told off. “Don’t shout at me” I often say to my husband. “I’m not shouting” he usually retorts and at some volume. He’s from a more adversarial family than I am, whereas when I was a child, we never raised our voices. Ever. Well, I did as a teenager.... But I... Continue Reading →
I spent time this weekend playing in my parents' garden with my little niece. She's four and a half, full of energy and apparently fearless. She loved rolling down the slope where my brother and I used to do the same thing several decades ago. She revelled in doing a run-up to perform multiple forward... Continue Reading →
I got out of town this bank holiday weekend for a workshop plus kirtan. I've kept my yoga experiences pretty close to home for some time now, since my last visit to a new teacher was a bit more than I bargained for. Long story short: it's made me reluctant to leave the safety bubble... Continue Reading →
“Go to the limits of your longing... Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final” (Rilke) Practice at the moment is an experience of longing. I feel a deep yearning to be more fully with myself, to let go of the past, to feel the reality of the... Continue Reading →
Telling stories. Telling stories. RE-telling stories I was formally trained to study the past. I used to be an archaeologist. My academic training taught me that there's usually more than one interpretation of the evidence and if you follow the more radical post-modern theories the past is unknowable and all interpretations become equally valid... Death... Continue Reading →
Numbers are one of my least favourite things. If you can have a phobia of numbers, then I do. I prefer things I can count simply on the fingers of one hand. Thankfully, leaving the magic 108 aside, yoga seems mercifully free of numbers. Or is it... After all, I have an Astanga-trained friend who... Continue Reading →
Introduction to mindfulness, based in Huddersfield
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