about

in padmasana, in the 90s, on a car

This blog is a way of processing thoughts on practicing yoga in a 21st century Western city, and an opportunity to keep myself focused, balanced, and fulfilled.

the musing: 

I was given human form around the time when Afrika Bambaataa & the Soulsonic Force released “Planet Rock.” I was living in Washington, DC at the time, and on my journey to adulthood I saw the oddity that was a nation’s capital recovering from the buzz of its reputation as “Murder Capital.”

I wrote poetry to meditate on and escape the confusion, and when I discovered my brothers’ cassette tape collections, I entered a world of emotional kinship soundtracked by intensely vibrating drum patterns. Hip-hop artists, I came to recognize, were modern-day forms of urban ascetics. They lyrically renounced mindless corporate culture for the nurturing of the soul, chanting and moving about in the most dismal of areas, perhaps because that was where they were most familiar, most welcomed, most needed – or perhaps because of all of those reasons. This new culture eventually shined so brightly it radiated worldwide and “bling” became an official entry in the Oxford Dictionary. In the midst of this transformation, I had moved to NYC and became a journalist, making the beat by interviewing some of the most interesting and popular hip-hop stars.

an omie:

But, I was unhealthy. I was wholly focused on my mental passions without care for my body. Occasional habits of binge eating, drinking and smoking formed into fully blown addictions. By my mid-20s, I had been through such a gauntlet of life lessons Iwanted to abort my mission of “saving the world.” How could I? The more I saw, the bigger the world became.

I sought solace, naturally, in words, books that I inherited from my [still living] mother. These books reawakened a joy I felt as a youngin’ when I used to fold my legs into padmasana well before I learned to articulate it as “yoga.” I began a daily study of texts and asana, healthy eating and sobriety. On one of those days, I pulled myself up out of a backbend and felt tingly and expansive like the cells in my body were escaping the gravity of who I thought I was and recalibrating into a much more enlightened me. It was like smoking weed, yet delightfully free[ing]. My devotion to this freedom guided me through several trainings and I became a certified teacher, spittin’ healthy living sessions for the celestial beings that showed up to the yoga studio.

Not that I’m “saved,” now, however. I still journey this life, seeing more, dreaming bigger. It’s still a moment-by-moment, life-long practice of discovering that I am not a slave to corporations, temptations, or even my own passion-driven elation. I am, however, someone with greater awareness and commitment to a balanced life, a writer, editor, and guide of mind and body. A “concrete yogi.”