James Wright - May 23, 2022 Iyengar I/II

So far the new studio doesn’t have a cricket. Something I will miss about teaching from my home studio - the comradeship of the crickets.

Love Song to a Morning

…

The cricket trills endlessly.

I bow to his patience.

How much joy the honeybee

Leaves to the flower!

And he plunges, laboring

In the heat of the mine.

Now the cricket is hurrying

His song. Is there yet more spring?

Whoever loses all this, loses himself.

So much green, and the field mine!

Heaven that the eye cannot fathom:

It is love that wins you.

…

Lewis Carroll - May 22, Free Intro to Wall Ropes

Fun to see 10 people hanging upside down on our new Ropes Wall!

The Mad Hatter's Song

TWINKLE, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you're at!

Up above the world you fly,

Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle—

Wendell Berry - May 22, 2022 Free Iyengar All Levels

An auspicious day I hope, Open House for Breathe.

Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer

…

VIII

When I rise up

let me rise up joyful

like a bird.

When I fall

let me fall without regret

like a leaf.

IX

Sowing the seed,

my hand is one with the earth.

Wanting the seed to grow, my mind is one with the light.

…

Charles Wright - May 18th, Iyengar II & I

Another one of those ‘discovered on my own bookshelf” finds. I should have known really. Op Cit only wraps the covers of their best things in plastic.

Transparencies

Our lives, it seems, are a memory

we had once in another place.

Or are they its metaphor?

The trees, if trees they are, seem the same,

and the creeks do.

The sunlight blurts its lucidity in the same way,

And the clouds, if clouds they really are,

still follow us,

One after one, as they did in the old sky, in the old place.

I wanted the metaphor, if metaphor it is, to remain

always the same one.

I wanted the hills to be the same,

And the rivers too,

especially the old rivers,

The French Broad and Little Pigeon, the Holston and Tennessee,

And me beside them, under the stopped clouds and stopped stars.

I wanted to walk in that metaphor,

untouched by time's corruption.

I wanted the memory adamantine, never-changing.

I wanted the memory amber,

and me in it,

A figure among its translucent highlights and swirls,

Mid-stride in its glittery motions.

Wanted the memory cloud-sharp and river-sharp,

My place inside it transfiguring, ever-still,

no wind and no wave.

But memory has no memory. Or metaphor.

It moves as it wants to move,

and never measures the distance.

People have died of thirst in crossing a memory.

Our lives are summer cotton, it seems,

and good for a season.

The wind blows, the rivers run, and waves come to a head.

Memory's logo is the abyss, and that’s no metaphor.

W.B. Yeats - May 16th, 2022 Iyenagr I/II

Second day teaching in the new studio and being out in the world more. I hope it feels like the piece below, again, some day…

VACILLATION

…

My fiftieth year had come and gone, I sat, a solitary man,

In a crowded London shop,

An open book and empty cup

On the marble table-top.

While on the shop and street I gazed

My body of a sudden blazed;

And twenty minutes more or less

It seemed, so great my happiness,

That I was blessed and could bless.

Norman MacCaig - May 17th, 2022 Iyengar II & I

For Ardha Bhekasana & I love the idea of frogs ambling & jumping with a giant mountain as a back drop.

ONE OF THE MANY DAYS

I never saw more frogs

than once at the back of Ben Dorain.

Joseph-coated, they ambled and jumped

in the sweet marsh grass

like coloured ideas.

The river ran glass in the sun.

I waded in the jocular water

of Loch Lyon. A parcel of hinds

gave the V-sign with their ears, then

ran off and off till they were

cantering crumbs. I watched

a whole long day

release its miracles.

But clearest of all I remember

the Joseph-coated frogs

amiably ambling or

jumping into the air—like

coloured ideas

tinily considering

the huge concept of Ben Dorain.

Simone Weil - May 15th, 2022 Fun with Chairs

First class and first hybrid class at our new studio - Breathe Santa Fe!

Gravity and Grace

…

A test of what is real is that it is hard and rough. Joys are found in it, not pleasure. What is pleasant belongs to dreams.

Alice Walker - May 12, 2022 Iyengar II

A bittersweet day as Ever Joyful Yoga transforms, Breathe Santa Fe opens May 15th! I feel so fortunate to have been able to continue teaching Yoga throughout the Pandemic. I am incredibly grateful for all who continued to practice together via Zoom! Thank you for a rich experience indeed. Hybrid classes and in-person classes begin. Poetry readings will continue. The Walker piece I selected for today may sound “glass-half-full”, but we need to hear and spread this message as we go out into the world. Just like in Yoga, each at their own pace.

Coming to Worship the 1,000-Year-Old Cherry Tree

Life is good. Goodness is its character;

all else is defamation.

The Earth is good. Goodness is its nature.

Nature is good. Goodness is its essence.

People are also good. Goodness is our offering;

our predictable yet unfathomable flowering.

Thankful and encouraged

Infused with our peaceful inheritance

May we not despair.

William Carlos Williams - May 10, 2022 Iyengar II & I

Finally, a little earthier, a favorite of mine.

SPRING AND ALL 1923

…

Lilacs—

They stand in the doorways

on the business streets with a sneer

on their faces

adorned with blossoms

Out of their sweet heads

dark kisses—rough faces

John Updike - May 9th, 2022 Iyengar All Levels

Here’s Updike’s lilacs.

STYLES OF BLOOM

…

Lilac: an explosion of ego

odorous creamily, each raceme ,

dewy till noon, then overnight

turned papery and faded—a souvenir.

In arches weighed by fragile suds,

the bridal wreath looks drenched.

White as virtue is white, plain

as truth is plain, the bushes can't

wait to shed their fat bundles of sequins:

Burdensome summer has come.

Walt Whitman - 5/9/22 Fun with Chairs

After a particularly windy, smoky, dry unsettled-feeling Spring the lilacs have come to the rescue. As they always do, thank goodness! These hardy travelers thrive in many corners of the world, putting on an extravagant show. Prepare for multiple offerings, starting with the most famous, for Sarah McCarty who loves this piece.

WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D ,

I

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,

And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,

I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love.

…

II

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings,

Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

With every leaf a miracle - and from this bush in the dooryard,

With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

A sprig with its flower I break.

IV

In the swamp in secluded recesses,

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary the thrush,

The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,

Sings by himself a song.

…

XVI

…

The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,

And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul,

With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,

For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands and this for his dear sake,

Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my

There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

Yang Wan-Li - May 6th, Iyengar III

A little respite from wind and wildfire smoke this morning is appreciated!

WALKING IN THE OFFICE GARDEN ON A WARM SPRING DAY

Everywhere the spring birds are singing their new songs

and delicate flowers celebrate the soft air.

I explore each corner of the winding path,

making sure not to waste a single step.

Yang Wan-Li - May 5, Iyengar II & I

How I feel these days. Not new, I’ve been out in the middle of a rickety bridge many times in my life. Never comfortable, but at least I know to go forward. Sometimes it would be nice to have a handrail, ha!

CROSSING A BRIDGE

I stop halfway across the flimsy bridge;

the deep water frightens me.

I think of returning—but I'm halfway already.

I think of advancing—but I*m too dizzy to move.

Finally, I make it—but still I look back,

wondering how deep the water was.

Won t anybody rebuild this bridge

so we travelers can feel more secure?

Nayyirah Waheed - May 3rd, Iyengar Level II & I

Almost Haiku-like -efficient. And very Iyengar Yoga. We are a conglomeration of “exquisite details”! So beautiful.

you are not a mistake. you are too many

exquisite details to be a mistake.

Nayirah Waheed - May 2, Iyengar All Levels

From a brilliant, very 21st century poet. I agree, we need both.

there is peaceful.

there is wild.

i am both at the same time.

— sum

Alice Walker - May 1st, Fun with Chairs

I hope Yoga helps us embrace who we are, even if it’s a little funny.

This Human Journey

Don't waste one moment

Trying to be someone

different

or someplace other

than where

you are.

This human journey

is like

finding yourself

in Brussels

rather than

in Broccoli.

Find out what's good

about the place

—in Brussels

as in Broccoli—

there must be something.

John Updike - April 29, Iyengar III

After saying how I didn’t really like Updike, after several days, I am won over, at least a little. Such a good storyteller. Maybe I’ll reread some of the novels I didn’t like 30 years ago and see what happens. In the meantime, hoeing? Yoga? Same thing?

HOEING

I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived

of the pleasures of hoeing;

there is no knowing

how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.

The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing

moist-dark loam—

the pea-root's home,

a fertile wound perpetually healing.

How neatly the green weeds go under!

The blade chops the earth new.

Ignorant the wise boy who

has never rendered thus the world fecunder.

John Updike - April 28, Iyengar I

I heard an interesting story on NPR the other day that talked about how the world-wide spread of the very common Norwegian (not from Norway) Brown rat, was entirely the fault of humans. Spread to every corner of the earth, tough little ones. We have a lot to answer for…So this piece made me laugh.

RATS

A house has rotten places: cellar walls

where mud replaces mortar every rain,

the loosening board that begged for nails in vain,

the sawed-off stairs, and smelly nether halls

the rare repairman never looks behind

and if he did would, disconcerted, find

long spaces, lathed, where dead air grows a scum

of fuzz, and rubble deepens crumb by crumb.

Here they live. Hear them on their boulevards

beneath the attic flooring tread the shards

of panes from long ago, and Fiberglas

fallen to dust, and droppings, and dry clues

to crimes no longer news. The villains pass

with scrabbly traffic-noise; their avenues

run parallel to chambers of our own

where we pretend we're clean and all alone.

John Updike - Apr 27, Iyengar II

On Tuesday, Ko Un made me ask “What do we really need, not need?” Today, Updike asks what is it that we do that is really important? As opposed to what we might assume is important? Pretty great from someone who was well-regarded for his art, and during his lifetime.

A RESCUE

Today I wrote some words that will see print.

Maybe they will last "forever," in that

someone will read them, their ink making

a light scratch on his mind, or hers.

I think back with greater satisfaction

upon a yellow bird—a goldfinch?—

that had flown into the garden shed

and could not get out,

battering its wings on the deceptive light

of the dusty, warped-shut window.

Without much reflection, for once, I stepped

to where its panicked heart

was making commotion, the flared wings drumming,

and with clumsy soft hands

pinned it against a pane,

held loosely cupped

this agitated essence of the air,

and through the open door released it,

like a self-flung ball,

to all that lovely perishing outdoors.

Ko Un - Apr 25, Iyengar II & I

Nothing like an intense pilgrimage to the Himalayas to change your perspective! “What is really important? What is not?” the latter may be a better question. How much baggage are we carrying that we truly don’t need?

With Never a Mirror

Washing with wind is fine.

Washing with sunshine is fine.

Body never washed

for a year, twelve or thirteen lunar months,

it's fine today just as it is.

Not even washed at birth,

a child just as it comes out is fine.

Growing up just as it grows up is fine.

Things like mirrors are useless.

Beneath the vast sky,

that mountain looking at me

and me looking at that mountain: just fine!