TELEGRAM FROM THE DESK OF DIANA

TWIST ON YOGA EMEA HQ
As dictated to Intern, Danger Boy

TO: GIRL WHO WAS IN FRONT OF ME AT YOGA CLASS TODAY
RE: THE SHORT SHORTS

YOU ARE ADORABLE STOP AND YOUR FLEXIBILITY IS IMPRESSIVE STOP BUT THE VIEW FROM BACK HERE IS WELL AWKWARD STOP CAT COW POSE IS MAKING ME WONDER IF I AM ON THE SET OF WICKED PICTURES STOP REGARDING THE SHORTS PLEASE STOP STOP SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR DOCTOR AND YOUR WAXER STOP LIKE I SAID PLEASE STOP IT STOP.

The devil wears Prana

At my regular studio in London, the teacher begins each class by inviting us to dedicate our practice to a special someone in our lives, perhaps someone who might be struggling with something or someone for whom we are particularly grateful. So this morning I was gearing up to dedicate my practice to my friend, Sol, who has been a true blessing in helping me deal with the trials and tribulations I’ve had with my beloved during the past few years. Sol has been by my side to give counsel and support when he disappeared for days at a time. She cleaned my apartment after he dragged his unruly friends home to trash the place. She’s even tended to his wounds after a particulary nasty fight. Sol understands my love for him and supports my point of view when I say that if he wasn’t so cute, he would be out on the street!

I’m talking about my cat of course.

But then, THEN, the teacher threw us a curve ball. Today she asked us to dedicate our practice to someone who has wronged us in some way. She told us to bring our minds back to this person throughout the practice whenever we feel distracted or begin to struggle. There was only one person who came to mind, the person who has completely turned my life upside down these past few months. Let’s call him Mr. H. But, good god, I definitely did not want Mr. H. showing up in my yoga practice, intruding upon my blissful weekend morning. How would that feel? I think it would feel like my pet unicorn ripped off his own horn and stabbed me with it and then ran off with a pack of wild mules.

So there I was in my least favorite yoga posture, purvattanasana, with a cue to begin breath of fire, and all I can think of is Mr. H and his Porche and his outlet store Prada and his smug smirk. Eventually, I began feel myself begin to soften towards him. By the end of the heart opening practice, I tried to see if I could conjure up the same warm loving feelings I was feeling for Sol and apply them to Mr. H. I did try. But I could not get there completely. Maybe that's why its called "practice."

The exercise did reinforce something that I know but often forget. Forgiveness is not only divine, but quite liberating. That said, I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive the critter who kicked my cat’s ass just yet.

I never claimed to be Ghandi.

Yoga Journal: closer to Playboy than you think

I stopped reading Yoga Journal several years ago. The monthly photo spread of someone like Desiree Rumbaugh in a perfect camel pose became a little tiring. And then the terrible ads for colon cleanser and supplements. Come on. Are the readers of Yoga Journal that gullible? You know your money is going to a dude living in a camper who is also selling Hoodia to the readers of Shape.

I recently started receiving Yoga Journal at my home “compliments of Kripalu.” I picked up the May edition and stumbled upon an article by Sally Kempton on uncovering who we really are and what defines us. Is it our physical features? Are we our bodies? Or are we what others think of us? Our reputations? Our jobs? Or are we our emotions? She proceeds to break down the five sheaths or koshas that, according to Trantric philosophy, are part of every person: physical, vital energy, mental body, wisdom, and bliss. Kempton manages to explore a very complicated topic in five pages in a way that was very accessible and interesting. Granted, those five pages were interspersed with ads for acidophilus, biodegradable socks, and a conference on Fractal Time.

I found other good articles in the May and June editions of Yoga Journal on making peace with job change, making true commitments (also Sally Kempton), and music playlists to go along with a home practice.

So if you find that you’ve graduated from the monthly pictorials showing the poses for nasal allergies or fibromyalgia, and if you can get beyond the intelligence insulting scammy ads, pick up Yoga Journal for the articles.

Don't f*ck with yoga

I sent my father this Fuck Yoga t-shirt for his birthday, which is today. Why? Because deep down I know that he, bless him, would love for me to trade my love of yoga for golf, move back to America, marry a nice banker (better yet an employment lawyer), have a couple of babies, move to the suburbs, buy a Camry, and have a steak.

Who moved my soy cheese?

In these days where the only certainty is uncertainty, I feel for the planorexics. You know who they are. They have their weekend plans locked down by Monday afternoon. They are the ones who buy the Lonely Planet guidebook 6 months before taking a trip and have every moment, every hotel, every tour, every detail figured out months in advance. Some of my dearest friends have planorexia, and let’s just say that ambiguity is not their friend.

In this environment it is difficult to know how your life may be affected day to day. Will I have a job tomorrow? Will my favorite store still be in business? Will I be deported (ok that’s just me)? Will my flight to Cancun be cancelled? What is one to do in the face of all this uncertainty? Batten down the hatches and fortify yourself for the next big blow? Or completely let go and ride whatever wave the universe sends you?

I’m riding the wave, and I am here to tell you, it is a beautiful place to be. In fact, I have become a bit of an uncertainty addict. I don’t want to know what’s coming next. Bring it on. But at my local Jivamukti yoga studio, they stick to the same class for a month at a time, all based on the theme of the month –the same flow, the same chant, the same playlist, and even the same reading. Toward the end of the month it starts to feel like Groundhog Day on the mat. I do love this studio, and I believe they have the right formula, a strong asana flow, good tunes, and just the right amount of spiritual teaching and practice. But what I’ve learned on the uncertainty wave is that it is much easier to live in the present moment when the future, including the next yoga posture, is completely unpredictable.

So when I discover that my plan to walk to my local café for a decaf has been thwarted by yet a conference call announcing another “restructuring,” or that my 401K has flatlined, I say to the universe, “is that all you’ve got for me today?” And then put my iPod on shuffle and book a table at Dans le Noir.

Confessions of a slacking yoga blogger

Its not that I haven’t been doing yoga for the past few months. I have been doing it, really. Jivamukti, which I am convinced is sanscrit for “one thousand chatarungas,” at the London centre. Forrest in my living room (Ana, please train some teachers in the UK!). At the edge of the India Ocean with Shiva Rae. I tried Iyengar for the first time under the observant (a/k/a don’t even think you can hide from me) eye of Simon Turner in Kensington. I’ve done kapalbhati breathing in the elevator at work before a stressful meeting. In general, for the first time in maybe ever, I’ve been just taking in the present moment, which is living yoga, right?

I guess you can say I’ve been on a blogging detox. And a carb detox. Except for crumpets. And Irish Soda Bread.

But I’m back.

Holiday twist

After an attempt to cross town to catch Todd Skoglund's class which was thwarted by gridlock Boston traffic, I instead had 90 minutes in my car to think about what I am thankful for this holiday season. So here goes.

I am thankful for many things: good health, my friends, Daniel Craig, my family, my SkinMedica vitamic C age defense cream, the wine section at Hi Rise, arugula, the anonymous hate mailer (I heart budakon!), plastic cups, 'Lil Gretch, the most amazing yoga studio that is South Boston Yoga, the sushi guy at Whole Foods, the fact that the hideously, brain-searingly, stabby-makingly awful Jarods jewelry commercial is seasonal and should therefore go off the air soon... the list is long.