My heart broke into far too many pieces to count. My apathy swelled. My sorrow stole my voice. And, still, I prayed.
These past five years I've prayed for bravery.
The practice of Ashtanga Yoga healed the dark part at the back of my heart. It purified my voice. And, it brought the richness of courage to my doorstep, asking only that I keep praying, until bravery became it's own resignation: no other choice to make, because there is more work to be done, and I want to do is work more.

Yoga practice is like playing a musical instrument.

We must practice for both skill and pleasure.

At first its scales, and then its compositions. Soon, we create our own music. We iterate and iterate. We remix. Freedom comes through experience and discipline.

At some point we burn the method. We destroy the reference. The joy in creation must be met in equal parts by destruction for the dance to be sustained. And this is how a purposeful life becomes art.

Only from formlessness can a form be created.

One of the most radical things we can do in an economy that commoditizes our attention is to focus on what we want, not what someone else tells us to.