tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81328532923551951772011-08-01T18:21:04.969-04:00sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.comBlogger51100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132853292355195177.post-92140497724849659142010-09-29T21:50:00.001-04:002010-09-29T21:54:17.450-04:00

This morning I had an…er …text from a friend who attended my class earlier. She had a lot going on in her life and for the 75 minutes she devoted to herself, it would seem that that would have helped her unload a lot of grief, stress, tension. And for that block of time, she might have. However, in this particular text she was ranting about the traffic, and the inconvenience of having locked

sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132853292355195177.post-42509608415006333552010-09-02T16:54:00.001-04:002010-09-02T16:58:56.067-04:00

The other day I was sitting at the pool at my parent’s East Norwalk apartment and was talking to a woman about, what else, yoga. I was... er pigeon-holed into the subject matter as soon as her mother swam toward me and said, “Oh, you are the yoga lady.”Truly, I am always happily surprised when people have heard about our yoga studio. Her daughter, about my age, talked openly about all the great

sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132853292355195177.post-50509697076984408922010-03-10T15:36:00.002-05:002010-03-10T17:16:27.121-05:00

In front of me driving home from dropping off my son at school this morning was an old red jeep. The wrangler model. The one many of us maybe fantasized about having in high-school. Soft top, open on all four sides. Compact enough and somewhere between a convertible sports car and a four wheel ride. An unpretentious, laid back cool car that sits somewhere on the spectrum of freedom and security.

sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132853292355195177.post-85155836146013286172010-01-27T15:34:00.001-05:002010-01-27T15:54:39.437-05:00

A few years ago, my son was asked by an acquaintance of mine what his religion was. He paused for a moment and then in his most serious and high pitched young boy voice he said matter-of-factly, “My dad is Jewish and my mom is a Vegetarian.” The humorous irony to this statement is that I am Jewish too. Yet, at the time my son said this I was so staunchly devoted to my yoga practice, so invested

sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8132853292355195177.post-69142968397467737532009-12-04T11:34:00.003-05:002009-12-04T12:13:28.045-05:00

One of the things I love most about my job is the chance I have to play with words. While so much of Hatha yoga in our culture finds itself confined almost obsessively by the talk of physicality and alignment; the body and its possibilities -- it is the access I have to words that inspires me the most. And there are a lot of words tossed around the yoga room. Elusive, ethereal words that float

sarasyogajointhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14648552607266884118noreply@blogger.com2