The way out of here, paraphrasing Rabbi Tarfon, says: the enormity of this work is not the point.

This past Saturday, I did something I have never done before. I truly respected the boundaries of my body.

It is not insane to demand peace, to insist on our joint humanity, to posit the possibility of love.

I did the research. I know.

When do routines become a cop-out, a way to avoid engaging with life?

When I practice at home, yoga is literally part of my life, and not just something I do when I put on yoga pants and go to the studio.

I needed to focus on treating another human being right, before I was able to extend that courtesy to myself.

An odd to the walls within. that persist and surprise us, still. Even for the umpteenth time.

My morning meditation feels like a memory of spaciousness that can last all day.

When I know something with my body, mind, and soul, my path of action is different, conscious, chosen with care.

It’s time to go to the next hilltop and see what you can see from there.

There are a million ways to write a manifesto. I want to write mine with my life.

Very few of us are so privileged that what we do is 100% determined by our own will and desires. And to be honest, those who are, appear to get it wrong most of the time.

Tomorrow is another day, for healing or for staying sick, but always for love.

We tend to put limits on ourselves and each other out of fear of abandonment, or maybe just out of love.

Missing a friend is just one tiny atom of the universe of love we need to survive.

Balance was never meant to be permanent or still. Striving for balance is the human condition.

We always have choices, and when we ground them in values, the loss of what we don’t do is negligible.

We say that death and taxes happen to everyone, but both are deeply determined by political decisions about how well, and how long, our particular social group deserves to live.

A memorable meal at the edge of the sea teaching me to breathe