Our commitment to, and sense of urgency about, knowing nothing but the truth seems to amplify with time. Once we have more than a few decades of grownup life under our belt, our tolerance for fanciful thinking or concepts that feel contrived putter out. My recent personal experience is that thirst for the unvarnished truth gets magnified when faced with unexpected loss and its onerous sidekick, grief. When the stakes feel high and our hearts are tender, our appetite for extravagant leaps of faith raw peters out

One of the most liberating, if humiliating, revelations for anyone daring or foolish enough to try to teach a subject as complex and vast as yoga comes from surrendering to how little we know about what’s best for an individual practitioner

It's an ongoing lifetime education for any of us bold or foolish enough to sit in the teacher's seat — learning to look at a room full of differently 'posed' bodies. With instruction cues focused less on the gross outer forms and more on the imperative to breathe into harmonious, liberating alignment from the inside out.