There is a concept in yoga philosophy called svādhyāya — self-study. But it's not about performance reviews, harsh critiques, or self-criticism. Svādhyāya invites us into the most intimate and important relationship we’ll ever have: the one with ourselves.It’s the quiet practice of turning inward. Of noticing. Of observing the part of us that is breathing, feeling, sensing — beneath the roles we play and the expectations we carry, both ours and others’. It’s an invitation to meet ourselves in real-time, again and again, with honesty and compassion.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the moments when I find myself saying, “I’m fine,” even when I’m not. It's in these instances that I realize how easily we can drift away from our truth, especially in a world that often values appearance over authenticity.Our inner truth doesn’t always manifest as bold actions or loud declarations. More often, it takes the form of soft honesty—like admitting, “I’m not okay today,” choosing to slow down when the world urges us to speed up, or honoring what feels real in our bodies, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

This has been a year of magical thinking. Not in the dreamy, lighthearted way we sometimes imagine magic, but in the way Joan Didion wrote about grief and loss: raw, disorienting, and completely transformative. A kind of magic that pulls you apart and remakes you, piece by piece. This past year, I've been a caterpillar. And when caterpillars are becoming butterflies, it’s not soft or simple. Inside the cocoon, they dissolve. They literally turn into liquid before they are re-formed into something with wings.That’s how it felt for me.

Energy is one of the most powerful forces in existence, yet it remains unseen. Because we cannot see it with our eyes, we often struggle to grasp its immense influence over our lives. And yet, we place complete trust in energy every single day. Think about turning on a television. We don’t need to see the signals traveling through the air to believe they exist. We trust that when we press a button, the screen will light up, the sound will play, and everything will work as expected. We pick up our phone, certain that invisible signals will connect us to another person across the world.

Shakti is the essence of life itself—the creative, dynamic force that flows through all of existence. In yogic philosophy, Shakti is the divine feminine energy, the power that gives birth to movement, transformation, and expression, the force that flows through the universe, encouraging us to create, inspire, and grow. This energy guides us to honour our intuition, creativity ,embrace our emotions and celebrate the ebb and flow present in all forms of existence.

It’s tempting to complain when things don’t go our way or when we notice flaws in others. Frustration bubbles up, and before we know it, we’re caught in a loop of negative thinking. But here’s the truth: Complaining is one of the most unproductive ways to spend your time and energy. It keeps you stuck, drains your focus, blocks your growth, and makes everyone unhappy.

Have you ever felt a wave of selfishness, jealousy, envy, anger, sourness, sadness, fear, or shame arise within you—unbidden and unwelcome? Perhaps you tried to push it away, rejecting it as something you shouldn’t be feeling. But no matter how hard you resist, it lingers, only to return, uninvited, again and again. This is your shadow.

One of the aspects I love most about yoga is the profound symbolism that each posture offer and the energy we embody while practicing. Yoga isn’t just about the physical form; it’s about the stories, emotions, and transformations that unfold within us.With the fires raging in LA, I’ve been reflecting on what pose could best align with the energy of hard moments and the urgency for change and transformation. If I had to choose, it would be Butterfly Pose.

Right now, LA is still burning. The air is thick with smoke, and the energy in the city feels heavy, laden with fear, grief, and uncertainty. For those of us here, it’s a time of reckoning—a stark reminder of how fragile life can feel when faced with forces beyond our control.

As the holiday season approaches, we often find ourselves swept up in the rush of gift shopping, meal planning, and social gatherings. While these moments bring joy and connection, they can also come with stress, overwhelm, and a shift of focus toward materialism. But what if we could approach this season with a deeper sense of purpose and love? Yoga philosophy offers us a profound guide: the practice of Ahimsa.

The gluteus medius is often one of the most overlooked muscles, yet it’s crucial for overall stability, especially during activities like walking and running. Located on the outer surface of the pelvis, the gluteus medius is responsible for stabilizing the hips and pelvis, ensuring smooth and efficient movement. When it’s weak or neglected, it can lead to a chain reaction of issues, from poor posture and instability to more serious injuries like knee pain, lower back strain, or hip problems.

In yoga, breathwork is often seen as a gateway to deeper healing, peace, and vitality. Yet, while breath is crucial, it’s important to recognize that it is not synonymous with prana. Prana, a Sanskrit term meaning "life force," is the vital energy that flows both within us and all around us. It animates our body and mind, influencing every aspect of our existence. We can nourish prana through our actions, thoughts, emotions, the food and drink we consume, and the breath we take. In this way, prana transcends breath itself—it is the essence of our being, shaping our mental, physical, and spiritual well-being.

Welcome to October and the transformative season of fall.Fall is a time of deep change, where nature slows down, preparing for the stillness of winter. As the days shorten and nights grow longer, we're invited to turn inward, reflecting on our inner world. It's also a season of releasing and letting go, something we can learn from the trees. Just as leaves fall to the ground, leaving the tree bare and vulnerable, we too can shed what no longer serves us, making space for new growth and transformation.

I didn’t have a good relationship with my dad. He made a lot of mistakes—too many to count. But the truth is, many parents do. I’m not a parent myself, but I imagine it must be one of the hardest tasks in life. It seems like, in one way or another, most parents inevitably impact their child’s ability to live a functional life. Whether it’s from unhealed wounds they unknowingly pass on or their own shortcomings, being a parent is complicated and mostly it is imperfect, just like everything else in life.

When I was younger, I had a talent for being impatient. I wanted everything instantly, and when life didn’t unfold the way I wanted, frustration quickly followed. I expected life to work like a fast-food drive-through: you ask, and you immediately receive. Looking back, I realize that this mindset is common among the young. Patience isn’t something we're typically born with; it's something we grow into, a skill we cultivate as we age. The rush to “arrive” somewhere begins to fade as we understand that life, like a tree, takes its time to mature, and sometimes, we simply need to wait for the right moment.

I sometimes find myself avoiding what's happening within me. Even though I know I need to face my feelings, thoughts, and inner struggles, I often procrastinate, finding distractions to delay that confrontation. It’s easier to stay busy or focus on external things than to dive into the uncomfortable truth of what’s really going on inside. There’s a resistance to facing the emotions or thoughts I’ve been pushing aside, perhaps out of fear of what I might find or simply because it feels overwhelming. But deep down, I know that in order to heal and move forward, I have to stop avoiding myself.

It takes courage to embrace imperfection. It takes courage to show up as you are, to speak your truth, and to release the need for others’ approval. I’ve struggled with perfectionism my whole life. It held me back, made me procrastinate, and caused me to miss opportunities, leaving me with very little space to move freely. Only when I began practicing yoga and meditation did I start to see how perfectionism was blocking me from exploring new adventures and following my bliss.

It took me a long time to get to know myself. I’m pretty sure there’s still so much more to discover, but at this point in my life, I can confidently say that I know myself well. This journey hasn’t been easy—it’s been a winding road filled with challenges, wrong turns, and unexpected detours. A journey where I met the wrong people but also the right one. Each person I encountered, whether they stayed or left, taught me something about myself.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the meaning of Child’s Pose in yoga—a posture that embodies the essence of rest, recharge, and surrender. It’s a reminder that taking time to pause is as crucial as the active moments in our lives. But this week, as I spend time on vacation in the heart of nature, I found myself struggling to give myself permission to take a break, to accept that I deserve rest and I’m finding myself deeply immersed in the lesson of rest in a new and powerful way.

In a world that often celebrates boldness and outgoing personalities, introverts may sometimes feel like their quieter nature is undervalued. However, introverts bring a unique perspective to the table, often seeing the world through a lens of reflection, deep thought, and careful consideration.

In a world that often prioritizes external achievements, it’s easy to view yoga as another activity where success is measured by how well we can twist, bend, and balance. However, true success in yoga goes beyond the physical form—it’s a journey of inner growth, self-discovery, and transformation where we learn from our mistakes, we overcame challenges and we become stronger, more flexible, more resilient not just physically but also mentally.

Pride, often perceived as a double-edged sword, holds the power to either uplift or hinder us. Its dual nature depends on how we understand and channel it, shaping our experiences and interactions in profound ways.

Child's Pose, or Balasana, holds a special place as a restorative posture. This simple yet profound pose is designed to relax the body, calm the mind, and bring attention to the breath. As a forward bend, Child's Pose is a gentle invitation to turn inward, offering numerous physical, mental, and spiritual benefits.

Today I want to share my thoughts on a book I recently finished reading: The Invisible Kingdom by Meghan O'Rourke. It's a profound exploration of chronic illnesses and those without a specific diagnosis. I feel compelled to share my insights on this book because managing my chronic conditions is a significant part of my healing journey, and for me, yoga extends far beyond the mat. Yoga is what we practice in everyday life—through our choices, actions, and directions.

Some say that Savasana, or Corpse Pose, is the most difficult posture in yoga. This assertion rings true for many because Savasana is fundamentally about letting go, and letting go is indeed one of the most challenging tasks we face in life. In Savasana, the practice of release begins with surrendering control over our breath. Initially, we focus on the natural rise and fall of the breath without attempting to manipulate it. This simple act of observing the breath without interference can be surprisingly difficult, especially for those accustomed to holding onto control in various aspects of their lives.

Every time you attend a yoga class, it's important to view your yoga teacher as a guide in a practice that is deeply personal and entirely adaptable to your needs. Each yoga class can vary in intensity—from challenging to gentle—depending entirely on your preferences and how you approach it. The key is to listen to your inner voice and discern what your body, mind, and soul require to feel good in that moment. How can your body best benefit from this practice? What about your mind and your soul? These questions can help you tailor your yoga experience to enhance your overall well-being.

I read an article months ago where an ecologist discovered that trees are "social creatures" that communicate and cooperate, offering valuable lessons for humans. Trees are linked by an underground network of fungi, resembling neural networks in the brain. They share critical information for the health of the entire forest, warning each other of danger and sharing nutrients to stay healthy. When my students perform Tree posture, I like thinking of them as a forest, feeling interconnected and understanding that helping each other benefits the whole community and the world.

In a yoga class each individual brings a unique history, a tapestry of experiences, injuries, and energy levels that shape their practice. As I guide my students through each pose, I am reminded of the profound lesson my own practice and my own injuries taught me: yoga is not a one-size-fits-all journey. It is a deeply personal practice, where alignment is subjective and intimately tied to our body structure and personal history.

The Sun is a brilliant star at the center of our solar system and it's the largest, brightest and most massive object in the system and the source of energy that sustains all living beings. Its presence is a constant reminder of the interconnectedness of all living things and the delicate balance that sustains our planet. In yoga, there exists a beautiful ritual known as the Sun Salutation, known as "Surya Namaskar" in Sanskrit, a practice through which practitioners greet the sun, expressing gratitude for its warmth, and light, which sustain life on Earth.

In yoga, our mat becomes a personal battlefield. Unlike traditional battles, where the enemy is external, the true adversary in our practice is often our own mind. Doubts, fears, and distractions can arise, challenging our focus and determination.

Yoga is so much more than movement — it’s a return to wholeness.It’s a journey that invites us to reconnect with ourselves, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Beneath the surface of every pose lies an opportunity to listen more deeply, to soften into presence, and to truly feel. This philosophy is the heart of my teaching — guiding my students to move with mindfulness, patience, and compassion.

There was a time when I felt like I was always one step out of sync with the world. I’d walk into rooms and feel like I had to scan the energy, adjust my volume, hide the things that made me "too much" or "not enough." I’d laugh when something wasn’t funny just to keep the peace. I’d nod in agreement even when my heart whispered, that’s not true for you.

There’s something about sound that moves me in a way nothing else can. A single note, a familiar melody, or even the soft rustling of leaves can drop me into presence faster than any word or thought. As someone who lives and breathes yoga and healing, I’ve come to see sound as one of the most powerful tools we have—not just for relaxation, but for transformation.

There’s something quietly transformative about beginning your yoga practice with an intention.Not a goal. Not a to-do list item. But a heartfelt resolve — what in Sanskrit we call sankalpaA sankalpa is more than just a wish or affirmation.It’s a seed planted in the fertile soil of your consciousness,a quiet, powerful force that guides your thoughts, shapes your choices,and calls you back to who you truly are at the center of your being.It speaks to the person you are becoming and what you wish to invite more of, within yourself and in your life.It’s the gentle whisper that says: This is the life I long to live. This is who I am becoming.

For the past year and a half, I wasn’t gentle with myself.I pushed through one of the most stressful seasons of my life, ignoring my body’s quiet pleas for care. I turned to refined sugar and empty carbs to get by. I neglected rest. I forgot the rituals and rhythms that had sustained my well-being for fourteen years. Somewhere along the way, I drifted from the macrobiotic lifestyle that had been my anchor.

“When you lose a dog, you not only lose the animal that has been your friend, you also lose a connection to the person you have been.” —Jennifer Finney BoylanI’ve been grieving for the past three weeks, on and off. But when did my grief truly begin? Was it the day Ozzy died? Or was it earlier, when his cough began and no medication could help? When he stopped walking years ago, and I first saw the signs of aging? Or perhaps it started the moment I got him, when he was just two months old, and I felt the raw vulnerability of loving something I knew I could one day lose.

I had to say goodbye to my dog, Ozzy, today.One moment, he was with me — and the next, he was gone.His body lay still, and under my hands, I could no longer feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath.I gave him a final kiss — maybe two, maybe more — and then I left.They’ll return his ashes in two weeks. But I’ll never truly know if they’ll be his… or the ashes of another dog.And honestly, does it even matter?Ozzy isn’t in those ashes.He’s in every memory, every moment of love we shared.

Lately, I’ve been living in the quiet light of The Hermit. Maybe you know this place—the one where you retreat without fully meaning to, but something deep in your spirit says pause. So you do. You go inward. You take fewer calls, fewer classes, fewer outward-facing steps, and more long walks with yourself. You begin to see things again—tiny things, like how your breath moves when no one’s watching, or how the silence after a long cry can feel oddly holy.

In the past few months, I’ve been walking, diving, deep into the energy of The Hermit.I’ve explored the essence of other Tarot cards, but right now this is the one I feel most at home in. The Hermit, with his quiet, nonjudgmental presence, grants us the space to be fully present with our inner world—to sit with what we seek, what we need to know, and what is waiting to be discovered within.

This morning, I woke up feeling... off.Tired in my body.Heavy in my heart.The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.If I’m honest, I’ve been feeling this way more often than I’d like to admit lately—worn out, a little lost, and quietly overwhelmed. It’s not always obvious on the outside, but I feel it underneath the surface. Like something sacred in me is asking for attention. Like I’ve been holding too much for too long.

Change. Just the word can bring up a swirl of emotions—fear, excitement, resistance, hope. If you're anything like me, you've probably had moments where change felt like a storm rolling in, unexpected and uninvited. Other times, it’s arrived like a gentle breeze, shifting things just enough to make space for something new. Either way, one truth remains: change is constant.

My healing journey began in 2011 when I started experiencing health symptoms that entirely distrupt my life. At first, I brushed off the fatigue, headaches, occasional pain, and persistent discomfort, attributing them to stress and a hectic lifestyle. However, as the symptoms intensified, I realized that something more profound was at play. I consulted so many specialists, but each of them seemed perplexed by the mysterious nature of my condition.