Hot Yoga Quotes

i'm going for, like, depressed lesbian poet who met a hot yoga instructor at a speakeasy who got her super into meditation and pottery, and now she's starting a new life as a high-powered businesswoman selling her own line of hand-thrown fruit bowls

Jesus, you never fail to surprise me, baby.” He’s supporting the heavy bike, and us, with his strong legs braced on either side. He reaches between us and rips my yoga pants at the seam of my crotch. Holy fucking shit! My panties are next, and before I know it, he’s lowered the waist of his pants and is filling me.

If someone was in the house, I’m sure to be murdered. I’ve hardly got any muscle mass to speak of, I’m mostly gristle and ass fat and I could barely survive an hour long hot yoga class staring at the hot instructor so my chances of chasing off a home invader is slim to fucking I’m in big trouble. My arms were noodle limp, hardly weapons of mass destruction.

Seeing the girl that I crashed into wearing a tight hot pink workout tank top and black yoga pants turned my dick into granite.

done last weekend. “I just paid for ten more hot yoga sessions. And what about squash? Mom would need to find a replacement partner.” “All things you managed to work around when you went to Cancún last year.” “Yeah . . . I guess,” I admit reluctantly. “But Alaska is a million hours away.” “Only half a million,” Simon quips. “Will you at least give me a script for Ambi—” “No.” I sigh with exaggeration. “What fun is having a stepdad with a prescription pad, then?” My phone starts ringing

Today my toolbox consists of breathing techniques, hot lemon water, herbal tea, hot baths, cold showers (this is called “hydrotherapy” and it’s so, so good), coffee, essential oils, yoga, meditation, kirtan, autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR), massage, French pastries, emotional freedom technique (EFT), and many other things.

Find one thing that holds you in the present moment... one thing that stops the live commentary in your head. It can be anything like sipping hot beverage, taking a shower, watching the waves... That thing is your own meditation technique, your own door to connect with the supreme.

They keep talking: new succulents, hot yoga class, stock options, making their own kombucha and yogurt. Usually I would sit in sullen rage and spend the night shooting eye daggers across the table at them. But in the drugged country of my newly softened heart, I can graciously accept their lives.

i’m going for, like, depressed lesbian poet who met a hot yoga instructor at a speakeasy who got her super into meditation and pottery, and now she’s starting a new life as a high-powered businesswoman selling her own line of hand-thrown fruit bowls … HRH Prince Dickhead Bitch, you took me there.

NOBODY knows better than you what's right for you. NOBODY. Let me say what I really mean: NOBODY. Advice? Get some. Oracles? Consult them. Friends? Worship them. Actual gurus? Honour them. Final say? YOU. All you. No matter what. No matter how psychic that psychic is, or how rich the business consultant is, or how magical the healer, or bendy the yoga instructor. All that experts offer you is data for you to take into consideration. YOU are the centrifugal force that must filter, interpret, and give meaning to that data.

Why, Islam is nothing but an easy sort of exercise, I thought. Hot-weather yoga for the Bedouins. Arenas without sweat, heaven without strain,

Ha represents iḍā and the cool energy of the moon (candra); ṭha represents piṅgalā and the hot energy of the sun (sūrya).

Everett and his mom broke up with me,thank you very much." "You shouldn't have made out with him in his mother's scrapbooking room," Liz said sagely. "We're seventeen,"I snapped, "and Everett and I had been dating for two months when that happened.What were we supposed to do,eat dinner with his family and keep our hands on the table where everyone could see them?I mean, you and Davis are Mr. and Mrs. Polite Reserve, and even you were macking in the hot tub an hour ago." I picked up a pink fuzzy pillow that had fallen from he bed and threw it at Liz. "You were?" Chloe gushed. "You what? Hello,I need the details of Liz and Davis." "Hayden!" Liz squealed, ducking behind Chloe. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have made out with Everett.I'm saying you shouldn't have done it in his mother's scrapbooking room.Location, location,location.You might have disorganized her supplies.Some people are very particular about their chipboard getting mixed up with their cardstock." I closed my eyes,inhaled through my nose,and felt my lungs fill with air. My blood spread the life-giving oxygen throughout my body. "Watch out,"Chloe whispered to Liz. "She's doing yoga." My eyes snapped open.So much for controlling my temper. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Nick's mother left before I went into the sauna with him?" I hollered at Chloe. "We didn't know he was here!" Liz came to Chloe's defense. "And if we'd warned you about him before he got here," Chloe explained, "You would have known he was coming.We didn't want you to leave.The two of you are surprisingly hard to throw together,let me tell you." "I'm not buying it," I informed Chloe. "You were distracted.You had your mind on taking inventory." Liz giggled,turned red, and fell back to the pillows. "Taking inventory requires enormous concentration!" Chloe said with a straight face,but she was blushing,too.

Yogasanas have often been thought of as a form of exercise. They are not exercises, but techniques which place the physical body in positions that cultivate awareness, relaxation, concentration and meditation. Part of this process is the development of good physical health by stretching, massaging and stimulating the pranic channels and internal organs. When yogasanas are performed, respiration and metabolic rates slow down, the consumption of oxygen and the body temperature drop. During exercise, however, the breath and metabolism speed up, oxygen consumption rises, and the body gets hot. In addition, asanas are designed to have specific effects on the glands and internal organs, and to alter electrochemical activity in the nervous system.

Don’t get all grumpy,” I tease, wrapping my arms around him and leaning close. He growls and then turns, grabbing me up and squeezing my ass. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” I say, kissing his lips. “Yeah, well, I’m cursed that my wife is so damn hot. Can’t keep them off of you.” “Well, I did wear my best yoga pants,” I say, and shrug. “I told you your ass looked too good in them.” “Give me my smile,” I say, and he does as I ask. He beams at me, giving me that cocky-ass grin with dimples showing. I kiss each one before I kiss his lips, and he grins against me.

It's nothing fancy, I opened a jar of sauce and cooked the linguine. But there's fresh Parmesan and I even found a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon." "You found wine." Earlier he'd been thinking about microwaved Who Hash, solitude and if he was very lucky, beer. But a hot, fresh-cooked meal? Candles? Wine? And a chatty yoga-elf chef? With a body like a Las Vegas showgirl?

I’m totally unprepared for this level of hotness—well, any kind of hotness, to be honest. I’m dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt. I wanted to be comfortable for traveling, and now, I want to slap myself. I am not dressed to meet a man of his caliber, especially not now while I’m going to be seated next to said man for the next six and a half hours. Honestly, I can’t even remember if I put on deodorant. Oh God, please let me have put on deodorant.

In Ayurveda, herbal medicines are prescribed to be taken with various mediums of intake, as hot water or milk. Such vehicles for taking herbs are called anupanas. The same medicine taken with ghee may reduce Pitta, but with honey may target Kapha. Ghee is the strongest substance in helping herbs reduce Pitta and fever; sesame oil for the reduction of Vata; and honey for the reduction of Kapha. Water conveys the effects of herbs to rasa, the plasma. Honey brings them to the blood and the muscles. Milk brings them to the plasma and blood. Alcohol brings them to the subtle tissue, to the nerves.

I glance up and nearly squeal in shock as the same hunky mechanic stares down at me. How did he see me back here? This spot is super secluded, and no one ever sits here. “Can I help you?” I ask, pulling my earbuds out and taking in the broad width of his shoulders. Today, Mr. Book Boyfriend is wearing blue jeans and a black, fitted Tire Depot T-shirt. He’s much cleaner than he was yesterday in his dirty coveralls that made me reconsider the profession of my current book hero. “You’re back,” he states knowingly, his stunning blue eyes drinking in my yoga pants, T-shirt, and a baseball cap. “I, um…had an issue with one of my tires. The guys are fixing it.” “Which guys?” he asks, crossing his tan, sculpted arms over his chest. I have to crane my neck back completely to even reach his face he’s so tall. “I’m not really sure.” “Okay, well, which car?” he inquires, running a hand through his trim black hair. Damn, he’s really got that tall, dark, and handsome thing down to a T. He looks almost Mediterranean. Le swoon! I swallow slowly. “Um…I drive a Cadillac SRX.” “A Cadillac?” He barks out a small laugh. “Isn’t that kind of an old lady car?” My brows furrow. “It’s not an old lady car. It’s a luxury SUV. It’s wonderful. I have heating and cooling seats.” “Well, if you have that kind of money to spend on a vehicle, you should look at a Lexus or a BMW. Much more sexy feel to the body. You’d look pretty damn hot driving a Lexus LX.” “Maybe I’m not trying to look hot. Maybe I like looking like an old lady.” That was a really unhot thing to say, but Book Boyfriend booms with laughter and squats down next to me.

•Don't do yoga to get peace. It is possibly occultic. It seems innocent, but it can open a door to Satan in your life. I know this from personal experience. Seek God for peace, not things of this world.

I know why you are here.” She knew! “We receive extensive financial statements, and I know you did not pay your own way, so let us put that drama out of the way, shall we?” “Is it a drama?” Jane said with a laugh, relieved the woman was just referring to Carolyn’s bequest. “Hm?” Mrs. Wattlesbrook would not budge from her intended course of conversation. Jane sighed. “Yes, my great-aunt left me this vacation in her will, but I don’t know what you mean by drama. I never intended to hide--” “No need to make a fuss.” She waved her arms as if wafting Jane’s exclamations out the window like a foul odor. “You are here, you are paid in full. I would not have you worry that we will not take care of you just because you are not our usual type of guest and there is no chance, given your economic conditions, that you would ever be a repeat client or likely to associate with and recommend us to potential clients. Let me assure you that we will still do all in our power to make your visit, such as it is, enjoyable.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook smiled, showing both rows of yellowing teeth. Jane blinked. Economic conditions? Usual type of guest? She made herself take two deep-rooted yoga breaths, smiled back, and thought of men in breeches. “Okay then.” “Good, good.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook patted Jane’s arm, suddenly the picture of hospitality and maternal tenderness. “Now, do have some tea. You must be quite chilled from your journey.” In fact, the temperature of the limo, unlike this pseudo-inn, had been quite comfortable, and in the blazing heat the last thing Jane wanted was hot tea, but she reminded herself to play along, so she sweated and drank.

Sometimes I feel like I have the spines of a hedgehog. They are a spiky barrier I just can’t retract. I thought I’d managed to lower them a little over the last few months, or at least to thin them out. But then, this week, there they were again: abrupt, prickly, impenetrable. I’ve had a weird, frustrated, angry week. Nothing in particular has happened, but it’s hot, I’m insanely busy at work and not everyone’s being co-operative. But more than that, I feel as though my body’s drawn in on itself. Everything feels and smells wrong. Quite often, just the sound of the radio has been too much for me. If Herbert has tried to talk to me at the same time that it’s on, I’ve barked at him. I can’t bear to be touched. I feel like my skin is too thin. Twice this week I’ve rushed out of bed in the middle of the night, convinced I’ve felt a glut of blood surge out over my legs. Twice I’ve realised I was only dreaming. The mind is slow to catch up with the body. Mine, it seems, is fearfully protective of it. I’m a meditator, and I know that these phases are necessary. Meditation is like the slow action of water on rock. Gradually, it wears through layers and layers of sediment, and every now and then something unknown is exposed to the light, a deposit of ancient bones. These too are eased away in time, but they must be revealed to be soothed away. Over the years, I’ve learned how my body holds an imprint of my fears, a physical defence against them that over the years becomes an immovable ache. This morning, for example, I went to yoga class, only the second one since my gynaecological problems made me give up. Once, I could fold myself in half like a deck-chair, not because of my yogi prowess, but because I had double-jointed hips. Today, I was shocked to discover that I couldn’t bend at all, that my pelvic girdle had tightened itself into a rigid knot. Once I’d got over the flush of humiliation (a seventy-year-old woman was performing a perfect forward bend next to me), I saw just how much I’ve been imagining my body as a fragile thing in need of protection. I have been curled inwards like that hedgehog, and even the parts of my body that I can’t command have joined in. But even realising this, what do I do with the information? It is one thing to understand that my body has rolled up to protect itself, but how can I make it unfurl?

I feel like a goddess with my god claiming me for all to see. It might be pretend, it might be fantasy, but fuck, it's hot.

In itself, the apparently dualistic nature of our phenomenal world is not a problem. We can live with hot and cold, love and hate, gain a loss, light and shadow, sacred and profane. The problem is that we human beings inevitably tend to choose for one side of the polarity and against the other side, artificially attempting to split life down the middle.

PRANAYAMA EXERCISES FOR EACH CHAKRA Three-Part Breath - Dirga Pranayama: A good breathing exercise for beginners. Doing three-part breath shows you how to completely fill and clear the lungs, which is necessary because you're not possibly used to using your full lung capacity. It's a great way to transition into your yoga session as well. Equal Breathing - Sama Vritti Pranayama: Taking long, steady and gentle breaths has a calming effect on the body. Bringing your full attention on holding the same intensity of your inhalations and exhalations consumes your mind, giving it a much needed break from its regular task buzz. Alternate Nostril Breathing - Nadi Sodhana: In nadi sodhana, you block off one nostril before switching sides, exhaling and inhaling through the open passage. By clearing the energy channels on both sides of the body, this helps bring you into balance. Cooling Breath - Shitali Pranyama: A simple breath, perfect for a hot day or after practicing yoga poses when the body is warm. Ocean Breath - Ujjayi Pranayama: Ujjayi breath is really fascinating because it works to ease the sympathetic nervous system while raising the oxygen intake. It is the main breath used in vinyasa yoga because it is sufficiently powerful to sustain a robust flood. Lion's Breath - Simhasana: The breath of the lion releases the tension in your face and helps you to blow off some steam. You can do it during a yoga practice anytime. Skull Shining Breath - Kapalabhati Pranayama: Ideally this is specialized breathing practice should be learnt from an experienced teacher; as if it is done incorrectly it can become lightheaded.

Dharana requires a higher degree of understanding to get into deep concentration. Pratyahara, the previous limb, is meant to cut away external distractions and desires. Concentration means your intellect (see here) is strong enough to keep your mind (see here) fixed on one object or thought. The way to achieve this is to negate everything worldly by saying “not this,” or “neti” in Sanskrit. The process of negation helps us understand that we have to go beyond the pairs of opposites in this world. It’s neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, short nor tall, day nor night, etc. What this provides is a real perspective of the absolute truth. Continually keeping this consciousness and strong intellect active eventually takes you to the next limb: Dhyana.

Destiny reads me the gym schedule. “Upside-down yoga at six a.m.,” she says. “Water yoga at seven. Hot yoga at eight.” “What time is the Very Hot Yoga?” Instead of saying “There is no very hot yoga” or, worse, “Should I put in a request to the Wellness Committee?,” she says, “It’s right before Unbearably Hot Yoga,” and so we become friends.

They went at it. Their mouths a frantic, searching quest. As though they were trying to make up for thirty years of longing in this one kiss. He bit her lower lip and she raked her nails down his back. They tumbled to the bed, and his body was finally, deliciously covering hers. She arched. He surged. They rocked. She dug her nails into the base of his back. His hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over the nipple. She cried out, and he caught the sound with his lips. He ripped away from her, slid down her body, and captured her nipple with his lips, while his free hand snaked down into her yoga pants. He licked at the hard bud. Sucked. Her hips arched off the bed as he tugged harder and harder. When his teeth scraped over her oversensitive flesh, she keened and she couldn't stop the words from falling from her lips. "Jack. God. Jack. Yes. More." He groaned, the sound vibrating over her skin. He pulled her deeper into his mouth. His fingers slid down her waistband and into her panties. Her legs parted. His fingers brushed her clit. She bowed off the bed. He circled the bundle of nerves and lifted his head. "So damn wet." She could feel how wet she was, how slippery. "More." He pushed one long finger inside her, and kissed her, brushing his mouth over her lips. "You feel like heaven." She arched into his touch as his thumb relentlessly circled her clit. Around and around. Over and over. Until she thought she'd go mad with sheer need. "Jack. Please." He plunged two fingers inside her, hooking on a spot so good she lost focus. "Please what, Chlo?" His voice, oh God, his voice. Achingly familiar and yet strange all at once. He swiped over her flesh and she keened again as her body tightened. "Stop." Her head rolled back. "I'm going to come." He increased his pressure and whispered against the shell of her ear, "Then come.

No wonder she dated Asher. They probably did weirdly specific things together at weirdly specific times. Coffee at exactly 7:03 a.m. Double-toasted cinnamon raisin bagels with extra cream cheese at 8:26 a.m. Hot yoga at 10:17 a.m. Avocado toast and aragula salad at 1:34 p.m. Dinner at that vegan place down the street at 7:35 p.m. Sex at 9:48 p.m. Everyone loves a well-planned kink, right? ''I'm scheduling you at eleven o'clock, baby. You know what happens if you're late''.

If you just juice, drink herbs, herbal teas and juices, even herbal coffees, herbs-added hot chocolate... You can drink any of that. Whether your problems are as simple as migraine or knee pain or small back pain or as difficult and complicated as cancers, any level, any problem, any disease - ‘langanam parama aushadam’ is the medicine.

She sat there in silence, holding the old woman’s hand, and a strange tiny nugget of something like anticipation wriggled in her stomach like a mustard seed frying in hot ghee, jumping and popping. Everything nice and safe was boring. Everything dangerous and risky was exciting. Maybe she should try some excitement.

Simon was a hot yoga instructor. I’d attended his class a few times to be supportive. Turns out I prefer cold yoga. Or no yoga at all. Yeah, let’s go with the no yoga thing.

Tapas is any practice that pushes the mind against its own limits, and the key ingredient of tapas is endurance. Thus in the archaic Rig-Veda (10.136), the long-haired ascetic or keshin is said to “endure” the world, to “endure” fire, and to “endure” poison.1 The keshin is a type of renouncer, a proto-yogin, who is a “wind-girt” (naked?) companion of the wild God Rudra (Howler). He is said to “ascend” the wind in a God-intoxicated state and to fly through space, looking down upon all things. But the name keshin harbors a deeper meaning, for it also can refer to the Sun whose “long hair” is made up of the countless rays that emanate from the solar orb and reach far into the cosmos and bestow life on Earth. This is again a reminder that the archaic Yoga of the Vedas revolves around the Solar Spirit, who selflessly feeds all beings with his/her/its compassionate warmth. The early name for the yogin is tapasvin, the practitioner of tapas or voluntary self-challenge. The tapasvin lives always at the edge. He deliberately challenges his body and mind, applying formidable will power to whatever practice he vows to undertake. He may choose to stand stock-still under India’s hot sun for hours on end, surrounded by a wall of heat from four fires lit close by. Or he may resolve to sit naked in solitary meditation on a windswept mountain peak in below-zero temperatures. Or he may opt to incessantly chant a divine name, forfeiting sleep for a specified number of days. The possibilities for tapas are endless. Tapas begins with temporarily or permanently denying ourselves a particular desire—having a satisfying cup of coffee, piece of chocolate, or casual sex. Instead of instant gratification, we choose postponement. Then, gradually, postponement can be stepped up to become complete renunciation of a desire. This kind of challenge to our habit patterns causes a certain degree of frustration in us. We begin to “stew in our own juices,” and this generates psychic energy that can be used to power the process of self-transformation. As we become increasingly able to gain control over our impulses, we experience the delight behind creative self-frustration. We see that we are growing and that self-denial need not necessarily be negative.

Tapas is any practice that pushes the mind against its own limits, and the key ingredient of tapas is endurance. Thus in the archaic Rig-Veda (10.136), the long-haired ascetic or keshin is said to “endure” the world, to “endure” fire, and to “endure” poison.1 The keshin is a type of renouncer, a proto-yogin, who is a “wind-girt” (naked?) companion of the wild God Rudra (Howler). He is said to “ascend” the wind in a God-intoxicated state and to fly through space, looking down upon all things. But the name keshin harbors a deeper meaning, for it also can refer to the Sun whose “long hair” is made up of the countless rays that emanate from the solar orb and reach far into the cosmos and bestow life on Earth. This is again a reminder that the archaic Yoga of the Vedas revolves around the Solar Spirit, who selflessly feeds all beings with his/her/its compassionate warmth. The early name for the yogin is tapasvin, the practitioner of tapas or voluntary self-challenge. The tapasvin lives always at the edge. He deliberately challenges his body and mind, applying formidable will power to whatever practice he vows to undertake. He may choose to stand stock-still under India’s hot sun for hours on end, surrounded by a wall of heat from four fires lit close by. Or he may resolve to sit naked in solitary meditation on a windswept mountain peak in below-zero temperatures. Or he may opt to incessantly chant a divine name, forfeiting sleep for a specified number of days. The possibilities for tapas are endless. Tapas begins with temporarily or permanently denying ourselves a particular desire—having a satisfying cup of coffee, piece of chocolate, or casual sex. Instead of instant gratification, we choose postponement. Then, gradually, postponement can be stepped up to become complete renunciation of a desire. This kind of challenge to our habit patterns causes a certain degree of frustration in us. We begin to “stew in our own juices,” and this generates psychic energy that can be used to power the process of self-transformation. As we become increasingly able to gain control over our impulses, we experience the delight behind creative self-frustration. We see that we are growing and that self-denial need not necessarily be negative. The Bhagavad-Gītā (17.14–16) speaks of three kinds of austerity or tapas: Austerity of body, speech, and mind. Austerity of the body includes purity, rectitude, chastity, nonharming, and making offerings to higher beings, sages, brahmins (the custodians of the spiritual legacy of India), and honored teachers. Austerity of speech encompasses speaking kind, truthful, and beneficial words that give no offense, as well as the regular practice of recitation (svādhyāya) of the sacred lore. Austerity of the mind consists of serenity, gentleness, silence, self-restraint, and pure emotions.

Yoga Vida is the premier Sunshine Coast Yoga Studio, stretching the Sunny Coast for 10 years. Beginners & all levels of experience welcome! We offer Sunshine Coast Yoga Retreat's, Meditation retreat Sunshine Coast, as well as offering many different type of yoga classes. These include, hot yoga, vinyasa yoga, beginners yoga & much more. Our clientele range from the most basic level of yoga knowledge, to athlete athletes, to the most experienced yogi's. All are welcome!

. The Itinerary Friday 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.: Arrivals 6:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.: Cocktail hour/hors d’oeuvres 7:00 p.m.: Dinner on the deck Saturday 8:00 a.m.: Yoga by the pool/continental breakfast 10:00 a.m. to noon: Shopping in town Noon to 5:00 p.m.: Beach, lunch, pool 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.: Get ready for dinner; cocktails and snacks 7:30 p.m.: Dinner at Nautilus (suggested colors: black and/or white) 10:00 p.m.: Maxxtone at the Chicken Box! Sunday Free morning, continental breakfast Noon: Lunch at Galley Beach (suggested colors: hot pink or orange) 2:00 p.m.: Sail aboard Endeavor 7:00 p.m.: Pizza party 8:30 p.m.: Ice cream truck and fireworks on the beach Monday Departures

But then, on a brisk February evening my junior year, I attended a free yoga class at the Harvard Divinity School Andover Chapel. I came in fully expecting to do cat, cow, and child’s pose. Our instructor, Nicholas, who was also a graduate student there, had us on our backs with taut abs, legs held in the air in a ninety-degree position, neck lifted off the ground, hands stretched above our heads. I had become the sleeping dragon. One minute in, my body was trembling. You can’t. I told myself I could. You can’t. I opened my eyes and saw everyone else peacefully holding their pose. This voice yelling at me wasn’t my own. So where was it coming from? You can’t. It was Hang telling me to dump my elementary school best friends who still played with toy horses at thirteen. He said I needed to be more strategic about my social ranking. You can’t be friends with them. My sister excluding me from her life when we became teenagers. You can’t hang out with us. Ba calling me pathetic when I told him I wasn’t pursuing med school. You can’t even try because you’re too dumb. I screamed, You can’t, right back inside of my head, telling all of them what I never had the courage to say. My body shuddered as the rage escaped my body like bats flying out from a cave. Hot tears fell from the sides of my eyes into the chapel carpet floor. And then I heard a clear voice inside of me speak. It was not mine, it was someone else’s. “All those times you’ve felt unloved or alone, you weren’t. God, through the presence of the body, has always been there for you.” Who was this voice? And how could my body be the key to loving myself? My body was always something I had seen as an inconvenience, a detached thing I had to fix. But tonight, I felt welcome to get to know my body.

Success can be as simple as waking up healthy, alive, and grateful that the sun has risen another day and it is warm enough to enjoy it. Success can be having the freedom in your morning to start your workday slowly, with a cup of hot chocolate, a journal jot, a tarot-card pull, a stretch on your yoga mat, or a favorite library book.

I sighed. "Would it be too much to ask that Asgard be peaceful? Made up of big, fluffy clouds, serenity, and lots of hot yoga?

Catch me up. I had to stay late after class because I was busy sucking up to the TA,” Brian confessed. “Ellie has a cute freshman lab partner, Sasha’s tired of Victoria, and I sat next to Bo Randolph in biology.” I conveniently left out mention of the note. Three sighs of delight reverberated through the room at the mention of Bo’s name. “Bo looks like he’s sculpted from stone by some master and skin was stretched over the form. Unreal,” Sasha declared. “I’d love to see him in a life drawing class.” “The guns on that guy,” Brian concurred. “Where are all of you seeing him?” I asked, surprised at their distinct recall of Bo’s body. “I see him in the gym, lifting,” Brian said. “Yoga,” Sasha offered. “He does yoga?” My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, while I’m doing yoga, I see him working out. He’s like all muscle. Last semester’s yoga class at 5 P.M. was packed once word got out that he and his buddy Noah lifted weights there before dinner. It’s like a burlesque show. They start out with their shirts on and then slowly unveil the package as they get sweatier and sweatier,” Sasha explained. “Then, when they’re super hot and super sweaty, they’ll run their discarded shirts over their chests.

Otto captured this sacred sixth sense, at once subject and object, in a famous Latin sound bite: the sacred is the mysterium tremendum et fascinans, that is, the mystical (mysterium) as both fucking scary (tremendum) and utterly fascinating (fascinans).80 (page 9) With the sacred viewed within this gripping, emotionally charged sense, it is hardly surprising that these topics are too disturbing to be studied either by religious scholarship or by science. The presence of real siddhis, real psychic effects lurking in the dark boundaries between mind and matter, are so frightening and disorienting that defense mechanisms immediately snap into place to protect our psyches from these disturbing thoughts. We become blind to personal psychic episodes and to the supportive scientific evidence, we conveniently forget mind-shattering synchronicities, and if the intensity of the mysterium tremendum becomes too hot, we angrily deny any interest in the topic while backing away and vigorously making the sign of the cross. Within science this sort of behavior is understandable; science doesn’t like what it can’t explain because it makes scientists feel stupid. But the same resistance is also endemic in comparative religion scholarship, which is supposed to be the discipline that studies the sacred. As Kripal says, scholars of religion “simply ignore … or brush their data aside as ‘primitive,’ ‘mistaken,’ and so on. Now the dismissing word in vogue is ‘anecdotal’ ” (pp. 17–18).80 One reason for this odd state of affairs is that real psi and real siddhis powerfully refute Descartes’s dualism, the very idea that led to the split between science, which deals with matter, and the humanities, which deal with mind. This distinction has carved up the world so successfully that when phenomena appear that harshly illuminate the artificial nature of the split, the resulting glare, says Kripal, “can only violate and offend our present order of knowledge and possibility” (page 24).80 From this analysis, Kripal arrives at his central argument: Psychic phenomena may be thought of as symbols that indicate “the irruption [a bursting in] of meaning in the physical world via the radical collapse of the subject-object structure itself. They are not simply physical events. They are also meaning events” (page 25).80 In other words, where objective and subjective meet, the fabric of reality itself blurs. This is a place that is not quite physical, and not quite mental, but a limbo that somehow contains and creates both.

Walking and hiking does this. Cooking does, too. The witchy, grandmotherly type of cooking where you prepare things from scratch and you treat it as a hobby, not a chore to be rushed through. Fermenting vegetables gets me back in sync. Yoga works. Hot and slow and controlled by breath, breaking down to our bone-heavy pace.

Leah and Gregory met through friends. I imagine the introduction was something like, “Hey, he’s rich and has a summer house in Montecito and she’s a hot makeup artist who was a yoga instructor and can still put her legs behind her head.” Aaaaand cue Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.

He drove past the new hot yoga place on Franklin Avenue—by hot he meant temperature of the class, not popularity or looks—and found parking across the street from Janice’s. Five minutes early. He looked for Corinne’s car. No sign of it, but she could be parked in the back lot. David,

Maybe you need to find something more active? How about a yoga class?" "Yoga? Sweetheart, I've had no reason to put my legs around my neck since Bud passed on.

Before I could scream, his free hand slammed down on my throat and his face was directly above mine again. He growled as his blue eyes turned to ice and he just stared at me as I gasped for air. “You’re going to regret doing that, sweetheart.” My vision blurred from my tears; the outer edges were turning black as I struggled to stay conscious. Blake’s breathing deepened and the look that crossed his painfully handsome face terrified me. My mouth opened and shut, but I couldn’t pull in any air and I couldn’t make a sound. My arms gave up their fight seconds before my bucking hips did the same, and soon I could hardly focus on Blake at all. I prayed that someone would come and save me as the hand that had been holding my hands down on the mattress slid down and cupped me through my thin yoga pants. I felt his hot breath on my ear. “I’ll make sure you never want to fight me again, Rachel.” The

Ways to Work with Anxiety on Your Own 1. Get out of your head by turning all your attention to the soles of your feet. Feel the ground underneath them. 2. Practice your deep belly breathing. 3. Take a walk outside and observe the scenery. Name three colors, name three sounds, name three textures. 4. Remind yourself that you are anxious and therefore it is not a good time to draw conclusions about the future until you are calm. 5. Remind yourself that you are anxious and the feeling is temporary. 6. Focus on the anxious body sensations with compassion and curiosity—and without judgment—until they subside. Remember to breathe deeply as you focus. 7. Imagine a peaceful place or a time when you felt confident. 8. Imagine something soothing like beautiful music, or hot sun on your skin, or being hugged. 9. Do some exercise like jogging or yoga, or go to the gym.

Pitta types need to remain flexible and soft throughout their lives because if excess Pitta is not softened, it can become stiff, hot, and too tight. It

The smells I associate with yoga are contradictory. Freshly showered bodies and sweat. Sandalwood from a scented candle mixed with hot feet on rubber mats. Head-clearing pure air, ozonic freshness- and deep oriental mystery. Stillness and invigorating renewal. Feminine grace and masculine strength. Anima and animus. My scents of yoga are: Madagascan Jasmine by Grandiflora Lime Basil and Mandarin Cologne by Jo Malone London Exhale by B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful Pour Monsieur by Chanel Oud by Maison Francis Kurkdjian New West for Her by Aramis Black Lapsang by Bodhidharma Santal by Diptyque (my favorite candle for the yoga studio)

It was a contradiction that Bikram negotiated with two twin sayings: "Ninety-nine percent correct, one hundred percent wrong," and its complement, "Try one perfect the right way, get one hundred percent of the benefits." This 99 percent wrong/1 percent right mentality created the classic Bikram dynamic. During class, internally, there is a perfectionism, a demand for almost hostile conformity that works like metallurgy on the human form. Outside the hot room, externally, or from the teacher’s perspective, the yoga is compassionate, open, and tolerant. every improvement is praised because every improvement is hard won. The strict disciplinarian and the loving healer.