Many students love prānāyāma week, when we do far fewer poses, with more support, and longer holds. Even in my beginner classes, I introduce simple breathwork, and in my continuing level and intermediate classes, we do increasingly subtle and complex types of prānāyāma.

To prepare for breathwork, we practice an array of supported poses. These may not be as easy as one may think. For many folks, especially those with stiffer bodies, and beginners whose nervous systems are unaccustomed to longer holds, the restorative poses present a challenge. Even the props set-ups are more complicated and require more precision and customization, since we’ll be holding the poses for 5 minutes or longer.

Do come to class this week. Your body and mind will thank you, for the deep rest, rejuvenation, and inner cleanse of prānāyāma. I’m still subbing up a storm, so check the latest schedule at iysdc.org and please come on by.

Yours in yoga,

gwi-seok

If you don’t know me, you might think I am morbid and death-obsessed. If you know me, you will recognize me as relentlessly creative, optimistic, and energetic. As a Scorpio who lives life fully and enthusiastically, I embrace my ultimate passing from this embodiment with, if not joy, at least grateful anticipation, after a life passionately lived.

A friend sent me this heart-wrenching opinion piece from The New York Times about caring for our parents. I cared for both my parents and could identify with each person’s stories. However, the distinguishing factor in my experiences was that each of my parents were clear about how they wished to die. For that I am eternally grateful.

These are some queries that arose:

• Have you cared for loved ones in their final months and years? Have they told you how they wish to die? Have you accompanied them into the great beyond? Supported them in their home-going?

• How do you relate to your own illnesses and disabilities? To your inevitable aging?

• Do you have a sense for why you incarnated into this current embodiment? Do you have a sense for your life’s ever-evolving purpose and mission?

• What are your beliefs about the after-life, or the after-death? What do you perceive on a somatic level, about what happens when you die? What spiritual practices do you identify with?

I hope that how I wish to die determines how my final weeks and months will fare. I do not plan for my final stage on this planet to last years. Currently, as I turn 63 this year, I am of the “75 to stay alive” school. If I am diagnosed with a treatable and potentially serious condition before age 75, I will probably accept medical treatment. After age 75, contrary to conventional wisdom, I plan to forego medical appointments, tests, and treatments. (Actually I do that already!) After 75, I plan to let my body progress to the next phase and go back to the earth, as it’s designed to do. I hope I will have friends and family support me in my inevitable demise. I accept that anything could happen, but realistically, I expect to exceed age 70, will be grateful to reach 75, make the most of 80, and anything beyond that is bonus. Until then, I practice excellent self-care, nourish myself with home-cooked food, listen to my body, and live a full and active life.

I don’t consider longevity a virtue. I don’t feel a need or desire to preserve my life. Yes, I love my children, grandchildren, and friends, and wish to spend as much quality time with them as possible. Yes, I love the breathtaking beauty and wonder of earthly life. But there will be a day when I cannot consciously engage with my loved ones, and there will likely be a day when they reach their capacity to care for me.

Life on earth is not easy. We deserve and will receive a break, thankfully. I am aggrieved at the suffering in the world. I feel it in my bones. It hurts to care. It hurts to empathize. Today my body is strong and able, but perhaps one day I will experience pain in my body, which I cannot cure. At some point I will be ready to slide out of this realm into the next.

We need exit strategies. Have you ever been at a party, and you’ve had enough? You can’t eat another bite, you’ve talked to everyone you wanted to connect with, you had fun, and now you want to go home, take a shower, read your book and go to bed. Those who know me know I am not one for small talk. Neither am I one for small living. If and when I have completed my life’s work, I do not need to linger.

What is your life’s work? Daily I aspire to serve as a conduit: I strive to be an emotional spaceholder, opening the doors to our own wisdom selves, to dispel illusion and move deeper into truth and ultimate reality. As a teacher, writer, maker, and comrade, I strive to share paths of healing, for ourselves, our ancestors, our descendants, and our planet.

My loved ones know that when I depart, I will be leaving a huge media footprint. I did not live a private life, for better or worse. My blog is up and will be indefinitely. This Substack page continues to fatten up. My papers are archived at Milwaukee Public Library. Even my parenting column is still live. Not to mention my Soundcloud account, my podcast, my Instagram dance videos (#halmonidance), and Youtube yoga tutorials. I have a ton of published poems, letters to editors, essays, and a few books to my name. Anyone who wishes to spend time with me will have plenty of material to choose from, actually way too much to uncover.

I have no fear of being forgotten. In fact, I hope I will one day fade into holy anonymity, and be freed from the burden of identity. I hope my children will compost my body, and let me turn into rich, fertile soil for coming generations. I believe in life-after-death, and believe I will be accessible from the spirit realm, visiting those on earth, in dreams, memories, songs, poems, insights, and flashes. Whenever we need our ancestors, we simply invite them. Invite me, I will come.

So how will I be spending my final couple of decades? Creating, sharing, serving, digging, planting, singing, dancing, speaking out, troubling the waters, fighting for justice, marching, chanting, teaching, and learning. When I am unable to engage in any of these activities due to my own inevitable limitations, it will be my signal to flow into the next realm. I will have fulfilled my purpose in this embodiment.

I believe life is beautiful. I believe death is also beautiful. As you are able, please support me in my demise when that day comes. Do not encourage me to linger. Please release me when I’m ready to go.

How do you wish to die? A serious question. Let’s not be afraid. Let’s be brave together. Please let me know and I will support you.

On one hand the standard land acknowledgement can feel hypocritical, superficial, performative, and patronizing. In some contexts, as Walker points out, it’s practically a joke. For instance, wealthy corporations and nonprofits clearly benefiting from occupying stolen land, and disinterested in rematriation or reparations, who open public events with boilerplate land acknowledgements—give me a break.

Personally, it took me nearly a decade after I started learning about land acknowledgements to begin crafting a practice of opening my yoga classes with my own. To begin earlier would have felt forced. Instead I sat with the awkwardness of knowing I lived as a settler on stolen land, in the Three Fires Confederacy of the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi peoples, in the land traditionally known as Waawiyaatanong (aka Detroit, Michigan). I could feel the imbalance in my body. I was also actively engaged in social change movements, including Palestine liberation, racial justice, disability justice, food justice, and healing justice. In other words, I was already an activist, but my public language had not evolved to include my day-to-day existence on stolen land.

What happened in that decade since I heard a land acknowledgement for the first time? First and foremost, I was deepening my connection to the land. I was commuting by bicycle more and more, surrounded by the urban wilderness that was still available in Detroit at the time. I was actively building community with my neighbors, developing alternative economies, growing food, redistributing resources (ie dumpster diving), and much more. I practiced foraging, and plant medicine with homemade tinctures, salves, and teas. I became the “Fermentation Sensation,” making kimchi, kombucha, kefir, yogurt, and sourdough. I moved in with a dear friend and disabled elder, as his live-in caregiver and learned more about embodied interdependence, outside of oppressive systems.

All of these practices became heightened when I moved back to Hawai`i, my childhood home, in December 2021. Here, in this year-round warm climate, we spend much more time outside, and Native Hawaiian culture and spirituality imbue every layer of existence, if we pay attention and welcome it.

Here in Hawai`i, the life force, the mana, flows so strongly, that to fail to acknowledge it would be like ignoring the sun. It’s also so painfully obvious that this special place in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 2500 miles from Tahiti, San Francisco, and Alaska, is among the most heavily occupied and militarized in the world. Of course, the haole of the illegal Provisional Government wanted to control the land, its resources, and most of all, its strategic position in the Pacific. The audacity and injustice of the illegal overthrow feels sickening, overwhelming, and unbearable to any person of conscience.

Knowing all of this, and even more importantly, feeling it profoundly in my body and soul, how could I NOT acknowledge the contradictions I wrestle with daily? I live on stolen land. Acknowledging the land at the beginning of every class and meeting doesn’t correct it. However, it reminds me and others that the effort to change it must never cease, centering the consciousness of this place as Hawaiian, and not just a nice place to spend your millions of dollars. If our presence does not benefit the `āina and lāhui (the community/people of this land), we need to take a step back, re-evaluate, and make the necessary changes.

Despite the contradictions, I cannot rightfully lay claim to any other land besides Hawai`i. I pay rent for my studio apartment in an affordable housing community, strive to live lightly on the earth and contribute to her healing, and devote myself to the people of this land, however inadequate it may feel.

So, back to the question of doing or not doing a land acknowledgement. Is it coming from a place of integration, not obligation, and not guilt? I may never be able to fully integrate my deepest values with my life choices, caught as I am in the trappings of modernity/coloniality. But I can keep these priorities front and center and continually work toward removing the layers of dissonance.

I do this through art, ritual, ceremony, as well as tending the land, growing food, participating in work days, community organizing, sharing resources, and caring for my grandchildren. Is there more I could do? Of course. I’ve not yet touched the whole political issue of Hawaiian sovereignty, and the debates about homelands. As a non-Hawaiian, I don’t feel it’s my place to discuss these controversies, except to say I support the rights and sovereignty of kānaka. The land acknowledgement is simply a public ceremonial prayer and launching point.

Here is a sample of how I begin each class these days:

Let us settle into our time and place.

Feel the earth beneath you, release your hips and legs downward, and from this foundation, lift your trunk upward.

As you settle, reconnect and reintegrate yourself with all the living beings you share this time and place with, human and more-than-human: the winds, the rains, the mountains, trees, animals, and more.

Let us honor and acknowledge the āina, and all the beings here in the Hawaiian kingdom. Let us honor and acknowledge the Kānaka Maoli, who have stewarded this land for millennia. We strive to be in right relationship with the people of this land, and all the beings of the land.

We also strive to be in right relationship with the lineage of yoga, the teachings passed on through the generations.

We recognize the path of yoga to be an evolving and progressive tradition and we strive to participate in the evolution of yoga, as we chant the invocation to Patañjali.

If I have more time, I may insert statements such as:

Whether we are here as natives, settlers, refugees, captives, or exiles, we recognize that Hawai`i was illegally overthrown and that those of us who are not native live on stolen land, and owe a great debt to the Kānaka Maoli.

We acknowledge that BKS Iyengar and his lineage embrace yoga as a universal practice, but that caste oppression persists in India and the diaspora. We take responsibility for our participation in oppression, conscious or unconscious. We dedicate our humble practice of yoga toward the reparation of harm, that we endure, inflict, or witness.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this topic, and also how you might acknowledge the land where you live. None of us are exempt from the harm we have personally and collectively caused, but we can continue to raise awareness, take responsibility, and make amends.

In the gorgeous film Sila, about the Inuk Greenlanders, a shaman, Avianja Rakel Sanimuinaq, comments that as we gaze at the plants, they are gazing back at us.

This simple statement helps me to understand how indigenous people all over the world learned plant medicine, discerning what plants would aid us in what ways. As people of the land, we learn to speak the language of the plants, understand their tendencies, observe them through the seasons, and learn what helps them and hinders them. We watch animals and how they relate to the plants. Our inner plant selves discern what we need for particular conditions. Homeopaths developed their medicines similarly, closely observing the characteristics of each plant, then applying these observations to symptoms that humans and other animals were displaying.

I’ve been developing the language around these thoughts since my 8 year-old granddaughter told me that she “hates nazza.” I felt confused, and asked her, what is “nazza”? “You know, they send astronauts into space. N-A-S-A,” she explained, and I finally understood. “I hate them because they send monkeys and dogs into space,” she asserted, angry and frustrated at their abusive treatment of animals. “That is so wrong!”

I love her passion and moral outrage. It will serve her well. At the same time, my heart breaks with the knowledge that she will be devastated over and over again, just as I am every single day, as she learns more about the world, and the unimaginable ravages of empire, capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy. Cruelty to animals is the tip of the iceberg. I pray that her heart will stay open, and she will not learn to ignore, numb out, and override her conscience. At the same time, she will need concrete practices to ward off despair and cynicism, and to stay engaged and cultivate the joy in her heart.

Another Inuk culture-keeper in the film Sila, Ikimaliq Pikilak, comments that the rocks have been watching us for thousands of years. The mountains have literally been holding it down while we come and go. Can we even fathom the stories the rocks contain? While staying for an extended time in Korea in 2014, which is 75% mountainous, I realized that the mountains are equally alive as humans, but just on a different time scale. One year to us might equal a thousand years to a mountain. Surrounded by the mountains in Korea, I began to see shapes, faces, and traits, shaped by the elements over millenia.

Pikilak tells us that the polar bears are the Inuk’s closest relatives, their siblings, and that the animals are our peers. She explains how the bears taught the Inuk how to hunt seal, and how the Inuk would not have survived without learning this skill. She further explains that “sometimes we hunt the polar bear, and sometimes the polar bear hunts us.” This profound statement of reciprocity and interdependence completely subverts the colonial myth of human supremacy.

As colonized human beings, we habitually place ourselves at the top of the hierarchy of beings. We monitor our environments in fascistic, tyrannical ways. When I lived in rural Waimānalo for 2 years, I quickly learned that I had to become part of the ecosystem. No matter how hard we tried to seal our doors and windows, we shared the house with critters. I learned that I could only control so much. I learned to live with the geckos and insects. Yes, I asserted boundaries. I slept under mosquito netting. No, ants, you cannot come past this line. No, roaches, you must stay outside. Geckos, please come and feast on the insects, but if you propagate, I will cull you.

To be blunt, I learned to kill. I’m still not very good at it, and if possible, I prefer capturing indoors to release outdoors. But when that is not possible, I do what I need to do to make sure my habitat is not infested. I’ve learned to do this as an act of reciprocity and self-care, rather than supremacy. That is, we are all part of the `āina, and we each have a role. We must respect each other’s space.

When I must take the life of another being, no matter how small, I pray and thank the being for their life energy. It’s the same for weeding a garden, or eating a meal. I have taken the life of other beings in order to preserve my own.

Vegetarianism and veganism don’t solve this predicament: in order to survive, we must sacrifice other lives. As the plant looks at me, I pull it out, chop it up, cook it, and eat it. It’s a tremendous, inescapable responsibility and karmic burden. Avoiding eating animals does not absolve this dilemma.

To be alive is to be in constant interdependent relationship with all beings. The plant says, come, pick, eat, like the papaya tree with ripening fruit that it needs to unburden in order to conserve its energy. Other times, the “consent” is much more ambiguous. Did the seal consent to be hunted and consumed?

We live with the cognitive dissonance and hold it in our bodies. My capacity as a human being involves navigating this discomfort with love, grace, gratitude, compassion, and always a view of the larger picture. Thank you, plants, rocks, animals, rain, earth, for nourishing me and keeping me alive. Thank you, mycelia, bacteria, even the death forces that decompose bodies and turn them into nutrients for living beings. I, too, will eventually break down, return to the earth, and nourish the next generation.

When we stop objectifying the more-than-human beings that surround us, we give them agency. We realize they are our siblings, our cousins, our descendants, our grandparents, and our ancestors. We give life, we take life. We wish them well, they wish us well. When we stop seeing death as an end, and instead, as a stage in the life cycle of the whole, we no longer fear it nor run away from it.

Look outside. See the trees, see the flowers, see the rocks, see the mountains. They’re gazing back at you. What are they communicating to you? How are you living in reciprocity and interdependence with them?

I frequently teach in-depth āsana and prānāyāma workshops for Iyengar Yoga Detroit Collective. They are online for wide access, and recorded, for those who wish to review the material, or who cannot attend synchronously.

recently shared the photo above, of something I wrote to her in the 2000s, when she was in college. I was shocked, because 1) I don’t remember writing it, and 2) I still stand by these thoughts from 20 or so years ago.

It made me wonder what else I had shared with my kids back in the day. On my laptop, I found this letter/poem which offers a slice of life in NYC 16 years ago, when I was in my late 40s. At the time I was visiting my daughter Katja, at NYU. When I wrote it I was uptown, and it references Edward Said, Tom’s Restaurant, the M60 bus, and other Upper West Side/Morningside Heights tropes. It intersperses everyday details with discussions about dying, misogyny, and dominant paradigms. (I’ve redacted some names for privacy.)

Where were you in 2010? What has stayed with you, and what has changed?

7 nov 2010

dear meiko

the cherry pickers are out and they are stringing the lights on college walk

it’s marathon day in nyc

I just had scrambled eggs at the counter at tom’s

I’m sitting at the bus stop facing ollie’s waiting for the m60

realizing a letter can just be a list of random thoughts

there is no such thing as random in any case

as much as I disdain the wealth and privilege of elite institutions I get a little rush—the smugness of the insider—when I’m in morningside heights

I look around at tom’s thinking I might see someone I know but of course it’s been 26 years since I ate here regularly

thoughts about catcalling in conversation w katja

catcalling as a form of resistance of the working class to gentrifying newcomers

catcalling a form of aggression, power-over

a statement of “you may have economic, educational, and racial privilege over me; but I still have gender privilege”

assertion of the working class esp latino or African American

default settings on word an assertion of the dominant paradigm

it’s the potential of all this information that thrills me in morningside hgts

so much fodder for revolution

as rare as actual revolution is

the would-be revolutionary gets seduced by degrees and a promise of tenure

becomes wed to institutional security

yet here it is!

the fuel for foment

maybe incremental change is the best we can do

or small scale structures

the transition movement

rooftop gardens and cooperatives freed from constraints of consumerism

isn’t there more? for more people?

thinking of Edward said—the role of the public intellectual to resist all hegemonies

diff between public and private intellectuals?

last night in spoonbill sugarbush books ted berrigan letters to sandy paraphrased

“the minority is always right. the majority is always wrong. always”

aaron what’s his name editor of Columbia spectator in 1984 “the enlightened point of view is always the liberal point of view”

here we are back at elitism circling back

yuck

did you notice how word default capitalized Columbia?

overheard in the subway

“new york is full of students. the main ones are Columbia and nyu”

“Columbia in Chicago?”

“no, the real Columbia.”

then the 2 young white men went on to talk about the women they should have fucked but didn’t. sarah got knocked up before erin, they thought erin would go first. no one knows who the dad is. all the photos just show sarah and the baby. he worked so hard for months to nail sarah but all he got was one blue-ball makeout session. then erin came to visit him in boston for 4 days and he could’ve fucked her but he had just spent a month pursuing a girl named Deborah and they had just hooked up for the first time the week before. all this in full volume in front of me as I’m trying to take notes on my yoga class with carrie owerko.

more random thoughts

why should we bother to be attractive?

the host of a tv show about what not to wear was on michelle martin’s stellar wnyc program “tell me more”

the whole idea of someone telling me what not to wear because it’s unflattering to me physically is unflattering to me intellectually and emotionally

it assumes a dominant aesthetic:

women are supposed to appear thin and youthful, sexually appealing

why should we?

yoga nun here I come

I would love to shave my head and don loose robes

one day I will

being sexy is of no use to me and in fact could be an impediment

considering I make a living in short shorts and snug tshirts

to be an effective teacher I need to be more or less asexual

visited X and Y yesterday afternoon

they were in marathon prep mode

quiet evening at home before the big race

I chose not to tell them about my separation or about J which would’ve broken their focus on the race

people like them are interesting because they identify with progressive values while remaining deeply attached to the success ethic and material security

classic liberals in some sense

a real dilemma to me but apparently not to most

X was exasperated [nb word recognizes J as a proper noun requiring capitalization but not X nor meiko nor katja either. what about malachi? nope.] with Z bc he has complaining that he’s bored w his job

but her friend offered him a job in ny for goldman sachs doing the same work for twice the pay

Z is not interested

X could not understand why he wouldn’t take it

the city full of marathoners

you see them in running clothes in the subway

Italians and germans and more

standing at corners checking their watches

marathoners type A personalities

need a sense of accomplishment and challenge

need to go through brutality

I can identify on some levels although I know I will never run a marathon

prashant Iyengar in class this summer: “mark my words, in 20 or 30 years research will show that athletes are not healthy”

then you see the elite runners lined up at the vrazzano bridge ready to take off and they have breathe-ease strips on their noses

yikes

X tells me the story of Z turning down goldman sachs after I tell her about your lifestyle in Martinique

Z lived like that for 5 years she says with disbelief

otoh Z’s girlfriend lives like that

itinerant, traveling

but because she made good real estate deals in the 90s

she is set for life and only 30 something

somehow that is admirable but someone living the same carefree life but only earning 20k a year is irresponsible

katja and I ate at dokkebi in wburg last night

funny to find a loud trendy Korean restaurant in bklyn

dokkebi means ghost or demon

instead of mandoo, gyoza was on the menu

back to catcalling

once I relinquish all attachment to being attractive

I become pleasantly invisible

I have long given up looking at my reflection in store windows

once I stop gazing at myself others do too

saw a book at spoonbill called The Selby

a photo book of living spaces

the author asserted that what all new Yorkers have in common is envy

the way we love to look through people’s windows and see what kind of artwork what color paint

how to go through nyc without envy? competition? aspiration?

I am seeing a glimpse of this, a possibility

shaved head saffron gown

or the Russian grandmas at atwater beach sunning themselves in their skirts and huge architectural brassieres

pushing their grandchildren in the swings

one day I will be that free

nearing the airport signing off

love always

mom

ps later on plane

I hope “independence” means healthy interdependence within functional communities in relationships not determined by hegemonies of any sort

not colonizing while refusing to be colonized

I was happy in marriage w family

and now happy in nonmarriage

tho family with its complexities will always be a constant

I pray [visualizing/dreaming/wishing/longing/thinking/believing] that you kids will create the right social structures at the right times

and that you will love and be loved deeply widely unconditionally

from afar I send always deep wide unconditional love

pps

what is infinite? C, age 7—H’s son asks

infinite is the sky I say—how big it is and how it goes on and on and on

are we infinite? C asks

no, I say, bc we will die

we will? he asks shocked

that’s ok, I say, death is ok, we just return to the earth. like the dinosaurs, and now their bodies give us fuel for our cars.

but don’t we go to heaven? C asks

the spirit goes to heaven and is always alive. when we sing john lennon’s songs and tell stories then john is still alive. [C loves the beatles.]

can they hear us? and see us?

yes, I tell him.

the questions go on and on

what do I know?

tonight we do the bridge over the river ceremony at prairie hill honoring the dead

we follow the soul’s journey from moon to Saturn then back based on steiner’s indications

we choose to be here on earth

let’s make the most of our time here

bringing the most good to the most possible

These poses are also useful the days immediately following menses, and also great for menopause and post-menopause. Lois Steinberg’s book, Geeta S. Iyengar’s Guide to a Woman’s Yoga Practice has been the primary source and inspiration for this sequence.

1. Supta Vīrāsana, 5-10 minutes

This pose lifts and tones the uterus. Use at least 1 bolster under the trunk and 1 blanket under head and neck, but more as needed. For instance, if Vīrāsana is challenging, try sitting on a block, and add a second bolster or several blankets under the trunk. If you do not have all these props at home, use whatever pillows, cushions, towels etc you can gather.

Actions in the pose:

• press the outer shins down

• lengthen the buttocks toward the knees

• lift the pubis toward the navel and lengthen the entire trunk toward the head (optional: extend the arms straight in Ūrdhva Hastāsana)

In all these poses, attend to the rhythm of the breath. Use the exhales to pull the pelvic floor up and back. This is a more subtle action. Consult with your teacher for more detailed instruction. For an in-depth practice focusing on the pelvic floor, please read Yoga for Pelvic Floor and Postpartum Health by CIYT Rebecca Weisman.

2. Adho Mukha Śvanāsana, 1-3 minutes, 2-3 repetitions

This is a great pose to bring the uterus and birth canal back into their optimal, pre-childbirth positions. You will feel a huge lift in the abdominal cavity when the feet are elevated. You can use blocks, or the back of an upturned chair, a short stool, or whatever sturdy support you can find in your home.

Optional:

• traction the hips with a rope or strap hooked to a doorknob or railing

• strap the elbows if your arms feel unsteady

• put a slanting plank under the heels of the hands if the wrists ache

• block or blankets for the head

• if the hips feel “loose,” belt your hips snugly, at the level of the pubis

Actions

• lift the hips up and back while pressing the thighs back

• lift up through the arms and out of the shoulders—there’s definitely more weight on the arms when the feet are elevated, but do not collapse your weight toward the hands

• soften the throat and lengthen the sides of the neck

3. Pārśvottanāsana, 1-2 minutes/side, 2-3 repetitions

Practice this pose to regain the compactness of the hips and the strength of your legs, while lengthening the spine and lifting the reproductive organs up. Use as much height as needed under the hands to create the concave spine; do not go for maximum hip flexion. Instead, prioritize firmness of the legs and hips.

Actions:

• press firmly into the back foot outer heel and the front foot big toe.

• pull the femur heads toward each other

• draw the thoracic spine from back to front to lift the chest and bring circulation to the breast region

• on the exhales, draw the pelvic floor in, up, and back

4. Śirṣāsana, 3-7 minutes

In this version, the block and strapped legs make the legs lighter and help move the organs to the back body. Set up near a wall if you feel uncertain about balance. Inversions will truly boost your recovery and bring vitality, by enhancing circulation, stimulating the nervous system, balancing hormones, and restoring the reproductive organs.

Actions:

• reach up through the backs of the legs

• clamp the outer thighs in and roll the inner thighs back as you press the middle buttock forward

• be careful not to push the lumbar forward

• this is an ideal pose to practice the pelvic floor actions

5. Sarvangāsana series, 1-3 minutes/pose

Chair Sarvangāsana—This version gives you the benefit of the inversion without all the effort. It offers the added benefit of the broad chest and shoulder extension. Keep the feet together or hip-width apart, as able. Optional: ask someone to place a vertical bolster behind the legs if the hip extension feels too strong.

Niralamba Sarvangāsana—This is an excellent pose for physiological health, bringing lift to the organs. Keep the feet hip-width, lift strongly through the back body, pressing the hips forward and the thighs back. Use more height under the shoulders if you have difficulty getting onto the tops of the shoulders. Optional: keep holding the back legs of the chair if you feel unsteady.

Viparita Karani brings refreshing circulation to the lower abdominal region, and creates a gentle backbend in the upper spine. Jalandhara bandha, in all the Sarvangāsana poses, calms the mind and quiets the senses, while promoting thyroid balance and health.

Ardha Halāsana broadens the lumbar and alleviates back pain. It deepens the attention inward and quiets the mind. Take the feet together or apart, as needed. Use a second chair, table, or stool for the feet. You could also pull the support closer and rest the thighs if you wish.

6. Setubandha Sarvangāsana, 5-10 minutes

This is a wonderful way to thoroughly rest. The cross bolsters setup (see lower photo) brings a little extra height for the trunk. Strap the legs so you don’t have to exert muscular effort to keep them together. See that the shoulders and head are on the floor, on a blanket, but the rest of the trunk is on the top bolster. The height of the feet is variable depending on you and your proportions; make sure there is no strain in the lumbar. You can use this pose for Śavāsana, or bending your legs, slide down to your head side to bring the entire trunk to the floor.

Every week, in my continuing level yogāsana classes, we discuss one yoga sutra from Patañjali. The past couple of months, we’ve been studying the five kleśas, the universal afflictions, and this week we arrived at my “favorite” one, abhiniveśa. The preceding four kleśas are avidyā (ignorance), asmitā (ego), raga (attachment), and dveṣa (aversion). All over the world and through the ages, we encounter these obstacles to spiritual evolution and liberation.

Some common translations of abhiniveśa include:

• clinging to life

• fear of death

• self-preservation

Some less common translations include:

• attachment to continuity or status quo

• attachment to security

• adherence to one’s dogmas

Patańjali’s sutra II.9 states that even the sages experience abhiniveśa. After all, who doesn’t want to stay alive? This may be the most primal instinct of all, and we’d be terribly concerned if someone doesn’t have this urge. So why does it appear on the list of problems?

I’m thinking of the bunkers being built under the White House East Wing ballroom. By now we’ve all learned that the reason for the $400,000,000 pricetag on the ballroom is because it will include extensive underground quarters, with the ultimate cybertechnology. Apparently, Trump and his administration have become seduced by the techno fascists’ obsession with power, control and survival. As we go deeper into the USA/Israeli war on Iran, which has ballooned into a regional conflict, and come closer than ever to actual nuclear threat (though not from Iran), we may experience the instinct to take cover.

Yet I wonder: why would my survival matter more than someone else’s? Why would I deserve to live, and others’ not? I remember a conversation with a young woman who told me she was liberal in all ways except the reproductive right to choose, because she was adopted, and would not be here if her birthmom decided to terminate the pregnancy.

This struck me as a strange logic, and probably a narrative reinforced throughout childhood, as a justification from her Catholic adoptive parents. But this raises all kinds of questions for me.

The yoga framework, like most spiritual practices outside of the Abrahamic religions, includes a belief in the beforelife and afterlife, ie reincarnation. Our time on earth is a blip, compared to the epochs through which our souls evolve. Do I need to cling so tightly to this brief incarnation? Where would my soul be, if I was aborted as a fetus? What about the destinies of my mother and father?

As a mother and grandmother, I would do anything to preserve the lives of my loved ones. We instinctively prioritize the well-being of younger generations. Even so, we cannot hermetically seal their lives in safety. We recognize that everyone embarks on their own mysterious journey, beyond our control.

Meanwhile I hope I can approach all my relations, human and more-than-human, without the burden of abhiniveśa. This is the prerequisite for collective liberation. Instead of fearing my own demise, can I make space for others, and step back when required? Can I share instead of hoard? Can I trust instead of cling?

Overcoming abhiniveśa does not mean I stop opposing war, genocide, oppression, and apartheid. In fact, I hope that overcoming fear of death makes me a more committed, more courageous warrior for peace and justice. I hope that less clinging to my own life makes me more empathic and compassionate toward others.

I invited my students to observe themselves in the coming weeks, and notice when abhiniveśa pops up. Maybe it shows up as fear, whether rational or irrational, or insisting our opinions are correct, even if the grounds are shaky, or denial about aging, or …..??? The sutras point out that abhiniveśa is rooted in avidyā and asmitā, and that our egos compel us to cling to our markers of identity. If I base my identity on youth, strength, and vitality, I will inevitably experience abhiniveśa as I age.

I like to think that I will embrace my mortality with grace, ease, and acceptance, but I’ve never been tested. The closest I’ve come is the intensity of childbirth, which I found quite manageable actually, without medication and at home, and perhaps dental work, which I usually choose to do without anesthesia. With both childbirth and dental work, the discomfort is intermittent, not continuous, and primarily premised on fear rather than actual sensation. I’ve discovered that the more I can relax, the less pain I experience. The less I resist, the less it hurts. I will consider all the years of yoga practice worthwhile, if I can carry this peace to my deathbed.

May it be so.

As yoga practitioners, we are inherently anti-war. Our foundational yama is ahimsa: anti-violence, which goes far beyond nonviolence. It’s not enough to be vegan. How does ahimsa shape how we relate to our human siblings? The planet? Other living beings?

Just because we practice āsana doesn’t mean we’re yoga practitioners. Let’s embrace all eight limbs and truly make the most of this powerful path. Meanwhile, āsana can be a laboratory, training ground, and entry point for the deeper practices. Āsana and prānāyāma can be especially useful for regulating the nervous system, so that we can be more present with ourselves and one another.

Here’s a quick list of ways you can practice yoga in a time of war:

1. Stay informed. For your mental health, don’t spend all day online. But at least take your head out of the sand and look at the headlines each day. At least familiarize yourself with what is happening globally. Know when it’s time to turn off your news sources, take a walk, go for a swim, play with your kids or your pets, put on some music, dance, sing, pray, whatever you need to do to stay well-nourished. But do not hide from the news. Be brave, open your eyes, see, feel, understand.

2. Speak up. Refuse to remain silent. Especially when people are being killed in your name, with your tax dollars, it’s incumbent to intervene. How do you speak up? Talk to your friends, neighbors, colleagues, relatives, and let them know how you feel and why. Call Congress daily. Choose one main demand. Call again with another demand, if you have the time and capacity. Require them to respond to your demands. Don’t let them off the hook. Write letters to editors and op-eds. If participating in marches, rallies, demonstrations, protests, and direct actions is your thing, do it. If not, keep speaking up in other ways.

3. Gather with others. Don’t isolate yourself. Support one another, learn from each other, share food, invest in friendships. You don’t have to agree 100%. Being anti-war means learning to compromise, collaborate, communicate, respect boundaries, and give more than you take.

4. Engage in prayer and ritual daily. Not only do thoughts, affirmations, spells, incantations, intentions, poems, songs, and blessings move through the world and beyond, they also transform each of us. Build relations with the ancestors, the deities, the angels, and the spirit realm. All you have to do is call upon them. Prayer and ritual feed our soul, which easily become parched and bereft when we experience or bear witness to trauma. It’s easy to fall into despair and cynicism, or become burnt out from the fires of rage. This is a marathon, not a sprint, and we have to practice exquisite self-care and community care. Engaging ritually as a small group is even more powerful! As Margaret Mead famously pointed out, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” During the war on Iraq, my friends and I started “Power Prayer for Peace,” gathering in our separate homes at 7am daily, to spend 5 minutes praying for peace and an end to war. As I recall, we even prayed for GW Bush, that he would be healed, come to his senses, and call an end to the offensive.

5. Recognize how we are each microcosms of the macrocosm. If we do not practice ahimsa in our own spheres, how can we create it in our communities and in the world? Commit to being an anchor of compassion, courage, clarity, and love in your own circle. Notice how standing in your own integrity affects the people around you. Support the integrity of the individuals around you. When each of us prioritizes and respects our own and others’ sovereignty, we create the world we want to live in.

6. Open to the unknown. Ego (asmitā) clings to the status quo. Instead, challenge yourself to sit in discomfort and not-knowing. Our practice is not for perfectionism, but for exploration, experimentation, creativity, and to open up hints and possibilities for a better world, formerly unfathomable.

I bet you have other ideas of how to be responsible yoga practitioners during this time of heightened polycrisis. Let’s not give up, let’s keep talking and supporting each other. Especially now, the world needs vessels of peace, justice, courage, compassion, commitment, and clarity. As Mahatma Gandhi pointed out, Be the change we need in the world. Join me in engaging in sacred struggle.

We can begin by working on our knees!

1. Ardha Uttanāsana, wall, folded mat, chair (optional)

   

   Stand, feet hip-width, near a wall and place your hands or elbows on the seat of a chair. Tuck a thick folded mat behind your knees. Press your knees firmly back into the mat, engaging your quadriceps. Hold 10-30 seconds, rest, repeat.

2. Utkatāsana, wall, block

   

   Stand about 12-15 inches away from the wall. Hold a vertical block between the knees and shins. Make sure your toes point straight ahead and your knees track over your ankles. Pin the hips, shoulders, and head back to the wall. Slowly lower the trunk down the wall until the thighs are approximately parallel to the floor, according to capacity. Stay 10-20 seconds, come slowly up, and repeat.

3. Vīrabhadrāsana I, wall, thick folded blanket

   

   

   Face the wall, with the toes of your right foot up the wall, and fingertips at the wall. Step the left foot back and straighten both legs. Press the hips forward, under the shoulders. Slowly lower the left knee to the blanket, while carefully bending the right knee over the right ankle. Touch lightly, and slowly come up. Repeat, and do both sides.

4. Chatush Padāsana

   

While we often do this pose as a backbend, this version focuses on the stability of the hips and knees. Lie on the floor with your legs bent. Lift the hips up while keeping the feet pressing down evenly and tracking the knees directly over the feet. Hold 10-15 seconds, rest, repeat. Challenge yourself further by lifting one leg off the floor, and staying for a few breaths, keeping the other hip and knee stable.

5. Supta Padanguṣthāsana I

   

   Interlock your fingers behind one thigh, then slowly straighten the leg fully and press the thigh back into your hands. If the hamstrings are tight and the leg does not straighten, use a strap behind the leg instead. The lower leg can be straight and pressing down into the floor and the wall, or kept bent, foot on the floor. Hold 10-15 seconds, rest, repeat. Do both sides.

All these poses strengthen the quadriceps, which I often call the parents of the knees, as well as stabilize the tendons and ligaments which hold the knee in place. They also stabilize the hips, when done with careful attention to alignment. They can all be modified to suit every body. Please consult with your CIYT (Certified Iyengar Yoga Teacher). These poses require consistency and commitment. Let us commit to creating health and well-being in our bodies, and peace, balance, and justice in the world.

One of the most important poses we practice in the Iyengar Yoga tradition is Salamba Sarvangāsana. It literally translates to Supported All Limbs Pose, but typically in English, we call it shoulderstand.

Some yoga practitioners, including some seasoned practitioners, refrain from this pose. Some of the reasons may be:

• Glaucoma, or a similar medical condition that contraindicates inversions of any sort

• Chronic neck pain or a neck injury

• Shoulder pain, tightness, or injury

• Menses

• Fear, for a variety of reasons

If you’re on your period, inversions in general are contraindicated, because gravity can cause too much pressure on reproductive organs, resulting in cramps or heavy bleeding. In general, we encourage the downward flow and expulsion of the uterine lining during menses, instead of going against the flow.

Similarly, certain medical conditions could be aggravated by the slight increase in blood pressure in the neck and head region while inverting. Even though jalandhara bandha (the chest to chin position) puts a brake on the blood flow, it’s normal to experience increased circulation to the head and throat. In fact, this is one of the benefits of the pose: stimulation of the thyroid gland in the throat region.

Using adequate height under the shoulders (a blanket stack or foam pads) prevents neck and shoulder pain. If you look in Light on Yoga, BKS Iyengar’s classic guide to yoga āsana, you will see that he is doing Sarvangāsana flat on the floor. However, as a teacher, Mr. Iyengar noticed that the firm chest to chin position of jalandhara bandha was impossible for most people. Hyperflexible folks who could easily flex the cervical spine ended up flattening their cervical vertebrae, if constantly practicing Sarvangāsana with no blankets, even though the cervical spine is designed to have a curve to absorb movement.

If you came to Iyengar Yoga from a different yoga tradition, you might be accustomed to practicing Sarvangāsana flat on the floor, and might dislike using blankets. If you’re only holding the pose for 20-60 seconds, and you don’t have any neck/shoulder pain or injury, it may not matter much whether you use blankets or not.

However one of the hallmarks of Iyengar Yoga is the duration of the poses. In the beginning, you might only hold Halāsana or Sarvangāsana for 20-30 seconds. However, as you build strength, flexibility, and capacity, we increase the hold in Sarvangāsana and variations, to 2, 3, 5, 10 minutes or longer. In order to build stamina in the pose, a blanket stack of 2-3 inches will help to keep the spine lifted and the mind quiet. Without this support, even skilled practitioners will find it difficult to stay on the crown of the shoulders, and will likely find themselves rolling back toward their shoulder blades, rounding their backs, and muscularizing the pose instead of finding balance and ease.

Using height under the shoulders will prevent pressure on the neck, and help compensate for shoulder tightness. The upper arms need to externally rotate, but if this is difficult, or if you have bulky shoulders, the blankets will definitely help. Use as many as you need in order to move the back muscles away from the neck, and press the corners of the shoulders down. Ask your teacher to help you.

Why do we stay so long in inversions? Geeta Iyengar points out that the first 5 minutes of an āsana benefit the physical body. After 5 minutes, the physiological and mental benefits develop. And just what are the physiological benefits? This article explicates them nicely. Just ask any seasoned practitioner, and they will give you their own list of benefits. In addition to what’s already listed, I would add the cardiovascular benefit. Whenever we’re upside down, venous return, of the blood back into the heart and lungs, is enhanced. Although the arteries have the heart pumping the blood through the entire body, the veins do not have a pump. Veins require movement to encourage the flow. When we’re inverted, it hastens the flow of blood through the veins by virtue of gravity, enhancing overall cardiovascular health.

Even with all this information, coaching from your teachers, and all the props in the world, some folks may feel fearful when Sarvangāsana is announced. Going topsy turvy may be disorienting, confusing, and uncomfortable. Lucky for us, Iyengar Yoga provides us with an endless array of modifications and variations. One of the most accessible ways to become confident and overcome apprehension is to use the rope wall (see photos at the top of this page). Set up between a pair of low ropes, and pull on them as you hoist your hips up into a Chatush Padāsana variation, with your feet on the wall, and practice lifting your hips over your shoulders. Once this becomes easy, try Ardha Halāsana and Ekapāda Sarvangāsana.

Sarvangāsana is such a powerful, useful, and healthful pose, that I hope every practitioner can become proficient at it. Experiment, dabble, play around with it, until you feel an understanding, connection, and appreciation for the pose. May your practice be enlightening and healing.

This week has been unbelievably brutal. Like the cold-blooded murder of George Floyd, preceded by decades of Jim Crow, preceded by centuries of chattel slavery, preceded by centuries of genocide, life in the USA could not be more unjust. The very founding and essence of the USA, in fact, is based on incredible violence and inequality. We romanticize and fetishize democracy to avoid admitting we are actually perpetrators of unspeakable harm.

I hate to identify as American, but it would be disingenuous to pretend I have nothing to do with the nation. My parents sought out America, as an alternative to war-torn Korea, a place where they could raise their children to be successful and prosperous, and where my father could pursue his career as a scientist. Even though I live on the furthest fringes of America, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, we in Hawai`i have not yet succeeded in throwing off the yoke of the US empire.

The brutality that Black and Brown bodies have always experienced in the USA has hit home to white American citizens. Say their names:

RENEE NICOLE GOOD

ALEX PRETTI

On New Year’s Eve, ICE executed another innocent citizen, a Black man in LA,

KEITH PORTER, JR,

who has gotten far less attention than the recent white executions. As James Baldwin wrote to Angela Davis, “If they take you in the morning, they will be coming for us that night.” Similarly, Martin Niemöller noted, “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

By profession, I am a mere Iyengar Yoga teacher. I make a modest living teaching full-time, as I have since 2001. I am also a poet, dancer, musician, maker, grower, and grandmother. What power do I have to change the world? To topple Trump? To abolish ICE? To end the genocide in Gaza?

On the other hand, who am I not to try?

I have to believe that every gesture of resistance carries weight. Every conversation, every phone call, every meeting, every action. Drops in buckets multiplied by millions. Even my tears constitute resistance. I refuse to numb out. I refuse to look away. I choose to feel, rage, mourn. I bear the wound, then choose healing.

Of course it never feels adequate. We feel powerless, just as the systems of domination have designed us to feel. Plus, we’re too busy surviving, which is key to the master plan. We vent our stress by shopping, distracting ourselves, entertaining ourselves, chasing little dopamine hits that keep us barely sated.

We are far more powerful than we may think. I am a mere Iyengar Yoga teacher, yet I have dozens of students each week that choose to spend time with me. I’m a writer with books, degrees, and awards under my belt. I have mentees across oceans and nations. I can play small, or I can choose to embrace my expansiveness.

I strive to bring my whole self into the classroom, including my frustration, grief, and rage. I hope to imbue my students with courage to face difficulty, stamina to stay engaged, and practices for healing to alleviate suffering. I tell my students that our role as yoga practitioners is to be fully present with our friends, families, and communities, with mental clarity and emotional stability. We strive to offer grounded, centered physical presence in every situation. We don’t run away. We don’t hide. We may need to take respite to refill our tanks. Then we come back to the mat, so to speak.

Perhaps we can even offer spiritual presence. Perhaps our yoga practice has helped us see a bigger picture, beyond the sometimes overwhelming present moment. Perhaps we can see beyond the individual, to glimpse the universal and eternal.

But do you see how easy it can be to slip into the ineffable? To spiritually bypass? To float off into the woo-woo ether?

STOP.

Our nation is on fire. The State murders people in the streets. We provide weapons for genocide. We commit ethnic cleansing.

Speak up, stay engaged. Yes, practice. Āsana, prānāyāma, meditation, Tai Chi, your daily walks, your weekly hikes, sing, dance, whatever your practices may be, keep doing them. But don’t use them just to feel better as an individual. Don’t use them as escape. Keep your vision on the larger picture of collectivity. Consider how your practice contributes to collective resistance, to improve all our lives. Invite others to practice in a more socially and politically engaged way. Dismantle, now and forever, the myth of individuality. Use your practice as iśvara praņidhana—surrender to a higher power. Envision the higher power as the greater whole. Dedicate your practice to the spirit of Renee Nicole Good, to Hind Rajab, to any number of beloved martyrs who’ve joined the ancestors. Break yourself open. Weep sacred tears.

BKS Iyengar said, “Yoga teaches us how to stand on our own two feet.” Get up on your own two feet. Stand strong, resist with all your might. We stand together.

As I was viewing the newly released “In the Circle of Life” film by Zaya and Maurizio Benazzo of Science and Nonduality, I was struck by the different faces of indigeneity on the continent of Australia. Like indigeneity all over the world, superficial markers of identity have changed. In 2026, we can no longer claim: people native to ______ look like this: _______. It’s simply not true. For instance, many people of Australian aboriginal heritage have lighter skin than their native ancestors, and facial features that look European. Similarly, in the United States, many people who could pass as white actually identify as Black, or Asian, or another racial identity. Here in Hawai`i, it’s possible to meet someone you would assume is white or Asian or Black or another racial identity, then learn they are Hawaiian. People who are indigenous to their land can look almost any way.

Over decades and centuries, we and our ancestors have experienced trafficking, rape, abuse, forced or arranged marriages, and voluntary and involuntary migration. We and our ancestors may have chosen to partner with people from different parts of the world or different racial backgrounds. These may be “love marriages,” or green card marriages, or health insurance-motivated marriages, or shotgun marriages, or any combinations of these or other conditions. Their partnerships may arise from love, lust, or necessity. Our attractions and desires cannot help but be influenced by colonization and globalization, whether we realize it or admit it or not. Outside of marriage, people always have and will always continue to hook up. Whatever the reasons and motivations may be, we look around most communities, and note that racial purity may not actually exist.

When people of mixed heritage are invited to racially identify themselves, some choose to center an indigenous identity. Almost every kanaka māoli I’ve met has a parent or grandparent who is Filipinx, Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Korean, Puerto Rican—usually some combination. Yet, they choose to proudly identify as kanaka. They feel Hawaiian, they live in Hawai`i, usually they know some or a lot of the Hawaiian language, and they identify strongly with Hawaiian culture, history, and often politics.

One result of this pluralization of indigenous heritage is wider access to indigeneity in general. Colonization absolutely decimated the native population of Hawai`i with widespread disease. But when more people of mixed heritage choose to center their native identity, the Hawaiian movement can actually grow, amplify and gain more power. It’s an act of defiance: The colonizer thought intermarriage would strip native people of their culture and identity, making them easier to colonize. But now, generations later, their descendants reclaim their native power, reject colonizer systems, and teach their children and grandchildren native ways and languages.

Clearly, I am not kanaka. Nevertheless I identify strongly with the native culture, history, and politics here, and the kānaka community has graciously welcomed me with incredible aloha and generosity. I’m actively learning mele, hula, oli, and pule (songs, dances, chants, prayers) with so much gratitude. I’m also devoting myself to aloha `āina and lāhui, learning the land and community, while supporting the movements of demilitarization and sovereignty.

The most remarkable development is that Hawaiian practices are serving as a conduit for my own indigeneity to be revealed. I haven’t lived extensively in Korea since my early childhood, yet by calling upon the ancestors of the land here in Hawai`i, my own blood ancestors are being beckoned as well. I cannot yet explicate all their names and stories, but I feel them accompanying me, guiding me, supporting me. Indeed, the ancestors, all of them, are here for all of us.

Recently I had an experience with my grandchildren, at my granddaughter Coco’s soccer practice. She wanted me to sit under the tree, watching her, so that she could easily see me, and check in with me during water breaks. However I was also tending her younger brother, Solomon, who wanted to go to the nearby playground. I told Coco we would be near the tree, but not under it, and I would still be watching her. It struck me that that must be how our ancestors regard us. They are nearby, watching us, cheering us on, supporting us, even if we can’t quite spot them. They’re like the spectators at a soccer game, enthusiastically rooting for us, whether we acknowledge them or not. And guess what? My ancestors are cheering for everybody, not just me. And your ancestors also avail themselves to me, and others.

I believe we’re mistaken if we limit the ancestral realm to blood only. Instead, can we experience spirit as ineffable, accessible, both immediate and transcendent, and above all, inclusive and plural? I do believe I have special relations with certain ancestors, such as my mother, father, and brother. And yet, I don’t possess them nor have exclusive rights. May we not be limited by the myth of separateness and individuality, especially beyond the earthly realm.

At the same time, identifying with our ancestral earth-based heritage and practices doesn’t mean just peace and love and harmony. That would be spiritual bypassing. Choosing to identify with our own indigeneity also means taking on the responsibility of being indigenous. We must embrace responsibility to the land, to our elders, to our youth, and to our struggles. Without these commitments, we are simply extracting. All over the world indigenous people and cultures have been oppressed, silenced, shamed, and even obliterated. Those who choose to identify primarily with their colonizer lineage and ancestors may not feel a desire to be in solidarity with struggle. But if you feel the tug, a restless unease, a curiosity, an awakening…..that is a direct call from your indigenous ancestors.

To reindigenize, go to the land. Tend it. Talk to the beings of the land. What do they ask of you? Plant something. Forage. Lie down and feel how it is connected with the rest of the planet.

Go to the waters, fresh or salty. Immerse yourself, cleanse yourself. Listen to it, observe it. Feel how the water is eternal and constantly cycling, how it touches and moves through every flowing body, human and nonhuman, near and far.

Ask your ancestors to enter your dreams. Invite them into ceremony. Remember they’re present whether you acknowledge them or not (but better to acknowledge them).

How do I know all of this? I’m just sharing what my body experiences as reality. Please take it or leave it as you choose. Meanwhile, let us fully immerse ourselves in the power and beauty of our own indigeneity, our own earth-based connection to all of life. All you have to do is wonder, ask, and invite guidance. Embrace your own ancestry, however much or little you may have access to at this moment. Tap into the land-based practices of the place you inhabit. Get your hands in the soil, step into the waters. The spirits of the land and waters will welcome you and guide you into your own stories of indigeneity.