Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, and today marks two years since Ram Dass left his body. On the day Ram Dass left, I woke up in the middle of the night chanting. Was I yoga-ing so hard in the day that mantras filled my dreams? Was it a cosmic blip as Ram Dass rejoined the beaming light at the heart of the universe (whatever that means for you)? I’m okay with not knowing.

What I do know is that thinking of that day brings me back to one of my favorite yoga teaching memories at Union Yoga.

We're all teachers and students

Despite popular perception, the best teaching moments often have nothing to do with perfectly executing a complex sequence. On that day, many of my dear friends who normally came to class were present, and we had one new student, another yoga teacher (Veronica, if you’re reading this, I have not forgotten you!), visiting from out of town.

I was going to give a nod to Ram Dass after practice, but I believe it was Sherry (Shout out to Sherry!) that spoke up right at the beginning of class about his passing. She was right. This couldn’t wait until the end. Before we started moving, we each shared our favorite Ram Dass quotes and our thoughts about his teaching as a sort of impromptu tribute.

Taking this moment to sit together and acknowledge the work of a great teacher stands out as one of my favorite things that ever happened at the old studio (and I had a lot of favorite things there). We can’t cling to our teachers any more than I can time travel back to December 23, 2019, but we can let those teachings wash over us, and if they’re worthy, they’ll suffuse their light through our being. It’s that kind of light that makes it possible for us to walk (and sometimes crawl) through difficult times.

A nod to the elders and a pranam to winter

One of my elders used to say, “Winter’s when the animals get quiet.” The cold fronts roll in, and we human animals are supposed to get quiet too. That’s the way of a world left to its own devices. I can’t make mandalas in the front yard with my lawnmower right now. The blades of grass are glittery with frost, and I am very much in the energy of winter.

I know most of you are in San Diego, where frost is rarely a thing, but do you feel this? Do you feel the pull of quieting and contemplation? We’ll start getting our sunlight back little by little starting today, but the dog days are far off.

Maybe everything in the world seems at odds with my elder’s tidbit of wisdom, though. Hence, the pep talk I promised you in the title.

Doom and postage

We can’t hibernate the winter away, but I think it's essential to honor what is given to us in winter. Meanwhile, the incessant call for more stuff, louder music, brighter lights, and an insistence on being jolly pervades this time of year. There’s the selflessness of others juxtaposed with all the things we must buy. We have people who locomote via sleighs while draped in tinsel and piping “Jingle Bells” out of Bluetooth speakers, while others among us face empty seats around our tables. It’s a real mishmash right now, my friends. I love the magic of the holiday season, but it’s also hard.

To top it off, we’ve got a pandemic that just won’t quit. I feel like the last few weeks have consisted of lots of work, grim statistics, and postage… lots and lots of postage.

When I sit to meditate these days, it takes me a little extra time to get quiet and be in stillness. Some of you must be feeling this. If it’s happening that way for you, please be kind to yourself. The stillness is always there underneath the static.

We’re stronger than we were before

If we captured all the light from our favorite memories and teachers and teachings, and if we heeded the observation of my elder that we ought to get quiet, I think we might find a little reserve of strength to carry us into the spring.

We’re still here. We got fleet-footed and changed up our routines to accommodate the realities we couldn’t change. We put our practice to work against the backdrop of unimaginable circumstances. We kept moving, breathing, and practicing compassion. We signed in on our Zoom calls and made trips to the park. That body you’re living in right now… well it’s the thing that carried you all this way. I hope you’ll find a moment of stillness to thank it.

When I’m cocooned in my blankets armed only with my breathing and my pen and paper, I think of all of that. When I roll out my mat, I think of all of us in the same place and not afraid. I think of how we’ve kept going through all of it.

On the days when I didn’t think I could drag myself to my mat, you were there. You didn’t even know it, but you were. On the days when you’re tired, I extend my hand to you. We’ll keep walking. We’ll keep doing this life in all its wonder and in all its sorrow.

We are patient. We are kind. We are living in and through this thing. It's not always pretty, but we're going for it anyway.

And one last thing before I go...

If you have a little extra reserve of energy, get on the horn and call someone you love. If you can't do that, drop them some snail mail (postage!) or an email. Some projects I've been working on behind the scenes have opened my eyes to the pervasiveness of loneliness at this time of year. That's something we can change.

In the case that you're the one in need of a kind message, it's okay to reach out too. If all else fails, you know where to find me. I'm just an email away.

For some of us, our holidays have passed, and for others, they're still to come. I wish you peaceful days ahead. May you be healthy, happy, and well.