Healthy Living Club

Before heading down into the Paris Metro, I remove my hearing aids. The difference is immediate: Instantly, the traffic and conversations blur and recede. With hearing aids, my world is bright and sharp, bursting with amplified sound; without them, it’s muted and whispering. Most of the time, I prefer the quieter world, where my other senses bring in light, texture, and smell to give me what my ears alone cannot.I pause at the top of the concrete stairwell leading from the street to the Metro. The iron handrail feels hot where the sun rests on it. A breeze brushes my hair, and a savory aroma drifts past from a nearby caf? It’s my last afternoon in this enchanting city, and I want to remember everything. This trip, a high school graduation present to my partner’s daughter, has been both a celebration of her accomplishment and an affirmation of our family. So I linger at the top of the stairs aking it all inefore heading down to the trains.

The tunnels of the Metro bring relief from the city’s summer heat, but they assault my senses in other ways. Trains arrive and depart in roaring waves. Fluorescent lights glare against white-tiled walls, only to be swallowed by winding miles of concrete and darkness. The place smells of perspiration, axle grease, and old urine. As I approach the turnstiles, I hear the thunk-thunk of passengers moving throughnd something else: a few notes of music floating above the hum of the moving crowd. As I pass through the turnstile and walk toward my train, long, soulful tones rise and fall, and I recognize the voice of a violin.

I had always felt that love would never find me that if it did, it wouldn’t stay. But now, the beautiful sound of the violin reminds me of the import of this trip and of my partner’s nine years of devotion. I realize I’ve measured out my love too carefully, protected my heart with a wall of stones. Now, pried loose by the music, those stones are falling away. The walk toward the platform becomes a pilgrimage, each step burdened with old fear and leavened by new hope.

Finally, I reach the music’s source: a middle-aged man sitting on a folding camp stool, with an open violin case at his feet. Despite his large belly, he sits erect. His thinning gray hair is pulled into a scraggly ponytail, and his dark flannel trousers are frayed. The sweat stains darkening his shirt belie the effortlessness with which he seems to play. The music builds until it clears away the last stones of my resistance. I realize now that, in whatever brief time I am given, I am here to love.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I search the musician’s pale, round face, hoping to meet his gaze, wanting to thank him in some way. But when I find his eyes, they are half-closed and empty he wandering white oceans of the blind.

Many months later, I still find comfort in the fact that in this uncertain world, truth and beauty are at work. I know, because they spoke that day in Paris to a woman hard of hearing, through the hands of a man without sight.

The first time I brought veggies to a backyard barbecue was pure serendipity. My tiny city garden was overflowing with beautiful zucchini and summer squash, and I had zero desire to journey to the store for the usual suspects arden burgers and tofu dogs. I remembered some amazing grilled zucchini I’d had at a Mediterranean restaurant ow the fire had brought out a luscious richness, how gorgeous it looked on the plate with its grill marks, how it felt on my tongue. How hard could it be?Not hard at all, I soon found out. I sliced my zukes and squash into lengthwise half-inch-thick slices, brushed them with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkled them with kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and snips of fresh rosemary, and loaded the whole shebang into a big reusable container. I let them slide around together on the way to the cookout. Once there, the slices required just a few minutes per side on the grill, and voilI was hailed as a culinary genius.

Now that I know how simple it is, I would add garlicky baby artichokes, charred green onions, or even baby bok choy to the platter. I love the way grilling gives my favorite vegetables a smoky, primal flavor. Their aroma becomes more robust, but they still retain their vibrant colors and natural sweetness. I’ve also learned, from the American Institute for Cancer Research, that the grill does not produce carcinogens in plant-based foods the way it does in meat. Another bonus: Quick exposure to high heat means the veggies won’t lose vitamin and mineral value.

Once I got a gas grill and could fire up at a moment’s notice, my love of grilling was confirmed. I cook enough to have leftovers?rilled peppers and earthy mushrooms are excellent in sandwiches, and zukes, corn (kernels cut from the cob), and red torpedo onions, mixed with fresh mint and cherry tomatoes, make a cool, colorful chopped salad. With my grill, it’s easy to get the USDA-recommended 2?cups of vegetables per day.

But the real pleasure of barbecuing is being outside, cooking for a hungry crowd on a warm night. Happily removed from one-touch microwave buttons and hot stoves, I feel a deeper connection to the food, the fire, and the friendsnd there’s almost nothing to clean up when I’m done.

Marinade Magic
The secret to great grilling is marinades. Most have three basic elements: an acid, like vinegar, which penetrates the surface; seasonings and spices, to lend flavor; and oil, which keeps veggies from drying out and sticking to hot surfaces. After my first olive-oil-and-herb combo, I started experimenting, using my intuition-and what was in the cupboard-to guide me. Marinades are flexible and forgiving; try mixing your oil with aged balsamic vinegar or Asian rice vinegar, fresh lemon or lime juice, minced garlic or shallots, soy sauce, fresh grated ginger, or those obscure condiments in the door of the fridge. Don’t fret about marinating for a long time; veggies absorb flavor quickly. Be sure to pour some marinade directly onto the veggies once they’re on the fire-since they have so little fat, they can dry out or burn quickly.

I’m sitting in a pub outside Prague, the only foreigner in a packed house. I can barely see my friends for the smoke, hardly hear them for the noise, as our harried waitress slams another round of velké pivo (large beers) on the table. But that doesn’t matter—they’re all speaking Czech and I’ve run out of things I know how to say. I feel my foreignness acutely.It’s the end of a long day of kayaking with my Shambhala Buddhist group. After early-morning chanting of the Heart Sutra in Czech, we had donned wetsuits and headed for the river. My rowing partner Ilona and I overturned three times in white water, laughing when we lost our paddles, bonding despite having few words in common. The kayaking was exhilarating, but now, unable to connect so easily,I feel awkward and invisible. In my gut is the hollow ache of loneliness; even the sublime Czech beer tastes like copper in my mouth.

Soon, Ilona pulls up a chair next to me and we try once more. She tells me about her family and asks about my travels. My loneliness quickly dissolves, giving way to a rush of gratitude. I find myself loving this moment—with its bad goulash and its smoke—as something precious and unique.

In my life abroad, small things make me swing from loneliness to elated connection, from aching pain to delight. In fact, everything feels more intense. I take more risks, like kayaking in rapids with strangers and stammering in bad Czech—but I also pay more attention to the details of an everyday life that is unfailingly rich and bizarre. There is no doubt that living here, and continuing my practice of yoga and Buddhism in Prague, have helped me appreciate more fully all that arises in each moment-an awareness I hope to deepen no matter where I end up next.

ILLUSIONS OF LONELINESS
For years Prague had been stuck in my heart. I had never seen a single photograph, but reports of its beauty and mystery were enough to draw me. As it turned out, Prague is even more beautiful, and more melancholy, than I had thought possible. Rich in history and alive with change, the city is artistic, surreal, and fascinating.

I came to Prague seeking transformation. I knew from having lived and traveled in Asia that each new place opens me to new ways of thinking and experiencing the world. What I didn’t anticipate was how much Prague itself would be about transformation. Since the Czechs threw off communism by peaceful revolution in 1989, Prague has grown from a city of long lines and downtrodden spirits to one of fresh ideas and real opportunities. Last year, the Czech Republic joined the European Union, setting off a flurry of activity in an attempt to meet the standards of Western neighbors. And yet there is a certain tension; while many Czechs have embraced capitalism wholeheartedly, others are nostalgic about the cheap flats and guaranteed paychecks they had during the old regime.

In the autumn of 2003, knowing not a soul, I found a flat in a Renaissance building near the center, an American student to share it with, and work freelancing for Prague’s English-language newspaper. Right away I connected with a thriving Ashtanga yoga scene, dining with fellow yogis after class and participating in weekend retreats. My days quickly filled with colorful activity, yet I felt something welling up inside.

Shiva Rea was named by her father, an artist and surfer in Hermosa Beach, California, who was seriously into Indian art and Zen Buddhism. Rea teaches all over the world—her schedule this year includes stops in Chicago; Chapel Hill, North Carolina; London; and Kerala, India. “I definitely feel like a global citizen,” she says. “I love crossing cultures and trying to reach a shared place.” Known for her energetic and soulful approach to yoga as well as her adventure retreats and ecstatic trance dance classes, Rea lives in Pacific Palisades, California, with her seven-year-old son, Jai, and her husband, Ayurvedic physician James Bailey.What was it like growing up with a name like Shiva?  I’ve heard every mispronunciation under the sun. “Queen of Sheba” is very common. As a little girl I’d look Shiva up in the dictionary and see this image of Nataraj, Lord of Destruction, and just roll my eyes. After a while I started signing my schoolwork Fifi Veronica or Cleopatra Jones.

I’ve heard you allude to your southern roots. Were you born in the South?  No, but my grandfather’s family was from Mississippi and Memphis. My great-grandfather got W.C. Handy to serenade my great-grandmother when he was courting her. I’ve definitely got the blues in my bones.

What’s your most vivid childhood memory?  It’s hard to pick out just one, but I remember being on Hermosa Beach watching my father surf and dipping Fritos in the sand because I liked the crunchy taste.

What was your favorite comfort food as a child?  French fries. I know too much about Ayurveda now to eat them.

Were you athletic as a kid?  Oh yeah. I ran the 440 relay. I played point guard and shortstop.

What would you be if you hadn’t become a yoga teacher?  There’s definitely river guide in me.

What’s the most surprising way that motherhood has influenced your yoga?  Parenting makes you so creative. There are 101 games you can play with the sugar packets at restaurants. In both teaching and parenting, you have to work with whatever situation you’re given.

For example?  The other day I was teaching and the fire alarm went off for 20 minutes. We just did lots of kriyas and rhythmic movement with sound. It was a great class. There’s this Hawaiian term, hopupu, “becoming one with the waves,” which I really relate to.

Which goes back to the river guide thing—your attraction to water. Do you surf?  I have. Unfortunately, I’m not a fan of cold water. I’m more of a kayaker than a surfer.

What hobbies do you have that might surprise us?  I love a good poker game. And I can play tag football and throw farther than most men.

What kind of music do you listen to when you’re driving?  When I’m driving to do yoga and rock climbing in the desert, I always dig up the Doors. When we’re driving to Esalen, I bring along those shaker eggs.

Yoga studios can hire yoga teachers either as employees or as independent contractors. Basically, businesses (including yoga studios) that hire employees are responsible for withholding a portion of salary to pay the employees’ federal and state taxes, including income taxes, Social Security, Medicare taxes, and unemployment tax.Independent contractors are responsible for paying their own taxes, relieving the employer of the legal obligation to withhold salary toward tax payments. For this reason, it’s generally easier for the yoga teacherarticularly one teaching in multiple studioso function as an independent contractor. In addition, as we’ll discuss below, being considered an independent contractor can have significant tax advantages for yoga teachers.

Are You an Employee or an Independent?
What determines whether someone is an “employee” or an “independent contractor”? For tax purposes, the determining factor is how the U.S. Internal Revenue Service classifies the arrangement.

The IRS uses the classic “right of control” test to determine whether someone is an employee or independent contractor. Workers are considered employees if those hiring them for have the right to direct and control the way workers accomplish their tasks. Independent contractors, on the other hand, control the details of their work. In other words, when the hiring firm controls or directs not only the result of the work, but also the means and methods used to achieve those results, then the worker is considered an employee; when the hiring firm sets the desired result but leaves the means and methods to the worker’s discretion, then the worker is considered an independent contractor.

For example, in a typical scenario, a yoga studio may hire a particular yoga teacher to teach two Ashtanga Yoga classes and one restorative class per week at specified times, but let the teacher control and direct the sequence of poses, the pacing, the exact verbalization of instructions and suggestions, the nature of adjustments, any readings during the class, and all other specified elements that make up an individualized class. This example makes it clear that the yoga teacher is likely to be considered an independent contractor.

The line between controlling and directing the result, and controlling and directing the means and methods, is not always so clear. Yoga studios, like other businesses, may have varying levels of control and direction.

How It Works
To help business owners and workers understand their legal obligations, the IRS specifies numerous factors that constitute right of control and direction over the worker’s means and methods.

For an independent contractor, these factors include analyzing whether the worker furnishes the tools and materials needed to do the work, pays his or her own business and traveling expenses, sets his or her own working hours, or works for more than one firm at a time. Defining factors for an employee include whether the worker is told in what sequence or order to work by the hiring firm, works full-time for the hiring firm, provides regular oral or written progress reports to the hiring firm, or provides services that are an integral part of the hiring firm’s day-to-day operations.

To some it was just a tiny, dilapidated old bungalow-nothing more than a shedut to David Lurey, a passionate environmentalist and a dedicated yogi, it was the perfect space for a green-friendly yoga studio. With the help of a contractor who shared his vision, Lurey completely renovated the 200-square-foot room using as many of the latest environmentally friendly innovations as he could afford. “Environmentalism is very much a part of my life,” says Lurey, who’s based in San Francisco and is a board member of the Green Yoga Association in Berkeley, California, “so being able to incorporate that into my business felt right.”Lurey looked for nontoxic paints and recycled building materials and made “green” choices about heating, insulation, flooring, lighting, and props (see the chart to the left for details). Whenever possible he opted for the greenest solution like using radiant heat or UltraTouch insulation rather than the old-fashioned (and toxic) pink fiberglass material. Even if it meant upfront costs were higher, he was confident that he’d make up for it with either lower bills or, a bigger bonus, better health. Eventually Lurey plans to install solar panels once he’s recouped some of his other expenses.

In the meantime, the results of his efforts are palpable and practical. He teaches free yoga classes for charities, and he used to host Tuesday-night kirtans for friends ntil they got too popular and had to be moved to a nearby yoga studio. “I felt like a club owner,” he says, “as if I had to stop people and ask, ‘Are you on the guest list?’ ” Now that he’s not playing bouncer anymore, Lurey can appreciate his new space and the energy that went into making it sustainable. “It was my hands that helped create this place, and it’s my heart that’s behind the green-yoga concept,” he says. “When I come in here, I feel I’m in a sacred, healthy space.”

Back in the 1970s, when Paul Owens was living in India and studying yoga, he had an epiphany. As he watched his neighbors struggle to control their new dog’s barking, he realized that their approach colding and punishment as ineffective. That’s when Owens got the idea to incorporate the lessons of his yoga practice into his approach to dog training, in part inspired by Gandhi’s observation that “the greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”Now Owens, a.k.a. “the Dog Whisperer,” uses a method he calls Raise with Praise, which emphasizes positive reinforcement and gentleness, rather than intimidatio prong or choke collars allowed. “I remind people not to do anything to their dog that they wouldn’t do to their children, themselves, or their grandparents,” he says.

Besides offering private training sessions, Owens runs a nonprofit group in Los Angeles that operates Paws for Peace. Inner-city kids learn his gentle methods as they train dogs from animal shelters. The dogs are easier to place in adoptive homes, and the kids learn the power of compassion. Owens encourages the children to focus on their breathing before they begin a session. “If you’re not in control of yourself, you can’t be in control of your dog.”

Now Owens, a.k.a. “the Dog Whisperer,” uses a method he calls Raise with Praise, which emphasizes positive reinforcement and gentleness, rather than intimidatio prong or choke collars allowed. “I remind people not to do anything to their dog that they wouldn’t do to their children, themselves, or their grandparents,” he says.

Besides offering private training sessions, Owens runs a nonprofit group in Los Angeles that operates Paws for Peace. Inner-city kids learn his gentle methods as they train dogs from animal shelters. The dogs are easier to place in adoptive homes, and the kids learn the power of compassion. Owens encourages the children to focus on their breathing before they begin a session. “If you’re not in control of yourself, you can’t be in control of your dog.”

Like many other yoga-loving athletes, Brandi Chastain says her practice immediately improved her game. Just doing a simple Down Dog, she says, helped counterbalance the explosive sprinting, leaping, and kicking she does on the field.But the bigger surprise was how yoga helped her make better decisions in the heat of competition. She remembers a game the U.S. women played in Alabama against a powerful Brazilian team. It was boiling hot, Brazil was gaining momentum, and the U.S. was chasing the ball. “We were killing ourselves chasing that ball,” Chastain says. “We were just going to wear ourselves out.” She knew she had to slow down and regroup. “So I drew from yoga and went back to my yoga breathing.” Thanks in part to Chastain’s levelheaded leadership, the Americans ended up winning the game, 5-1.

Yoga also helps Chastain recover from competition. “Physical exertion can be mentally draining,” she says. “You can either crash and burn, or come down in a peaceful way.”

Although she’ll never stop being manic, Chastain’s a lot less stressed. “I still find it hard to sit still for long,” she admits, “but finding that peace has really helped.”

Stuck in traffic, sweating on the subway, sprinting for the buso matter how you get to work, a commute usually feels stressful. If you ever need a reminder of how hard it is to transfer the calm and serenity of yoga practice to everyday life, the rat race is it. We spoke to Kathleen Hall (www.drkathleenhall.com) about how you can learn to love your workday journey. The doctor of ministry is an expert on stress management and the author of Alter Your Life (Oak Haven, 2005).CHANGE YOUR ATTITUDE Make your commute a spiritual practice, says Hall. Any annoyancepilled coffee, people who cut you off, crowded busesan become an opportunity to strengthen your practice.

TAKE YOUR TIME Lay out the things you’ll need for your commute the night before and wake up a little earlier. You will feel very different if you can calmly walk to your car or to public transit instead of racing along in a panic.

TUNE IN There’s a good reason every other person you see is plugged in to an iPod: Listening to music raises levels of serotonin, which in turn boosts mood. If you drive alone in a car, make the most of your isolation and sing out loud; that will elevate your spirits, too.

DIG DEEPER Download Deepak Chopra or Jon Kabat-Zinn or Jack Kornfield or any of your favorite spiritual guides and listen to them on the way to work. Keep a prayer shawl in your car and mala beads or a rosary close at hand and lightly touch or count the beads to bring you back to yourself. Think of your commute as your chapel or temple time, Hall suggests.

TURN INWARD If you’re comfortable being alone, without the distractions of cell phones, books, radio, or conversation, try simply sitting and focusing on your breath or a mantra. Let your thoughts flow freely without following them. See if you can meditate for the length of your commute.

Bakasana, more accurately translated as Crane Pose, is the most important of all arm balances, since understanding how to do Bakasana lays the foundation for most arm balances. Arm balances are complex, and they reveal how the flexibility and strength that carry newcomers through many poses cannot replace skills mature yoga practitioners develop over years of practice.Most people who fail at this arm balance have not distributed their weight correctly. The most common mistake I see is students lifting their hips so high that their poses are too vertical hey become diving cranes! Some people get the feet off the floor this way, but then their pose becomes very heavy on the arms. Crane Pose performed in this manner avoids the weight shift essential to understanding this asana and evolving into other arm balances. My feeling is, if you can’t go forward enough to risk falling, you won’t go forward enough to balance.

First, I want you to feel the abdominal and thigh action that is the core of support for Bakasana. Squat on your tiptoes and bend forward to position your shoulders or upper arms under the shins. (Some folks practice Bakasana with their knees pressed into the armpits our choice). Strongly lift your head and chest while pressing the arms back against the shins. Without putting further weight on your arms, and keeping your chest lifted, pull your abdomen in and raise your hips to shoulder level. Though difficult, this action gives you a sense of where the real strength of arm balances comes from.

From this position, exhale, push forward from your feet, and move your elbows past your fingers so your arms slant forward. Keep your chest lifted! When you can do this, you will feel your weight shift from your feet to your hands, allowing the body to be lifted and supported by your arms. It’s as simple as that.

You can practice this difficult arm movement without the added burden of your full weight by kneeling and pushing your elbows past your fingers while scooping up your chest. If you look at a picture of someone doing Bakasana well, you will see the dramatic angle of the arms you seek.

So remember, use your abs and thighs to keep your hips at shoulder height, push forward to shift weight onto your hands, and lift your chest. When you become adept, refine the pose further by straightening your arms and pulling your feet as close to your hips as possible, letting your hips rise. Most of all, keep practicing!