November 2024 Dispatch: “There is a teacher nearby, and a teacher beyond the beyond.”

Good day, good Galaxy folk. This month marks two years that the Galaxy has been in business! Last year, I sat in my favorite Riverwest creperie and thanked every single person I could think of who had been even a tiny part of the Galaxy’s first year. I would totally love to do that again, but last year it took me almost three hours to think through everyone I wanted to thank and create an individualized thank you for each of them. And this year, there are exponentially more people who are a part of our studio space, so I don’t think I can do a repeat of that blog. It still remains my favorite blog post of all time, though, if you want to read it again.

Thinking along similar lines, and inspired by a very sweet, very early Tuesday morning in Mary Steskal’s class (and hey! She’s now part of our teaching staff and on deck for Restorative on Thursdays at 10:30 and Slow Flow on Fridays at 4:30), I thought this month would be nice for all of us to reflect on the teachers who have made us the teachers we are today.

A long time ago, I studied Kung Fu for what ended up being a too-short stint. I went in thinking I was going to learn Tai Chi, and was told that I had way too much yang energy, and that I would like Kung Fu better (it was true). I would have kept learning Seven Star Mantis Kung Fu forever, but my schedule as a teacher never meshed well with the times that classes were offered, and then I moved away from Chicago, and I never found another teacher I liked as much as I liked my Sifu, Yamel Torres. I learned two very important things from him:

Number one: you always bow in to the teachers of your teachers. Where we practiced, there were pictures of my Sifu’s Sifus on an altar, with incense always lit. You weren’t allowed into the practice space before you bowed in, and you always knew that your teacher was one in a line of teachers, facilitating the transmission of the practice and continuing the lineage.

Number two: there are no shortcuts. My Sifu joked that you could pay someone enough money to write any accomplishment you want on a certificate, but that would never translate to the actual work required to become a master at something. Meaning, certificates and trainings are useless if they don’t actually ask the participants to work hard and engage with a teacher. And there are so many trainings and certificates out there in the yoga world today that ask hardly anything of their participants. There are so many learning mediums that allow students to bypass the most important step of becoming skillful at something: learning from a teacher that you have a relationship with. I feel a little despair sometimes when I think about that.

But as I was thinking about the teachers who make up our teaching staff, one thing jumped out at me: the yoga teachers at the Galaxy are all dedicated students. They take each other's classes. They have favorite teachers whose classes they go to on the regular. They ask their fellow teachers for feedback. Many of them are in our current cohort of the 300-hour advanced program. 

And what happens when you stay in the mindset of a dedicated and passionate student (and also have opportunities to share things that you have mastery over), is that something better than a single solitary leader or teacher or guru emerges. What emerges is a learning community, which is better than any single guru could ever be.

And that, Galaxy, is why I decided that our monthly theme was not just honoring our teachers, but honoring the community as a teacher or guru, as well. Putting an individual teacher on a pedestal can sometimes be a little dangerous, power dynamic-wise, and great teachers sometimes make human mistakes. But elevating a community allows varied voices to be heard, allows people who speak up when change may be needed, and allows for the free exchange and sharing of ideas, so learning never becomes stagnant or outdated.

Often, the Sanskrit word “guru” is translated as “dispeller of darkness.” Less commonly, the word is translated as “heavy,” which to me is a better translation. Our gurus are there to keep us tethered to the practice, to ground us in community, and to share the tradition of the practice, in all its weighty importance with us. And our community becomes that guru - the ballast that keeps us anchored and accountable to each other, as we show up to practice in community with each other, day in and day out.

I’m grateful for all of the teachers who choose to share their brilliance and join the idea exchange of the Galaxy. I’m grateful for all of you students, who show up to class, keep us accountable, and share things with all of us teachers that keep us on our learning path and challenge us to keep growing.

And I’m grateful for the many teachers who have helped me become the teacher I am today. I’m actually going to end this blog with a little thank you list like I did last year, but it’ll be a bit shorter, because I’m going to thank all of the influential teachers I’ve had in my life.

My Mom, for inviting me to my first yoga practice ever: The Bikram series, done in our living room, after I got home from a terrible birthday party.

Don O’Hagan, English teacher extraordinaire, who taught me how to read poetry and helped me realize how a love of literature colored every other aspect of life a little more brightly.

Lydia Mulder, my piano teacher, for teaching me that there was no substitute and no shortcut for technique exercises.

Philip Kerr, my favorite acting teacher, and originator of the phrase, “A little louder than is comfy, a little slower than is comfy.”

Beryl Bender Birch, for writing the book Power Yoga, which was how I learned the Ashtanga Primary series that I practiced for so many years, in my bedroom, on a beach towel.

Bryan Kest, for those fabulous yoga videos of the late 90’s that first taught me what Vinyasa yoga was (I will never forget what seemed like the longest Down Dog hold ever in one of those videos).

Natalie Ulrich, who was an Ashtanga teacher for the New York Road Runners, and one of the first real-life yoga teachers whose class I went to in person, in New York City. Natalie wrote me a letter of recommendation for my Laughing Lotus teacher training application (yes, you needed a letter of recommendation and it was a 20-question short answer application).

Kundalini Nancy, aka Nancy Elkes, whose spectacular classes at Crunch Gym in New York City were how I found Laughing Lotus.

Edward Vilga, whose creativity with both class themes and movement were mind-blowing. I can remember going to his classes so often that I started to worry he would think I was stalking him. Also, he taught a class where we slid around on our socks the whole time and didn’t even use mats.

David Regelin, who taught the Midnight Yoga classes at Laughing Lotus and synthesized the concept of a challenging practice with the celebratory nature of a party. David also taught me that growing and changing and getting more serious as a teacher is necessary and inspiring, and I still enjoy his teaching from afar (check out his Instagram account).

Dana Flynn, for teaching me about discipline. Dana’s energy is always infectious, and it was her idea of “bringing your friends” to practice - good poetry, good music, beautiful surroundings, joyful and playful practices - that still informs how I teach my students to craft a personal practice. What underlies that is a deep commitment to continuing to roll out your mat and show up to practice, and I respect her dedication as a yogi and hope to continue to embody it as I carry on the Laughing Lotus teaching lineage.

Jasmine Tarkeshi, for being an example of love in action and true spiritual devotion. Jasmine’s yoga classes were always a mix of true yoga philosophy, not watered-down, and a deep reminder and commitment to social justice and selfless service. She’s still embodying that as she runs Lotusland over in San Francisco.

Quinn Kearney, for Friday noon yoga classes at Yogaview when it had its satellite location on Division. The down-to-earth, exploratory vibe of those classes is the inspiration for my Maha Practices and I learned so many new poses that I had never tried before in there (alongside one of my other favorite teachers, AJ Durand).

Lourdes Paredes, who taught me almost everything I know about hands-on assists, and taught the most beautiful classes at Exhale in Chicago.

Katy Bowman, who helped me figure out how to stop my SI Joint from hurting and started me on the path to truly understanding anatomy.

Margaux Chandler, who taught me how to be a fitness instructor, and who I almost got to work for as a Shred415 instructor, if the pandemic hadn’t happened.

Hamssah Badrah, who teaches me Animal Flow.

And let me end by expressing gratitude for teachers whose classes allow me to completely let go of my teacher brain and simply be a student: Morgan, Bridget, Mary A, and Kristie: thank you for that. A new addition to that list is Mary S, who taught one of my favorite classes I’ve taken in the recent past and ends her classes by thanking the teachers of our teachers for transmitting the practice of yoga. It was that phrase that inspired this whole blog post, and reminds me of this guru mantra, maybe my favorite mantra of all time.

Gurur Brahmā Gurur Viṣṇur Gurur devo Maheśvaraḥ

Guruḥ sākṣāt paraṁ Brahma tasmai śrī gurave namaḥ

"I honor where I come from.

I honor how I sustain my life.

I honor what I have to let go of in order to move forward.

I honor my parents and my ancestors.

I honor the teachers in front of and beside me.

I honor the teacher that lives within."

Honoring those teachers, and you, our magical community,

Anna

What I’m Reading

I’m chuckling at the cleverness of the contrast of my book reco to our studio theme this month. I read an excellent op-ed in the New York times recently that extolled the virtue of ignorance, or better described: the ability to not-know. The idea behind cultivating and attitude of not-knowing is that it can keep our innate curiosity alive, is a better facilitator of new learning discoveries and an effective way to fight the stagnation of certitude. The op-ed’s author, Jamie Holmes, has recently published a book about it, called Nonsense: The Power of Not-Knowing. I’ll be jumping into that as soon as I finish the history of brain surgery book that I recommended recently! (I loved learning about brains, btw.)

Reading something spectacular and want me to know about it? Tried one of my book recommendations? Have a teacher that you want to tell me about? Please email me and let me know. I love hearing what you have to say about these blog poses.