As we enter the season of fall, many of us find ourselves feeling nostalgic or forlorn, holding tightly onto the good old days of summer where the weather is warm, outdoor activities are plentiful, and sandals are a daily part of the wardrobe. Autumn is a profound time of change for many creatures, a time when the season of abundance begins to fade and the harsh reality of winter sinks in. Change is evident in the air: the drying of creeks, the shade of color on leaves, the shift in wardrobe, the length of daylight, the heavier foods now in season. Fall is a ripe opportunity for looking inward, for self-reflection and acceptance of all the aspects of life that are changing and of all that has changed over the greater part of the year. It is an auspicious time for preparing for the things that will continue to change, just as we prepare for the slumber of winter.

In Ayurveda, this time of year is the season of vata. Airiness, coolness, mobility, lightness and subtlety are general qualities of vata. When deranged or overstimulated, vata can increase feelings of fear, emptiness and anxiety, hence feelings of nostalgia, or even depression when the weather shifts into the grey months of fall. Autumn is an appropriate time to calm the vata tendencies that can quickly overwhelm like a fallen leaf riding the unpredictable currents of a late October wind. It is also an opportunistic time to practice the ever-challenging path of vairagya.

Vairagya (pronounced “vair-ah-gyah”) is dis-passion, or the willingness to let a phenomenon arise without reacting to it. It is the practice of choosing not to get caught up in the drama of life. Holding oneself back from yelling at another driver who cut you off in traffic, committing to take a big leap in a new business or job, marriage or move even when fear arises, or being able to say goodbye to a loved one who has passed are all masterful examples of vairagya. More simply, it is the ability to pick yourself up after you stumble, however big or small the pebble on the path may be.

I once witnessed a young boy around the age of 5 or 6 who seemed to have tripped over his own feet in public. I was standing far enough away that he did not take notice in me watching him. After a moment of shock, he looked up to see if anyone had witnessed his fall. At first, the expression on his face was an arising emotion of suffering felt in response to the phenomenon of hitting the pavement. But when he realized no one had witnessed the phenomenon, the arising emotion shifted from suffering and soon after dissolved into pure presence with the moment. The boy picked himself up, shook off the pain and then ran along again to catch up with his friends as though nothing happened.

Abhyasa – focusing on the cultivation of effortlessness – and Nirodha – the stilling of thoughts – is synonymous with Vairagya. These three practices are the next steps forth on the path of the final four sutras of Patanjali – Pratyahara, Dharana, Dhyana and Samadhi – but are not isolated to these limbs alone, as they can be accessed in any moment of life. The young boy who fell was a perfect example of the immediate choice we all have to make when we experience pain. When he realized that no one had witnessed his fall and therefore had no reason to show his shock to the world, he immediately made the commitment to still his thoughts of suffering (nirodha) and focus instead on moving on to easier and more important subjects like playing with friends and feeling generally well (abhyasa). Although I’m sure this young boy had no idea that he exemplified vairagya at its best, the pureness of his true nature shone through so brilliantly in the moment that it caught my attention, however unconscious his choices may have been for him.

For the majority of us adults enmeshed in modern culture, vairagya is much easier said than done! When change is a constant state of reality, particularly when it lies within the natural essence of vata, learning to continuously roll with the punches time and time again, falling only to pick ourselves up once more is no easy feat. Which is why mindfulness with vairagya during the cooler months of fall is an auspicious time for anchoring oneself in the chaotic currents of change.

This summer, I had a difficult personal experience that called my attention to the need for vairagya in my own life and the memory of the boy who picked himself up: My husband and I learned that we are expecting a child in January and, just less than two months after discovering the news, my beloved dog and best friend, Karma passed away after being struck by a car. In a short period of time, straddling the bridge between life and death, I experienced a jolt of life’s joyful awakening and the painful shock of heartbreak and loss. As I saw friends in passing, I was greeted with both congratulations and condolences in one package. The human heart is only designed to take on so much; when faced by both the arising emotions of joy and sorrow, the only choice that made sense to me was the middle road, witnessing as much as I could sustain in the moment in order to fully understand and appreciate the sudden life changes occurring around me. If I was a fully enlightened yogi, I would have left it at that and returned for a pleasant evening of meditation in my mountain cave by the river. But I am only human and, as a humble human, phenomenons and subsequent emotions arise and pass. It is the very pureness of our emotions that can either quickly turn into vices gripping us into a story of suffering, or work as tools for helping reconstruct sense back into life. Grief overwhelms just as joy can override. We can choose to give into the wayward ride of vata, or we can choose to witness the feelings and emotions that will continue to arise rather than letting them become us.

Much like the Middle Way of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path – choosing neither extreme austerities or sensual indulgence – vairagya is like the pedestrian in the middle of a busy intersection, observing traffic so as not to get hit when crossing. Sometimes accidents happen, sometimes we have to run or dodge our way through the constant traffic of the mind. As yogis, perhaps some of you have experienced this in class:

“The show-off across the room can do a handstand. Right... I'd certainly fall and break my neck”... “My hamstrings are too tight, there’s no way I’ll ever be able to reach as far as the teacher does”... “Stupid tree pose. Who needs to stand on one foot anyway when I’ve got two?”... “Gawwwwd, that guy is such a loud breather. I can’t concentrate as long as he’s in the room.”... “Just a little further... a little higher... I’ve gotta prove that I can still do this wheel thing. Ow, my back!”

Next time you practice yoga, whether on or off the mat, take notice of the mind’s tendency to drag itself through a story. Can you witness the story itself arising and, consequentially, a heightened state of emotion in reaction to it? Can you find a state of suspension in a moment of passion and allow yourself to simply remain there? Can you remove yourself from the passion of the emotion altogether and observe your ability to choose how you want to experience the current state?

Here are a few vairagya tips I learned from the young boy who fell and picked himself up again:

• Reality hurts. We can choose to let it hurt us or we can choose to stay present with it.
• Pain is a natural emotion, but suffering only really matters when someone is around to witness it. Suffering loves to play the lead part of a good story.
• If no one is around to witness the pain, well, shucks! Better to shake off the pain, regroup and anchor back into the moment.
• Keep up with life! Even amidst the shock of change, there’s bound to be something else interesting or exciting just around the corner.
• Humility is our best teacher. It anchors our mind-body and opens the heart to the reality of change.

Of course, if we could all be as enlightened as that young boy was when our own phenomenons arise, the world would be a much less complicated place. Remember, change rarely happens overnight, but is abundant in any given season. The practice of vairagya is exactly that – practice. Above all, have compassion for your own faults and wayward tendencies and offer gratitude to the teacher of humility when it arises... then dust off your pants and keep going.

This month, I have the pleasure of writing this blog while surrounded by an alpine lake and a bird's eye view of the Continental Divide atop one of Colorado's fourteeners, Mount Evans. Modern technology has provided me with a laptop and America's highest paved road to get here, making the mystical journey to this alpine tundra summit a lot more comforting than other mountainous climbs!

As I comb through the Mount Evans Wilderness Guide in search for inspiration, I am reminded that, just like Death Valley or the Saharan Desert, the tundra is also a scarcely hospitable environment for only the toughest of wills. "Only living things with highly specialized adaptations exist," the guide says. In fact, very few creatures have adapted to this environment, and the ones that have – Mountain Goats, Bristlecone Pine, Marmots, Bighorn Sheep, and several other species – are surely an example of tenacity, fearlessness and a highly adaptive nature within a seemingly harsh and unforgiving environment. Up here, every wind gust tries to pull the breath right out of me. The feeling of being both on top of the world and also very far from home is livening, to say the least. The bitter chill in the air is less than pleasant and the intensity of the sun and wind tells me I have either much more meditating or evolutionary adapting to do if I am to enjoy myself in this reticent and frigid environment like that Mountain Goat grazing peacefully across the rocks.

Adapting or meditating. The restless enthusiast in me knows discomfort is a state of mind and, with a little encouragement, is able to coax the native California blood in me into enjoying this bitter sweet mountainous moment. I breathe in the crispy thin air like a rice cracker curbing a day fast. I begin to presence myself with the sweet slowness of my breath and the nourishing air that enters my nostrils, however cold, dry and thin it may be. The sensation of working to mindfully fill my lungs with this air is like pouring water into a glass from 10 feet above. I sense the massive amount of earth beneath my feet and I swear up here I am lighter, like that single raven floating on the mountain top's current at the edge of the world with me. Imagine, the tenacity of that bird, to drift in such a strong breeze and feel so content. Or the mountain goat that hops from one peak to the next, rock by rock, unmoved by the severity of its reality. And here I thought Richard Freeman’s advanced class was tough.

The air here reminds me of when I discovered I had exercise-induced asthma. About 10 years ago, I played on the UC Santa Barbara women’s rugby team. Though this may surprise some of you (I surprise myself with my own stories sometimes too!), this sport is one of the most challenging sports every played or practiced, in my opinion, which is why I enjoyed it so much. I pushed myself hard on the field, often to the point of sheer exhaustion, mostly because of my aversion to being tackled. I hated getting the wind knocked out of me, especially when I was always experiencing a lack of it in the first place. In rugby I always felt so challenged to keep up, like I could never take in enough air for the amount I needed. I thought I was just not as fit or as healthy as other athletes. I remember having my first big asthma attack and feeling so helpless and confused, only to later discover that my ability to survive was in my ability to adapt to the elements.

It wasn’t my doctor, but a yoga class that taught me how to find my breath again. At that time I was still discovering yoga and its health benefits. So, during class I began paying close attention to the breathing exercises and commands and how I could apply deep breathing to intense activity. I soon learned that I had a much greater lung capacity for my breath if I could just slow it down during moments of discomfort. I eventually learned that when an attack came on, 3-Point Yogic Breath was a way out. A few years later, herbalists in New Mexico taught me that cutting dairy from my diet could provide relief to my mucous membranes and histamine responses for the lingering asthmatic moments I was so driven to rid myself from. After trying it for a month, to my amazement, it worked. Now, today, I practice 3-Point Yogic Breath every morning and evening, every time I feel anxious or nervous, and every time I feel discomfort or pain both on and off the mat.

Through my own experience with asthma, I learned that presencing the mind in the breath is by far the best practice for achieving peace and grace during states of discomfort. When I am able to completely center myself in my breath, I truly feel I am touching heaven. Being able to touch heaven is knowing the divine, and knowing the divine is both dying and living in a single breath: letting go of the mind’s attachment to fear, discomfort and helplessness in exchange for the simple bliss of a single living breath. And this state is accessible to us all in any given moment if we should choose to experience it.

Next time you hold a yoga pose, are having a hard time breathing, or are experiencing discomfort, allow yourself to truly arrive in that experience. Show up. Be present. Stand tall. Breathe. If you’re in a yoga class, don’t worry about what your neighbor is doing, if you’re the slowest cat in the room, or if the teacher is instructing faster than you can breathe. Enjoy your moment. Revel in your practice. Catch your mind when it wanders and bring it back to a single breath. Laugh when you stray. Smile when you come back. Find the humor in the humility when you notice the simplicity of such a difficult practice that sounds so easy. Above all, enjoy the experience with gratitude and be open to your connection with the divine.

Practice 3-Point Yogic Breath
*When practicing any breathing exercise, listen to your body. Stop if you feel lightheaded, dizzy or nauseous.
*If you have a medical history of heart disease or high blood pressure, avoid practicing the intermediate and advanced practices described below unless they have been approved by your physician.

Stage 1:
1.  Begin lying on your back in Savasana.
2.  Place 1 hand on your belly at your navel and the other on your chest.
3.  Take a full slow exhale to clear the lungs.
4.  On your next full deep inhale, notice where your breath enters. Do you feel your chest moving more? Your belly? Both? Nothing is right or wrong, this is simply a practice of awareness. Exhale fully as needed. Be mindful of the fluidity of your breath. Avoid holding your breath at any time.
Stage 2:
5.  On your next inhale, slowly begin to fill the lower lungs first. To fill the lower lungs is to belly breathe, expanding your belly first when air enters the body.
6. Fill the width of your ribcage second. To fill the width of the ribcage is to diaphragm breathe by expanding the circumference of your torso after your belly is full.
7. Fill the upper lungs third. To fill the upper lungs is to chest breathe. Expand your chest after your belly is full and your ribcage is fully expanded.
8. Reverse the breath on your exhale (similar to raising your arms and then bringing them back down at your sides) by releasing the air from your upper lungs (chest) first, your diaphragm (ribcage) second and, finally, your lower lungs (belly) last. Using imagery of the ocean’s tide as it laps onto the shore (inhaling) and back into the ocean (exhaling) is a nice complimentary visual practice.
9. Repeat steps 5 through 8 two more times for beginners, 4 to 8+ more times if you are an intermediate or advanced practitioner.
Stage 3:
10. Practice 3-Point Yogic Breath sitting up tall, or while in a yoga pose that you generally experience discomfort in. Pigeon pose, Kapotasana is a great asana for this! 
11.Take notice of your awareness and your body. Can you feel discomfort in your body dissolving as you stay present with your breath? Do you notice an ability to remain calm and centered in the breath? Are you able to enjoy the simple practice of breathing over and over again without getting ahead of your breath, or falling behind?
12. As you improve in your pace, volume and awareness of breath, practice Reverse 3-Point Yogic Breath: Inhale into your upper lungs (chest) first, diaphragm (ribcage) second, and lower lungs (belly) last, then reverse the exhale accordingly (belly first, ribcage second, chest last).
Intermediate and advanced practitioners:
13. Complete 3-Point Yogic Breath for 3 repetitions, followed by Reverse 3-Point Yogic Breath for 3 repetitions to create one full round. Practice in rounds of 3, 6, 9 or 12.
14. Complete 1 repetition of 3-Point Yogic Breath followed by 1 repetition of Reverse 3-Point Yogic Breath to create 1 set. Practice in sets of 3, 6, 9 or 12.
*Always rest in your normal breath for at least one minute after practicing advanced pranayama exercises before moving on to other activities or asanas.

Benefits:

• Teaches balance
• Strengthens legs
  
• Builds stamina
• Opens chest/heart and shoulders
• Strengthens and promotes the health of the spine

The Hindu god, Shiva, also known as the nataraja, or “lord of dance” charms us with his divine dance of destruction and creation. This universal dance symbolizes the death of the old and weary and the cosmic process of birth and life. Shiva dances the eternal cycle of transformation, preservation and dissolution. And what better time to celebrate this divine dance than the transition of springtime into summer, an elation of quiet poise and stillness within the motion of transformation. Natarajasana teaches us to rejoice in the playful spirit that dances between chaos and order and to embrace life’s transitions with a courageous and open heart. Shiva shows us how it is possible to be both balanced and playful within the cycle of life, and to seek grace as one’s guiding star for navigating through a sea of obstacles. With introspection and a focused and calm mind, we too can dance like Shiva dances, poised and centered within the cosmic motion of life.

Practice the Dance

1) Dancer’s Pose is a tonic for the shoulders, chest, abdomen, spine, hips, thighs, knees and calf muscles. Practicing a warm-up series such as Surya Namaskar (sun salutation) before this pose will assist in a deeper exploration of the asana and prevent any unwanted injuries.

2) Begin in Tadasana, rooting your feet into the earth. Connect with the divine energy that rises from the ground through your feet, climbs the spine and reaches for the heavens from your crown. Feel your entire body engage with the subtle strength of your creative source that surges through the core of your being. Focus on the breath. Breathe in this life force, and breathe out the dissolution of negativity and other obstacles in your awareness that no longer serve your path or purpose. Open your heart as you inhale, reaching courageously to the heavens. When you arrive on an exhale at a still and focused mind, settle your dristi (gaze) on an unmoving object. A flower, tree branch, house plant or candle flame works well for this, or anything else you find that embodies the cosmic stillness residing within motion.

2) When your awareness is present, inhale your right arm to the sky and your left hand to the inside of your left ankle (with your inner arm facing outward). This marks the universal cycle of life and death as you connect the circle at hand and foot, and makes the cosmic connection when you reach for the heavens. Exhale into your center of stillness again, keeping your hips and shoulders evenly parallel to each other and your tailbone anchored into the earth.

3) On an inhale, open your heart to the heavens once more, allowing it to guide you through a forward and uplifting motion. At the same time, begin moving your left knee behind you, being mindful of the hips as they work together to stay centered while in motion.

4) As you exhale, radiate your divine creative and destructive forces out of your heart, your solar plexus, your sacrum, your left knee and foot, and extend your right arm forward from your heart-center. Focus your dristi on the stillness of being, on your anchor to earth in your standing foot, and your divine reach toward your higher self from the heart and the crown. Allow any mental obstacles that arise to fall to the wayside as you remain poised in your divine center. A mudra of index finger and thumb together in your right hand may help with this. Notice the introspection and stillness of the mind necessary for this pose to deepen. When we move gracefully from the center, we find stillness amidst the movement. Here is where we can also find playfulness naturally arising in an open heart.

5) When you deepen your pose, be mindful of the hips and shoulders. Keeping them facing forward (rather than opening out to the side) will assist in centering your balance. Place your right hand onto a wall if you find yourself teetering. Use the buttock (gluteus) muscle of the left leg to lift the knee and thigh parallel to the ground, and the front of the left thigh (quadricep) to draw your heart open at the foot. Resist the temptation to pull back the left shoulder; keep your shoulders and heart centered to guide you through the challenge. Lengthening your lower back into the tailbone and engaging your inner thighs (adductors) and lower abdominal muscles will also prevent any impingement of the lumbar spine.

6) Repeat 2-5 on the other side.