Tips on driving a scooter in Bali

Please keep in mind that you take your own safety into your own hands if you choose to follow this, or any other advice. Reader, beware. According to recent statistics, traffic fatalities are the third leading cause of death in Bali, and most of them are motorbike accidents. According to the traffic police, 287 people died in traffic accidents in the first half of 2011, excluding victims who died later in the hospital. See BaliSurfStories for more gruesome details. Should you choose to go ahead and put yourself in the hands of fate and rent your own self-drive scooter, read on. 

In no particular order; Thoughts on riding a motorbike around Bali...

1. Bikes and Bike accessories: Insist on a new bike. Ask to see the bike you are actually going to rent. Not "one like this one" or "One my friend has, you follow me, maybe 15 minutes." A bike should cost about 40,000 Rupiah per day, or 500,000 Rupiah per month. While you are at it, ask for a helmet. They probably have three to choose from, all of them will be too big, and one of them will certainly have some sort of disgusting bug infestation. Alternately, spend 170,00 Rupiah ($17USD) on a non-DOT approved helmet at the tiny helmet stall or grocery store and ride your motorbike 80km per hour through heavy traffic in it. Ask the dude you rent your bike from for a poncho. This should be included in the price. This is a necessary piece of equipment due to frequent torrential downpours that only occur when you are on a motorbike and have forgotten your poncho.

2. More on helmets: If you did buy a $17 helmet, take it inside with you, it is possible it will get ripped off from your bike if you leave it on the mirror. Crappy helmets you can leave. You can also lock one of the straps into the seat, but if you have a super snazzy non-DOT approved helmet, they will just rip the buckle off to take your helmet. This is really only a concern in Kuta at night. If you do leave your helmet on the bike overnight, it will almost certainly be full of rainwater/frogs/spider egg sacs when you come out in the morning, so look inside it before you put it on your head. 

3. On Proper Documentation: Take the time to get an international driver's license. This costs about 10USD and you can do it online. Its a meaningless piece of paper that the cops will ignore anyway, but everyone says you should have one. 

4. On Bugs and other flying debris: Buy a pair of clear lens glasses. I mean it. The helmet shields suck and get really dirty really fast. I have been hit full in the face by the most massive butterfly you ever saw in your life, full on Silence of the Lambs moment. Do NOT panic or crash when you get pelted with enormous bees, dragonflies, mosquitoes, or killer butterflies. Simply spit and turn your head and the offending bug will peel off your face and hit whatever sucker is on your wheel. 

5. How to handle the ones that sting or bite: Do not slap at bugs that hit your chest, its likely they have stingers. Glance calmly down, or angle your mirror to see what's what. If it is one of the enormous wasp like creatures, pull your bike over calmly, take your helmet off calmly, peel your shirt carefully off your head, and then freak right the fuck out waving your shirt and beating it against the ground like a lunatic.

6. Hati Hati: This means Be Careful! Not Warning, or Danger, but Be Careful! This is kind of the general idea when driving in Bali. Do whatever the heck you feel like, but Be Careful! You will see these signs at the VERY LAST SECOND as they are placed DIRECTLY in front of whatever massive gaping hole they are currently ripping into the road. Bali seems to be continuously under construction, so these are everywhere. The rule seems to be, do not merge in an orderly fashion, nor should you slow down for the safety of the workers. All motorbikes should immediately speed up and cut off whatever car or truck is about to become the bottleneck at the construction site. You don't want to be the dumbass that is sucking bus fumes while everyone goes around you and up the middle. As you go around these signs (most of the time perilously close to them), it is polite to tell your passenger in a voice that sounds full of steely resolve and confidence, "Watch your feet!" as their feet stick out a bit on the pegs and are prone to snagging on the signs. 

7. Gravel, Feathers, Dogs, Pedestrians, Bicycles, etc: There is an incredible amount of shit flying through the air, especially on the main motorways in Bali. Remember those clear glasses? Buy em. Use em. You can pull your face shield down on top of them for good measure. I also put wetwipes in my backpack because by the time I make the 1 hour drive from Ubud to Kuta, I am covered with a thick coating of sweat and road debris. Bodhi, having used me as a bug and dirt shield most of the way, fares slightly better.

8. What to wear? There is a reason that the Balinese wear jeans and jeans jackets while they are riding their motorbikes. It hurts to get pelted with everything one can get pelted with. This includes poo from the cow tied up in the flat bed truck in front of you and sweet smelling indonesian cigarettes from the beautiful sarong clad lady riding side saddle and nursing a baby in front of you. If you do happen to hit the ground on your merry journey, denim is a good barrier between you and the ground. Well, its better than surf shorts. Everyone rides in flip flops, apparently their feet are road rash proof. Bodhi likes to ride in his surf shorts without a shirt on, but I only let him do that on the broken, irregular, wet, slippery, very windy roads of interior Kuta. Safety first, kids. 

9. On dealing with the cops: Put a 50,000Rupiah note in with your registration and HIDE YOUR MONEY (not in your backpack). The cops are the one group of people you DO need to worry about here in Bali. If you get caught in a tourist net, don't get off your bike, don't let them take your keys, make a bit of a scene. They will tell you that the fine, for whatever traffic offense you are supposed to have committed is around 300,000Rupiah. We've gotten away for as little as 20,000. Don't bargain, just say no, and hand them your blue note and leave. They won't chase, they are busy trying to get bribes from other suckers. See previous post Pulled Over By Cops on the Way to Kuta

10. On the Rules of the Road: There are really no traffic rules in Bali. Well, there are, but those rules are ignored, and there is a whole other set of unwritten rules that you need to figure out quickly if you want to go anywhere and have all your fingers, toes and skin with you when you arrive. Traffic goes both ways on one way streets, its common for people to drive up on the sidewalk and emerge suddenly from behind trucks. People drive fast and aggressively. When you are crossing the street, expect to see scooters and motorcycles and guys with whole portable food stalls attached to the back of their bike, random chickens, roosters and dogs all over the traffic. and going the wrong way. Bodhi was actually run over one afternoon while I was busy getting a tattoo. I think I was also awarded Mother of the Year award that very afternoon. (He's okay. He has a little scar on his foot that he's quite proud of. I do not have a post called Run Over In Kuta While my Mother Was Getting Tattooed, although I might write one.) (In my defense, he had a babysitter. A lovely young man Rov, the lead singer of GoldVoice, a hard core Bali Pride rap group and his beautiful expat Aussie girlfriend.) 

11. Signal! Use your blinker. That is a weak indication that you intend to shift your direction of travel. If you really intend to turn, put your hand out, palm down and wave gently and subtly. This means you really actually intend to turn in a way that might disrupt traffic. If you see someone doing this in front of you (often it's the co-pilot) (ie, one of seven people on the bike in front of you) doing this, GIVE THEM the right of way, they will cut you off and you will die. By the way, when a car signals, it does not mean it is going to look in the mirror and then change lanes completely. It means its going to shift a little. People don't really pay attention to lanes in Bali. A car might be driving straddling the dotted line, and this is it's lane. When it needs to go around some obstacle or other (a sudden Hati Hati sign for instance, placed squarely in the middle of the road and appearing without warning from in front of the car which previously swerved without warning around it), it will put on its blinker and move just enough to go around the obstacle. A blinker means "Im moving over" not "I'm changing lanes or turning."

12. Go, Go, Go! If you are going to drive a scooter, or anything else in Bali, drive aggressively. If you don't want to get stuck in hellish traffic for hours choking on bus fumes and chicken feathers, learn to move to the front of the pack. The best way to do this is find someone who looks like they are about 14 years old. They will be riding a dirtbike of some sort, and going really fast. Hop on their wheel and let them be the proverbial stick in the water. If you are going to do this, stay RIGHT on their wheel and move like you are one vehicle. Let him take the risk. You get the reward. If you are not going to drive like this, prepare to spend a lot of time being overtaken from behind, cut off and frightened. 

13. More on aggression: If you are going to pass someone, PASS them. Don't mamby pamby around and block the passing gap. When you gun the throttle and then don't go, it confuses the locals, who are willing to hop curbs and take on-comming busses with a nanosecond gap without blinking. If you are too much of a pussy to pass, let someone else widen the gap for you. You ruin the flow, man.

14. Countdown to take off:  When you are in a major intersection, like the McDonald's in Sanur, watch the count down light. It will say, "Jalan 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO!!" No kidding, it actually counts you down like it's a race course. Everyone will gun their motors on 2, and leave on 1. Pay attention, if you are out in front, you are prey for being broadsided by lagging traffic going the other way. If you can be out in front, you will have a big open road in front of you, until you catch the next tangled mess of traffic ahead. James Bond your way to the front, going through the gaps and up the middle of the lane, on the sidewalk and however else you have to go to get ahead of the trucks. They are dangerous. 

15. The rules of sidewalk driving: Speaking of driving on the sidewalk, pay attention. The sidewalks in Bali often have sewers directly under them, and they are made out of blocks of pavers laid across the flowing mass. Most of the time, there will be some sort of upheaval and giant gaping hole in the sidewalk that comes up unexpectedly. Sidewalks can also end abruptly with a giant drop off, so look ahead if you chose the adventurous route. Pay attention, wrong way traffic tends to go on the sidewalks as well. 

16. Thoughts on Potholes, dogs, cats and chickens: Massive potholes in the road proper are also a pleasant surprise when you are ripping along at 6o or 80km/hr directly behind a car or truck. These lovely back breakers and flat makers appear out of no where and can send you flying. Reading the road has a whole new meaning here. Dogs tend to sleep in the middle of the street, where its very peaceful (?) and tend alternately not to move at all, or to suddenly jump up and run in an unpredictable direction when you approach. Chickens seem unconcerned and slightly more predictable, cats go in the same direction of travel really, really fast. Old people don't move. Piles of dirt for construction appear without warning or signs. There are no rules for who has the right of way in these circumstances. If, say, you are traveling toward a pile of dirt, which is on your side of the road, and there is an old person walking in the opposite direction directly across from the dirt, slow down and let the old person walk by. There is often a scooter passing the on coming truck headed for the gap all at the same time, anyway. If you have a nanosecond of speed advantage and a bit of momentum, go for it. It usually works out. (except when it doesn't. See above warning).

17. On Courtesy and Road Rage:  One of the coolest things about Bali is that I have yet to see any road rage. People tend to work together to get traffic moving, and it is expected that you will cut each other off trying to make space. Once one bike slips through, there is a little channel that all bikes can use until the cars manage to clog it off by moving at the alarming rate of approximately 1km/hr. Smile at your fellow roller derby players as you ping pong your way through traffic. But for god's sake, don't let anyone go ahead of you, this causes massive confusion. Put your elbows out and get to work. Make friends at the traffic lights. 

18. On getting directions and finding your way. Most of the streets don't appear to be marked with signs. When they are, they are in non-uniform, non-official looking signage, and in odd and unpredictable places. To improve this not at all confusing scenario, streets in Bali tend to randomly twist and turn, to such an extent that it feels very much like you are now going in a very different direction, did you turn or was it just the road? To counteract this issue, try finding landmarks. Be careful of making landmarks out of billboards and petrol stations as the billboards will change, and the petrol stations all look the same. As do Indomarts, circle K's and McDonalds. A common way to give and receive instructions sounds a bit like this: "Go to the huge statue, go almost all the way around, get off at the petrol station, go to the McDonalds, go past it and turn right at the Indomart." The next time someone gives me directions like this I am going to punch them in the face. I'm not kidding. Not very tolerant or Hindu of me, I know. But there is a huge statue in almost every major intersection, an Indo Mart on every corner. (Ironically, I gave directions to my house in just this way only yesterday...)

19. Use your iPhone: From a place with internet, (all Circle K's have free WiFee), pull up Google Maps and map your route. Zoom in all the way along your route of intended travel so that the map fills in completely. Then, duct tape your iPhone over your speedometer. (There is no speed limit in Bali anyway). Make sure you turn off your passcode, because its really hard to open your phone and type in your passcode while you are driving the motorbike through traffic with a passenger, a surfboard and six bags of groceries in the stifling heat while its raining. 

20. Speaking of Rain: Remember that poncho? When you see locals on bikes pulled over by the side of the road and the sky is really grey, this is an indication that you, too, should pull over and put your poncho on. Yes, I know its not raining yet. Yes, I know you think you can just wait until it begins to rain and then pull over and put it on. But trust me. If you wait until you feel the rain and THEN pull over, in the fifteen seconds it takes you to pull over, you will be drenched in water like you jumped in the pool. For real, I'm not kidding. 

21. Hati Hati! When the rain comes, the road gets slippery. This is the one time I've seen people drive like they have a sane thought in their head. Everyone slows down and pays attention. You should too, the rain comes in torrential sheets and its hard to see through. If you only have one poncho, and you have a kid on the back, like I do, they can just duck under the back of the poncho. Although Bodhi (being Bodhi) likes to ride and get all wet. What the heck, he's in his boardies anyway. 

22. More on Cops: The only time I've ever heard a siren was when the cops were escorting first the Indonesian Porsche Owner's Club, and then again when they were escorting the Indonesian Ninja Owner's Club. Presumably this clears the road so that the cars and Ninjas can drive relatively fast and in formation. Other than that, I've only seen cops on the side of the road looking hot and cranky and waving red and green flags ineffectually at the clogged traffic. Oh, and pulling over tourists for cash. 

23. No Seriously, on Safety: Even more rare than a cop in a cop car being actually cop like are ambulances. They exist but they are few and far between and the staff is poorly trained. Take the time to make a first aid kit and put it in your bag. Maybe not for you but for one of the other accidents you are likely to see. (We have witnessed no fewer than five motorbike crashes in the nine weeks we've been on island.). You might want to go ahead and take a WFR course while you are at it, more well trained medical people who are traveling is never a bad thing. A friend of mind is making a motorbike safety video for his senior thesis at Green School, when its all done and after he's hit his home run in presentation on Monday (good luck, Dylan), I'll post a link to it here if he lets me. 

Happy driving!

But you aren't who I wish you were, I knew that before I even met you.

It wasn't until we rolled up into the Shala this morning, and Isaac's little flip flop clad feet came slapping up to us through the mud, and Bodhi put his helmet on the bike, and I stood up and walked through the mud up the ramp through the new wall which gets higher every day that I realized, kind of, that today was the day that everything, or maybe just two really significant things, were going to be really different.

Thanks, Prem and Rhada. 

We had missed Prem and Rhada's last class. I had, in my mind, had this day as the day we had to say goodbye for so long, that it already had sorrow attached to it.

But its different than I thought it would be. We are staying. Prem and Rhada are the ones that are leaving. They are off to the states to see friends and family for a month and a half. They have a good friend, Dylan, teaching.

I was so glad that there would be a great teacher here, someone who also studied with Pattabhi Jois. Part of me feels a bit sad not to be leaving for India in a few days, like I copped out of that adventure to some extent. Like Bodhi and I should be meeting Saraswati, and studying with her as planned.

But the deed is done, and there are so many good reasons to stay...

"I miss Prem." Bodhi said, and came to a sudden stop at the office. He looked up at me, and looked around. Something was different. Prem has become a Goo Remover for Bodhi. Prem, like Weems, plays with Bodhi, encourages him to be a kid, allows space for him to be who he is emotionally. They both hold space, let Bodhi be Bodhi, while helping him to find out what that means.

Bodhi suddenly seemed a little lost. "I know babe, I miss Prem, too." It was true. It seemed like a good idea at the time to stay....

But I like meeting new teachers and getting a fresh perspective, and Dylan seems really cool, and Prem and Rhada would only have someone really great teach in their shala... so I'm pretty stoked. Thats life, Prem and Rhada need to go do their thing, and its not good to get attached, and there are lots of teachers, and I'll learn something new.

But I miss them already. I hadn't realized how much I looked forward to seeing them every day. How nice it was to have them in my practice, how far into my practice they had come. I am changing because of the practice, and they are so much a part of that. Each in their own way.

Bodhi sat down on the step and started to play with Isaac. Abby came up and handed Bodhi something.  "Here, Bodhi. This is from Prem and Rhada. We missed you yesterday. They gave us these necklaces yesterday. They are just for us, from Prem and Rhada." Bodhi took the necklace and looked at it. He sat really still and turned it over in his hands. He was a little stunned. I expected him just to put it on and keep playing but he looked at it.

His face crumpled a little. "I miss Prem." he mumbled again, looking down at the necklace in his hands.

"Its okay, babe." I said. He put it on, and I went into the shala to set up.

There were only three people there so far, we were early. But it felt like because Prem and Rhada had gone, everyone had gone. On the other hand, it felt peaceful. I looked forward to some open space, I could be a little further up, closer to the front, no one distracting me, a nice view of the Buddha statue sitting in the pond, the light coming in through the bamboo fence.

Bodhi came in to stand next to me for the invocation. He looked up at me. "I miss them, mom." He whispered.

And then Prem and Rhada walked out of their house, backpacks on, ready to go on their next adventure. Bodhi ran through the shala and met them with Isaac and Abby behind the wall. I didn't get to see them say good bye, but I'm so glad they did. It feels like good bye forever, but the really funny thing is... we are here for so long that we will STILL be here when they get back!

Bodhi came back up front smiling, I saw through my feet as I hung upside down waiting for the prayer Prem and Rhada walk happily up to the car. It was funny not to go say goodbye to them. But I didn't want to interrupt the kids. It felt selfish to go get my own goodbye when the kids wanted to give their love.

Dylan came to the front. "Samasditihi" he said. Same program. This is how we begin. "Ommmmm" he chanted. Prem's deep resonating, confident voice was missing. In its place was a surprising sound. Dylan's Om was different. Wait a minute. Was EVERYTHING going to be different?

It was beautiful. Dylan began the prayer and he has a lovely voice. He sings it, higher in pitch and more sing-song. Bodhi sang along, not phased. I was equal parts entranced and confused.

Funny that, because in all my yoga practice I've never had the same teacher over and over and over again. There are usually three or four people who guide practice, and I just go to the Bikram studio and take from whoever is teaching.

Mysore practice is so different, you are on your own program on your own mat practicing at your own pace with your own breath. To have the same person show up in your bubble of consciousness and correct you and then walk away is soothing to some extent. There is trust there.

Today, I began practice and I felt the deep and profound silence in the room. It occurred to me that the room is always this quiet. That there is only the sound of breath and the plop of feet. It occurred to me that we are all moving very slowly. That this almost looks like TaiChi.

And then it occurred to me that even though I'm practicing meditation, staying on my mat mentally and physically, and working on my breath, hearing an ocean in my head, its usually really really loud in the room to me.

I haven't heard the silence before.

My mind has been too busy. Prem and Rhada make corrections, their movements and voices are part of the rhythm of practice. It was absolutely SILENT in Dylan's Mysore practice. I felt like time slowed down.

"Watch your breathing, your bundahs. Mulah Bundah, Udiana Bunda..."

Suddenly I missed Prem! Where was my teacher? Who was this guy, pretending to be my teacher, walking around in his shala?? What had I been THINKING? Why hadn't I gone to India?? If I was going to take from someone else, surely it should be someone from India!! From the source! I watched my mind go on a little judgement trip.

I found my breath and continued my practice. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance. Where is all this fear coming from?

Dylan walked past me, helping other people in Down Dog, but not me.  (Was I on my mat and in my practice??) Where were Prems gentle, understanding hands, that ask so much of me? Where was fierce Rhada, asking me for more, but to know when it was enough? Where were my teachers???

I struggled with this all the way through the warm up. I got to the middle of Sun B and the breath and the rhythm took over. It was automatic suddenly, to some extent, but that was also a good thing, the physical practice was pulling me out of my judgemental mind and onto my mat. I found my breath.

I worked with Rhada in my mind. "STAND on your FEET, Kate. Lift your HIPS! Come ON!" I found myself a little.

The room, however, was loud again in my internal struggle. I reached for the breath. I let go of needing to hear Rhada and tried to just feel the posture, incorporate my notes, find the silence. The next flow stretched out long, things were slowing down.

Suddenly, my back was moving, feeling longer. My shoulders were stretching open. Dylan was adjusting me. His touch, like his voice, was light, melodious. I listened. My body moved with the suggestion.

He came back again later. We had a chat about my bind, he coaxed my knee gently down, a posture Ive been struggling to find depth in was suddenly there. He came back later. He sat down and we chatted about Navassana. I have trouble making my abs strong. Mula Bundah not withstanding, I use my psoas in this posture and I can't seem to make my abs strong.

Dylan had me lay on the ground and try a minuscule movement with my back. My weak, unused abs fired all at once. I could make change from here.

At the end of practice, I left the shala feeling whole, feeling light and happy and floaty. I still miss Prem and Rhada. But I'm grateful for the space they made for us to practice in. Im grateful for the foundation they laid for me to learn from another teacher as well. I'm grateful for the sudden shift, for the attachment practice, for the struggle to let go and the struggle to connect and the struggle to be open. We can not practice this enough in life.

And I'm so grateful for the beautiful, gentle teachings of Dylan. I can't wait to go back in the morning and practice again, in a silent room, with a quieter mind, open to a new teacher. Let the next unfolding begin!

Its Just Another Posture

So the ironic thing is that right after I wrote that post about accepting where you are and not needing more, I was asked to do Bhujapidasana. Rhada told me that I would do it on Sunday, after the rest day. 

Bhudjapidasana. Part One. 

I spent all day Saturday with the thought in the back of my mind. Would I be able to do it? Did she give it to me because she thinks that I think that I want to move on? I really do only want to move on if it is appropriate, and i trust my teacher completely to be the one to tell me if its time or not.

One of the things that I’ve learned is that what I’m capable of and what is appropriate to do in a long term day to day practice may be two different things. Could I haul myself up into a headstand? Yup. But I am not strong enough in my shoulders, forearms, back and core to keep myself lifted, to keep my head just barely touching the floor. So I don’t do them yet. And I wont do them until I’m so strong and so ready that I just kind of float on up there. 

Sunday morning came, and it was one of those random “stiff” days, where I just felt kinda tight. My “rest” day here is not truly a rest day. Bodhi and I get on the motorbike and ride through heavy traffic to Kuta Beach right after practice on Friday. He goes surfing and I either surf, swim, or get some work done on my tattoo. We mission around Kuta getting food and mosquito smoke, sleep badly in our hot, still, shitty fan room at the Sukah beach inn, and do it all again the next day. 

We head back Saturday evening, usually in a rainstorm after Bodhi is done surfing. By the time I hit my bed in Ubud Saturday night, I’m wiped. Sunday’s practice is usually a jolt of plugging back in to my breath and my practice after the intensity of our two day break. There might be a lesson for me here, as well. 

So Sunday’s practice was slow, tight. I was okay with that, I’ve learned to stop wishing and just find out where my body is on that day at that time and work from there. I got to Navassana, and Rhada came over. 

“Okay, now jump your legs past your shoulders, feet in front of your hands. Bend your elbows, and hook your right foot over your left foot in front of your face. Go.”

I did. I went. 

And I did not fall over, and I breathed and it felt good. Challenging, and good. 

And as I was sitting there breathing, I realized that it was just as challenging as Janushershassana A had been for me six months ago. Its just another pose. Not even that its the “next” pose, because that implies some sort of linear progress, but just a pose. And as I was propped up there, I saw this infinite number of poses and modifications stretching out ahead of me, and I was at this little point somewhere along the line, at a place where my body was challenged. 

Janushersasana A. This used to be impossible for me. I still have work to do here, but as Prem would say, 'Is possible."

I came out and sat down. I was satisfied, there is something nice about being ready to challenge your body and meet the challenge. I felt good, strong, safe and happy. I went into my finishing postures.

Later in the series, I was rolling back into Hallasana, and I felt that my back and neck were still kind of tight. I decided not to do the full closing sequence. I’ve always known to listen to my body and adjust my practice. Rhada makes me be even more diligent than I have been in the past about that. 

As I rolled out, I pulled a muscle in my neck. Its posterior scalene, on the left side, a main postural muscle that was severely challenged by my surgery. Its weak, but it has been becoming so much stronger. I’m not sure why it tweaked today, if it had anything to do with trying a new posture, or if it was just in the right position to be tweaked and it would have gone anyway. No one can tell.

The result of that is that I’m in big pain again. Three days of sensations similar to post surgery. There is fear there. Anxiety. My body has been healing, I want it to continue. Yoga is supposed to be good for me, why am I hurting? 

Because I’m human, and I have some muscles that are still healing, and honestly, there is a part of my physicality that will always be affected by my surgery, even though I’ve come so far. 

Halasana, plow posture. 

The next day, I went through the whole series, eager to get to the shoulder binds, hoping they would stretch my neck out. They did, but I was fatigued from pain. This was not my place of benefit. 

The next day, my practice was just the sun salutations A and B. That was my place of benefit, I had no wish or desire to even know another posture existed. With Rhadas patient and gentle help, I focused on my breath. I am trying to cultivate this juicy, incredible sound that Rhada can make in her throat, this warming breath. 

And so on and so on. Now, I’m back into the seated postures, my neck is healing. But slowly. Its just a posture, the one I’m currently doing. There is no point of having a goal, that takes the purpose of this healing practice and throws it right out the window. 

This plan subject to change.

Bodhi, after spending a whole day surfing with his best friends in Indonesia. 

Here’s how this happened in the first place. About two years ago, I decided I wanted to go to teacher training for Bikram Yoga. I chose Bikram because I had a daily (sometimes twice daily) practice for about a year. Through that practice, I had held off getting spinal surgery for about two years. After that surgery, I recovered in the yoga studio. My teachers, Caroline Hartritch and Kate Giampapa and Kurt Fehrenbach were like steady lights in the insanity of pain and weakness that was my body. 

I had developed fibromyalgia, and my jobs hurt my body, even though I loved them both. Skiing, being cold and stiff, made my fibro flare up, but the movement, getting exercise helped. Receiving body work helped so much that I had a unique perspective on how relieving it is to get good, deep, compassionate, intuitive touch. But doing body work was hurting my body as well. 

The hot, humid room at Arjuna Yoga was like an island of sanity where I got a break from the pain in my body. My mind would be quiet while I worked, my body had no choice but to let go and surrender. Effort and ease. Assana and Savassana. 

I never wanted to like Bikram, I had heard so many things about who he was and how controversial his series was... in the end it didn’t matter. Bikram himself said “Some people think I am God, some people think I am asshole. I don’t care.” 

I healed my spine doing the series he put together. He provided for me an avenue back into my body. I am grateful. 

Getting certified as a Bikram Teacher was a way to deepen my practice, to make my body lean and strong. Kurt had told me that going through the ten weeks of teacher training was probably when he was healthiest, strongest, most fit. I wanted that for my body. 

I applied for the one scholarship that Bikram gives. I had a 1 in 400 chance of getting it. He offered me a partial scholarship, I had to come up with $3700 for housing for the 10 weeks, as we are required to stay at the Raddison where the training is. $6300 scholarship. I couldn’t do it. My financial situation is slowly improving, thanks to the tutelage of my amazing younger sister, I finally know how to save money. But two years ago, I was still under funded and living paycheck to paycheck. 

I knew that I needed to do this. At some point, I need to get off the sharp end of the stick, and live a more balanced life with fewer broken bones. I need to be able to be a teacher, but have the activity that I’m teaching include less frostbite and pain in my body. 

Then, Sharon Capplain, an amazing yoga instructor who I’ve had the pleasure of taking class from and becoming friends with over the years, started teaching the Ashtanga series at Arjuna. It was amazing. Revelatory. It opened me, emotionally, spiritually, so much. I was hooked. I wanted to know more.

Bodhi hangin out on the bike reading. This is normal for us now. 

Sharon spoke with such reverence for the history of Ashtanga, of its deep root. I wanted to go to the source of yoga. This system seemed to be pointing straight at it. I started thinking about going to a workshop with Annie Pace, or Richard Freeman, two teachers who Sharon really respected. And then it occurred to me that I could go allll the way to India and study at the shala there for a month for less than the cost of going to a ten day immersion in America. 

I’ve always wanted to go to India. Everyone tells me its insane and chaotic and dirty and beautiful all at once. I started to set my sights on India. I got accepted to study in the fall at the Mysore institute. And then I broke my ribs in six places riding my bike. I had JUST been starting to feel strong. I didn’t want to go to India compromised with injuries. So I pushed it back to the end of this last ski season. 

“Can I go with you?” Bodhi asked. I thought for just a split second. 

“Sure.” I said. Its hard to travel with both kids, its really expensive to add another person. But Bodhi could use some toughening up. He’s been facing some really difficult stuff in his life at school, issues with respect, and listening, and working hard, and trying, and believing in himself, and pushing through, and on and on. Having to do what is needed in the moment in a place like India seemed great.

When I changed my dates, it turned out that the Shala in Mysore was closed when I was planing to be there. I was deflated. I really wanted to do this. I’d saved about $5000, I thought I’d be able to go to India for a month. 

I started researching places that I could go study yoga that were excellent like Mysore, India, and maybe then head over to India. I’d never really thought this way, I’m not a world traveler because I can’t afford plane tickets. But my mom had offered to give me her miles to get us there. 

It turns out that there was an amazing Shala in Ubud, Bali where Prem was teaching. This was a man who had been studying with Sri K Patthabi Jois, the founder of Ashtanga Yoga in Mysore, since 1979. Since I was 8. This was the next best thing. 

We hit some more snags, it turns out that my mom had only enough miles for one ticket, we thought we’d booked two. I had already arranged to take Bodhi out of school, I had promised him he was coming. We decided that once we were over here, we might as well live lean and stay as long as possible. Our one month stay in India stretched into a planned two months in Bali and three months in India. Bodhi is slated to land in Colorado about three days before fourth grade starts. 

What were we going to do now? A truly amazing thing happened. My friends rallied. Miles started pouring in. This began to feel like a mission to heal Bodhi and help him grow. That felt right, good. 

We accumulated a total of 275,000 ariline miles thanks to the incredible generosity of some folks, and we booked our tickets. We were going to do it. 

About two weeks before we were slated to leave, I had a massive panic attack. What was I thinking? Traveling to Indonesia by myself with my whiny, scared kid? With only $5000 to last us 5 months? And then India?? Holy shit I was out of my mind. 

All these unexpected expenses started cropping up. Visas were going to be $1200. Vaccinations were going to be $1200. Taxes. Luggage. Food. 

“What are you going to do with Bodhi?” was the question. I didn’t really have an answer. 

Bodhi and his friends learning from Nyoman about wave theory during a break.

“Put him in the Indonesian school, I think, see if he sinks or swims.”

Three days before we left on this mad adventure that I was now sure was a VERY bad idea, I had a financial catastrophe. My student loans are in structured repayment. I had been counting on our tax refund as our travel money. When my refund came in, it was unexpectedly taken by the holder of the loan. We were flat broke. We couldn’t go. 

My sister, Liat, did something truly heroic. “You have to go. I’m going to help you. Bodhi needs this. You need this. You need to go.” 

She held a sale on her website, Knitfreedom, and in 24 hours, she had raised all $5400 we needed to travel. She wired it to my account. The next morning, I woke Bodhi up at 4 am and we left for 47 hours of plane rides, ending in Bali. 

Today, we sit in Seniman Cafe in Ubud. We are relaxed, happy, safe, healthy, and growing. Bodhi has learned to surf, learned to listen, learned to work hard, learned to be respectful. He has made friends, and learned patience and grace and how to stick with it when its hard. 

We were supposed to leave for three months in India next week. But something magical is happening in our accidental stay in Bali. So with the help of a friend again, (I can’t sit on hold with American Airlines for an hour in Bali), we’ve changed our tickets. We are staying in Bali until July 24. Bodhi is going to keep surfing, I’m going to keep writing and going to yoga. We get to dive deeper into this incredible culture, keep making friends, keep living. We are going to follow the path that Bali is showing us, deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of who we each are, and who we are together. 

We still go to India. But for a month, at the end of our Bali adventure. This feels right. Again, I’m so grateful. We would never be here if it wasn’t for our family and friends, if we both hadn’t been brave enough to step outside of what is normal or sane. 

Run at the thing that scares you!! Theres something wonderful on the other side. 

Unstick the idea that you are stuck.

Sri K. Pattabhi Jois in Samasditihi

“Are you doing advanced postures yet?”

One of my friends who I started studying Ashtanga with sent me this message yesterday. He’s not the first. And as I’ve been studying, looking on the internet at old films of Ashtanga practitioners, I have come across comments about moving along in the Ashtanga series. I often see the comment “I’ve been stuck at Navassana for 18 months...”

Lots of times this comment isn’t complaining, it usually is said with gratitude for the teacher that held them there. But its followed by a celebration. “Now I can do this posture and that posture and the one after it, too!”

Bodhi watches class

Perhaps I should clarify. In a traditional Ashtanga Yoga practice, there are six set sequences of postures. The first is called primary. Many people never get past second series if they practice daily for their whole lives. 

If you do your daily practice with other people, its called “Mysore practice”, named after the town of Mysore, India, where Sri K. Pattabhi Jois started the Ashtanga Yoga Research Center. 

In Mysore practice, everyone does the same series. The room is full of people, some beginners at the back, and generally, as you move forward in the Shala, people have more experience. People in the front of the room might have some third or fourth series postures sprinkled in. 

Everyone practices together, but you are all moving with your breath, so people are doing the same thing, but at different times. More advanced students keep going, but it takes beginner students the same amount of time, because we move slower or take more breaths. 

My friend Carina and I ended up in synch for a while

The teachers walk through the room and work with you on whatever posture you are on. You are supposed to know the sanskrit names of each posture and the order in which you do them. When you get to a posture that is too difficult for you to do, the teacher stops you. That is the end of your practice, every day, until they decide your body, mind and breath are ready for the next posture. That it would be beneficial for you to learn the next posture.

Because we are human animals, we feel rewarded for hard work when we get another posture added to our practice. People get frustrated when they can’t move on, thrilled that they are singled out when they can. Every one struggles with trying to not have a goal, everyone wants recognition. If you work hard, on your breath, on your bundah, on your drishti, on your movement, on your energy, on your intention, you should get another posture. 

But just like going on a diet, just because you join a gym for three weeks and show up diligently and wear your new exercise clothes and work really hard does NOT mean you will look in the mirror on week two or three or six and see much difference. Change, important, lasting change, happens slowly, from the inside. 

I am stopped at Navassana. This is a common stopping place. I came into the Shala worried that my practice would be sloppy but confident that I was strong enough to do all the chatarangas in the practice (there’s lots of them, they are lower down pushups). Turns out everyone is strong enough to do all the chatarangas. Turns out there were people in the class who were on second and third series. 

Navassana. Boat pose. Five times, five breaths. Don't sink your boat!

I knew I was going to be stopped at a posture, I was grateful at first that it was as far along as Navassana. I knew I had a lot of work to do the first day. I couldn’t remember the series, to begin with. 

I thought for sure after a week of hard work, I’d get to do the next posture, which is an arm balance. I love arm balances. Because you don’t have to be strong in your arms. Just well balanced. They make you feel like a rockstar. Like you are capable of anything. Its like all the reward of being able to walk on your hands without actually needing to go upside down. 

But a week went by, and I still was working on my Updog. “Charge your FEET, Kate! Come ON!” Rhada would say, and come over and pull on my feet and slap the backs of my legs. “Why don’t you use your legs???”

I don’t know. I thought I was. 

“Where is your BREATH? BREATHE!”  I thought I was. 

“If you don’t close your mouth, I’m going to get the duct tape.” Prem said one day. “You know duct tape? On your mouth. That’s where I’m going to put it.” 

I thought my mouth was closed. How is it that I can’t tell if my mouth is open or closed? How is this possible that I can’t keep Ujaia breath through the whole practice? Don’t I know how to breathe? 

Mel, super twisty and inspiring, in the grey.

Where in the world was my awareness? I was unknowingly cocky when I came to class. People in the past have complimented me that I have a nice practice, that I look focused and like I am working hard. Giving my all. I feel that, have felt that in my practice. 

Ether this place is a whole new ballgame, or I have awareness of breathing, but not during activity, or being somewhere new has exposed all my defaults or some sort of combination of all of that is going on. Whatever it is, I needed to lose my ego, gain strength, gain flexibility and clean my sloppy practice. Starting with learning the names and knowing how to do updog. 

About a week ago, I had the first of several micro breakthroughs in my practice. My feet, it seems, are stronger and more flexible. I have gained discipline in them, and with that discipline has come some strength and freedom. My updog is more powerful and light, connected, and grounded. My feet are charged. I am using my legs. I didn’t even know what that MEANT until I found my self floating on an inhale and staring up at the ceiling. 

Sharon, my teacher in Aspen, has told me about this sensation. “Eventually, with the breath, and the bundah, you will just feel like you are floating.” 

“Are you kidding? I feel like I weigh a million pounds and I will never float anywhere.” I thought. I had been carrying around the weight of this story, of this belief that I have a big, fat body. That even when its healthy it will be fat. That I can’t be light. That I have to accept my Kapha heaviness and cary it around in extra bags all over the place. I am not a sparrow or a pidgin. 

But while that is true, I am a larger person, holding onto that story has held me in this lie. It has told me that my core is weak, that my arms are strong, but I’m so heavy I can’t lift myself. I’m trapped in an idea of my body that has nothing to do with my ability or possibility. Skiing is possible for me because heavy is a benefit. My legs are strong. I have good balance. 

But maybe, maybe that’s all a story. Maybe if I practice, all will come. Maybe if I show up, every day, and breathe and move from my core, my body will unwind its story and let go and have permission to become what it wants to be. Lighter. Stronger. More flexible. 

Bhujapidassana. The next posture in the series. 

A few days ago, I was having breakfast after practice with Mel, a beautiful woman from Switzerland who can put both her feet behind her head. “They are so wonderful.” she said, referring to our teachers, Prem and Rhada. “I come here and they just clean my practice, you know? Take out all this extra nonsense that is like dirt on my practice.”

I nodded. This is exactly what it feels like to me now. I do not in any way feel stuck at Navassana. I feel like I have SO MUCH work I can and need and want to do in each posture and in each transition and in each breath allll the way to Navassana. 

While I still think doing arm balances would be cool to feel again, I’m not in a hurry to get there. Because I don’t want to fall on my face, or hurt myself or rush my body. Because there is no hurry. Because I am where I am. And where I am is a beginner. I need to learn the basics. I need patience for the foundation.

First, I needed to find my core, my center, mulah bundah. I needed to ground through that place. I’m still working on that, but now its there more than its not. 

Next, I needed to learn how to breathe. I needed to find my inhale, slow and full, in every posture. I needed to slow waaayyyy down until I could move fluidly with that breath. Now I am finishing with the front of the room, like I have a full long practice, even though I am stopped at Navassana. 

In order to work on this, I needed to step over my ego, in every posture, after every class. Not wish for more, not want another posture, not want to hear “Good job, Kate.”

There are no mirrors in Ashtanga. Just feel your body over time. 

And I found that the sooner I laid my ego down, the deeper my practice became. The cleaner it became. A few days ago, I had the experience of bliss in class. This ecstatic sensation as I rolled through my feet into updog. My body is changing. My practice is being scrubbed clean, all the extra sloppiness being flossed away. 

Why would I want to add postures when there is so much work to do in the ones I already have? My body is at its place of benefit stopping at Navassana. I am getting lighter, stronger and more flexible. My shoulders are opening, my hips are opening, my spine is opening. I can twist, I can stand solidly. 

I am finding length, space, and benefit, in each breath, in each movement, in the pursuit of depth and correct practice in each move I make, all the way to Navassana. I am sure, if I keep practicing, that eventually my place of benefit will be further down the series. I see people in front of me who can do beautiful and amazing things with their bodies, and it inspires me to keep working. 

Because I am doing beautiful and amazing things with my body. And I want to keep feeling that: the health, the strength, the opening, the learning, the unwinding, until I am an old, old lady. 

When I get there, to a place where my body can benefit from it, I’m sure my teacher will encourage me to add a posture, because my body is ready for it. 

Until then, I’m grateful to clean my practice and stop at my place of benefit, Navassana. 

There is so much time, and so much to be grateful for right right right where I am now. 

The lessons before the lesson begins. Or, loving someone who is gone.

This morning, we all went into the Shala for 8am practice. As usual, Bodhi and his young friends Issac and Abbie came in and stood next to me all in a line for the invocation. Like little devas, they flit around the shala, settling in to visit and bringing great energy to all of us. 

Before we began, our Guru, Prem, asked us to sit down. He had something to tell us. This is kind of an unusual request. If there is something to be said, generally his beautiful partner, Rhada, makes whatever announcement, and then we begin with the usual invocation. 

We all took a seat. Prem began to try to speak, but there was only silence. He took a breath and settled quietly into himself. We waited, wondering. When Prem has something important to share, there is quiet. He does not rush. He listens for his mind and heart to quiet. When I watch, it is like I am watching the human emotion settle like sand to the bottom of the lake, and for space to open up. He becomes taller, but not by straining. When that space is there, he speaks. Watching him prepare to share is as big a lesson as whatever he is about to say. 

He tried to speak a few times, he didn’t seem to struggle against it, trying to get it under control, so much as open his mouth to speak and realize his heart wasn’t prepared. More had to settle. We sat quietly. What could have happened to rock Prem so hard?  Bodhi waited, still, beside me. Abby looked at me, her six year old heart concerned for her friend Prem. 

Prem opened his eyes. “Today is the day that Guruji died.” he said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. “Four years ago today.” 

Prem and Sri K. Pattabhi Jois

He looked up at the photo on the post at the front of the shala. His loss laid bare. Pattabhi Jois was like a father to Prem, he had been his teacher, his guiding heart, his Goo Remover, since 1979. He had touched every part of Prem’s life. Patabi Jois had pushed him, and ignored him, bothered him, and worked with him, and loved him, just like a father. 

Prem took a breath and told us a little about their connection, about how hard it was to be without him, about how much Patabi Jois had touched their lives both Rhada’s and his. He shared as he struggled at the front of the class. 

One of the things that’s magic about Prem is that he can talk to a whole room of people, some of whom he just met today, like he’s talking to a bunch of friends over lunch. One of his many gifts is transparent authenticity. He showed us his loss and his love for Guruji. It was simple, beautiful, sad and grateful. It looked just like love. 

“Today,” he said, “I want to honor all the teachers. They are in front of us and in back of us like an infinite mirror in a fun house. Pattabhi Jois, Krishnamacharya, before him all the way back to Patanjali. And before him, and before him, all the way back to Vishnu, Bramha, Shiva and their Shaktis.” He squeezed Rhada’s hand. She balances him. He honors her for it. 

“Would that be okay? If we dedicate our practice today to Guruji?” he looked at us, searching. Of course. 

As we chanted our gratitude for the teachers, and their teachers, and the infinite lineage of teachings we can receive, I found my own face wet with tears. It wasn’t the loss that I was looking at. It wasn’t longing or attachment, necessarily. It looked like emptiness. What it looked like to me was that Guruji was no longer there for Prem to express gratitude to. And Prem, in that moment, missed him.

I know this feeling. To be full of love, to have so much thanks to give, and to have the vessel you want to pour it into to be incapable of receiving. 

Human attachment is a difficult thing. How do we love, how do we give, how do we intertwine, teach each other, hold each other up, boost each other over obstacles, hold each other’s feet to the fire, and not miss each other when we are gone? 

I think its okay to miss someone. Bodhi and I talk about this a lot. Missing someone means you love them. When you miss them a lot, it is an indication of how strong your love for that person is. If, in that space, we can find gratitude to have felt connection that deep, we are truly blessed. 

If, in the space of missing we begin wishing, this is when attachment begets suffering. I don’t believe that experiencing loss mean you are experiencing attachment and that is a BAD thing. It means you are feeling your human heart. 

We are human. We are meant to feel ourselves, this is how we learn, how we grow, how we become more than we are. There is loss. Feel it. Welcome it. It is now your teacher. To have had a love so great, a guide so strong, a teacher so important vanish from your life is devastating. He is gone. No amount of wishing will change that. But in that hollow, echoey space where Guruji used to be, there is the edge of longing, but also an enormous space, a space big enough to fill with gratitude. With the gratitude of Prem and Rhada, who learned at his feet, and with the gratitude of all the students in an infinite line who sit at their feet. 

I was so grateful that Bodhi was in the shala this morning. I don’t know how much of this is leaking in, but some of it does. And today, Bodhi, who struggles with lessons, saw someone he respects enormously have gratitude for teachers. 

Prem’s voice grew stronger as he chanted the opening prayer. The shala filled with voices. This morning, Prem taught all of us, but today we learned about loss and love and gratitude before we even came to the front of our mat. 

In which we learn an American Lesson with a Balinese Face and tattoo it for good measure.

I came to Bali declaring that I had no agenda. I was going to study yoga for two months in the jungle before going where I "really" wanted to go: India. I stated out loud that I didn't know how I'd change and I wasn't going looking for anything. I was kind of planning on learning whatever profound lessons there were to learn in India, after I had relaxed and played at the beach with Bodhi, and gotten my yoga practice to have a bit more depth before I showed my face in the "real" place.

But you know, I had no agenda. I was open. (Sounds like it, huh?)

I knew on some level that travel always changes you, and that traveling with Bodhi would change us both. I had a feeling we'd become buddies, and I'd have some sort of deeper revelations in the same vein that I have in the yoga studio in Aspen, because its just a stretching arm of a practice that already is teaching me in my life.

I was hoping, maybe, that the exotic location of India would unlock some deeper, mystical concept of myself, after the soaking up of all things good in Bali. Bali was going to be my reprieve, India my hard work. Again, no agenda. No, for real. Its not that I wasn't open to learning, its that I was planing to learn something profound if and when it presented itself when I was in a profound land.

Oh, Kate. Come on. As soon as I stepped off the plane, I knew Bali was more for me than I wanted it to be. It is a strange, beautiful, crazy collision of a place, it feels something like the chaotic inside of my mind.

So okay. I'm here to learn. And let the learning begin in Bali.

But... I feel that I am ready for some more resonant truth, some higher wisdom, I'm tired of the mundane self reflection lessons I have to learn. Maybe in Bali I would understand "Life" a little better.

I did have the idea that Bali would be a paradise, white sand beaches, Thailand with waves, maybe. After the chaos of the ski season, I was looking forward to five months alone with my kid.

I arrived here at first disappointed that I had a safety net of friends accidentally spring up, part of the lesson I was trying to construct for myself was that we had done this on our own and in doing so some deeper truth had been revealed. (But remember, I didn't come here with an agenda or an idea of what I was going to learn).

And then I found gratitude for the friends I found. And then, I met Dewi Sri, and everything changed.

Dewi Sri is the Goddess of Rice. And if that was really all there was to it, she probably would not now occupy a prominent place on my right shoulder and arm in the form of the biggest, most beautiful tattoo I've ever had.

I walked by her statue in Ubud and was completely struck by her. She was breathtaking. She looked gentle, kind, wise, young, old, inviting. I started walking by her on purpose. I don't really believe in the devine. But I do believe in our ability as humans to embody knowledge in packages called Gods.

"Who is this?" I posted on Facebook with a photo of her.

"That's Dewi Sri. Goddess of the rice harvest. Thanks, I needed to see that." came the reply.

Why would she need to see that? Doesn't the girl that responded live in Seattle? Is she really into rice?

I investigated further. It turns out that Dewi Sri is the Goddess of plenty, of bounty. This is symbolized by the rice harvest she holds in her hand. When you are blessed by Dewi Sri, one of the outcomes is that you have a bountiful rice harvest.

But that happens because you have a healthy, happy family who works hard and happily together. You create the wealth in your life through your relationships. She also symbolises Science, as well as beauty and love.

I looked at this statue. I looked around inside my heart. I want a life blessed by Dewi Sri. I want this for my children.  I started to measure my decisions by her. As I used to ask "Will this help me achieve my goal?" as I went for the National Team, now I am asking, "Does this look like a blessing from Dewi Sri? Will this increase the bounty of love, happiness and wealth (of whatever kind) in our family?"

It sounds like an exotic lesson. But I was shocked to have to learn it again. Because it showed up in the form of a very old lesson that I have ALREADY FUCKING LEARNED. Several times. In America. And this time, I felt a bit pinned to the ground while the lesson was water-boarded into me. Do you get it, Kate? Will you learn it this time?

At first I was really sad and disappointed in myself. I know this lesson. I'm familiar with it. I thought I had changed this years ago. I began, in my daily yoga practice, where most of this stuff leaks out of your pores every morning, to be faced inescapably with my truth. I was grateful for it, the lessons come gently and just kind of sit down in front of you, naked and waiting while you work in the shala. But if you see them, and don't take action, the lesson will stare you down until you listen. Sooner or later, you are gonna learn.

So I did the only sensible thing I could, I got sick. I came down with a mad case of Bali Beli, a fever, stomach cramps, I was sick in bed where its really far away from the Shala, sweating, and hurting, and worrying. I missed about eight days. And I suffered. And the lesson kept showing up anyway. In every corner, in every breath, in every way.

Finally, I felt like I was whimpering in the corner. "But I don't want to learn an American lesson from regular life that I already know and already learned and fixed. I want to be evolved enough to learn something GOOD. Come ON!" Boom. Sick again. Just as I was recovering.

Two more days in bed. Two more days aching to go to yoga, where at least I'm growing while I'm staring this thing down. I decided to stop fighting. I rolled over onto my right side, and surrendered to it.

You are right where you need to be to learn the lesson you need to learn. And that lesson is not always pleasant or comfortable. It got quiet in my heart and head.

I went back to class. I blinked, I felt a bit shell shocked, a bit sheepish. "Okay, you don't have to yell." I felt like telling the universe. "I'm here."

We begin again. Follow the breath. Practice and all is coming. Mulah Bundah. Find your center, root to the earth, find length and space. For the breath, for the lesson. I began to breathe again. Rhada told me "Your practice is getting juicier. That's the energy I was looking for, Kate."

Addee took almost six hours to make each detail just so. A dash of color in two weeks. Incredible.

Today, Bodhi and I drove to Kuta, where Addee from Rumble Avenue Tattoo made a beautiful picture of Dewi Sri on my arm. She is coming out of the waves where Bodhi is finding himself and stepping over his own fear. My mundane, unwanted, American lesson has an exotic face. And I'm so grateful for it. Now, its a promise.

And, I suppose I have also been reminded that the next lesson is the next lesson. We don't get to pick. Maybe I'll take that one, as well, and truly try to stop choosing. Maybe I'll
  open my eyes and heart and just listen to what's next.

Thank you, Prem and Rhada for your support and patience. Thank you Bodhi for your love and for letting me teach you. Thank you, Tom and Ethan, for letting us come allll the way here to find ourselves. Thank you, Addee for your incredibly detailed, patient, dedicated hard work. Thank you, Dewi Sri, for finding a form I could relate to, for showing up. And thank you Bali, for being more than I bargained for.