by Saeeda Hafiz

It was 1991, in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania and I was about to go on my first yoga vacation. None of my friends, nor I for that matter, have ever heard of such thing. But I was very excited to make such a thing happen. I enthusiastically told my friend, George, about it. “I am going to California for a yoga vacation. This place sounds awesome.” I read him the brochure. While he listened, I described the schedule to him. “At the ashram, we’re expected to wake up at 5:30 a.m. to the sound of a gong. Then go to meditation starts at 6:00 a.m., followed by a two-hour morning yoga class. After the class we are offered a full-service buffet vegetarian brunch. Then we’re assigned a community service project. When our chores are done, we have four hours of free time. One could choose such activities as swimming in the pond or hiking a trail. At the end of the day, there’s another two-hour yoga class, buffet dinner, and, last, a two-hour session of meditation and chanting. Then, lights out by 10:00 p.m.”

“Eeewww,” he groaned. “You’re *&%$ weird. Who would go on vacation to get up earlier than they do for work? That doesn’t sound like vacation; that sounds like prison.” I was disappointed in his reaction, because, for some reason, this was very exciting to me.

I left Pittsburgh, boarded the plane to California. When I arrived at the SFO airport the ashram sent a hippy looking station wagon to pick me up. Well over two hours later, we arrived at the Sivananda Ashram in Grass Valley CA, in time for a small snack, a quick tour of the essentials and then bedtime.

The next day I experienced the schedule that I had described to my friend, George. The gong woke me up at 5:30 a.m., and by 6:00 a.m. I was wrapped in a blanket, meditating, or more accurately, just sitting there cross-legged with my eyes closed. At 6:30 a.m. I poorly chanted strange Sanskrit words from a songbook. At 7:30 a.m. I was listening to a spiritual lecture on Hindu mythology. And by 8:00 a.m. I was practicing Hatha yoga on a beautiful hardwood floor. This place felt weird, but also like an honest place for me to be. I could live like this, I thought.

The smell of incense swirled through the air, the color saffron radiated through the ashram like the sun, and I got the feeling everyone was actively practicing to become their spiritual best. I felt like I was doing something good for myself, even though it seemed much like a cult—at least according to the pop cultural definition of one. There were guru pictures on the walls, we chanted words like “Hare Krishna,” and at 10:00 a.m. we ate vegetarian food communal style. More than a few times I thought, if George could see me now, he would definitely think, “You’re *&^%$ weird.”

From 11:00 a.m. to noon I was doing assigned chores in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and washing dishes. We all did whatever needed to be done.

From noon to 4:00 p.m. I had free time in the sun by the pond and talked to my fellow yogis and spiritual enthusiasts.

From 4:00 to 6:00 p.m. I was in my second Hatha yoga class of the day. To my amazement, for the first time, I did a headstand. I felt terrific. In truth, I felt better than those around me struggling to get it right. Holding my headstand, I felt like saying, “Hey, look at me. Watch me hold the posture that is considered the king of postures.”

In this upside-down pose, I thought, “George probably can’t do this.” Then I started to wobble and had to come down to rest in child’s pose. In child’s pose, my mind drifted into thinking that I had come a long way from my childhood. I was in sunny Grass Valley, California on a yoga vacation, and not trapped in my old neighborhood with no college degree, agonizing over which boy should love me.

As I transitioned from headstand to child’s pose and back into headstand several times, a whole host of memories were triggered. I constantly compared my present-day life to the collection of past experiences, growing up in poverty, family domestic violence, creating an opportunity to go to college, transiting from high school friends to college friends, having more and more exposure to wealthier people, and more importantly, people who just had different thoughts from what was considered normal.

I came out of the last headstand, feeling exhausted and invigorated at the same time. I rested in child’s pose one more time, and then I sat up, resting on my heels. Then continuing to move through this yoga class one posture at a time, while new memories surfaced with each pose.

At the end of yoga class, we all set ourselves up for the 20-minute relaxation pose—Savasana. During this time, the alchemy of my intimate relationships with each person who had appeared as memories during the class no longer seemed to scare me. I lay there in Savasana feeling as vulnerable as I was in high school, but Savasana was safer than high school. I sank further down into that mysterious space of relaxation and realized that we all struggled for love and acceptance. All of this happened on day one of my yoga vacation.

Day two I actually met a young man of 21 who studying to be Swami, that shocked because all of the 21-year-old men that I knew just wanted to make money and have fun. By day three, I not only practiced yoga, but also enjoyed the pond and hiked a trail. And on day four, I had the opportunity to watch a yoga teacher-training graduation ceremony. I strangely felt called to this celebration thinking that one day this could be me making a commitment to this monastic ashram lifestyle.

The next morning, saying my good-byes, namastes, and Om Namah Shivayas, I boarded the plane back to Pittsburgh, not sure how I was going to continue my life working at the bank after experiencing this alternative way of living. I felt like a different kind of life was reaching for me, but I wasn’t sure what that really was.

I went to work. I finished out the week as normal but thought about my ashram experience often. On Saturday night I got another call from George, asking me to go out to a bar. I said no because I wanted to get up early to go to yoga class.

On Sunday, I got to class early, excited to show my teacher my headstand achievements. I was the only one in the room and slowly started into the headstand. I stood on my head upside down, staring in the mirror. No one could see me. No one was watching. I closed my eyes and started to see my headstand differently.

The headstand is known as the king of the yoga poses. Accomplishing this posture can make you feel superior to others, and the longer you hold it, the bigger the opportunity there is for the ego to grow. But there is a deeper meaning to being able to hold a headstand: the posture will ask you to look at the world from an upside-down point of view. I learned that day that the headstand was not asking the world to look at me, and it was not asking others to see me as better, but it was asking that I see the world around me from different angles. The headstand is the king of poses, but practicing with no one around and looking within, I learned that it was a humble and fragile king, who gives you the opportunity to practice living life from a kaleidoscopic lens highlighting my strengths and weaknesses. Giving me the chance to learn more about my friends, my family, my life, and who it was that I wanted to be in the midst of it all. Being able hold the headstand and to see life upside was the beginning of my self-study, my Svadyaya. So, I grabbed my pen and paper and started to journal what the yoga poses were saying to me. I often received a message of what needs to be healed and fixed in my life, and more importantly, what is truly possible, and what is my destiny.

Saeeda Hafiz is a yoga teacher and wellness expert with certifications from the Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Centers and the Natural Gourmet Institute. As a holistic health educator with the San Francisco Unified School District, she focuses on sharing her 30+ years of knowledge in physical and mental wellness with diverse groups. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. saeedahafiz.com

by Karla Helbert

Ahimsa, the first of the yamas, is possibly the most important guide of all for self-care. It is often translated as “non-harming, non-violence. Sadly, the human capacity for violence and harm is our greatest failing. Acknowledging our own capacity for violence—toward ourselves and others—is the beginning of change. We may think that violence has nothing to do with grief, but it is actually quite often a part of the experience.

Underlying violence is almost always fear. We are regularly filled with fears, of the unknown, of others, of change. To avoid feeling our own pain, or being in pain, we often cause pain to others as a form of protection. When our security is threatened on any level, our inner capacity for violence is stirred. This may take place internally or as an outward expression, but it is always a form of violence. Any time we experience any amount of hostility or antagonism, inwardly or outwardly, there is violence—even if but a seed.

Any type of loss can bring feelings and experiences of violence and a sense of violation. When people feel powerless or filled with despair, anger can often result. We may want to lash out, to harm, to destroy. We may also direct violence toward ourselves by neglect, or through harmful behaviors that can damage body, mind, and spirit.

We live in a world where anger is often more acceptable than sadness. Anger itself is not the problem. Violence is the problem. Anger is a signal that there is something wrong, and when you experience profound loss, there is something very wrong. Recognize that your feelings are important and valid. Being aware of how you direct the energy of your feelings—especially anger and fear—makes all the difference. Learning to cultivate loving and constructive energies and feelings in the place of violent, destructive ones can be difficult, but it is possible. The practice of ahimsa supports us in this.

Directing compassion toward ourselves is essential in grief, and in managing feelings of anger and fear.  Yet, many of us have extreme difficulty with self-care. Sometimes this is because we are so overwhelmed by pain that we simply do not have the energy to act in a caretaking way for ourselves. Other times we may feel emotionally unable to engage in acts of love or care toward ourselves. We may feel undeserving of care or love. We may feel we do not deserve anything other than pain or there can never be anything other than pain in the future. We often do not care about the pain we may cause ourselves—no pain can be greater than the pain of being without who or what we have lost.

Awareness is the beginning of change—and of ahimsa. Can you observe, with as little judgment as possible, any violence that has occurred or may be occurring inside you? Can you peel back the layers of that to see what lies beneath? Is there fear, is there anger? Do you regularly perpetuate thoughts or engage in behaviors that cause harm to your body, mind, psyche, or spirit? The first step to dissolving the root of violence is recognizing that violence has taken root. Is there a seed that may grow? Observe with love and compassion and without judgment any violence inside you and how it is manifesting.

Spend some time thinking, with as much compassion as possible, about ways both large and small that you do harm to yourself. This in itself is a form of self-care. You do not have to force yourself to change your thoughts or actions, but rather attempt to become lovingly aware. Slowly and gently, you can add small ways of caring for yourself. Those small things may turn into greater acts of self-care.

Self-care is physical—taking care of your body with good food, sleep, exercise, massage, movement, sunshine, and nutrition. It is mental—self-help books, music, art, creativity, seeking and finding a well-trained counselor who understands grief and bereavement. It is spiritual—in meditation, nature, study of spiritual books, chant, ritual, prayer, contemplation, speaking to a trusted spiritual leader. Self-care is also found in reaching out to your community—to friends and family, neighbors, co-workers. It is finding and going to a support group, engaging with on-line communities, taking a course or workshop. Each of these things can be done with small steps forward.

Here is a simple, yet profound ahimsa practice you can do right now: Place your hands over your heart, close your eyes if you wish. Breathe slowly and fully, directing your focus toward your heart. Ask yourself, “What is the most compassionate thing I can do for myself right now?” Sit and breathe. Connect with your heart energy and allow the answer to come. When you are ready, open your eyes. Is it possible to do that thing? If so, please do it. If not, make time and space to practice the compassionate thing as soon as possible.

Join me November 7^th for a few hours of self-care as we explore how yoga can help you in your heartbreak. Learn ways of practicing ahimsa as you take steps toward tending to your heart with compassion and nonjudgment: Yoga for Grief & Loss
Sun. November 7 @ 12:30 pm – 4:00 pm PST

Karla Helbert, LPC, C-IAYT, E-RYT 500 is a licensed professional counselor, yoga therapist, award-winning author, and bereaved mother. Her life was forever changed after her son died of a brain tumor in 2006. Karla’s book Yoga for Grief and Loss is endorsed and used as a teaching tool by leaders, teachers and experts in the fields of yoga, grief and loss. Her most recent book The Chakras in Grief and Trauma is the currently the only book focusing on the ways our energetic bodies are impacted by trauma and grief. Karla is also faculty for the Integral Yoga Therapy 800 hour certification teaching Yoga and Psychology. She lives in Richmond Virginia with her husband and daughter. karlahelbert.com

by Rev. Sadasiva (Kurt) Schroeder

Last weekend I was ordained as an Integral Yoga Minister in San Francisco, culminating a process that began twenty five years ago when I was introduced to Integral Yoga by my then partner.  Jai was looking for opportunities to teach in a spiritual and health-related area at a time when the gay community in San Francisco was responding to the HIV/AIDS crisis, a crisis that was to become a pandemic among the most vulnerable and marginalized segments of our society and the world.

In the spring of 2020, when the news about COVID emerged, I was struck by how similar the understandable fear and sense of urgency was to what had arisen in the days of the AIDS pandemic. Integral Yoga, as a system of attaining optimal health, with its emphasis on maintaining peace of mind, is as relevant today as it was then and has been throughout the ages. I am proud to be part of this beautiful lineage that offers an effective and sensible approach to reaching our highest potential for the greatest benefit of all.

The ordination ceremony began with a Puja to the Light and was attended by a small group (for safety’s sake) of sangha members and friends, many of whom were gathering at the SFIYI for the first time in a long time. There was a general feeling that the ominous COVID cloud was lifting, thanks to an effective vaccine and having closely followed precautions. Swami Ramananda officiated at a beautiful ceremony that included explanations of the significance of the different aspects of the Puja, for those who might be unfamiliar with it. Swami Vimalananda and Reverend Kamala Damaris both spoke about the significance and experience of being a minister. The minister’s vow and certificate were presented and signed.

It all seemed to be going by so quickly and as though I was watching it from a distance. Then, I was given the opportunity to say a few words and suddenly, to my surprise, my heart burst open. As I gazed at the people there and saw the light reflected in their eyes, I felt and watched myself melt away in a moment of pure love and connection.

In the moments that followed I spoke about how, early on in my journey, I had heard Gurudev’s message that ambition and success could be measured by the effort made to maintain one’s peace of mind. Until then, I had taken ambition and success to mean following steps to secure material wealth in a competitive system that rewarded individual accomplishments. I began, instead, to use my state of mind as a barometer to guide me. If my peace of mind was disturbed, that was a signal to examine my own motives and focus instead on understanding what others needed. Gurudev’s words motivated me and gave me permission to travel down the spiritual path. I understood that the greatest ambition one could have was to cultivate and maintain that peace of mind. That made sense to me and made me a better person overall. Imagine how thrilled I was later when I heard Gurudev state, with such strength and conviction, that “Peace is my God!” This was something that I, with a secular background, could completely understand and get behind.

I took a break during my Integral Yoga seminarian training to earn a Master of Divinity degree at Naropa University, in order to become a hospital chaplain. I felt that this Buddhist based university was a good complement to what I had learned and experienced through Integral Yoga. This academic and contemplative journey confirmed and deepened what I had already learned. It struck me that it all boiled down to being kind; kind to myself, to others, and to all of creation. I understood more deeply that this guiding intention of kindness was the best way to maintain my peace of mind. It has become my goal in life.

To me, becoming an Integral Yoga Minister means having an intention to continue along the spiritual path with a commitment to Integral Yoga and the teachings and practices given to us by Gurudev. My plan now is to return to Boulder where I have lived the past nine years, and explore hospice chaplaincy. I aspire to continue digging a deep well, a well that holds the promise of peace and harmony for humanity, the planet, and beyond.

Om Shanthi, Shanthi, Shanthi.

Sadasiva Kurt Schroeder, E-RYT500, got involved in Yoga in the mid-1990’s and began his training at the San Francisco Integral Yoga Institute. He has led beginning and intermediate level teacher trainings, both in San Francisco and Yogaville.  Sadasiva completed his Master of Divinity studies at the Naropa Institute. He was ordained as an Integral Yoga minister in the Fall of 2021, shortly after completing a program in professional chaplaincy residency and a fellowship in palliative care. He now lives in Boulder, CO, where he works as a chaplain.