January 13-February 24
Intro to Yoga Course, 4-Week Series
Mondays, 9-10:30am
IYILA

February 8
Yoga for Depression
2-5pm
Yoga Works on Montana in Santa Monica

February 27-March 1
Iyengar Yoga Retreat
Casa Barranca
Ojai, California

March 20-22
Weekend Workshop
Shizen Yoga
Tokyo, Japan

March 27-29
Weekend Workshop
mYoga, Hong Kong

May 22-24
Weekend Workshop
Athens, Greece

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Work on your own practice!

Location: Westwood
Dates: 9/12 - 10/24
Contact Information: Westwood Studio
310.234.1200
Schedule Information
Fridays, 7:30-9:00amPricing Information

Prerequisites
It is recommended that students have at least 6 months prior Iyengar experience.

May 21 - July 9

We will spend an extended period of time examining what is involved in the practice of this most vitally important asana and study its many permutations.

Location: Center for Yoga

Dates: 3/22-3/23
1:30-4:30pm
Contact Information: Center for Yoga
323.464.1276

$100 per weekend

All the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly.

Thomas Aquinas

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Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
“Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.”

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
“Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.”
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along
the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
“Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.”
The lamp said,
“Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.”
The last twist of the knife.

T.S. Eliot

The One, perfect in seeking nothing, possessing nothing and needing nothing, overflows and creates a new reality by its superabundance.

The process is like the unfolding of a seed, moving from simple origin to termination in the world of sense, the prior always remaining in its place, while begetting its successor from a store of indescribable power - power that must not halt within the higher realm . . but continue to expand until the universe of things reaches the limit of its possibility, lavishing its vast resources on all its creatures, intolerant that any one should have no share in it. Nothing is debarred from participation in the Good, to the extent of its receptivity.

Imagine a body in which every muscle, nerve ending and square inch of exposed flesh seems utterly relaxed yet briskly attentive, as if meant to be receptive to the slightest sign of life outside itself, and you’ll have some idea of how remarkable the pose is. It’s as if the entire body functions as a kind of human dowsing rod, mystically attuned to the hidden rhythms of the universe.

The pose is called kayotsarga, which roughly translates into “body- abandonment” posture. It is believed to represent a perfect pose of nonviolence, in which a human being can inflict the least harm on any living thing.

Christopher Knight on Jain Statuettes

The nature of the Universe loves nothing so much as to change the things that are and to make new things like them. For everything that exists is in a manner the seed of that which will be.

Marcus Aurelius

Poor summer, it doesn’t know it’s dying.
A few days are all it has. Still, the lake
is with me, its strokes of blue-violet
and the fiery sun replacing loneliness.
I feel like an animal that has found a place.
This is my burrow, my nest, my attempt
to say, I exist. A rose can’t shut itself
and be a bud again. It’s a malady,
wanting it. On the shore, the moon sprinkles
light over everything, like a campfire,
and in the green-black night, the tall pines
hold their arms out as God held His arms
out to say that He was lonely and that
He was making Himself a man.

Henri Cole

The dog picks up a bone, a dry bone, there is nothing there, and then it bites, and the bone hurts the gums, and the blood comes out of it. And the dog believes — imagines, experiences, feels, whatever word you want to use — that the blood which is coming out of its own gums is from the bone. So that is the kind of trap in which the whole structure of thinking is caught up, and tries all the time to get out of that, the trap it has created.

UG Krishnamurti

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In truth, of course, I am a transcendental ego, but I am not conscious of this; being in a particular attitude, the natural attitude, I am completely given over to the object poles, completely bound by interests and tasks which are exclusively directed towards them.

Edmund Husserl, Cartesian Meditations

“How is it, Dr. Suzuki: We spent the evening asking you questions and nothing is decided.” Dr. Suzuki smiled and said: “That’s why I love philosophy: no one wins.”