Heart Full

Joe Mangrum is a nyc artist. You might find him (as we did) one spring afternoon in Union Square, on all fours squinting at his work, occasionally adjusting his cowboy hat. He’s not particularly friendly, but then it’s not his personality that draws you, it’s what he’s painting (with sand), and it’s astonishing. Part mandala, part hieroglyphic, and all art. I asked him what it was if it wasn’t “some kind of mandala” as I was inclined to see it. He refused categorization, his artwork inherits from a wide base, everything from science and DNA strings, to philosophy and his own imagination. Whatever it is he’s usually there from 11am to well into the evening, sand painting. And by sand painting I mean he has bags of colored sand, that he dips into by the bare fistful and expertly sprinkles across the pavement. He works quickly but even still by 6pm he’s still on his hands and knees. I can’t imagine what this is doing to his body, I suspect though that some heart openers would do a world of good.

His artwork does me a world of good. It’s inspiring just to see him conjure the images from his mind and without any hesitation translate his vision to cold concrete. It’s unexpected bits of beauty like this that make me happy to be a yogini in NYC.

Video of the Global Mala Project, with glimpses of the unattached one.

This past week I participated in the Global Mala Project – Yoga for Peace. The first time I particpated was the year before last, with my then yoga teacher and now friend, Mia Baer. It was in Central Park, and it started at around 8am in the morning, far earlier then what I was use to waking up on the weekends. I remember the excitement of it, and the challenge, could I really do 108 Sun Salutations? I also didn’t really know what the event was all about, having just learned about it a couple days ago during Mia’s class. It was grueling. My practice, was still in it’s beginnings, and after about 20 sequences, I could feel my wrists giving under the weight.

I remember catching glimpses of the yogis around me, wondering how they managed it so effortlessly. And looking admirably at Mia, as she gracefully interspersed her sequences with a bakasana (crow) here, and a down dog split there. I discovered 40 sequences later where my mis-alignments lay — it was inevitable, those areas WILL begin to tire, and correcting them. I had begun to cultivate a deeper body awareness, knowing where I was needlessly “wasting” energy with unnecessary (e.g. wrist) flourishes, and instead began to look where I placing my feet, and how I was rising to Warrior I.
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Om Yoga Center one of the great studios of New York City. It’s celebrity is perhaps only surpassed by its’ founder, the yoga guru / mogul, Cyndi Lee. At a sprawling 11,500+ sq feet, over 5,000 student base, retreats, 200hr and 500hr teacher training program, it is an epic yoga school and brand. I’d been itching to try this yoga studio. Not only because its’ so well known, but because it’d been reputed to seamlessly combine Buddhism and yoga.

For the first class, my friend Carolyn and I took the 60-minute “Sweaty Express” open class. The studio was small, but the pillars about the room gave it character, and the fanciful Buddhist insights painted along the walls gave it warmth. The teacher seemed experienced and soothing. Given the name, Carolyn and I were ready to sweat. But I noticed that each time she or I tried to take it further, the teacher reigned us in. Which truth be told, I liked, yoga in my mind shouldn’t be “sweaty”, nonetheless I did want to move.
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I’ve caught myself in a cycle of inertia, inactivity. I keep doing what I do because I’ve built up so much momentum, it’s easy. I haven’t attended a class for almost 2 weeks, my body is stiffening, but I can’t find the motivation to go. The beckon of the home, warmth, TV and my finance’s attentions are too tempting. I start off with the best intentions, I bring my clothes, mat, even water bottle to work, all with the intention that after work I’ll find my center. But I don’t. Instead, I’m terribly off-center.
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