A note from Goa
I wanted to share with you a short summary of what I’ve been absorbing during these first couple of weeks studying in Goa. As many of you know, being here with the kids has its own rhythm — the very early wake-ups and bringing them to the shala while balancing their needs, safety, and nourishment as they adapt to a culture so new and different for them. And yet, all of this has also been a blessing.
It has been a powerful reminder that sādhana is never separate from daily life. It lives inside our responsibilities, our efforts, and the ways we meet whatever each day brings.
Everything is so carefully tended here in the shala that it naturally invites you to go deeper: the path lined with deep tropical greens and bright flowers, the Ganeśa adorned with malas, the warm darkness of the early morning holding the intimacy of practice, lit by oil candles; the scent of incense; the dogs wandering in and out as part of the everyday world; and, on the way out, the birds singing as the town awakens.
I’ve had many moments of clarity here — seeing challenges as opportunities, recognizing the collective effort between the kids and myself, and finding beauty in simply being together all day: waking in the wee hours before the birds begin singing; practicing with them by my side as they absorb the silence, breath, and chant; watching every practitioner join the early rituals with diligence; quiet middays dedicated to studying; evenings swimming in the warm, gentle ocean; cooking at home; getting gelato! — and allowing the practice to permeate each moment.
We’ve also been attending satsangas, and I want to offer the pieces of the teachings that I’ve been able to absorb and that have settled within me — as a way to stay present with you all, sharing and moving prāṇa together even from afar:
Sharmila reminds us that every āsana has a story — that we can be the posture rather than merely do it. When we enter a shape from this place, the whole body works synergistically; energy is sealed and directed. She also emphasizes the pauses between postures, the transitions, the exhalations — the quiet spaces where awareness deepens. How we approach each posture changes as we move through different stages of life, and so does our responsibility to practice with steadiness rather than force. Continuity matters more than intensity.
The conversations have often turned to the Bhagavad Gītā, just as many of you are discussing in the book club. The Gītā teaches us to integrate life and practice, to respond to our duties with clarity and devotion, and to recognize the interconnection in all the “players” involved. It invites us to step back, to gain perspective, and to let puruṣa — the inner witness — become the one who acts. When we dissolve the sense of separation between ourselves and the divine (understood as something universal and omnipresent), fear softens. Authenticity removes obstacles.
The Gītā teaches that every activity can become an offering; that renouncing attachment to results transforms ordinary actions into spiritual practice. And that daily practice — simply showing up — is what allows us to cross thresholds, release patterns, and experience transformation. Yoga is not something we force to happen; it happens through us when we create space and make ourselves available.
Something else that has stayed with me is her reminder to bring movement to the breath and stillness to the āsana. And that beyond physical assists, we are always transmitting prāṇa — living energy. I feel that here, and I send it to you all now.
Our shala in Squamish nurtures this same energy — shaped slowly over years of devotion, consistency, community, and quiet care. Simply being in the space moves prāṇa.
