The windmill doesn’t try to control the wind or demand that it blow in another direction. It simply surrenders to the wind, and in so doing becomes a source of immense power. The water wheel doesn’t attempt to change the course of the river; it simply surrenders to the flow and allows the power of the river tobe expressed through it. Most see surrender as a form of weakness, when in reality, surrender is the source of all true power.

The hardest part of any yoga practice is rolling out your mat.

When infused with compassion, even the most useless snake oils have the power to heal broken hearts and shattered souls.

In most forms of exercise one’s breath follows the movement—the faster and harder you work, the faster and harder you will breathe. In yoga, the exact opposite is true. Rather than changing the breath to match one’s movement, the movement is changed to follow the breath. In doing so, a yogi gains immediate and unconditional access to the deepest levels of consciousness, because just as breath and movement are connected, so too is the breath bound tightly to the mind.

The narrow edge between comfort and discomfort is to a yogi what a grain of sand is to an oyster.

The great paradox of life is that to fully live, we must let a piece of ourselves die.

Although you could open a can of soup with a hammer, a stone, or even your teeth if you didn’t mind making a mess or chipping a tooth, a much wiser approach would be to use a can opener. The breath is like a can opener for the soul. Can you explore the depths of your being without conscious breathing? Sure. The more relevant question is, why would you want to?

Instead of asking, “How can I ease my suffering?” yoga would have us ask,“How can I better serve my brothers and sisters?” Because only in answering the latter can we hope to answer the former.

Standing at the end of a diving board looking at the water never made the water warmer, but it will make taking the plunge unnecessarily hard.