This weekend we got a proper snow day in New York City. I decided to go for a walk as the snow began to fall lightly. I enjoy doing this because there is always a hush that seems to settle over everything. I can hear the powdery whisper my feet make as I step into the snow. All the hustle and bustle has disappeared from the streets, and I can listen to sounds like this resonating in stillness.

There have been times in meditation when the wandering of the mind comes to a halt. Looking back at these moments, I have realized how much thoughts—much like landmarks in the external world—give us an inner sense of orientation. In the stillness that emerges as mental content dissolves, there is a feeling of being suspended in an empty openness, where even the sense of self fades away.

Every time I share the theme for the week, I make a point of practicing it as much as I can. I have been very busy with school, and as I feel overwhelmed, I remember to come back to śunya, the openness pregnant with emptiness, to ground  and calm myself. I have realized that connecting with it requires a great deal of letting go and surrender.

I lived near the beach when I was in Southern California. One of my favorite things to do every now and then was to go to the beach at night, on a moonless evening. I would walk into the water until I could no longer see the shore or houses behind me. There was a moment when the ocean was calm, completely black, and seemed to merge with the darkness of the sky. Being there felt like being inside a vast, velvety black openness—seemingly empty, yet profoundly present.

And here we are again, at the cusp of a new year. First and foremost, I want to thank you with all my heart for sharing your yoga practice with me throughout 2025. It is an honor that I never take for granted. 

Over a decade ago, during a meditation retreat, something curious happened. During a meditation session, my breath naturally and unexpectedly paused for some time. I had not planned for this to happen; it simply did. I remember breathing with such ease before it occurred. There was a balance between making the most subtle effort to breathe and allowing the breath flow on its own. It was like the perfect dance—and then the breath paused into tranquility. There were no comings or goings of anything. It was as if I were suspended in time and space.