When I started meditating and practicing yoga, I did it as a way find answers, and I had so many questions (I still do). After many years of witnessing the contents of my mind,  I feel more able to self–regulate. This offers a certain distance from the world, which initially can be helpful, but not in the long run. During challenging times, this experience has created a feeling of being calm as the ship goes down—like standing on deck with full awareness, waiting for a map that does not exist. 

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.