I love yoga. I’ve been a half-assed student (which might be an asana, I’m not sure) for close to twenty years. I remember the moment I fell in love with the practice. It was at Kripalu. The teacher was Stephen (Kaviraj) Cope. The pose was trikonasana/triangle. Following Kavi’s precise verbal instruction and watching him model the pose with his beautiful (and beautifully human) body, I suddenly found that I was suspended in space in an unexpected way, my body draped into an unaccustomed but oddly thrilling design. It can do this, too?! I thought. How cool.

Kavi gave point-by-point instruction on how to find the proper alignment. Once there, we were encouraged to feel into it and then relax, including the awesomeness, including the oddness, the beauty, the discomfort, and the enjoyment of not knowing what it was supposed to feel like. His instruction to establish the pose but “relax around the holding” has served me to this day, on and off the mat.

From this, I learned that the first step in asana practice is precision. Each pose has a magical kind of integrity that is awakened only when animated by your body. Without alignment, the integrity goes away. From this precision, an opening of the energetic body is created. The pose then starts to animate you. And the third step, to let go—of expectation, judgment, hope, and fear—allows energy to continue flowing. In this way, honest transformation, the kind that transcends mere self-improvement, can occur.

Precision. Opening. Letting go. I had never related to myself in this way before and it changed the way I felt inside my body. I still love yoga for the same reasons, only more so.

Since then, I’ve been to like a zillion yoga classes: Iyengar, Ashtanga, Kripalu, Anusara, “Power,” Bikram, heated vinyasa, and on and on. I’m not a yoga snob and I pretty much like them all. As long as I shvitz, I don’t really care what the style is. Wherever I live, I just go to the studio closest to my house.

A long time ago, I stopped caring who the teacher was, too. (Apologies to all the incredible, devoted yoga teachers out there.) This is because I stopped being able to count on the skill of my instructor. Some time in the last decade, I found that deep knowledge of asana was replaced with an unchanging posture sequence spiked by a coaching vibe. I don’t care for this, particularly. It’s not that I don’t like repetition, I do. I actually prefer it. But I don’t want just anyone getting all up in my grille with their ideas about who I am and ought to be. First and foremost, I want them to know a lot about asana practice. If their knowledge on this score is great, I would maybe trust them to sneak in some ideas about life. Otherwise, hold the deep thoughts. I can tell when you’re posing, so to speak.

And so I arrive at the point of this post, which is already turning into a bit of a rant. (Apologies.) Yoga teachers, I would like to be taught by you, not “invited” to do this or that. “Make it feel good” is not an instruction. Neither is “do what feels right to you” or “this is the pose I suggest, but if you prefer another one, go ahead.” When I hear things like this, I can’t help but sneak a peak around me. Often, people seem a bit confused, like they’re supposed to know what this means, but don’t. Most interpret it to mean something sloppy or embarrassing. They may start rolling around or making some kind of baby sounds.

“Do what feels right” is actually a super-advanced instruction that requires tremendous self-awareness. Unless you know the proper alignment of a pose, doing what feels right is not a release into an internal energetic shift, but more of a self-indulgent collapse.

Please, before offering too many choices, help the poor guy with his shoulders up about his ears in Downward Dog. Give the young woman who is jutting forward with aggression in Warrior Two permission to rise up out of her waist with elegance instead. I’m not saying we all have to become mini Iyengars, moving our femur bones about and whatnot—but it would be so awesome to focus on meat-and-potatoes alignment. The basics.

Encouraging us to do what we want is more often than not an encouragement to fidget and I’m already pretty good at fidgeting. I excel at doing random stuff just to entertain myself. I would love to hear a yoga teacher counsel stillness. Waiting. Silence. Space. Allowing discomfort, rather than chasing it off. What I really need to practice is the discipline of being with my experience, not creating endless distractions from it.

We live in a culture that eschews discipline as punishment. The truth, though, is that through discipline we find spontaneous, self-arising freedom. On the yoga mat or off. As a student or a teacher.

Discipline begins with coming back to the basics, over and over. Only then can real transformation occur. As the great transpersonal educator and psychiatrist Claudio Naranjo said of music, “spontaneous innovation can only arise from repetition,” and this is one of the smartest things I’ve ever heard anyone say. Ever.

Beloved yoga teachers! I “invite you” to stop inviting us, your students, to do anything and instead to instruct us clearly. Teach from a place of your own inner knowing, from your own intimacy with the practice, from having screwn (yes, a made up word) it up a thousand times, gone back to the mat, worked it out again, and learned each pose from the inside out of your own body.

Don’t humor us. Teach us. Don’t overestimate our skills or the body’s ability to take care of itself, which we so easily confuse with wanting to feel good/look good/deny the realities of age, injury, and anatomy. Don’t assume we need you to make us feel good or create any type of experience for us whatsoever. We can definitely create our own experience—but only when your authentic (honestly attained, personal) wisdom is there to anchor it. The example of your personal presence will always be a thousand times more instructive than your words.

Deepen your practice and deepen it some more. Commit to your own journey and from that commitment allow love for your students to blossom spontaneously. Then take your seat as an adept and teach us what you know.

Self-Help Books: Are They Actually Helpful?

You tell me. Has a book changed your life? Which one and why?

Not my most flattering angle, but nonetheless…

driving from susan piver on Vimeo.

I had such a wonderful time teaching from The Wisdom of a Broken Heart this past week in D.C., N.Y., Toronto, and Montreal (where the book is called La Sagesse d’un Coeur Brisé which makes it sound so pretty). Over and over, I’m struck by the deep well of tenderness that resides in each of us and how a broken heart puts you squarely in touch with that tenderness, like it or not. I truly believe we are born to respect this tenderness; to be kind and expect kindness. Clearly, the world doesn’t always encourage that, but the moment you extend kindness to another, their own kindness is called forth. Kindness can and will and does change the world.

His Holiness the Dalai Lama said, “my religion is kindness” and it’s not because he’s some kind of wimp. It’s because he knows that this is how to bring peace to our war-torn, aggression-fueled world where people use fundamentalist scare tactics to incite us to be kind only to those who agree with us–and to consider the rest as barely human. This makes me cry pretty much every, single, solitary day of my life.

I just wish we could all be nice to each other is my constant refrain. But how? Especially when there are those who equate “nice” (or decent, kind, humane, tolerant…whatever word you prefer) with sloppy loser-ness? Au contraire, my friends. Real niceness is not sloppy, it is sharp. Because to be genuinely nice, you have to pay very close attention to who and what is around you, otherwise your niceness is according to code and not to whomever is standing in front of you. And loser-y? Far from it, in fact the farthest you can get from it. To be nice (kind, decent, etc) is predicated on opening your heart and letting the world touch you, without agenda and without judgment–and then responding to humanity with humanity. This takes exceptional courage and intelligence. I mean think about it.

So if it’s not about being all oh I’m so nice to everyone I always put myself last, (gag) then what is it about? And how do you do it? I suggest signing

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - — – - – - – - -

The NICE Manifesto
Please print (or take a screen shot) and (electronically) sign. Feel free to add more stipulations.

I, ___________________, being of sound(ish) mind and body, do hereby commit to the path of NICE, fully recognizing that NICE could mean any number of things and is not merely (nor will it ever be limited to) exhibiting sweetness. In addition to sweet and depending on circumstance, NICE could require one to be tough, giving, angry, remote, strong, generous, and/or soft.

I know being NICE can change our world into a peaceful one. To demonstrate my commitment, I agree to the following:

1. I recognize that only by being aware in the present moment will I know which kind of NICE to be and so recognize that the path of awareness and the path of NICE are inseparable.

2. I will exhibit extreme good manners, even when no one is watching. Good manners include (but are not limited to) qualities such as friendliness, generosity, patience, discipline, respect, discernment, dressing appropriately, and always, always cleaning up after myself.

3. When encountering those who disagree with me I will continue to view and treat them as human, no matter how barbaric or threatening I may consider their views. This means not wishing they were dead or thinking such things as, “The world would be so awesome were it not for _______ (Sarah Palin, Michael Palin, Islamists, Feitishists, Night fears, Stephen Frears, Darwinians, North Carolinians, Psychiatrists, Physiatrists, Bad drivers, Noisy neighbors, Townies, Junkies, Flunkies, Spelunkers, Circus Buskers, Motherfuckers, People who like Justin Bieber, and so on).

4. I will practice speaking clearly, honestly, and skillfully, which means also knowing when to shut up. When others are speaking, I will not use that time to think of what I will say next, but will instead give myself over to listening completely, fully, and properly.

5. I acknowledge that love is the most important thing in life and vow to give my heart away at the least provocation.

Signed: _______________

Date: _________________

The first person to email me back 5 signed manifestos wins a free copy of my book, The Wisdom of a Broken Heart.

Downtown Wichita in the rain

Beautiful & flat

Completely strange shopping mall with some kind of play area with gorilla. I cannot figure this out. But thought the gorilla looked pretty cool coming through the mist. Gorilla in the mist, Kansas-stylee.

Drive became extremely foggy at one point. Kind of cool.

Prairie moonscape.

Mountains rising up on the road to Boulder.

A super proud moment!

Yer typical Austin breakfast joint

Oklahoma beauty

Hello, everyone. I am a Twitteraholic.

I never dreamt that Twitter would become such a big part of my life. I joined about a year and a half ago and at first, it was just something fun. It’s still fun but it’s also more. It’s a way to let people know what I’m up to. It’s a way for me to find out what people think about the important topics of the day. It’s a way to get truly up to the minute info and insights about our world. And it’s still really, really fun.

Most of my friends can’t understand what I love about Twitter. They say stuff like, doesn’t it take up too much time, isn’t it a waste of time, why would anyone want to know that I just ate a cupcake or stubbed my toe? When I described Twitter to him, one friend said, “I’d rather stick a pencil in my eye.”

One of my Twitter pals (@Pistachio) told me that a friend of hers called it “ambient intimacy.” And that is the best descriptor yet. Throughout my day of sitting by myself at my desk, I am able to tune into this giant flow of humanity anytime I like. I just find it so touching and quirky and funny and surprising and also quite sweet. That’s what I love about it.

Last week, I had the surprising good fortune to land on Mashable’s “25 of the Most Inspiring People on Twitter” list and that was awesome. It made me feel so good. Then I had the pleasure of being followed by a whole bunch of people in a very short time. I can’t lump them together. I want to know who each one is. So I look at the profile of every single person who follows me because I’m so touched that they might want to hear about my life. And I want to hear about theirs!

Well, actually there are some people I don’t want to hear about so much. The big hit of new followers made me think about a twitter strategy, which I never in a million years thought I would need. It’s actually been an interesting exercise to think through.

And btw, if you’re not on twitter, get on it!! Follow me!! Twitter.com/spiver. I promise to follow you back, as long as you’re not trying to sell me something on the physical, emotional, or spiritual plane.

So here is my fascinating follow-back strategy. (But sometimes I accidentally delete someone’s profile or otherwise lose track of my emails. If you think I should be following you back, un-follow and re-follow or just tweet me.)

I like to follow people who

• Are genuine.
• Tweet about daily life, as opposed to their philosophy of daily life. I’d rather hear how it’s working out than any recommended beliefs or strategies.
• Question authority.
• Are going through something extremely sad or extremely happy.
• Have a point of view on something that interests me (social media, Buddhism, Enneagram, cooking & food, love, sorrow, music, outfits & hairdos, writing, Macs, inner and outer life adventures, reality TV, creating world peace).
• Seem kind.
• Tweet encouraging things to others. (Personally, not through random quotes.)
• Are funny and sassy and smart, but not mean.
• Are passionate and human.
• Post pictures of their pets.
• Just seem like decent human beings.
• Tell me they like me (hey, I’m only human).

I’m not so into following people who

• Are in it to advertise their business or service, especially if they pretend they’re not.
• Only tweet about their professional services.
• Only issue tweets and never enter into dialog.
• Only (or mostly) post quotations.
• Only care about success.
• Have never tweeted anything.
• Want me to join in their cause.
• Express any sort of fundamentalist view.
• Exhort me to do anything.
• Protect their tweets.
• Display no uncertainty about self, others, or life.
• Show me their nakedness absent a personal request.
• Are humorless.
• Might be dismayed if I followed them back.
• Have a following: follower ratio of 3249:1
• Act as Thought Police: obsessed with positivity and counsel mind control to avoid anything negative.

I got on this list of 25 of the most inspirational people on Twitter at position #12. I have no idea how this list was created or why I’m #12, but I really love that it happened!

If you twitter, follow me! I promise to follow you back. If you don’t twitter, you might want to check it out. I love it. Someone (can never remember the name) called it “ambient intimacy” and that’s the best description I ever heard. It’s lovely.

A good way to start on twitter is to find someone you know (like me), see who they follow, and start following those people. If you hate it, you don’t have to keep it up. It’s a very relaxed thing.

to film Andrew Weil direct response show.

FRIDAY (Vermont):

To teach a meditation retreat for writers.

Things can change awfully fast in this world.