I have been certified as an Ananda Yoga® Therapist, the fifth student of one of only a few schools on the globe accredited by The International Association of Yoga Therapists to train Yoga therapists under strict standards.
I traveled north to teach classes at Dev Prayag Yoga Therapy in Nevada City, California and to visit Ananda and meet with a couple of my teachers, including Mangala Loper-Powers, the Director of Ananda Yoga Therapy program at The Ananda School of Yoga Meditation. I had no idea that I would be certified, but I should have when my car broke down on I-5 on my journey north.
Premonitions told me to buy Jesus stickers from the 50 cent machine at the Mexican restaurant and put them on my eighteen-year old car as protection and prayer for this trip. I had Doreen Virtue’s Archangels and Ascended Masters book on my passenger seat. One thousand yards from the off ramp at Westley, a town where I like to gas up because Sikhs live there and they sparkle at me when I stop in the Chevron, the radio blinked off, then the Check Engine light went out – for the first time in two years, a very bad sign – then the air conditioned turned warm and humid, and my car began to lose power. Then the phone rang. My friend, Francis. He stayed on the phone with me. The hazard button was useless, and I rolled off the highway to the Chevron station. I mindfully kept the engine running, was sent to the Truck Stop Tire place, who’s Sikhs sent me to Precision Diesel, a ramshackle junkyard with a pit bull and a Rott.
There, after getting off the phone with Francis and being first shooed away and then charmed by my Yoga calm, my car was inspected, an alternator was ordered and, for the cost of the part plus thirty bucks labor, my car was served by the dirtiest, oilyest men in the grittiest wind tunnel above Interstate 5 that you have never, ever noticed. Angels work there.
I have been ushered toward the acts and practices of becoming a Certified Ananda Yoga Therapist in myriad, miracle ways. This latest folly was only a reminder that there is a bigger force working through me to bring healing energy and light by way of Yoga to the world. All I need to do is my part: have faith, keep meditating, and don’t give up.
That was Thursday.
On Sunday morning, I awoke among the pines in Nevada City to an email from The International Association of Yoga Therapists:
One of the presenters in Common Interest Community (CIC), session 2, Mental, Emotional, and Spiritual Health, is unable to attend the conference. As the second alternate for this session, I would like to offer you the opportunity to present the talk you submitted.
I immediately walked down to the road where cell reception was better, and accepted! I am so thrilled, this is the culmination of four years of efforts. Presenting at The Symposium on Yoga Therapy and Research is a privilege and an honor.
Then later that day, Mangala scurried me off to the new St. Francis Yoga Therapy Center at The Expanding Light at Ananda Village, hashed out two hours of my unfinished homeworks and cut me a certificate with modest, but sincere, pomp and circumstance.
On my way south, I stopped at Precision Diesel. Sam wasn’t around, but I left him a gift: one of those seven-day Jesus votives with the image of Archangel Raphael, protector of travelers, on it and a copy of The Autobiograpy of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yogananda. Sam looked quite like the angel on the candle, actually…