20th ANNIVERSARY
Event Calendar
20-day Challenge
Picnic Party
Day of Rest Retreat
Evolution of Baxter
Healing thru Poem Making
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Climbing the barren
Scree slope
Air thin and cold
Winds wild
Shoulders bowed
Breath short
Muscles aching

With each step
Heart burns hotter
Mind shines brighter
Joy reflects in
Countless facets
Crystalline
Dazzling
​
​–Kennan Rossi

 
Read stories and memories about our studio from our community in celebration of our 20th anniversary, including musings on the prompt: "What is the mountain of Mountain Yoga, for you?"  

Have some musings of your own?  Share in the Comments section below!

KENNAN ROSSI, Member
​I stood at the top of Mount Whitney taking in the stunning view. I'd been seven days in the wilderness and this was the climax of my trip--the ostensible purpose for hiking the High Sierra Trail.

But when I think back on it, it's not the view from the summit that stands out most vividly. It's the forests, the sunsets, the frustrations, the unexpected wildflowers clinging to the rock--the long, arduous, beautiful journey.

Why climb a mountain? For me it's because of what I hope to see, and not just from the summit, but within myself. Yoga is like that. I may never reach the "summit" of samādhi, but with steady practice I can cultivate a little more vidyā each day to meet life's challenges: the heartbreak of lost love, the limitations of age and injury, a lifetime's collection of regrets, the ever-present specter of mortality--the whole messy business of being human.

In Mountain Yoga I've found a home for this practice, with wise and caring teachers, a supportive community of good and kind people, and an invitation to devotion free from belief. Let's walk the path together!

BETHANY HOBBS, Mountain Yoga Teacher
Ann hired me to teach asana classes right after she purchased the studio. It was an honor. I taught asana for at least a decade through Mountain. I learned more than I know how to even describe, and Ann and Sara are very important parts of my life. I think being a student of Ann’s and teaching yoga nidra have meant even more to me, but that’s also because those things are part of my current reality, evolving parts of who I am now. 

I love this mountain prompt because I keep getting the advice lately from close friends to stay close to my “center.” I’m not someone for whom this comes naturally, not by any king shot. When I think of the support of the breath and body awareness practices, as well as my practice as a teacher, I feel something gorgeously mountainous imbedded in them. I live in a place now where I watch the sun set over the mountains most nights. I think our worship practice and our life in human bodies can be something close to that. Quieting. Big. I hope so. I think so. 
​

MARIANNE LONSDALE, Member
The first peak was not the highest or the most difficult, but I didn’t know that as I rested and offered smug congratulations to myself.  Achieving a regular practice after years of being erratic had been a steep climb. And that consistent practice laid the groundwork for the climbs to come. The clarity and serenity that my teachers and classes provided during eleven weeks of scaling hospice care, mostly bedside, during my mother’s final days - when I thought I’d not be able to practice yoga, that I’d fall apart on the mat, and instead found what I needed to keep doing, to keep loving. Getting to that summit, I took in the view for a long time, thinking that was the top.
My father’s death, a few years later, felt more like a walk through a meadow of wildflowers, a reward after a climb. And then I took Roy’s multi week meditation course, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to take, but pretty much anything with Anne’s endorsement is hard for me to pass up. And I resisted. Every week. The class was Sunday afternoons and in true Western fashion, I kept thinking “this could be taught so much quicker” and “it’s so repetitive.”  
Every week I wanted to walk out and go get an ice cream cone or read a book or go for a hike – something that sounded like a Sunday afternoon. And then, quite suddenly, on the mat, during a meditation, my heart filled, and blossomed with compassion. It was pretty magical. I’d been in an unexpected time of great tension with my daughter and the turmoil lifted and I could support her even without fully understanding. And the gifts of meditation and yoga continue.  Daily. On and off the mat. And I hope I’ve learned enough that when the next peak rises before me, I will both surrender to it and climb.

DANIELLE THYS, Student
This brings to mind that old analogy comparing the act of meditation to the act of climbing a mountain with a dog. The dog (your mind) runs up and down the mountainside, zooming ahead into the hope and anxiety of the future, or charging full speed downward to the revelry and regret of the past; criss crossing your path until you finally choose a place to sit and be still. In the moment. Eventually, exhausted, the dog comes to lie at your feet. 

The opening foghorn-like low, long tones of the Kharag call out to my fuzzy morning mind. By the end of our practice, I can feel like the lighthouse itself.

This is the mountain for me: the commitment to a process that often brings the panorama of a broader, clearer perspective -but sometimes, just gives my ‘dog’ a much needed walk through the fog.

So grateful for this place, this community… And for you, Ann.  20 Cheers for 20 more years!

RICHARD ROSEN, Mountain Yoga Teacher
In the long yoga tradition, there are several mountains of note; one, for example, is Mount Kailash in Tibet, home of the divine couple Shiva and Parvati (whose name means “mountain stream”), a pilgrimage destination for devout Hindus for hundreds of years. But the most important of all the mountains is one that exists only in our imagination, and that’s Mount Meru, the mythic central axis of the entire Universe. Its elevation is reported to be 84,000 yojanas, which works out to just over 750,000 miles, more than triple the distance from Earth to the Moon. Its slopes are made of silver, emerald, crystal, and gold. The wish-granting tree, the Jambu, grows on Meru’s southern slope, its fruit as large as elephants; it falls when ripe and the juice collects to form the Jambu river, which gives health or immortality to those who drink from it. 

In yoga there are actually two Merus. The second one is situated in our body, what we call the spinal column, but what yoga calls the Meru danda, the “staff of Meru.” Just as the entire Universe revolves about Meru, like a wheel about its hub, so does our own personal Universe revolve about our spine. According to the Shiva Samhita, our mini-Meru is a world unto itself, populated with seers and sages, dotted with “sacred sites, shrines, and their attendant deities.” Above are the constellations and planets, the Sun and Moon, which “bring about creation and destruction.” And anyone who knows this is “certainly a yogi.” 

Now, on this momentous twentieth anniversary, we can add Mountain Yoga and its caretaker, Ann Dyer, to the list of significant mountains. Over the years, it’s been the hub of countless yoga students’ universe, has helped so many of them scale the dizzying heights of their own “higher  Self,” and so discover what it's like to be a yogi. 

MINDI MARCUS, Teacher

“There is a spirit of energy and vigor in mountains, and they impart it to all who approach their presence.”--Francis Parkman, Jr. 

Congratulations on twenty years, Mountain Yoga. Twenty years holds a lot and these last few have felt like twenty and then some.

For me, Mountain Yoga students are a teacher’s dream. With their dedicated studentship and committed practice, I have traversed mountains of growth as a yoga teacher. Community members’ thoughtful reflections and insights throughout the years have shaped my personal relationship to yoga in meaningful ways.

I am grateful to this community for reminding me what we encounter in our lives depends largely upon our approach. The intentionality and reverence for yoga embodied by the community and staff at Mountain Yoga remind me how joy and awe continually reveal themselves through this timeless practice.

ELLEN JOHNK, Member​
Song:  The bear goes over the mouNtain, the bear goes over the mountain, the bear goes over the mountain to see what she could see.  And what did she see?  The other side of the mountain, the other side of the mountain, the other side of the mountain.  And that is what she did see.
 
On the other side, I see another way of BE ing, BE coming.  I am the ocean wave, a floating cloud, or a magnificent cypress tree. I am a swan, or a cormorant, or a pelican spreading its wings. I can see myself hanging off a hieroglyph. I am Athena in the Parthenon or Yosemite Falls spilling over the granite cliff.
 
A mountain has many shapes and personalities—a work in progress:  ascending and descending forces of nature; peaceful yet rugged with the truth and wisdom of the ages.
 
Thank you, Ann, for creating a mountain for me—an opportunity to thrive and experience life healthy and more completely.

LYDIA NAYO, Member, Book Club Facilitator
 I almost squealed, right there on the street, when I saw the COMING SOON: MOUNTAIN  YOGA banner in the window above the ice cream shop on Antioch. It was like the universe had read my mind: as a newly-minted grandmother, I knew flexibility (of mind and body) was going to serve me well in this next phase of my life. With a brand-new studio in my neighborhood, I could participate in a yoga class, almost daily, if I wanted it. Over the past 20 years, I have wanted to more or less, depending on what life was pitching at me and at what speed.

Shortly after I started taking classes at Mountain Yoga, I got a mat for my personal use: a purple heathered striped mat that was soft and thicker than the (perfectly serviceable) mats supplied by the studio. In my head, getting that mat articulated my commitment to a regular yoga practice.

I loved the singularity of my purple variegated mat. It was organic, not made out of petroleum products, according to the salesperson.  And the color was on-brand, for me. The mat lived in my car, rolled up inside a denim tote. In a side pocket of my tote, I could fold my purple striped strap and tuck my mobile phone, my keys, and even a pair of flip flops if the day called for them. Again, on brand: I also kept running shoes in my trunk, in case the opportunity to get in a quick run presented itself. Stay ready, so I don’t have to get ready.

Much to my surprise, my purple mat didn’t last forever. Of course, it took years of classes at Mountain Yoga for my mat to deteriorate, and the process was gradual. I didn’t initially register the thinning spots on my 6 feet of tranquility as a problem. It was just my mat: it knew where my feet planted for assorted warrior poses, where my hands pressed in downward dog.

The first actual holes were small, these tiny places where I could see the studio floor between my spread fingers. Even as the holes grew larger, as the pattern of wear became clear, I shrugged and loved my mat even more. The wear was evidence of my practice, that time and space beyond ordinary care. My mat was where the freedom of total concentration happened: knee over ankle, focus on a thing not moving, for balance, and breathe. My position regarding the ever-widening bare spots on my mat was that as long as there was more mat than hole, it was working.  

But then, I noticed bits of purple rubbery residue on the floor of the studio after I rolled up my mat after a class. My fellow yogis at Mountain Yoga remarked on my mat, or its missing chunks, because family notices that kind of thing. Like they noticed and expected me to sing showtunes during class.  My commitment was admired by some. Others wondered about my attachment to the failing piece of equipment. The best answer I had was that my husband, in support of my finding yoga, gifted me that mat.

My Mountain Yoga family members understood that, for which I will be forever grateful.
In time, Mountain Yoga changed owners, then changed locations, before morphing, ever so gracefully into the hybrid it now is. The studio’s constancy has been one of the pillars of my survival, even thriving, through the vagaries of a pandemic and a world in chaos. As Mountain Yoga adapted, so have we all, more or less.
I celebrated birthdays at Mountain Yoga, starting when I turned 53.  Me and some brave and loving friends enjoyed glorious two-hour practices, followed by snacks and some presents.

I spilled tears in the main studio in 2004, the year my mother died. And again in 2014, when the first member of my sibling group died. My yoga community gave me space to move through moments when the enormity of my loss needed air. I danced salsa at Mountain Yoga, to my surprise and delight.

To think it all began with a singular purple mat, unfurled on a bamboo floor. My gratitude for both is bottomless.

JESSICA SAMUELS, Mountain Yoga Teacher
The "Mountain" of Mountain Yoga keeps unfolding.

I originally associated the mountain with Mountain Boulevard in Montclair and Mountain Pose, which is about balance, solidity, grounding, and cultivating a home base.

Now that I've joined the Mountain Yoga community, mountain means the strength of this community and the grounding this studio and community provides us all.

The MY community has been so incredibly warm and welcoming, right from the beginning. Meeting Ann and getting to know people who teach and practice in this studio has been one of my favorite things about 2022. Newcomers like me can feel it right away, deep in our bellies. We are welcomed in a sincere way that is heartwarming.  

The group of practitioners I've gotten to know on Tuesday and Thursday mornings have been practicing together since Spring 2020. I feel so honored to be part of this sweet group, and hope to be practicing with everyone for years to come.

Thank you to everyone I have met, and to everyone else – I look forward to meeting you!