Kino's Story

 The Vision

Yoga for Kino is more than just a 'workout'— it is a way of life founded on a firm commitment to the moral and ethical precepts of truth, non-violence and love. 

Being strong in yoga is just not about a powerful handstand or a deep backbend for Kino, nor is yoga a game of extreme ableism where yogis compete with one another. 

Instead, Kino sees yoga as a daily ritual where people tune deeply into their spiritual center and experience the peace of the Eternal Divine. 

Kino believes in making the tools of traditional yoga accessible for all different sizes, shapes, ethnicities and ages and writes a weekly Yogi Assignment blog based on her popular Yogi Assignment book. 

Rather than it being an exclusive club for the privileged elite, yoga is for everyone and it is the international community of yogis who are responsible for the integrity of the sacred heart of yoga.

 The Path

MY YOGA JOURNEY

Like many Westerners, I was introduced to yoga at a gym. 

When I was nineteen and more interested in fitness than spirituality, I noticed that some of my fellow aerobicisers attended the gym's yoga class; they had more defined arm muscles and were able to do headstands. This piqued my curiosity. Observing the class, I couldn't make much sense of the stretching, breathing, and bending. Yet something within me was drawn to these somehow.

Back then, I had no idea that there were different types of yoga, but I know now that the first class I took was from the Sivananda tradition, Focusing on gentle stretches, relaxation, and deep breathing, this class was calm, peaceful, and (to my young and restless mind) totally boring. So boring, in fact, that I never went back. But something about it had resonated with me, because when I injured both of my Achilles tendons about a month later, I turned to yoga to help me heal. I had no clue that I was about to reconnect with my inner self and begin a lifelong journey.

My injury was so debilitating that I had a hard time walking without the support of air casts. The sports medicine doctors I consulted recommended surgery. Instead I bought books on yoga from the Sivananda tradition and other Hatha Yoga schools, canceled my gym membership, and began the slow road to recovery that has taken more than a decade. This road became a pathway of discovery that involved far more than just physical health. The practice of yoga provided me with such profound emotional and spiritual healing that I have devoted my life to sharing this remarkable, transformative tradition.

THE HEART OF ASHTANGA

It wasn’t just the life-changing injury that propelled me to look more deeply at yoga. I wanted a way out of the pain and suffering of my past. I felt lost and alone in the world and did not know anyone or anything that helped me find a direction for my life. My body cried out for health and healing, my heart yearned for a more peaceful life, and the only thing I felt I could turn to was yoga.

Joining a class at a yoga center seemed to carry a whole new depth of commitment, much more than a yoga class at a gym or following pose sequences out of a book at home. As I walked through the courtyard that led to the Miami Beach center where I took my first Ashtanga Yoga class, I was transported into an alternate reality. A small fountain bubbled gently, and incense wafted through the open doors. I bought a drop-in class for fifteen dollars, rented a yoga mat for a dollar, and took my post gym competitiveness into the practice room for a proper schooling.

The friendly people at the front desk directed me through the doors to the yoga room. Exotic, unfamiliar statues and flowers in a vase on an altar that held photos of Indian men had me wondering what on earth I was getting myself into. I was in totally new territory, unsure of myself and excited at the same time. Then the instructor arrived, and his dark curls and soft-spoken manner disarmed me as he asked if I had ever tried Ashtanga Yoga before. When I said that I hadn't, his response of "Well, do what you can" and a slightly sardonic smile made me doubt that I had indeed made the right decision in joining this class.

Just as the inner cynic inside me was about to win the debate, roll up the rental yoga mat, and go home, the teacher began the class by intoning, "OM." We hopped on the Ashtanga Yoga train, and it didn't stop for nearly two hours. Thinking myself relatively fit despite my injured ankles, I thought I would be fine. Little did I know how weak, stiff, and uncoordinated I was until I tried getting through that class! From the start, when I attempted my first Sun Salutation, I bellyflopped my way through the push-up poses and floundered around like a fish out of water. I couldn't lift my body weight off the ground, steady my mind, breathe freely, touch my toes from standing, or accomplish any of the other movements the teacher made seem so effortless. Halfway through the class, I saw another student hoist his hips off the ground from a seated position and enter a half-handstand. I felt like I was watching the circus. When I tried it, I felt like my body was permanently glued to the ground. I couldn't even catch an inch of air.

By the time we got to the headstand, I was desperate; my arms were shaking, and I didn't have an ounce of strength left. The teacher came and gave me a pass, instructing me to rest. I was never so thankful to anyone!

When we were finally finished, I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. Yet I remember feeling truly happy and free for the first time in my life. My mind cleared, my breathing deepened, a soft smile crossed my lips, and a pulsing sensation arose in the base of my spine and traveled all the way to the top of my head. My soul seemed to have an answer to questions it had been asking for years. My heart felt at home in my own skin. I walked out and purchased my first yoga mat and a class card good for ten yoga sessions.

I practiced every Tuesday and Thursday until I moved to New York City to complete my graduate studies at New York University.

After my move, I joined a traditional Mysore-style Ashtanga Yoga practice group. The first week that I practiced six out of seven days, as the tradition recommends, I was so sore that I couldn't lift a glass of water without my arms shaking. I had to rest my elbow on the edge of the sink to put on my mascara. But it was wonderful, because I was really feeling my body's innate potential for the first time. It was like graduating to a new level of yoga, and I loved every moment of it.

In New York, I learned that this tradition of yoga was taught by the then-living master Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, who lived in a small city in South India called Mysore (Karnataka). I read his book, Yoga Mala, every night before bed. I wanted to let his wisdom and knowledge sink deeply into my psyche, so I took my time, reading and digesting each word. The night I finished reading the book, I dreamed of Jois although I hadn't yet met him.

I woke up with the words "I have to go to India" on my lips. I bought my ticket two weeks later. Instead of completing the New York internship I had planned for the two-month summer break, I found myself on the first of many trips to India.

When I arrived in Mysore, far from my own culture, I had no idea what to expect. A student of 2001 academe, I was skeptical of the idea of a guru.

The nearly thirty-hour journey took me across two continents, through three airports, and down old dirt roads where cows wandered freely. A taxi finally dropped me off at the Ashtanga Yoga Nilayam in the old neighborhood of Lakshmipuram. I walked up the steps to the back-alley entrance and found Sri K. Pattabhi Jois teaching a group of twelve sweaty yogis; many more were waiting their turn. He turned, looked me in the eyes, and asked if I was there to practice. Before doubt surfaced, my heart opened.

I Fell to my knees, saying, "Yes, I'm here to practice. Thank you, Guruj?" I knew I had met my teacher — not only because I had seen him in a dream but because his very presence opened my heart, eased my pain, and brought me peace. From that day forward, I called him Guruji, an honorific title that students use to indicate acceptance of their teacher as their spiritual guru. For the remainder of this book, I will refer to him as Jois for the sake of clarity, but in my heart, he will always be Guruji.

Jois’s teaching — that each student must work the sometimes arduous path of Ashtanga Yoga to find lasting peace — resonated with me. He never promised to be a magical healer. Instead, he always said that he was just a simple man teaching the yoga that his teacher, Sri T. Krishnamacharya, had taught him and always stressing that yoga is for everyone.

It never occurred to me that I would be a yoga teacher. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a Supreme Court justice, a politician, or some force for social change in the world. Much to my surprise, after my first trip to India, people started asking me to teach. Though I felt unworthy and tried to direct these inquiries toward instructors I believed were more qualified, people persisted in asking me, so I began to teach. During my second trip to India in 2002, a fellow practitioner with a yoga center in Ireland invited me to lead a workshop. I was both honored and shocked, and I humbly accepted. Today, my husband and I own a yoga center in South Beach, and I travel the world sharing the tradition of yoga that has changed my life. Every day when I walk into the center we have built, I smell the fragrance of nag champa incense and feel the welcoming atmosphere created by hundreds of students who practice there every week.

Over To You

The practice of yoga is a decision to believe in yourself against all odds.

It is a choice you make to walk down a self-empowering path toward your own liberation from suffering. As you train your mind to remain steadfast, you unravel cycles of misery and follow a path that leads toward true freedom. My childhood dream to leave the world a more peaceful place comes true every time I share Ashtanga Yoga with sincere students. 

I hope that you will take the gift of practice and allow it to transform your life too.