Everything flashes to dark giving life to my senses. My skin clams up in the humid air. The man next to me smells like curry and in that instant I felt as though we were all family. The rattling under my feet throws me into the next seat just as the lights come on.“Grand Central station, next stop!” I hadn’t been back to NY since I planned my moms funeral in 1991. Now, it’s October of 2001.

What the hell am I doing here again? I left the best job ever and all my friends to be here? Last month I was 13 thousand feet above people, spinning my prayers on top of a mountain peak. And now I am… the subway doors open and the waves of people push and pull me effortlessly out into Grand Central Station.

I grew up in Westchester County and occasionally would run away to the city with a few close friends from high school. We would come down to shop, try to get in to small jazz clubs and drink. There was that one time where they all left me because I said that I would rather talk to the Social Studies professor who was living in Grand Central station by the east entrance. First he lost his job, then his wife and child, home, car, teeth, followed by all hope. The only things you could see that were most impressively his, was his clear mind and his open heart.

The hallucinogenic effect of NYC had kicked in. Women were stressed out and trying to run in high heals.  Men with shiny, squeaky shoes race walking to the closest exit and me standing in the middle of it all, in a cotton wrap around skirt, holding 20 oversized rainbow colored hoops and a boom box.

First stop; all the firehouses on the west side. I was thrilled at the opportunity to teach Hoop Dance in the city. I knew that as soon as one steps into a hoop they feel its’ healing vortex. And on some level, when they spin it, they can feel safe, sexy and like a kid again.

I was planning on moving to San Diego earlier that year. The location was a good choice for growing my Hoop business. It was close to LA for getting better media exposure and close to the yoga center where I used to live and practice.  After 9/11, I kept having dreams that geographically, NYC was the place where people needed to relocate. To spin, with intention, much like the Whirling Dervish, can heal a person. Rhythm, breath, timelessness and sense are all lost and found and lost again, while in this movement.

As it turned out, it took me an hour to walk about 50 feet to the door. 2 police men, a bagel maker and a tiny polish woman all summoned me to show them how I hoop and to teach them. After this, I opened the heavy doors, walked out into the sunshine and took my first big breath of NYC air. Fresh coffee and urine! Ahh…my adventure had begun.

“I am a dreamer of what, I don’t know. I plant my vision in every flake of snow. And as it falls upon your lips, speak your dreams to all who will listen. For without your dreams, life is indecision.” I remembered that quote from someone and thought, Betty, you might look like a freak right now but you did move close to ground zero to regenerate hope, community and joy through the hoop.

In the weeks that passed, I hooped with hundreds of people. I gave hoops to policemen for their kids and to giddy Firemen for a rainy day activity. I usually went into the city by myself and never did by a digital camera. So most of my adventures were not documented. The hoop craze was growing. By 2002 there were 3 other hoop businesses in the country. They were mostly performing at the time. They would teach others hoop tricks and how to execute cool techniques. Some hoopers entered Burlesque shows. Though I thought that would be fun, I really just wanted to travel around the city and help others heal through Hoop Dance.

Construction workers with their pants hanging dangerously too low, would yell to me from scaffolding, “Yo! Wait there I’m coming down to give that thing a spin.” And they would. Right there, in the middle of Time Square, tool belt and all, these men would grab my rainbow colored hoops and have a blast. Then I would go to Wall Street for lunch time. That was a show. I would slither my way upstream against the crowd and it wouldn’t be long before men and women would literally grab the hoop off my shoulder.  There faces would glow just looking at the hoop and once they were spinning it they would all transform into children. Giggling and playful. You could see their mental stress wash away and their breath expand in their chest. They seemed grounded, relaxed, present. Just the recipe for healing Post Traumatic Stress.

In the weeks that followed, I convinced some people to hire me. I am not very schmoozy nor do I know how to conform. I traded in my hiking sandals for open toes shoes. I safety pinned the hole on my skirt where constant rotation of my hoop had worn through and I used a nice pen to hold my hair up instead of tying it in a not on top of my head. I guess my conviction and passion convinced certain locations to hire me because it certainly wasn’t my corporate pitch or presentation.

My Hoop Dance program was now being offered at Bally Total Fitness locations, Public schools, Private schools, Catholic Schools, a Jewish Community Center and a KidsYoga Studio. One of my favorite memories was in White Plains NY. I was teaching in a fishbowl room surrounded in glass. The room had 20 spinning students with barely enough room for us to partake in my popular Hoop Limbo contest. From the front desk all the way to into the weight room, members were watching with anticipation to see what techniques everyone would do next. There was a huge foggy spot on the glass wall. I continued to teach and call out different ways to adjust the body to execute a certain technique. I hooped my way over to the spot on the glass. Behind it was a woman whose face was pressed into the window so hard, it looked like she was licking the glass. Her head was making the circular motion of the spinning hoops on the other side of the wall. I will never forget the look in her eyes. It was like the first time you look out the window on an airplane. The amazement and shock from the powerful energy beneath you, the desire to let go and connect to the real speed of the plane. Making yourself hold back from yelling, Holy crap this is fun!In her eyes, in that moment, she was fully present and in the state of love.

I spent 12 weeks teaching an after school program at Hommocks, the middle school which I attended in Larchmont, NY. These 25 kids were fantastic. After a few classes, the wallflowers suddenly blossomed into class clowns. They showed off during Simon Says Hoop and helped the slower learners. The kids who came in with something to prove discovered that they were good enough not to have to prove anything. And there were a few who, after becoming shut down on most levels after September 11^th, began to talk and cry.

In the spring of 2003, I felt that it was time to return to the mountains. I missed the nourishment that the lifestyle provided. It was so hard to leave my classes though. New Yorkers are raw and edgy and some of the most enthusiastic people I had the pleasure of dancing with.

They say that you become a product of your environment. After 2 years of a fast paced life, I found that I had blended in quite well. The day that I gave the finger to the driver that cut me off on the Henry Hudson Parkway, I realized that I might need to go back to the mountains. I first took the big sign off my car that said ‘Hoops4Healing’and ‘Kids Parties’ with my phone number and website on it. Not good to advertise while exhibiting road rage. Next, I planned my return to Colorado.

In 2003 I started developing my training certification program as well as my 4Rhythm DVD and Weighted Collapsible hoop. I dream of my return to the concrete jungle where I can find wild originality on every corner, the perfect bagel and an opportunity to have my hoops pulled from my shoulder from an overly excited adult.

Cindy Nofziger

Executive Director

Schools for Salone

http://www.schoolsforsalone.org/

http://www.schoolsforsalone.blogspot.org/

I press my feet firmly into the Earth and struggle to control my breathing. My body quivers like the string on a bow which was just released. “Inhale, soften the gaze and hold still.” For this moment mountain pose has never felt so real. Dealing with external distractions, I work to keep my focus as beads of sweat pour from my brow. I lengthen my spine check my alignment and try to let go. “Stay calm Betty, breathe through the fear.” My senses open. “What was that. Maybe it’s a cougar stalking me. Stay still, be alert. I am one with the trees. There it is again, silly squirrel dropping pine cones. The noise was moving toward us, crunching the leaves as it walked.”

It’s 5am in the middle of a forest, miles from anywhere. To make things more interesting I have Cow Estrus (elk piss) all over my clothes so as not to scare the elk that we would be tracking and killing.

This is a far cry from practicing on my purple bamboo yoga mat breathing in sage. But as all intentional practices, they must be applied in real life situation.  I would like to think that my life’s path is devoted to falling in love with all beings, the Great Spirit and through that, myself. Yoga, the yoking of mind, body and soul, can be found in many ways such as holding a pose for those extra few minutes, finding peace on a subway or synching your breath and movements while brushing your teeth.

I am a passive-aggressive meat eater, dancer and yoga instructor. Chocolate is my drug of choice, my mantra is, “hurry up and relax” and my psychotherapy; the great outdoors. Now I find myself with two skilled bow hunters, tagging along to see if I can handle taking an animals life. Ever since I was 12 years old, I wondered the progression from a cow in the pasture to a hamburger in a bun. I thought that if I couldn’t handle the killing of animals, I shouldn’t be eating them. I never had judgments upon anyone who ate meat, I just wanted to take it to a personal level. Well it couldn’t get more personal than this. For a week we have been camping above 10 thousand feet, bathing in a 30 degree lake and waking at 3am to hike for miles on elk trails. And now we are 40 yards from a herd of 15 elk.

Elks are regal. They live in remote areas, nap on sunny ledges and drink out of clear mountain streams. Their voice blends the primal sounds of a whale and a didgeridoo. I feel tension and conflict rise into my heart. I’d rather eat meat that was killed in the wild than support the meat industry but in this moment, I vow to only eat plants. I was a vegan for 2 years but living in the mountains but anemia and cold active winters demands a heartier diet.

I hear the slow draw of the bow and see my boyfriend aim at his target. My hands glued in prayer pose, I telepathically scream to the herd “If you can here me run like hell or you will be killed and made into burgers!” My thoughts race with self hatred and excitement. I can feel every cell in my body tingling with life. One second later an 800 pound elk drops to the ground. My life and connection to anothers life, has just been deeply experienced.

With so many fusion based yoga programs, one can find strength and flexibility easily. You’ve got your power yoga, hot yoga, restorative yoga, yoga for your butt and yoga for your heart. But how many of us feel united with ourselves. We often multitask through life but the simplest of actions and intentions is what makes yoga work.

We’re all hunting for something when we embark on the inner journey through yoga but why should yoga be saved for a mat and four walls. Yoga, your union with the divine, may not be found in Sanskrit texts, designer yoga wear or expensive retreats. These outlets provide only a taste. Yoga, you will find in your heart and the hearts of those who leave their breath on the classroom windows as they stare in, with excuses and desire. Go outside of yourself and your daily routine. Find new ways to express your divine nature and find new ways to connect with the divine all around you. I’m not saying to go out and kill Bambi. But simply to bring your practice off the mat and into your life.