Here on earth it is not always reported, but the raising of consciousness - the being aware of consciousness - the consciousness of consciousness - or consciousness sqaured - is The Big Thing That Is Really Going On.

The silver lining to every major disaster from The Exxon Valdez to 9/11 to Princess Diana's departure, is that they are all part of the University of Consciousness that we have all matriculated in.

Some of us are doing the work on yoga mats and meditation pillows, some in bedrooms and gardens, some out on fields and in courts, some in hospitals and soup kitchens. And there are some - whom I think of as technosseurs - doing the work in engineering labs.

GLOBAL CONSCIOUSNESS PROJECT is run by a smarty pants Princeton prof (formerly part of the now-closed PEAR - Princeton Engineering Anomilies Research) and the good people over at the Center for Noetics. Through their network of EGGs (their name for Random Event Generators) they're able to track variations in Global Consciousness - and even more basically - to actually prove that a global consciousness exists.

I was lying in final twist, pulling my hip away from my ribs like a good little yogi, when the teacher, who didn’t know my practice that well, came over and gave me an adjustment.

My back cracked. His eyes lit up; I could tell he was very pleased with himself. My back cracked ten more times. His eyes shifted to panic. Being a people pleaser, I tried to quietly reassure him. But I was, in fact, on the verge of panicking about it myself.

I’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to remember when my right hip joint had started cracking so prolifically. But I could only conjure memories of lying on my mat, twisting deeper and deeper, feeling like it needed to crack but couldn’t.

That night, standing in the shower, I swayed—shifting my ribs ever so slightly in the particular way that causes my back to crack over and over again. I counted up to 100 cracks. (I know. Counting is another bad habit that we control enthusiasts fall into when chaos is looming.) But I couldn’t stop. I was trying, as I had been every night for some time, to crack it until it was all cracked out. One more crack. Just one more.

"My Other Car is a Yoga Mat" is my column about living my - your - our yoga off the mat, and deepening our practices on the mat. It's published in LA Yoga Magazine, Yoga Chicago Magazine and yogamates.com. The collected columns are also available online right here on the website.

But I know a lot of you don't have access to the magazines and/or don't like to read a lot of text online, but do dig listening to podcasts - plus I love recording audio - so now I'm making "My Other Car is a Yoga Mat" available in the groovalicious podcast format as well.

That means now you can enjoy "My Other Car is a Yoga Mat" in your car! Or on your mat:) Now enjoy Episode #3: "Arm and Arm"

Listen and subscribe in iTunes (and don't forget to rate and review it - thanks!)

Podcast: 

MOCI.ArmAndArm.9.25.m4a

I have a million ways to avoid a pose: thinking about something else while I’m in it, slipping out of class to pee, judging everyone else’s poses.

My favorite way to avoid a pose has always been to slink off my mat for a sip of water. But lately I’m having a hard time using water this way. I don’t feel like I’m a water user any more. Now I feel like I’m a water lover. And, of course, love is complicated.

It used to be so simple. I’d suck on my straw peacefully avoiding the dreaded eagle pose. But now it seems like the water activates my monkey mind the way water was supposed to activate those super cute little sea monkeys you could order from the back of comic books.

I tell my self I shouldn’t be drinking water in class. Water quenches the fire I’m working so hard to stoke. Drinking water mid-practice disturbs the pranic energy body. And my drink is another student’s distraction.

But then myself tells me that I’m thirsty!

One day I walked into class and noticed that since I had seen my teacher last, like two days ago, he’d changed. Good-bye robust athletic yogi, hello rock star. Not the junkie kind either. The thin, trim, spry, stage roaming, glowing kind.

After class, when I asked him what his secret was, he revealed he was on day four of the Master Cleanse. To open his hips. Really? Yes, supposedly the strict regimen of lemon, cayenne and water was, along with its other healing properties, supposed to help open up stubborn hips.

I’m going to do it too, I said. I wasn’t thinking of the hip opening, my hips were already more open than even my big mouth. They were so open that colds, flus and hormones settled eagerly into them, like fans before a show. I definitely didn’t need to open my hips. But I definitely did need to look like a rock star!

I’d always been put off by the Master Cleanse.

What exactly is an inauguration? Not a coronation. Or a confirmation. Or a commencement.

When Obama is inaugurated what exactly will be happening? Etymologically, "inauguration" comes from the Latin inaugurationem "consecration, installment under good omens."

Good omens? I like the sound of that. I want to feel this inauguration is a good omen. Who doesn't? I'm even willing not to dwell on disappointing appointments in order to feel that rosy glow.