Everything is included — even the endings.

by Jessica Girija Jewell

A few weeks ago, I had the good fortune to attend the Iyengar National Association of the United States convention in Philadelphia. A friend and fellow long-time yoga practitioner invited me to the event back in July 2025. We made our reservations then and have been both piously patient and achingly expectant over the intervening months.

There were 760 people in attendance! We occupied the grand ballroom in the Philadelphia convention center, and when the leader, Abhijata — B.K.S. Iyengar's granddaughter — instructed us to move into a six-minute sirsasana, it tickled my heart to see all those feet, toes spread wide, lifting up.

Over the five days of the convention, I got to strengthen my asana and pranayama practice and observe my mental patterns — exactly what yoga practice does for us. With 760 people-peopling, the mind is going to churn with all kinds of thoughts, and my intention going into the convention was to love, love, love regardless of the thoughts.

One morning, I was scheduled to stand at the grand ballroom doors and answer questions. I smiled as warmly as I can and said good morning hundreds of times. There were moments when I noticed fear arising that someone might respond to me with annoyance or indifference. I also noticed a thought so many of us have — "I'm not good enough" — pop in when someone bright and bubbly and beautiful approached. The practice was to smile anyway. That's a win!

There were a couple of times when it got hard to be warm and loving, when the mental patterns were too thick to see through. At these times, I retreated to my hotel room, on the 30th floor of a 31-floor building with a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a sweet sanctuary between sessions.

One afternoon, two peregrine falcons flew by at eye level.

And on the only clear night of my stay, I woke to see Chandra Ma shining brightly.

That first night, before I knew any of what was coming, I had a dream.

It was one of those dreams that feel almost lucid, as though only gossamer separates the sleeping and waking states.

In this dream I watched a hand reach out to me through a clouded sky. Without hearing a sound, I "heard" that Yoga Together Lincoln was going to close. I was shocked.

I wondered what this dream meant. Was it foreshadowing a soon-to-be reality, or was it pointing toward an inner state that needed tending? Both seemed possible.

Over the next two days, two teachers reached out to say they needed to stop teaching at YTL. It's a normal part of a business to have people come and go, so it wasn't alarming, but it was … interesting.

Another day later, our landlady reached out to say we needed to discuss the rent and lease. Also not unusual for businesses, but neither was on my radar for renegotiation. Interesting.

As I considered the sequence — the dream, the teachers leaving, the renegotiation of the lease — my mind began to churn, spinning different stories about what was happening. One evening, I ended up rambling a bit neurotically to another conference attendee, wondering aloud if "Life" was about to make an unplanned and unpredicted turn.

It did.

When I returned to Lincoln and met with our kind, generous, and creative landlady, it became clear that in order for her to pursue her dream for the building, the rent needed to increase substantially. When I did the math, it was clear that YTL was going to close.

And so now I share with you, dear seeker, YTL will close at the end of June.

Since making this decision, I have spent several afternoons in my bed, crying, the windows open, listening to the wind and the birds. I'm moving through the cycle of grief, emotions rising and falling in my body.

In moments of peace, my wiser self knows the emotions will pass, that my body will hurt less soon. But I'm in no hurry to get there. It seems unwise to reach for the positive while the heart still aches, or to manifest abundance when life is asking something to be released. The cycle of ending matters as much as the cycle of beginning. As one of my teachers used to say: everything is included.

Like all of us, I've known many endings. Each one led somewhere I couldn't have predicted — somewhere more aligned with my soul's inexorable agenda. So I hold both at once: the grief that this is really happening, and the faith that what comes next will be what I didn't know I was looking for. I've been praying on it, asking the unseen help and my Ishta devata for guidance — and it's beginning to trickle in.

I'm sincerely grateful to the many remarkable people who have been part of Yoga Together. We've had many cups of tea and many conversations.

I have dearly loved the bright little room, the evening light, the rooftop, Ganesha, Lakshmi, and the plants that have grown with us. I've learned much, practiced much, made mistakes, and done some things well over these four years. Thank you for being the spiritual community I needed.

Over the next few weeks, we'll let you know how to stay in touch with your favorite teachers. And although the space is going to change, the teaching, the practicing will go on. We can still create islands of sanity in our very own bodies, and in the new spaces we'll occupy.

If you have any questions, please feel welcome to reach out. And if you know of a small space to rent, please let us know.

Please remember: we're open through June, and all our regular classes are still meeting. Come and practice with us!