On Halloween and Our Shadow Side

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

We were made from the universe, so we contain the same elements of the universe. The universe is both dark and light, and so are we.

But who are “we,” really?

If we can agree that we are not our liver or kidneys, even though they are vital organs, is it feasible to agree that we are not the brain either?

If we are not the brain, are “we” what is in the mind—the function of the brain? It would be analogous to saying that we are not detox, which is the function of the liver.

Hopefully the answer is no, because “we” are the substance that hears what the mind is saying. We are the part of the body that isn’t cells or physical substance. Just because it is only us who can hear what our mind is saying doesn’t mean that what the mind says is actually us.

Our mind is influenced by the physical world around us. Jingles in our head, the replaying of conversations, things we’ve watched, and the internal back-and-forth of competing thoughts all arise without effort. If we are able to notice them, then the part that notices is closer to who we are than the part providing the commentary.

That is, if we notice at all. The thoughts, songs, internal dialogues, arguments, and justifications are so constant that we often believe they define us. But that is not the case. Who we are is the witness to this chatter.

I’ll go back to the idea of the angel and devil. How can we claim to be only the “angel,” advocating for the right decisions, when the opposing voice is right there doing the same thing in a different direction? We may align with one side because it reflects our values or what we’ve been taught is right, but the other side still exists within us. It may not be comfortable to acknowledge, but it is no less real. That side is often referred to as the shadow, representing the parts of ourselves we don’t want to admit to having. It can exist outside of our awareness at first, but with attention and self-reflection, it becomes easier to recognize.

Neither the angel nor the devil is who we truly are. We are the part that notices both, and both will influence the decisions we make unless we learn to separate our identity from the constant activity of the mind. One way to begin noticing thoughts more clearly is through practices like meditation, but that is a deeper topic for another time.

The point here is that we are not our thoughts. It is as natural to have both “good” and “bad” thoughts as it is for the day to move between light and dark. Our physical bodies are part of the natural world, and they are governed by the same patterns. Both sides exist, and no human is exempt from this.

Some may have developed a deeper understanding of it, and many teachings point toward recognizing the difference between thought and awareness. Even without formal language for it, this idea has existed in different forms throughout history. We can think of this in terms of different layers of awareness: the unconscious, which regulates automatic functions and influences instinctive reactions; the conscious mind, which contains our thoughts and interpretations; and a deeper level of awareness—the part that observes all of it.

If we don’t recognize that we are not our thoughts, we tend to attach ourselves to the parts we prefer and reject the parts we don’t. We identify with what feels acceptable and try to hide what doesn’t, but that doesn’t remove those parts—it simply keeps them out of sight. Acknowledging the full range of what arises in the mind can create more clarity and allow us to understand what is influencing us, rather than reacting without awareness.

Accepting the presence of both light and dark within ourselves is not about acting on every thought. It is about recognizing that they exist and understanding that they are not the entirety of who we are. In nature, cycles of light and dark are constant. As seasons shift, we move through periods where one is more dominant than the other, but both are always present. The same can be said for us.

There are times of clarity and times of uncertainty, times when things feel lighter and times when they feel heavier. These shifts are not separate from us; they are part of the experience. During certain times of year, particularly as we move into the darker months, these patterns can feel more noticeable. The transition itself can be a reminder that change is constant and that both aspects are necessary.

Accepting that we move between these states can make it easier to navigate them. Not everything needs to be resisted or controlled. Some things can simply be observed and understood.

When I taught yoga regularly, I often used the theme of embracing the unknown during this time of year. I would invite students to consider what they might be avoiding and to allow it to be present, even if it felt uncomfortable. Not everything needs to be solved in the moment. Sometimes the first step is simply noticing.

Embracing the unknown. Facing what feels uncomfortable. Allowing space for both light and dark.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Demystifying Yoga: Movement over Exercise

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

When I meet someone and they learn that I practice or teach yoga, they almost always feel compelled to share their own experience with it. Sometimes they’ve tried it and didn’t like it, sometimes they love it, and often they follow it with something like, “I’m not flexible,” or “I have an injury,” or simply, “It’s not for me.”

One of my favorite responses to that comes from the owner of the studio where I used to teach. She once said that saying you’re not flexible enough to do yoga is like saying you’re too dirty to take a shower. It usually gets a laugh, but there’s truth in it.

If you’ve never really tried yoga, it’s hard to know what it actually is. For many people, the assumption is that it involves twisting into complicated shapes or keeping up with a fast-paced class. In reality, it’s often much simpler and much more accessible than that.

Yoga is, at its core, movement and breath. The movements are often slow and intentional, and the breath becomes something you begin to notice and work with rather than something that just happens in the background. Most classes are designed so that people at different levels can participate in a way that works for them.

In my experience teaching, many of the students were older or working with limitations, and they kept coming back because they started to notice small changes. Those small shifts—more ease in the body, a bit more clarity in the mind—tend to build over time.

People often come to yoga after an injury or surgery as well. It can be one of the first ways to begin moving again gently. That said, it’s always important to be aware of your own body and any specific conditions you may have. A good instructor can offer ways to modify movements, but the most important guideline is simple: if something doesn’t feel right, don’t push through it.

Yoga is different from what most people think of as exercise. It’s not about keeping pace with others or pushing through discomfort to reach a goal. It’s about paying attention. The teacher offers guidance, but you decide how far to go. There’s no real concept of falling behind, because the practice is happening within your own experience.

Over time, that combination of movement and breath can have a noticeable effect. Physically, people often experience more flexibility, strength, and balance. Mentally, it can help with focus, stress, and overall awareness. But those benefits tend to come as a result of the practice itself, not as something you have to chase.

If you already practice, you likely understand that in your own way. And if you don’t, it might be worth approaching it with a bit of curiosity rather than a fixed idea of what it is or isn’t.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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On Being in the Dark

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

A light breeze blew in from across the street when I opened my blinds and cracked my bedroom window while it was still dark this morning. The sound of the Long Island Sound filled my ears as the semi-salty air drifted into the space where I stood. A bell buoy chimed in the distance. A nearby bird sang. The cool, damp air felt refreshing against my skin in the otherwise still, sleepy room. I took a deep breath and let it all in, appreciating the quiet of that moment in the dark.
I moved through my morning routine and into meditation. Since the clocks changed last week, it is dark again in the early hours, and for a short time we get to watch the sunrise earlier along the horizon. It had rained overnight, and the world felt just a bit more crisp—renewed. I chose a different space to practice this morning, turning off the lights and opening the curtains to let the darkness slowly give way to light.

I stumbled around to find my meditation pillow while carrying a glass of lemon water. My animals moved around me, a little confused and curious about the change in routine. As I felt along the floor for the doorstop, I struggled to find it and eventually had to put everything down to search more carefully.
At some point, I knocked over the water. I heard it spill and felt the dog walk through it moments later. I sat down on the floor, slightly defeated, and then laughed as I felt wet paws and kisses on my face. My mood lifted almost immediately.

There was a lesson in it.

We can’t see well in the dark. We can move through familiar spaces by memory and touch, but our sense of sight is limited. We don’t fully know what is around us—we only know what we remember from when there was light.

Nature ensures that we spend half our time in darkness. Depending on where we are in the world, that balance shifts across the seasons, but the presence of darkness is constant. It’s part of the rhythm.
In many ways, our internal world operates similarly. There is so much we don’t know—about situations, about other people, even about ourselves. When we don’t know something, we are, in a sense, in the dark. Often, we don’t even realize what we don’t know.

There is something humbling in that. Accepting that we are not always seeing clearly can change how we move through the world. It can soften certainty and make room for curiosity.

This becomes especially relevant when we form strong opinions or beliefs. Whether the topic is something as large as politics or something as small as a personal interaction, it’s easy to assume we understand more than we actually do. We operate from our own experiences and perspectives, which feel complete to us, but are still limited.

When we stay open to the possibility that we are only seeing part of the picture, it changes how we listen and respond. It doesn’t mean abandoning our views, but it does mean holding them with a bit more flexibility.

There are countless sources of information, perspectives, and experiences that shape how people see the world. Not all of them reach us, and not all of them are easy to understand. Accepting that we may not have the full picture allows for a different kind of awareness—one that is less rigid and more receptive.

After cleaning up the spilled water as best I could in the dark, I made my way back to my practice. My cats and dog settled around me as I sat, the door slightly open, the cool air still moving through the space.

Without relying on sight, the other senses became more vivid. I noticed the sounds—the birds, the water, the buoy, the distant hum of a car, the steady rhythm of my dog’s breathing. The feel of the air on my skin was more pronounced. Things I might normally overlook became clearer.
As the rain began again, a new layer of sound filled the space. Gradually, the darkness gave way to light, and with it, my attention shifted back toward what I could see. It became easier to rely on sight and, in doing so, easier to overlook everything else.

There is something in that as well. Our strongest sense can sometimes become the one that limits us the most.

My animals seemed to take the whole morning in stride. The change in routine, the spilled water, the unfamiliar movements—it was all simply part of what was happening. They adapted without resistance.

There’s something to learn from that.

When we accept that we don’t—and can’t—know everything, it becomes easier to move through the world with a bit more ease. We make decisions with the information we have, understanding that it may not be complete. That awareness can feel less like a limitation and more like a kind of freedom.
It allows space for learning, for adjustment, and for seeing things we might otherwise miss.
And perhaps that’s part of the rhythm, too—moving between what we can see and what we can’t, knowing that both are always present.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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On the Chakras

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

More often than not, we find scientific “proof” that ancient wisdom passed on through generations—once considered ignorant, hokey-pokey nonsense—turns out to be true. How did they know?

This painting I created is my artistic interpretation of the manifest and unmanifest world. The colors symbolize the manifest world, and the shades of tan, white, black, and gray represent what is on the other side. The colors also represent the chakras.

As humans, we know very little that can be scientifically proven regarding the spiritual world or how conscious life appears and disappears. The energetic body is something that some scientists explore, but again, there is no definitive “proof.”

Eastern philosophies and their ancient texts explain that just as there is a visible physical body, there is also an accompanying invisible energetic body. It is just as complicated and intricate. It has systems, nodes, and channels, as our physical bodies do. Energy can get blocked just as an artery can. Emotions are energetic. They can become stuck and, if not released, go deeper into our being and eventually manifest as physical pain.

Mental health professionals do this type of work and exploration. Yoga is deeply connected to the energetic body and helps energy flow more freely through the practice of physical postures (asana). Hence my interest in the topic. Additionally, my interest in art and color piques my curiosity about how color is combined in various ways.

The chakras are something that has always fascinated me, long before I understood, practiced, or taught yoga. The first time I heard about them, they simply made sense to me—almost as if something deep inside already knew, even though my mind questioned the idea.

For anyone who doesn’t know about the chakras (I was well into my 30s before I ever heard of them!), they are seven main energetic centers in our bodies through which energy flows. They start at the base of the spine, in the tailbone area, and move upward through the body to the crown of the head.

Later, while completing a 500-hour yoga teacher certification, I learned more about the broader energetic system, but the chakras remain the most widely recognized and are depicted in many texts and images throughout history.

The chakras have colors—seven in total—and they coincide with the colors of the rainbow. Their flow is vertical (unlike my art piece). Like the koshas and other systems I’ve learned about through my business education, they remind me very much of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It also reflects a kind of evolution, beginning with basic physical needs and moving toward higher consciousness and self-actualization. In the chakra system, if something is blocked at a lower level, energy cannot flow upward.

An illustrated diagram of the seven chakras in the human body, highlighting their locations, colors, and meanings, featuring a meditating figure at the center.
An infographic illustrating Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, represented as a pyramid. The levels from bottom to top include Physiological Needs, Safety, Love & Belonging, Esteem, and Self-Actualization. Each level describes the needs necessary for personal development and fulfillment, with keywords highlighting concepts such as basic survival, security, relationships, confidence, and growth.

The chakras are energetic. Over time, I’ve noticed that when I am in emotional pain, there is often a physical sensation located at a chakra point. It often points me in the direction of where I may be blocked.

I’ve studied and read many spiritual and religious texts. I don’t hold a strict belief in any one system, but I have developed a personal understanding of the physical and non-physical worlds—the tangible and intangible. The part where we are alive and moving through this world, and the part that remains unknown. What happens to our consciousness or spirit when the body dies? What is it before we are born? Is it even real?

My artistic expression of the spiritual life cycle is depicted here. Like the Yin-Yang, part of our existence is in the manifest world and part in the unmanifest.

The colored lines represent the manifest world—the world where white light refracts and we perceive color.

The neutral tones represent the unmanifest world. When all colors are combined, they create what we perceive as brown. Adding white lightens it to tan, while black darkens it. White contains all colors, while black represents their absence. Together they create gray—still without distinct color. At dusk, when we are between day and night, color fades, and only form remains.

Our physical life is surrounded by this unknown. Before birth and after death, there is something beyond our current understanding. Perhaps it is not empty, but instead contains everything in a different form—blended, unseen, or beyond our perception.

At least to our current senses. Perhaps with another sense, we would perceive an entirely different world.

The chakras in this painting represent the physical living world we experience. They move from a lower vibration to a higher one—less conscious to more conscious, more connected to the physical world to less so, much like Maslow’s hierarchy.

1st CHAKRA
Color: Red
Sanskrit name: Muladhara
Known as: Root chakra
Location: Base of the spine

Symbolizes: safety, survival, grounding

My interpretation: It is our root. It connects us physically to the earth and to others. It represents the earliest stage of life, where we are fully dependent on others for survival. This foundation shapes our perception of the world.

2nd CHAKRA
Color: Orange
Sanskrit name: Swadhisthana
Known as: Emotional chakra
Location: Lower abdomen

Symbolizes: emotion, creativity, sexuality

My interpretation: This is where feeling begins. It relates to growth, creativity, and the early development of identity.

3rd CHAKRA
Color: Yellow
Sanskrit name: Manipura
Known as: Solar plexus

Symbolizes: personal power, will, identity

My interpretation: This is where we act in the world—through drive, identity, and personal energy.

4th CHAKRA
Color: Green
Sanskrit name: Anahata
Known as: Heart chakra

Symbolizes: love, compassion

My interpretation: This is the shift from intellect to deeper awareness. It connects us to something beyond ourselves.

5th CHAKRA
Color: Blue
Sanskrit name: Vishuddha
Known as: Throat chakra

Symbolizes: communication, expression

My interpretation: When energy flows freely, we are able to express truth and creativity.

6th CHAKRA
Color: Indigo
Sanskrit name: Ajna
Known as: Third Eye

Symbolizes: intuition, wisdom

My interpretation: This reflects deeper understanding gained through experience.

7th CHAKRA
Color: Violet or White
Sanskrit name: Sahasrara
Known as: Crown chakra

Symbolizes: connection, consciousness

My interpretation: A state of peace and connection beyond material attachment.

The base of the system is wider because it is more grounded in the physical world, where most of us spend our time. As we move upward, fewer people consistently operate in those higher states, and the experience becomes more subtle.

In my artistic expression, these colors exist between the known and unknown. The symbols in the painting represent movement through the chakras toward something beyond—something expansive, light, and difficult to define.

This and six other pieces were inspired by contemporary artist Sean Scully. Two weeks ago, Daren and I visited the Wadsworth in Hartford on the last day of his exhibit. He works primarily in stripes.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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