We lived with the stench of papers, steel, buildings, and bodies hanging in the air for a little over a month.


Later that week I bumped into another regular from my Monday night yoga class at the bolted doors of the Crunch Gym around the corner from me. We had never spoken, but in that moment we connected, as thousands of us did in Lower Manhattan at that time, sharing that we didn’t know what we should be doing, but that the only thing that felt meaningful was to practice, to be with community, to get on the mat. Four months later, that woman and I sat in the same circle at our Anusara® yoga teacher training. We had both found the beginning of some sort of answer.


I still ask myself, why write on this? Do I have the right? Do I have anything valuable to say that hasn’t been said? I have a friend who lost her brother, a friend who lost her best friend, a friend who worked until late the night before and said goodbye to people who spent the night there and didn’t make it out.


simply another voice to the greater voice. Another cry released to the sky. I am thinking of it like leaving a flower, tying a ribbon, offering a blessing, a wish. It is the best I have and that is all I can offer. I hope it is something for someone.


I went to a fellow Anusara yoga teacher’s birthday party in Tribeca this past


September 10. I exited the A train south so that I popped up at the World Trade


Center construction across from St. Paul’s Church. The two pillars of light were shining in the sky over the steel fences surrounding the site. Tied to the metal railings alongside the church were


thousands of white ribbons covered with messages. They fluttered as people moved past them. Images and words. The creative impulse cannot be stopped or silenced—only detoured and rerouted.


World Trade Center Memorial at night


Perched next to each other on the church railing’s ledge were two people who seemed


to be waiting for friends: a man in a plaid shirt and cowboy hat


I know people who broke their legs in the rush to exit, who were covered with ash. In the end, I know people who lost people. I have hesitantly concluded that writing about it adds


and a woman in a traditional Muslim hijab. They seemed to be lost in thought and utterly oblivious to each other’s existence. I found some sweet accidental symbolism here, and it made me feel hopeful. I took a couple of pictures of the lights with my iPhone,


as did the handful of other people milling about and peering at the sky. Then I went on to join my friends.


...we didn’t know what we should be doing, but that the only thing that felt meaningful was to practice, to be with community, to get on the mat.


Susanna Harwood Rubin


As a visual artist, writer, and certified Anusara® yoga teacher, Susanna infuses her classes with creativity, interweaving myth, poetry, and philosophy, to offer students an experience of both intensity and grace. She has spent the past decade studying with John Friend and Dr. Douglas Brooks, with whom she has traveled several times to South India to delve into the traditions of Rajanaka Tantra that infuse her teaching. She is based at NYC’s Virayoga (www. Virayoga.com). Susanna has exhibited


internationally and is represented in many collections, including the UCLA Hammer Museum and the Addison Gallery of American Art. For years, she lectured and wrote for MoMA, including co-authoring Looking at Matisse and Picasso. She writes for Elephant Journal, and has written extensively for SocialWorkout. She has been profiled by FIT YOGA magazine, YogaSleuth, and SocialWorkout.


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