Community Stories from BSY
Yogis seated in a cross-legged form with palms together and fingers pointing up, a hand form that invites an open heart, called anjali mudra.
Photo Credit: Full Moon Photography
Peace Is Power
February 3, 2026, Kristine Reyes Erickson
This story was supposed to be shared last month. But winter had other plans.
We were hit with a massive storm, with nearly 20 inches of precipitation. If it had all been snow, maybe we’d be in better shape. But it wasn’t. It was snow, sleet, and freezing rain layered on top of each other, then locked in place by unexpected and relentless subfreezing temperatures. What fell from the sky didn’t melt. It hardened. Roads turned to ice. Sidewalks became dangerous. The cold lingered longer than anyone expected.
And in the middle of all of that, this story somehow became even more powerful.
Because while many of us were hunkering down, trying to stay warm and safe, a group of monks kept walking.
A snowy garden scene after our late January storm outside the studio.
They began in Texas and are making a 2,300-mile pilgrimage to Washington, DC. They left the safety of their home, their familiar walls, to carry a message through the simple, radical act of walking.
They are on track to arrive in DC on the 108th day of their journey.
They come from a Vietnamese Buddhist tradition rooted in mindfulness, loving-kindness, and compassion. Their walk is silent and non-political. Their purpose is both simple and profound: to cultivate peace within themselves and offer it outward to everyone they meet.
Some walked barefoot before the winter storm.
Some use canes.
Some were injured on the road and had to stop for their health.
And yet, almost all who began the journey continue.
They walk into the unknown, never certain how they’ll be received. It has not always been welcoming for them. They were camping in tents but as the weather has gotten drastically colder, Buddhist centers and churches have opened their doors to offer a warm space to rest, eat and meet countless people. Local volunteers and local law enforcement officers have helped clear the path for them to continue walking eastward.
They don’t ask for anything. In fact, they’ve asked people to stop offering supplies because they can’t carry more and their small support car is already full.
And still, people come.
Strangers drive across state lines just to stand at a roadside marker and watch them pass. People gather who might never otherwise meet. Some stay only for a moment and leave changed by the simple act of being present. Some are quietly blessed as they wait. There are stories of inner shifts, of something softening, opening, remembering.
Day 101 Photo from @walkforpeace.usa via Instagram. Venerable monks walking in Virginia, greeting a line of people on the side of the road.
We may never know the full impact of this walk on those who witness it in person, or on those of us who hear about it from afar.
But here I am, sitting inside the walls of our small yoga studio in Northeast DC, realizing something:
What looks small can carry enormous force.
A handful of monks walking in silence is gathering people who may never have come together before. They are giving us a living example of what it means to be brave through action. They are moving hearts without big speeches. They are creating connection without demands. They are offering something that doesn’t shout, but changes the room when it enters.
This is what power looks like when it’s rooted in peace.
Power that grows from mindfulness.
Power that moves through loving-kindness and compassion.
Power that doesn’t conquer. It transforms.
And it brings me back to us.
To this practice.
To these quiet moments on our mats.
To this space or any space that we can cultivate our peace.
Because what is yoga for, if not an opportunity to still the mind from distraction, to listen to yourself without doubt, without judgment, and without the world’s overwhelming noise shaping your thoughts before they become actions?
On the mat, we practice clearing space.
We practice presence.
We practice choosing where our attention goes.
And from that clarity, action becomes more intentional.
More grounded.
More aligned.
Maybe yoga isn’t separate from what the world needs right now.
Maybe it’s training for it.
So I’m left with a gentle but urgent question, for myself, and for you:
What is your action?
How are you cultivating peace within yourself?
How are you carrying it into your conversations, your choices, your communities, your everyday encounters?
BSY class with Mana Takai, instructing a room of students.
Photo Credit: Full Moon Photography
Peace is not passive.
Peace is not small.
Peace is power.
And it starts closer than we think.
Beyond the Mat: A Six-Month Hike on the Appalachian Trail
January 15, 2026, written in collaboration with Nicole Ryan
This is Nicole- a Bluebird Sky Yoga member, a dedicated Mysore yogi, and someone who quietly inspired us to want to know more about what it truly means to walk the Appalachian Trail for six months. When Nicole returned home to DC, the transition was not the relief many might expect. Ordinary places felt overwhelming, even walking into CVS flooded her senses. Sleeping in her own bed felt strangely claustrophobic, not because she hadn’t slept indoors on the trail, but because now, indoors felt permanent. The trail had given her space, movement, and simplicity, and returning required a new kind of resilience: learning how to heal while still honoring her body’s need to move.
The trail reshaped Nicole in unexpected ways, especially in how she learned to receive kindness. Sometimes called “trail magic”, the act of strangers offering food, rides, warmth, and care, became essential to survival, not just comfort. One night in northern Georgia, after mailing home her warm sleeping bag during an earlier heat wave, temperatures dropped below freezing and rain poured relentlessly. She shivered through the night in a shelter, unsure if her body could safely endure another. The next morning, a father and son she’d just met offered to walk seven miles with her to their car and drive her to a hostel. That single, chance encounter meant warmth, rest, and the ability to upgrade her gear, and continue. Accepting help from strangers was not her instinct, but it became one of the most transformative lessons of the journey.
Alone with her thoughts day after day, Nicole discovered that solitude wasn’t always filled with fear or heaviness. Sometimes her mind was occupied with simple questions- what order to set up camp, where to stop next, how much water she needed. Other times, gratitude rose naturally. Anxiety about storms, injuries, staying warm, or hiking alone was still present, but without constant distraction, she learned she didn’t always need to escape those thoughts. Yoga teachings followed her down the trail: everything is temporary, be comfortable in discomfort. These mantras carried her through weeks of relentless rain, when morale wears thin and every mile feels earned. Years of yoga practice also helped her distinguish between pain and discomfort, a skill that mattered when every day depended on listening carefully to her body.
Movement became ritual. Nicole stretched each morning and night in her tent, often for less than ten minutes, but enough to keep her body going. She planned mileage each evening by headlamp, studied her map instead of social media, journaled to remember the journey, and set timers for breaks so she could fully rest without worry. Over time, fear softened. Sleeping alone became familiar. Bears became recognizable by sound. Strangely, the farther she was from towns and roads, the safer she felt. Awe, however, never faded- fall leaves igniting the forest, moss and mushrooms glowing with quiet color, fog rolling over the White Mountains in New Hampshire, stars reflected in Maine’s lakes, baby bears in the Smoky Mountains, and the constant presence of people united by love for the trail.
Now back at Bluebird Sky Yoga, Nicole’s practice feels different. Her body has changed. Poses that once felt easy can feel out of reach, but her patience has grown. She’s less frustrated, more forgiving, deeply appreciative of what her body carried her through: heat, cold, endless miles, and the simple act of standing up every morning and walking again. She’s most excited to return to the community- the Mysore potlucks, art shows, and small moments of connection that make a place feel like home. And in a final, unexpected twist, near the end of the trail Nicole discovered something new entirely: a love for running and flying downhill on dirt paths, feeling light again. A reminder that resilience, chance encounters, and showing up day after day don’t just change us, they sometimes lead us somewhere we never planned to go.
We practice yoga to become comfortable in discomfort, to notice what’s temporary, and to remember that we don’t have to do everything alone. Nicole’s story shows how these teachings live far beyond the mat- shaping how we move through uncertainty, community, and everyday life. We invite you to come practice, connect, and be part of the community that continues to hold stories like Nicole’s, on and off the mat.