On Saturday, April 1^st, the downtown Wolfeboro yoga studio will be changing hands.  Magical Yoga, a new yoga – healing – flow studio owned by Brittany Boles Dube, will be taking the place of the current Moondala Yoga Studio overlooking Back Bay in the historic Durgin Stables building.

Along with offering a full schedule of yoga classes for all ages, abilities, and styles, Magical Yoga will focus on special events and workshops that relate not only to yoga, but also to the philosophy of flow.

“Flow can mean the flow arts, like fire dancing or hoola hooping, or it might mean getting absorbed in an art project or losing ourselves in dance or music.  That’s the beauty of combining yoga and flow! Bringing together movement, breath, and creativity – whether on the mat or off of it – heals people, heals communities, and elevates our consciousness,” Brittany explains.

Guest teachers will be invited to host special classes, workshops, and events at Magical Yoga, too.  The community can expect to see some faces from studios past as well as meeting others brand new to the area.  Interested teachers, artists, and healers can reach out through the studio website to inquire.

“My vision and intention for the studio is to build bridges and cultivate a thriving yoga – healing – flow community.  My heart is firmly rooted in creating connections in an open, welcoming, and inclusive space,” said Brittany.

In a social media post about the transition, former studio owner Michelle Kimball said, “I am looking forward to see how the studio transforms under the direction of another beautiful yogi in our community. The lineage in the space is strong. Passing the torch is going to feel very good.”

Saturday morning, April 1^st, at 9am is Brittany’s first class teaching as the Magical Yoga studio owner.  After that all-levels flow class, the studio will close for aesthetic updates and re-open on Tuesday, April 11^th at 9:00am for Michelle’s Ashtanga Vinyassa class.  Schedule and pricing updates will be posted online.

A grand opening “Flowstravaganza” is being planned for late spring or early summer.

My childhood heroes were all women – just not the ones I knew in “real life.”

My mom definitely didn’t make the cut, may she rest, finally, in peace. And sadly, everywhere I looked, most other women in my life were subject to addiction, abuse, or both. 

Thank goddess for books! They saved me, and daily. I found sanctuary in their pages and inspiration in their women.

Patricia Wrede, thanks for writing books about the nonconforming Princess Cimorene and her dragon King (a title, not a gender, held by a female) mentor, and the witch Morwen who were clever, inventive, and blessedly independent.

Thanks to Lyra Belacqua, or Silvertongue, the star of “The Golden Compass,” for being the kind of little girl whose gumption and intuition not only travel through the worlds but save them as well.

Alanna, The Lioness, who disguised herself as a boy in order to become a knight of the realm … your power, spirit, and strength taught me to honor the feminine within. You paved the way for Keladry, a young woman whose perseverance, self-control, and magical gifts would again win wars and change the universal tide.

Later, I read about Phedrè, a “whore’s ill-begotten git” who was marked by the gods … a woman who flourished in unimaginable suffering. A woman who defines the stuff of legends. Mastering languages, kingdoms, and even the will of the gods – what a heroine. 

JK Rowling, from rags to riches through sheer force of imaginative prowess – you’ve given me a mark.  

On this International Day of Women, I celebrate those who gave me – early on – sanctuary and inspiration. Those who showed me that we ARE strong, powerful, and magical – and who taught me to keep looking for my womanfolk tribe despite it all.  

Because of you, I have found “real life” women who inspire, and are too many to name here. Maybe in another story, on another day… because I have a story to tell, too. And it’s a goddessdamn good one. 

Someone recently asked me, “How did you get over your distrust of men?”

It’s a long story that begins with building a wall around my heart – an impermeable tower of protection – as a result of some very big disappointments (like childhood sexual abuse) and some smaller ones along the way.

Realizing the wall’s existence was the turning point for me. It happened when I was at my lowest point: addicted, suicidal, and having committed myself to the psych ward.

It was there I met my first energy healer, whose advice would stick with me forever (but that’s a different tale), and included an interpretation of a dream that meant I was waiting for a man to save me.

I also met a nurse, an immigrant from Nigeria, who approached me as I wallowed in self-pity, drowning in tears, rocking myself, near a window.

He said, “When you were a baby, your mother wrapped you in cloths and fed you, rocked you, kept you safe.” (I resisted the urge to scoff at this image of a mother who was so different than the shell of a woman I had known.)

He said, “That was then. But now you are grown. It is up to you to carry on.”

He paused, and then said, “I do not know why you are here, and it does not matter. What matters is that from this moment forward, it is up to you to carry on.”

With that, my circumstances were blaringly obviously and quite suddenly my own.

And so I turned inward.

I saw a scared, hungry, lonely child-me huddled within a tower of stone, shrouded in darkness.

“Get up,” I softly urged her. And she did.

Examination of the stones revealed their mysteries: each one held a memory, a moment in time that was so terrible it could never be repeated.

Here was the moment my mother drove up that driveway, to the house she swore we’d never return, where He lived …

And I felt the rush of dread, the sinking sick feeling – and then, almost just like that, it was over.

Where the stone had been, now a feeble bit of sunshine filtered through! It wasn’t much – certainly not a big enough opening to escape – but it was enough.

For the next several years, I removed the stones of the wall around my heart one by one. Some were smaller and more easily destroyed; others took a lot of work. Sometimes I had to leave a whole section in place and work on another part until I built up enough strength to try again.

I wish I could remember the day the last stone fell. But I don’t – because as more light flooded in, I became stronger and more confident.

All that work – years spent examining myself, tearing down the layers of protection I had put in place, recognizing that they had served their purpose but that now I wanted to live in the light – was a strength and stamina -building exercise in SELF-trust.

And it wasn’t until I told this story a few short days ago, as an impromptu answer to that simple question, that I realized I had the answer all along.

“How did you get over your distrust of men …” he asked, “because I just can’t see how I’ll ever trust a woman again.”

Trust isn’t something we place outside of ourselves. Trust isn’t something that can be given, broken, taken away, or controlled by anyone … except for ourselves.

Trust lives deep within the center of our soul. Trust is what we earn when we do the work to uncover our innermost, childlike Self. When we look at what we’ve surrounded ourselves with, and slowly gain the confidence to break free of our self-imposed constraints, finally venturing out of the shadows and into the light, we will know trust.

And that is an unbreakable trust.

I never got “over my distrust of men.”

I learned to trust myself, and then, I simply carried on.