When life is a dynamic flow, creative expression is a natural outcome. ~ Barbara E. Verchot
Barbara E. Verchot
Short Bio
Barbara E Verchot (Shanti Atma Kaur) is an Artist, Educator, and Anthropologist as well as an Ayurvedic Practitioner and Yoga/Kundalini Yoga Teacher and Author. Knowing that the cultural matrix from which traditions arise informs them in a deep and meaningful manner, this dedicated scholar and practitioner traveled throughout the world to absorb the essence of the cultures in which she lived. While in India, she traveled from the southernmost state to the northern state of Dharamshala to study the traditions that inform the medical practice of Ayurveda, and the art of the Indian subcontinent including the forms of Yantra and Mandalas. Wherever she has lived, South Korea, Thailand, Mexico, Europe and the United States, she has pursued knowledge and skills based on traditional wisdom. Her clear and accessible teaching methods wrap the knowledge she obtained from all her experiences into a rich and edifying learning experience for her students.
*All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
~