![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg62RakNMaSza4S-gO6zOkAeKDaLLPUHM-Ue6K4ZhKS8ge-Fz6Tny-oevdDFjD7zqOuckl3KQMgHeeEv35durJ1niGh-vNNT3YRy9ET89RtgDs0fhaIl5B-dc9SIpCOLTOKT_EfgbWadw/s200/K.Pattabhi.Jois.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61SM1n_sYOVKO7EXEVgo1vbrPyhhgNdHHWNDtqTkZ4cApjiemd4dupDocmMIzvSwfDQ4pD4SjF-OSWy2oa-M_AyzGtKFIdXbsRTM7VaLcICJsCGS7FHcmcbuMrN1Yi8reGbSeMcJh6es/s320/pattabhi+jois.jpg)
While I was in Seattle, a couple of days before he died, I had a dream. In the dream I was living in an ashram somewhere in the forest in Washington or Oregon. I was gardening and sweeping and doing Ashtanga Yoga. The instructor was K. Pattabhi Jois. This was the first time that I had a dream with him in it, and it was a day or two before he died. It was a very odd coincidence. I wish I had had a chance to know him.
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