The garden tips in shadows and an overabundance of vegetables. Yet blossoming among the old stalks of July’s proliferation, are striking flowers. Beauty becomes the fading violet color on a Monarda going to seed or a single coral rose bending toward light.
My being flows in and out of this creation. I am one moment the created, another I am the creator. When life becomes rich in juice, I am both, singing without care for the distinction.
What is practice? There are infinite ways of practicing the yoga poses. Sometimes the pose is hidden in life. Finding that the pose is life becomes the ultimate centering practice. Mindfulness.
As practice “seasons” yoga informs activities which are seemingly unrelated to time on the mat. Tapas (fire, determination) and sukha (joy, ease) play out moment to moment, no matter what activity is engaged.
So many ways we stretch beyond the physical. The way of strength, the way of holding and letting go. The way the breath informs everything.
Sometimes the best practice is not physical.
Yoga is, after all, about the mind as well as the body and the heart.
Just becoming even slightly aware of what is going on up there in the place inhabited with a thousand chattering monkeys, is a profound practice. When breath takes me there, I roll in light and shadow.
Am I ready for what may be found? Can I allow myself to become that single coral rose blossoming amid the dried out stalks and petals in the garden? Am I ready for nirvana? It floats in the very next inhalation. It may arrive in that still pause, the moment between exhalation and inhalation when the monkeys quiet in awe, and simple existence becomes total awareness of being.