This morning I took my cup of organic decaf to my deck to begin my day. It was early so there were no edgers or mowers shrieking in the neighborhood. The only sounds were birds and the occasional bark of a dog.
My companion was Patanjali. How auspicious! As the author explains, “Patanjali is to Yoga, what Buddha is to Buddhism.” * By yoga, Patanjali means the all-encompassing definition of yoga, as in yoke or union with the Divine, including hatha yoga. I had bought this book months ago and it’s been sitting on my coffee table of ‘books to read immediately or in the very near future.’ I had actually begun reading it once before but set it aside. This morning, however, the words spoke to me. Consider:
For those who have
an intense urge for Spirit
it sits near them,
Rereading this sutra, twelve hours later, I feel bliss. I feel so fortunate that I can sometimes be open enough to have these experiences (but then, ‘to have’ denotes being separate).
Poem: “an intense urge for Spirit”
If it didn’t sound like attachment,
I’d say I wished I’d thought up that phrase.
Instead, I breathe it in and sigh.
* Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, as interpreted by Mukunda Stiles, Weiser Books, c2002
I haven’t written much about yoga lately. For a few weeks I actually made it to yoga twice a week (found out about a Saturday morning class in Northside to supplement the night at the Y). Now, though, I may be teaching an online class Saturday mornings which would make the second one not possible.
Tonight I went to the one at the Y. I can do most asanas halfway decent except those that require arms going behind your back. My arms are just too stiff! Is it being old, an Aquarius (fixed sign), or what? I suspect it’s an aging thing. Well, I’m happy with getting myself to class at all tonight; the weather was gorgeous/I wanted to stay home on my deck.
you call to me
but sometimes when I stretch
it reminds me how rigid I am
I’m not used to this
stretching of limbs and settling of mind.
The fact that I feel pain means the ego won again.
Last night in yoga class, Melissa complimented me. She rarely walks around the room to gently correct someone. Since there were new people, she may have felt she needed to check on us. I was positioned in downward dog and, evidently, my form was good because Melissa came up to me, touched my back lightly, and said, “Perfect. Beautiful.”
“Perfect. Beautiful.” “Perfect. Beautiful.” I mean, she could have said “good, Phebe” but she said, “perfect. Beautiful.”
I realize I was born “perfect. Beautiful.” How many times must I be reminded before I really believe it? How often do I truly believe in my inner divinity? I know Melissa meant it that my downward dog was lookin’ good, still, it is perfectly beautiful if I take it in on a deeper level as well.
This morning when I was stretching I thought of her: I really like the person Melissa seems to be. She says she thinks of herself not as our teacher as much as our facilitator. Such humility. I appreciate the atmosphere she sets for our class: surrender instead of struggle, and commit to self-care through yoga. How synchronistic that I selected self-care as my New Year’s Resolution!
After class, I wanted to tell her I ‘get’ downward dog because I live with two dogs, do ya think? But another student paused to ask her something so I walked up the stairs of the Y and floated out into the mist toward my car.