A Love Letter

Yoga.  Oh yoga.  How do I love thee?  Let me count the namastes.  This is my love letter.  My ode.  My aria.  Because everything and everyone that gives a lot deserves a letter of appreciation once in a awhile.  And you have changed me.

Do I love you because I can touch my toes, shake my asana and fly like an eagle?  Sometimes.  Cause all of those things are plain and simple, fun.  But do I also love you because sometimes my feet seem as far away as the Great Wall of China, I think my asana looks fat and my Garuda is about as light as 10 watt-bulb?

Yeah, I love you then too.  Because it teaches me things like acceptance, humility, and patience.

Did you make me enlightened?  No, but you did help me learn about my psoas, and gave me the grace to let things go (sometimes, not everytime).  You gave me a breath and a pause and an ability to notice that when I’m being a catty, bitchy, cantankerous twat to let that go too.  To be present and live each moment fully because that’s all there is:  a sequence of moments.  (In whichever time continuum(s) you reside.)

I just celebrated my 34th birthday and it didn’t hit me until a few days after:  Single.  Broke.  Childless.  I say to myself, “you should know better.”
And I do.  But that’s also my yoga.

You teach me that all things are connected: a broken heart to a knee bone, for example.  The things that hurt us, shape us, in a very physical sense.

Somehow I learned that there is some power in the intention.  And to trust.  Even if it feels like you’re free falling over the Rocky Mountains.

You help me to a be a good listener.  To my breath, my body and others.   You’ve expanded my awareness to include those far away, the ocean, and my sternum.   And you give me courage to be my best self, even when my best self goes on vacation.

Somedays you remind me that there is a difference between words and actions and that in every student is a teacher; in every obstacle, a lesson.   That when I’m having one of those days when it seems like everything goes wrong and its so much easier to play the victim, the judger, the entitled and yet, you still nudge me towards compassion.  Even when the shit-storm of doubt reigns and compassion is hardest with yourself.

You gave me a foundation in which to root my feet and reach for the sky and because I am rooted I can now reach higher than ever.

And you got me to notice my breath.  In the grocery store.  On a bus.  Walking my dog.

I’m trying to learn to be joyous for joy’s sake, without asking for ownership.

Who else has given me such safe refuge to be real, authentic and alive?  To be flawed, and ugly and human and still supportive all the while; without condition, contract or consigner.  You stayed by my side, one Warrior at a time.

And so, sweet yoga, I might be 34, single and childless but I am definitely deeply, irrevocably in love.



1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: A Glimpse of a Girl | Memoirs of a Downward Facing Dog

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