An active form of prayer, of meditation, of grace

"What we are taught in yoga is that there is no separation between the mind, the body, and the spirit. That everything is interdependent upon the whole. And there's so much denial about our body because we are often so fixated on the way that it looks. If we're not comfortable with the way that it looks we deny it and shame it.

Another aspect is using your body to pray. It all connects back to service which is in the evolution of the work that I've done.

I trust that if I do my yoga practice I am going to get stronger and more flexible. If I stay in alignment, if I don't push, if I don't force, then my body will organically open in time. I know if I breathe deeply, I will oxygenate my body, it has an influence on my nervous system. These things are facts that I know to be true.

But I also recognize that it's a mystical practice, and that you can use your body as an expression of your devotion. So the way you place your hand, the way you place your foot forward or back is an offering. I offer the movements to someone I love or to the healing of the planet. So if I am moving from a state of love, and my heart is open to that connection between myself and another person or myself and the universe, it becomes an active form of prayer, of meditation, of grace."

Yoga Teacher Seane Corn in interview with Krista Tippett on Being (an American Public Media podcast)

A poetic beginning

I have been holding onto an image for quite some time,
hoping that it would sprout into a poem, but it still lies
quiet, waiting for the right moment to germinate.

Arabesques of steam rise from the hot water,
like the flamenco dancer's spinning hand, effortless
to the music, beyond bodily limitations, listening
to the rhythm.

On Time

"When I was alive, I believed — as you do — that time was at least as real and solid as myself, and probably more so. I said 'one o'clock' as though I could see it, and 'Monday' as though I could find it on the map; and I let myself be hurried along from minute to minute, day to day, year to year, as though I were actually moving from one place to another. Like everyone else, I lived in a house bricked up with seconds and minutes, weekends and New Year's Days, and I never went outside until I died, because there was no other door. Now I know that I could have walked through the walls."

- From Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn, 1968.

The Other Side

Now to the other side
of the Atlantic
of the road
where drivers sit on the left
and cold water streams through the right
Home, in mirror image,
for another seven days.

Re-Sync-ing/ Re-Think-ing

Today, finally, after 5 weeks of waiting, I got Internet set up in my new apartment in London.

After the initial surge of excitement (deleting the hoards of emails from a week of accumulation), I got to a point where the energy and adrenaline ebbed.

And so?

Part of me feels slightly obsolete on the Internet again. Part of me feels great that my life hasn't revolved around it.

Over the past few weeks I would just check my email at (one of my) work(s) on Monday and Tuesday. It was thrilling to catch up. But now I am back. Perhaps its just a matter of getting back into a rhythm.

Ah, perennial transition.