Sunday morning yoga with Aramati, my favorite class, one of my favorite teachers, my favorite studio, (the place where I start teacher training in January). Today, there was a little girl in class with us, maybe eight years old, and I was so happy for her, that she had a mom who would take her to such a thing, that she would want to go with her mom, that there are moms and kids like that in the world, still.
Shinning, glimmering, reflecting
just below the surface
in the waters of deep knowing
something comes alive.
Notice, be aware,
pay attention.
What truth is there?
What message?
What wants to be born?
The red of the root,
bottom of the spine,
unconscious,
fierce sleeping power.
The enemy of ignorance.
Greatest joy,
natural pleasure,
delight in controlling passion,
and blissfulness in concentration.
Hands held in the Gyan mudra,
waking up the root,
grounding the practice,
calm, concentrated —
the heart opens.
Follow your path into teaching,
in your life and in the world.
Easy, effortless,
where the heart is,
exhale powerful healing,
strength and balance.
You’ve read the books,
write the books.
Grab your boots,
your pen, and your mat.
Write the world,
blood and breath are your ink.
Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray) 