A little weekend message.

A little weekend message.

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I'm a daydreamer. Anytime, anywhere. Playing out little wishes and scenarios in my head. Spacing out of whatever is and whatever is around me.

But too much of that isn't very yoga, is it? Because more than being a guilty pleasure, it takes me out of the present moment – the life, the reality I'm in – and sets me down somewhere that doesn't (and may never) exist. 

Sometimes, I admit, when times are tough or boring, that dream space seems far better than letting my mind touch the earth along with my feet. But I've also let daydreaming become a habit, and I've even wandered the alleys and streets of Barcelona, picturing my life if I lived there. The metro. Espadrilles. Dinner deep into the night. What did I see? What did I miss? What did I eat? There are pockets of time where the answer is: I'm not sure.

Sad, yes?

As we go into the weekend, let's remember that walking and thinking in reality is the only way to be in the moment. Not only is there plenty to gain from good and bad, but it's also what us yogis strive to do.

 
 

What image takes.

The next job, the better car, the executive house. 
These do not stand for who we are. They are only things we have. And any fulfillment we get from them will, inevitably, be short-lived.

What is difficult is that we live in a society where these lines are blurred. One that favors having over not having. That categorizes and classifies people by assets and possessions. Making it seem natural to desire and acquire far more than we'll ever need.

But acquiring--and building and maintaining an image to the satisfaction of others--leaves little time and space to relish the joy of existence. Which is a trade you may one day be sorry you made.

Don't just live the length of your life. Fill the depth of it too.

The Wisdom of Yoga

Several weeks ago, my friend and I were instant messaging about Rudi, a character in Stephan Cope's The Wisdom of Yoga. This little piece stuck with me:

E:

i read a line in the book about rudi i liked. it's in my phone. one sec

rudi's happiness had a good deal of sadness in it

the happiness that embraces sadness

is it bad to relate to that statement? 

Me:

no. i get that entirely.

when you think about it, it makes perfect sense.

how can happiness exist without its opposite? how can anything?

The value of opposition. So easy to forget when life throws us a curve ball. When the going gets tough. Or when it feels like nothing will be right again. But without turmoil, peace would not be so gentle. Sweet would have no context without bitter. And, of course, with no sadness to call upon, happy wouldn't mean quite as much.

The interconnectedness of all things.

In 2010, my husband and I spent two weeks in Montana. There was much to love. Small towns. Larger-than-life scenery. Idyllic mountains. 

Driving down a lonely highway, we spotted a patch of trees set well below the road. We pulled down a rock-studded path. Trees stood on both sides of the car, trunks white and striped with black scars. Shining gold like paper-thin coins, round, yellow-green leaves on every branch, quivering and shimmying with the wind. 

It was magic. 

Two nights ago, I came across pictures of our trip. And there they were again: my dancing trees. Quaking Aspens.

Yesterday, in the middle of our buzzing work floor, a coworker whispers, “Don’t think I’m crazy…but I fell in love with a tree.”

He’d been in Oregon.

I laugh. Raise my eyebrows and touch my fingers to the keyboard, ready to Google what he tells me.

“Quaking Aspen,” he says.  

And, there it is, right in front of my eyes. Not the image of the trees, but something too beautiful to call happenstance. Synchronicity. A small world.

The interconnectedness of all things.