On the Way to William Penn House for Tuesday Night Yoga Practice
As I write, big fat flakes of snow are falling against a pale gray sky that is struggling to turn to daylight. It is too early to know how much of the storm will be snow or freezing rain or just plain rain, though all are both possible and probable. If there is mostly snow or mostly rain, some of those I know will be sure to say the weather forecast is never right. My experience is that the weather forecasters are usually quite accurate about pointing out the probabilities and then sometimes the probabilities at the far end of the spectrum are the ones that happen, which makes the forecast apparently off the mark.
I am always entranced with the anticipation of a storm. It only takes the slightest shift in temperature in the atmosphere or a move of a degree or two of the pressure system for there to be a dramatic change in the outcome — a day of rain or a half an inch of ice or several inches of snow. I think all relationships — to places, jobs, people, illnesses, our meditation practices are like that. Just the subtlest shifts in atmosphere and attitude and the whole thing can seem completely different. What I continue to work on is to open to the best path that results from the combination of factors. If because of a less than optimal shift, there is an ice storm with power outages and downed wires and trees, then I try to learn why it happened, see the beauty, and try to shift in a better way. It is hard, and I do not always succeed, but I continue to make the effort.
I remember my first big icestorm. I was in high school and at a big party a few miles from my parents house. We were teenagers and mostly oblivious. We just thought it was raining and continued partying. At some point, we realized that everything was coated with ice, and then we needed to start calling on help to get home. It was disappointing to have the party end prematurely, but very exciting to have the wild and unusual weather. And the next morning, when the temperature dropped and the sun came out, the whole world glittered.
This morning, when I was walking to work, a young mother stood on the sidewalk talking with a friend. Her daughter, who was perhaps a little over a year and new to walking, lit up with a huge smile when I came within range. She dropped her mother’s hand and ran over to me, holding out a flower petal. That her hand was slightly grubby and the petal crumpled only made it more adorable.
Nearly eleven hours later, as I get ready to leave the office and head up to Takoma to teach a restorative yoga class, I find myself recalling the offering, with such innocence and joy, of the flower petal.
What we want to do with our practice and teaching is to have it be, at least on one level, such a spontaneous, delighted, and innocent offering that any perceived obstructions or interference with a sense of grace (such as a long hard work-day and attendant fatigue) dissolve. We can melt into the knowledge that practicing and making offering is just the right thing to bring us back to our own fullness (purna).
What we choose as the particulars of the practice, of course, will be tempered by our physical and mental condition.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
