Impermanence
Sometimes I find myself like a butterfly folding its wings. Like any other state, it is impermanent.

Sometimes I find myself like a butterfly folding its wings. Like any other state, it is impermanent.

Although incorporation of practice (and the mindset of making everything a dedicated practice) ideally becomes routine, actually practicing should be a never routine, freshly curious, heartfelt engagement. In that regard, I try not to get inured to seeing the signs in the neighborhood.

The elevator I rode to my fifth floor office this morning was very full. Several of the people in the elevator were wearing visitor badges. As I walked on, I heard a woman say to a colleague, “…if you get a good one, they can do amazing things. I had a frozen shoulder, and it was just incredible the change from the physical therapist. I highly recommend [don’t remember the name].” Her colleague, who evidently had extremely limited range of motion and a limp from something with his hip, said, “that would be great, but I don’t have time for something like physical therapy.” They got off (slowly) on a lower floor, leaving me and someone I know who works on my floor.
“He obviously does not want to heal or change if he doesn’t have time for physical therapy for something that is debilitating,” I said. “He would vehemently deny it, if you told him that,” replied my co-worker. The reality is that if we want to change or heal or grow, we have to make an intention and then stick with it. Whether it is healing an injury through therapeutic yoga and/or physical therapy or a more internal shift sought through yoga, we must be steady and committed to our intention.
Even though not documented much recently, the garden has moved into summer effulgence. It is a place of curiosity, wonder, and delight. What brings you joy and nourishment in these troubled times that are calling for ever more engagement?
