The paperwork tangles of my daily life, the constant grocery lists, the long-distance problem solving, the weeding, weeding, weeding, all this exists in the same breath as a deep well of peace and possibility. I only know this if I feel the foundation of the earth that holds me, or the air slipping in and out through my nostrils. Working my shift at the food co-op, figuring out how to wash the hallway stairs in my apartment co-op, thinking about music choices for the classes I teach today, wishing an ease of pain to someone I love -- these are fragments of reflections of who I might be. I can choose to step with softness and joy even on a hard sidewalk, I can make this exhale just a little longer and find rest even as I prepare to take on a bureaucratic project.
That is the gift my yoga practice gives to me, and I know that there is nothing extraordinary about me that makes this available. It is there for any one who comes with willing spirit to this place of acceptance and non-judgment. You don't have to kneel to any icon, nor chant in any specific language to find the water in this well. And so I have stumbled upon it, after nearly half a century of life already lived in the panics and ecstasies of the human roller coaster experience. And now all I have to do is let my commitment make the space in my days to let go more and more as I go along. As I get closer to the edge, I hope my fingers let the earth slip away with grace, but, being human, I know anything can happen.