Yoga – Each Day I Begin

Yoga feels good.  It stretches me.  It strengthens me.  It breathes me.  It helps me become more connected with my body.  More connected with my breath.  More connected with my thoughts and emotions.  More connected with my spirit.  I feel different afterwards.  I feel new, refreshed, moved.  Rolling out my orange mat is a sacred time for me.  A time when I honor myself.  I honor myself just from rolling out that mat.  From chosing to begin, where ever I am.  Even if it’s just for a few poses right before bed, I have honored myself.  I committed to this practice, this daily practice, giving myself utter freedom, save I would do at least one pose a day.  One pose usually leads to another and the next thing I know I’ve spent 10 minutes, 15 minutes, 30 minutes on my mat.  Sometimes I throw a video or CD on and go for an hour or more.  Sometimes I visit a studio.  Some days I take it outside.  I see those dark pitchy spots on the bottom of my mat as a positive reminder of combining two of my favorite things, the outdoors and yoga.  I know where that pitch came from.  I know which pine tree in the arboretum I rolled the mat out under so I could use it to support me in head stand.  I remember the scent of the grass and the warm pine needles and pitch.  I remember looking at the world upside down.  I’ve done my yoga standing on an enormous glacial erratic along a trail I hiked.  I’ve done my practice on Short Sands Beach, the sounds of waves and surfers nearby, my hands slipping a little deeper into the sand, challenging me in my flipped dog.    Some times my practice becomes a free form expression of movement, mixing up all the various forms of yoga and dance and martial arts that I have learned and practiced over the years.  It’s all good, this movement of me, in all its forms, in all its breathing, in all its manifestations of what it wishes to become in that moment that I begin.

Maurie Flippering Her Dog on Short Sands Beach, Oregon.


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