“There is no joy without gratitude.”
I’m not sure whose praises to sing first. My own for getting up early to drive Casey to work so that I could squeeze in a morning class in this very full day. My teacher for his faithfulness to the practice over a lifetime and the deep well from which he leads with humility and humor and grace. The ancient practitioners who created this union, this yoking–of body/mind/spirit–that we call yoga. This miracle of a body inside which an unfathomable web of communication happens on my behalf–with each breath, each movement, each prayer & intention. The bodies of the women in front of me in class, ten, twenty years my senior, shapely and supple, returning to the mat after each loss and surgery and every weekend indulgence. The blooming of the first tulips which I overlooked on my way into the studio.
(Shout out to Scott Willis at Hits The Spot Yoga at Solar Hill.)
Note: Although this was my very first blog, I rarely post here unless a piece of writing can’t find a home in one of these blog “offspring” where I attend, like one might to children, more frequently…
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