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Wild Flower Yoga

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There are 196 verses in Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. Only three of them deal with asanas.... No one teaches yoga to a flower. Learn bending from her stem, what the hurricane cannot crush. Breathe from the seed. Abandon every sequence and routine. Your body is a river of postures flowing toward the ocean of repose. Valiant and gentle as an oak, stand and sway in the breeze of your own exhalation. Mind falls like a feather on your belly. The estuary of your lungs ebbing, rising, as you listen to the moon. Inhale the night, the emptiness into your bones. Feel your ligaments dissolve into swirling galaxies, your muscles washed in awareness rolling out of the ocean in every cell. A goddess guides you now, thinking not required. Your backbone is her wand of bewilderment. Your pelvis her boat, laden with its cargo of unborn stars. No Word of creation but an infinitesimal murmuring, the Godspell of your body, every molecule a hologram of the heart. Fr...
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A Morning Without Disaster

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Maybe the cosmos isn't out of tune. Maybe you're out of tune with your own broken heart. Let the sun take a Sabbath today. No flares, no drama. The stars recline in orbits of repose like elders on a summer porch in white wicker couches. The constellations wander whirling their parasols without going anywhere really. Look, it's happening again, just as it did one moment ago, the gentle flow of a silent stream you never slow down enough to float on. Right here, for a little while, there is no apocalypse, just a gentle revelation beneath your breastbone in the valley between breaths. Wash your doom away with gentle tears. It's not the end, or the beginning, just another day on earth, a world where every sparrow is an empath, every fawn an indigo child with star-splashed fur. Maybe this is the morning to celebrate your slightly bonkers yet uniquely kiltered bones, these fingertips, these eyes that let the...
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Robin's Egg (Video)

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It happened so softly, you thought it was a robin's egg,  tiny, edgeless, blue. But it was the sky in your chest... 
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Carry

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An awakened heart carries the pain that others can't bear. A boundless heart weeps cleansing tears without knowing why. The gift of tears is a sacrament, revealing that your hridaya only appears to be a separate particle, but is actually a wave in the ocean of Love, subtlest energy-field in creation. A friend feels both love and pain. We are all connected in the field of the heart. We are all friends of the Friend. Photo:  Aile Shebar
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