Wild Flower Yoga
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.
From the baby’s soft spot in your crown
to the glistening sap root
in your sacrum runs
a hollow nerve that hums
with lightning.
This fire does not burn.
No method anymore.
Just follow
a thunderbolt of silence
Om to your toes.
Micro-movements invent themselves
from molten stillness.
Now it's your own dance.
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