[This piece was written for the Urban Alliance for Sustainability March 2007 Newsletter, available at www.uas.coop. I've been wanting to write this one for a few years, so enjoy!]
Yoga, be my lady. You are always there for me, and always here. When I am away, you welcome me back, with open eyes and flowing arms, without a word and nary a sound. During the noisy spans of your absence, I may not think of you, but secretly, subconsciously I long to be again aligned with your peace, your poise, your gentle grace. When I am with you, I am complete. I’ve never met anyone who knows me to my core and continues to give more and more, as only you can, as much as I am willing to accept, even when I’ve been away. Yoga, be my lady. Tonight, tomorrow, and every day hereafter.
Yes, you know me more than I know myself, yet I can grasp but a few of your eight-fold limbs. I call you Asana, the seat, or Pranayama, the vital life force. And I’ve flirted with you as Dhyana, contemplating truth and accepting nothing. Some know you as Yama, Yoga of abstentions, and still others as concentrated Dharana. Above all and permeating everything, you are Samadhi, the pure light of liberation, enlightened union of opposites.
Whether Asana or Pranayama or Dhyana, you bring new meaning to the mundane and light to the dark corners of habituation and sloth. Your Asana postures are no mere stretches or overly curious callisthenics — they bestow exertion sprinkled with exhilaration. Blood beating in my chest swells with air in my breast, lending a levity unparalleled by cardiovascular activity, leaving a smile radiating from the depths rather than on the lips. And when I arise in your presence, Dhyana, a simple sitting expands beyond plaster walls. Stone silence rings clear through dissolving mental chambers, healing the deep fissures of identity inherited from Mother Nature and Father Culture. My smile of depths basks in the understanding that there is so much more yet to accept from you, my mistress of inchoate Union.
Aware of your high ancient heritage, I am always honored by your presence, humbled by your attention. How many have you touched so intimately across the great divide of time and culture? How vast your wisdom accumulated? In spite of your munificence, you are always there for me, so long as I am ready to listen. You have navigated the waters of mind, body and emotion, transcended the chasm of desire and suffering, and delivered your pearly secrets to my front lobe, so long as I am willing to observe. Knowing your sacrifice, I, your devoted servant and ecstatic lover, pledge to listen and observe whenever I can cultivate the courage to join you. Being held in your bountiful gaze keeps me coming back, despite the distraction of calendars and commitments.
Lest my doting make you blush, fret not. I speak of myself when I utter your name, and through this, our union, I am me and not me. How am I not me? By absorbing you, by letting you in and breathing you out, I become more than I, more than LSG, more than son, brother, activist, friend, Earthling, lover, yet less, all the same. When we embrace, that dichotomous dualism fades into a blessed union of opposites. I am not me and you cease to be and molecules dance upon vibrations of breath, full and flowing into the same moment of meaning free from story and strife, tinged with joy and peace until you slip away and….
I come back to the mat, a stark contrast on the cushion, wondering when we shall meet again, though content with your deep radiant smile on my lips for the time being. Tonight maybe, tomorrow perhaps…the future definitely. Now, most hopefully.
Now. I need you, so stick with me, baby. Yoga, be my lady.
Filed under: Et Cetera, Real Writing
