Asanas and me.

 

My practice of yoga postures or asanas is the practice of creating space in my body so that when I leave my yoga mat, that space remains. Emotions and thoughts are free to enter and flow through my mind without attachment.

Asana is one part of my yoga practice. Sometimes my asana practice is difficult and messy. Sometimes I fall, and I get up again. I place my body in situations with mindful intention. For me, this translates off the mat into finding a bit more ease along life’s journey.

Asana practice is remembering that all things are impermanent. The discomfort or even fear in a pose is temporary, as is this precious human life.

Asana practice is a moving meditation for me.  When I am linking breath with movement, the only thing I can do is be present.

Asana practice is a tool and a metaphor for mindful living.

Set and an intention that is pure. Work mindfully toward the fulfillment of that intention. You will struggle. You may fall. You will get back up. You may lose your breath, and you will always come back to it. You will create the space to accept these truths because both the physical body and the mind are opened and tension is released. Judgement is abandoned and the present truth is accepted.

When practiced with pure intention in mind, asana practice creates positive energy and merit that we can then dedicate to other sentient beings in their struggle to find happiness.

Asana may be difficult, and for good reason. The difficulty of a balance like Warrior 3 is nothing compared to the intricacies of human relationships. It is what I learn on my mat with dedicated practice that guides me and helps me face truths about myself, others, and the world we live in. In facing these truths, I am always practicing yoga.

A flag doesn’t hold on to the wind, yet it couldn’t be more immersed in it. Our job is not to stop or gather the life of feeling but to let it keep moving through us, the way a flag opens itself to the wind.

-Mark Nepo  from The One Live We’re Given

tibetan_prayer_flags

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color me crusty.

Unless you are talking about bread, the word “crusty” can cause one’s mind to conjure up some pretty nasty images for sure.  Having had kids and TV over the past 10+ years, the first image that pops into my head is “The Krusty Crab,”  Mr. Krabs‘ restaurant in Bikini Bottom.  Home to the ultimate  burger- the Krabby Patty, flipped by none other than THE SpongeBob SquarePants.

Crusty is how I felt after this race.

Color Me Rad came to Boston, and man was I excited!!! A 5K run that was going to paint me beautifully…like a work of art.  Well, the day has come and gone, and I have a few photos to share until the professional one comes back.

The color spray that the runners get doused with is a corn starch mixture which magnificently forms a caked on, pasty mess when mixed with sweat.  I’m not seeing anything pretty about this.  I am no work of art, that’s for sure…

nice nose. Kinda like a toddler with black boogies.

nightmare on “my street.”

stunning “droopy drawers!”

The run was fun, but if you are planning on doing it when it comes to a city near you  let me know. (I’ll give you a few tips!)

P.S. I spared you from the image that looks like it’s straight out of the movie “Carrie.” Maybe for Halloween.

on track.

Ever read those running magazines that give you hints on how to improve your speed in races?  Mind you, I consider the word “race”  a swear word and rarely use it in my vocabulary unless necessary.  I walk away from competition.  Always have.  You can have him, her, or it if you really want whatever it is that badly.  Go ahead, really.  Just take it.  I’m not gonna fight ya.

There are very few exceptions to this rule in my life.

That being said, I ventured to the track today, magazine in hand, to experiment with some drills to improve my speed.  Above everything my aching body may have gained, the amusement I provided my fellow track mates was the best part of the workout.  I chirped and chattered out loud about how slow and pathetic and old I am.  My self critique was colorful, filled with profanity aimed as how disappointed I was in myself.  There were also outbursts of pure hysterical laughter at how uncoordinated I must have looked to those aliens watching me from outer space.  (a story for later)

A humbling experience.

You know what though?  I’m going back.  Me, myself, and I.  We are all going back.  Because.  I.  Believe.

(insert smiley face looking extremely apprehensive here.)