Today, the Atlantic winds are on holiday and the sea is flat. Undulating swells softly tumble against the rocky shore and invite you to dream of Poseidon's below kingdom. The tops of distant marching storm clouds are haloed in the sun's setting light while their trails of swarthy gray showers mark the deep blue horizon. A slow burn at the end of day conjures lizards to sunbathe on our patio and songbirds to express their sweetness, only showing themselves with their lilting melodies. This gentle hum lasts minutes before the sun falls behind Dorethea's hills and a chill sets in the air with twilight's arrival.
We've already passed the winter equinox and the days are getting longer, even if only by seconds. And the transitions from day to night continue to captivate. When I find myself on a lazy Sunday sitting out back, I practice the same open hearted discovery that stirs me in my morning ritual. I savor these in between moments of presence, witnessing the beginnings and endings of our natural light source. This precipice of what's coming and going reminds me of turning the thick vellum pages of Madeline as a young girl. I'm taken with that familiar desire of making sure I take in all of the yellows, blacks, greens, blues and purples of Bemelmen's artwork before having to know what is going to happen on the next page. For now, instead of stories before bedtime, it is end of day's peach and purple hues, the green to gray landscapes and the slate to indigo ocean that holds me in wonder and awe.
This in between fixation is like that held space between an inhale and and exhale. It's what gets discovered in moments of tension and surrender. There's the invitation to cultivate enough presence and awareness of sustained effort mixed with the trust that there will be another breath, another day to observe the waking and waning, another page to get lost in. There is so much that unfolds in a moment and when I can be still and listen attentively, I can't help but feel a life force that surrounds all of us. This awareness naturally happens when I am outdoors and in the elements, but it also happens in the mundane. I can be making dinner and all of a sudden the ginger, scallions, garlic, turmeric, coriander and cumin bring me to the homemade Indian dishes Ritu used to make for us when the kids were at The Montessori School. I recall all of us sitting around our white, oval kitchen table on Pine Point Road and watching the kids try dishes that were unfamiliar but special because their friend's mom made it. And just like that, my simple red lentil dish reminisces on another era- and I am caught in a moment of wonderful transition between now and then, struck by what comes to the surface because of a few spices mixed with coconut milk.
I realize that by practicing a grounding ritual daily, I am learning to undress a moment just because I can and it feels good to be held in awe, and, sometimes, anticipation. As I rekindle my role as a yoga teacher, this exercise is proving helpful. When putting together a class, I go into the nuance of each pose, layering the elements of what it takes to embody each movement and each transition, and then carefully assess which words to describe the effort. My practice of writing on this blog for over a year has been a big part of growing my confidence enough to express myself and find "my words."(Please note that while it is improving, each time I lead a class I have to talk myself out of a panic attack.) It is this practiced language and expression that informs my voice and intention as we go from plank to pigeon. This embodied presence allows me to invite my students to go inward and note their transitional space as they meet their edges, using their breath for both endurance and surrender. Like a sunrise or a sunset, I am creating a slow burn from one position to another and asking them to be centered in the moment, not to think about things beyond the mat, but to focus on what is within and what is possible on the mat. And if I can get folks to find stillness, to listen and to go silent, I am doing something right and sharing my most real self.
(Side note: these 3 words use the same 6 letters and all help each other achieve what each word represents- I love this!)
What do you do that helps you feel embodied and present? Do you have rituals that help you ground and find presence? I'd love to hear.
With a full (moon) heart,
St. Sunshine
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