Beavers

Beavers: 

there was a time, over two decades ago now, when beavers made their way to my small neighbor pond and established their home there. They were beautiful to see, a sign of true wildlife it seemed to me, adapting a man made park into their habitat and creating a brand new ecosystem in the process. It wasn't meant to be though, or at least not for very long, as neighbors complained over the possibility of homes being damaged, property values lowered due to an alter landscape, and, I believe, a certain amount of fear as well, with even a small amount of wilderness being found not so far from their doors. 

by this I don't mean a concern for their personal safety, but a more primal fear, the thought that we're not in as complete environmental control as we wish to believe. Beavers don't alter the landscape any more than humans do, and in fact, in the change they bring is most often an environmental boon, a vast improvement to the trim and proper park space that we demand. 

beavers are ecological engineers, knowing inherently what an area most needs.

being wiser then we are in their connection to the land. 

there are several connecting neighborhoods that sustain a small population of beavers. I see them occasionally on my longer walks and runs. Each time I send a silent invitation for them to make their way to my small pond once more, hoping that maybe this time we'll be more welcoming and find a way to adjust ourselves to change. It's a small hope though, as it seems that humans are often slow to learn, believing that we have the final say on how nature should be shown.

of course we're wrong.

forgetting that we're simply a small aspect in this infinite display of ever changing wilderness. And truly, it's all wilderness, every last tract of land connected to an endless ecosystem that ultimately contains oceans, stars and furthest galaxies as well. We're part of this, and not in control at all, we have no final say on the course of nature, But our beliefs that we do cause great and grave danger. We alter landscapes so drastically that the environment struggles for balance. 

we've forgotten our own inherent wisdom.

our deep ecological connection. 

 perhaps beavers can remind us of this, showing us that we can alter a place for our homes and yet still offer room for a wilderness's expression. We need a reminder that we're not ultimately in charge, that right now we know so little of our eventual impact on the world. Unless it's already too late, proving indeed that it's humans that are the invasive species on this planet.  

but maybe we can learn from beavers.

other species too. 

teaching us that we belong to wilderness.

that it's inherently who we are. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Prayer

Prayer: 

my morning now unfolds as a prayer, softly so, a silent communication between myself and the world that greets me. It always begins with a simple thank you, once more I find myself alive, my breath easy and my body ready to serve me through the day - I've been granted all this without any request, a blessing, and one that I no longer take for granted. 

I am grateful to be alive.

and saying thank you is my prayer each morning.

from there I am immediately sitting in meditation, first with breathwork and then a soft repetition of mantra guides me into stillness until it's then let go - I am settled into silence, even more restful than the entire night of slumber, yet sharply aware as well, a unique expression of aliveness. This is my part of true prayer, no longer really a communication, it's too seamless now, silent, there's no point to offer any thoughts or words as everything is already instantly known across the deep silence of this infinite field of pure beingness. 

I sit like this until there's an inclination to move.

and then my prayer begins as motion. 

lasting through the day. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Kenosis

Kenosis: 

the mantra is always my surrender, each return to thinking it's subtle sound empties me a little more of every previous conceptions of my role in meditation. It's the mantra that does the work here, acting as a form of kenosis, my own small will let go so that something entirely more powerful plays through. As I continuously come back to the mantra, no matter how many times my thoughts might lead me astray, a great silence eventually prevails...

and that is my surrender.

I love the term kenosis, being from the contemplative tradition of Christianity, but universal in its meaning. The word implies a prayerful plea of emptying ourselves of control by ego and to be filled by God's divine will, our actions now guided by a touch of grace that steers us through life's hardships. My meditation is a natural kenosis, with the mantra being a vibrational prayer that leads me ever deeper to my one self-surrender, an already present field of grace and silence. The great truth of kenosis is that I'm already empty of any sense of a permanent self, only my beliefs in its reality linger slightly, a return to ego-form that plays a certain role in my everyday life. 

my mantra carries me past this role.

a kenosis of revealing myself as capacity for life to play through.

it's a self answering prayer,

already granted.

 even as I think my mantra.

~

Peace, Eric 

Softly Whispering

Softly whispering: 

I love the 4:00 a.m quiet, when only sounds of necessity are made and even those are hushed softly though the air it seems. I wake earlier still, first meditating and then yoga, easing up to the magic of this threshold between night and approaching dawn, readying myself for an hour's worth of writing. 

there's magic here, mystery.

softly whispering.

and sometimes, if lucky, a few words filter through, as if translated from silence into something I might easily understand. These become my starting theme for writing, ideas forming from those first subtle whispers of this early hour. 

it never fails.

yet only if I'm patient, listening to silence for its own sake, not to capture words, but for the benefit of simply being still, matching my pace to the slow approach of dawn. There's never any hurry to these hours, an ancient length to light's arrival, and this gives cause for me to settle in and wait, knowing that everything comes exactly as it's supposed to, as it always has, and this includes my inspiration. 

it never fails. 

yet only if I'm patient, listening to silence for its own sake.

trusting that there's magic here.

mystery.

softly whispering in tones of inspiration. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Attending to the Breath

Attending to the breath: 

simply attending to the breath, this has become my default yoga practice, no matter what posture I find myself in, I keep returning to the anchor of breath, a constant reminder of life being played as a subtle breeze of motion through the quiet fields of pure awareness. The breath reminds me that these aren't separate things, feeling its passage is the experience of life and to be alive implies that I'm inherently aware, already noted by sensation of breath throughout my body. 

it's the singular event of my existence. 

that everything is motion.

known through the apparent stillness of being aware. 

it's the paradox of breathing. 

a personal koan.

only meant to be experienced. 

simply attending to the breath, being my always present practice of yoga, an instant meditation that brings me to the core of each experience, seeing how there truly are no separate events, but only life in its various guise of motion, playing through the quiet fields of its own awareness. 

truly, there's nothing more for me to know,

simply attending to the breath...

as it whispering its secrets. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Slower Inspiration

A slower inspiration: 

some morning the words aren't so forthcoming, there's no block to their arrival, it's just not their time to flow towards the page. I'm content to sit in silence, coffee at hand, waiting by sip and enjoying the bitter taste and warmth of cup. Sometimes a few word appears with an urge to be written, not yet making themselves known as a theme, but I've learned to trust this slower inspiration, that everything will come together in its own perfect way. 

exactly when it's supposed to. 

years ago, when I first started writing daily, my promise was words on the page and it didn't matter how few or if they had any great meaning. The goal was to be a writer and there were no excuses to not practice my craft of writing. None. Not even when it seemed that words might not appear and there was little enthusiasm present to the task. Overtime I've come to the conclusion that writing has it's own pace, a rhythm that will make itself known to me each morning, sometimes drastically different then the day before, yet always existing as an undercurrent of quiet inspiration. 

my role as a writer is to be ready to receive.

patient.

trusting the pace of a slower inspiration. 

and just like that, writing happens, a page is complete, or perhaps only a few words carefully crafted and offered as a token to the page, It's the ritual that matters, showing up, open, and being willing to wait indefinitely in silence for words to appear. 

and they do. 

with their own pace and rhythm...

exactly when they're supposed to. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving: 

it's an entire day devoted to being thankful, a remembrance of all that's been given by the grace of life and the things we've earned. I love the essence of Thanksgiving, what it represents beneath its growing material concerns - that there is reason, right now, for us all to be grateful. 

no mater how subtle the reason seems to be.

I remind myself of this each morning, starting each day of with a thank you to the universe at large. There was a time when I might have said this to God, but through the years the term has lost some meaning behind it, no longer having a devotional feel, and I simply feel more comfortable offering my devotion and gratitude to life. No one argues that we're alive and this alone is a reason to give thanks. So I acknowledge this, that I'm alive and by this virtue I am granted so much and with little effort given, an abundance of air for first conscious breath of the morning, the circulation of blood streaming through my veins, and the infinite things that cause my body to function with a sense of ease.

certainly I'm blessed. 

my day soon turns into a demonstration of these blessings, sitting in an easy posture for meditation, breathwork that wakes me fully for the day ahead, and then a salutation to the sun, not yet risen, but soon to light my day. I don't really need to invoke a sense of gratitude through any of this, it's already present in my motion, a continuous reminder of the grace of being alive. 

it's the most beautiful part of my day.

so it's the morning after a holiday as I write this, the recognized day of gratitude is over and a season of giving now begins. It's a seamless transition, from Thanksgiving to offering ourselves as service to the world. We are asked to give in the same grace as we've been gifted, a return of favors, and through this the coming days will indeed be holy. 

if only we remember. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Softer Revelations

Softer revelations: 

to just continue on with life, living simply and with ease - of the many insights and revelations gathered through years of self-study and quiet contemplation, that one seems the most profound of all. Even as it arrived in such a subtle fashion. At this point in my life there's no need to make things larger than they need to be, it's these softer revelations that are most meaningful to me, a paradigm shift of little notice to the world but causing me to smile in joy and wonder. 

these softer revelations call for me to explore my day to day existence, an enlightened sense of curiosity that doesn't demand an explanation to be found, nor stories that might pose as answers. There's no narration involved with this, only life continuing with its flow, carrying me along in easy participation, each moment being seamless to the next.  

I'm asked simply to be alive. 

to be curious. 

nothing more. 

and truly that's enough for me, life provides all the answers needed, spontaneously, and just as any question might arrive. I'm not a grand seeker, there's no quest here that compels me on an endless quest for liberation. Right now I'm as awakened as I'll ever be - and that alone is cause for me to smile, allowing these softer revelations to continue to unfold. 

and I simply go on living. 

curious. 

exploring each moment that's been given. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just Enough to Matter

Just enough to matter: 

winter solstice is just about a month away, with the least amount of light shown for any day of the year, winter begins, and usually I find myself sliding towards my own darkest hours of depression. It's not strictly seasonal, there's no annual rhythm to my lowest moods. But the short, cold days of winter certainly bring the worst to me. Yet there's a promise here too - after solstice is a shift towards more light, if only slightly at first, maybe barely noticed by my mind, but registered by eyes and body, a subtle response as I find myself opening to the presence of this extra sunlight. 

sometimes even the smallest thing, maybe barely noticed...

is just enough to matter. 

it's that way with a lot of things, important for me to consider with my wellness practice, how diet, yoga, meditation, and the smallest daily actions add to ability to navigate some of those darker days. What I find is that it's never just one point that comes to me aide, it's the entirety of my practice, from first moment of gratitude for upon rising to the breathwork I use to close the day and prepare for slumber. 

everything counts.

even if barely noticed.

this is far less monotonous is detail than it might seem, really almost the opposite, as even the most well planned structure of my day now feels entirely spontaneous. There's a seamlessness to these events, continuously catching me by surprise as I find them arriving to my day. Yes, it's certainly a paradox, and one I embrace completely, a healing process, small things that add to a growing sense of joy. All of them being just enough to matter. 

to me at least.

and so a find myself without the former dread that used to face me during these shorter days. My mood still shifts in darkness occasionally, sometimes often. But it seems to be one more spontaneous appearance to me now, not lasting for days, simply clouds that fill my mind, yet an ever present spaciousness still remains, untouched by thoughts-clouds in their passing. I have no idea why this has occurred, it feels to be a bit of a healing, not a cure really, a shift, slight....

yet just enough to matter.

~

Peace, Eric 

With the Mystics

With the mystics: 

although I'm no longer a Christian, not by faith or practice, there remains a deep love for the traditions and teachings of the mystics, how they traveled against orthodoxy to their own inner revelations and dared to share it with the world. Some of the finest insights of non-duality come from this tradition, with quotes from Meister Eckhart fitting in easily with those of Ramana Maharshi. I still return to their teachings, finding a long familiar sense of love that seems to always reach me. 

it seems my faith still remains with the mystics. 

an important quote that I often return to is from Catherine of Siena, who wrote the much loved line..."all the way to heaven is heaven. More follows, but it's those seven words that so deeply affects me, accurately describing my practice of yoga, meditation, and immersion in nature perfectly. My practice is my arrival, it's not aimed in any particular destination other than my own inner experiences. 

all the way to awakening...is awakening. 

I am with the mystics here, my meditation cushion connects me with the prayer mats of the Desert Fathers of long ago, we meet in the very same interior silence, a seamless realization of the singularity of our existence. I remain with the mystics, not by faith or even practice, but through the deep love we experience in this silence, a holiness found that defies every other word in its description. The words of Meister Eckhart ring so true to me now, that the man of God never rejoices, because he is joy itself. The word God is less important than the joy of my experience, it's trivial in comparison. When I'm with the mystics, silent, with no use for words...

all the way to joy is joy. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Beliefs

Beliefs: 

so I'm going to wade into the muddy waters of the transgender debate here, but just slightly, no deeper than my ankles and then I'll dive into the deeper aspects of the point I wish to make. Yesterday I watched a portion of a video where a young man talked of how he taught his son that there were only two genders, claiming it was obvious and scientific. Which isn't, in either of his observations, with gender being an inner experience that can't be discerned so easily by others and science showing that it is a multidimensional construct of  near endless possibilities to be displayed. 

what the young man was teaching his song were his own beliefs. 

and so the world continues on its way. 

that's how it works, beliefs being passed down to us, inherited from others, and we never really give pause to wonder if any of it is even true. Unless we're lucky, and somewhere along the way we're blessed with the opportunity to question our beliefs, inquiring of other possibilities, curious as to why we believe the way we do. I'm not sure why this happens to some and not to others, what causes the good fortune to be able to break free from the limited conditions our inherited world seems to offer. 

I'm certainly happy that it sometimes does though. 

that older paradigms are broken.

and new ones come to light. 

in no way am I insinuating that anyone is wrong here, only that we're all caught in a loop of self-deception without any sense of even knowing that we're trapped. Yoga psychology calls this Advidya, our inability to see our true self, unaware of being caught within near endless patterns of thoughts and beliefs. 

ignorant even of our own ignorance.  

continuing indefinitely.

or at least until the cycles broken. 

and it does get broken, maybe not often, but enough so that another paradigm is shifted into present culture, Our lives expand to hold greater possibilities as we surrender previous concerns for the continuation of those limiting beliefs. 

we learn to see outside our self-deceptions. 

most often gradually. 

but sometimes with a leap into a brand new world. 

and so in closing, I offer only this...

stay curious my friends, 

of all we think we know,

and more so,

the ever greater unknowns of the world. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Quality of Light

Quality of light: 

walking so early in the morning has brought me a bit more aligned with the quality of light these hours offer, how the seasons aren't just marked on a calendar and known by warmth or chill in the air, but that light arrives on the horizon at different points of time, and first hint is often missed if not mindful of its ever changing appearance. It's late autumn now and the sun doesn't properly rise until much later, well after my earliest walk is done. Yet I still catch it's presence peeking through, subtle, darkness of night having shifted to the faintest glow of dawn approaching. 

each morning offers me a different show, the quality of light being so vast in its display. Seasons seem to roll through in moments of soft glow, measured by the absence or gain of light, infinitely small changes and barely noticed if not immersed in these morning hours. I love walking through the seasons, gaining and losing light through the passage of time and yet always arriving to its presence. 

that first hint...

it's like arriving home. 

a holiness of first light. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Subtle Energies

Subtle energies: 

it's the more subtle energies of yoga that truly gathers my attention, working with the breath to touch those finer points of prana, meditation unfolding in an ever deepening silence, and the original intent of asanas becoming more known as I hold each pose in a calm and sure manner. But it's my commitment to the ethical concerns of yoga that holds my attention now, the Yamas and Niyamas, first two of the eight-limb path, perhaps most subtle of all in the energies they present. 

subtle to the point of being overlooked. 

I think this is mainly due to how they're initially encountered, reading them first as instructions for how a yogi should live, being seen as moral guidelines for one to follow. Which they are, but only overtly so, with those subtle energies becoming more apparent as their practice deepens far past the point of being mere observances, acting now as channels for some higher energy that unfolds mysteriously throughout my life. 

subtle energies indeed. 

and with renewed commitment to their practice I finally see how the path of yoga is connected as a whole, each limb being essential to its tree of wisdom. The Yamas and Niyamas are the first limbs for a reason, they're vital in preparation for all that follows, cleansing, refining my senses to better handle such sacred, pure energies. It seems my life is being built as a foundation for those finer, more subtle energies to flow through, that I'm becoming transparent, an easy expression of life's creative forces at play. My yoga is ever deepening, a full practice now, whole.

and still very much a mystery. 

subtle energies indeed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

World

the post pandemic world hasn't offered me a return, or perhaps it has and for some reason I have refuse to take it, being withdrawn now to my own particular way of living. I think of the many things lost during these past two years, my father and the role of caregiver, a small business gone, and the near countless little things that simply never returned. It just doesn't seem that there's a normalcy for me to come back to, and honestly, I've yet to truly make the effort. 

and I'm not really sure why. 

maybe it's because I would have to make an effort, it would feel forced and unnatural now, superficial, being another world that could be taken from me in an instant. I'm at scorched earth at this point, bare essence, and not looking to rebuild so much as to find my way to a completely new world. I'm ready for a quiet way of living. 

a new way of being.

of course this makes me sound reclusive, a hermit in the suburbs shying away from people. But honestly, from my perspective, it feels more engaging, selective, intimate. The people that I encounter hold a place of deep meaning for me, no ones a stranger, it seems as if the universe has conspired to bring each person to this moment and that we get to share this as an occasion of significance. Almost holy. My new world is welcoming, yet guarded too, not from others, but being more protective of my time and the rituals that have developed over the course of these last few years. 

my life if built upon the things I most truly love. 

and yes, this too will change, a different world might well intrude, or perhaps I'll be blessed with an urge to build something entirely new, opening myself to ever greater possibilities. I have no idea what might happen, but right now I'm content with this quiet way of living, there's a deep calm to my days that was absent before, and there's little wish to return to a sense of being rushed, or any hectic activities. 

there is some sadness here too, a low level mourning for all that's gone. And maybe my life is a process of coming to terms with all that''s been lost. That's most like so, but it's exactly how I find myself, and being any other way would be forced, inauthentic, and living life on the surface of any deeper meaning. 

maybe it's just a quiet life of mourning. 

and exactly what's needed/

~

Peace, Eric

Samskaras

Samskaras: 

so really, my practice isn't meant to lead anywhere, nor to achieve a certain sense of liberation.It's only a process of softening now, loosening the lifelong grip of emotional patterns that still hold me in reactions and a too quick response in my thoughts and interactions. In yogic terms these are samskaras, energetic structures grooved into our internal framework, a fallback response offered without hesitation and only later realized that its been given - if even thought of at all. It's a psychological process, instantaneous, and has been built in place since childhood. 

or maybe even before.

yoga is the practice of softening samskaras hold, perhaps just a bit at first, gaining a little more awareness as to how thoughts play out to actions. Yoga seems to slow the process of reactions down, giving me the briefest pause and allowing a more creative avenue of expression to unfold. Through my practice I begin to lessen my reliance on these automatic responses, there's a growing sense of spontaneity and a choice-less offering of true compassion. 

seeming to grow more so as my practice deepens.  

there's no rush here, my entire life has been spent in service to these energetic pasterns that have always seemed beyond my realization, as if they were a part of me, permanent in their hold. Yet I find that simply being aware of them now changes my reactions, it's a more natural yoga, spontaneous and spacious in the responses that are offered. It's the truest compassion, not chosen, but has always been the very fabric of my existence, only waiting patiently to gain my notice. 

so really, my practice isn't meant to be anything other than the natural expression of yoga, a softening, and then completely letting go. 

a more spontaneous yoga now.

~

Peace, Eric 

Foundation

Foundation: 

it's always the foundation for me, returning to the Yamas and Niyamas,the first two limbs of the yogic path, and often even narrowed down to just one aspect of this practice. It's beautiful how these principles deepen over the years, or that more truly, my ability to open myself up to their potential has grown, allowing them to be more fully expressed throughout my life. These are generally referred to as ethical guidelines, not rules, but merely suggestions to help a yogi navigate life in a truly meaningful and caring way. Again, they are the foundation of yoga, everything else is built up their practice. I'm always drawn back to them, a gentle return, arriving to a new and deeper understanding each time. 

of course I never really stray from them, or not far at least, they're too crucial to my practice. Yet it often seems that a specific one will call me back to explore it through a new light, that I've a reached a point in my life that I might be ready to express a certain principle more fully now, artfully, as if a seed that had been planted long ago has reached a point of blossom. 

so more truly, my foundation is a garden.

right now, it's Aparigraha that seems to call me. There's a deeper understanding here, or perhaps a more urgent call to practice. Aparigraha is translated as non-hoarding, or non-greed, it the practice of freeing ourselves from attachment to not just material things, but valued thoughts and beliefs as well. What it offers is a path to freedom, surrendering what's most cherished for spaciousness of mind. This isn't about getting rid of our possessions and living frugally, it's simply being free of our attachment to the impermanent things of the world. 

it's about awareness. 

in this light, even my practice is surrendered, not really a solid foundation at all, but just a spontaneous arsing of my most natural tendencies. I am by my very nature free and open, non-attached to any particular idea and unencumbered by beliefs. My practice only serves as a reminder of this, a call back to return to my essential nature.

it's a foundation of infinite measure...

boundless.

~

Peace, Eric 

Yoga Begins

Yoga begins: 

my yoga begins straight from bed, perhaps earlier still on first waking and an acknowledgement of being alive and grateful for another morning. After this I am almost immediately in asana, sukhasana, easy pose, and this is my seat for meditation. It's all yoga after this, a foundation of practice of all eight limbs, nothing overt, just a quiet life devoted to a path I love. 

that's the beautiful thing of practice, no one has to know that I'm a yogi, and yet everyone I meet is vital to my path. Yoga begins with the Yamas, the ethical restraints that allow us to express ourselves through the full potential of being human, peaceful, honest, and content. These are the things that I keep returning to, a true practice of mistakes and self-correction, never being concerned with how often it seems I fail, as there is no measure to the path I'm on, there's no journey, nor final destination. 

each step is the immediacy of my arrival. 

yoga begins exactly where I am.

always. 

for me, it's a joyful path, I'm not striving for anything beyond my practice, it's all just enough for me right now, a true fulfillment without purpose outside my own commitment. It's a quiet life of practice, one that doesn't demand my adherence, nor punishes if I stray, but is always its own reward, a spontaneous sense of joy and curiosity arising through my day. What this all amounts to is a life of simplicity and ease, practicing yoga for its own sake, no need for anything more. 

my yoga really has no true beginning.

it's starts exactly where I am. 

always.

~

Peace, Eric

No Great Effort

No great effort: 

the misconception is that the mantra is endlessly chanted, deployed as a means to drive our every thought away - yet this isn't at all what's actually occurring, this isn't about concentration, nor is the mantra being continuously repeated in a forceful way. It's much more subtle than that, joyful, simply thinking a personal vibration in a gentle manner, softly, allowing it take us deep within a silent place of being. 

no great effort is required.

really, the mantra is just a faint impression, playing easily through the mind, not forcing our attention but allowing it to come to the mind completely on its own. We think the mantra and the subtle quality of its vibration carries us within. Our purpose is only to remember and there's no qualifying factors here. We're not asked to repeat the mantra any set amount of times and there's no requirements on how often it must be recalled. 

we think the mantra in a comfortable, easy fashion. 

coming back to it when it's forgotten.

no great effort is required. 

and with this - 

we find ourselves in meditation.

~

Peace, Eric 

Cosmology of Existence

Cosmology of existence: 

as if it's only a present moment cosmology, my universe in creation right now and that there's never been a truer origin than this. This is the theory that I attest to, no further proof needed than my own conclusion that all I can ever really know is what happens each instant, everything else being merely a story of creation and not first hand to my experience. 

it's my own cosmology of existence. 

it seems a bit senseless to talk about the Big Bang as a past event, that it occurred and everything after is a repercussion of its expansion. Every cosmological event is right now, a variety of the original experience that's still in play. My life is a continuation of the Big Bang, an expression of consequence, part of this great and ongoing expansion. 

my own cosmology of existence. 

or so it seems to me.

truly though, I can only trace my origin to this exact moment, with the entire universe coming into actuality right now for me to even be a possibility. That's the cosmology of my reality, nothing is out of place, and that somehow there's a divine order being followed that belongs only to this moment, creation providing for its very own existence. 

it seems enough for me to know. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Epiphany

Epiphany: 

honestly, I'm not sure if it's helpful to talk about how I quit drinking alcohol, it was a personal event of grace, an epiphany, and they don't really transfer to another's experience. I think it might be better to just assure people that those moments happen, that they're entirely possible, and more so, ground work can be laid for their likelihood. Of course there's never a guarantee, sobriety isn't a promise, and grace is always the work of mystery. 

but still...

we can make ourselves ready for its appearance.  

for me, the ground work for my particular epiphany with drinking was meditation, how it softened my ego grip on the identity of a drinker, not even noticeably at first, but just enough for the right moment to floor me with the certainty of a revelation. The epiphany was seeing two paths of my life unfold before me - the one I was on could continue, or, I could simply drop that identity completely, being reborn right now as a non-drinker. So I stepped towards sobriety and in that instant I was no longer someone who cared to drink or be in bars. There was no struggle with this new identity, it wasn't another ego role to play, but more of a change of a cell level, or maybe even quantum, as if every particle was taken from me and examined, held to a discerning light before cleansed or replaced entirely. 

an epiphany changes us at the deepest level of our being. 

and that's the thing about being reborn, the past exists as a faintest memory, but has no sure hold on us any longer. It's like waking from a dream, quite literally so, details from even the most vivid nightmare begin to fade the moment we awaken. I was reborn in an instant, an epiphanous event, a sudden drop of all I had previously known and an invitation to now live through the grace of mystery. 

it wasn't promised to be easy.

only different than my life before. 

and for whatever reason...

I chose mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Seasons

Seasons: 

still an hour or so before sunrise and things are at their quietest, there's a sense that's nature's less disturbed by my presence. I'm more vulnerable now, open to shadows and the soft light of moon and stars. My body is responsive to the slightest sound, not overtly so, but on a keen edge, listening through skin as well as ears, deeply, to the point of hearing how the seasons change. 

what I hear is that there's never truly just one season at a time.

there's shades of summer still present even as autumn slides on towards early winter, only a hint -perhaps a lone bullfrog, lured by a false warmth, gives a call, receiving no reply, it's every companion buried in deep earth for the duration of these colder mornings. I walk through these changes, listening, secrets shared, as even my own body whispers of a growing age, taking a bit longer to reach a comfortable stride as winter nears. There's always an ongoing conversation, communication taking place between layers between layers of a single world. 

walking through the seasons, 

earliest hours,

I'm learning to listen. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Saving the World

Save the world: 

I have no answers to the world's problems, not even the simplest ones. There seems to be so many right now, and most are extremely grave in their concerns. It's overwhelming to believe that I could possible be of any aide, or part of the solution. Yet I'm the only one who can do anything to help, it's my responsibility to save the world. 

but only through my own salvation. 

this isn't meant in any religious sense, it's not about saving individual souls and then guiding them to heaven. It's actually much more important than that, personal, and creating my own peaceful atmosphere of existence that steadily ripples forward. 

saving myself to save the world. 

in a way, it's like the Maharishi Effect, how the founder of Transcendental Meditation claimed that if only a small portion of a given area meditated, one percent he believed, than the entire population would benefit from their effort. I have no idea if this is true, nor if I believe it's plausible, and honestly, it doesn't matter - my effort is to shift my own inner-world to a more peaceful state of being, and from here to simply extend it onward, a single moment at a time.  

it's an easy plan of action. 

of course this doesn't exclude any other plans, but it seems that nothing else has worked so far, that we're locked into a view of how slowly it takes us to evolve - and we really don't have the luxury of time any longer. The time for change is now. Starting with each of us, a battle plan of an inner-evolution, learning to sit still and be at home, peacefully, wherever we are. 

peace begins here, with ourselves alone. 

and this is how we save the world. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Coffee

Coffee: 

I've written at length about my one cup of coffee for the day, tying it to both my yoga practice and my time writing, as well as how I often use it as a mindfulness tool to bring a sense of gratitude to my mornings. After my father's death I found myself contemplating our connection through coffee, with my mother too, how there was always a pot of coffee brewed, a ritual of being close together, a shared moment between us through certain points of life. It could just as easily been something else, another action of preparation and enjoyment. 

but for us, it was coffee. 

it's only one cup a day for me now, being better for me, and more so, a limited amount deepens my appreciation, causing me to be mindful of each sip taken and grateful for the role it's played in my life. There's never a morning that I don't note this significance, and really, I have no idea exactly why - there are infinite things that connect me to my parents, and other rituals I perform each morning that help prepare me for the day.  

but for me, it's coffee. 

it's an invaluable tool for writing, an aide in times of silence, reaching for my long used cup and sipping through my wait for words. This is my sign of patience, displaying my faith that words will soon appear and that I am content within the moment. It's as much as part of my writing as words are, a tool, and as I like to believe, used with a certain sense of skill involved. A mindful sip, taking advantage of the pause after a flow of words, is a reminder to ease myself of tension, relaxing in the silence, and that this too is an essential part of writing. There's no rush, I'm not reaching for ideas, but only sipping coffee, trusting that more words will appear before my cup is through. 

and they always do. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Matsyasana

Matsyasana; 

different asanas come into favor in my practice, certain aspects of the pose being just what I need physically, and equally as often, emotionally. This usually happens quite spontaneously, a pose captures my attention without specific reason but then quickly becomes exactly what I need to explore right now, opening me to new possibilities of its expression. What I most love is how a long familiar becomes brand new, seen in a completely different light and excitement builds to see where it will take me. Yoga is a continuous rediscovery of the body as well as mind, less of a journey really than it is an exploration of the infinite fields of my existence. 

a constant love affair of  my truest self. 

at this time, my practice pulls me towards Matsyasana, fish pose, urging me to stay in this posture just a bit longer and breathe more deeply in its hold. This is an energetic pose, opening the front of the body for a more complete breath, stretching the neck, and lengthening the spine through an easy curve. One ancient yogic text claimed that Matsyasana is the destroyer of all disease and there is no doubt that it is highly beneficial. I think for me, this pose is about reopening myself to the world, being more fearless in exposing my heart center and trusting my own sense of empathy and compassion. I'm called to express Matsyasana early in the morning, my first yoga session, as if offering myself to the arriving light of dawn, giving my heart to one more day. 

my entire yoga practice is of sequence, asanas built in specific order to compliment one another, opening energy centers in an easy alignment. No single asana has more significance than the entirety of the practice - yet sometimes, my body tells me exactly what is needed, a deep wisdom speaks through the spine and urges me to favor a certain posture. Maybe not for long, but for the exact time it's needed, and I've come to trust this inner call. 

and so for now...

Matsyasana has my favor. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Walking in the Dark

Walking in the dark: 

mostly now, this time of year and with the sun rising later, my earliest walks are experienced as sound, catching a stir along the edge of woods or feet scurrying just ahead of me. I see far less wildlife, only stumbling upon a quick shadow that dives from my view, or an occasional early waking deer to hungry to be afraid of lonely walker. At first this was a disappointment, seeing less of nature, missing the first glimpse of the sun's arrival. I'm walking in the dark, sometimes moon and starlit, avoiding artificial light as often as I'm able - and that initial disappointment has to turned to wonder, these darker hours being far more mysterious, causing me to pause more often and listen more deeply, hearing sounds I might have missed only a few months before. 

it's the same grounds, 

but a different walk entirely.

there's a reluctance to use my small flashlight, reserving it for times when the path disappears completely from my view. Even then I try and settle in place, allowing my eyes to adjust better to the dark. My wish is to belong as much as possible, to be part of nature and not at all a disturbance, meeting these hours on their terms and not my own demands. Of course I often fail, curiosity getting the better of me and offering a quick shine of light in a dark direction. But my intent is honest and I do my best to honor the predawn hours through whatever they offer and not be too intrusive. 

my reward for this is patience and finding myself more at ease in these lonely hours. Walking in the dark sharpens my instincts and intuition, catching a sound in the instant it occurs and immediately pausing in stride, no attempt to identify anything just yet, but to simply allow the experience of sound and mystery to unfold on its own. There's no rush during these during these hours, things will be revealed, or they won't, and I've come to accept the infinite mysteries of walking in the dark. 

it's okay to simply not know. 

more so, 

it's sometimes how things are,

not knowing. 

and walking in the dark...reveals the world as mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Part of Writing

Part of Writing; 

it's not a wait for words, being more of a preparation really, showing me that a proper silence must be reached before inspiration begins to whisper. The best words arrive just after such a pause, but only when I allow this moment to be undisturbed, with no rush to begin writing, being content to sip my coffee and abide in the quiet hours of morning. 

that's part of writing too. 

truly, it begins well before I even reach my desk. The preparation is early, first accustoming myself with silence through a long meditation, priming my mind to be receptive, settling into a lasting stillness that carries me through the morning. This follows with a series of asanas, a yoga sequence specifically for writers, or at least this is what I tell myself as I begin to move through the postures, that I'm opening myself as a channel for inspiration to more easily reach me. But really, there's a physiological logic here, my body is learning to move from tension to stillness in a seamless stretch, holding an asana and then immediately relaxing in a restorative pose. Much like a flurry of words and then a sacred pause, activity to silence, and my practice has prepared me well to how this happens. 

it's the yoga of writing. 

even my coffee is a ritual, invoking inspiration as set water on to boil, adding spoonfuls of instant brew to a cup I've used forever, a gift from my mother when I first began drinking coffee so many decades ago now. I use this time to trace the many sources that have brought this moment to be, the richness of the grounds reflecting just the right amount of sunlight and rain, nourished by roots deep within earth, all those who have worked so long and hard to make this cup of coffee along with me. Infinite sources, too many to count in a simple ritual each morning - yet I allow my imagination to wander and try and get a sense of this connection, how a single cup connects me to the world. 

for me, it's an important part of writing. 

necessary. 

of course I could just wake up and write, or slim the rituals down to just drinking coffee as I'm writing, adding a grateful nod towards the infinite sources that brought it to my counter. But it doesn't work that way for me, not as well at least. My rituals aren't designed by habit, they all seem to arise spontaneously each morning, brand new with every waking, and their all performed wit equal joy ans care. Writing takes place well away from my desk, that's only where it reaches its conclusion. 

everything is part of writing. 

my entire day's a ritual, invoking inspiration.

if I'm aware enough to see it. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Lyrical Prose

Lyrical prose: 

I think of it as lyrical prose, my own developed style after years of practice and commitment to the craft of writing. That's a phrase I love and keep near in mind as I write, that I'm crafting my work, only adding words that lend themselves to this particular flow, being unattached to a certain line if it no longer fits into the pattern that's developing, and always responding to inspiration as it whispers in my ear, even if this means making drastic changes to what's already been written. 

everything I write should be fluid. 

spontaneous. 

and hopefully, 

lyrical in its feel. 

whatever message my words have should follow that directive, with significance placed on sound and rhythm over meaning, having a sense that something soft beneath the word has been invoked rather than overtly stated. There should be a feel of mystery here, not that any great truth has been proclaimed, but that a hint has been provided, and we'll explore along further as more words appear, dropping as clues and leading us deeper into mystery. That seems the true purpose of lyrical prose, it's descriptive of of the vaguest things imaginable, giving notice to the essence of its subject, with little interest in the first glance of meaning or appearance. 

it's about writing the ineffable.

an impossible task...

yet always worth the try. 

and lyrical prose seems to be the tool for my best effort, a sounding board that emphasizes a silent presence that holds each word in a soft embrace, mysterious, revealing itself not through the meaning of words, but only in the lilt  and rhythm of their reading...

and the quiet wake left in their passing. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Tadasana

Tadasana: 

it seems fairly straightforward, a bit boring really, Tadasana, simply standing like an imaginary mountain at the end of my session, with all the more dramatic poses finished for the day. Yet as always there's more to even the easiest asanas than first revealed. The mountain pose requires my full commitment, unwavering in length of spine and ease of breath, and when properly expressed, Tadasana shows the actuality of Patanjali's description of the perfect yoga posture...

steadiness and ease. 

for years I approached this as my finishing pose, or a transitory stance between asanas that I believed had a greater worth. I missed the pose entirely, standing less like a mountain and showing myself more as a drifting leaf caught within a breeze. There was no commitment here. That's important for every asana, but perhaps more so for the ones that are at first so easy to overlook, passing quickly through in order to finish a session, or arrive at a more favored pose. 

and of course I missed the point completely. 

not just the benefits of Tadasana - 

but the entirety of yoga. 

it was only when I devoted myself to those boring poses, the transitory postures, that I finally began to understand yoga, and more so, caught a glimmer of truly seeing the wavering qualities of my mind. My thoughts were not steady, my posture swaying and breath hurried. Nothing at all like a mountain. Nor even a tree, as I could see that every standing pose requires a firm foundation, really, so much of my life was a stance calling for a certain steadiness. Tadasana takes my training off the mat and into the circumstances of everyday living, asking me to remain steady through high winds of whatever life offers. 

I'm now committed to this pose. 

grounding myself.

lengthening my spine.

breathing. 

standing with steadiness and ease...

discovering my yoga, 

~

Peace, Eric 

I'm a Writer

I'm a writer: 

I don't make my living as a writer, even my smallest bills aren't paid by my literary efforts. My self-published books have sold few, my blog collecting only pennies per month, and my other sources of income from writing don't fare much better. However, I'm a writer, and consider myself a professional, showing up at my desk each morning, early, before even the hint of sunrise in order to catch the first glimpse of inspiration to appear. I write everyday without fail, generally what I consider lyrical prose, my own form of poetry developed through years of practice, and it seems to captures my sense of connection, tying subjects of science, nature, meditation and yoga together for my own consideration. 

and I write about writing. 

years ago, decades now, I decided to show up. This was my declaration of being an artist, writing daily with never an excuse to not commit at least a line or two to the page. It didn't matter if they were read by anyone but me, my words were shared as part of this commitment, and releasing them set me free to write again the very next morning. It's my process as a writer, as an artist, the work is always shared and detachment from the final outcome is developed along the way. This is both Karma Yoga and Bhakti Yoga, the action of writing and letting go of the results, as well as being completely devoted to the gift of inspiration, surrendering myself fully to this art form.

it's the yoga of writing. 

and I'm a writer after all. 

a yogi too. 

a few days ago I received notification that $2.53 was deposited into my account, this was from Medium, a sharing outlet for writers. I was thrilled, as I always am by the pennies that drift in from my blog and occasional royalties. This signifies my commitment, that I'm a writer, and my work matter, if even only by a reader who accidentally stumbled upon my words and gave them the courtesy of notice. I take none of this for granted, not my early morning shift of writing, nor my desktop coffee, and most especially that I'm continuously inspired to write, life being so beautiful that it calls for my expression. If there's a reader, I'm grateful, we've shared a gift between us. 

thank you. 

~

Peace, Eric 

My Only Role

My only role:

there's seldom a struggle for inspiration, with usually only the briefest pause between words before they start to flow again. This wasn't always the case, there were times, quite often really, when writing would be an almost tortuous process of silence and the longest wait for words. My meditation practice cured me of this, transforming silence from being the absence of words to the potentiality of their appearance, as if infinite ideas would be arriving and my only role was patience. I now find comfort in the pause, knowing that inspiration is at play, trusting that just the right word is on its way. 

my only role is patience. 

writing is a joy for me each morning, an adventure of imagination, taking any stray idea that occurs to me and tying it to a theme, being thrilled as the words come together in cohesive sense of meaning. I'm the only one this has to please and that notion has truly set me free - even if no one else ever reads these words, or find any value to them, my only role has been completed. 

I spent my morning immersed in joy. 

blissfully doing what I most love. 

and every word matters. 

if only to me. 

the question then, is why share? And really, there's no clear answer, it's what an artist does, setting their work free and beginning the work again. Sharing has a cleansing effect, wiping the mind clean of previous work and setting up the preparation for fresh inspiration to arrive. It's a declaration of freedom, emptying ourselves of attachments, and being fearless in producing our newest inspiration. An artist gives away what's most cherished to them.

their only role is sharing. 

it's simply what we do. 

~

Peace, Eric