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