Five Rites

Five Rites: 

of course I don't know if they're actually Tibetan in origin, there has a myth about this yoga since first discovered by the Western world through a book published in 1939. The author, Peter Kelder, claimed to have learned the sequence of moves from a retired British military officer who had traveled the world and spent time in India were he received the Five Tibetan Rites from a Lama. The story is disputed, as well as the origin of this yoga. Yet little of this matters to the actuality of my practice. 

my body responds well to these movements. 

and that's enough truth for me to know.

the rites are five moves done for repetition and sequence, dynamic in their approach, and much different from my usual taste of yoga. I began practicing them nearly 25 years ago, sometimes for extended periods of time, often only building them into my standard practice where they would eventual be replaced by more traditional Hatha yoga poses. However, lately, intuitively, I've been drawn to practice early in the morning, soon after waking and first meditation,  once again being captivated by their mystery. 

most importantly, my back is being healed. 

and I love adding this ritual to my morning.

it seems my body knew this well before my mind, drawing me in this direction, an intuitive whisper through my cells. Over the years, especially as my yoga practice has deepened, I've learned to listen to these whispers, trusting in the direction of their urge. The Five Rites seem to be exactly what I need right now, gently easing me towards recovery from injury, and more so, opening me energetically to the morning, as if my spine is awakening from dormant slumber to a new and vibrant world.

I have no idea why I'm responding so well to this yoga. 

but I'm re-devoted to their practice.

healing, just a bit more,

with every morning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Greatest Joy

Greatest joy: 

my preference is a slow rise to meet the morning, first offering a thankful prayer that I'm alive to greet another day and then immediately begin the rituals that bring me greatest joy. This starts with sukhasana, easy pose, my very first asana and used to sit in meditation. It's a joyful pose for me, connecting me to ground, lengthening spine, and hips gently stretched. My morning begins with prayer, yoga, and meditation, without fail, rituals that lead me with ease through the rest of my day. 

there's more from here, a longer session of yoga follows, and then preparing my single cup of coffee that's cherished for it's connection to my writing, how that first sip always triggers my creative response - it means it's time to write, everything leading to this exact point of receiving inspiration. 

writing might be the most important ritual of all. 

it's the fulfillment of my dharma. 

or at least brings me greatest joy.

but the truth is, none of these rituals can be separated from another, my entire morning is far too seamless now to view any aspect broken from the whole. It's one complete expression told in chapters of a morning story, all without end, spontaneously expressed through the vibrant voice of life. My greatest joy is simply being alive and it's that energy that causes my initial morning prayer, brings me to an easy pose of silent meditation, and then asking for the motion of my body. 

that's my yoga.

all of this. 

it's the fulfillment of my dharma.

and brings me greatest joy. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sense of Potentiality

Sense of potentiality: 

I think what I most love about my mornings is the sense of potentiality they hold, that anything can happen, there's magic available, or at the very least, a sense of mystery as to how it will all unfold by the ending of the day. This is cultivated early with my meditation on first rising, a deep silence that immerses me in its promise, showing how everything starts from here, and that it remains with me throughout the day if only a turn inward and listen once again. It's a beautiful promise, and one I do return to as I approach my morning's writing. 

every word will first emerge from silence. 

my only role is listening.

and then writing what I hear,

this same sense of potentiality is found on the page, an initial emptiness that's just waiting for the fulfillment of my words. Anything is possible, silence could whisper the most subtle inspiration in my ear and urge me to express on the page. Or perhaps nothing at all for a given length of time and I've come to love this period as well, having a feeling of restful awareness as I simply sit in the quiet mystery of the moment. Words will find me here, as they always do, so I'm content, watchful, eager to hear whatever inspiration will whisper to the page. 

and nature too holds this promise, as after writing I head immediately out the door to see what mystery the woods and fields might hold. It's always something, a sense of potentiality fills the morning air, and I don't even wait for first light to explore these secrets. It's all available to me right now, everything, yet only in its initial promise, primordial, existing in that sense of potentiality until I show to witness. 

that's the magic that I love. 

this mystery.

how anything might happen.

~

Peace, Eric 

Opportunities

Opportunities: 

there's been opportunities here, even a hurt back presents a chance to reevaluate my approach towards yoga and well-being. It's not that what I was doing was wrong, it didn't lead to injury, but that right now I am limited to a more gentle practice of yoga and with this I've been given the chance explore some options that have been overlooked before. Yoga nidra is an example, having long been placed in the back of my mind as a worthy practice that I would eventually find my way towards. Of course that was put off for years as I always found a more dramatic pose or practice to dedicate myself to, believing that Pratyahara, the fifth limb of yoga, was somewhat less important than the rest of my practice and at the very least, was already covered in meditation and lying in savasana at the end of my asana session. With less poses to do during my practice, limited by what my back will tolerate, I found myself drawn to yoga nidra, unexpectedly really, and have discovered a new world to be explored, a deep healing taking place, giving me cause to wonder what other opportunities might present themselves now. 

I vow to stay open, 

watchful for new or old expressions of yoga that might make themselves known.

and not push any aside, giving each my due consideration.

curious to see what opportunities they hide. 

~

Peace, Eric 

As a Tree

As a tree: 

I think the asana that calls most for my surrender is vrksasana, tree pose, that once my own roots are established in connection to the ground, my arms reaching upwards as branches, and then what's left for me to do seems to be the hardest part of all - completely surrendering to the posture. This is my moment of poise, balancing, if everything is locked in place, I'm truly standing as a tree, I feel as if I could stay in this pose forever, or at least the length of several breaths dedicated to its hold. 

if only I surrender.

and that's vital, as it's not a difficult pose to enter into, but once established it calls for breath and mind to ease into a steady calm, letting go of anything that gives cause for me to sway. Vrksasana reminds me to trust my roots, my earth base, and that from this connection I am free to reach upwards, lengthening my spine, standing as a tree, strong and poised through the sweep of life's winds. 

it's a powerful posture, elegant, 

and I approach it each time as if I'm an absolute beginner. 

there's always a need to re-establish my roots, if I reach my arms upwards to soon than I am sure to fall or begin to sway early on, with my body acting as a cue for breath and mind to follow. I can only surrender once the roots of this asana are firmly planted and my arms are branched in balance. It's the perfect metaphor for me to live right now, showing that my strength is ground-based, home, and that this is from where I'm meant to lift myself, reaching as a connection between earth and air. 

having faith in the familiarity of what's known,

 as well that which must always remain unseen. 

and with this,

poised, connected as a tree...

I let go.

~

Peace, Eric 

Out of Season

Out of season: 

it can be a heartbreaking month for me, February, through no fault of its own really, but only due to my rush for spring and refusal to accept the present season and all that it offers. Often in these last several weeks of winter there is a false taste of early spring, warmer days, and thoughts of snow and ice seem so far away. I love these days, they're a gift out of season and should be treasured as such. Today is an example, in the final week of January and it's to reach the high 60's, just days after bitter cold and snowfall. It's hard for me not to wish this warmth to stay. 

yet a gift is to be accepted without conditions added on.

and it's still winter after all. 

any heartbreak is my own delusion. 

so I cherish this day, a gift offered out of season, and do my best to accept without adding my demands for its length of stay and for more to follow. It's enough to simply feel the warmth of the sun's rays against my skin, unencumbered by layers of bulky clothes, and to even acknowledge that the breeze still hints of winter's present hold. Nothing is really out of season, a gift isn't removed from it's current place and offered as an anomaly, it always and fully belongs to the moment that it's given.  

so February is soon to begin, another month of winter left, and colder days still in the earliest of spring. I'll accept each day as it's offered, making no demands, not even of my heartbreak. It too has a season of its own and belongs to the moment that it's given. Everything appears exactly as it does without having to fit my expectations. February always gives me ample reasons to remember this, it's a month full of gifts for me to accept without condition.

reminding me that nothing is ever truly out of season. 

there is only the grace of my acceptance. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Final Outcome

Final outcome: 

the final outcome is always surrender, not as a goal, nor with any point of an achievement, but that now we're free of those concerns, entirely so, and life simply continues in its present flow, unobstructed by our opinions and demands. In yoga this is Isvara pranidhana, last of the Niyamas, the personal observances used to help us see the path more clearly. The Yamas and Niyamas are arranged in specific fashion for our eventual letting go our incessant sense of I-ness and our need to claim every action as our own. They're designed so that we move forward towards the more subtle practices of yoga and no longer carry the full baggage of an ever grasping ego. 

by the time we reach this stage...surrender happens on it's own. 

being the final outcome of our practice.

always. 

again, this isn't something that we can push towards. If we do than we are back to our original point of striving for an object, or a feeling of victory and achievement over the obstacle of our sense of self. The truth is that there are no obstacles here, our sense of self-hood is an illusion that is seen through with clarity of a discerning view. 

our final outcome has been present all along. 

there is nothing to surrender, and no one present to give themselves away. 

it's just a continuous surrender.

life, in its ever present state of flow. 

always. 

~

Peace, Eric