I fill this space with words like stars

Grey Kitty in Sphinx Pose, the living, breathing, furry form of these mystifying questions:

who am i? whence this widespread cosmic flux?
these, the wise inquire into diligently, soon--nay, now.
(mahopanishad iv, 21... as quoted in ravi ravindra's book the spiritual roots of yoga)

The blank screen, blinking cursor, supportive cat curled up next to me. The conditions are right for writing but deciding what to say is a whole 'nother thing.

About a year ago I taught my first yoga class ever. So in a way this month is my yogic birthday. The shift from 'student' to 'teacher' was a painful but sometimes thrilling molting process. There were nervous breakdowns ("I'm quitting yoga!") and extreme, meticulous preparation for classes, and on the positive side, the immense support of Kira and others. I have learned so much since I started teaching that, looking back, it seems like I didn't know anything before that first night. (I wonder if that cycle will ever stop. Will I ever look back and think, "Gosh I really knew what I was doing back then"?)


I'm taking Kira's wonderful Anatomy of Self Love workshop this week, and it's giving me an inspiring context from which to look back on my first year of teaching yoga as well as look ahead to the kind of things I really want to be teaching. I feel I am getting real tools for getting out of my head, for aligning with the way things are supposed to be, for rewiring my body-mind towards a truer, freer self.

The stars in the winter sky are extra bright right now. This week Sarah had a dream about a beautiful starry night, and stars were the gorgeous backdrop of the gripping climax of "True Grit." The other night I was driving down the mountainous Dennison Grade and the stars looked so sparkly they seemed fake, cinematic. I was listening to "Staralfur," my favorite song by Sigur Ros, rolling down the curvy road overlooking the valley thinking about those lines, "Who am I? Whence this widespread cosmic flux? These, the wise inquire into dilently, soon--nay, now." An instant feeling of calm, quiet, and aching wonder washed over me. Time slowed down. I'm amazed that I'm a yoga teacher; I'm amazed that I'm alive. I'm amazed at the stars. It's gonna be ok. I don't have to know the answers when the questions feel so potent. Now, home again in my tiny house, I fill this space with words like stars.

"Staralfur" combined with BBC's "Planet Earth" = bliss: