Friday, January 8, 2010

Stream of Conciousness

I've been under the weather with some yucky stomach parasite since the second day of the New Year. Yesterday found me both (mostly) well and hungry. Not for a meal (although, Lord knows its nice to have eaten something solid), but for a run. I love running but for some reason hadn't had the deep yearning for the sensation of foot to pavement in quite some time. Not since, I dare say, my trip to Mexico at the end of March (where I contracted, I suspect, the aforementioned parasite).

I tried to hone my thoughts from the run into something readable when I got home. Here are the results:

Running for me is as sensual as a ripe peach, with the innate ability to transport and transfix. It brings me into a meditative state, one where I can practice single pointed focus, a task that is genuinely difficult for me to find otherwise. It's seems paradoxical to me that the ritual of physical activity combined with thought (a multitasking, no?) brings me the closest that I've known to a state of real meditation.

There is something special about running in the winter. The cold of a winter run touches deep in my lungs, with every breath bringing a little reminder that joy doesn't always come from that which is easy.

To practice yoga as I understand it, the dedication I bring to my is as important as the work I bring to my asana practice. I must work to towards bettering my sauca, or cleanliness. There are great advances to be made in the ways of personal development within each limb of yoga, but eventually I have to do what is hard, and that includes maintaining a tidy home. Ugh. I try very hard not to take the easiest path on the mat, and I shouldn't cheat myself put of an opportunity to further my personal practice off that mat, either. This means doing dishes and scrubbing the floors with as much vigor and respect as I bring to my mat-based work. This is the work of tapas, or austerity, yet another niyama. Ultimately, this will allow me to further my appreciation of tapas, or austerity.

This city is so beautiful. When my heart starts to swell near past it's seams in the glory of it's sheer capacity to awe, I find myself near tears. My eyes somehow informs my heart of just how blessed I am. And how lucky I am to have people with whom I can share all of this fucking beauty. Love, too, is a path of yoga.