I’m watching our new pup, lil’ Bebe, chase her own tail, round and round and round, then she stops. Starts again, gleefully, round and round, then she stops. Sound familiar? That’s definitely my pattern these days, perhaps minus the glee.
Covid-19 is surging, round and round, while the transfer of presidential pomp and circumstance has stopped. Or never started? We need a wrathful deity to pull Raktabija-trump out of there. By the hair if need be! (google Raktabija). This must get settled, so we can continue to be unsettled, if you know what I mean. Yoga is a practice that teaches how to go between messy and simple, fire and water; to be able to recognize when that’s happening, and then choose how to engage. Put fire and water together, whoosh, you get steam – and hopefully enough to continue to push the engine of change uphill.
And the season turns slowly, inching toward winter in the northern hemisphere.
Meanwhile, Sadhana waits. We moved forward a bit in September, and our three in-person classes continue (two yin, one tai chi). We hesitate to add any more than that. Instead, we come together online, and while it’s not perfect and doesn’t work for a lot of folks, it’s the best we can do right now.