We do not have to attain anything. We are yoga. The practice of asanas is a gate. The practice of meditation is a gate. Living life is a Dharma, a path. What makes the difference is the awareness we bring to it.
It can no longer be like the good ol’ days, where you scratch your privileged friends’ backs and bypass laws and conscience. The karmic wheel spins faster than ever before. Did you know that secrets have evolved into an air-like substance? They cannot be contained.
What if today were your last day? What if? Would you look deep into the light of your eyes and honor your soul and your life as you chose to live it, or would you be filled with regret, wishing you had done more, aimed higher, lived fuller and laughed deeper?
What I want you to do is to spit out that conformity and hand back the guidelines with a smile. Do not throw them, and do not stomp on them with your heavy boots. Just say “No, thank you. I already have my own.”
I am not asking to do away with sense of humor, but for the love of a little self-control. Yogis do not need to publicly call people douchebags, do they? The energy going out is something that you place into the world and it has a ripple effect like everything else.
In the past, I had clung to my girlhood with a crocodile-like resolve because I was afraid I would lose the little girl within if I claimed my role as a woman. But surprisingly, I have found that by working with, and not against, my inner child, my role as a woman has only been strengthened. I truly feel the world will be a better place when we all start to blend our child-like wonder with the power and compassion of our womanhood.
Take off the gray veil that has blinded you from experiencing the world around you in the most profound way. Explore your abilities and if you persist, one day you will find what you're good at, you will find what you love to do. And once you do, you will never stop creating through it. It will be your soul's purpose.
By Crystal Lagace.
When the ache is so strong it feels
as though thoughts are shredding
a path from heart to brain,
tearing through delicate nerve endings –
and beginnings –
that signal shivers of soul tears and blood leaking from fingertips,
itching to express intensity…
you may be a writer.
When love has the power to tingle toes
and ignite flaming desires
that engulf all reason in –
and out –
secret spaces speaking
volumes in that trusting silence
and embracing unknown certainties
that scream to follow bliss
in the supremacy of words…
you might be a writer.
If the sidewalk imprint
of a decomposing fallen leaf
in a pounding chest,
you may be.
If the choral harmony
of flocking birds
has the audacity
to make your spirit soar
alongside their flapping wings