I tried no less than 4 times to get my feet on the mat yesterday but the universe conspired against me. Phones ringing, errands to run, last minute errands to catch up on, damn I forgot about that errands to do, it all adds up. The feet foundeth the mat not, in spite of the fact that it decorated the middle of the living room floor for the better part of the day.
That’ll teach me to sleep in, now won’t it? At some advanced point in my life, I’m going to figure out how to do yoga at some other time than the morning. No, really, I’m absolutely confident that it can be done. I’ve heard of fakirs from far away places who have even discovered the means of doing yoga practices in the middle of the afternoon, but I strongly suspect that’s just more of that National Geographic propoganada.
In the meanwhile, it’s not yet 5 am. No one in the house is up, let alone capable of a) bugging me or b) finding me something to do. The cat’s been fed and has smartly gone back to bed. It looks like it’s yoga time here on the Nashwaak.
And really, that’s the beauty of yoga. Another breath, another start at this thing called life. There’s no self-recrimination, no need to berate oneself. There is no busted training schedule. I just move on. Next day, get out of bed and place feet on mat. Breathe. Breathe in; breathe out. Simple, isn’t it?
Thanks for reading and Namaste,