The Wonder of Yoga 3…

Change does not come easily for me, it requires a lot of conscious effort and diligent practice.

Falling off the band wagon of refinement is hazardous especially when I am not looking.

The bits of me I have tried to co-erce into submission have been anger, jealously, impatience, over reacting, comparing and a host of others I can’t think of right now (and really don’t want to dwell on because I want to keep negative vibes out of my space).

Mostly, in my vast experience, unless you really want it and are prepared to ask for help from God, adjustments to one’s perceptions and behaviors aren’t always successful.

Yoga, I was told, was good for my wellbeing and spirit.

Yoga was good for my body and soul.

I took one look at the poses years ago, when I was caught up in the flurry of a frantic life as wife and mother of four under six, and asked no-one in particular,

Where would I summon the strength for the arm balances or hand stands?

Where would I find the flexibility for the back bends and forward folds?

Where would I place my mat away from the sticky fingers and muddy paws of the McNeny household?

I decided it wasn’t for me.

I was happily converted just before my mother died when my life was threatening to run away with me in a dash for the light at the other end of the tunnel, which alarmingly hadn’t been switched on yet.

In order to block out some possible teachings about foreign deities that abound in this discipline of moving meditation, I began by muttering a centering prayer, and thus there blossomed a very intimate conversation with my Divine Creator that completely transformed me.

I looked forward to my instructors’  gentle reminders that I was not to push myself, I needed to listen to what my body was telling me and honor it.  What dancer ever hears that in class?

I was told not to compare myself to others, the asanas I was attempting looked exactly as they should, for me.

There were no expectations, only intentions, which, in my Christian vocabulary, are translated as prayers.

Gradually my body began to flourish, it became strong, lean, flexible…sometimes.  The twisting wrung me out and helped my digestive system, the holds encouraged endurance and fired up my inner warrior, the flows spoke to the dancer in me and beauty invaded my space.

Gradually my mind began to adapt to the philosophy of moving with my breath, surrendering to my body, persevering through the difficult vinyasas to prepare myself for life off my mat to go tweak my attitude.

Leaving life behind for an hour, allowing myself to be exactly where I am with nowhere to go has crept, like my Callie Coe cat,


into my being.

The idea of being present, of experiencing every discomfort and muscle twinge, gasp and triumph, to its fullest without judgment, is a gift.

I savor every minute of the morning hour on my mat.

Some days the practice is difficult, makes me breathless, causes my heart to beat faster, has me dripping sweat, making me wobble.

Other days the practice is slow and measured, full of ujjayi breathing, mudras, dhamas and the discovery of pranas.

Every day I end my hour with a sense of achievement and oneness with God that I carry with me into the world.

Looking back on the years since my mother died the changes I have wrought through this regular discipline has cost me no suffering.  I only had to commit to the time and who can pass up the chance of a daily one to one with  God?

Instead it has enhanced my mental awareness and increased my happiness deep within.

I no longer feel compelled to rush through the week, I start my days, like my classes, slow and easy and shift my mind to today,


This moment.

I enjoy being a better Ambassador for Christ during this brief time on His earth because I embraced Yoga.

Start with a prayer, why not try a class today?

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el ray

2015-02-23 18:33:29 Reply

I like what it does for you as well, and me!

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