I do yoga occasionally. It’s not a consistent thing for me. But I’ll go with my wife every now and again to get my body moving a bit. It’s hot yoga. So it happens in a room that’s about 105 degrees. I’ve never sweated more than I do in the hot yoga room.
Yesterday, during my latest round of yoga exploration, I realized that the practice is a bit like a physical metaphor of birth to life to death. From ashes to ashes. Yoga speaks to the cyclical nature of all existence.
Becasue to start, you lie on your back. Completely still and at rest. The instructor comes in, leads you in movement, and you sweat a lot. From there, you go back to the initial resting pose of shivasna. And leave the room when ready.
We are still prior to life. Then live life with all it’s difficulty, beauty, and balance. And then fall back to stillness with death. Outside of being a good workout, the practice of yoga is a good reminder that any pain or difficulty you may feel is fleeting. That you’ll lay down to rest again. But until then, stretch yourself. Seek new position. Be uncomfortable. But keep stable with the ever constant force of breath.