It began with the morning sun.
It's ending with the rain falling. It's been just another day...like so many before it.
I arrive here - knowing - that I'm marking nine years of practice.
Nine years of showing up...of letting go...of being present.
Nine years of looking and seeing...of listening and hearing...of feeling.
I probably wouldn't even recognize the me who started this daily blog.
I'm only just beginning to recognize this newer version.
This me that I'm becoming.
It's been an exercise in following my heart and trusting its lead.
It's been an exercise in discipline and commitment and sticking-to-it.
It hasn't always been easy. It's definitely been worthwhile.
It always is - isn't it?
I've lived. I've loved. I've lost.
These past two years have seen more changes than I'd ever imagined.
Impossible - I might have once said.
But now - as I look back - I believe anything's possible.
It all is.
It was my mother's garden. It's now my own.
While cleaning and clearing and making space for new - I uncovered these tiny white blossoms.
They cried out at me.
This - I reminded myself - is the art of attention.
The smallest of nuances. The littlest of things.
These quietest of moments and unseen details that happen in the in between.
It still surprises me. That life goes on. That flowers bloom.
That grass grows. That buds appear on the trees.
And the world turns. Round and round.
Simply - I'm taking note. I'm marking these nine years.
This is neither a start...nor a finish. Neither an arrival...nor departure.
This is just about meeting each day as it comes....chasing the light and sharing it.
It's about making a mark....and marking a life.
That's where nine years has taken me.
I begin again.
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"Yoga is not about touching your toes, it's about what you learn on the way down."