My favorite yoga is the one that exists in the cracks and the crevices between us.
In the in between, hard-to-reach, can-almost-get-there moments.
In the moments when our defenses fall and for the first time in a long time, or maybe our whole life time, we are made real.
My favorite yoga is the one that happens in the quiet of the early morning when you role over and see your child curled up at your chest. And you feel your utter exhaustion. They smile. So you get out of bed, go downstairs to make breakfast, and carry on another day.
Or when you find yourself having responded to your partner with greatness and gentleness. With restoration. When all your life you planned to react with the brittle wall you keep in your wallet, just in case.
My favorite kind of yoga is the one that exists when we become transparent with one another. When we dare to tell the truth instead of hiding behind our party tricks.
In the moments we stop holding our cards so close to our chests and simply, lay the hand on the table.
Freeing ourselves from the burden of the sense of our own terminal uniqueness. Freeing ourselves from the burden of the shame covering our great capacity.
I love a good sobering shape-shift. One that takes me from what I wish, to what I have. Right. Now. Maybe its sorrow. Maybe its satisfaction. But no matter. The world expands to the degree I feel it.
My favorite yoga is when my inner world and your inner world are less worlds apart. And since I know I can never fully realize your entirety, I seek the in between, hard-to-reach, can-almost-get-there moments.