I’ve learned the criteria for deserving love, and it is more simple than I ever could have imagined.
To trust and to let go
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One year ago Zack, Ellie, and I were rolling along a dusty BLM road somewhere at the foot of the Eastern Sierra.
As the Jeep skipped along the hole ridden, bumpy boondock road our butts hopped and bopped around in our seats and we couldn’t help but laugh. The wholesome yet funky guitar lick of “Althea” trickled through the speakers and the spirit of the Grateful Dead echoed through space as Jerry’s voice lightly brushed the words, “nobody’s messing with you, but you”.
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I like to be reminded often that yoga is a form of living art - a creative process. It reminds me that my practice is the evolution of my own spirit, a culmination of willingness that is hitched to the end of the level of attention and care I give it. It reminds me that purpose lies within willing hands and inspiration is always beneath two grounded feet.
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There is a sort of alchemy within the ocean, the way its power and ubiquitous sorcery sluice for all to marvel in. It is a kind of cosmic baptism for all walks of life. In a way its mystical and watery reticence harbors a clemency, for humans in particular.
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