Yoga is my life. Yoga is being. Yoga is coming home to myself.
My gratitude for this manifests in my utter bliss of oats, yoghurt, banana and prunes with coffee, for breakfast on special mornings like today, and every morning, that begins with my yoga practice and sitting.
The pre dawn sounds and silence wake me and my mat calls; from it's usual place, or rolled in a corner of some yet undiscovered space in an erstwhile home. It is my symbolic centering place. My day is balanced with my yoga practice and less focused without.
I am the guru inside myself thanks to the teachers in all their guises who have traversed my path, walked alongside me, beckoned me forward, nudged me ahead, challenged me and pointed me toward the light.
These are the permissions I give myself to be. This is what I am most grateful for.
So wherever I may lay my mat ... that's my home.
