Yes Aristotle, unsurprising to us mere mortals, you were on the money. It's been almost six months since I began to practice yoga everyday and apparently it takes twenty one days to form a habit, so I should have hit the mat today with no resistance whatsoever. In fact, when I was studying habitual behaviour and responsive conditioning as a part of becoming a counsellor, the actual time it takes to make something a reflex action is more in the realm of seventy-ish days.
But I'm going to put my chips on the Greek. I feel pretty good.
I still don't bound out of bed with feverish enthusiasm but I like the quiet and the way the darkness dissolves around me. I like the birdsong in meditation and even the small distraction of the house coming to life as I sit. I've noticed that I am becoming more aware of my physicality and those areas that need adjusting through out my day. (my feet are not planted, my hips are unbalanced)
I inhale with a challenge and the exhale brings a little peace.
I am less reactive. I shout less but more importantly, I don't feel the need to impose myself so much. My knickers no longer find themselves in a twist! As a mother of three this is no small miracle. I am expected to be in three places this afternoon at five pm sharp and my daughter insists on wearing her swimming goggles everywhere. The boys constantly wrestle with testosterone fueled fervour, seemingly unconcerned with my desire for calm. The washing never ends.
Physically, I am yet to astound myself with superhuman feats of strength and endurance. Nor does my butt look changed by my commitment to warrior poses. However, I am surprised by how little this matters to me. My body functions. It gave birth to three babies and is incredibly adept at the serious business of hugging. I'll have you know it's really quite magical and for many small bodily things, I'm grateful.
Maintaining an asana practice mysteriously allows me to access this expansive state of authenticity. Of course I have days where I lose my lolly and I get swept up in the rubbish and the rant.
But then I return to the breath.
.....and to me.
Ps. My many thanks go to my son Noah for taking these photos. I apologise for my somewhat cranky face?? It is one of lives enduring mysteries that my head looks cross when my heart is happy. (?)