Dec 1, 2024
Greetings yogis,
Starting this December newsletter with a poem I wrote while strolling Muir Beach:
I saw where the whale bones are buried,
Keepers of song.
It was north, near the end of time, as far as we could go.
There I saw what time would do.
Hurry along now,
Your melodious bones will sing too.
Time has her way, no escape plans in sight, the great goddess Kali slurping it all up with her pointed tongue, nothing making it through unscathed. Before we know it we’re all bones in the sand again, inhaled back into the heart of it all. So let us live and dance, and sing our songs fully and unabashedly before we give this all back.
What will it take to finally awaken and realize the brevity that points us to the infinite? What is it that will crack us open wide enough, ears finally able to decipher the divine’s nectarous harmonies in each day’s orchestration? What gives us courage to, at long last, make a change, put a stop to the mindless spinning of our wheels of distraction and behold the miracle that is here? When will we stop pretending the destination is 5,000 miles from here, or in some far fetched, fantasy version of ourselves? Or, that we have... forever?
Deep breaths as we near the end of another calendar year. 2024 blew on by like late fall Pacific Ocean gusts, no point holding on. It was a year riddled with enough opportunities to practice non-attachment that even the most studious of the path would question the callouses left. Over 15 years of dedicated practice and I still scratch my head daily in wonder, but then I roll out the mat again each morning and get back to work knocking on the pipes, clearing out the cobwebs and scrubbing off yesterday’s residue.
This is what it takes: polishing the heart over and over again through devotion, guiding the mind back to present awareness with breath and keeping our physical form supple with the asanas. And most importantly, releasing past experiences so they don’t bog us down with the burdens of what has already transpired. Who would you be if you decided to let a few of your old stories go, dust yourself off and start anew? What would you dream up if the past were weightless and the future unwritten?
For many of us, that notion is daunting beyond belief and I get it. But the threshold is always right there in front of you, one footstep away. You have the infinite opportunity to revise, reimagine, release and move forward. Who would you be if you took that leap? Wrap up the year on the good foot, recommit to your practice, make haste to make peace and live your song fully – only you can do this.
Godspeed and big love to all.
Nat K
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti
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