“Crying is one of the highest devotional songs. One who knows crying knows spiritual practice. If you can cry with a pure heart nothing else compares to such a prayer. Crying includes all the principles of yoga. ” – Kripalvananda Swami Kripalvananda is the namesake inspiration for the well known Pennsylvania Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. This Center was established by Amrit Desai, a disciple of Swami Kripalvananda and one of America’s first major yoga influences. I don’t know what Swami Kripalvananda intended by this statement and my searches for commentary on the passage has produced nothing of note. Nonetheless the passage has always hit me in.
I like to indulge philosophy like ice cream – up to my elbows and for as long as possible. There was a time in my undergraduate years that my day would be a continuous cycle of read, contemplate, repeat – alternating coffee shops and couches until I hit satiation point. Which, like with ice cream, wasn’t until I reached the bottom of a number of barrels of delicious flavours of contemplation. There’s a part of me that relates to the archetypal scene of an ancient philosopher pouring over texts and scrolls which, except for the glow of the firelight, is enshrouded by darkness, silence and solitude. My undergraduate years are long.
One of my Enneagram teachers once said that the natural state of the heart is that of gratitude. An open heart receives the impacts of life, moment by moment, like the ocean receives raindrops. No rejection and no coveting of any single drop – just the absorption of the part into the whole. Like this, our heart has the capacity to open to suffering and joy with equal tenderness. In fact, this is what it calls us to. The secret of the heart is that it wants to feel everything. It wants to be fully alive and learn all that it can from the trials and celebrations of life. Our.
I’ve sat in front of this computer no less than a dozen times in the last 6 months trying to crank out blog posts. Unlike other periods of writer’s block, I have not been short of ideas, nor inspiration. In fact I hear my inner muse daily – begging me to write. The problem is that I have always written this blog from a place of authenticity and chosen topics that are closest to my heart in that moment. And what has been closest to my heart in the last 6 months have been deeply personal. What needs to be spoken feels too vulnerable to utter. I have been struggling.
As I sit in the sweltering sunshine at my usual coffee shop I forget for a moment that we are in the middle of the cold, dark winter. It is like a little Valentine from God for me today and has inspired me to “pay it forward”. If I could bottle this sunshine and spray a bit on all of you I would, instead I will offer you this: On this day of love may you be reminded that the love you feel from another person, which is sometimes strained and seldom, is but a droplet derived from an eternal pool. May the droplets that fall upon you in your.
How do I begin a post like this one? Despite numerous attempts over the last few weeks of inactivity on my blog I have not found a graceful or poetic way to say that I’ve ended my marriage. Ya, Merry Christmas hey? There would have been a thousand better times for this tidal force to move me as it did, but it seems I could dam the force no longer. The first I heard of this tidal force was a number of years ago. Inside of me, though, it began not like the tide that moves me now but like the slow, intermittent drip of a leaky faucet – a.
I wanted to write a post on the Connecticut shootings that reflected some critical thought about the tragedy. I wanted to respond to some of the reactions and opinions that are spilling out all over social media. I had wondered what it might look like to offer a spiritual perspective on the shootings, and the abhorrent treatment of virtual reality headset children all over the planet. I sensed a tirade attempting to make its way in to print that for a few moments felt like my most important offering to this world of heartbreak. That tirade has swelled in me a few times over the last few days, and yet.
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It was years ago, in university, I remember a professor commenting that we come into life alone, go out alone and that no one is ever really able to enter our experiences with us. His point was that existential loneliness is a fact of human life. I have not felt the truth of this so clearly as in the last few years. I have spent many moments in the isolating walls of my house, alone with my child, alone with motherhood, alone with the domestic duties that seem laid upon me by cold and distant societal expectations. cheap nfl jerseys,cheap jerseys,wholesale jerseys from china,I urge the Commissioners to call.