I tend to see things in black and white. Perfectionists do that. Yesterday was May 1, May Day, the ideal day for making new promises to myself. I had already begun a 30-day Yoga Journey on April 25, a perfect shoe-horned fit that would lead me right up to the doorstep of my 60th birthday. One thing I was doing every morning in this program was the Ganesh mantra. I had learned it several years ago, and recall how I stumbled over the strange syllables, garbling them so badly that I was sure bad karma would result. Funny, but this time I picked it up with no problem at all. Muscle memory (the tongue, not the heart, is the strongest muscle in the body–did you know?) might have kicked in, but I am leaning on something more spiritual.
Somehow I skipped yesterday. The day was so beautiful, calling me outdoors, enveloping me in Spring as it should be, not as it has been so far this year. The mantra was on my desktop computer. Chanting in tandem to a mp3 file was not appealing, not when there was gardening to do, and Vitamin D to soak up. I thought I’d squeeze it in later in the day. That didn’t happen.
Instead, I sipped some sparkling white wine and called my May 1st birthday girlfriends while listening to the music of my little waterfall that gurgled over the rocks I had rearranged. Before leaving to tend to his barn, Neil had warned me not to mess around with them, knowing I typically clambered over the hillside in my ballet flats. Nevertheless, I cartwheeled the unwieldy boulders into place successfully, without crushing a toe.
And decided that what I needed was my own Ganesh beads to count. The mantra is to be repeated 108 times, and I can only count on my hands so far. This morning, I went into my art studio and found white beads and wire thread. Forgiving myself the gap, I am resuming my practice as if it is for the first time.
Because every time is the first time.
In the moment, in my backyard:
More backyard meditations captured in Back To My Senses.