A few weeks ago I had a session with my long time therapist and mentor.  At one point during our conversation he relayed the story in the Bible of Jesus' transfiguration (Mark 9:2-8).  The story, in brief, describes how Jesus journeyed to the top of Mount Tabor with disciples John, James and Peter.  Here, these discples, and holy witnesses Elijah and Moses, witnessed the transformation of Jesus into a physical expression of his Divinity.  His face shone like the sun, his clothes glowed whiter than anything they had ever seen.  The voice of God echoed from the sky "this is my Beloved son.  Hear Him!".  Peter, James and John were gifted a transcendent experience of Jesus in his radiant glory.  Even God the Father showed up.  At one point Peter said to Jesus "it is good for us to be here" and suggested that the disciples build shelters for Jesus, Elijah and Moses and that they stay.  Who can blame him for suggesting that they stay there?  This mountain top was the sacred space where he came to experience the radiant Divinity of his saviour in a way that could tangibly penetrate his senses.  Who wouldn't want to dwell there for as long as possible in the bliss of this holy occurrence?  But Jesus instructed that they must come down from the mountain top.  They must once again enter the realm of "sin" and selfishness. 

As yoga practitioners we are often privy to experiences that are beyond the every day.  Whether that is the bliss of samadhi (oneness), deep relaxation or a long awaited release of those stubborn spinal muscles.   I recognized a while back, even before learning of this biblical story, that I was struggling with the transition from my yoga practice back into the every day activities of my life.  I wanted only the deep comfort and connection that I experience on my mat, forever.  And, once I had felt the bliss of my practice the mundane tasks of everyday life seemed even more difficult.  Ultimately,  I didn't want to come down from the mountaintop.  And the resistance to the descent into the realm of sin and selfishness caused me significant suffering and resentment.  But I must - we all must - descend into our lives.  We must fall into the chaos, inspired and renewed by our experiences at the mountain tops of our practices.  We must allow ourselves walk passionately toward the suffering of humanity, dwell there and become impacted by life and others. Then, begin the ascent to spirit once again.  The mountain top does not exist without the ground, and just as importantly, the ground does not exist without the mountain top.  We are often reminded of our inherent Divinity by gurus and spiritual teachers around the globe.  Sometimes, those of us who spend a great deal of time exploring our spiritual natures must also be reminded of our inherent humanity.  We can't get away from it, if we do we are once again living in the realm of duality where spirit reigns supreme over our humanness.  Can we instead feel the wholeness that is revealed when we recognize both?  I have had such a wonderful time in the flat prairies and deep valleys of my life lately.  Today, as I prepare to spend time with beloved friends, I feel myself digging my toes deeply into the soil of my life while upstretching my hands to the radiant, eternal sky.  I take a deep breath and swear I can feel my face shining like the sun. 

This past week I was with my family camping in the Rockies.  In the days before we left I was feeling bored with day to day activities and also a little stressed trying to prepare for a week away with a one year old.  The trip was long as we stopped numerous times for road construction and to ease Rowan's fussiness.  By the time we reached the mountains I was fatigued. 

With my regular destress routine out of whack with travel and unsuitable conditions for doing yoga I had little hope of relieving my fatigue in usual ways.  After setting up our camp we walked to a nearby river to show Rowan this majesty of nature that she hadn't seen before.  As she clapped and squealed for the fast moving water I noticed the tension in my neck and spine begin to melt.  My fatigue lifted and a renewed sense of aliveness was present.  Certainly, having arrived at camp and prepared our "home" lifted some of the weight off me but there was something very noticable happening as I sat by the river.  I felt everything in me beg to be afftected by it's flow.  Like my whole being wanted to take on it's characteristics - that of fluidity, crispness, clarity.   My mind gave in and all concerns about the past or future became washed away by the sound of water rushing over rock and the crisp feel of misty air.  I've been by many rivers in my life, never before had I been so receptive to letting it run through me.  Not just past me, or near me - but through me.  And for a moment I wasn't the stressed out mom or bossy wife I had been moments prior.  I was the vibratory echo of one of nature's most beautiful gifts.  I looked west to the grand mountain that rested above the river and again felt magnetized to let it in, to be affected by it's immensity.  I felt it's solidity, groundedness and mass and it brought me into a deep feeling of earthiness.  The sun radiated it's illumination right into my very pores.  It enlightened the darkness of my stressful mind while the soft breeze of the day reminded me to breathe.  There was an intimacy with the scene that I had nothing to do with.  The deep, forgotten elements of flow, groundedness and illumination within me were called forth by nature to meet themselves again.  In the midst of this joyful reunion I noted how uncharicteristically my mind let go to this process.  Nature's call to balance was so huge that my egoic mind had no chance of holding on to the negative thoughts and anxiety's it had been grasping, and so it surrendered.  

This experience was so uncontrolled, so wild, that when it started to fade I knew that because I hadn't created it, I couldn't hold on to it.  But it has made me more sensitive to the rhythms of the world around me.  Can I let myself be affected, and perhaps balanced, by the slow steady rhythm of my husband's energy which is so different from my fast paced more erractic rhythm?  What would it be like to stop before the flowers of my garden and let them inside?  To let their soft, delicate nature mirror my own and call it forth in the times when I feel myself hardening?   What is it like for you when you are affected by something completely?