Rowan and I have a route that we walk almost every morning.  I cherish those times, she loves to be in her stroller and I love to greet the morning sky in it's myriad of forms.  Because our walks are generally kept to one or two routes we get to see the seasons expressions change from budding sprouts and bursting flowers to the wilting and drying up petals of yesterdays blossoms.  Sometimes it seems we are expected by the stray cats that speckle the neighborhood around our house.  They greet us, in their own way, and then carry on the very important business of being cats.  Sometimes we see the same people and I flash back to my childhood and pretend for a moment that we are living in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.  The houses on our walks become familiar and I am grateful for the sense of "being at home" here. 

There is one house that we walk past that stands out for me in particular.   It is bungalow, painted a desolate blue/grey that makes me think that there must have been a sale on paint at one time for anyone to choose such a hue.  It sits on a large corner lot, no flowers adorn its threshold and the grass seems to be in a permanent state of autumn.  The house is memorable in itself but from time to time, when the curtains are drawn, I can see through the large bay window into a living space from yesteryear.  Often, I see a man and a woman sitting upright staring into the center of their living room.  One on the floral print chesterfield the other on a wooden chair, an old chair, but not near as old as the patron that it serves.  The light that emanates through the windows is dusty.  It's like it has been caught by the fixtures and furniture, trapped in time and unable to emanate.  The scene is both eerie and sad.  I wonder if conversation, love and intimacy are also trapped in time.  

Today as we walked past that house the old woman was coming out of the front door.  It jarred me a little, to my shame, because I had created a fantasy in my mind as if these people were fixed in space like dolls in a dollhouse.  She was holding a broom.  The task of getting out the door and onto the concrete stairs that lead to their seem insurmountable.  She shimmied one way, then opened the door a bit more, shimmied the other, paused, then started again.  I hoped with all my heart that she would see us and we could offer her a grand "hello" in a way that only a 13 month old could.  But she never looked up.  Her haird was twisted in curlers that seemed to have become a permanent part of her hair.  A floral print dress hung on her tiny frame and seemed to be held in place by a heavy knit sweater.  She wore bright white socks and modern slip on runners, which gave me a sigh of relief presuming that someone must care for her to ensure such footwear.  We continued past their house and she still wasn't out the door, but she seemed determined to tend her porch.  I looked back those concrete steps once again and noticed, that from my vantage point, there wasn't a speck of dirt anywhere to be seen.  As a young person for whom sweeping my steps is a nuisance I felt humbled and sad.  This frail woman struggles to get outside to tend a porch that doesn't need tending. 

As we carried on I looked up and gave thanks for the bright morning, for the wispy clouds and gentle breeze.  I realized all the assumptions I had made about this blue house and its residents.  I assumed that this old woman was senile, making her way to sweep a dustless porch because there was nothing else to do, or because she had become an automaton, bound by dementia into compusively repeating tasks just to fill her day.  But as I looked up at the blue sky those assumptions fell away and a voice fill my head: "perhaps, my dear, I just want to a few minutes in the sun" was all it said.  Humbled, I carried on my walk wishing that all the brightness the sun has to offer would spend the next few minutes setting that woman's heart on fire. 

It doesn't take much to shine the dusty fixtures of our lives.  A yoga practice can be like this woman's journey to the sun.  Can you spend three minutes today in honour of this?  Find three minutes of conscious movement or breath, three minutes of gratitude, three minutes of grace even if nothing in your life needs tending right now.  Can you find three minutes to remember the Light that belongs to everyone?

I am currently reading Maps to Ecstasy by Gabrielle Roth who is the founder of the 5 Rhythms - a practice of ecstatic dance and a profound movement meditation meant to bring us into deep intimacy with ourselves.  I am completely spellbound by her words.  She is a healer, an "urban shaman" as she calls herself, and a woman interested in an immanent relationship with living.  No transcendence, no stoic unemotive state of enlightenment to chase - her work is dedicated to being in the world in the most whole way we can as thinking, feeling, emobodied beings. 
I just finished a portion of her book on nurturing instincts.  She suggests that our relationship to our mother figures in the first 5 years of life is meant to teach us how to nuture ourselves for the rest of our lives.  We all fall somewhere on a continuum as to how much of this precious wisdom we learned or were taught during this time.  It made me reflect on my own relationship with my daughter.  I have felt from the beginning the my job is to honour her instincts.  Period.  She is much closer to her instincts than we are as adults.  She know when she's tired, hungry, needing play time, quiet time, kick in every direction time, softer food, something to chew on.   All of these actions come as a result of her instinctual call.  I basically try to stay out of her way and let her lead.  Gabrielle suggests that we must "acknowledge and reinforce the validty of the child's own internal messages" in this way teaching the child to "trust itself".  

Based on our own experiences with our mother figure we will be more or less naturally able to trust the call of our instincts, to value and trust ourselves.  This is where yoga comes in.  The practice of yoga calls us into listening.  At first it may begin with feeling the pain of a tight muscles in asana, so we shift.  The call of something out of balance is heard, we respond intelligently and the foundation for regaining our connection to instinct is established.  Over time with our practices, especially under the guidance of a teacher well attuned to their own instincts, we become more and more subltely aware of our needs.  We listen and here the call of a hurt heart needing our attention.  We listen and feel the fatigue in our bones that needs restoration.   We listen and hear the call of our tummies needing nourishment.  Each practice becomes a time to be heard, either as an extension of how our mothers heard us in childhood, or for some, the beginning of this process altogether.  

When we have come to hear ourselves, we can then respond on the mat with a nurturing sequences of asana, breath and meditation to meet our needs.  So much of yoga has become mechanical, the expectation is that each practice be consistent and methodical.  To me this is a masculine approach that may work well for some.  Instead, can we let every practice be a compassionate response to our needs?  When we're tired can we find a restorative practice?  When we are full of excited energy can we find rigor to channel it?  Mothering ourselves through our yoga practice means responding to ourselves as we are each day.  Such a practice will inevitably lead to a greater understanding of ourselves and deeper connection to the instinctual wisdom that has the ability to draw us into balance.   We come to do for ourselves what our mothers did or did not do; listen to instinct and need and respond compassionately.  To be able to do this through our practice is both empowering and the path to a profound trust of ourselves.  We can come to standing in our own skin that for some may be the ultimate gateway to a wellbeing never before experienced.   

In two weeks I will be starting my Master's degree in Counselling Psychology.  For years I have considered many avenues for graduate study, more often than not I have been tyrannized by the thought of making the wrong decision.   I've stewed about what the outcome might be - would I be employable?  Would I ultimately enjoy the work?  If I open this door what about all the others that would shut?  Most of all, I've worried about the time and energy it would require from me.  But, despite the confusion and fear I am continually haunted by academics and have an undeniably, seemingly DNA based penchant for learning.  So, this is how I solved my problem:  I became 100% committed to a half-assed approach to accomplishing this goal.  That's right - a 100% commitment to a 70%ish effort.  

Now, this doesn't mean that I don't want to learn, and it doesn't mean that I won't immerse myself in the knowledge necessary to help people.  It means that, contrary to my undergraduate experience, I won't be obsessing about perfect answers or being the most glaring keener in my cohort.  I intend to approach my studies with the attitude I take into yoga - if I try too hard in one aspect of my asana the rest of my body will suffer.  Until I can let go of perfecting a pose I cannot feel the richness of the conversation within my whole being.  Likewise, if I try too hard in academics the rest of my life will suffer -  my conversation with the other elements of my world would be thwarted.  It wasn't until I could genuinely commit to letting go of perfectionism that I was free to make the choice to go back to school.   

It feels so good to give myself permission to relax my efforting.  It has been yoga that has taught me how to do that.  Through senstive inquiry I have become more aware of when messages arise within me to do better, get it right or be the best.  And, through yoga, I have found out that there are other things that can feed me much more completely than following the compulsion of my perfectionism.  These things are self-respect, balance, stillness and space - none of which can thrive in the suffocating mud of over-achieving. 

Now, with this intention embedded clearly in my heart, I look forward to the next few years of deepening my understanding of human psychology.  I feel excitement for the many ways that it will intersect or contradict what I understand through my yoga journey.  I feel satisfied that the live-wire of my intellect has a place to plug into, rather than just voraciously flying about in search of learning.  And most of all I feel thrilled that I can be both mother and wife and pursue the things that have called so loudly all my life.  That I feel blessed is an understatement.

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. 

I take my daughter for a walk every morning.  Sometimes I listen to audiobooks on my IPod in one ear while I walk.  Recently I have been listening to Thich Nhat Hanh's Mindfulness and Psychotherapy which is actually a recording of lectures this Buddhist monk gave years back to a group of psychotherapists.  At one point he was talking about the anger he felt during the Vietnam war when a village he had helped rebuild four times was bombed again.  He said he wrote a poem about his experience.  I became immediately more engaged as some part of me figured that monk's never actually feel anger - I was eager to know more.  What followed stopped me in my tracks and brought me to tears - this is his poem:

For Warmth
by Thich Nhat Hanh

I hold my face between my hands
no I am not crying.
I hold my face between my hands
to keep my loneliness warm-
two hands protecting,
two hands nourishing,
two hands to prevent
my soul from leaving me
in anger.

To keep my loneliness warm.... How many times in my life have I tried everything to rid myself of loneliness?  I've labelled it as negative, something I don't want to feel.  I've spent so much time with groups of new agers who project that spirituality means the eradication of negative emotions or thoughts.  In my times in groups based on this philosophy I have found the puritanical part of me satisfied by the thought that I could be "cleansed" of my darkness or my so called negative aspects.  And here, this monk of monks, an internationally known peace activist does not try to get rid of his anger or loneliness, instead he holds it with love.  One of the world's most spiritual people giving space to the totality of his humanness - imagine that.  

What would it be like if each asana in our yoga practice was like the hands in this poem.  Gentle movements that bring us closer to reality - not to change it but to keep it warm in the light of our loving awareness.  Downward dog - to protect, trikonasana - to nourish, the sun salutations to prevent my soul from leaving me stuck in any particular state of being.  I hold myself in the grace of gentle asana, no I am not crying - I hold myself in the grace of gentle asana to keep my humanness warm.  This poem did not say two hands to fix, two hands to change, two hands to purify.  This idea seems to be the inspiration behind much of the yoga we see today.  Instead, can we follow the lead of this monk whose spiritual power is evident in the fruits of his peaceful actions?  Instead of changing our natural human experiences can we honour them through our practice?  This poem has been my inspiration for weeks, it is taped to the mirror in my bathroom and I recite it by memory from time to time.  Thank you Thich Nhat Hanh for being another reminder Grace.

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? 

Two nights ago I became completely absorbed in a biography on country music legend Merle Haggard.  Had I come across the listing on the TV guide I wouldn't have given it any thought but my husband landed there channel surfing - and there I remained for the next hour and a half, entranced by the story of a man whose life couldn't be more different than my own.  Or at least so I thought.   All my life people such as Merle Haggard, Hank Williams and WIllie Nelson represented everything I didn't want to be.  To me they represented right wing conservativism and a sort of redneck tribalism that left minorities outside the fringe of human rights.  Merle stated that he wrote Oke from Muskogee as a response to the hippy movement of the late sixties.  It "pissed him off" he said, that the hippies didn't know what was going on in Vietnam any more than he did.  The lyrics of the song reflect his resistence to the hippy movement and his pride in being an Oke from Muskogee, where they like "livin' right" and where the "kids here still respect the college dean".  As a recovering activist and wannabe hippy his opinion on the state of things in the 60's would have at one time affronted me greatly.  But, as I sat in front of my tv, softer and more receptive at this stage in my life I realized his point.  I saw through the eyes of the "other" in regard to the conflict and resistence of the 60's.  And it felt so good to be reunited with a perspective that I had rejected for so many years.  I felt that he was no more right than the hippies but that both had a truth to convey, but that truth was partial.  That night holding the perspective of both made my heart feel lighter.  I can appreciate the idealism of a demographic desparate for something other than what the establishment can give them.  But, as I learned Merle's story I can also hold the reality of the opposite that speaks of patriotism, and the everyday struggles of people just trying to get by. Holding the opposites is the work of the non-dual tradition in yoga.  I realized that my judgement of Merle and his music had been partial and disregards multidimensional nature of every human being.  His songs, while being about things completely opposite than those that I tended to value came out of his attempt to deal with his life, his feelings and himself.  Not so much different than what yoga or writing does for me.  The name of the documentary was "Learning To Live With Myself" named after one of his songs.  The depth and pain behind his eyes as he talked about his life and music reflected my own in moments when learning to live with myself is truly the hardest thing of all -  and  the motive behind my own yogic journey and spiritual search.  Everything he wrote was a sort of "naming" of what is.  He brought awareness to his feelings and life through music, just as I might through my breath and asana.   So as I spent an evening with Merle Haggard I was reminded again of how each of us, no matter how far apart we may be on religious, political or economical spectrums are all trying to come to terms with our humanity.  I am grateful for having stumbled on something completely out of the ordinary, leaving me feeling a sense of wholeness for recognizing myself in the "other". 

Yoga guilt.  We've all been there.  That icky feeling of not quite measuring up because it's been 3 days since your last practice.  The little despot in your head starts throwing insults about how you're obviously not serious about yoga, not meant to practice or teach it and generally just an all around slob.  Maybe it's just me whose hefty inner critic has heckled me in this way - but I doubt it.  Those days are mostly past me now and instead of guilt after missing a practice or two I just feel a genuine longing to be back on my mat.  This changed for me when I realized that "disciplining" myself into practice really just lead me away from intimacy with life and spirit.  When I really looked at it the voice that prompted me day after day to "get on it" was really the insecure mutter of my ego.  Practicing in order to live up to standards in my own head created by an egoistic ideal was a practice no doubt - one bent on maintaining the illusion of my separateness. 

I teach yoga as a way for creating greater intimacy with life.  For me, yoga is generally a sure fire way to know the moment with greater clarity, understanding and love.  But sometimes it's not.  Sometimes, greater intimacy comes from a walk with a friend, a meander through my yard or an afternoon nap. And, all of these things can also serve to distract me from myself too!  When I want to do something other than yoga I like to inquire a little bit: Is what I'm about to do instead of my yoga practice going to help me know the moment and see myself as I really am today?  Will a walk with a friend, move me closer to Spirit?  Will a nap be a way to avoid myself or will in reenergize me so that I may move into the next part of my day with greater clarity?  With love as my intention, I then let myself be moved by my greater intelligence.  It feels like a magnetizing toward something.  I feel pulled, called toward one act or another - and most the time I act in good faith and follow the call.  This power of discernment and willingness to listen to my intuition has come over time, with much self-inquiry and willingness to let something other than ego take over once in a while.  It starts starts with a pause, a tuning in, and a longing to challenge the contracted ideas in our mind that keep us "disciplined" in the art of self-loathing.

Ironically, but understandably, since being liberated from the tyranny of a disciplined practice I find myself on my mat more regularly than ever before.  Questioning my guilt, the notion of discipline and what I thought I was striving for lead to being set free of these things. In the space that is no longer clogged by the drama of discipline there is something else.  It is the call of Spirit reminding me that I need not strive through unrelenting discipline to find It - It is looking for me.  So today, be easy on yourself.  Dance your way to your mat if Spirit's call is asking you to tango with a few asana.  If it's not, carry on beautiful child of yoga, because It will, and when guilt and self criticism is no longer there to muffle the sound of it's sweet voice you will truly be able to hear It. 

There is nothing like feeling radiantly alive.  Having enough energy to engage your life, relationships and work in a healthy and balanced way is essential to wellbeing.  What follows is a practice for helping  you cultivate and recognize your natural vibrancy.  The practice is two fold.  First, we tune in to the frequency of our energy body, or prana, and second we then invite awakening to this body through a variety of exercises. 

Awareness:  Here we are basically changing the "channel" of our attention.   We shift our attention from the channel of thoughts, preconceived notions about ourselves and our body, ideas and concepts to the channel of direct perception of sensation in the body.  As we descend our attention and dwell there for a few minutes we begin to sense the aliveness that "just is" within our tissues, bones and cells.  I like to tap the body from head to toe, as in Qi Gong, as a way to help focus attention on energy,  Spending time connecting to this aliveness it starts to become apparent that this aliveness is bigger than the borders of our physical flesh and bone.  We start to feel ourselves as expanded and spacious.  In connecting to our energy we become more sensitive to the flows and blockages within.   Often just shifting our attention to the energy body, our aliveness, creates a greater sense of well being because we are no longer focussing on worrysome thoughts or areas of discomfort in the body. 

Relaxation:  Allowing awareness to fall on all parts of our being is the first step toward relaxation.  Try it.  As you let your awareness fall on sensation, emotion and thought without getting stuck anywhere there is a natural unwinding uf tensions that take place.  When tensions release energy that has been locked in holding patterns can flow.  There is a misconception in yoga that faster paced, more rigorous styles of yoga are most effective for increasing energy.  Often, especially for beginners, fast paced classes does not allow for us to "tune in" and instead simply reinforced mental, physical and energetic patterns that keep us locked up.   As we relax through guided relaxation or supportive asana, muscles release, energy, blood, oxygen and nutrients can flow through our system and we become more sensitive and alive. 

Breath:  As the muscles and mental patterns that have us locked down around our diaphragm start to soften the breath becomes freer.  As we breath more fully the blood becomes more oxygenated, there is a feeling of lightness that results through the muscles.   The breathwork can be simple 3 part breath, or more complex pranayama such as ujjayi and kapalabhati.  If you are a beginner it is enough to just increase the depth and length of the breath.  (all complex pranayama should be done with an experienced teacher to begin with).

Movement:  Having cultivated a relaxed and tuned in attitude and more open breath we can now engage a movement practice that will truly build and free energy .  Asana, in the form of gentle flows, where muscles contract and release helps to pump blood, oxygen and nutrients through the system.  Heat arises and dissolves, joints find their range of motion, sinovial fluid is moved, lymph is circulated.  All of these things are the manifestation of energy's animating force flowing and working in your being.  Sometimes there are insights and emotions that rise up.  It's all energy. We are all energy.  From the gentle flowing asana it is helpful to move into static poses where we can spend time feeling, continually reconnecting to energy.  The static postures allows us to move into blockages and allow them more and more space to unwind.  Here we find ways of being in the body that fosters efficient use of energy and movement through alignment cues.  Once we are warm and aware then engaging a back bend sequence nourishes the nervous system and fosters alertness and vigor. 

Grounding:  After building energy the tendency is to want it to serve the ego's desire to get more done or go faster.  So we spend time in grounding asana, relaxation and setting intention.  Can your new found energy serve Spirit rather than ego?  Luckily, when getting in touch with our energy we also get in touch with the subtler connections and relationships around us.  It is easier to serve Spirit, or the Good of the Whole, when we engage life from a place beyond our ideas and thoughts. 

This practice is an introduction to playing in the realm of energy.  Have fun with it!  Let me know what you find!
If you have interest in engaging this practice in more depth please join me for the Vibrant Life Retreat on August 7th, 2010 held at Miquelon Lake Provincial Park, 20 minutes north of Camrose, Alberta.  If you think exploring energy is great alone wait til you try it in a group!   

Every once in a while I get sick of trying to make myself feel better with yoga.  Yesterday was such a day. After a small argument with my husband I prepared to enter the haven of my practice and I couldn't.  Every time I approached my mat a well of anger rose up in me.  I could have simply trudged through the thick wall of irritation that paralyzed my movements, as some approaches to yoga advise.  Instead I fell onto my bed, face stuffed cock-eyed into a pillow and stared blankly into the mess of my ensuite bathroom.  Blink.  "What the hell's going on?"  Blink.  "I only have an hour until Rowan wakes up from her nap, I've got to get on this practice if I'm going to" Blink.  Cue tear.  Blink.  Blink.  And there it was - sadness.  The aching in my eyes and the center of my chest made it unmistakable.  I didn't move, which is uncharacteristic of me, instead I just lay there, feeling. 

The anger that was hot inside me just moments ago seemed completely dissolved.   I let the weight of my body sink into the memory foam beneath me and laid there like a child who's favorite toy had just been run over by a car - feeling helpless against the forces of the world beyond my control.  Often when I sit with sadness everything that has made me sad since the last time I allowed myself to feel it rises up - disagreements with my husband, the oil spill in the Gulf, the lonely face of an old man in the coffee shop I frequent.  I was intentional with my breath and let it gently push into the aching areas in my body.   Then, something other than my will flopped me onto a bolster and I laid there with my spine supported and chest wide open.  I committed myself to staying there for as long as my sadness needed.  It must have been at least 15 minutes before I felt the urge to wiggle a little bit - knees up, little sway from side to side.  And then a full practice ensued.  

By the end of my practice I realized the great service my resistance and anger did for me an hour prior.  I approached my practice initially as a way to evade the discomfort of my argument with my husband.  I wanted to feel better and I wanted to use yoga to do that for me.  But sadness needed to be felt, not placated, not bandaided but truly understood and processed.  There are many things that we can use to placate our uncomfortable feelings - chocolate, beer, shopping, American Idol - the list is virtually endless.  Has yoga been added to your list as a way to evade reality?  Maybe what you experience resistance to your practice is simply something inside you that is sick and tired of being "fixed" by yoga.  Maybe, instead, all that lives within you simply wants to be held by it.  Perhaps the resistance isn't ego but  Spirit begging you to cease the obsession with fixing, changing or bettering yourself.  In a world full of ways to placate our sorrows, surely a system with 3000 years of experience in healing can offer more to us than a simple bandaid.