Yoga keeps me honest. Honest about what I put into my body, the information I allow into my mind and heart, and the information I choose to ignore. It keeps me honest in my relationships, with others and with myself.

Yoga keeps me in line. I am a serial self saboteur who will get into trouble at every given opportunity. Yoga drags me out of bed at the crack of dawn. It forces me to make healthy choices and purge myself of accumulated bad habits- of which there are many. It helps me to edit, omit, continuously grow and improve.

Yoga makes me do the things that I don’t want to do. The ‘should dos’ that end up bringing about an enormous amount of beauty and bliss, despite the moments leading up to the actual doing of them feeling insurmountably painful. Yoga makes me lean into that pain. Dance with it. Make love to it and even feel love for it.

Yoga is my 360 degree mirror that won’t let me hide my bad side. It forces me to exasperatedly see my flaws in HD, embrace them and, dare I say, even celebrate them. Love them.

Yoga gives me the dogmatic structure that my wandering mind abhors but desperately needs. But within the rigidity, yoga allows me to create and interpret as I choose. Every day, every practice, a little different. Yoga allows me to ascribe meaning to my body. My breath. My life. Yoga makes me feel like a colourful, vibrating, beautiful being capable of the unfathomable and unseen.

Yoga softens me. It dampens the loudness and suspends the judgement. It buffers my jaded edges and corrodes my walls. It cracks open an otherwise tightly sealed heart and allows it to shine and bleed shamelessly, beautifully…

Yoga is my art. My mat is my canvas and my body, a brush. My thoughts, the strokes. My feelings, the colours. Moving musically with my breath as I paint my story of the day slowly, slowly, gently gently…

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