There are 196 verses in Patanjali's Yoga Sutras.
Only three of them deal with asanas.
No one teaches yoga
Only three of them deal with asanas.
No one teaches yoga
to a flower.
Learn bending
what the hurricane
cannot crush.
Breathe from the seed.
Abandon every sequence and routine.
Your body is a river of postures
flowing toward the ocean of repose.
Valiant and gentle as an oak,
stand and sway, the breeze
is your own exhalation.
Let the mind fall like a feather
on your belly.
The estuary of your lungs
ebbs and rises as you listen
to the moon.
Inhale emptiness
into your bones and feel
your ligaments dissolve
into swirling galaxies,
your muscles washed in pure
awareness, rolling
out of the sea in every cell.
A goddess will guide you,
reason is not required.
Your backbone is her wand of bewilderment.
Your pelvis is her boat,
laden with its cargo
of unborn stars.
Not creation through the Word
but an infinitesimal murmuring,
the Godspell of your body,
every molecule a hologram
of one unending breath.
From the baby’s soft spot
in your crown
to the glistening sap root
in your sacrum
runs a hollow nerve that hums
with lightning.
This fire does not burn.
Follow the thunderbolt of silence
Om to your toes.
There are no instructions.
You circle no center.
Micro-movements invent themselves
from molten stillness.
Now it is you own dance.
