Romantic Fool When I was little, maybe 8yrs old, I would sentimentally and passionately sing along to a mixed tape of loved songs that my mother would play in her car. I would feel every word, every note as though it spoke of my own love, my own pain and experience. Often tears would silently fall down my freckly little face... I still do this, less so these days but on occasion tears still fall traveling the worn path past my freckles and down my face. I confess, I am a hopeless romantic, I love listening to love songs but for a while now I’ve noticed that more often than not it leaves me feeling like there’s something missing, a lack, a yearning that runs deep.... I’ve also observed that very same feeling completely evaporates when I practice yoga. When I silently commune with myself, when I attend to myself and point my entire focus to the small tasks of asana and breath, I commune with all. I no longer yearn for something outside of myself, I no longer come from a place of lack. Quite the opposite I feel as though I have everything I need within me. I feel complete. I feel fully in love. I am love. I know it. I doubt that I will ever cease to be amazed at how a simple and regular yoga practice can produce such freedom, compassion and love.

Namaste