Here I am in New York, wondering what month it is! My weather app says 28 degrees with snow flurries as I lay under my down comforter daydreaming of a warm cup of tea. When was the last time it snowed in April? And, for heaven’s sake, when was it 75 degrees on Christmas Day? Oh, yeah—this last December 25th. Is this one of those things in my yoga practice that I’m supposed to learn how to accept, or is there something I can do about it? Am I contributing to global warming? What little things can I do that add to a solution rather than just being a part of the problem? Yes, I consume too much on many levels, and feel in direct conflict with the yamas (nonviolence, truthfulness, not stealing, sexual containment, and not hoarding). Has my practice changed the way I relate to the hungry ghost imposing its tenacious grip on my actions?
We throw around the words “love” and “peace” as if they were feel-good panaceas, but what they really are, are arduous tasks. What are the steppingstones to inner and then world peace? When we take even the smallest steps towards these larger-than-life concepts, there’s a sigh of relief inside. How can we continually do the right thing? What is the internal barrier to falling in love with the great space inside ourselves that keeps us choosing love and life? How can the frigid temperatures of the month of April contribute to the beauty of right choice?