I sat on a rock by the river just before sundown, soaking up the unseasonably warm air. The water was rippled with movement and bands of soft luminescent color. I remembered, watching as the horizon turned an airbrushed peachy pink, that life is not so black and white as I've been seeing it recently. Life happens chromacolor: sky blue, mallard green, Autumn shades of yellow, gold, bleeding red and blazing orange. Life happens unexpectedly, and changes right before your eyes.Life happens dove gray, I thought, looking up at the large bird in the leafless tree above my head, and then realized that the bird was more white than gray, way too big to be a dove, and staring right back at me with fiercely neutral black-ringed eyes. It looked like an owl, peaceful despite his penetrating gaze and proudly puffed up chest, but strong and predatory like a hawk or a falcon, mostly white with light gray markings, and those intense black patches encircling his far-seeing orbs. His beak hooked down in a curve, as if in deep self-contemplation.
I stood up from where I'd been perching on my rock, stepped back enough to take him in, and stared in wide-mouthed awe at the regal fellow up in his post looking down on everything below. He barely stirred, completely undisturbed by me. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
When he finally took flight I heard him, felt him, take his leave. Even for his impressive size, he moved precisely, a few powerfully intentional dashes at the air with his enormous wings and he alighted, glided off gracefully, and left me staring in disbelief at the endless blue space he'd just crossed with such effortless ease.
I sat back down on my rock, alone then, under a bare tree, watching the rippling water and the slowly darkening scene all around me. A man strummed an acoustic guitar a little ways upstream, and as his song wafted over, I listened.
I swelled up full, like the river, reverberating with pleasure and flowing in tune. Perfection.
"What do yogis do when they're not standing on their hands?" a beginner to yoga asked me recently. The best answer is that when yogis aren't practicing asana, they live the adventure of being truly, fully, authentically present to life. Asana is just the warm-up, the stretch before the next leg of the journey. It's everything else once the mat is rolled up and tucked away that's the practice.
Photo by Andrew Schwartz
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