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I keep coming by my little blog here, and opening my “new post” page, thinking about things to write.  But every time I get here, I just sort of stare at this blank page, and words seem inadequate.  Empty.

What does it matter what kind of yoga I do, and where? How do I explain that my yoga is beyond definition right now, and that the bigness of the little details every day is the very definition of yoga?  In fact, how is it even possible to pick out little bits of wisdom in the dual onslaught of daily pain and inspiration?

I have no wisdom.  Only experience.  And my current experience has me living so completely and fully in this, this, this one single moment.  This, This.  This detail.  This action. This conversation. This unknown.

This moment of sharing poetry and realizing – in the moment – that it is the most important thing in the world.    Timeless.

I know this post makes no sense. It has no binding theme, no opening hook or tidy final thought.  It has no details, despite the fact that details are all I have.

I guess I just needed to stop on in and say hello – I am here –  Still.

I may not be writing much now, but I am where I need to be.   In lieu of words, I leave you with this beautiful photo of the inside of a tulip – proving once again that the universe is an amazing artist.