us Wholistic Fitness® yogis are easy to spot in September; we can't resist crankin' a Crane Posture on a sun-baked rock while out running...photo of ilg by Ananda during yesterday's Wholistic Strollercise® with my girls.
when the sattvic wave of summer begins to shrivel like forlorn leather. Leaves turn. Bow hunters creep the high country. Seasonal urgency begins to express itself in myriad and ever changing ways; arm warmers on the Club Rides, night lights on the commuter bicycles, and the gentle shock of wet coldness as i trod barefoot through the grass, fetching the morning newspaper. Calli Tea feels really, really appropriate now.
I know its early September when Grandfather Sun makes His grand entrance over Missionary instead of Raider Ridge as He begins His glorious arc. The Native yogis of our land
- Turtle Island - lived by solar and lunar expression. It's what
Hatha Yoga means: Ha = Sun, Tha - Moon, Yoga = Union. A human life is orchestrated by the Dance of Sun and Moon. At least we used to. We should now. That is Yoga. Go backpacking for several days during September; you'll understand more about Hatha Yoga than any Nag Champa incensed studio or hot yoga teacher could ever pray to impart.
Dewachen in traditional yogi garb (butt ass naked) checks out a Smooth Green Snake (Opheodrys vernalis) yesterday on the banks of the Sacred Animas beside the WF Temple H(om)e. photo by ilg...click to enlarge.
the Sacred Animas floats a sexy mist above her dwindling volume. The mist - anciently born - dances before my riparian home like bardo smoke sucking the Ancient Ones from etheral slumber. Indeed, these morning mists and the humidity they deliver are a sanctified Blessing apart from the Sage which perfumes these rocky heights.
In September, i find myself restraining a deeply rooted nostalgia for each Kale pulled, every Tomato plucked. Such backyard harvest need not a bar code to determine its due date but telegraph their maturity by a sheer and natural appearance to those Who Listen. In each garden lies a zendo waiting for the temple gong of nurturing.
September isthe precious month where every sentient being grows in some unsullied way.
Seedy plants and bundled up morning cold
snaps all of us up here from summer's sweet stickiness.
Time to get the wood for winter.
Get the fenders on the commuter bikes.
Place the ski wax orders, now.
After thirty-eight summers at 6,512' or more above sea-level, let feeble ilg tell you, when September arrives; you listen.
You listento the ultra sweet sounds of morning as you pour the locally made "Southwest Blend" into the bird feeders. Within moments Grosbeaks, Kinglets, Phoebes, and Finches dance their privately known hierarchy among the Siberian Elm branches. And what a dance is it is! Durango sees 310 wild birds as seasonal or yearly residents. The entire state of Minnesota only fetches 312 by comparison. Careful, though, on the birdseed, i reMind myself each treasured morning...birdseed attracts Bears which have found my yard to be a Preferred Pooping Place. Might be the Black Walnut tree. Regardless, too much birdseed and the Bears will raid like Norwegians the feeders, then the trash, and then - like the woman up the valley - your very own kitchen.
What else does ilg listen to during these jeweled days of September?
ilg listensto the soundless sound of a Smooth Green Snake slivering her slow way from the 40-degree night into the wall of early morning light along the banks of the Mother Animas.
ilg listens to every morsel of sunshine bouncing off the Gamble Oak and Juniper and even the Driftwood, floating....floating. i centered my entire Shavasana meditation tonight to my yoga students based upon Driftwood floating upon the Mother Animas.
By sheer Listening?
Listening, my friend along the Path, turns to love unadulterated by societal convention.
Listening transforms.
Listening invites Insight.
Insight welcomes Empowerment.
Empowerment = Enlightenment.
so,
as the only two words to the Wholistic Fitness® bible states:
"Just Listen."And especially; coach ilg wants thee to listen to September as humble gardens everywhere spew out incomprehensible amounts of food that Yogi Jesus would applaud. IT'S A MIRACLE!
To eat local in the ilg h(om)e?
Step outside and just say, "Please, Garden."
We've got seven weeks until the first hard freeze.
Maybe six.
Those of you that have been following ilg's tracks all these decades know that Autumn tis my most powerful time of year; tis the season of
Imogene Pass Race (coming up in 3 days, 20 hours!!!), of roller skiing, and my love affair with falling leaves upon frozen singletrack way up high.
In this elegyfor another awesome summer,
ilg bows to you.
and to Yours.
Endlessly i bow along this head-shaking miracle of existence upon this absolutely implausible plane(t).
that is all.
go out and breathe
September pran.
yogi ilg
