“], “filter”: { “nextExceptions”: “img, blockquote, div”, “nextContainsExceptions”: “img, blockquote, a.btn, a.o-button”} }”>
Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!
>”,”name”:”in-content-cta”,”type”:”link”}}”>Download the app.
I vividly remember my first yoga class. My then-roommate and I had accidentally signed up for an intermediate level practice. We laughed as students around us flipped into Headstand while we struggled to (barely) understand Down Dog.
But after fumbling our way through that dynamic, breath-filled class, I spent the entire night writing. There was clearly something for me to discover with yoga, and I kept following that feeling until it became a steady part of my life.
Yoga and writing are practices that have much in common. Both focus on paying careful attention to the world and ourselves in it. Both ask us to remain present and consider how we feel, move, and what is happening around and inside us. The word “inspire” comes from the Latin root meaning “to breathe into,” and for many of us, breathing through our yoga practice wakes a feeling of creativity within.
And when it comes to poetry specifically, both work consciously with the breath. Just as yogis conduct their movement to inhalations and exhalations, poets consider the breath in decisions about rhythm, repetition, and where to break a line. Poetry also has ancient roots in an oral tradition where breath was used to help measure lines to make them easier to memorize. You might think of the breath as dancing through poems and yoga throughout time.
On the yoga mat and on the page, these practices offer a kind of medicine amid a world of hustle and overwhelm. They honor precise decisions while also leaving room for mystery. They encourage us to slow down and notice what otherwise might be lost in scrolling and rushing. In fact, the presence needed to create a poem can be a helpful practice in and of itself that pulls us away from the swirlings of the mind, just as one experiences in yoga.
But this is not only a contemporary concept. There is a tradition of poets who worked with contemplative practices such as yoga and meditation. Poet Allen Ginsberg used to meditate with a pen and paper next to his cushion in case an idea came to him. Poet Mary Oliver famously took long meditative walks with a notepad in hand. The inner space created in yoga and other contemplative practices can give rise to poetry and art, if we pay attention. I like to think of these practices as moving in an infinity symbol—yoga can help make space for poetry in our minds and hearts, and poetry can, in turn, inspire us to come back to the mat.
And there is something devotional about both art forms. Where we place our attention is where we place our love. As poet Sylvia Plath wrote, “I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.” Isn’t this also what happens during the practice of yoga?
pOeMs
Over the years, we have received several unsolicited poems about yoga from readers. This, in turn, inspired us to put out a call for yoga-inspired poetry. Soon our inboxes were flooded. Some sent poems about postures. Others about meditation or personal insights gleaned from practice. Many were titled. A couple originated from a college course in which participants were asked to write in Sanskrit and English. Below is a selection of yoga poems submitted by our readers. Perhaps you’ll consider writing your own.
Aspects of Aparigraha
This too shall pass
The constant anxiety about your future
The clenched jaw
The fear of being heart broken
The heartbreak itself
The future will arrive
Your jaw won’t have so much to hold
You won’t fear heartbreak because it, too, was fleeting
This too shall pass
The peace you feel on a slow Sunday
The excitement that follows the lightbulb moment
The naivety that only your imaginary friends remember
The deep belly laughs on girls night
It all passes eventually
Everything seemingly good or bad
So give yourself the gift
And feel fully
Experience
Yoga is experiential healing.
We learn how to shift our perspective,
Through movement and breath
Stillness and observation
By slowing down
Not thinking so much
It’s not an intellectual exercise
It’s subtle, feeling
And it evolves into loving ourselves
wholly
The more we get to know
The more we get to embrace.
When we begin to notice,
Listen and learn,
We more we reveal all we truly are
The beautifully unique
complex
messy beings we’ve manifested
as energy on Earth
In the stillness there is space to hold it all
When we hold ourselves in our hearts
We can share this love with others
Without condition
So, let yourself experience
Feel
Heal
A Love Letter to Yoga
Thank you for being my anchor.
Through the practice,
I’ve found a home in my body
and gratitude for what it can do.
For teaching me patience,
attuning to the small knowing
of where to go,
when to push,
and how to stay.
For giving me space in a busy world, slowing down when everything is speeding up. I know I always have a place to return to.
Seasons of My Practice
The winter of my practice is cold, slow, and cozy.
Pausing, rejuvenating, hibernating and resting,
In this season of contemplation and reflection.
The spring of my practice is transformative, patient, and slowly awakening.
Planting seeds for constant learning, watering, weeding, and waiting to bloom,
In this season of growth and expansion.
The summer of my practice is hot, fiery, and fast.
Pushing, striving, perfection and performance,
In this season of exploration and maturation.
The fall of my practice is dry, cooler, and changing daily.
Slowly grounding, releasing and letting go,
In this season of sorrow and grief.
The seasons of my practice
Follow the seasons of my life.
Each showing me to be
present with what is.
I know what season we’re in
By looking for the seasons within.
Expanding in summer, releasing in fall, yielding in winter, and blooming in Spring.
I arrive at my mat, greeting them all.
Move Like You
Mind, body and breath
Dance together on the mat
Freedom in the heart
I am a Black woman
Stepping into your class
I stay, yet there is no one like me here
I stay, even though my stomach churns
I stay, and breathe into the overwhelm
I stay, roll out my mat
I stay, when you say no colour boundaries and namaste all
I stay, when the poses are beyond my reach
I stay, after hearing take a child pose instead
I stay, even though I am ignored
I leave, and will never return
Mother Daughter Yin Yoga
I steal a glance
My heart open
Bolster under my spine
There she is
Prone to the sky
Heart wide
Face slack
Full of life, light, and energy
Chestnut hair gathered in a high bun
Lanky limbs settling in
Hands meeting at her heart center
Calm
Peaceful
Content
If even for just a moment
I am grateful for this practice
I am grateful for this stollen time
Together
Hearts open to the sky
Bodies anchored to our mats
Roots tapping down
Connected
To our bodies
To our spirit
To mother earth
Expanding outward
My mama heart shines
योगः करोतु
योगमार्गः प्रशान्तः स्याद्
योगो सुखं करोतु हि
दिपयेच्च मनं योगः
सर्वे च समदर्शिनः
Yogaḥ karotu
yo-ga-mār-gaḥp-ra-śān-taḥs-yād
yo-go-su-khaṃ-ka-ro-tu-hi
di-pa-yec-ca-ma-naṃ-yo-gaḥ
Sar-ve-ca-sa-ma-dar-śi-nah
May Yoga Do
May the path of Yoga be peaceful.
May Yoga bring happiness.
May Yoga light up the mind.
May Yoga bring equanimity to all
there is no stillness in the ocean.
there is no stillness in the ocean.
you breathe in,
drawing the lilting swell of salty expanse
into sun-drenched shores and sand-caked ankles,
yawning against the taste of gurgling seafoam and moonlit seaweed.
you hold your breath and squint your eyes against the brine,
for below the surface lies a churning force–
a beautiful and seething surrender,
unassuming in its decorum, yet steadfast in its breadth–
a moment of pause amidst eternal tides,
like the very earth is holding its breath.
only before the waves dip once more.
and with them the air from your lungs,
receding into its primordial expanse of salt and rock–
an ebb and flow against wind-whipped faces of limestone shores,
into the decidedly aloof divine pulsation.
but despite everything, the ocean churns on.
its rhythmic lull reminiscent of the wombspace,
with the power to suspend in a cradle of protection,
but also with the ability to drown.
you breathe in–
the salt sprays,
a gull cries out,
and there you are again.
there is no stillness in the ocean.
Child’s Pose
I curl up,
hips sink toward my heels,
release the heft of my body
and its tensions
to the Earth.
Hands in prayer,
fingertips resting
in the sticky grass
as this breeze runs to me.
Now –
Mother Nature
is so much more
than my childhood imaginary friend –
but a real mother
a nurturing mother
and she holds me here.
Prakṛti’s Dilemma
प्रकृतिद्वैधीभावः
prakṛtidvaidhībhāvaḥ
किं तस्मिनस्ति तस्यै तु पुरुषार्थमिदं हि चेत् ।
स पश्येत्सा तु तत्सर्वं संयोगः स्यात्परस्परम् ॥
kiṃ tasmin asti tasyai tu puruṣārtham idaṃ hi cet |
sa paśyet sā tu tat sarvaṃ saṃyogaḥ syāt parasparam ||
But what’s in it for her?
If this whole universe exists for the sake of puruṣa.
He may see, but she’s all that!
Their yogic connection should be complementary.
Grace
Double pigeon, forward fold,
a room full of held-still lungs
and Kristen says, do something
to bring the breath back.
Oh, look! How many times
the Divine has found a way to speak
through the matter of this world.
To get straight to the heart of us.
How all at once –
it’s made easy.
Could it have come sooner?
How much suffering could have been saved?
I could ask those questions.
Here I am, instead, Wasn’t it all worth the while?
rising from my throat, out my lips.
To have this water spring
from my face
as it does the sky
as it does the geyser
this celebration
that it is so – it is so! –
we help each other
bring back the soul
through a pigeon, a cue,
still might never know.
In night so dark the eyes can’t focus,
let go your need for light.
Let go your blossoms to the sea;
let go each petal at highest tide.
Let go your necklace to the waves.
Let go the pages of the well-secreted diary
that marks your life; let go the ribbon
that held it in place all these years.
At lowest tide along the shore,
empty your ballooning pockets of their tokens;
they will be gathered by others soon enough.
Let go your steps behind in sand;
they will be scavenged soon, as well.
Let go your heart, broken or full.
Bring your heart in your two hands to the rocky
tidal pools that pulse and breathe—
Set your heart softly in the shallows
where muscles cling to life,
and let your heart go.
Only then will morning’s amber turn reveal
itself beyond the saltwater swells.
Only then may you see the crease in the sky
that birds travel through.
Ishvara Pranidhana
I would gladly be a plankton
Swayed by the salty sea
Brushed into your comblike mouth
Gaping and consuming
Myself and a million others
Flowing down your gullet
Into your red, red stomach
To a fate unbeknownst
I swim into a crevice
A tiny fold of acid
Where my curved spine dissolves
Brief life so sweet and savage
The beauty in life is in
Our own
Direct experience.
To love what is,
As it is,
As it is happening
Without need
For it to go on being–
Undoing the inner drama of
Resisting change
Undoing the attachments to how it
Ought to be
We simply
Free ourselves
To feel
To breathe
To be
And to become
Addiction
It slips unseen into the party
like a silent thief
determined to steal what is most valuable.
It slides into the bones and desires
and gets cozy in the easy chair.
It starts asking for special treats,
demanding daily treatment,
a repetition of a wash cycle:
rinse and repeat, dry,
rinse and repeat, dry,
but this fabric never quite dries
and the spinning is eternal.
It eats all the crumbs off the plate
just to return to the emptiness of desire,
the only fire it knows,
the only match to ignite the transgenerational flame
on the family altar of DNA.
Addiction cares only for itself,
feeds only itself,
pretending to be the cure for the deeper pain,
calling………calling…….calling
”Assuage…assuage”!
This remedy cannot cure
but only deepens
and thickens the scar of the original pain,
requiring more stretching,
more hot yoga,
to tear and stretch the scar,
exercising the wound to make it more soft and pliable,
the geography of pain becoming more detailed:
the softness of it here,
the toughness of it there.
Addiction is the unwanted guest
creating a house of lies
where only it can live.
How does one ask it to leave?
Build a new house;
call it the body.
Place it in a neighborhood
where everyone cares.
Let it dry in the sun in the backyard
like an old bed sheet.
Let it become a prayer flag
marking a boundary
to which one never returns,
fluttering ragged and tattered
in the Western wind
at sunset.
In the new morning,
love the little birds
that dare to alight on the line
at sunrise.
Fish Pose
the pelvis is an anchor
the rib cage buoyant
on spine of knotted rope
i
am going diving
some truth
may be at the top
of my head
alveoli tentacles flush
the engine of heart
i learn to see through water
it becomes a magnifying glass
cells open
a million portholes
where i went down
now i go up.
