For a little over a month now, Ive been spending a fair amount of time in front of a computer screen, composing short essays on yoga-related topics. And in a way, this feels like a fairly natural, easy and mostly-enjoyable thing to be doing: I love to write, and have been exploring Yoga (in its Taoist, Buddhist & Hindu varieties) for long enough that finding aspects of these practices ~ or their related philosophies ~ to present in this way, is not a problem. Yet theres also a feeling of strangeness about it this little gnawing sensation in the pit of my belly something which seemed to be asking for its own exploration and hence, this essay!

So what makes writing about Yoga strange? For one, I am ~ by inclination, passion & profession (in the sense of dharma) a poet. It is in writing poetry that I find the deepest joy, ease, and openness A feeling that Im doing what (at least for now) I am meant to be doing, that Im offering out into the world what I am uniquely qualified to offer, that Im doing my job. Though I also very much enjoy writing prose, there is, for me, a palpable difference in the experience of the two forms. The writing of prose, for me, almost always carries with it a certain sense of tension, of anxiety. I am, in the context of prose articles, making affirmations, assertions; Im arguing for this or that point of view; Im proposing and defending. I place myself in relation to a specific discursive field, having in mind a particular audience whose attention, and approval (or disapproval!) Im wishing to attract.

When ~ on the other hand ~ Im writing poetry, the relationship is much more between me the objects of my inspiration (which for me tend to be trees & rivers & mountains and other members of the natural world), than it is between me and my (projected) readers. The writing of poetry, for me, is primarily about listening and then, with as much delicacy & integrity as I can muster, translating what Ive heard into the sounds, images, and evocations of a poem Whether or not someone else approves of the poem really never enters my mind. Which isnt to say that I dont value the work of other poets, and feel happy when my work is appreciated by them. I read widely among other poets who I hope to be influenced by, and am happy to have that effect myself, on others. Yet this is secondary to the process of simply listening of allowing my perception to be naked, my senses virgin to what theyre perceiving en route to birthing the next poem. So in relation to my practice of writing poetry, writing any sort of prose feels ~ in this way ~ strange.

Whats also strange, in this particular (virtual) context, is that it is only through some strange combination of intuition and projection, that I can pretend to know my audience. So Im writing about practices which, for me, are associated with the deepest forms of intimacy in a context which is about as impersonal as can be! Now whether or not in-person relationships are necessarily any more real or intimate than virtual relationships, is an interesting question. In either case, intimacy would seem to depend upon ones capacity to see or feel beyond whatever text it is thats being presented, as the first level of contact. That text might be words on a computer screen, it might be spoken words, it might be a persons physical appearance Whatever the text, my knowing of the person at any level beyond the most superficial, will depend ~ it seems to me ~ upon my capacity to augment intuition (knowing-from-inside, at a feeling level, and connecting at the level of Spirit/energy), and turn the volume way down on my projections (habitual associations I make, based upon that first-level text). But this is a topic for another essay (or, perhaps, a poem)

To write about Yoga is also to be involved in an attempt to speak the un-speakable, which is definitely a strange (and perhaps really arrogant?) undertaking! Yoga as a path (sadhana), as a set of techniques, instructions, philosophies, is something than can, and must, be represented in the form of words & images Otherwise, how could anyone ever begin to practice? How could anyone ever do this thing called entering a path of Yoga? And how could anyone ever practice if there were no forms being practiced? Yoga as fruition (siddhi or samadhi or citta-vritti-nirodha ), on the other hand, is by definition beyond all forms (including thought-forms), beyond all language It is a state of Being in which all (conventional, conceptual) knowing has been dropped, including our knowing about Yoga! Yet whats also true is that most yogis & yoginis who have accessed this fruition of Yoga choose to return to the world of speaking & thinking & moving about within a human body which, in a strange way, brings us back to the place where this essay began: poetry

For it is often (though not always!) in poetry (of thoughts, words, and/or physical movements) that such Beings then choose to express themselves for it seems that sometimes a poem (or dance) is ~ via its gentle listening ~ what has the power to tease out of this Yogic silence a song a way of using language which points back to its origins, it Source, that un-speakable Silence

So for now at least, I will continue to write essays on yoga-related topics. And let myself feel curious about bringing the energy of poetry into my prose. It feels like the right thing to do. Though it is strange business indeed!