A story of the Soul

She sat under the apple tree. Blossom falling like soft kisses. The promise of fruit. She was alone but never alone. Her every breath was counted. Every hair treasured. The brush of a feeling running through her was felt by her other. There were no barriers to this love. She was the beloved and the lover of her soul was Divine. Unseen. Everywhere and inside of her all at once. A mystery and yet so obvious that most missed it. They felt its truth in her ease. She was held.

With a love like this she was home. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. She was the centre and out of her flowed a living breeze, as sweet as the apple blossom. Prayer was like breathing. Her and her beloved were one. Her needs was felt before she had uttered a word.

They call it enlightenment, she smiled. They make it sound hard. One day the door of her mind just opened and she laughed that what she had been searching for all of her life was already here. Closer than her skin. There really was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Just lie under the apple blossom and let it kiss her skin.

Blog: A Link to my Stories

I want to take you on a journey. A journey within and without, beyond and right here now.

Some things are too big for our minds to understand. That’s where stories come in. They transcend the bounds of human rules and play with the limitlessness of the heart. A fox can speak and a canvas becomes a portal. My reality is often stranger than fiction. Synchronicities have been so magical that I need allegory to share them. From my heart to yours. Heart whispers.

Some of these stories will make sense to you. Others will trickle in over time, unfurling in your understanding. Others may never take seed. I open my heart to you. Roam freely. Tread softly, for you tread upon my heart.

This is a link to stories I’ve written for years. They aren’t necessarily about yoga. They were my way of making sense of the world.

Very soon there’ll be a blog related to yoga. It’s being ruminated as I speak. The more my heart opens over the years, the more I see yoga everywhere. If yoga is yoking, or uniting, coming home to your true self, to your oneness with all of life, then the messages are everywhere you look. Little love letters from life strewn across your path. Every day is an adventure.

My most precious yoking is with the Divine force that weaves my very breath into the miracle of being. This union, more than any other, ignites my stories.