Where the Streets Have No Name

The name for the yoga practice I crafted for August is “Where the Streets Have No Name”.  Partially because we’ll be doing some creative things, but mostly because lately I’ve been finding an extra yummy part of life’s menu exists in the section that’s “Beyond Words”.  For instance, not only do words fail to capture the rapturous joy, expansive wholeness, and effervescent gratitude I experienced during Lisa and my first date, when celebrating her 50th birthday, and at our weddings, labels can’t capture daily delights, like the connection and calm we felt simply sitting together on our deck reading, chatting, and drinking margaritas on a recent summer’s day.

As much as I hate to admit it, being a words guy, naming and categorizing encounters, sensations, and feelings can block us from receiving the full gift of an experience, because in defining it we’ve limited it.  Poetry only hints at the deliciousness of the combo of chocolate and peanut butter, the medicine of a bear hug, or the toe tingling vivaciousness of a passionate kiss, for instance.

You know how in the midst of grief sometimes the most therapeutic thing to do is silently hold each other?  Or in the face of injustice all you can do is roar?  Or how times of celebration move us to whoops, tears, high-fives, chest bumps, and so on?  Some “streets” in life have no names; so let’s go there together!  Who wants to join me in mindfully moving into experiences beyond words by simply breathing, feeling, receiving, and being in the fullness of the moment … if even for a second?