Core Strength

At the end of the standing series is a pose called Tree. Balanced on one leg, the other held in place at the top of the thigh, one hand (both someday) at the chest in anjali mudra.

As with all the poses, the list of directions is long and involves every part of mind and body. Lately I'm hearing one above all the others.

"Find your core."

I hear this most often for Tree Pose, and for the other balancing poses, the poses that consistently provide the biggest challenge for me. When it works, I really like being in Tree. We're told to imagine being a tree, and I can. Tall and strong, forming a perfect rectangle with shoulders and hips, my head is pulled to the sky by an unseen sun, my standing foot rooted into the ground.

"Find your core."

I imagine my tree self as something that seems solid, but is in fact fluid and dynamic. Rings of experience rippling out from a center that never changes. I find my breath, focus on my forehead, and for seconds at a time, everything else falls away. I am my core. Confident, unwavering, ageless.

On a good day, I relax in that space until the teacher directs us to change. On a more average day I fall out, or sweat stings my eyes, or I happen to notice a better tree in the person next to me. And my frustration at the obstacles all but guarantees I won't be accessing the unchanging eternity of tree for that session.

"Find your core."

What's different now than it was six months ago is that I know the core is there, whether I find my way to it on a given day or not. The core of me: the place where spirit and body intersect, the place where I'm both uniquely me and universally human, the place where unshakable love resides. The many layers radiating out from that center are my experience, but they are not me.

I look forward to the day when I know my core as intimately as I know the rings surrounding it.

Photo from Flickr