One of the greatest gifts of pregnancy has been my increased capacity to sit still. Sitting still has never been a strong suit - not even after practicing yoga for 12 years. My father always said that I have two speeds: really fast and off.
Now, 20 pounds heavier than my normal weight and using most of my energy for growing a human in my womb, I find that I have very little interest in hiking 6 kms in dry sand every morning to get a good workout. Instead I’m sweetly content to walk 1/2 km to my favorite shady spot, sit down and watch the changing shapes of ocean waves breaking repetitiously, sounding off like a giant liquid metronome.
This stillness has introduced me to previously unseen details: the way our seven-year-old black lab’s ears flop forward when he digs contentedly in the sand, making him look like a four-month old puppy again; the way the morning clouds move across the sky reminiscent of giant airborne downy swan feathers; the sharp line of the distant horizon that appears so concrete from here, but, like the elusive end of the rainbow, will never be touched.
Now, 20 pounds heavier than my normal weight and using most of my energy for growing a human in my womb, I find that I have very little interest in hiking 6 kms in dry sand every morning to get a good workout. Instead I’m sweetly content to walk 1/2 km to my favorite shady spot, sit down and watch the changing shapes of ocean waves breaking repetitiously, sounding off like a giant liquid metronome.
This stillness has introduced me to previously unseen details: the way our seven-year-old black lab’s ears flop forward when he digs contentedly in the sand, making him look like a four-month old puppy again; the way the morning clouds move across the sky reminiscent of giant airborne downy swan feathers; the sharp line of the distant horizon that appears so concrete from here, but, like the elusive end of the rainbow, will never be touched.
My eyes linger on the horizon. I’m reminded of the phrase, “as above, so below”, a phrase that acknowledges two aspects of Creation, the un-manifest and the manifest. The horizon then represents that most unique point of existence where the formless and the formed merge. My Trantrika teacher calls this meeting point maya.
Unlike the classical definition of maya, which suggests that maya means ‘illusion’ (as in the manifest world is an illusive projection of Consciousness as compared to the 'real' world of pure Consciousness or God), the Trantrikas suggest that the world of form is teaming with just as much Consciousness as the unmanifest world. Tantrikas suggest that the manifest world is not at all illusion at all but rather a denser version of a Consciousness that manifests in infinite forms. Therefore maya, the horizon between the unmanifest and manifest worlds, is not described as the point where 'illusion' begins, but rather as a magic mirror, the thin line veil, that makes visible to our human senses the embodiment of God.
Unlike the classical definition of maya, which suggests that maya means ‘illusion’ (as in the manifest world is an illusive projection of Consciousness as compared to the 'real' world of pure Consciousness or God), the Trantrikas suggest that the world of form is teaming with just as much Consciousness as the unmanifest world. Tantrikas suggest that the manifest world is not at all illusion at all but rather a denser version of a Consciousness that manifests in infinite forms. Therefore maya, the horizon between the unmanifest and manifest worlds, is not described as the point where 'illusion' begins, but rather as a magic mirror, the thin line veil, that makes visible to our human senses the embodiment of God.
Seems so perfect to remember this as our birth approaches. After all what clearer way for the Divine to manifest than through birth and new life?