The World is Continually Whispering to You

Consider the Generosity of the One-Year-Old
who has no words to exchange with you yet,
and instead offers up her favorite drooled-on blanket,
her green rhinoceros as big as she is,
her cloth doll with the long blonde pigtails,
her battered cardboard books, swung open on their soggy pages,
her limitless heart.

If you were outdoors she would hand you a dead beetle,
a fistful of grass, a pebble,
by way of introduction or just because.
And if, a moment later, she wants it back,
it would be for the joy of passing
these simple symbols back and forth,
freely offered, freely relinquished,
This is me. Here is who I am. Oh.

In the same way, sun
drapes a buttered scarf across your face,
rose opens herself to your glance,
and rain shares its divine melancholy.
The whole world keeps whispering or shouting to you,
nibbling your ear like a neglected lover,
while you worry over matters of finance,
of “relationship,”
important issues related to getting and spending,
having and hoarding,
though you were once that baby,
though you are still that world.- Alison Luterman

The spaciousness of the quiet. The experience of your breath moving in and out of your body. The feeling of the mat under your feet. The way your clothes feel on your skin. The quality of the light in the room.

These seemingly simple sensations are how the world continually whispers to you.

Bringing your attention to these sensations matters. You are returning to life. You are stepping out of your habitual mind and letting life in. “This is me. Here is who I am. Oh.”

In yoga class and on the meditation cushion, you practice returning to life – each breath, each sensation, each movement – again and again and again.

And when you shift off the mat or cushion, the world continues to whisper (and sometimes shout) and your practice simply continues – feel your breath and let life in. You are still that world.