The practice of
Heart Yoga is the quiet, unassuming, constant light in my life…
Whenever I can, I practice on the low-tide beaches of the
Southern Gold Coast in Queensland Australia – Currumbin Alley, Currumbin, Flat
Rock, Tugun, Kirra, Greenmount and Duranbah.
Recently, after a practice under the enormous blue
springtime sky at Kirra, I noticed the shapes, patterns and rhythms my body
left in the sand. And I began to wonder whether not only might my breathing and
practice be nourishing internal sacredness within my body but also creating
ephemeral sacred spaces on the beaches where I practice.
Leaning Into The Ether
There is a beach where the sound of the sea
speaks peace
Where the infinite sky remembers
and every grain of sand welcomes the feet, the paws, the claws, the life that press upon them.
That's where I join the tides and the sun
to craft patterns, rhythms, ephemeral shrines with my hands, feet, body, breath;
wondering if, in this most secular city
one can move energy in ways that conjure up cathedrals amongst the rocks.
Inhaling into pain, the resistance like a miracle,
exhales in tandem and we dance
a tango I think,
unflinching
enamoured
elegant in hats and heels
Unflinching.
In our wake remain the whispers of devotion.
Until high tide they murmur, extending
petals, sticks, shells and pebbles within a ghostly
series of steps for passersby with
an open eye.
After the last stretch I retreat to the big black boulder
press my back against its sun-drenched surface,
reflecting;
Akasha: I lean into the ether and sing.
There is a beach where the sound of the sea
speaks peace
Where the infinite sky remembers
and every grain of sand welcomes the feet, the paws, the claws, the life that press upon them.
That's where I join the tides and the sun
to craft patterns, rhythms, ephemeral shrines with my hands, feet, body, breath;
wondering if, in this most secular city
one can move energy in ways that conjure up cathedrals amongst the rocks.
Inhaling into pain, the resistance like a miracle,
exhales in tandem and we dance
a tango I think,
unflinching
enamoured
elegant in hats and heels
Unflinching.
In our wake remain the whispers of devotion.
Until high tide they murmur, extending
petals, sticks, shells and pebbles within a ghostly
series of steps for passersby with
an open eye.
After the last stretch I retreat to the big black boulder
press my back against its sun-drenched surface,
reflecting;
Akasha: I lean into the ether and sing.
 |
| Pictured is the author, Sally MacKinnon |
Sally
MacKinnon: Sally struggles with
biographical descriptions and labels for herself these days (apologies!) She
lives in a small rainforested mountain community in South East Queensland
Australia on a family property with her son, sisters and mother, a flock of
chooks and ducks, and a trio of hilarious dogs of varying ages. She is a soul
surfer (ha, a label!) with a grand and lifelong love of the ocean, the beach,
the sand, the sun, the sky. Her authentic voice emerges through poetry. You may connect with Sally on Facebook here, or e-mail her salmackinnon@bigpond.com.
~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
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