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Every Saturday at 9 AM, I head for the aptly-named Pleasure Island and B’s warm, welcoming, funky house on the ocean’s edge. For an hour six of us breathe in, breathe out, concentrating on the flow of energy between and among us and the universe.

Each week I find I can hold a pose I could not hold before, balance in ways I didn’t think possible, and focus my breath and movement with an intensity I didn’t know I had, especially not on a Saturday morning.

I like that yoga is called a “practice”. That suggests a process and a journey rather than the embodiment of some kind of perfection.

Seems to me that yoga is a lot like writing. Both take time, effort, concentration, and clarity of focus that comes only with practice. With practice and more than a little grit, yoga and writing can appear effortless. Yes, I do feel that pull in my calf muscles and the struggle to make that metaphor fit. Intensely.

Intensity. Clarity of focus. Grit. Energy.

Here’s to my circle of yoga friends and my circle of writing friends.

Namaste.

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