There's been a conversation over at Selma's about  her need to, and her method of, surrendering to the divine.  It got me thinking about times when I decided I needed to surrender over to what I call the universe.  I associate the experience with "the universe," as I said to her, because I can experience it most significantly by way of subtle movement, a tipping of the flow somehow; its rhythms nudging me along in an uncharted course.

Funny thing is, like Selma, I've been enduring restless nights of crazy dreaming.  Rodents have intruded into my sleep world; disfigured, injured ones.  I'm waking up exhausted and jumpy and with a sense of gloom and foreboding that I can't seem to shake these recent weeks.

So I'm thinking about that conversation and my recent state during yoga today; and when I'm asked to focus on an intention for today's practice, it seems right to let go of the nighttime  (and daytime) intruders on my peace.  I decide to accept and work with the rhythms of the universe – in that studio and beyond; to ride the waves in a direction that is, perhaps, different that that I'd envisioned as "right."

As it turns out, it's the best yoga experience I've had in a long time.  I focus.  My body breathes into itself, and holds still and strong in the poses.  I balance.   Balance is something I've not found in that studio all summer.

I'm thinking about all that when that cloud passes across my window this evening.  I watch it drift ever slowly east, inviting me to float along with it.  If I dare.   

I don't know how I will sleep tonight, but things are looking up.  Or EVEN anyway.  Kind of like the world is rolling along, and I might as well jump on and just sit back and breathe.