I'm up in Georgia again. I say "up" because Georgia is north of my hometown of Tampa, Florida. Also, where I'm at in Georgia is particularly mountainous and well above sea level, so the increase in altitude gives me even greater creative license to use the phrase "up in Georgia". If I were staying in the Florida Keys, I might say: "I'm down in the Keys," and that too would be directionally and topographically accurate, since the Keys are not only south of Tampa, but also nearly underwater in terms of their relationship to sea level. So there you have it—a reasonable analysis of cardinal directions and the language that aligns with them.
Aside from that nerdy observation, a deeper contemplation regarding direction and directions comes to mind. What direction am I heading in, and whose directions am I following? Is there some hidden director that's crafting the show?
When it comes to AYP, I'm following the directions of Yogani, and his instructions are very simple. So simple, in fact, that the mind can sometimes have trouble accepting their simplicity. In a world of complex puzzles, clever games, and deceptive mirages, how strange it is to finally arrive at a place where simplicity and transparency are the shining qualities. The AYP aesthetic is unbelievably refreshing and relieving.
If we drill down a little bit further, we might be compelled to ask: Who gave directions to Yogani?
Well, we know that these techniques are a collection of ancient practices, some of which are derived from scriptures like the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. This knowledge is actually old stuff, just newly presented. So, following this line of inquiry, another question might arise, which is: Where did Patanjali get the material from? At this point in the investigation, we would have to invest some major time and energy into scholarly research and historical archaeology, or...we could stop chasing the trail and turn our attention inward, to the present moment of Here and Now.
At last, we have found the answer.
The answer is that stillness, which is ever-present and beyond the scope of space and time, produces all of the magic—in the past, present, and future. Though we may not be fully aware of this fact in our surface level of consciousness (due to self-imposed obstructions and layers covering the truth), the reality of pure bliss consciousness is nevertheless operating consistently and unshakably beneath the activity on the surface level. Like the calm eye of a raging hurricane, the center is perfectly at peace and unaffected by the drama of its surrounding weather.
Bringing this full circle, we can see the value of direction and directions. To wind up home, we have to move in an inward direction, and we need to follow directions that use common sense to achieve that journey. Fortunately, going inward does not prevent us from continuing to travel outward. Actually, the silent center expands and enriches our ability to go in any direction we please. Since beginning practices like Deep Meditation, Spinal Breathing, Samyama, and most importantly, pursuing a chosen ideal of high value, I have found the outer world to be increasingly attractive and familiar. There is more adventure than ever before.
Earlier today, I stood atop the summit of Black Rock Mountain, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians. Looking across the panorama of old-growth forest and other distant peaks, my normal sense of direction seemed to be irrelevant. All the convenient geometry used in the design of an urban landscape (squares, city blocks, rectangular grids, etc.) was not needed to appreciate the curvature of the rolling mountains.
We have a way of dividing the land into parcels, and that's OK, but from a perspective of stillness, those divisions are not nearly as intimidating as they sometimes seem. The presence of inner silence reminds me that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. A whole lot greater.
Thanks for reading. Radiance. Abundance. Inner Sensuality.