Ever since I was a child, Autumn has been a season of magic to me. I was born right around the fall equinox when the weather began its transition: the leaves grew brittle and turned a brilliantly rich orange or maroon, the crisp air threatened to bite your nose off, and everything and everyone stood trembling on the edge of something new, a fresh start.
Autumn is the epitome of transformation, of resurrection. Even my name echoes the everlasting cycle: Tasia, meaning “the resurrected one.” Thus, this has always been a powerful force in my life. Each time I come to my yoga mat to meet my higher Self, my former skin crumbles and flakes off, and I seek to understand the new transition that has come to commune with me.
We break open. Again, and again.
It occurred to me today how important our Creation Story is. Not as a fixed state, or definition that writes out our past, present, and future in permanent ink. No. As a place of origin, a beginning, where we always have the choice to go a different direction. Congratulations, you pass Go and collect $200 dollars, and oh, by the way, the board is completely different than the last time you came around.
I use the term “Creation Story” loosely, in hopes that you, you, and you may interpret it in whatever way speaks to you. In so many spiritual traditions, religious traditions and family histories, the reverence held for the Beginning, for a Birth is absolutely astounding. Equally as astounding is the number of shapes, stories, symbols, and metaphors the Creation Story takes on. And the impact, oh! The look in my mother's eyes when she describes giving birth to me, it is unlike any other look. I liken the Creation story to oral storytelling traditions. The Creating truly comes in with the telling, with the new details, the new symbols, the new connections, the new ah-has. Where we come from is not important because of the where, but because of our changing relationship with it.
I rediscovered the story of my birth, and it completely shifted my conception of who I am. I am the leaf, torn from the tense branch of the tree, whipped and twirled, reveling in in the feel of the wind and the stunning beauty of my dance, while wondering where I will land. I will always land somewhere, and I know that my resting place is where I make my temporary home, until the wind plucks me up again.
Creation is never fixed. Never. It is pure intention born from infinite, reoccurring possibilities.
Let me say that again. Pure intention.
I realized, with new intensity, that my Birth arose from careful planning, pure awareness and presence. My ancestors purposefully crafted my existence, though they did not know who I would become. This has never ceased. You see, creation is a continuous practice and tradition. It is my tradition, it is YOUR tradition. It is a gift, a set of crafting tools that has been passed down to us from every living thing. When I say it is important to be in relationship with our Creation Story, I mean we are the shepherds of the intention we were born from, and the intention we are born with. With this tradition comes tremendous responsibility.
You may have found yourself, once or twice (at least), in a difficult pose, trembling, doubting, wondering what the hell the teacher is thinking. They're crazy, right? When it going to be over? I don't have much strength left.
What keeps you in that pose?
Not the teacher.
What are YOU creating?