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  • A couple hundred people in the park, under the shade of large grandfather trees with sprawling leaf-filled branches, a harp, drum, gong and didgeridoo setting the tone of our practice, we flowed together from one yoga pose to the next.

    My legs were taxed from a long bike ride the day before and I had considered not joining this outdoor karmic event but the morning's breeze was
    fresh and it called me out to soak up some summer community time.

    I moved through a long-strung series of balancing postures on the right side, feeling the effects of the previous day's ride and using all my effort and breath to finish the series with floating half moon pose.

    We switched to the left and I persevered through the poses, reaching into half moon and enjoying a breath there in the stillness, then the yoga teacher's words came across the breeze, guiding us to transition into the final posture, floating half moon.

    My awareness shifted from the stillness, the trees and my breath and fell upon my aching quad muscles which were unable to lift me up into the floating version. I felt the surrender of my thoughts into the fact that my practice on this side would stop here and that would be ok. I didn't struggle to fight my way into whatever semblance of the pose I could manage. I quietly and contently gave in.

    At that exact moment of surrender, before my physical body could register the coming response, the didgeridoo hummed in and the vibration immediately lifted my hand up off the grass and I was floating in half moon with ease. As if my body had not delivered the force necessary to move, instead riding on the sound waves of the didg. I felt refuelled.

    I accepted these waves into my body and my movements as I used them to carry me through the remainder of the practice, feeling their vibration and raising my frequency to match their own, as if the music was a part of me.

    I had indeed surrendered, my ability to lift myself up, and in that space the music was allowed to enter and lift me.
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