Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun...
here comes the sun...
and I say...
it's alright... ... ... ...

little darling
its been a long cold lonely winter

little darling
it seems like years since its been here

Here comes the sun...
here comes the sun...
and I say...
it's alright... ... ... ...

The sweet voice of George Harrison rouses me from a deep peaceful sleep. Instantly I smile, glad to be alive, glad that the sun is on its way, glad that my heart is opening so early in the morning.
I programmed Here Comes The Sun as my wake up alarm, but this song is definitely not an alarm!
It's the most simple, joyful, tender song ever written.

On long cold lonely winter mornings at 5.30am, I will often get to hear it at least three times before I finally get out of bed.
This morning, the alarm was on the other side of the room.
I open my sleepy eyes and listen to the whole song before it stops and goes to auto snooze.
I lay in bed, wide awake, aware of the joy it has implanted in my heart.
Ten minutes later, it plays again. I love this song, so I listen to the whole song again.
For the next ten minutes it replays in my head.

This was one of the songs my children played in the car last year when we drove to the Flinders Ranges for our first camping holiday together. The sweet memories come flooding back.

Another ten minutes go by and it plays again.
Finally I get up, walk across the room and turn it off.
Its 5.50am.

Putting on wooly warm clothes as fast as I can, I feed cat and dog, go to the toilet, wash face, brush teeth, and take dog for a walk in the crisp dark early morning.
I'm on the yoga mat just after 6.30am, which gives me about 40 minutes to play with.

Not feeling too bright or energetic today, I lay on my back and start with some knee-to-chest stretches to begin the painful process of opening my stiff early morning hips and lower back.
It becomes immediately clear that neither my body nor mind are in an Ashtanga mood. The heaviness of yesterday's emotional breakdown is still in my body, I feel a sharp burning behind my eyes, not from the tears, but from a more complex release of trauma related hormones into this area.

I marvel at how I can be so full of joy and love one day, then crash land into a messy quagmire of unresolved emotional turmoil the next. Death stirs up a powerful cocktail...

I spend the next 40 minutes just easing the emotional pain out of my body.
The lunges tunnel into my hip joints, the slow sun salutes gently and systematically open up all the other joints.
My hands find their way into reverse namaste for Prasaritta Padottanasana, and this intensifies the work on my legs - I play in the pose, adjusting the weight bearing under my soles, intensely curious to sense the different effects on my body as I shift the weight from the inner ball of the big toe to the outer heel and back again. Pressing on the ball gives an easy lift up the inner legs and activates the perineal energy; weight on the outer heels seems to stimulate the sacral energy.

Then the urge to do a few handstands - I wan't sure why at the time, but looking back it was obviously a subconscious need to induce the sensation of perfect balance, an example of how an action in the body brings about a parallel reaction in the mind. Deep yoga therapy.

Remembering that backbends counter depression (not that I'm depressed - this is preventative medicine!), I go for Ustrasana instead of Urdhva Dhanurasana today. I stay arched over for a while - it's glorious to blossom open the heart (here comes the sun...). While in the pose, I detect an annoying stiffness in my left front ankle that has arisen lately - it needs unclogging, so I sit in Virasana, then lay back into Supta Virasana to get the full front ankle stretch. When I come up my body wants to twist so I stay in Virasana and twist slowly and deliberately, sliding my navel around as if it has detached from my torso, twice on each side.
Ankle stiffness has disappeared.

After Dog Pose I do a Headstand for 20 breaths (another balancing pose). My equilibrium is returning. Grounding my forearms and almost lifting my head off the floor I twist to each side for Parsva Sirsasana, again swivelling my navel around, balancing and twisting deeply.

After strong coffee, and a half hour drive to work listening to Dead Can Dance Spiritchaser, I arrive at my parking spot just after 8.30am. Walking down the street to work in my lavender pink coat and black boots, I feel so weirdly disorientated.
Where am I going?
Who am I supposed to be today?
How old am I?
I need reprogramming to fit in.

Two birds swoop overhead and land in a nearly tree...
I say hello to a passing stranger...
Its Monday morning.