I stepped out this morning and it was 71F. Autumn is in the air. Ha!

You know, thinking about leaves falling and accumulating, I can imagine walking through the woods, stepping across and shuffling through the loose natural mosaic of shapes and colors, kicking up the earthy smell ... such a deep set of overlapping memories come to mind.

Composting.  

I look up the word. "A controlled aerobic (oxygen-required) process that converts organic materials into a nutrient-rich soil amendment or mulch through natural decomposition."

I look at its etymology. 

Com "with, together" + ponere "to place." To place together. 

I'm reminded of the Sanskrit word upanishad. "To sit nearby." As in near the teacher or the teaching. To have a conversation, you might say.

There's a lot of yoga, then, rooted in composting. It's also related to composing and composition. The notion of place, of position. Home. 

Creativity and art. Deep ground and soul. 

Breaking apart and breaking down to come together renewed. 

I want to share some things we shared in class this week, starting with a couple of class clips on the art of the self and the distinction between aging and getting old. If you'd like to take a look, you can click here. 

Perhaps something here will serve to fertilize the ground of your practice in the coming days.

Perhaps, like the trees, you let go of something that's no longer working, and new life springs from that, nourishing us all, continuing the conversation.