That thing that I do most(!) mornings on my yoga mat probably doesn't bear scrutiny from anyone who attends a yoga class or really knows their stuff...its not "proper", its not pretty, its not lengthy, its just what I do (a mixture of what I've learned, what feels good, movements I've half invented); but the key is in the words "I do it". I know of plenty of yoga aficionados who still only do yoga when they go to a class. Sometimes I roll movements together so much I feel like I'm a butterfly about to take off then, at other times, I use long pauses and gravity to do the work with me, holding positions until my body tells me to stop, a method that can deliver exquisite release to some of the deepest entanglements. The sense of fine tuning what my body is most asking for, to my own rhythm, has been palpable and the real gift of home practice; being unique to me and that most-intimate inner dialogue (the one that starts with the invitation "show me what you want and I will do that" without uttering a word) and not something that could follow the rhythm of a teacher or class. A conversation such as this, based utterly upon trust, is one that never (ever) stops again but, rather, carries on spreading its magic across all aspects of your daily life. Approaching yoga in this ad-hoc way, the mat remains somewhere that I'm accomplished, doing something that its impossible for me to do wrong or badly (which is a good starting point to get to know this truth about all of life). In listening to my body, what it wants, what it calls out for (today...which may not be the same as yesterday), I do something that is a central tenet of what yoga is all about and that takes me into that same hallowed space where the alchemy of yoga really happens. Like a meditation or a pause for breath, a moment of grace in a life that can be physically challenging, a demonstration of pure self-love and of listening to what my body is telling me, I get there...all on my own.