Enlightenment in a Snow Shovel
For me it’s shoveling snow. I used to hate shoveling snow. The new Yoga me loves shoveling snow, is ecstatic shoveling snow.
I love the feel of bundling up and putting on my Norwegian ski cap. I notice all the little details, like the snowflake pattern on the cap. I love the bracing cold that hits my face as I step outside onto the driveway. I love the feel of the shovel in my hands as I pick it off the rack in the garage. I relish the Currier and Ives winter scene before me.
I enjoy the distinctive sound of the shovel as it scrapes across the pavement. I love the way the snow parts on either side of the shovel. I think about each individual snowflake and each individual atom making up each snowflake.
I marvel at the complexity of the movements of my body as it effortlessly and unthinkingly walks and turns and bends and throws and lifts. I feel the blood quickening through my arteries as it rushes to supply my muscles with fuel.
I feel the satisfaction of accomplishment as I clear more and more of the driveway. I finally go to where the driveway meets the street and happily do the much harder work of lifting the thicker, wetter, icier snow that accumulates there.
I love the powerful presence of the City snow truck as it plows by and dumps a foot of snow from the street back onto the end of my driveway — WAIT A MINUTE. There are limits to this Yoga stuff. I really don’t like that!