June is the month we officially transition from Spring into Summer.
Yet transitions occur all around us, all of the time.
Minutes turn into hours and days into nights.
Life is ever changing and evolving.
Even one inhale to an exhale is a transition.
In springtime the glory of the first buds and early flowers delight our senses as we transition from our winter slumber, but now these are fading in flower borders or withering at the side of wild walkways.
The trees skeletal branches, once sparse with scattered buds, are blooming with leaves and the brown fields on the horizon now resemble a lush blanket of green.
Nature provides us with a cacophony of changes occurring in front of our eyes and demonstrating how beautiful transition can be.
The transition from Spring to Summer, traditionally signals warmer weather, brighter skies, and sizzling sunshine, yet we all know from lived experience that a British summer is not as reliable as that.
Most of us have adapted to this, watching the weather forecast, having a plan B, or packing a brolly.
We learn to observe these changes and transitions with ease and adaptability, but can we also apply this same softening approach to ourselves?
Most of us Humans find ourselves a little (or a lot) stuck in our own rhythm of living. Routines regularly fill our days and when something or someone disrupts them, on occasion we can meet these moments with resistance and resentment.
Do we stop to observe how that resistance feels?
Perhaps you choose to avoid the British summer by travelling overseas.
As you transition from one country to another, have you ever experienced a disruption to your journey that caused a ripple effect in your world?
How did you respond to this?
How did it all end up?
Sometimes though transition can be joyful and exciting.
Watching a sunrise or sunset, witnessing a small child taking its first tottering steps or experiencing your own personal development or achievement of something.
This weekend I witnessed some fledgling birds as they flocked around the feeder outside my kitchen window, all fluffy and confused, about to embark on their little lives.
I sat silently and patiently observing as the parents fetched the food and fed it to their babies perched on a plant nearby, whilst teaching them how to fend for themselves.
In one small moment in my life, I was fortunate to be the witness of a huge transition for these little birds.
Guiding a yoga practice can feel a little like this too.
I am fortunate enough to witness not only the physical forms of transition on the yoga mat but also the personal development of those (and myself) that come to practice in our community.
In my own practice, I have no idea how my body will move or feel every time I step on a mat. I learn to become the observer, to witness my own knee bend, my arm reach upward, to pay attention to where my breath is and how my mind responds.
Over the past 25 years I have observed how my yoga practice on the mat has transitioned into my life off it.
The tools I have learnt during a wobbly balance, encouraging me to find enjoyment even in a moment of struggle. The shaking of the legs in a strong standing practice helping me build foundations of strength and courage. And the beauty of being able to identify my own feelings and emotions with friendliness and ease.
Yoga is a powerful practice.
It has the ability to assist us as we transition.
We could say Yoga is transition itself.
This month to reflect and honour all that is going on around us in nature and the change of the seasons, we will dedicate our practice to the transition.
Come along and join us and see how yoga can benefit you too.
And as it’s indoors – no brollies required.