Ian Jamieson’s Savasana readings-Inspiration on the mat.
Have you been in a class, and at the end you find the peaceful space of savasana (laying down, relaxation). You think it can’t get any better, and then the instructor reads something that just lands, and something clicks. Its like they are reading it just for you. Its exactly what you need to hear.
Our instructors love the book ‘Journey To The Heart‘ by Melody Beattie. But recently Ian has been reading some poems. Some are so moving, and beautiful – we asked him to share.
So here they are!
The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Being Human by Naima
I wonder if the sun debates dawn
not wanting to rise out of bed from under the down-feather horizon
if the sky grows tired of being everywhere at once adapting to the mood swings of the weather
if clouds drift off trying to hold themselves together make deals with gravity to loiter a little longer
I wonder if rain is scared of falling if it has trouble letting go
if snowflakes get sick of being perfect all the time each one trying to be one-of-a-kind
I wonder if stars wish upon themselves before the die if they need to teach their young how to shine
I wonder if shadows long to just-for-once feel the sun if they get lost in the shuffle not knowing where they’re from
I wonder if sunrise and sunset respect each other even though they’ve never met
if volcanoes get stressed if storms have regrets if compost believes in life after death
I wonder if breath ever thinks of suicide if the wind just wants to sit still sometime s and watch the world pass by
if smoke was born knowing how to rise if rainbows get shy back stage not sure if their colors match right
I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock to know when to crack if rivers ever stop and think of turning back.
if streams meet the wrong sea and their whole lives run off-track I wonder if the snow wants to be black
if the soil thinks she’s too dark if butterflies want to cover up their marks if rocks are self-conscious of their weight if mountains are insecure of their strength
I wonder if waves get discouraged crawling up the sand only to be pulled back again to where they began
if land feels stepped upon if sand feels in significant if trees need to question their lovers to know where they stand
if branches waver at the crossroads unsure of which way to grow if the leaves understand they’re replaceable and still dance when the wind blows
I wonder where the moon goes when she is in hiding
I want to find her there
and watch the ocean spin from a distance listen to her stir in her sleep
effort give way to existence
Your Poem by Robert Service
My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave Your lovelier design, ’Twill make my lyric, I believe, More yours than mine. I’m but a prompter at the best; Crude cues are all I give. In simple stanzas I suggest - ’Tis you who make them live. My bit of rhyme is but a frame, And if my lines you quote, I think, although they bear my name, ’Tis you who wrote. Yours is the beauty that you see In any words I sing; The magic and the melody ’Tis you, dear friend, who bring. Yea, by the glory and the gleam, The loveliness that lures Your thought to starry heights of dream, The poem’s yours.