Yoga and the Seasons of Change
Sometimes We Let Go
As I sit here writing on my front porch in the mid-morning sun, I’m aware of the magnificence and beauty of this time of year, warmth speckled with a slight chill in the breeze, later mornings and earlier evenings, the sound of leaves gently letting go and landing on the nearby group, bees buzzing steadily, and squirrels chattering and chasing each other as the protect their winter harvest. Just last week was the autumn equinox, where a beautiful group of women gathered in my little yoga studio honouring this powerful season of change, what it truly means, how we can embody that within, and gracefully accept moments of cyclical transition. Some of these cycles return back to their original form with every rotation, others forming a spiral, unfolding forward through the cycle but never quite in the same way. While the autumn equinox is an ever repeating cycle of regeneration and growth through the necessary process of letting go and even death, this year I’m aware of the subtle spiral of the cycle as it relates to my own yoga journey, my continued growth as a person and the larger cycle of human life. My yoga journey has seen many seasons and has celebrated a flow on many an autumn equinox. While the heart and gift of the equinox remain steady and immoveable – letting go, death, rebirth, transformation, and rest – I am aware this year that the woman, the mind, the soul, and the body that stood on my mat this autumn equinox now fully embodies the spiral. At some point, the tree ages and changes and never returns in the spring, the spiraling nature of the cycle becoming more obvious. The unfolding of the spiral is gradual, each year inching forward almost imperceptibly. At some, however, like the tree, the body we find ourselves in one equinox morning is vastly different from the one that practiced so many years ago. The pace is slower, the poses more supported, the flexibility perhaps shifting, the musculature decreasing, the strength that once held us for long moments in crow now only allowing us a momentary visit until our feet must find the floor again.
Yoga is a practice of presence, and in that presence, we learn to honour the natural rhythms of both the earth and our own bodies. As the seasons shift—from the outward energy of summer to the introspective calm of fall—yoga offers a way to attune ourselves to these changes with grace and awareness. Just as nature cycles through phases of growth, harvest, and rest, our bodies too evolve over time, requiring different forms of care and movement. In youth, we may crave dynamic flows and physical challenge; as we age, we often seek grounding, restoration, and deeper breath. Yoga supports these transitions by meeting us where we are—offering strength when we feel vibrant, stillness when we need to slow down, and compassion as we navigate the ever-changing landscape of our lives. I’m hoping, by now, at this point in our journey through the Many Colours of Yoga, you’re beginning to see that the heart of this little column is not about exercise, forcing our bodies to do this thing or that, or to proscribe the yoga journey for you. Rather, it is to show us how yoga IS life. It is a path forward not simply on the mat, but off the mat – into our homes, our work, our community, our forests and rivers, our world – and that the limbs of yoga, which we’ll begin to explore, are intended to be ways of living in every moment and every season of our lives.
A Little Science, A Little Soul
