The pattern for everything in life exists — within everything that exists. The strength of modern scientific process which seeks to name all things, giving them genus, order and phylum, or physical properties which can be described by the arc of an equation, carries its own limitations: by disconnecting one object from another, we gain control over it, we see ourselves acting upon a unique object — for the sake of argument, oil — while conveniently blinding ourselves to the fact that everything — everything! — is interconnected, socially, politically, and physically. Burning a gallon of oil here moves a dollar from my hand to the hands of another… and another and another. Those dollars transform the face of a desert, into a garden of wealth and into a cataclysm of civil war. A gallon of oil is a gallon's worth of smoke, is a gallon's worth of warming and greenhouse gases. A gallon of oil today is one gallon less oil tomorrow, and the day after and the day after, so the colorful streamers of automobiles heading home from work, rivers of aluminum and combustion in white and red, which repeat themselves in every city of the nation, in every city of the globe, from here to London to Moscow to Beijing to Kuala Lumpur to Solo to La Paz to Iringa… sooner or later the current of every single river on the planet ceases to move.

The pattern is repeated in history, in art, in music; in physical contact, in the renewed life of mammals and amphibians and birds and insects; in clouds and rain, dust and stars, the spin of an atom and the swirl of a galaxy, the iris of the eye and the whorl of a sunflower. In fact, everywhere and anywhere you look, the patterns are revealed, are simply waiting for a veil to drop from the mind. 

The beauty of an early morning asana practice — yet another beauty — is that you rise to a day which has not yet been formed. You are there at the very beginning, before light has arrived, and before anything has been created. You are the first woman, the first man. If you are fortunate enough to live away from the incessant busy-ness of the cities, the silence inside and outside your home is complete: everything is asleep, everything is poised to wake, to be awakened.

Pattern is repeated in everything, even in a morning: you are there in the cloud of becoming, the swirl of dust and gas that coalesced to form the first stars, and as you gently move from sleep — sleep, the dream time before anything occurs — all the voices and visions that accompany you from that inner/outer space are the voices of creation. Almost, the song of creation giving voice to the first spark of consciousness. This is the same place of creation you visit in the moments before returning to sleep at night, when the mind is still and dips its cup into the well of dreams; it is the same place you visit in yoga savasana, the same place to which you blaze a trail when you practice meditation. All available, all the time, and so full of potential — it contains everything in creation.

So waking, allow yourself to come slowly from that place, carrying whatever gifts or insights have arisen there. You rise to a world which has not yet been formed, to begin its creation: before you move, before you begin creating, allow yourself to fill with gratitude that you are alive. There it is: from the first star to the germination of the first seed, to the moment a child first opens its eyes, a blazing affirmation that this is it, the play of shadows and light, and it belongs to you.

Then you rise and make the day. It will be different than one which began unconsidered.

You could begin with anything, any practice to waken the body and the mind. What I most enjoy about the yoga asana it that is doesn't neglect the fact of existence, but rides on deep and ancient philosophies of the greatest seekers of the ages. It doesn't preach dogma (though people who practice yoga might preach it), but offers a mirror, a pool of stars — look into it as you wish, each time you dip your hand into that pool you see to greater depths. Because yoga respects that inward and outward seeking, its practice is inherently contemplative, even while you are in motion. You always return to stillness, and that stillness, as it deepens, is the place of creation. Meanwhile, you are here in a physical body, in a world where the dance of bodies is our stage, and the practice of yoga is inherently embodying, the strength and flexibility gained from an hour's morning practice will carry you through a day, a year, or your life.

It matters what you choose for your health — but what matters most of all is that you choose something. Your life is waiting to be created — again!