Kilimanjaro. The roof of Africa. The tallest free-standing mountain in the world. Over a week of “pole, pole” & “hakuna matata” culminated in one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. At the summit, my head was foggy & and my legs were unsteady. I hugged Josh & our tears embraced the frigid air of sunrise. The full moon was still soft in the distance.
But (despite the thin air at 19,340 feet) my breath never wavered. In eight days & across five distinct climate zones, that anchor of awareness never retreated or tightened. My breath (my practice) held me in deep trust. It was yoga. I’ve never rested in such trust before; it means something & that’s all I know now.