Week 4 – Sanctuary of Resistance – A Full Moon Offering from the Inward Path

Footpaths and Moonlight: A Full Moon Offering from the Inward Path

This week’s sanctuary is inspired by my own full moon journal reflections,
a quiet sit with the recent full moon, my body, my breath, the ache, and the wonder of being a woman walking through her own life.
Not rushing. Just reflecting, listening and being.

There is a kind of resistance that doesn’t need a protest banner or a march.
It whispers instead.
It invites us to slow down, soften, and return to the body as a place of reflection.
A place of understanding, A place of care. A place of remembering.

This is an off the mat yoga offering.
A reflection on how we live, not just how we stretch or meditate,
but how we carry ourselves through joy, through fatigue, through transformation.

This week, I offer a softer lens.
No politics. No headlines.
Just presence.

Let this reflection be a companion for those reclaiming the sacred in the ordinary.
A pause on the Camino, on Life’s Footpath…to take a break, to take it all in.
A breath under the full moon.
An embodied reminder:

You are allowed to be whole and unfinished.
You are allowed to pay attention instead of proving yourself.
You are allowed to make this life your own practice.

This, too, is Sanctuary.
This, too, is Resistance.

Footpaths and Moonlight: A Feminine Reflection
An off the mat offering for the inward path

There are seasons in life that ask us to pause. To listen.
To walk the quieter footpath.
Not to disappear, but to return to the inner landscape of the body, the breath, the heart.

This is the practice of living yoga…not the kind done on a yoga mat with asana/poses,
but the kind lived in the in between spaces.
In the kitchen. In traffic. At the edge of a hard conversation. and difficult decisions.
In the quiet ache of a cranky hip, or the restless breath of a sleepless night.
This is where the real practice unfolds.
This is where we meet ourselves.

At the start of this path is the value of paying attention.
Not just in the outward world, but within.

Can you slow down enough to notice how you feel?
Can you catch your breath when it’s tight or soften, relax into the ease of it?
Can you feel the stance or slouch of your body, the small shifts in your mood?
We often look for balance as if it’s something to achieve, but what if it’s more of a relationship?
One we tend to with curiosity, not control?

Some days, we move with ease.
Other days, we try everything…deep breaths, Hatha yoga, the whole spiritual toolkit…
and still feel lost, irritated, heavy and unsure.
That’s okay.

Balance isn’t a destination.
It’s an inner dance. a relationship with yourself.
It’s a practice.
It’s a laugh at ourselves when we try to “namaste” our way out of being human.

Can you greet those off days with something softer than resistance?
Can you see them as part of the whole being that you are?

Let’s be honest, sometimes the deepest yoga is just letting go.
Letting go of how we thought it should go.
Letting go of the grip on anger, or the tightness of loss,
or the expectation that we should be doing it all better by now.

And in that letting go, maybe there’s room for a little humor.
A soft smile. A whispered “ahhh, fuck it” as you put your feet up and remember…
this life isn’t a performance.

It’s okay to fall apart.
It’s okay to bitch a little, cry a little, call a friend,
or fall into the quiet of deep rest.
These are not failures.
They are sacred pauses,
Invisible asanas… “poses” we take to find our way back.

Part of this journey is asking:
Is this still working for me?
My routines, my relationships, my career, my commitments…
Do they align with who I am now, not who I was, or who I’m supposed to be?

Yoga teaches discernment.
But discernment isn’t always grand or obvious.
Sometimes it’s just a question whispered in the middle of your day:

Am I listening to myself right now?
Am I spending time with what feeds me…my creativity, my stillness, my joy?
Do I even know what my current intentions are?
(Note to self: might be time to check in.)

And what about the body?
Can we talk about this body—the one that’s aging, changing, softening, aching, carrying?

Yoga has always called the body a temple.
But what if we honored it even on the days it feels cranky, tender, or covered in proverbial warts?
Can we still bow to her?

Sometimes the practice is long walks.
Sometimes it’s a slow self-massage with warm oil.
Sometimes it’s curling up with a book and letting soft music help you process life.
Yoga isn’t always movement.
Sometimes it’s paying attention.
To the fatigue. To the longing. To the pulse of something deeper that lives within you.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s something cosmic moving through you.
The wisdom of your ancestors.
The karmic threads still unfolding.
The grace of Tao, of change, of humor, of intelligence in all its forms.

You don’t have to be the teacher all the time.
Nor the student.
You are both.
You are becoming.

And even when you stumble, maybe especially when you stumble—
you’re in the presence of something holy.
Failing magnificently might just be one of the finest “poses” of all.

So here’s the invitation:
To walk with yourself.
To meet the moonlight in your own time.
To tend to the footpath beneath your feet, even if it’s uneven, winding, or unknown.

This is yoga.
This is your practice.
This is the soft, fierce, imperfect wisdom
of living in the company of your feminine self.

~ Leora