For a lot of people Easter Sunday means donning their best pastels and heading off to church.  And when I was a kid that was typically what my casually Methodist family would do.  I can remember waking up to do some serious egg hunting then dumping our candy into plastic baggies (to keep us happy throughout the service) and heading to church.  What was said during the service, however, remains a blur of echoing noises to me, I was more interested in picking out the red jelly beans.

Now, with total control of how I spend my Sundays, Easter included I find that I do have a tradition that means more to me than church ever did.  I wake up bright and early to teach yoga.  There’s something very moving and honestly slightly spiritual about bringing yoga to my students.  Whether I find myself talking about “oneness” or the philosophy behind yoga or not, just giving people that hour to peacefully meditate and move and sweat is so meaningful. My favorite thing about being an instructor is being able to give people that space and time to sort through whatever they need to sort through.

So happy Easter and I hope I’m not offending any religious peeps, but what I’m thinking is maybe I’m not a Methodist or a Christian or an Atheist or even Agnostic (as I’ve always assumed), maybe I’m just a yogi. And you know what, I think Jesus would be cool with that.  After all can you really get more yogic than him?