Yoga and meditation allows us to slow down, and to see the small wonders around us all the time. Our son, Kupai, who turned five last night, is currently into bugs. He'll point out fascinating little observations I would otherwise miss: the spider in the stairwell has a new web, for example. He is eager to go out in the front yard and spend an hour looking for new bugs, and in will report back amazing little marvels. Being around him is a great reminder to see the marvel of a spider's web, the beauty and awe of the everyday.

Therese of Lisieux (1873 - 1897) practiced the "little way," as she called it. She believed that "trifles" as she called them please God. She put all of her effort and love into doing the most simple chores of her monastic life, like washing dishes, cooking, cleaning toilets. The awe of the everyday is always here waiting for us to notice.

As we begin to notice the small things, and if we allow ourselves to relax enough, we can feel a sense of connection with everything. As we settle into this we notice how nourishing this connection is. One way to practice is to express this nourishment as gratefulness--this nourishment is not just for us, but by expressing gratefulness, we share it with others. This is the Bodhisattva's way in Mahayana Buddhism.

I read a book some months back by Regina Sara Ryan in which she writes about this wonder and awe and how we often defend ourselves against it. We will rationalize our gratitude, she writes, out of fear of losing something of ourselves.

"Another reason we turn logical with our gratitude is that it is terrifying. The wonder of a moment in which there is nothing but an upwelling of simple happiness is utterly awesome. Gratitude is so close to the bone of life, pure and true, that it instantly stops the rational mind, and all its planning and plotting. That kind of letting go is fiercely threatening. I mean, where might such gratitude end?"

Regina Sara Ryan in Praying Dangerously

This wonder and awe we discover in our everyday life with the help of yoga and meditation (or other practices) is also an expression of trust. We could even say that trust, in turn, is an expression of the inherent goodness and joy of our heart, or our Buddha nature. We practice by expressing this trust as love. We find that unlike in the medical sense, the heart is an infinitely expandable organ, and that is a good thing. This love laughs at the distinctions we make between traditions, religions, and affiliations. As the 13th century Islamic mystic Ibn 'Arabi wrote:   

O marvel! A garden amidst the flames!

My heart has become capable of every form:

it is a pasture for gazelles, and a convent for Christian monks,

A temple for idols, and the pilgrim's Ka'ba,

the tables of the Torah and the book of the Quran.

I follow the religion of Love: whatever way

Love's camels take, that is my religion and my faith.

Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi (1165–1240)