The Gentle Art of Waking the Mountain

Mornings are strange transitions, aren’t they? We are suspended between the deep quiet of the night and the immediate, noisy demands of the waking world. For years, I treated my morning practice like a frantic jumpstart, trying to violently shake off the inertia of sleep before my feet even hit the floor. This approach always felt rushed, often leaving me more agitated than grounded.

I eventually realized that sleep is not simply time off; it’s a deep, still state of being, much like a massive Mountain resting solidly on its ancient foundation. When we try to force an immediate, high-energy practice, we are essentially trying to yank the whole mountain upright too quickly. The resistance we feel isn’t laziness—it’s the profound weight of stillness.

The true work of morning yoga isn’t to shatter that stillness, but to guide it into flow. It’s like coaxing a River from a frozen spring: the movement must start slow, hesitant, and deliberate before it can gain momentum.

Here is the unexpected insight I found: We often use morning practice to try and ‘set the perfect tone’ for the day. But what if we simply dedicated that time to noticing how we actually woke up? Did you emerge feeling stiff and dry like unwatered earth, or already running fast like rapids after a storm? That simple, non-judgmental acknowledgment is the real foundational practice.

Our bodies are like Trees that need to stretch their limbs to catch the sun after a dark night. We aren’t demanding a deep backbend right away; we are just checking which branches need the most sunlight first.

If you’re struggling with morning motivation, try treating your body not as an engine to be revved, but as a vast, ancient landscape waking up.

Here are three simple applications to try today:

Don’t force the flow; just allow the current of the day to begin, gently eroding the mountain of stillness.