Wittgenstein said that ‘the limits of my language are the limits of my mind’… I tend to agree with him, not in the sense of amassing an enormous cache of vocabulary makes one smarter, but in the sense of how one is able to embody language as it pertains and is used to describe the really big ones: love, heartbreak, pain, joy, yoga, or any mindfulness practice, really… I have a metaphorical mind, literal things, while i get them, hardly take root. Metaphor makes sense to me, and while surely it’s not the only way to treat the really big ones, there’s an intrinsically human quality in metaphor, it implies relationship: that you know what I mean, even if we aren’t friends, we have a shared experience…we’re in this together. Yesterday in class my teacher described mindfulness practice and how we ought to treat our thoughts like this: when we sit, it’s like we are sitting in a stream of migrating butterflies and we reach out our hand to feel them tickle the skin, their gossamer wings, but we don’t curl our fingers around them. I think of the rain, having lived in the PNW for so long, and how at first the droplets are cold, startling, even annoying, and then it’s simply part of the scenery…one drop indistinguishable from the rest. We needn’t leave anything out. Everything is ground for practice and when you are able to find that link, whether you are metaphorically or literally minded, that enables your practice to take root in your life, that’s praxis.