The Rocks Beneath the Tide
During my yoga practice today, as I rested in Savasana (Corpse Pose in Yoga), a simple but powerful vision came to me.
I saw black rocks along the shoreline. Some were almost completely covered by sand, others were beneath the water, and as the tide moved moved in and out, different rocks were revealed before disappearing again beneath the sea.
The rocks never moved.
Only the tide did.
As I sat with that image, it felt like a reflection of our own consciousness.
Life is full of changing tides. There are seasons of joy and seasons of grief. There are times when we feel completely aligned with ourselves, and times when we feel lost beneath the weight of responsibility, expectation, fear, or uncertainty. Sometimes the tide is calm, sometimes it feels relentless. Sometimes we can clearly see who we are, and at other times it feels as though we've disappeared altogether.
But perhaps we haven't disappeared at all.
Perhaps, like the rocks beneath the tide, we've simply been covered for a while.
I think so much of our dissatisfaction comes from searching outside ourselves for meaning, purpose, validation, and truth. We convince ourselves that if we can just achieve a little more, find the right relationship, become a different version of ourselves, or receive enough approval, then we'll finally feel whole.
Yet yoga invites us to consider something entirely different.
What if everything we're searching for is already within us?
In yoga, our deepest Self is known as Atman. It is not our personality, our achievements, our thoughts, or the many roles we play. Atman is the quiet, unchanging awareness at the very heart of who we are. It is the deepest Self that remains present through every season of life.
Atman isn't created through meditation, and it isn't earned through achievement. Like the rocks beneath the tide, it has always been there. It simply becomes hidden beneath the ever-changing tides of life.
Meditation, mindfulness, stillness, and self-inquiry don't create our true nature.
They gently wash away the sand.
As the layers begin to fall away, we don't become someone new.
We remember who we've always been.
This reflection also reminded me of a meditation I teach called The Inner Flame.
In that meditation, I invite people to imagine a small flame burning within their chest. It isn't the flame of our personality or the roles we play. It's the flame of awareness, of spirit, of the deepest essence of who we are.
Life may surround the flame with doubt, grief, distraction, or fear. There may be times when we can barely sense it at all. But the flame never goes out. It continues to burn quietly within us, patiently waiting for us to become still enough to notice it again.
To me, the rocks and the flame represent the same teaching.
One reminds me of what is steady.
The other reminds me of what is alive.
Both remind me that beneath every changing season of life, there is something within us that remains untouched.
Perhaps this is our dharma - not something we have to chase, but something we gradually remember. A quiet inner knowing that always whispers,
"I'm here.
Come this way."
This is why I continue to return to yoga, meditation, and stillness. Not because they make me someone different, but because they help me uncover what has always been there.
In yoga, this deepest Self is known as Atman - the quiet, unchanging awareness that remains through every tide, every season, every joy, and every loss.
The more I practise, the more I realise that I am not searching for something new.
I am simply remembering what has never left me.
That is the anchor.
That's my true home.
Written by Ashleigh Stewart
I write about the art of living, personal inquiry and growth through the practices of yoga, meditation, faith, and philosophy. If these reflections resonate with you, you're warmly invited to subscribe and continue the journey.
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