Some moments insist on being noticed.

On the morning of our Spring Equinox Sacred Elixir Yoga Circle, time itself seemed to demand my attention. As I gathered props, preparing the space, the studio clock—untouched, unstirred by any visible force—sprang off the wall and onto me.

It was, after all, the very day we spring forward for Daylight Savings Time. A day when the clocks tell us to shift ahead, whether we are ready or not. And yet, there was the clock—resisting, rebelling, making its presence known. The sound of its fall sent a ripple through the room, knocking over glasses, cups, and vases.

Nothing broke.

I hesitated before putting the clock back. Rather than hanging it on the wall again, I propped it up with yoga blocks—offering support but not forcing it into place. Moments later, as I shared the story with a student, the clock fell again. This time, it landed face-down.

A quiet surrender. A message, perhaps.

An invitation to step out of time?

Timing vs. Rhythm

That moment stirred something in me about the difference between timing and rhythm.

• Timing is external. It is the rigid structure of clocks and calendars, schedules and expectations. It tells us when to wake up, when to move forward—even if we’re not ready.
• Rhythm is internal. It is felt, lived, embodied. It is the way we find balance not by staying still, but by constantly adjusting—tiny, imperceptible shifts keeping us upright and alive.

The Spring Equinox is a moment of balance—equal light and dark, day and night. But balance is not stillness. It is a dance. A conversation between forces, a movement between one extreme and the other.

My teacher Christy Gray used to call this the weeble wobble—the way we never truly land in one fixed place, but instead oscillate, course-correcting as we go.

Isn’t that what balance really is?

It’s not something we achieve and hold. It’s something we practice, over and over again. A relationship between movement and pause, inhalation and exhalation, structure and flow.

Springing Forward… or Listening In?

This whole experience—the clock leaping off the wall, the clatter of time making itself known, the quiet face-down landing—felt like a reminder that we do not have to spring forward on command.

Maybe, instead, we pause. We listen.

Lately, drumming has been calling to me, and this experience only deepened that call. Drumming is not about perfect precision—it is about collective rhythm. A drummer does not simply keep count; they listen, feel, adjust. They move in relationship with the pulse of the whole.

Perhaps this is the lesson I was meant to receive on this Equinox morning:

• Balance is not about staying perfectly still.
• Time does not command us—we are in relationship with it.
• When the clock shifts before we feel ready, it is an invitation to step into rhythm, rather than forcing ourselves into timing.

So today, I let the clock stay down.

I step into the weeble wobble.

I drum my own beat.

And I invite you to do the same.