It’s 5:00 a.m. I wake from a restless night’s sleep. Thoughts of the coming day race through my mind, a never-ending chatter of daily stresses that permeate my life. I vow to take control and quickly dress, boil water for tea, grab my winter hat, gloves and scarf, and head for the car.

The sky is pitch. A few early risers are headed out for the day. I steer my car toward Mt. Soledad. The park opens at 7:00 a.m., but the gates are not locked. I drive to the cross, park, get out of my car and stand in Mountain pose, clutching my warm thermos to my chest.

There’s a quiet hum of traffic along Interstate 5, headlights stream toward me from the Mexican boarder. I can see Coronado in the distance and wonder if my yoga teacher is watching the sunrise too.

The sky is a dim array of Chakra colors. I drink in the fresh air through my nostrils and practice my morning Pranayama. Birds begin singing in the nearby lemonade berry bush. Crows fly past and perch on the cross. Shadows appear in the brightening sky, revealing layers of mountains with a thin haze of smog.

I embrace the warmth of my thermos against my heart and acknowledge the sacredness of life. I am grateful for the beauty surrounding me, for my breath, my family and friends, for discovering yoga and the wonderful gift of finding my spirituality.

On top of the mountain, there is peace. I am peace.

I stare into the distance, concentrating on the changing colors of the sky, practicing Pratyahara. The sun peaks over the mountaintop and grows bigger. I see its energy rays radiating outward, reaching all of earth, all of San Diego, me. I marvel at the wonders of nature and the universe.

The sun is full. Streetlights and headlights disappear. I turn to leave, taking the beauty and peacefulness with me into my day.