I am an atheist. I will likely always be an atheist. There is very little that would convince me of the existence of a literal, personal god that created the universe, and that said god is Yahweh, Allah, Zeus, or Indra. Yet, I realized today that I am not entirely nonreligious.

I realized this when contemplating the Indian art of yoga. Yoga comes from the Sanskrit, in which it means "to yoke." Its meaning is very similar to that of the English word religion, from the Latin root ligion, which means "to link." (The word for the tissues connecting bones, ligaments, comes from the same root.) As can be seen, the two words have much in common, and indeed Indian Yoga is something of an analog of Western devotional worship.

Though yoga is practiced in the States mainly for physical fitness, it was designed as a meditation exercise that opens the mind and body to the experience of moksha, the dissolution of the individual soul (atman) in the greater soul of the universe (brahman). Whether or not this dissolution actually happens, it has been found that meditation can cause changes in the brain that break down psychological barriers that we use to distinguish "self" and "other," providing a spiritual feeling of oneness with the universe. As such, I can see how Yoga and other spiritual pursuits, taken as a psychological instead of supernatural experience, can be very beneficial.

What is interesting about yoga besides its links to meditation and the effects of meditation is that there is more than one kind. In addition to Tadassana, the Cat pose and Downward Dog, there is the yoga of devotional worship (à la Christianity, Islam and Judaism), the yoga of deeds (performing duties with indifference to the reward), and even the yoga of mastering a trade or craft.

As a writer, I found the existence of the last most interesting. I do consider writing to be something of a spiritual process. Writing is a lot of work, but there are times when everything starts coming together. Ideas begin taking on a life of their own, and I feel as if I am drinking cool, deep waters in my mind. As much as the ideas flow out of me and on to the paper I am nourished by their coming and going. There is a mild glow about it, much like the glow I have sometimes gained through meditation. Writing, it seems, is a valid yoga. My yoga.

It occurred to me today, however, that it wasn't just my writing that was my yoga. Nor was it just drawing, RPG designing or any other arts I practice. Switching jobs, working to go back to school—everything I'm engaged in right now, and staying focused on the things that matter to me and cultivating them—that's my yoga too. It all has to do with following the path. Not just any path, or even the One True Path—but my path, the one I blaze for myself. It has to do with heeding the voice of the river inside me, the river that is me, always becoming something new. And that is something that enters into every aspect of my life.

So, if Oriental yoga is roughly equivalent to Occidental religion, and my life and my art are my yoga, then I am a very religious man indeed. There's no supernatural God there, no dogma or any such thing. Just me, the river and the eternal, pregnant void.