How an Atheist Learned to Pray
A letter to the inner child in all of us, on awe, stuck drains, and sacred Whooshes
This week, I offer a story from my own practice—part parable, part confession. It begins with a clogged drain and ends with something like a prayer. Along the way, it reflects on what Yin Yoga has become for me: a practice of tending not just the body, but the soul in distress. If you're carrying fear, exhaustion, or grief, may this be a doorway.
The Outer Practice
Yin Yoga, the embodiment practice I write about here, is simple.
We take basic shapes. We soften into receptive, whole-body stewardship. We soothe our nervous systems—especially crucial for those of us wired like tuning forks in a world of leaf-blowers and deadlines.
We breathe not to escape, but to return. To feel. To integrate. To remember what the soul is like when it’s no longer performing.
In short, the Outer Practice offers:
Postures to honor the body,
Rhythms to support Qi flow through the psyche,
Awareness to light the lamp in the soul's dim hallway.
The Inner Practice
But once the body softens, something else often stirs.
These days, my practice is less about my hips and more about the parts of me clamoring for attention—specifically, a terrified inner child.
He doesn’t respond to reason. He panics at loud noises, gets overwhelmed by uncertainty, freezes when too many feelings come at once.
And here’s what I’m learning: Yin Yoga has become a sacred container for this child. A space where the lamp of love can bridge us as we peer into the darkness of the places that scare us the most.
What we face, at this depth, isn’t just tension in the hip.
We face the Whoosh.
Let me explain.
The Parable of the Whoosh
I once knew an atheist who couldn’t fix things.
He wasn’t proud of it. The world expected men like him to know how to snake a drain, reset a breaker, or at least feign confidence with a screwdriver.
But he didn’t.
He grew up with books, not toolboxes. Feelings, not fasteners. He could write a poem about a leaky pipe. But he couldn’t stop it from leaking.
So when his shower backed up, he did what anyone with internet access and mounting dread might do: He bought the Draino. Two applications. Waited twenty minutes each. Ran the hot water. Still clogged.
He crouched over the tub, agitated. Googled “how to use orange plastic snake.” Watched a YouTube video of a guy named Brad in Wisconsin making it look easy. He tried. Fumbled. Nearly puked.
Still clogged.
And then—somewhere between despair and surrender—he noticed a small chrome toggle by the faucet. He flicked it. Click.
The drain had been closed the whole time.
The water now surged down with a gurgling, soul-shivering Whoosh.
It wasn’t just plumbing anymore.
In that sound, he heard the echo of the universe’s own beginning—the one the astrophysicist on Instagram said erupted from nothing into everything with a similar Whoosh, and is still expanding into a mystery we can’t comprehend.
My friend, the atheist, knelt on the bathroom floor, barefoot, a little ashamed.
And in the hush that followed, he offered thanks—not quite a prayer, but not not a prayer either.
Practices This Week
This week’s Yin and meditation practices will emphasize breathwork, nervous system regulation, and support for whatever part of you needs the most care.
Sometimes prayer isn’t words. Sometimes it’s the sound of stuck things finally moving. Or the quiet after the Whoosh, when you realize you’re not alone in your boat after all.
With warmth,
Josh
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