I’ve always loved animals. Their grace, their deep instinctive intuition, their ability to be without overthinking every single moment. There’s a wisdom they carry that we can only access if we get quiet enough to listen.
And yet, as humans, we often try to make animals more like us—putting dogs in Halloween costumes (yes, guilty), training wild creatures to perform in circuses, or caging them for our entertainment. The more I live, the more reverence I feel for the animal world—not just for their beauty and diversity, but for the balance they offer us. They live in rhythm, in tune with the cycles, in deep relationship with their instincts. It’s something I think we’re all craving, even if we don’t realize it.
Lately, I’ve felt especially drawn to the birds.
My dad, who passed not long ago, was a lifelong lover of flight. He was a pilot, air traffic controller and in retirement, he took to the skies with drones, capturing stunning aerial photographs. His passion for flight and birdwatching goes back to my earliest memories. I grew up with animals all around—ducks, pheasants, rabbits, snakes, dogs, cats, even a pair of doves for a while.
Just last week, something beautiful happened.
My kids called me in a panic (cue my mind leaping straight to car accident, something I’m working on). But it wasn’t that. It was an injured crow on the lawn. We had to help.
At first, the crow hid in the bushes. Scared, wounded. Hours later, it emerged. I wrapped it gently in a towel and placed it in a box, while an entire murder of crows dive-bombed me, throwing sticks and shrieking from the trees. And while it was slightly terrifying, I was also in awe. The loyalty. The intelligence. The protection.
Crows are known to mourn their dead, to watch over and stand in silence and solidity.
This crow, eventually calmed. Whether from exhaustion or some deeper recognition that I wasn’t there to harm him, I don’t know. But I felt something. I brought him to wildlife rescue, leaving him with others who might give him a second chance. And then, the next day, because the universe doesn’t whisper, it sings my dear friend found a single crow wing on her walk. She texted a picture: “Do you want this?”
Yes. Yes, I do.
Now, I’ll be learning how to craft a fan with that wing, a sacred tool for rituals and connection. It reminded me of the eagle fan I received years ago—another gift, another moment of synchronicity.
So this summer, I’ve made a quiet promise to myself: to pay even closer attention to the animal world. To notice what wisdom is being offered. To remember what my body and spirit already know.
Because here’s the thing:
From the moment we step onto the mat, we’re invited to become more embodied, more aware, and perhaps most surprisingly, more animal.
The ancient yogis were students of nature. They watched the way creatures moved and rested, how they stretched or sprang into action, and they built postures that honoured these qualities. That’s why so many asanas carry animal names—not just because of the shapes we take, but because of the energy we step into.
A few of my favourites:
Downward Dog: a stretch we see dogs do every day, waking up their spine.
Cobra: rising with grace and grounded power.
Eagle: spiralling in on ourselves to find clarity and vision.
Frog, Cat, Cow, Pigeon, Fish, all reminders of our connection to every living thing.
Each pose holds something more than form.
In Camel, we open the heart and face vulnerability.
In Crow, we summon our innate ability to play and harness core power.
In Fish, we float and open, letting the breath move through us like a current.
Animals live in harmony with the now.
They listen to their instincts.
They don’t over consume, overthink, or over explain.
They rest when they’re tired, they act when it’s time, and they trust their place in the world.
Our practice can become a way back to that kind of knowing.
Next time you flow, try this:
In Cat/Cow, move slowly, like you’re waking up after a deep sleep.
In Frog, feel the earth’s pulse beneath you.
In Eagle, find your drishti, and let your inner bird of prey focus in.
Let your mat become a sacred remembering.
Because yoga, at its essence, is about union, not just of body and breath, but of human and animal, earth and sky, soul and self.
Let’s bow to the animals who move through this world with wisdom, presence, and grace.
Let’s bow to the animal within.
By Nicole Whitman