I completed 15.
16, 17 and 18 were lost. in their place was a drive, a manifestation of design with wild grasses and translucent powder blues, a sealed deal, dancing in circles and spirals, laughter, late night and reparations of things unseen. good. and, great.
19 and I was back in the swing of it, laying my body down right under the wheels of the yoga truck. forward and reverse. forward and reverse. rough.
I wanted to write, I did. I wanted sleep more so, I did. sleep. yoga. sleep. eat. sleep. yoga. sleep. eat. sleep...
20, 21, 22...
When I reached the 20's , the tears came. In practice, mostly they tumbled out during locust and camel; the big back burners. These asanas know the hiding places in my body; the place where all the pain is stored. It wasn't about anything, it was just tears but, only whimpering tears. I wanted the bigger river, I did.
22 was the hard day. all my skin came off; all my scales and feathers and fur. it was just me, boiled down to the bones. raw. Every breeze was a windstorm full of sand and I got blown. a few times.
There was no eye in the storm and so, I wound around in circles until I was completely turned upside down and inside out, uttering words that didn't belong to me and defending myself against the shout of shadows. my hands were full of splinters and salt. my heart was a wrung out mess.
even being happy, lying in the grass and staring up through the leaves at the sun was still.... staring at the sun. everything was hot. everything was hot and no one was turning on the fans or opening the door. everything was hot. that's just how it was.
23 was a tearful, prayerful dedication of love. I just showed up and said, "okay, this is it. I'm here. let's do this."
And every wobble or fall or bent knee was a kiss of kindness. this isn't about things being perfect. it's about gentleness with my rising to meet the fullness of my life. there is no there. i get it. in my life, in my relationships, in my professional life, health, finances, you name it...there are wobbles, falls and bent knees. there are days that the room is too damn hot and it's not even possible to keep standing long enough to feel like I really gave my best shot, but I did. there are days when everything sticks, progress is made, yards are gained; days I feel elegant and fierce and capable of anything. there are days when I wonder why I was born or why or how I'm still alive.
In this room, all of this is real. and, this is it. I am here. I am alive.
The dedication is to acceptance and surrender, to love ferociously with all my heart and to show up and know that I am doing the best I can do. To fight for and do my best for those things, those people, that really matter to me.
And, everything, on the mat and off the mat, changes from this moment after moment prayer.
I am lighter, I am freer, I am happier. And, love comes back again. Love that was never gone but merely darkened by my own sky.
And, today is 24.
I am drenched. I am challenged. I am grateful. I am tired. I am dizzy. I am joyful. I am giving all I have. I am impatient. I am gentle. I am not letting myself off the hook. I am going to the edge. I am patient. I want to cry. I am staying. I am deepening. I am crying. I am serious. I am concentrating. I am analyzing my alignment. I am analyzing my injury. I am analyzing the fact that I am regarding it as an injury. I am letting it go. I am letting go. I am smiling. I am breathing. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am strong. I am where I am. I am wondering if my left leg will ever be straight in this posture. I am noticing it is straighter today. I am listening. I am zoning out. I am here. I am breathing. I am beautiful. I am grateful. I am here. I am alive. I am here. I am alive. I am thriving.
this is an excellent moment to be content.
No comments:
Post a Comment