so, here I am. I'm not attending yoga everyday, but I can write everyday.
We are in the middle of a heatwave. Walking outside is similar to opening the oven door; a hot blast. I kinda like it. I much prefer it to the freezeout of winter. At least my body can move.
For the past week, I've been on a restriction with my yoga practice in order to fully heal my back and hamstrings; Idelle, my PT and friend, says "No flexion of the spine" So, that's what I'm doing. It changes my practice and I've become more humble, grumpy and hopeless about my capacity to heal. I can, I will and I am. It just feels today like one step forward, two steps back.
It's okay.
Lying in savasana, which I got to do for a longer period of time because of my bowing out of 'windremoving' posture and rabbit, I watched the thoughts come in. Big, heavy clouds rolled in. Huge and weighty thoughts about mortality and the unpredictability of how much time we have left and what am I going to do with this one wild, precious life and then feeling myself juggle the collapse, rage, hopelessness, fear, fierceness, resolve and gratitude.
I have to say it was mostly the practice of sitting in the face of all the rising shadows. Hopelessness and impotency, confusion and rage, anxiety and helplessness;interesting to put some distance in there and just...watch.
Pulling on my SE pocket, I thought to offer the possibility of a pendulation to a time when I was fierce, resilient, strong and in the moment. I thought of my nights of regular and powerful practice of Ashtanga yoga. It was only a handful of years ago and I was strong, flexible, grounded and solid...hopeful and happy, too (at least during the practice).
So, today is what it is. just today.
I still find the gratitude and blessings. I am here. I am moving. I am going a different route and, most probably, getting so much clearer and stronger along the way. I just don't see that part of the road yet.
The hopelessness is okay, too. The rage..also okay.
I know that they are parts of me that are coming out now in strange ways because today, now, I am safe and I have so much love and support. Back when they first got buried in my body, there wasn't a way for them to be seen. They had to go down and deep. The fact that they are here, as tough and tumble as they can be, is a good, good sign.
I can hang out with hopeless and not try to outrun it again. It won't last forever.
