mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved through raw beauty and magic of yoga
When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different… someone better…
I hit a momentary pause recently, just before I left for training. One I very well know I need, but shied away from doing it. It is quite complicated to pinpoint what is the cause – or maybe I am even shying away from that, too.
Then I hit a momentary pause during training. It crept stealthily, but the initial contact was a jolt. I injured myself during our practice. Or perhaps the pause was already happening and it is why I got injured.
As much as writing and yoga, separate or combined, grasps a deep passion, the words eventually have become slurred as the inspiring muse fades… the poses eventually becoming constricted as the injury shoots a searing pain. Even the muses want to pause at times, regroup, and come back rejuvenated. And even the best of yogis want to pause to root themselves again. But those times were trying times as we learn to depend on others to offer inspiration. When they step away, what then??
The slurring continued and I accepted the fact I needed to let go of writing. Even for only a few days… that eventually led to weeks, and then over a month. This slurring… it’s agonizing! Prying slurred brain cells to clear… prying the slurred heart to ease. I needed to let go of my ego and feel my heart more, deterred maybe from the injury… but isn’t the heart, my heart, stronger?
But still I push.
Why do I push?
Then silence… and it is in this very moment that pause is essential. Why continue to struggle on jagged rocks?
[…] which is what sets her apart from everyone else here…That and a passion at love […]
The crumbling silence in itself offered the inspiration for words to flow, for my heart to flow once again in our daily practice.. One I have been shying away from is the very thing I need to face. There are a gazillion words I want to share, in writing and in teaching – but they are all scattered, like the pollens from wildflowers growing everywhere in the open field. What I realized is… I am a wildflower – all assorted me spreading into the open world. It confused me, seeing me as this person, hearing me as that person. I am discordant to all my varied versions from yesterday, mingling with today, blending with tomorrow. Who I was. Who I am. Who I want to become. I am whole… yet scattered??
Who the heck am I?
Questions arise within myself why I react unusually distinct. I surprise myself with what I say and how I act. And as I listened more to the questions, the slurring and deterring began. The struggling took over. But feeling the answers to the questions is a process, a lifelong process. Does it really matter what kind of wildflower I am? Does it really matter where the wildflower is? Coming into acceptance of who we were, who we are, and who we can be is the beginning of pollination.
I only need to let myself be…
Trust the pollination process…
A new and different wildflower blooming… attuned with the rest of my wildflowers…
Now… I only need to connect all of me.
So it has began… as I manage to write a few things recently., as I listened more to my body instead of getting caught up in the highs of our training. Most often we wait for the world to connect to us, when all it takes really is for us to touch the world.