My blogs always come back to yoga in some form or another. Or god, or the God-self. Some form of this always sneaks in, no matter what I am trying to focus my writing on.
This morning I posted to Facebook that I hadn't been to yoga in three weeks. The thing I didn't say on Facebook was how every single day during that interim, I would wake up and think, I'm going to go to yoga today. And then I would instead not do it. I would tell myself that I needed to practice, that I wanted to practice, and then I would instead choose not practice.
Why do we do this to ourselves? We avoid the very things that we know are going to help us feel better. I wonder if, for me it is in part an addiction to feeling bad. I know that sounds counter-intuitive. I mean, who doesn't want to feel good? I like feeling good! I know that I am more productive, more able to be of service to others, when I am feeling good in my body and my mind.
And yet, sometimes I find myself in these self-destructive cycles. In this case, my self-destruction looked rather mundane from the outside. I wasn't going out and drinking every night at the bar, I wasn't smoking two packs a day (although I will admit I did buy a pack of cigarettes and I did smoke the whole thing over several days. And then I bought another one.)
What I was doing was sleeping too much. Not feeding myself healthy foods that I know make me feel good. And watching seemingly endless marathons of Downton Abbey. (I'm on season 4, after which I will have no more to stream for free on Amazon Prime-- whatever will I do to turn my mind off and avoid life then?) I was avoiding my friends, feeling sorry for myself, wondering why no one ever calls me, and sitting around at home eating cookies. I wasn't in a total depression. I was still engaging in the parts of life that were absolutely necessary for my continued survival. I was doing my school work, and making it to my job, and taking the boy to school at the proper times and even making sure that he was getting the right kinds of nutrition, most days. I got sick (very likely due to the smoking binge) and was administering herbal remedies to myself in order to get better. I was telling myself that sleeping a lot was helping me get better, and maybe it was. Maybe I needed this little bit of hibernation time, to let something in me heal itself.
But I wasn't engaging with my life in a way that felt good to me. I was withdrawn. I wasn't doing my spiritual practice, I wasn't writing. I started this blog, but I wasn't feeling very excited about it, and I wasn't sharing it with anyone. I put it up in hopes that, maybe someone would notice it and comment (notice me!) but I wasn't willing to really put myself out there and make myself seen. And that, in its essence, is what my yoga practice is about, what my spirituality is about. At its core, I would go so far as to say that is what my life is about.
This morning I finally did manage to drag my asana (as my friend and teacher Kim would say) out of bed and make it to a yoga class. When I arrived in the studio, the first thing I heard was Kim interrupting her conversation to say, "Is that an OMY I see?" I could hear the smile in her voice even before I saw her. And when I walked over to her to greet her, she said with a big grin, "I called you." I looked at her, questioning. I hadn't gotten any phone call from her recently. She meant that she had thought of me this morning, wondering why I hadn't been showing up for class, and that she had spiritually called me to come. Whether you buy into that or not doesn't really matter to the point of my story. The point is, she immediately made me feel seen. Kim's acknowledgement that I hadn't been showing up on the mat-- rather than making me feel badly for all the weeks I stayed in bed and ate cookies-- made me feel uniquely appreciated. Just by saying, "I'm excited to see you here today!" she validated my arrival in a way that made me feel (if I didn't already know) that I was in the right place. That these are my people, even if many times I don't even know the names of most of the students practicing next to me. I belong here.
At one point in our practice, Kim had us doing a pose that required us to face first in one direction and then the other on our mats. Since we were moving with our breath at our own pace, at some moment or another, it was inevitable that we would end up face to face with the person next to us. Kim acknowledged that this had the potential to make people feel awkward. Staring a stranger in the face can be an odd or off-putting feeling. But instead of letting us linger in that discomfort, or just avoid making eye contact, she said, "When you meet someone eye-to-eye, stay there and say 'I see you.' Say it in the way that means not just, I see your physical body here in front of me. But in the way that means, I see your being-ness. I see that you are the physical manifestation of the god-body. We are all gods and goddesses, just playing around in human form." I am paraphrasing her quote, because I don't remember the exact words she used. But the next time I was face to face with the woman next to me, our eyes met for a brief moment, and I could see her saying to me through her eyes, "I see you. I see your humanness. You are that."
I get tears in my eyes as I write this, because how many times throughout our busy days or weeks do we stop and really see the person standing in front of us, at the checkout counter at the grocery store, or across from us at the dinner table. Maybe, if we are lucky in love, we have a partner who sees us in this way, on a daily basis. But what is important to me today is to remember that we can extend this feeling beyond our lovers, beyond our families, our children, or our closest friends. We can stop and truly see the stranger we are interacting with. We can stop and give ourselves this same consideration in the mirror. We can acknowledge that we are all god-bodies, playing around in human form.
I am grateful this morning for the opportunity to practice, again. Always, when I come back to my mat after an extended absence, I have an opportunity to see the world through new eyes. And for that, I am grateful. For my teachers, and their teachers before them, I am grateful. For the woman who looked into my eyes this morning and saw me, I am grateful. And for my own wisdom, getting me to the mat again, even when it felt hard to get there. I am grateful.
This yoga is the thread that weaves through all my days. When I lose hold of it, I feel like I am not quite alive, I feel like I am moving through thick syrup, pushing my way through each day, slugging my way through. My mind becomes a fog. This morning I feel, for the first time in a long while, that fog is lifted. I feel truly alive again. For that I am so grateful.
This morning I posted to Facebook that I hadn't been to yoga in three weeks. The thing I didn't say on Facebook was how every single day during that interim, I would wake up and think, I'm going to go to yoga today. And then I would instead not do it. I would tell myself that I needed to practice, that I wanted to practice, and then I would instead choose not practice.
Why do we do this to ourselves? We avoid the very things that we know are going to help us feel better. I wonder if, for me it is in part an addiction to feeling bad. I know that sounds counter-intuitive. I mean, who doesn't want to feel good? I like feeling good! I know that I am more productive, more able to be of service to others, when I am feeling good in my body and my mind.
And yet, sometimes I find myself in these self-destructive cycles. In this case, my self-destruction looked rather mundane from the outside. I wasn't going out and drinking every night at the bar, I wasn't smoking two packs a day (although I will admit I did buy a pack of cigarettes and I did smoke the whole thing over several days. And then I bought another one.)
What I was doing was sleeping too much. Not feeding myself healthy foods that I know make me feel good. And watching seemingly endless marathons of Downton Abbey. (I'm on season 4, after which I will have no more to stream for free on Amazon Prime-- whatever will I do to turn my mind off and avoid life then?) I was avoiding my friends, feeling sorry for myself, wondering why no one ever calls me, and sitting around at home eating cookies. I wasn't in a total depression. I was still engaging in the parts of life that were absolutely necessary for my continued survival. I was doing my school work, and making it to my job, and taking the boy to school at the proper times and even making sure that he was getting the right kinds of nutrition, most days. I got sick (very likely due to the smoking binge) and was administering herbal remedies to myself in order to get better. I was telling myself that sleeping a lot was helping me get better, and maybe it was. Maybe I needed this little bit of hibernation time, to let something in me heal itself.
But I wasn't engaging with my life in a way that felt good to me. I was withdrawn. I wasn't doing my spiritual practice, I wasn't writing. I started this blog, but I wasn't feeling very excited about it, and I wasn't sharing it with anyone. I put it up in hopes that, maybe someone would notice it and comment (notice me!) but I wasn't willing to really put myself out there and make myself seen. And that, in its essence, is what my yoga practice is about, what my spirituality is about. At its core, I would go so far as to say that is what my life is about.
This morning I finally did manage to drag my asana (as my friend and teacher Kim would say) out of bed and make it to a yoga class. When I arrived in the studio, the first thing I heard was Kim interrupting her conversation to say, "Is that an OMY I see?" I could hear the smile in her voice even before I saw her. And when I walked over to her to greet her, she said with a big grin, "I called you." I looked at her, questioning. I hadn't gotten any phone call from her recently. She meant that she had thought of me this morning, wondering why I hadn't been showing up for class, and that she had spiritually called me to come. Whether you buy into that or not doesn't really matter to the point of my story. The point is, she immediately made me feel seen. Kim's acknowledgement that I hadn't been showing up on the mat-- rather than making me feel badly for all the weeks I stayed in bed and ate cookies-- made me feel uniquely appreciated. Just by saying, "I'm excited to see you here today!" she validated my arrival in a way that made me feel (if I didn't already know) that I was in the right place. That these are my people, even if many times I don't even know the names of most of the students practicing next to me. I belong here.
At one point in our practice, Kim had us doing a pose that required us to face first in one direction and then the other on our mats. Since we were moving with our breath at our own pace, at some moment or another, it was inevitable that we would end up face to face with the person next to us. Kim acknowledged that this had the potential to make people feel awkward. Staring a stranger in the face can be an odd or off-putting feeling. But instead of letting us linger in that discomfort, or just avoid making eye contact, she said, "When you meet someone eye-to-eye, stay there and say 'I see you.' Say it in the way that means not just, I see your physical body here in front of me. But in the way that means, I see your being-ness. I see that you are the physical manifestation of the god-body. We are all gods and goddesses, just playing around in human form." I am paraphrasing her quote, because I don't remember the exact words she used. But the next time I was face to face with the woman next to me, our eyes met for a brief moment, and I could see her saying to me through her eyes, "I see you. I see your humanness. You are that."
I get tears in my eyes as I write this, because how many times throughout our busy days or weeks do we stop and really see the person standing in front of us, at the checkout counter at the grocery store, or across from us at the dinner table. Maybe, if we are lucky in love, we have a partner who sees us in this way, on a daily basis. But what is important to me today is to remember that we can extend this feeling beyond our lovers, beyond our families, our children, or our closest friends. We can stop and truly see the stranger we are interacting with. We can stop and give ourselves this same consideration in the mirror. We can acknowledge that we are all god-bodies, playing around in human form.
I am grateful this morning for the opportunity to practice, again. Always, when I come back to my mat after an extended absence, I have an opportunity to see the world through new eyes. And for that, I am grateful. For my teachers, and their teachers before them, I am grateful. For the woman who looked into my eyes this morning and saw me, I am grateful. And for my own wisdom, getting me to the mat again, even when it felt hard to get there. I am grateful.
This yoga is the thread that weaves through all my days. When I lose hold of it, I feel like I am not quite alive, I feel like I am moving through thick syrup, pushing my way through each day, slugging my way through. My mind becomes a fog. This morning I feel, for the first time in a long while, that fog is lifted. I feel truly alive again. For that I am so grateful.
