Wednesday, November 9

find. me.

I've been debating on whether or not I should share my first practice back after taking an unexpected three week hiatus from yoga. Is it a review of a studio? No. But can't we all relate to this topic? Yes. Maybe sharing my perspective on the whole month would be helpful to you... or helpful for me to reflect upon. So, obviously, I've decided to share it with you.

The sanskrit word yoga means, literally, to join or unite. In class, when this is referenced, I always hear it as more of a greater joining of community. We forget, or I forget definitely, that there's a community going on inside of each of us that we need to bring together. The mind and the body argue, the ego and the heart/soul are in constant battle. The outside world is challenging the inside world, and I need all those pieces (mind, body, ego, soul) to come together, right? And I wouldn't encourage anyone to take three weeks off from your practice (whether it be running, healthy food choices, or in this case, for me... yoga), but when it happens (and it's bound to happen—it has to me numerous times over the course of this yogic journey) it's a humbling reminder that I am nowhere where I think I am on my spiritual path. If my whole world is falling apart around me, and I'm still choosing to fall apart with it—then maybe I need those three weeks off to fall apart and come back to yoga. Have it be fresh and new and miraculous, all over again, because it does bring all those parts of me together. Sometimes we forget that when we're doing our weekly schedule of yoga practice. That really was the experience going back on Monday (and continued today, also). Rediscovering my love of yoga.

I found it interesting that the other weird perk of going back to yoga is you may have physically improved. Which doesn't make any sense to me what-so-ever, so I came to this conclusion that when you take one week... two weeks... three weeks... six months off, and you come back to it—sure some things are going to be lacking—but at that point when I say to myself, "It's time, you need to take care of yourself. You need to go back to yoga," my mind is exhausted, it's defeated, it's done—the white flag is flapping in the wind. So I go in and do my yoga, and my mind isn't getting in the way. It's reaffirming physically—inspiring even—but mentally it's another reminder of how much control our mind has over our body, how connected they really are, and how so very important it is to appease all these parts of ourselves. Yoke them together. Yoga. 

When I walked into class today, I sat down and tried to clear my mind while everyone was setting up. Looking for my intention in my practice for the next hour and a half... The past three weeks have been spent screaming inside (to others for awhile, and then to myself), "Hey! I'm right here! Can't you see me? Look at all this stuff I'm doing to try and help! Why don't you value me? Why can't you find me?" And those last two words landed in my intentions this morning with a thud. Find. Me. That's all I have to do—in all this noise—in my head—in the room—outside the studio—let it go. Find. Me. 

Mary likes to start and end her classes by reading poems by Danna Faulds—today's first reading is still echoing, so I'll end with it here. 
Walk Slowly
Danna Faulds
from Go In and In 
It only takes a reminder to breathe,
a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens,
makes space for imperfection.
The harsh voice of judgment drops to a whisper
and I remember again that life isn't a relay race;
that we will all cross the finish line;
that waking up to life is what we are born for.
As many times as I forget,
I catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I am going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and
walk slowly into the mystery.
Thank you for spending your time with me—namaste! 

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