Friday nights I practice for myself. I try to make my practice like a dance, flowing from one thing to the next with swelling breath and grace. In one hour of moving meditation I sort through my anger, my disappointments, my lingering shreds of hope, my random burst of joy especially when I can deepen a pose, my irrational fears mostly of myself, and my bravery for sticking it out when Im beyond exhausted and feeling a lot, vulnerable at the top of the list. Everything that lies beneath the surface bubbles to the top. Some of it rising like cream, some of it rising like the scum to skim off the top of a soup. But I stay in the dance, even if it becomes turbulent like Von Rothbart taking hold of Odette, until that final surrender. All of the sadness comes out in savasana. When I break free of ujjayi, the tears just start flowing relentlessly. My left hand unwinds as if its opening up for something, something that is not there. I feel as though Im draped in emotion but I remind myself thats better than not feeling at all. Those feelings constantly follow me off of my mat throughout the lone night and into a new dawn. I dont look at this with contempt but with celebration, how wonderful it is to be far away from numbness? How wonderful to see outside of the smog? And how good it feels to be alive in your body using all of those reactions to your benefit instead of being consumed by them?
Posted on: Sat, 27 Sep 2014 05:49:27 +0000
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