I have great admiration for how we see and experience the world through our own unique lenses. My dear friend is a stylist and her lens is through color. Her husband is a culinary aficionado and his palate is visual, sensual and aromatic. One of their twins, sees through a spatial visual field.
I see best when first, I close my eyes. I can recall things easiest then. And somehow, I find it easier and “safer” to come back to the world after I’ve taken it in this way FIRST. Through visual memory.
I like it there because it is quiet.
Mostly, I feel things. In my heart. And in my body. Throw too many words at me and what I notice is I just want to retreat. And it’s ironic, because I love language. But I need connection and not too much excess.
This is a time of challenge for me.
I am trying very hard to recover from my third surgery. My leg is taking its time. I just moved out of my condo for construction to begin. I thought it was going to be a small job. Two weeks after my last surgery, Hurricane Irene broke through my ceilings in a violent way.
Those closest to me have been asking me to put the work off until I am all healed up.
But this is a time of listening to instinct. Deep listening.
I am a Yogin. And Yogins go underneath things. I know that underneath the pain in this body lies great healing.
Underneath the cracks which came through my ceiling, is opportunity for deeper repair.
This is what I want. What I have always wanted.
I saw a Master Rolfer a few weeks before my second surgery. She asked me what I was willing to give up in order to not be not be in pain. It was an excellent question and at the time she asked, in spite of how much pain I was in, quite honestly, I wasn’t completely clear how much I was willing to give up.
After two more surgeries from that point in time, I am much clearer. I have given up all of my asana (albeit for only five months, but the truth is, it looks like it will be for far longer- at least double that time) and when the question was asked of me, I felt myself gripping and contracting around the idea of this very possibility. Now it is not an issue for me at all. All I want is to be out of pain. What would I be willing to give up in order to not be in pain? Would I be willing to give up my most beloved practice? No question about it. I can. I would. I have.
It is an act of trust to be able to do so. I am certain that it is.
And there are layers beneath which I have not yet repaired. These are the pain layers. The broken layers. The fractures.
Although I am aware of it, it is a very old pattern of mine to long for something which I no longer have. It started with my father who left when I was only two years of age. And that young child longed for connection in places where she would never be able to find it. At this point, I know when I see the pattern emerge, I must feel through the muck in order to move through it.
Something still needs to move through me around asana. I watched a beautiful four minute video montage of a yoga practice just a few days ago and tears poured down my face the entire time. It was so beautiful to watch, and yet, it was also painful for me.
I’m not afraid of what lies on the other side of this long pause. My body has great wisdom and its boundaries will need to be honored by the heart it embodies. But the heart is still aching.
And I think part of the reason is because am not healed. My body is not healed. But neither is my heart.
I don’t have my asana practice. I don’t have the use of my body in the ways I long for. My home is being torn apart so that it can be put back together. The metaphors are clear.
Healing bone deep, is hard work. But it cannot happen if the heart is not ready to heal.
I want to repair my heart.
I think one of the ways I can is through extending out towards others. Continually. Steadily. Over a long period of time. And with reverent devotion. Sound familiar?
How much am I willing to give up for this repair, in order to not be in pain?
I know my answer now:
Whatever it is going to take, for as long as it takes. Continually. And with reverent devotion.