on beginning again

tomorrow is the day that i begin again. 

a new job.  returning to an environment that i know well and that i thought had not always served me.  yet i have found a deeper understanding of what it means to serve.  and be served.  being discerning about what i want to bring along in my box of personal belongings has been the call of the day.

it is the ending of something.  a time.  a time when i learned to sit with things. 

and feel. 

really feel. 

really feel the discomfort of discovery.  and in allowing the uncovering of the next stop, the next place of laying down all that i think i know in service of the greater truth, which is that there is a life that is living through me.  in spite of me.  because of me.

today is the time of reflection of the marking point of this precipice.  the milky grey space between the ending and the beginning. 

i have a teacher who says that ritual is habit made holy.  the habit of entering into the new thing blindly is no longer possible with me.  i always want to honor the transitions of where i have come from and where i am going.  setting intentions and taking time to reflect on the gifts of the chapter of my life that i’ve been living.  or that’s been living me. i thank my teacher for that specifically on this day, how he taught me about the beauty of living consciously, of staying awake to how a life tapestry is woven, exactly what it looks like and feels like to be in a life that you really want.

so much has happened during this time.

i laid down my sadness.  the default place where i had been living, the emotional weight that i had carried for decades that wasn’t mine.  i simply laid it down.

in an instant.

it started to happen in a sunroom in woodstock in a sweet little house where i retreated for my birthday, on the cool stone floor and the raindrops on the tin and fiberglass roof, realizing that i didn’t need or want the pomp and circumstance or the fire and brimstone.  i wanted simplicity.  from the simplicity came the light of my life shining through.  from the unplugging and me greeting my desire.  just me and me alone.  and the truth of my memories.  and the dropping of the judgment around the severity of my recollection of things, and what’s been burned into my brain and what hasn’t.  there’s been a lot of no-wonders.  full immersion into my experience converging into reality and no one telling me otherwise.  then there was the stepping out onto the precipice of stone in the catskills.  and oh.my.god.  and wow.  and the most expansive wonderment and surprise at how silly it is of me to think that i don’t want to live this life and feel my smallness underneath the canopy of the forgiving sky.  the fierce storm moving into my bones.  the righteousness of the clouds and how their movement showed me a new, fresh perspective in each moment.  and how safe i was in the very center of my fear with the plunge of forest below and solid rock holding me steadily on the side of the mountain.  it was there that my sadness got snuffed out.  a moment that will never, ever be taken from me.

there are little things that i hear sometimes that become so significant.  yesterday it was from my yoga teacher, a brilliant yogini who is nurturing in the humility about her place in things, standing up there and ushering in our experience.  yesterday she talked about carving out time for ourselves, to be fully present in that container, giving ourselves fully to what we would give others, talking to ourselves in the same loving way that we would want to be talked to.  it made me cry.  because i know how to do that now.

in the past 3 months i have learned about giving myself the very thing that i am most craving from someone else.  i know how to inspire myself.  i know how to tune into my emotions and self-soothe.  i know how to deeply connect inside and give myself what i need.  i know how to hold space for my judgments and my emotions and my reality.  i can reach this sacred space inside of myself of deep love and knowing of my own clear truth that i thought i could only find and quench in my relating with another.  not so.

my yoga teacher also talked about how our anxieties can be caused by the stimuli that we experience on a daily basis, and the energies of others, and how necessary it is to detach.  to unplug.  and recharge. 

just before my retreat into woodstock, i remember a crisp moment in a dance practice when i realized how much of my life i have spent fighting against the cards that were dealt for me and being with the struggle that can arise in creating a life of joy, ease, and confidence, when you’re paddling upstream against a current that is not working in your favor, trying to build a floor upon a foundation that is not strong.  and how many of us struggle in that same way, how many of us feel unworthy, how many of us lose ourselves in the process of loving others.  it was in that moment of recognition of suffering in the dance that i began that simple process of making the decision to stop going back, to stop living in the struggle of what wasn’t and create my life to be the way that i want it now.  i asked myself this question … can’t there come a time when there is what came before or what we were robbed of through cruelty, and then in an instant become the phoenix rising from the rubble with an awareness of yes, this is where i came from, but no, this is not the lens through which i am willing to see my life any longer?

eventually, we become tired of being tired.

and we make a decision.

during that same dance my teacher played a recording of a david whyte poem.  i wept through my skin and my body sobbed in the quiet companionship of a room full of dancers doing the same.  as i first heard it i thought of a love lost.  then i heard it again through a love found.  in my own heart.

and how we are all
waiting for that
abrupt waking,
and that calling,
and that moment we have to say yes,
except, it will
not come so grandly,
so biblically,
but more subtly
and intimately, in the
face of the one you know
you have to love.

so that when
we finally step out of the boat
toward them, we find
everything holds
us, and everything confirms
our courage, and if you wanted
to drown you could,
but you don’t,
because finally
after all this struggle
and all these years,
you don’t want to any more,
you’ve simply had enough
of drowning,
and you want to live and you
want to love, and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness,
however fluid and however
dangerous, to take the
one hand you know
belongs in yours.

in that same dance, a dear sister said to me, “there’s always something to be angry about.”  and there is.

until there isn’t.

that was the beginning of my sadness being snuffed out.  the most beautiful darkness.

ever.

Post a Comment

Your email is never shared. Required fields are marked *

*
*

Current month ye@r day *