an invitation to my hamstrings to lengthen and support
I reached full expression in this pose last night at yoga class. I know it doesn't look like much, but just try to open your legs, keep your knees straight, your feet slightly pigeon-toed, and bend down at the waist. Try to get your hands to the floor, then move them back so that your wrists are in line with your ankles and your elbows are slightly behind your knees. And then lean even further forward to invite your head to touch the floor and then stay there.
To practice noticing. To understand simple things. To give myself clarity. To face inevitable difficulties. To make a conscious choice. To welcome my feelings. To know pain. To experience the bliss of effort. To take gentle possession of my mind. To feed my mind. To be aware of my sensitivity. To dip below superficiality. To brighten my eyes. To forget how I look. To stop moving. To let myself be how I am. To love deeply. To risk being myself. To sit upright like a pyramid. To stay still. To breathe in the air. To encourage a positive habit. To behave in the manner of one who has woken up. To pursue freedom. To touch the ground. To learn without words. To unlock my heart. To go beyond.
-Lisa Cullen, Why We Practice
My yoga teacher recited this last night while we were all laying down at the end of class in savasana (corpse pose...that'll give you a good image of what it looks like) and I almost cried.
To be aware of my sensitivity.
I don't know when I last was aware of my sensitivity. How do we do that? How do we contact what is most sensitive in ourselves and ease those things into the light, talk with them, become comfortable with them?
I feel so raw these days. Not in a bad way. Not in a sorrowful or sad way, but just exposed. Like there's more of the often-hidden parts of me showing right now. Like I've cut something open. Like something long hardened has softened.
Pema Chodron wrote: "Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity." I've never been comfortable with my own darkness, only with others' darknesses. What does this say about me?
"An image of loving-kindness is that of a mother bird who protects and cares for her young until they are strong enough to fly away. People sometimes ask, 'who am I in this image--the mother or the chicks?' The answer is we're both: both the loving mother and those ugly little chicks. It's easy to identify with those babies--blind, raw, and desperate for attention. We are a poignant mixture of something that isn't all that beautiful and yet is dearly loved."
Hey. You. You reading this. You are dearly loved.