Thursday, December 6, 2012
desire is to miss
to miss is to long
to long
is too long
without you poem by gyan, Bear in Mind, 2012
Night out on the town
Tonight I went to a poerty reading of sorts. The woman who owns the boatshed, the little one room studio I've been staying in during my time in Bryon Bay, is a talented singer, songwriter and author. She invited me to the book launch of her new book Bear in Mind. It was lovely.
Tonight is the only time I've been out in the evening during my trip here. By choice, I've gone to bed early and arisen with the sun (and the chirping, howling, singing birds).
This poem spoke to me. My trip is about half way through and I'm beginning to feel the pull for home. The longing to be back with children in arms, students on yoga mats, and love nearby.
Missing creates a deep ache inside of me. An ache I welcome. An ache I am grateful for. It lets me know there is something worth cominng home to. I welcome it, because on some level, I know it is temporary.
It always comes back to the yoga . . .
Luckily, I have the privelege of coming home to myself every time I step on my yoga mat. That is what Dena offers me through her teaching - a place that welcomes without judgment. This trip has reminded me of the freedom of letting go; the freedom that comes from forgiving instead of judging; the freedom that comes from NOT contorting around someone else's needs; the freedom that comes from undoing.
Freedom is what many of us seek on this path. Freedom from suffering. Quieting the mind long enough to have a love affair with the breath, long enough to still the relentless thoughts that keep coming and coming. Those brief moments, when pratyahara is realized (as fleeting as it may be), and we recede from the distraction of the senses, and into the land of stillness, we begin to taste this freedom.
The cemetery
The other day I spent two hours walking around the East Ballina Cemetery. I was fascinated by all of the stories, the goodbyes, the grief, the longing, the force with which we love. I knew no one in this cemetery, and yet I could feel the loss of loved ones. As I walked through the graves, reading many of the tombstones, I found myself thinking that nothing prevents this part of life. No matter how much yoga I do, how graciously and compassionately I live my life, the end will come. One day I will wake up and it will be my last.
As I reread Gyan's poem, I wonder if her poem was about losing her mum. I know her mom died when she was young. I wonder if she's been aching for her mother throughout her life. I know that ache. Not of a mother. But, I know the deep ache of missing someone who is never coming back. The loss that leaves a gap.
Many people in my life: students, friends, family, have experienced loss recently. What do we do with that grief? That loss? How do we create a place for it to live without taking us with it? Can we use the breath and the body to feel the pulse and vibration? Can we sit near the ocean to know life continues on?
Attachments
I admit, I am truly attached to my life. I am attached to making it back to Berkeley safely and enveloping Noah and Ren into my arms. I am attached to kissing my partner's smile when I get off the plane.
I make my living teaching yoga. I am dependent on people wanting to transform. It is a huge gift and honor to impart the knowledge of prana and asana and pranayama and dharana . . . to others. I make sense of it like this: helping others evolve into their best selves and creating a place for people to arrive as they are, creates a bit of longevity. So, even when I am not on this earth, even when I am long gone, hopefully there will be gardens growing from all the seeds I've seen planted and helped to water. And that I reckon, is the best I can do.
Om Shanti
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