Just finished my practice, it ended in tears. I stand up, look out the window and see that it is snowing. Somehow the piercing cold outside amplifies the heaviness in my body. The words “the wisdom of no escape”, the title of a book by Pema Chodron comes to me. I sit with my thickness; it permeates my flesh with an obstinate determination, calling me into the dark of my momentary grief. I know this will pass, these tears, the overwhelming surge of helpless loss. Yet, I cannot push it away, there is no escape. I have spent large parts of my life attempting to build distractive addictions, or ways of placating the heartbreak of human existence-it is simply not possible. Life has plans for us; how these are determined I have no idea, yet it is apparent to me that some pathway, a pathway of the desirous spirit is laid out. I do not believe this path is set in stone but rather that it has many segues or offerings that are presented. When we come to these junctions we decide, we handle and form the fabric of our destiny.
Looking into my life, there is so much I feel gratitude for; I believe that my path has been deeply bountiful in terms of kindness and love. My family, my friends, my students, and their presence in my life touch me on a daily basis. I often think of the people I know or have known and feel a fullness and tender ache inside of me. This searing is not comfortable because with loving also comes the knowledge of impermanence, I will leave everyone I love one day. This awareness of my own death is far more present in my life over the last few years.
The cycling accident, and the full ramifications of it, as well as the bout of chemotherapy a few months ago pushed the concept of mortality into the forefront of my existence. I will die. I will leave this world I love so much, I will leave my children, my clan, I will even leave my body. How remarkable, how utterly amazing. What am I to say in the face of such a mystery? There is not really a response that is suitable, I sit with it, I cannot escape it. I hold the bounty of my life in one hand, I hold the ambiguity of my death in the other. This thought, suddenly, makes me smile. It seems ridiculous that I am weeping, I am alive, and it is snowing in March in this coastal rainforest of a city. I have just completed a sweet yoga practice, found out my neighbor does not have bed bugs; (this is quite the blessing in my part of town), I had a shower this morning, a friend I have not practiced with for awhile is coming over to teach me a yoga class. This is a lot of blessing and it is nowhere near noon yet. I can only ponder what else is in store for me if I keep my heart open.
What is the middle path here? Truly, I am delighted with all that is offered up to me. Rich bounty especially in terms of connection with my community and my kin, but under that is the piercing, the soft spot of yearning for something of a different flavor, for an intimacy, a pair bonding. This is my human struggle, one I weave in and out of on a daily basis. It seems that my yoga practice, my prayers and my meditation bring the fruit of this longing to the surface, draw my heart, my essence to the empty space that I would like to hold another in.
Loving, it comes in many forms, all of them precious and valuable. If I were never to be intimate again, it would not mean my life is fruitless; it would not negate all the blessings, the random connections that bring out the juice of uncharted moments. No, this is not the case at all, each morning before I rise I whisper a sleepy mouthed thank you to the world, simply for offering up another day. Am I lying to myself in this ritual of gratitude, am I covering up a wound of longing? Truth is, it seems I finally understand, that there is a bridge in my body, the in-between spaciousness that does not judge life as bad or good but simply holds a vastness in the moment for what is. Yes, I love my life, I have faith in the wonder of not knowing anything at all, except of course that I will die. But right now I am alive, I love so much of what is in and around me and I also long to be intimate with a beloved. Denying that is like denying that the sun rose this morning.
I am learning to live with the unknown, the place where I step off the cliff into the nebulousness of being unable to contort or manipulate my life into a package that I feel I am in control of. To meet the here and now, even when it is so unexpected, messy, emotional, devastating, sorrowful, chaotic and life changing that I may feel like I have no idea what is going on; to stand in this place, body quivering, heart racing, tears falling; and to keep standing, without expectations for it to stop, or perhaps without any idea why it is happening- this is my practice.
It seems my body draws me to this humble river over and over, yoga, mantra, prayer, nature, humanity, catch me off guard and I find myself standing naked and raw on its banks. My task in this moment is to simply breathe, soften my chest, and allow my feelings and my body do the work of bringing me fully into the fecundity of the present. Learning to yield to this inherent body wisdom has taken many years, but finally it seems there is a communicative relationship of trust in my body that eases and expands my heart regardless as to external circumstances.
I am so grateful for my practice, for all of the daily rhythms that remind me of the impermanence and the richness of living until the time comes when I let this body go forever.
