Holding

I don’t really know where to begin here. I went to my last (for now) breathwork class with Beth tonight. More powerful energies moving around.

Then I pulled onto 62^nd street driving west and I gasped at the sight of the moon. Yes, the eclipse on Monday was spectacular. Amazing, in fact. But, you know something similar happens every night, right? It may be in a different order – but each night one celestial body blocks another and creates a new crescent in the sky. Tonight is no different.

[This reminds me – I need to write a post about the moon sometime. We go way back, lots of history there.]

The image of floating came up for me tonight – I think Beth may have mentioned it and then I held on to it. I’ve floated in several different bodies of water this year – pool, lake, creek. In each instance I made sure my ears were below the water. I wanted to cut out all the external noise, I wanted to hear myself breathe. When I float I also like to close my eyes – my own sensory deprivation of sorts. Cut down the sight and hearing, and when floating, oddly enough, there is also a lessening of touch. I’m in my own space – alone, but held. The water holds me up.

Many times when practicing yoga I experience a floating sensation during savasana – corpse pose. I allow myself to completely relax and be held by my mat, by the floor, by the earth. Just like floating in the water, I lie back and let something hold me. In the letting go I start to feel as if my body is lighter, like perhaps, I’m floating just above the floor. Again, I’m in my own space – alone, but held. And not just by the floor but by the teacher and the other students – we’re all holding this space for each other.

During savasana and this particular breathwork class, I use an eye pillow. It helps block out any light and really lets me fall deeper into relaxation. Each time I’ve practiced this breathwork, I’ve cried – a lot. There have even been a few times in a yoga class where I shed a few tears during final relaxation. And each time I cry, that eye pillow soaks up my tears. A few escape and fall down the side of my face, but for the most part the pillow is quite damp afterwards.

This little pillow is holding my tears. Tears of anger and sadness. Tears of defeat. Tears of self-love and determination.

<sobbing>
I want a baby
<sobbing>
I want a baby
<sobbing>
music: “Give yourself to love”
<sobbing>
You’re okay
<sobbing>
You’re okay
Music: “Give yourself to love”
<sobbing>
I love you
<sobbing>
I love you
<deep breaths, slower crying>
I love you

It’s hard work. It’s hard letting go. It’s hard accepting reality. It’s hard admitting that I’m going to be okay. It’s hard to not be defined by the thing I can’t do. It’s hard honoring my body. It’s hard to accept my body when it doesn’t work quite right. It’s hard to say I love you.

I’m floating in a beautiful sea. The waves feel a little higher right now, but I know I’m safe. The sun shines down on my face. I know the shore isn’t too far away. But, my eyes are closed. I don’t really know where I am. I can’t see the bigger picture. I’m not up above looking down on my tiny body in this large ocean. I’m just right here – in my body – in this moment. I have no idea where the tides will take me. I have no idea where I will float to next.

But, I am comforted in knowing this isn’t a random float. There is a purpose – or at least a purpose will come forth. Each wave, each gust of wind will lead me closer to the next stop – the next best place for me to land and step out of the water.

I wish this could be easier. This, meaning life. I’m starting to think it can be easier. With a little more detachment from expectations and desires. With a little more flexibility and going with the flow. With a little more self love – okay, maybe a lot more.

There’s so much holding me right now – my family, my friends, my dog, exercise, God, the universe. The ocean beneath me, the mat beneath me, the pavement beneath me, Mother Earth beneath me.

There is a lot of uncertainty for me, and maybe always will be? But I know this to be true: I am okay. I am loved. For now that will have to be enough. In fact, I think it’s more than enough.

peace.