Limits of Stillness

I feel the itch for freedom. Ten days I’m in this big studio with these thirty people. Ten days I’ll be indoors when my favorite sun sets. Ten days I’ll be paying close attention, mind under control. Ten days I’ll let someone else guide me and I’ll follow. Ten days I let go of being a know it all and open my pores like a hungry sponge. Ten days I sit on the floor, sliding around on cushions and switch body positions every few minutes in search of comfort. Ten days I’m scribbling notes, golden statements I’ll return to in the future; perhaps they’ll be lyrics, perhaps you’ll hear me, dear student, speak them to you out loud while you stretch in your living room. Ten days I’ll eat in this gorgeous vegan gluten free cafe, please feed me the hood stuff!! What my body lighten up! Ten days I’ll remember how fun it is to run around the world doing whatever I want, creating art, teaching, playing, growing my business, messaging friends and followers. Ten days I’ll be mostly silent and my ears will tire from overwork. Ten days and I’ll learn more than I realize I’m learning. I’ll know later when it rebounds out of me, fully integrated. Ten days of belonging in my comfort zone, the yoga studio, amongst the yogis, the teachers, the healers, the space to be.

Fuck that was the hardest yin yoga class of my life. Three hours of stillness and slowness. It was painful for the mind as the body realized I was actually paying attention. Deeper and deeper my awareness sunk like an anchor into darkness. Twitching, breathing, flashbacks, crying, not moving, feeling through it, anger at the teacher, rebellion, revolt, swearing, surrender, releasing, giving it up, fighting back again, letting go again. This is my limit. I’ve never gone through stillness and silence like this before. It felt cruel. I did not want to be there. I fantasized for a moment.; I could stand up, walk out, just leave the mat on the floor, call a taxi to go straight to the airport and fly home. It is too difficult to be on the mat while I move through this emotional distress. I reached for protection, distraction, my pacifiers. Why am I doing this when I could be painting, writing, live-streaming, swimming, anything apart from looking straight inside myself in this never ending silence. I don’t want to keep looking at these memories. How much deeper does this go? How much more is there?

This yoga practice changed me forever. I know myself differently now. It altered and radically improved my relationship with myself, with my body. It opened a new line of communication from mind the body. This is what it means to slow down and be with myself. Actually. Fucking beyond intense. The hours eventually ended and I stormed out of the studio, angry and grateful. I moved into a deeper space inside myself.

There is light in the darkness of this somatic yin yoga practice. I love feeling my body with my hands, especially the texture and layers of tissue in the forearms. I open my eyes. Instead of cement, I see jungle trees. Instead of car traffic, I hear running water. Instead of alone, I sit in a group of yogis. Instead of Self-leading, I’m being led. I realize I’ve been focusing on what I don’t want to happen instead of focusing on what I would love to happen. I was prepared to be pushed and I suffered and when I was invited to flow freely and unleash, I finally arrived in the present moment, inside my body and suffering ended. I smiled and relaxed in sensual pleasure. Problems went away when I moved my body freely. I felt moved to love. Instead of staring intently at a drishti, my eyes are closed, I’m in the dark with myself the entire time, for hours. Hours in inner darkness. I’m so accustomed to the external world and the drishti turns my attention inward while maintaining awareness of surroundings. Now, the outside world doesn’t exist anymore because I’m fully inside myself and it’s pitch black dark in here. The eyes stay closed as all thirty of us drop deeper into soma, somatic awareness, our bodies, and we’re listening to watch the bodies are saying to us. The music helps me feel my way and not get lost in here.

I jolt, clench, cry and squirm, trying to turn away from the memories that have haunted me for years. In this deep pain I have neglected sensual movement, sexual pleasure, feminine self touch, dance, music, singing. It helped me to acknowledge what I have lost.

I lost my first husband.

I lost my second husband as I wanted him to be.

I lost my potential children.

I lost my grandma.

I lost my home.

I lost my best friend.

I lost my career when I switched to a new one.

I loved my beloved car.

I lost my privacy, my space.

I lost my yoga studio.

I still have my health.

I still have my friends.

I still have my parents.

I still have my skills and passions.

I still have my freedom.

I lost my peace.

This is all valid. Cry about it!