Transitions, Letting Go, Infrastructure
To subscribe to my monthly emails, click here.
My head and my heart are here
I tend to avoid the instruction to 'just let go' when I am teaching my classes — even during deep, restful poses. It's because when I'm practicing and I hear that instruction, I tend to rebel and grab on tight. Also, it's just hard — to let go. What does that even mean?
This summer has demanded a lot of letting go from me. My brothers and I have moved my mother into assisted living/memory care down in Houston. I had to kiss her forehead and tell her I'd be back soon with all the adjacent heartache and uncertainty. And just today, my husband and I dropped our youngest off at college. More tears. More letting go. Like it or not.
Miraculously, I've been able to meditate every morning through all these weeks of transition wonkiness. Going inward was where I was able to tap into something consistent, but it wasn't what I thought it would be. It hasn't been ease I've discovered, but tolerance for all the fear that comes with having to let go. There's a kind of internal structure that is taking shape in my meditation that feels familiar.
During my time in Texas I leaned very hard into this from Pema Chodron:
“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t
really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for
all of this to happen:
room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”
So what I'm doing now: planning my retreats… and trying to stay super hydrated and wandering around Chinatown until I find a qigong teacher. I'm also letting my heart break into a thousand pieces because the alternative doesn't feel true.
Beaming love to you all and in all of your transitions and letting go.