I could not push myself through the entire yoga practice today. I was conscious during it that my body strength and resilience has been sorely impacted by the manifold traumas of my life and that my body is holding onto so many trapped feelings. I was wise enough to stop mid way through the difficult parts of the practice.
The teacher checked into see if I was okay. I told her why I need to stop. She said “It takes more strength to stop than to push on through”. “It is one of my major life lessons”, I replied.
A sadness rose up in me. I felt on one level I had fallen behind and as a result I was left alone, but that alone place was where I needed to be.
Towards the end of the class I felt a deep grief over so many things in my life. We did a lying relaxation and due to a lot of the work we had been doing around the sacral area I felt the feelings rising up like a wave with images, flooding my inner landscape but not in a drowning way, I was swimming there in that ocean with them. I had an image of my inner child caught in a storm of trauma with forces pulling her this way and that. She was on her own, desperate to connect, trying desperately to help those who were also traumatised but also very overwhelmed not entirely sure which way to turn. Part of the longing was a longing to connect, to deeply, deeply connect in a way that was not possible. I became aware that others were preoccupied, absent, that they needed to be in the place of their own energy, faces turned away. I felt I needed to pull my child’s energy back towards me, away from this futile longing, back towards my own face, present to myself in my own heart.
Then other images came, sitting by the bedside of my sister in the final hours before the decision was taken to take her off life support. The knowing that soon death would pull her away from me. My tears falling down and the prayer “please don’t leave me, Jude”. But then the more adult part of me said “but if it is your time to go, I understand”. The image of my Dad’s dead body I never saw at the end and then the very, very deep intuitive understanding that both of their souls were in the other world waiting for me and would be there to meet me when I cross over. I heard the words my Dad spoke shortly before he died “just remember life is for the living, life goes on”. Ocean wave of grief I am riding you, the wind in my hair.
I am conscious that part of me is trying to hold back the tears, part of me is scared of the impact on the rest of the class, but I know I need to let this grief out. I have been carrying SO MUCH GRIEF, and it has made me run. It has caused me to crash so many times. There were times when support was offered but I could not lean into it.. It felt too scary, and I am so sad now for those lost opportunities but I also know now I have to accept the limits of my humanity and the limits of those whose own grief was so frightening that they could not, would not recognise mine.
At this point the teacher said. I would like to read you a poem by the Sufi mystic poet Rumi. This is what she read :
You suppose you are the trouble
But you are the cure
You suppose that you are the lock on the door
But you are the key that opens it
It’s too bad that you want to be someone else
You don’t see your own face, your own beauty
Yet, no face is more beautiful than yours.
You are not a drop in the ocean.
You are the entire ocean in a drop.
I am not sure if this is the entire poem as in googling it I could only find the two portions. I cannot tell you how deeply this poem spoke to me. On one level together with my post yoga mediation it opened me to the infinite and to many more key revelations of my soul journey.
I was conscious as I tidied up after the class of how separate that deep soul world is to the mundane. I felt so raw and vulnerable in my being and heart, everyone else seemed as through strangers from a different world.
They invited me out coffee but only part of me was there at that café table with them engaged in ‘chat’, a deeper part of me was out there somewhere looking down on this life knowing it is only a dream, a dream that is real for a time for sure, but a dream that in time will pass and fade away. This is what today revealed to me.
And yet I must love this dream and I must bear all this deep grief and sadness that cannot fully ever be truly shared with or understood by another human heart unless that human heart too has had the courage to open the locked door behind which it dwells.