Desolate, Tired, Full of Anxiety. Yogi is Sick.
Sick yogi thinks a lot, works a lot and has an abundance of energy for her tribe, but at her expense. She has light and love for her students, her lover and her family. Yet,
imbalance creeps in slowly like a lobster in slow boiling water. There is no escape if you’re a lobster.
Thankfully, yogi is no lobster.
In life there is a requirement for personal balance, responsibility and physical, emotional, mental and spiritual sustenance. A balance is required even in the yoga and wellness industry, or even where there is no industry. However, more yoga is not going to cut it.
Complementary stimulation is required. Our students show plenty of signs on the mat that there is something requiring our attention. And so we give them postures and breathing. We give and give and give like a one way sieve…
Yet, even our most seasoned teachers are subject to breakdowns. Explosions on our face, weight gain from stress, itchy skin, sleepless nights, lack of libido, fantasies of car accidents that would leave us unable to go in and teach one more damn class to a room full of bright eyed students… oy.
To some, the idea of healing in a place like NYC is laughable. For yogi, this is the place she feels passionate and loved. There is space to be alone yet not lonely.
There are friends who understand her back-story. There are nooks and crannies of memories. Each street corner inspires a different facial expression. Here we are individuals, yet part of a vibrant humanity all breathing under the sun.
Two classes a day, walks in the park, a motorcycle ride, late night apartment music festivals, conversations with strangers about things that matter, cafe beverages with space to observe and breath in the context of her past. Access to art, culture, stimulation that is random and unbiased, an ability to let a subway track spark reignite the fires deep within.
Yogi Felt Inspired.
Beauty exists when the spirit is uplifted. Infinity exists between the facets of our ego. At minimum we must embody total compassion for our self and others. This creates the fertile environment by which all things flourish.
In the midst of revelation yogi acknowledges there can coexist knowing and a feeling of disbelief. An intimate conversation with the divine inside reminds yogi to concentrate on the plumb line, the sacred energies from root to crown: internal, external, multidimensional.
We are the creators of our matrix. Shedding our skin is transformational and necessary. Self-awareness and propulsion are powerful. We must be deliberate in our trajectory. Once we settle into the body we connect with what is subtle. Knowledge alone is not enough. We must do something. Move, act, create, shine, dance, sing, move and meditate or choose to do nothing.
Propulsion sets in when we turn our ‘shoulds’ into ‘wants.’ Be not afraid of your desires just strive not to be bound by them. Rather, see the brilliant illusions that they are like stunning, stained glass. It is these choices that distinguish a wilting violet from the powerful protectress.
It is the bravest, not the prettiest or the brightest people, that truly succeed. A bright personality is attractive, but a yogi who inspires others to feel deeply is the teacher I have been searching for, she is the teacher I most wish to be. It does no good to undertake practices like yoga or pilgrimage if you don’t intend to do anything with the information you will glean from them.
It is not the rational and tidy, it is not the white picket fence, it is not spreadsheets and charts, it is not what society muses as safe. It is passion and sweat, it is salty air and skin, it is noises that are uncontrollable and deeply resonant. It is not one foot in front of the other in line and on time, it is not an orgasm predictable on a single trajectory climbing towards its’ end. It is a life lived as a dancing sprite on fire and laughing, spiritually centered intertwined with the blessings of experience; maddening. It is combustible yet rooted. It is expressive in word, thought, action.
There is a room in my heart made of glass: crystal clear, resonant, fragile, luminescent, vibrational. It houses ether and space, spiritual substance and yet untapped layers of strength. Agility resides here, textures of compassion and devotional threads tethered to the Atman. Here they dance. Tears and steam are absorbed here. Jewels of my most lovable, loving self meditate here.
Even the ocean’s calm and controlled ebb and flow betrays our trust with violent storms that reorganize our perspective. It is not manufactured drama that I seek but what is real, elegant, grounded, and powerful. What is attractive to me is life. Who else is interested? Yogi needs some life support.
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