February 18, 2013

Writing Meaning into Being: Lighting the Fuse.

Photo credit: Photo Dictionary

“Just remember…people are like sticks of dynamite; the power’s on the inside, but nothing happens until the fuse gets lit.” ~ Mac Anderson

When I Remember to Remember.

Sometimes I feel weak, like now. My head feels tight. I think I need to eat. I am tired. I have no fuse.

Before I taught yoga, I shed a few tears.

Yet here I am, at my keyboard, trying to frame now into a blog that deepens understanding, which in turn, gives you a mirror to look at or shy away from; or maybe it’s more like a window, showing you that blade of grass finding the power to grow into sunlight even though its surrounded by concrete, so you can experience desire reach toward the light.

I am taking flint and looking for a spark, so the eyes can see the reflection even in the darkness, or find the view of life struggling for light even at night.

My body quivers. 

Today I feel as though my heart has been cast in concrete. I look for goodness with each breath.

The keys on my computer are like subtle jack hammers, making cracks, helping the seed that gives me life find its beat, root deeper into the earth so it has more power to reach.

I decided, again, to not complain about what life has handed me. I decided, again, to focus on the blessings and fertilize this seed with gratitude and goodness.

I keep thinking life cannot get worse. I keep thinking circumstances will get better. I stand in my shadows to build the light.

Yet circumstances are what they are.

So I gather feelings into words because in words I build a fire, uncover truths that mirror goodness.

I want to hear meaning vibrate as if it were a tuning fork to my inner most thoughts.

I want to play a song to makes butterflies dance. I want to give hope the face of a child making a wish, blowing out birthday candles.

I want to give you a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. I want you to find your flint in your heart as I keep forgetting to remember and remembering to forget.

Some say yoga, the inner work of yoga, is remembering: remembering we are all aspects of the Divine, remembering goodness can be found in every breath, remembering love can inform every thought and act, if we remember.

I told a friend yesterday that she is kind, and that can be everything.

The Dali Lama has named kindness as his religion. What greater practice, to be kind in every detail? Power rests on the mantle of the gentle and promises sunlight.

That seed that started in concrete is beginning to grow. Light comes from you, the reader I may never meet, the fellow writer who shares my dreams, a friend or student who takes the time to read what I say.

All I know incubates this moment.

Does your heart ache as well?

Maybe your life is full of blessings…and for that I am happy. Maybe your life, like mine, keeps challenging you to find the light in the shadows, to uncover your goodness. Maybe you write, or do yoga, or go for long walks or spend every spare  minute with your children…maybe you are on an edge that will take you to the next threshold.

All I know is the key to calm is here. Words are my medium, yoga is my staff, time, my window…

Faith is my earth, which sometimes is covered in concrete—but there’s always that one blade of grass that pushes through, no matter what I forget or when I remember.


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Ed: Kate Bartolotta

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