Finding

As I become more embodied, paying attention to the breath in the belly, the space between the vertebrae, the tilt of the pelvis, on and off the yoga mat, I find myself, more clearly as I am, and not how I wish myself to be.

My practice is to return to my body when the chatter in my mind would take me away. After a week long yoga retreat with no distractions from work, a house that needs cleaning, family, the dog, I had the chance to watch this mind and all the ways it tries to provoke me into leaving myself. "Go away into that small known space. The unknown is too painful, dark, tightly knotted. Don't open that door, those windows, that cabinet. Stay asleep, angry, grumpy, judgmental for this will protect you from all who care nothing for you." This chatter keeps my heart stiff, my jaw rigid, my legs numb.

In my everyday life, these messages have potency. Surely the driver riding my bumper, the co-worker's agitation, the child's demands are reason enough to make me wary, tired, and wrung out, in need of protection. But at our blessed retreat, nestled in the hills of Vermont, with nothing but myself to contend with, I could see more clearly this chatter for what it was which is a calling out from my small scared self for love and attention. Surrounded by a strong and steady teacher, the soft green hills, good food, and a band of women to lean on, I found ways to let go of the chatter (like a cool stream trickling down the mountain), to return to my body, the knots, grips, aches, and dust, to be curious about the darkness inside and the places I have avoided for eons.

What treasures are to be found in these neglected places!

In a short week, I found many different ways into myself, around stone walls, through mossy glens, over boulders left by ancient glaciers. Paradoxically, the more attention I gave to this journey inward, with all its obstacles, unexpected turns, trap doors and surprises, the more connected I felt to all others. For don't we all struggle, strive, forget, and give up trying to live in these bodies which at times fail us?

I am not only myself, then, but the woman with swollen feet pressing palms into the walker (such courage!), the mother cradling an injured child (open hearted), the man smoking outside on the hot concrete steps (breath).