The road to serenity is long, has multiple valleys & many steep uphill paths & whatever you do, choose, or aspire to, takes time. And you cannot hurry time my loves.
Here’s what fascinates me now at 61; my ongoing interest in yoga, the mind, the body & the spirit, learning more, acquiring more knowledge, bringing more information & expertise to each & everyone of my revered & fabulous clients.
The pull, the fascination, lies in simply recognizing that for me at this time, more begats more. That I am not done yet in any way. That when I give a friend or acquaintance some small body-mind info, I feel that honey sweet, smooth & syrupy charge of sharing, the very thing, the very piece I was drawn to when I made my yoga teacher training decision so well along into my 50s; the desire to share this experience.
I enjoy each & every small & necessary step of this woodsy trail, the bliss of true breathing, pranayama, the deeper stillness of meditation, dyhana, the lengthening of my spine, the finding of my femur tuberosities & scapula, my chakras spinning on the sushumna channel, my boney compressions, releasing & lengthening, the psoas muscle, the vagus nerve!… I could go on, all that to say, that I marvel at it, the connection I now feel to my body & to this ever changing, ever expanding old & new body of knowledge.
Yes, I am an artist. I know this & believe it profoundly even in a non-productive time such as the one I’ve been living in these last 2 years or so.
However being an artist, a visual person, was something that someone told me I was at the age of probably 3, which doesn’t make it wrong. But the cultivation, the sincere being drawn to of yoga, is quite frankly mine. It took years. It was & is a process & always will be a process. Do I have regrets that I didn’t hear the infamous siren call when I was younger?
yes. & nah. ‘Ah but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now’. (thank you Bob Dylan)
check it out my friends:
There is a rub, & herein it lies:
I spent so many, so very many years not living in my body starting from about 9 or 10 years old onwards. Yes at various times, I went to aerobics classes, ran miles, but I continued to hate my body.
We were not friends.
My beautiful life giving(2 sons) body & I were 2 separate entities!
How can that be? I literally fed the hate, sat in the muck of self-loathing, played in the field of despair, longed for, wished for otherness. Could I not simply be other… WHAT???
My desire to be other (& it doesn’t really matter in which ways) also eclipsed my mind, my thoughts. Yep I did well taking a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, excelling even at my chosen Art History Minor. I raised children well with a husband in absentia for so much of the time, & continued to have terrible thoughts about my terrible & stupid self, my ugly body, my thick brain. I carried a never-ending nasty tyrannical even, litany of negative self talk whether it was about my breasts or my intelligence. I tuned out my instincts, intuition.
That voice in my head has now been subdued, quieted. No not shut up, but loved. I poured love into the vessel not knowing what it would yield neither how or when, nor ‘if’ for that matter.
It yielded fabulous me, a better me, a freer me. A self knowing me, who yes, still struggles, dives into murky water, experiences shame, guilt, & eats too much chocolate.
a human being.
Gentle good people, I beseech thee, look into the mirror, into your own eyes, & say, ‘I Love You’.