Joy and pain.
Yoga. Dharma. Conscious contact.
The goal isn’t ecstasy.
The goal is presence in the face of the entire spectrum of being.
Joy and pain.
A bullet through your window stopping short of your children’s bedroom.
A family member dying the same day you are burying the family matriarch.
The regret you carry for not checking on your loved one and finding they took their own life.
I have no special meditation.
No perfect quote or meme.
I have no special-sequence-aromatherapy-grief-yoga-visualization-inner-bliss class to teach.
I am at a loss with your losses.
All I have is my presence and willingness to feel the loss with you without getting lost.
I have genuine empathy of this cycle of suffering in life – samsara – and the practice to not shun the feelings, but invite them and be sad and vulnerable and frightened and angry and maybe a touch defeated.
I sit on my meditation cushion, cry literal tears and feel a heavy chest. This is conscious contact.
Joy and pain.
I am present with my breath that ventilates my heart and spirit and thus helps ventilate their own.
I carry that truth of feeling and being into my actions of taking over food without asking “what do you need?” because they don’t know or cannot speak.
I am present when I reach out to my tribe to share the truth of my own confusion, fear, helplessness and hurt.
I am present as I share, as a “teacher” of these practices, that I have nothing to give beyond these words, despite my desire to not let down your expectation.
I am consciously aware of caring for my heart and spirit and capacity and to not exceed them.
I hurt today in the face of intentional evil acts, on others and in my lifetime.
I hurt today with those who felt the pain too much to bear, for it reminds me of every time I choose to stay.
I hurt today with those who’s circle of loved ones dwindles with each death in their family and they believe they are alone with their sorrow.
I know if we are blessed to continue to draw breath, this pain will pass, this sorrow will soften. I pray that it will soften.
I surrender to it, not fight.
I remember “ishvara pranidana” – surrender to something greater than myself. This is yoga.