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I have just spent the entire weekend paralyzed in my little hostel room, starving myself half way to insanity, missing her to a point of heartbreak.
The more reasons to do Yoga, eh?
The more reasons to hate it too, right now, in this messy state that I see myself in, Yoga's almost as good as retail banking: do-able, yet so out of context.
The God In Yoga
I couldn't ignore the need to do it anymore. I felt empty and unnecessary; as if my feet hadn't touched the ground for too long. It wasn’t just missing the absent that made me want-and-not-want-to do Yoga, but every other vagueness urged me to spread the mat, and stand like a mountain.
As soon as the sun-salutations warmed up my core, I was taken aback by the amount of feelings that surfaced up into my consciousness. Everything that I have been too busy to admit, or distracted myself from acknowledging, just poured out of my hands and feet and lungs. Small things, big things, huge things. Missing things, missing people, missing places, missing habits. Hating people, hating work, hating people at work.
Every day feelings.
What Yoga (and Prayer) Is About
As soon as the sun-salutations warmed up my core, I was taken aback by the amount of feelings that surfaced up into my consciousness. Everything that I have been too busy to admit, or distracted myself from acknowledging, just poured out of my hands and feet and lungs. Small things, big things, huge things. Missing things, missing people, missing places, missing habits. Hating people, hating work, hating people at work.
Every day feelings.
What Yoga (and Prayer) Is About
Yoga reminded me why I hate silence and stillness so much: I haven't had the courage to face and acknowledge my emotional state of being. I've been suppressing everything that could cause me fear and anger, thus blocking every possible entrance for joy to slip in as well.
This is why I've been "too busy" to write. Not just blogging, but writing in general; the one habit that has provided me with relentless companionship and meditation. Just like Yoga and prayer, writing demands the same silence and stillness to produce the perfect pose and prose. To have the courage to face silence and stillness when all that I want to do is not-feel, deserves a medal on its own account.
It took me a good couple of hours after Yoga to wipe my face and inventorize my pending issues: the unacknowledged things that I had to cry for, the mess that exploded in my room from suppressed depression, the stinky ship that carried my soul…all needed proper attention to be cleaned and rearranged.
How else can you see yourself with clarity, if you do not cleanse your mirrors?
And even if not everything turned out perfectly alright afterwards, at least I had a clearer vision to where I was heading, and the better stance to take me there. For now, that's all that matters: A new beginning.
This is why I've been "too busy" to write. Not just blogging, but writing in general; the one habit that has provided me with relentless companionship and meditation. Just like Yoga and prayer, writing demands the same silence and stillness to produce the perfect pose and prose. To have the courage to face silence and stillness when all that I want to do is not-feel, deserves a medal on its own account.
It took me a good couple of hours after Yoga to wipe my face and inventorize my pending issues: the unacknowledged things that I had to cry for, the mess that exploded in my room from suppressed depression, the stinky ship that carried my soul…all needed proper attention to be cleaned and rearranged.
How else can you see yourself with clarity, if you do not cleanse your mirrors?
And even if not everything turned out perfectly alright afterwards, at least I had a clearer vision to where I was heading, and the better stance to take me there. For now, that's all that matters: A new beginning.
