Yoga is the place where I meet myself again and again. Today, I walked into the tiny little studio; a simple, single room shala with four white walls, open air, big windows on every single wall and dark wood floors. The middle of a tropical Miami summer, the smell of the salt air paired with my own internal heat creates the perfect container to drop into my body in way only this can.
I grabbed some props, a towel and sat down on my mat as I noticed the sound of ikaros playing, medicine music for Ayahuasca. I thought huh. This is going to be interesting. I took a very deep breath and sat on the floor.
Sitting in a deep squat, in my hips and in child’s pose, I thought again about what I want. What I have created. Writing, home, the life I want.
Then teacher said, “You are ok. You are safe. You have arrived.”
Then I heard my father’s voice. For the first time since his death.
He said,“I am your biggest fan. I want everything for you. The beauty, the love, the creativity.–all that life has to offer.”
Somehow I knew he said this to me before, but I never heard him. Or maybe I didn’t believe him.I had heard this recently. My boss, and someone I consider a mentor, said those words to me just days ago.
He added, “It’s you. It’s your energy. Everything that you are makes me excited. I see things in you that you can’t see for yourself.”
I was so pumped to hear him say those things, but those words felt so foreign to me for some reason. What is it in me that can’t receive those words.
The very next day, he had sent me a message expressing disappointment. What is this dance we do? This flow, then comes the ebb. The lull–is it time to make sure we are really ready for what we have called in?
The heat was building in my body, the sweat, the tears, the water, the energy, the thoughts; it was all going round and round. The heat was getting to me today. This class felt never-ending; yet there was no time. Flowing from the hips to the floor, in warrior stance and back to the floor inward, child’s pose. I moved from this fragile, vulnerable, weightless state to the heavy power of my thighs, standing warrior, I dig my heels in.
Yoga is listening. When I listen I am giving space to what is. It’s burying my mind in my heart and watching my body move itself like it did on the floor, the day of my Ayahuasca journey. The last thing I saw that day was my grandmother’s face. She took her last breath. I grasped for breath as I awoke. Today was no different. I stretched my arms and my legs out again, like I woke up from the long sleep. I received that breath.