The Saddle

After a year of downward dogs and asana flow, cat/cows and bridges and the holy trinity of warriors, it was time for something completely different. My right ankle has been a tad tender, making it impossible to press into the knife’s edge of my rear foot in any Virabhadrasana. My lower back has also been tight, which a trip or four from here to Philly will do that. In line with being gentle with myself, I set about finding a yin class with a different instructor.

The first result in my youtube search was a male instructor. Given past events, having a man in a position of trust and instruction has been challenging, if not downright terrifying. “So was going to karaoke last week by yourself,” I heard a little voice say. “And you did THAT. Why not this!”

“Why not,” I ask myself again. The myriad of reasons avalanched, from he’s going to manipulate you, lie to you, deceive you, play you, strike you when you are down, and play you like you play that fiddle. You are a violin shaped woman after all.

“More like a cello,” I respond, to no one in particular. ” and if you’re wrong about that, then who is to say you’re right about anything else.”

My apartment is cold today. At ten below zero Fahrenheit and wind whipping like a cat o nine tails, the weather beating this triple decker is hard to fend off. Begrudgingly, I crank the heat to 71° (how old AM I?), grab a few pillows off of my bed, and a foam block, and set onto my mat.

The practice cycles through various chest and heart openers, then focuses on thighs and hips, starting with saddle pose. Supta Virasana is a giant chakra opener and aligner, and as such, it is a pose that requires the practitioner to develop great trust for themselves and anyone else involved.

The instructor directs from a spread kneed kneeling position, to recline backwards onto the forearms, or alternatively to let oneself float and stretch down to the ground behind. Given the state if my lower back, once I lowered to my forearms I knew a little support would be necessary. So pillow and block behind me transformed this

Unsupported Supta Virasana

To this

Supported Supta Virasana

As I was breathing low into my belly, a fear came welling up inside of me, and instead of crying, I questioned it. Why? What is it that you are frightened of? I’m vulnerable, I answered. Helpess. Defenseless.

Yes. Yes you are defenseless. Yes, you are completely vulnerable. What is it that scares you about being vulnerable? That it will be used against me.

The guru stepped in here, a vision in blue, dripping with crisp ocean water and trailing his trident through the waves. And if it is used against you, then what? I could die. And how do you feel about that? Well, I will die anyways someday, I just don’t want it to be today. So the threat of death in vulnerability is causing you to not to live?

I opened my eyes at this. The block had slid out from under me, and my lumbar spine was screeching like a felled tree. Pushing myself back up, I check in on my instructor, who is peacefully splayed on his mat. With any deep back bend it is important to practice flexion in all directions, so I slide my palms forward into extended child’s pose, breathing.

Extended balasana

Are you still vulnerable here? I hear. Yes, though my heart isn’t so exposed and my feet are not bound, so it’s quite manageable.

We shift through bilateral deer poses, and then sink into caterpillar. Hearing the name reminds me of St Thomas, and I smile at the synchronicity. Then back to the breath, inflating my lower abdomen and hip socket, then upper chest, to release in a shwoosh, then again, then again, and again. As I release the fifth, I feel my hip socket open, muscles I did not know I had that were tight, were suddenly warm and loose, and I wept laying there, folded over my own legs with my head betwixt my knees, releasing the Atlantic from my eyes onto the mat.

I didn’t have to hold that saddle. I could just let it go and be free of it’s demands. Much like the fear I have held onto thinking that it would keep me safe as it had in the past, I no longer needed it.

I don’t need to hold on, I can just ride. And at any time I want to, I can get off.

There was once a young monk who complained to his zen master how difficult it was to let go. The zen master invited the young monk to tea, and proceeded to hand him a hot steaming cup. The zen master directed that he not put the cup down, however the ceramic became too hot to hold, and the young monk dropped the cup, shattering it to pieces. “There,” the master says, “letting go isn’t so difficult after all.”

Tethered with tears in their eyes
May no man’s touch ever tame
May no man’s reigns ever chain you
And may no man’s weight ever defrayed your soul

And as for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away, roll away

Ray LaMontagne – All the Wild Horses

Center

After picking up Luna’s toys and washing my hands and face, I brew a cup of herbal to sit at the mat with. I promised her we would practice every day this year without exception. I intend to keep my promise. To my self.

Today’s practice starts with a comfortable seat. Lifting my hips up on a quarter-folded blanket, I align my spine, breathe in, let my belly, expand, and breathe out through pursed lips. I ground down through my thighs, roll, my shoulders forward, up, and then back and down. Another deep breath in, and I imagine the top of my head being suspended by a single string from the ceiling. Bringing hands to anahata in anjali mudra, I bow my chin slightly and lift my heart, catching a wave of energy from grounding through my thighs.

What goes up must come down
Spinnin’ wheel got to go ’round
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles, it’s a cryin’ sin
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel spin Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Sukhasana has grown from an “easy pose” to be anything but easy. Once upon a time, I would sit with my legs crossed thinking, I wonder how long this is going to take. Now, I am focused on my breathwork (directing inhales downwards towards Muladhara, then relaxing to release) and grounding in my base, and imagining the current of energy being pulled out of the earth, then sinking down my back to my tailbone. I align my head, heart and pelvis and experience a clearing of cerebral spinal fluid flow, as if a dam has been opened.

Any pose is as active as I want to make it, by focusing on how parts of my body work together. Cat/cow meowed and mooed when I pressed into the tops of my feet.

And so practice has ensued, without missing a day. I’ve noticed myself feeling calmer, happier, filled with joy. Others are mentioning it too. Donors, friends, family. Not that how others are feeling about the change is my business at all (it is not) but that I feel delighted that I can bring joy, and connect to others on that vibrational plane.

The way I move is changing. When I stand up from a seated position, I am drawing my navel to my spine and squeezing my hip points together. My core is stronger and I am moving in a more connected manner, lifting not so much with my legs- instead my core lifts first. I am moving from my center.

Over the course of the pas 30 days, I have lost interest in alcohol and sex, and have barely touched marijuana. I want lean proteins and veggies and have been drinking a lot of tea.

I’ve been focused enough to finish three books and am on my fourth. My work is getting more precise, less stress inducing, and I leave it at the door.

My normal chitta vritti has been there, however I am just saying hello to it instead of engaging, I ask it if it needs a hug. My conversations and connections feel more authentic and meaningful.

I’m excited to see where this year takes me. Until then, I’ll stay in my center.

Rabbit. Rabbit.

Drishti

“Lift your right heel, put it down. Lift your left heel, put it down. Breathe. Keep your gaze soft on one point.”

Adrienne’s voice is as an echo in my ear, as I snap back out of my disassociation, gasp for air, and realize I am practicing yoga. Where was I just now?

I pause the video and take another breath.

Retracing my steps, I started in goddess pose. We were to practice Drishti (there is a similar concept in Iaido I learned about called Metsuke). It creates a soft focus, a calm awareness, readiness and trusting in onesself. I inhaled deeply, and on the exhale allowed my gaze to soften past my eagle armed elbows, bringing a feeling of eliminating time and space between my eyes and the pergo boards. I notice my mind start to drift as I hear “horse stance.”

Usually Adrienne uses the words Goddess Pose, however in this instance used Horse Stance, apropro considering much of this practice has qigong influence. Hearing this phrase triggered past events, and had me sucked down, immersed in another dimension, reliving time on the mat with the wind deliberately knocked out of me.

Seeing my then husband’s eyes, him coddling me after throwing me down violently on my back, he’s “sorry, (he’ll) never do it again”. To his credit, the latter half of that statement was true to a certain point of view, he never hurt me in precisely the same way twice, although his burgeoning creativity in this hobby was definitely neither to my liking nor advantage.

In a moment of terror, tears well up as I strained to breathe in, and suddenly

“…Lift your right heel.”

This little cue brought me out of a miasma of terror.

The relief left me weeping like a soft summer rain.

Daily practice of yoga creates and nurtures a mind-body connection. Coming out of that memory, it was as if I were riding a great glass Wonkavator out of the abyss and back into the light, or being beamed up onto the Enterprise for lack of discovery of intelligent lifeforms. By practicing drishti deliberately during times when I am not triggered, it creates neural pathways that I can use as an elevator shaft when another trigger rears its beautiful little face. Having practiced Iaido for several years, I was already familiar with this concept and use of drishti in yoga practice was akin to playing the violin tor 40 years and picking up a mandolin and it sounds like you’ve been playing for years. Seems like magic to some, however it’s hardly a parlor trick.

When you set your gaze on a point, then let it soften, it allows for a more alert observation of your peripheral vision. This applies to meditation, when allowing our inner eye’s gaze to soften, we will notice chitta vritti as if in a separate stream of peripheral consciousness, and by relaxing and not straining, become more present and accepting to your current state of mind.

Try it with me. Give yourself a focal point. Maybe it’s a lit candle or a knot in the wood paneling, or even your cell phone. Soften your gaze and observe. Notice how without moving your eyes that you can pick up on the slightest movement around you. Notice how your thoughts become quiet and still. If any thought arises, don’t chase it down to interrogate or investigate, don’t grasp onto it for safekeeping, just let it go like watching fluffy clouds drift overhead against a cerulean sky. Eventually, all of the clouds blow away.

I’ve understood for some time now that the only way out of PTSD was through. That I had to face everything that triggered me, reverse the images, create that dark mirror for myself so I can replay that part to be my own hero. I have sought out places, visited everywhere I had lived, driven down the streets and halfway across the country, all to face it again, an essential practice for rewriting events in the light of over four years’ There was something peculiar with the raising and lowering of my heel, and standing in that deep goddess squat, opening my right hip, that released this particular broken record.

Some events I have yet to reframe. Words, phrases, songs, and other sounds continually trigger, usually without warning. In these instances, I am not in control, not the first time. Sometimes not the second, third or fourth time, even. I do however have all of the skills necessary to heal what I can, and live with what I can’t.

What are you looking at?

Beam me up, Scotty.

Ahimsa

“Chery!!!”

The young EMT squeals fervently and explodes into my office.

“Mouse!!”

Any office building in New England will have it’s share of woodland critters seeking sanctuary from the oncoming winter months, and ours has been no exception. Usually it is an insect of some kind, which gets trapped on the glue boards we are required to use in various areas. This little fellow made it past the temptation of the kitchen, and sped across the floor, dipping into the director’s office and creating a nest in a box of promotional t shirts. I explained that we needed to wait for the creature to come out on their own, and that agitating it by rifling through the box might only get her bit. We both walked away and left for the day, forgetting about our office visitor.

The next morning I am feeling bright and excited for the day – shipment and document storage, how sexy is this? – and after my morning walk through, settle in at my desk to review the freezer graphs. As the files are loading, I review some other documents from the day before, and reach into my drawer to locate pen and straight edge for the task.

I pull the drawer out, and there is a slight shuffling rattle that is not normally present. Upon inspection, I find the bag of pistachios I keep for a quick snack has been ransacked, shells and nut crumbs littering the bottom of the drawer. It seems to be that our little visitor considered my station to be a bed and breakfast. I promptly toss the remainder of the nuts, and set about disinfecting the desktop, drawers, and everything contained within. As I am cleaning, I catch a scurry in my peripheral, and there is Mighty, red handed, staring at me from behind the door.

I can imagine, how to such a small critter, how terrifying humans must be. What must we look like to their eyes? Possibly how we might view a monster as tall as the empire state building, or for that matter, like any shawty next to someone over 6’4″. Despite my cautious, slow movement, Mighty makes a bee-line for the storage room, and in the chase, hear Alex Lifeson’s guitar solo from the bridge from “Freewill” creating the soundtrack. I grab a few promotional cups, and proceed to encapsulate the snack pilferer within. I notice a smear of blood on the cup, uncertain as to where the mouse was bleeding from, my heart dropping thinking I had hurt the little bugger. I walk outside to the far edge of the parking lot, and place the cups down, allowing Mighty to find his escape.

There was a time I confused pacifism with passive-ism. Growing up, I was taught that I had to be good and respect others, however also that if I spoke up about something, regardless of whether I was involved or not, I was getting the belt. I was taught that I was to take the brunt of any cruelty and if I protested, the repercussions became much worse. I was taught to be kind and forgiving to everyone regardless of their behavior. While I have since forgiven my parents for what they did not know, it has taken the better part of my adulthood to unlearn this lesson. Non-Harming has to do not only with not causing suffering to others. It also involves standing up for injustice, not protecting perpetrators, and using whatever means necessary to defend the innocent. That in one breath I can be both buddha and beast, embodying the balance of social duality.

In the practice of Yoga, Ahimsa can look like showing up to the mat every day, spending a few extra moments breathing and calming the nervous system. It looks like modifying a pose to your current ability. It looks like balasana when you need a break. It looks like compassionate practice, and also holding yourself accountable in a loving fashion.

The practice of Ahimsa includes standing up for yourself, defending the weak and innocent and victimized, and acting against violence. It is anything but turning a blind eye. Instead, it is allowing your eyes to be opened. It is treating others with kindness, as well as yourself. Practicing Ahisma can loom like blocking someone on social media – sometimes it looks like a loving redirection of argument – sometimes it looks like ensuring your dog is on a leash when you walk – sometimes it looks like a cast iron skillet on the stove near your front door, in case an unwanted critter shows up.

And sometimes, it looks like a little mouse in a cup with a belly full of pistachios.

“If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” – Neil Peart

Virabhadrasana I

I’m falling today.

Yesterday I was balanced. I nailed dancer balanced left, nearly nailed it right. Both sides of my wheel were stable and secure. Pressing as though I would tear the mat in half, Virabhadrasana foundation was both deep and lifted, squeezing thighs together and lifting up through my front body and grounding through my back. No shaking transitions. Graceful reversal of sequence. I felt solid and grounded.

Today’s tumbles began in tree, where I normally rest comfortably, my back twinged, my legs wobbled, and the room toppled up and to the left as I fell to the right, tripping over my furry mat mate and startling the downstairs neighbor. Next came warrior one, with Luna snuffling my navel and collapsing in laughter. By this point she’s calling from downstairs, “you ok up there?“ and lastly, bridge, or shall we say London Bridge as I was down briefly after lifting the draw.

The Chitta Vritti that normally pervades my thoughts when things don’t go as planned was quiet. In fact, I waited for her to show up and lead the peanut gallery in a deluge of self criticism and doubt. Instead there was a quiet awareness that the voice was not there. Not in that moment.

I recognized that I was waiting for it, and had a laugh about how I could disassociate twice removed to watch myself watching for myself. The three are one, and for all of my Catholic upbringing this one truth resounds to me – father, son, and ghost; head over heart over pelvis; maiden, mother, crone; mind, sword, and intent- and in so many traditions and not so many words is a universal truth. Everything is connected. Everything has a purpose, even our self doubts and fears, and occasional tumbles on the mat. The fall teaches us to rise.

And for all of the years I beat myself up and pushed myself to be perfect, I had a moment of silence. Respect for all of the years I pushed myself to be perfect to please others to feel loved and accepted. Respect for the decisions I made to survive. Respect for the girl who lived with her whole heart and only wanted that in return.

I’m okay with falling. I no longer fear it. I no longer think it’s good or that it’s bad. I no longer need to be perfect. I trust the process. Today. Tomorrow may be different. And that’s okay too.

“Falling’s just another way to fly” -Emilie Autumn

“Sometimes it takes a good fall to really know where you stand” Haley Williams

‘What if I fall?’, Tim cried. Marylyn Laughed. “Sooner or later, we all do.” -Stephen King, The Dark Tower

dhyana on nature

My love for the deep woods began as a small child. The doors to the house would be locked during the afternoon, and I would spend hours following the stream flowing from the natural spring in the woods behind the house, communing with faeries and making potions with mushrooms and berries and moss. When it’s time for me to dive back in amongst the arboreal groves, a yearning pulls my heart as rope with a grappling hook. With the golden goddess in tow, I set out to answer the song in my heart.

As it is early in the day, we find ourselves to have only the company of squirrels and woodpeckers. Thick with pine needles and fallen leaves, our favorite trail is soft, carpeted and cushioned for quiet passage under the autumn canopy. The ferns have turned golden, and I am reminded briefly of mature wheat in the Kansas wind, although that thought fades as quickly as it came to the chatter and babble of a nearby stream splashing its way down to the reservoir. I find that these memories that used to pervade my thoughts I no longer have desire or will or cause to chase after, and their transience is truly most welcome. Moondog dives in, tail wagging and drinking her fill.

It has been a minute since I was last here. Spring, in fact. The air is different now – musky and sweet, an exhale of relief settling into the soil. As we make our way over root and rock, I notice trees that once stood towering above had broken with the last strong windstorm. One in particular, an old oak, long stripped of its branches and bark, has broken approximately a third of its height up. The remaining trunk and branches balance between the long stump and another nearby oak tree. It appears as if the young stout oak was cradling the fallen with its sturdy branches, and softening the effects of the weather with its bountiful leaves. A soft breeze sways the branches, and they rock gently to and fro, creaking.

After a few hours, the longing in Luna’s eyes tell me it is time. I hate to leave. I could very easily craft a small home, nestled inside the cove created by ancient stone walls that run throughout the woods. I’d roast acorns, forage mushrooms and berries, and make friends with the creatures that also call this wood home, and Luna would continue to, much to my chagrin, snack on deer droppings. Ducking behind a wall to pee, I’m greeted with the swoosh of a hawk, diving feet above my head and landing in a nearby skeleton of a tree. He looks our way as I’m tugging up my jeans, and flies off as quickly and quietly as he came.

Life as we know it will someday not be as it is. We break. Grow older. We fall. If we are so lucky, someone may just happen to be there to catch us and soften the journey. If we are luckier, we will be the one doing the catching. I was reminded today there is as much grace and beauty involved in the falling as there is in the support of the fallen. We all have our time. We all have our season. We all have our turn.

“Love is the only prayer I know.” Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Mists of Avalon

Surrender

I am working on obtaining my YTT 200. This is a yoga wheel that I created for the full Blood moon on 10 OCT 22.

I did not sleep last night. I slogged through my workday, felt weak and tired and drained. It was very tempting to crawl into my fresh sheets and take a nap. Then, I saw Luna, in the yoga room, on her mat (yes she has her own) stretching and rolling on her back and mimicking yoga poses I routinely practice. I could not help but to get into my comfort clothes and join her. She reminded me that all I had to do was show up, and the rest would take care of itself. I left the mat feeling peaceful and energized and strong. My form was not perfect in some poses, and in others it was the best I could remember. We can’t always be perfect, but sometimes we can surprise ourselves if we just surrender to the process.
So here I am.
I surrender.🏳

Chitta Vritti

It’s been a minute since I’ve been to the eye doctor. As I dance through my forties, I find that everything I want to look at has to be magnified or held at arm’s length, and the combination of the two has been a nightmare. Right understanding comes with pure vision, so in a practice of sound intellection, it’s time to swipe the vision card, and head in.

As I enter the establishment, I notice the lack of waiting room seating, high ceilings, and roped off optical center. It’s almost set up in a way that would lead the consumer to believe that it is a separate company selling you eyeglasses. The wall color is different, the branding is angular, even just the fact that it was merchandised at all gave it its own state of independence. The bilingual receptionist smiles, she’s finishing a transaction and almost violates HIPPA. I mean, it is a medical facility, however if someone wants to pilfer my lens prescription, have it manufactured and sold en masse, be my guest. From the way she wipes the counter, I would not be surprised if she was charged with enforcing COVID protocol in the office. The socially distanced seats, denial of admission of a guest, antibacterial hand wipes and sterilized counter pens, all told the story of an office that was fastidious, impeccably and professionally run. I sign in, make pleasantries, dole out the office visit co-pay. She re-wipes the signature pad, and I’m sitting just a minute before my name is called. In the exam room, a stuffed dog sandwiched between two led panels greets me and happily turns his tongue in the direction of what would be my chair.

Something I’ve always been intrigued about are the instruments used in optometry. The craft is somewhat steampunk, trickery, and subjectivity, an art form really. I’m given drops to numb my cornea, then asked to settle chin and forehead onto a bracket, and a blue circle light is brought up to my eye surface. As I am sitting there blinded by the tiny glowing ring light, I notice a change in my body – my stomach is tight and starts to knot, my face is flushing and temperature rising, and my heart is suddenly pounding so loudly that I cannot hear the tech. “What did you say,” I ask, “I’m sorry I can’t hear you over my heart pounding”.

Now usually when you go to any sort of healthcare facility, you are not privy to a proper deep-bellied guffaw, the kind of cackle that makes heads turn and monks clutch their rosaries and infect others with its purity. The tech is staring at me, and I can hear her thoughts as clearly as I could see music notes streaming through the air while tripping acid and rocking out with Potsy. What I hear is, “oh shit is she going to cry?” This is absurd! I am not in any harm whatsoever right now. That light is not going to hurt or burn my eye. I want and need to get my eyes examined so that I can focus. So, where is this coming from? I realize it is my sympathetic nervous system, turned on with flight or fight engaged. And if that was not enough realization, I then am made keenly aware of the fact that I am in the observer self-state, observing myself. That I was so scared that I had disassociated to the point of being twice removed over nothing. That’s where the laugh, and then the tears, came in. I laughed to the point where the tech was laughing with me, and her coworker poked her head in to ask who the punchline of the joke was. I couldn’t tell them in a way that would make sense, so I said, “I am.”

It is in the narrative that we tell ourselves whether we are the victim or the villain, heroine or vagabond. These stories were once told to try to make sense of the world, or what I’ve learned to accept as belligerent gaslighting. It is in the ever-present mind chatter that our perspective is shifted, one way or the next. This voice is the programming we have been given, and it takes on the personification of any memory that was inscribed by trauma. It takes practice to hear it, identify it, accept it. Only then, can we ever know the difference and free ourselves from that endless chatter.

So laugh, that’s how you scare the demons away.

“You must unlearn what you have learned” – Yoda

Vrikshasana

Every day I find new
Ways to look at myself and
Love what I’m seeing

I seek challenges
For the sake of the doing
And conquer each one

Getting comfortable
Seeking the uncomfortable
Until it submits

I marvel in this body
Complexities I’ve taken
For granted before

Now stacking up tall
Head over heart and pelvis
Mind over matter

Reintroducing
Myself to myself. Hello.
This is me. I am.

Shavasana (Death)

“Who needs sleep?
well you’re never gonna get it
Who needs sleep?
tell me what’s that for
Who needs sleep?
be happy with what you’re getting
There’s a guy who’s been awake
since the Second World War”

-Who Needs Sleep, BNL

What is another sleepless night? Wrapped in my fluffy cocoon at La Villa Strangiato, I am as snug as a doodlebug in a rug. The Landlord still prefers to keep the thermostat down, of which I am most appreciative. A hot room leads always to discomfort, and around here there is always a moose blanket or down comforter or a soft, warm, little ball of fur to snug up against. Cetri Zine and Ben Adryl, I thank you. Going with the flow means to accept all situations you can do absolutely nothing about, and this includes The Reynolds genome – small amount of sleep, early riser. The only remedy for this I have ever found was inhaling massive amounts of what my buddy from SC would refer to as “pine tree”, and such as it is, there is none to be discovered here.

I lay on my back, without pillow, arms by my sides and heels shoulder width apart. At times, I am laughing and crying with Mrs Maisel, and at others with the Outlander. Midge understands, and Jamie is the perfect human known to man. Even amidst the Carolina Cherokees and the unforgiving landscape he manages to find gratitude in the smallest things – a fish caught, the moonshine ripening, the daily battle for life, the daughter that he had never met traveling 200 years into the past to join him and her mother and welcoming her with open arms, and joyfully pulverizing her would-be aggressor. You know, the small stuff.

What I have come to understand is the truth in the small stuff. Exactly what it is in this life I appreciate and find value in.

A visit from one of my children.

Sunrises and sunsets.

The taste of a tart clementine.

Kisses from a beloved pet.

Unconditional love from my family.

A little job.

Safety.

For the snow to shovel in the morning.

For chances to spread kindness.

Playing my violin as often as I like and learning a new little song.

Morning yoga basking the beauty of the Shire.

True, loyal, lifelong friends.

For all I have loved and then lost.

For my imperfections.

Life. Breathing. In. Out. Weaving consciousness through every cell of my body.

Gratitude readily pours out of my eyes. As I have taken to wearing mascara again and not wiping tears, my face is morosely marked with the streams of release. Gratitude for these lovely things. Gratitude for lessons learned. Gratitude for the alchemy of the heart. Gratitude for the pain and suffering, welcoming it with open arms. Opportunities of being regularly challenge, with my response of “take me, and let me get swept away”. I feel every need for forgiveness and every transgression as the day it occurred.

Asking for the forgiveness of others.

Asking for the forgiveness of myself.

Offering my forgiveness to others.

https://jackkornfield.com/forgiveness-meditation/

It is through this divine forgiveness that I feel comfort. There are those who are no longer around me whose forgiveness I ask of and extend to, to the best of my ability every day. Time makes this easier, and laying in the complete vulnerability of Shavasana offers my being to experience this healing to its most intense capacity.

So on death? This is a process of letting go, as forgiveness in and of itself is a death, is it not? Of righteousness? Of vindication? Of shame. My dragonflies in amber are a reminder of the beauty in change, and of the hope of what remains to be seen. It is only through acceptance and understanding of death can we fully appreciate life.

So to sleep, perchance to dream. Or, not. Maybe someday.

Tonight, dolce far niente.

“I know it’s not my fault I did my best
God knows this heart of mine could use a rest

What more and more I find the dreams I left behind
Are somehow too real to replace

Last night I didn’t get to sleep at all
The sleeping pill I took was just a waste of time”

I couldn’t close my eyes ’cause you were on my mind”

-(Last Night) I Didn’t Get Any Sleep At All, The 5th Dimension