I’m in the middle of a move. I’d love to be able to snap my fingers, twitch my nose, and be completely done with it. But I’m not. I spent yesterday going through things and deciding keep or throw away/donate. I found in the back of my closet a flannel shirt that belonged to “M.” There’s a part of me that’s held onto it for reasons like the scene from “Brokeback Mountain.” After the death of Jack, Ennis keeps a jacket of his in a closet under one of his own shirts and pulls it out missing the man he loved.
I thought that was what I’d do as well. But to be honest, I haven’t thought much about that shirt for a few years and definitely haven’t been pulling it out. So I decided to throw it out. And the waves of sadness, nostalgia, solitude, guilt, anger, and every other grief emotion came up.
I wasn’t sure I would have time to practice but I made time – because yesterday, I needed to get into my body and get back to feeling who I am. When I got to pigeon on the right side, the tears began to flow. My right hip is where I carry the strongest attachments to my ex and yesterday they wanted out. So I let them out. I cried. And cried a bit more. And then sat in silence. After, I played – because there’s no better way for me to get to my spirit than to play on my hands.
I practice yoga because it continues to save me from myself, from my old patterns, and from those nemesis thoughts. I practice because I want to stay in feeling and I want to feel from a place of authenticity. I practice for me. And there’s no better reason to practice.
badyogidc 