Notes from the Mat

Rebecca was sent directly from God to be my yoga teacher. I know everyone else thinks that too as she is wonderful, but I don’t care. God and I know the truth. She is mine. I have cried enough tears in her classes to float an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. As with my minister, Peter, every word that comes out of her mouth is targeted for me like a laser.

Today her entire theme was having an open heart. She said there are two opposing forces in the world—love and fear—and that we would today concentrate on choosing love. She made us do things that were uncomfortable in the service of getting our hearts to crack wide open. She said we don’t like to feel because it brings emotional pain, but that it’s all ok because the pain will pass and we will be left with a heart so wide and big that it has no option but to choose love. She spoke of the heart chakra (ana hata?) and said it means the force which cannot be destroyed.

I hate the way she knows exactly what I need to hear at exactly which moment. How does she do that? And don’t say it’s not all about me, because I already told you it is ALL about me—she is my personal heaven sent emissary. The fact that others in class might glean a grain of truth here and there is nothing more than a happy by product of my life lessons class with Rebecca.

So it turns out the heart is the force which cannot be destroyed. Who knew? I would not have taken that bet. I would’ve put my entire IRA on the square that said “Tom broke your heart so completely by loving you so well and leaving you so soon that you are now on the permanently disabled list. Like many others with terrible injuries, you will eek out some pale version of the life you had imagined and you will keep going because you are a mother and have no choice but it will suck. It will always always suck. Well maybe not for a day or two in May when the lilacs and lily of the valley are both in bloom at once, but certainly every other day and FOREVER.”

She closed with “Open your heart. Let it reveal itself to you.” And of course the ongoing advice to Stay Present—the most impossible task of all. Oh and she even threw in at one point—just to see if I was listening—that the tortoise wins the race every time, NOT the hare. We then did tortoise pose. I do not ever recall being asked to do hare pose or buzzy bee pose, both of which I’m sure I would like very much. I identify closely with both and have great fondness for them. So BUSY, so PRODUCTIVE, SO good at completing their to-do lists: hop, hop, nibble, procreate. OR buzz, fly, get nectar, make honey. Repeat. Bring queen a nice cup of tea. Buzz more. I hate plodding tortoises. I’d rather die trying to win the race at full-tilt bozo pace than crawl along in the dust slow and steady as she goes. BLECH!

I am going to see the man who seems to have cracked my heart wide open one more time and then I am going off to the five days of noble silence in the woods. Five days to clear my head and keep my mouth shut (God I hope they provide duct tape) and 5 more with my college friends and then a couple with my 101-year-old aunt and some long lost cousins and one with a dear teaching colleague and friend. That is what I’m going to do. It will be good to get away? Ok, not so much, but if I have any hope of not doing my usual jump in the deep end without knowing how to swim thing this really will be a blessing. Two full weeks away from everything. Time to think and write and BE. God I hate even typing the idea of just BEING. What’s so bad about DOING again? Oh right. It’s not really what life is about. Shit.


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