Grown-Up Yoga

I “thought” I got it. (Such an intellectual whiz).

This is the life-plan for right now?

This “pose” – for days on end?

Sure, no problem. Just place mat on the floor, position the body and focus….


we’re falling.

Because I’m terrible with anything that even rhymes with Yoga. No matter how much I played the part with great tops from Prana and Lululemon pants – I was just a wannabe. The surrender of sitting still when ego says ‘that’s enough’ trumped every time. I went distance running for a reason. Let. Me. Move.

But God, family and friends weren’t kidding in September of 2012. Jennifer moved back home for lots of important reasons and running a 1/2 marathon wasn’t one of them:

Be with the heartache, the loss. They said. Be with the magic. Be with your girl. Be with yourself and a new job that offers different dividends. See the gift.

New beginning on all fronts? I got this. Brave face forward. Adventure: my name.

But that’s not what *this is. There’s no Reaching-For-Fantastic but rather I’m Anchored-to-The-Center-of-Stillness. And it’s not pretty. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m terrible at it. My attitude needing constant re-adjustment. I feel vulnerable *all *the *time.

Today I came home and broke down in tears. Not poor me tears. More like, I-can’t-hold-this-stillness-any-longer kind of weeping.  A general, pitiful whine.


This is the juncture of true surrender and commitment. The axis point of sacrifice. The thing my friends talked about when they described what’s *hard. It’s not the duty itself, but a tenacity to stay the course when old habits bang around in your head like disorganized sirens: Dream a different outcome. Change up your life so it fits better what you deserve. Blah, blah, blah: stop. Shhhh. Be quiet. Be gone. When the going gets tough – I’m not running towards ego’s gratification anymore.

I hear Mother’s voice. She’s coming down the stairs with sweet girl in her arms. I wipe the indulgent tears away and reach for my infant daughter. Sedona-Grace buries her slobbery little face into the crook of my neck and gurgles with delight: joy indescribable.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.


We’re holding.


She said “Able-bodied and Able-souled…are two very different things.”

That hit like an anvil against my chest. Hot tears.

Yes, yes, of course. Capacity is not defined by external capabilities. Capacity comes from a sacred spot within. And no amount of confrontation or careful consideration, from an outside perspective, can awaken that part of our humanity.

It’s an inner light that shines.

Or doesn’t.

So, what is it with me and my stubborn nature struggling to accept truth. What is it about my heart that pushes against the awareness of those who are capable of love, like my dear friends and family, expending energy, instead, on pointless pursuits of hope. What delusion grips so tight?

I don’t know.

But it’s tiresome. I’m weary of it.It’s old habit of mind and it must end.

My daughter, surrounded by a deep wellspring of love, is provided for. She is worthy.

And so am I.

Now, am I “able-souled” enough to believe it?

I better be. She is watching and learning. It won’t be enough I work hard to provide. She already watches how I nourish my body, care for friends, worship God, value family, live vulnerably. She will learn how to forgive–by the standard I set.


Am I “able -souled” enough to show her?

The truth is many of my sisters have faced situations they could not change, or control. People who have let them down. Opportunities disappointing them deeply. But they did not lose their joy. And neither can I. The sharp sting of sorrow and grief will come and go. It’s to be expected.

I wipe my tears away and look down at this sweet girl. My baby. She lies in such perfect repose.

We will be okay.

Everything…will be okay.

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” 
― Rumi