Lessons From Falling Down
It was around 7:00 in the morning. I was in Maine, heading to the shore for an early morning kayak, while the ocean was calm. I made my way across a slab of downward-slanting granite, moist from the rain and morning dew. Because there was a chill in the air, my hands were in my jacket pockets. I said to myself, “This looks slippery. Be careful.” And whoosh, as I completed the thought, my feet went out from under me - like someone lifted them up behind me, thrusting me forward. I flew, with no hands to catch me, slamming onto the slanted rock, landing on my chest. My left shin connecting with the rock, as well.
It didn’t feel avoidable. I mean, I noticed the conditions and told myself to be careful and still fell. Proving that…. sometimes in life — we fall. It can’t always be avoided. We can notice the conditions, give ourselves a warning and fall.
The first thing I felt, even before the pain, was vulnerable. The tears followed. Then fear. I thought I could get up and go kayaking - that’s my survival self - I’m fine! But I didn’t. I went back to the cabin and woke up my daughter Frances, a nurse, and she rose to the occasion - literally getting up from her slumber - and jumping into action with her expertise and love. It felt good to have her care for me. She cared for me so well.
The pain got worse as the days progressed - in the chest, back and shin. The doctor was great - all would be well in time. An injury can be an illustration or a physical manifestation of an emotional pain that is made literal. The experience resulted in an excavation of emotions demanding to be processed — a mandate for self-care and nourishment. The tears flowed as the physical pain did it’s job - creating the environment for the emotions to bubble up. It was like two buddies - physical and emotional linked arms, knowing that together they could help me. Physical opened the energetic door, allowing emotion to pass through - unobstructed. Working together, with me in my vulnerable state with no defenses, all the pain came rising up and flowing out through my eyes - in a river of tears. It was like a reboot to my system - a recalibration. I couldn’t seem to get unstuck on my own, so rocks and water stepped in. Letting go takes multiple cycles. It takes practice to no longer dwell on delightful and painful memories - big signposts of life. My brain was in overdrive - spinning with too much reflection - a stuck energy. I was in a circular cycle, revisiting past experiences, relationships and trying to make sense of nonsense. I looked everywhere for answers to the unanswerable - oracle cards, Instagram readers, inspirational quotes, yoga teachers signs in dreams, from animals and rocks. I had asked my angel team for help. Why couldn’t I let the past go? Getting slammed on the rocks gave me the jolt and knocked it out of me. It came out in a violent river of tears and snot. I asked for help and got the energetic shove I needed. It facilitated the flow - a release of foggy experiences with a clarity to use my energy for the present and the future. My physical injuries would heal. It was okay to tumble. Built into my spiritual practice is prayer and expressed gratitude - gratitude for wisdom earned - even from life’s toughest teachers. When we ask our spirit teams for help - it may come in a way that we don’t expect - like forced rest. And we can stop trying to find that missing piece to the unifinished jig saw puzzle - and just leave the little pieces to remain incomplete - we don’t have to finish every puzzle from our past.
For many years now, I have been rising, pre-dawn, for my kundalini yoga practice. But lately, I get up when my body wants to get up. This morning, I woke up at 4 am and winced as I transitioned from lying to sitting on the side of my bed. Instead of standing, I lay back down for a minute and woke up three hours later. I fed Serafina, my cat, and went outside to almond oil and the pre-yoga cold shower.
My yoga practice hurts. I have never had a slower and more intentional practice - by necessity. And for someone who has pushed their way through life and its myriad challenges since forever, my physical wounds are my teacher - showing me the beauty and healing of slow movement. S L O W. Who knows - maybe slow yoga can be part of my life going forward - not just when I’m hurt.
Accepting the mandate for body care, I allow the energy to dictate my movement throughout my day. I float through my home without a list of to-do items - cleaning for my air bnb visitors, hanging the laundry to dry, chanting mantra on the porch, digging in dirt. And I heal. Sat nam.
