I Can’t. I Am. I Did. - Lessons from uncomfortable positions

The vulnerable bow pose.  It was the first moment I was triggered in Kundalini Yoga Teacher Training.  In an instant I was a scared little girl, wanting to curl up into a ball and cry.  Only problem -  I was in a room full of other teachers in training and instructed to do the pose by the powerful teacher at the front of the room.  “I can’t do it.” I said with a quivering voice. I said I had a neck problem (true, but that was not the issue) and the moment passed.  I didn’t understand what happened. I was overwhelmed.

It happened again with the wheel pose (or a back bend).  “I can’t do that.”  I went into a practice room with another teacher in training.  I lay on my back, palms under my shoulders - knees bent and tried to push up into the position - “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.”  She gently offered,  “You can do it. You are strong enough.  You’re just scared.”

And now - for over four years - Every dawn - I face discomfort head on.  One minute each.  Every morning. I start the day doing something that I think I can’t. 

“This short, daily kriya is an important component of my spiritual healing practice. It represents life - Tackling what scares me the most. The things I don’t want to do - the parts of my self I don’t want to look at. ”

I can’t.  I am. I did. 

Yoga imitates life.

it’s okay to be out of my comfort zone. I’m learning, with practice, that vulnerability, strength and safety can coexist.

Lessons Learned

This short, daily kriya is an important component of my spiritual healing practice.  It represents life - Tackling what scares me the most.  The things I don’t want to do - the parts of my self I don’t want to look at.  

We can get through life’s lessons if we practice every day -  letting go, grieving a painful memory, bidding a love farewell. We gaze into the eyes of the part of ourselves that needs our love. The part that feels weak. The part that thinks it can’t be done. The part that says it’s too hard. With practice, we can decide when to let her in and when to watch her from afar.  When she visits, the tears flow. Other days - we can just observe her as she passes through. “I see you sadness. I see you grief. I see you loneliness. But let’s not visit today.” Some days she insists on a visit - I let her in and allow her to stay as long as she needs to. And gently bid her off again. She’s not always welcome, because we have important things to tend to - things outside of our selves, like helping a friend, practicing seva*, protecting the environment. Things that are more important than yesterday’s patterns. With the new strength and groundedness, we look up from our own wounds with clearer vision and the strength to see the world as it is - not as we wish it were.  We’re strong enough to take in what’s in front of us.

We don’t choose the easy road - we choose the one that is calling to us with a soft voice, a slight smile and hand beckoning us forward.

* Seva - selfless service

Illustration by Lily Moon (Illustrator of my memoir :) as well.)