Friday, November 17, 2023

November Night

November night.  Tumbling temperatures.  Fading colors.  Diming lights.  This underlying darkness re-surfacing as this sun sets.  Welcome to the gloomy and grey season.  There’s a reason why Remembrance Day is this time of the year.  After Halloween treats.  Before Christmas lights.  The time of the year that smells and tastes like grief.  Maybe it has a purpose other than simply making me feel sad?  I mean, sadness isn’t necessarily a bad thing even if it can be very uncomfortable.  Is sadness the cause of depression?  Or is repressed sadness the cause of depression?  For me, I feel like holding back my tears makes my sadness grow roots.  And with time, this sadness becomes harder and harder to uproot.  I’ve always been a very sensitive human.  For as long as I can remember.  I’m pretty sure I was born this way.  Growing up, I learned to hide this part of me very early on.  Crybabies got bullied and ridiculed.  Cool and controlled was how you fit in.  I did what I had to do.  I became a master at social automation.  An emotion-repressing champion.  Hiding behind this hollow happy-faced mask.  But at this point in my life, I just can’t seem to do it anymore.  I’ve been trying to honor this time of the year by letting myself be sad when I feel sad.  Giving myself space.  More time alone.  More long solo rides.  More yoga and meditation.  Activities and places that allow me to feel safest feeling.  And listening to emotional music.  Embodying the energy of these sounds and these words.  Breathing into these lyrics speaking to my soul.  As I get older, I have come to realize, that like the bare trees this time of the year, I feel most alive when my heart is naked.  It doesn’t make any sense at all and I’m not sure why it’s this way.  But giving myself permission to feel sad is when I feel most happy.  Maybe our sadness is simply meant to flow?  Maybe November is our invitation to follow nature’s rhythm and rest into letting things go?

Saturday, November 4, 2023

Who am I?

Three seasons in three days.  Summer on Saturday.  Fall on Sunday.  And Winter on Monday.  Nature is never at rest.  This ever-changing flow of life.  This stillness in motion.  This seasonal shift.  Coinciding with the seasonal metamorphosis also happening inside of me.  What happens next?  Over five and a half decades on this earth and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be when I grow up.  Who am I?  What am I?  Questions that I was invited to answer in my personal journal during the first weekend of the 200 hour Yoga Teacher Training course that I am currently enrolled in at @puravidadieppe.  So very basic.  Elementary really.  But I’m still not sure how to even begin formulating an answer.  Where do I start?  All that comes to mind are concepts that are not me.  I am not my name.  I am not my work.  I am not my age.  I am not my body.  I am not my likes.  I am not my dislikes.  I am not my thoughts.  I am not my feelings.  I am not my failures, losses or mistakes.  I am not my victories, triumphs or accomplishments.  I am not my roles.  I am not my titles or accolades.  I am not my accumulated belongings.  I am not my bank account balance.   I am not the stories that you tell yourself about me.  I am not the stories that I tell myself about me.  I am not my ego.  All just temporary illusions.  Forever fleeting.  Maybe the real me lives under all these things?  Maybe who I am is what’s left after they have all been stripped away?  Life itself.  The entire universe.  One with existence.  Pure consciousness.  Creation expressing itself as itself.  Boundless peace and love.  The here and now.  This present moment.  Maybe that’s who you are too?