What attachment makes you happy?
Truly think about it.
Has you feeling more alive, has you grateful for your existence?
What connection helps you feel grounded?
What if that sensation went away?
What if you could no longer find it?
What if you had never known it?
What if it felt like you were drifting off into blackest of black holes?
Could you find your way back?
Could you find an anchor?
Could you orient back towards life and living after the world had gone topsy turvy?
What if you hadn’t ever known attachment or connection?
What if it hurt, I mean above a 7 on the Richter scale kinda pain, hurt?
Would you fight for it?
Even if you had only ever imagined it, never actually experienced it?
Would you fight to hold hope?
I wouldn’t know what could exist. When connection began it creating short circuiting within the entirety of my being. As if I had been in some frozen tundra, hypothermia beyond set in and now defrost had arrived. AND… it hurt!
I was used to detaching. I was used to subpar existence. Existence is what I did; I breathed and moved through the day, week, month, year, YEARS… I existed. I didn’t know what life and living could be within the construct of my being.
I would drift off. I would feel lost. I would disappear. I would feel cold and distant.
The other day I was remembering what it used to feel like to go towards a state of disengagement. I would let go of being in a physical body. I would let my mind drift into a fog. My eyes would see nothing. I might seemingly be looking at something, I was looking at nothing. It didn’t matter what was in my line of vision. Nothing in the moment was being seen. I was letting go, I was drifting away from the pain, from the terror. It was the way I coped.
It hurt too much to be attached to a physical body. Not due to illness or pain disorder, life experience had handed me a body I didn’t want to dwell in and so I turned towards dissociation. I turned away from connection. I lost balance. The world was off kilter. I was like the pin ball machine on a slam tilt, a machine nudged with such violence that the hardware risked being damaged, perhaps permanently.
I remember the other day, tears streamed down my face.
I would be present. I would feel focused. I would feel intact. I would feel full and alive.
I was no longer looking for an escape away from the moment. I wasn’t looking to thoroughly disengage, drive away, disappear. I wasn’t looking to get lost, find distance… whatever distance, from the pain of remembering a life and barely existing in a body. I felt grounded. I was smiling as tears ran down my face, I was feeling grounded and solid.
What caused me to reminiscence?
That grounded and solid feeling felt familiar.
It no longer felt like happenstance. It no longer felt like some vague, out of reach reality.
I used to get glimpses. I would have a moment here, an experience there. I didn’t know how to reproduce it. It felt like I would arrive at an oasis, not knowing how I got there nor understanding how to stay or return. I would describe myself as if I was sieve, I could receive yet then I would watch it all drain out of my being.
What caused me to reminiscence?
I had encountered hard moment after hard moment.
The realities of the days were upon my being.
I knew this would be the moment, I would grab keys and head to the car and drive away like a bat out of hell, trying to outrun the panic. This would be the moment, I would lose time. This would be the moment, I would daze far, far away.
Yet, I wasn’t.
I felt the soles of my feet underneath me.
I felt the ground underneath the soles of my feet.
I solidly knew how to return to the sensation. I knew how to find myself, orient to the moment, touch and allow for pain to course through my being without shutting down or short circuiting.
In my life, a physical yoga practice wasn’t and will never be simply a form of exercise. It is an excellent tool for many things. For me, it would be the life line and the outstretched hand. It would be the one thing, that upon the utterances of permission to move “my” body as I could or would want to, breathe “my”breath deeply and fully how I could or as I could, and practice “my” practice, I would connect to my physical person. I would find awareness in ways I never knew I could, I would stay grounded and present in ways that had been historically uncharacteristic for me and my life.
It was my body, it always was and it was my breath, it always was; the verbal cues and physical practices of yoga held an outstretched hand towards me, beckoning me back towards life… inviting me towards the living. This is my practice, I will move body as I can and how I can. This is my practice, I will breathe as I can and how I can. This is my practice, I will be aware! I will not just exist in physical space. I will live. This is my life!
Thank you, yoga.