fist relaxing
hello friends,
i don't think it's just the particulars of my particular attachments that make them seem so cyclical. today i understand that attachments come round and round again. old teachings are percolating in me these weeks since my rest at the ashram. lying in supported child's pose this morning, the solsara question came to mind: where can you feel the attachment in your body? and i found a fist gripped tight in my heart. by seeing the attachment as its own thing in its little place, i was able to get some space.
because as i approach the full moon in me, i begin to think: tenuous, fragile, shaky. what is? i ask myself. at first i thought my emotional being was shaky or my grief. then i remembered, i will feel pain, i will grieve, i will feel attached. and i saw that what has seemed tenuous is the distance i have from that pain, that grief, that unfulfilled longing, the desires unmet. and i found the fist in my chest and i took a deep breath and i let it go. immediately my mind said, the tension returns right away but when i looked closely i found that hand still at ease. space there. like when i ask my feet to relax and, miraculously, they just do.
i'm learning. at the edge of a dense week i notice pressure above my right side. i notice trepidation. i notice fear that i will feel worn-out, angry. i notice fear of being a wreck. i promise to keep breathing. to consciously relax every day, at least once. and to eat well. is it enough? i don't know. but so many wise and good people tell me that it is. so i'll begin here and i'll let you know how it goes.
i also wanted to share with you a bit by ursula le guin from always coming home. this morning, i took it to the special place i pray, the place where cave and creek meet, water falls and roils bubbling foam and an old, old woman watches over me.
the sands of all the beaches of all the coasts, the grains of sand of all the beaches of all the coasts of all the world, are the lives of the unborn, who will be born, who may be born. the waves of the sea, the bubbles of foam of the waves that break on the coasts of the seas of the world, all the flashes and gleams of light on the waves of the seas of the world, the flicker of sunlight on waves of the ocean, those are the lives...without end vanishing without stay forever.
i don't think it's just the particulars of my particular attachments that make them seem so cyclical. today i understand that attachments come round and round again. old teachings are percolating in me these weeks since my rest at the ashram. lying in supported child's pose this morning, the solsara question came to mind: where can you feel the attachment in your body? and i found a fist gripped tight in my heart. by seeing the attachment as its own thing in its little place, i was able to get some space.
because as i approach the full moon in me, i begin to think: tenuous, fragile, shaky. what is? i ask myself. at first i thought my emotional being was shaky or my grief. then i remembered, i will feel pain, i will grieve, i will feel attached. and i saw that what has seemed tenuous is the distance i have from that pain, that grief, that unfulfilled longing, the desires unmet. and i found the fist in my chest and i took a deep breath and i let it go. immediately my mind said, the tension returns right away but when i looked closely i found that hand still at ease. space there. like when i ask my feet to relax and, miraculously, they just do.
i'm learning. at the edge of a dense week i notice pressure above my right side. i notice trepidation. i notice fear that i will feel worn-out, angry. i notice fear of being a wreck. i promise to keep breathing. to consciously relax every day, at least once. and to eat well. is it enough? i don't know. but so many wise and good people tell me that it is. so i'll begin here and i'll let you know how it goes.
i also wanted to share with you a bit by ursula le guin from always coming home. this morning, i took it to the special place i pray, the place where cave and creek meet, water falls and roils bubbling foam and an old, old woman watches over me.
the sands of all the beaches of all the coasts, the grains of sand of all the beaches of all the coasts of all the world, are the lives of the unborn, who will be born, who may be born. the waves of the sea, the bubbles of foam of the waves that break on the coasts of the seas of the world, all the flashes and gleams of light on the waves of the seas of the world, the flicker of sunlight on waves of the ocean, those are the lives...without end vanishing without stay forever.
loving you,
k.
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