I have been convinced that somewhere in the small space remaining between my rectus muscles is an answer, a moment of clarity. I have searched for nearly 18 months and yet it has not revealed itself in the way I imagined it would; there has been no great "aha". While I have spent perhaps the equivalent of several full work weeks on my mat trying to yoke together my two sides with varying degrees of success, the truth is that no absolute solution has arisen, no final closure found.
I lie down on a nearly-daily basis and feel my midline with my hands. The space around my belly button seems at times possibly wider and other times narrows to nearly nothing. I have followed its ebbs and flows quietly and with a deep sense of care; perhaps more care than I have ever offered myself in this life. And while I check the width routinely, the residue of this ritual leaves my mind resting not in the space between, but in the quality of attention itself. I am not what one would call a religious person, and I often tend toward the dependabilities of mathematics and science, but through this process I have encountered what feels to be the soft slipperiness of prayer.
It has been nearly impossible for me to write in recent times. Even as I lay these words down on the computer screen, it feels much more choppy and strained than it ever used to. Maybe the words are harder to pull out because they run so deep now, or perhaps I am a bit afraid of what might happen if I allow myself to shine a light into the darknesses of recent months. Regardless of the reason, it feels absolutely necessary to begin the process of expression. It is almost as if my whole life balances on the nuances that are there just beyond my sight, at the edge of my fingertip, beyond the cursor.
As I come back to writing, at least for now, I begin by bowing, not just to the space in my midline, but to all the chasms and spaces within that have revealed themselves to me since I left my life in New York City, moved to Switzerland to begin a new life with my husband, and then carried and gave birth to an amazing daughter. Gratitude is not a practice that has always come easily to me, but I find myself submerged in her waters so often these days. To be thankful is to be alive. It is a stalwart reinforcement of all that makes us human and whole and curious and brilliant. It is the antidote to self-absorption. It is the prayer of awakening.
In the coming weeks, I will attempt to traverse through words some of the groundless territory I have been exploring; all of those spaces between the questions and the answers. In some sense I intend to write about asana and meditation, about imbalance and symmetry, about yoking polarities, about obstacles and darkness revealing brilliance. In another sense I am not sure where I am going or where this will take me/us. I humbly ask for your attention and also for your feedback as we go. I ask that this become a conversation, never a monologue.
I dedicate my recent writer's block to all the quiet spaces it has afforded me. Let us all allow the quiet to penetrate us more often.
With love and care,