Surrender

Our brains are wired to be wary, constantly scanning for threats to our survival. As mothers we become hyper-vigilant to ensure the safety of our babies. Our senses are heightened, our sleep is light and easily disturbed. As our children grow and begin to take care of themselves and maturity helps us become more secure in our own bodies, it’s still difficult to shake these hard-wired responses to our environment. Even when we’re surrounded by friends, supported by our yoga mats and the firmness of the earth beneath them, we hold on to that last bit of defensiveness somewhere–maybe in the slight clench of the jaw, or the small fraction of awareness that refuses to be coaxed inward.

How do we allow ourselves to fully surrender?

There’s always the exhale. It’s like a love letter the diaphragm sends the brain when it’s allowed to fully release, to rest for a few moments in close proximity to the heart. During that quiet moment at the bottom of your exhale, before the breath rushes back in, allow a whispered, “It’s OK; you’re safe,” to float into the spaciousness of your mind. No need to panic; the breath always returns on its own.

When infants are unable to calm themselves we swaddle them to help them feel secure. A blanket or shawl can have the same effect during meditation or savasana. Wrapped snugly, supported by cushion or mat, surrender your breath completely and rest peacefully in those few seconds of silence, enjoying the gift of a safe place you’ve created within yourself.

Bakasana

It seems some asana happen just when you’ve gracefully accepted that they probably never will. One morning the body feels as grounded and stable on palms as it usually does on soles, and you know it’s safe to lift one toe, then the other. And there you are. The elation you expected is instead a quiet sense of ease.

One benefit of coming to yoga a decade or two later than most is though the suppleness of the body has waned, it has been replaced by suppleness of the heart and mind. Each asana must first be understood by the mind, then embraced by the heart, and, finally, slowly introduced to the body. A relationship forms. Limitations are accepted. A slow, subtle dance occurs over weeks, or months, or years. And then, one morning a few weeks before your 41st birthday, you lift your toes.

New

sit: vb 1. to rest upon the buttocks or haunches; 2. roost, perch; 3. to occupy a seat; 4. to hold a session; 5. to cover eggs for hatching; 6. to pose for a portrait; 7. to remain quiet or inactive; 8. fit; 9. to cause (oneself) to be seated; 10. to place in position; 11. to keep one’s seat on

The egg is a powerful symbol. For Jung it represented:  “… the world’s beginning … the vessel from which … the homunculus emerges … the spiritual, inner, and complete man.” A hindu story places Brahma inside a golden egg where he worked for 1,000 years to create the universe.

What will hatch as a result of your sitting this year?

Begin

Join me as I stop, sit, and take time to smell the lotus flowers.