Breathe. In, out, vinyasa flow, yoga. A decade of memories traveled through my mind as I moved in the familiar poses, felt the familiar stretches. In the dark room of the yoga class I became starkly aware that though these poses were the same, I was not.
The first time I took a yoga class I had just been dumped by my fiance. Usually I say "broken off the engagement" but it is more realistically put in the former sentence. I was starting a new life and yoga became a strength when all I felt was weak.
The next time I took yoga I was single, living in California, a college graduate, and searching for the next step. During that time all I had was freedom, absolute and unquestioning freedom.
And then there was the yoga class in the city with the hippies, while me a new mom in a new world. I'd walk into the large cabin-like room and tune out the sirens and snow outside, leaving my cares behind for an hour.
I felt this while moving from stance to stance, muscle memory taking over all the while my mind reliving the past. Thinking of the person I once was, the person I became, the person I am now. It's all me, but it's all so very different.
Is it because I am now in my 30s? I don't know, but the nostalgia, the contemplative time spent, it's all gone up to a level of 3rd person narratives that I can't quiet or get away from. And I like it that way.
So much of life is changing, so many times when we think we have found ourselves there is only a new self waiting in the distance of time and circumstance. Through the many changes of life, I am grateful that my foundation has never changed.
It's been work. To read, to listen, to follow, to obey. To be a disciple. It is work. But like yoga, and the mind bending stretches that lead me to healing- it is always, always, always, worth it.
Messages of Faith
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