Letting go

We have come to understand that yoga is present in every living, breathing moment. It is a body of knowledge, a practice, and a way of life. It dwells in many aspects of our daily existence—how we see the world, the words we use, the ways we relate, the choices we make, and ultimately how we move and act to shape our experience. Its presence is subtle and permeating. As we begin to understand the greater framework of yoga, we can look to the Yamas and Niyamas.

My five-year-old son bounds out of bed before my husband and I have opened our eyes. Messy-haired, barefoot, and still in his pajamas, Asher runs outside to check on the strawberries. The sun hasn’t reached the garden before Asher has spotted the only one red enough to pick and popped it in his mouth. I’ve come out to meet him with a baby on my hip and a watering can in my hand. This garden, like the mop-top kiddo in front of me, is my first. We moved to the country three years ago, and I’ve finally worked up the courage to put some seeds in the ground.

I am a compulsive doer. It’s hard for me to sit still. I jokingly say I developed maladaptive stress syndrome because I burned out my adrenal glands from doing too much. But maybe it’s not a joke. It should come as no surprise then that I search far and wide for solutions to my problems. I devour every book, every method, every suggestion with frenetic fervor hoping this, this will be the answer. Thus far, the answer has not presented itself. There is nothing worse than telling a compulsive doer there is nothing to be done.

We meandered through the bookstore aisles, my bright-eyed friend and I, the titles inspiring forks and bends in what was already a beautifully flowing stream of conversation. This was typical of times with Gabe, a soul on fire with whom there was never a shortage of awe-fueled adventure or enlivening discussion. He carried the kind of light that always stuck around for a while after he left, illuminating passageways of perception previously undetected.

Earlier this week, I sat in a sangha among a roomful of spiritual seekers, gathered together in pursuit of a shared goal to reset the self.  Prior to coming, we were given the task to cut physical clutter from our lives. A few folks shared their experiences: various items of stagnant energy ushered into the forsaken trash - the ex’s toothbrush, the taunting pack of cigarettes, the size 4 pants that paraded in the past - or my personal favorite “an ex-boyfriend’s comforter he got from an ex-girlfriend”… folks were purging it all.