The one being held
I was talking to Maria: “I go to a class every day unless something important gets in the way.” I was impressed by her dedication. I wanted that kind of dedication and mourned my lack of it, my failing to integrate a practice into my way too full schedule. I panicked at the thought of not doing enough, of not doing it right. For a moment I listened to the monster that tells me that I will never be a yogi. I also listened to the monster that tells me I need to be a yogi to arrive at happiness.
I went into shavasana, my focus forced into arriving with me in the present moment. I felt my body. The muscles that are always tense. The pointed pain in my hip. The strength ready to be deployed into warrior poses.
I remembered that the thing that I like best about Yoga, that it is just me, my Yoga, my Asana. As the teacher reminded the newcomers to listen to their bodies, I remembered that Yoga is many-pathed. Like a small sparkly quartz I remembered that Asana is only part of my way. I remembered that soul work and turning inward are steps on the eight-fold path of Yoga.
And then I forgot, I was present in the present moment. The teacher guided us into Ardha Matsyendrasana. When I turned, again remembering past and future, I was greeted by a woman with skin the color of midnight. Her feet grew roots into the belly of the world and her hair branched outward carrying the sky. In her arms she held a softly glowing body. Safe. Fully contained. Fearless. As I looked at the soft glowing face I saw myself. I looked up into the eyes of the midnight woman rooted in the world and carrying the sky and I saw myself.
I am both the one held and the one holding. I contain myself. I am enough.