{from the archives. last spring.}Yesterday was yoga class. There were no teary eyes, no felt release of something too big to be contained inside this time. In fact, yesterday's yoga was on the cusp of grueling. Still the beauty of the space and teacher and new friends. Still the beauty of the work. But the work was hard on my fleshy body, asking of me to push and pull muscle fibers, some I forgot I owned, and some so used to being curled inward on this here keyboard. It felt like a searing burn turned tingle to rotate each humerus backwards, chest stretched, heart open. And then we breathed on our backs, fast and rhythmic breaths in between the inhale and exhale. We did that for what felt like forever. My chest cavity actually ached and I saw stars. And I felt my heart open wider. I felt like a redeemed goddess in Warrior pose. I did feel gratitude again to have brought this practice back into my life. For this lovely little studio. I do believe these feelings will be brought along each time like my orange mat, and whatever else happens will simply be that day's yoga.
We went to Ikea yesterday after my yoga class. It was not a good time. The boys were at their worst. More than once I felt all that morning mediation and breathing balled up and tossed out like trash. I'd been making a mental list in preparation for this trip and once there I could think of almost nothing except how pissed off I was, how disappointed I felt. Eric was with us and I felt angry at him, too. I ended up giving in and saying yes to things I didn't even like just to be done with this miserable trip that I had been looking forward to for weeks. I do this, I think, way too much as I'm looking through plastic storage containers and grabbing cinnamon rolls. Be the one who gives in because it's the easier choice. I can handle my own feelings better. I've hit rock bottom more. I know, absolutely know, we'll all live and be okay. So what if I think the new outdoor furniture is hideous - we don't have to talk about it again for at least five more years... I can tell you of things worse. But this is kind of crap, too. Me at my worst, holding and blaming and judging, definitely not open.
At bedtime in our house, we read. After books, Eric curls up with one kiddo and I with the other. We switch kiddos every other night so that each one gets time with each of us, equally. The boys have bunk beds in a shared room so we are all actually together. After stories and lights out, we stay with the boys and this is one of my favorites things. This is when we talk, when we are very calm. This is when last night I told the boys that I was sorry I was such a butt at Ikea. I told them how at yoga class that morning we worked on opening our hearts and right now I can't help but think about that.
Theo said you can't open a heart.
Open your heart, Sully laughed. Ewwww.
You can open your heart, I told them. Put your hand on your heart. Feel it beating. That's where our best feelings and intentions come from. When you make choices from your open heart they will almost always be your best choices.
I decided to stop right there with both of my boys feeling their hearts with their soft, warm hands and me feeling my own heart.
Open.
