Lift

I am back in the city from a week-long trip home for the holidays. The trip began beautifully and ended on the horribly sour note that people talk about...my father's pain erupted, and I got in the way of it. And even though I couldn't sleep the night before we returned, I was consoled by at least four things: 1) the knowledge that I was not alone in getting caught in the storm of emotions that can befall some people during this time of year, 2) the reassurance of my mother, whose words were some of the most endearing that she has communicated to me, 3) my practice, and 4) my beautiful daughter and partner.

On the drive home, I told my partner that I was worried I might float away. The pain was in my belly, of course. But in nursing my child last night, I felt none of it; I watched her and marveled at her basic need for a full belly and the gentle power in being able to provide for it. While sleeping, no memories of the pain came to me. My daughter slept through the night. And this morning, I had forgotten about the pain and the belly ache of anxiety. It is nothing that Yoga Chikitsa cannot help to dissolve. And, lo...at Mysore there was handstand, unexpected.

I practiced in two places during our trip: poolside at the Marriott (nothing like the warmth of a heated room and a huge pool of water to dip one's arms in before Garbha Pindasana), and on the 3 x 10-foot landing between the two bedrooms at the top of my mother-in-law's stairs. While my daughter slept in the bedroom to the right of the landing, I practiced jumping back to Chaturanga and forward to Utanasana silently. And on the soft, safe carpet I found the courage to work a bit on handstand. When I came to my practice this morning, I had still with me the softness of that practice. And there was handstand after Utkatasana. I held it as long as I wanted to...and then let myself fall down to Chaturanga. The toe appears to have healed.

Despite coming home with a heavy heart, I sit here in my office at the university, printing out page after page of my career thus far for my pre-tenure portfolio, and my heart is light. On the elevator ride downstairs to move my car, I rubbed my eyes to relieve them of the strain of looking at the computer, put my hand in my pocket, and discovered the chocolate that my father-in-law suggested that I take with me on the trip home.

I am thinking about this lightness that has come to the surface of what I thought would be a heavy, uninspired, sad transition. I'm sure I am not entirely responsible for these bits of fortune. The blessing of those who come to our aid in their extraordinarily significant ways is humbling in its mysteriousness. What we can do is try not to float away. Being present, as my partner and my mother remind me, is most important; and to be present does not mean to sit with the pain. In yoga, as I have discussed, the "lift" can come from the anchoring down into the earth. Mula bandha, the "root lock," involves both the rooting down and the reaching up. In engaging what one of my teachers calls a "marriage of opposites," we find strength and balance.

I also find handstand, and peace in the belly.