Life is complex. It is comprised of tiny little pieces, and I think we as humans are all too eager to make those pieces even smaller. Ever stay up really late with your partner, embroiled in an argument that starts to lose its way with the passing of hours and starts to divide itself into the minutia of repeating ideas, analyzing word-by-word, and emotions building on emotions? In other words, in such a situation, the complexity builds, the pieces divide into even smaller pieces as the stakes climb higher and higher (because you are both tired and confused and sad and angry). I think we make the pieces even smaller because we cannot wrap our minds around the big stuff: so, we focus on minutiae. It makes us feel better about the substance of it.
Or, maybe we are bored. Maybe we fill life with as many small pieces as we can because it keeps us distracted from the hard questions: we overcommit ourselves and our children; we give ourselves an endless number of options of foods and clothing and programs to watch; we say "yes" when we really know we just need to say "no" and sleep, or sit quietly, or feed ourselves. Those hard questions—Why isn't life happening the way I want it to? What comes after this? What does it mean to be happy?—are hard. They are simple and yet hard.
And so we pull ourselves away from the simplicity of it all by making more matter.
These last several weeks I have allowed myself to get pulled into the undertow of overcomplicating. I've divided my schedule down to the half-hour increment, I've gone hours without food because all-of-these-other-things seemed to need more attention. I've even let work bleed into those precious evening hours reserved for only partner and daughter. I've taken every life project I'm working on now and allowed it to divide exponentially.
What's more, every part has been infused with its own kind of fear. I reflect on the last several weeks, and I see a gigantic kitchen stove. Industrial. Many pots, some threatening to boil over. Me, worried (always worried) that I won't finish the grand meal in time (and yet it always gets done).
All of this...while practicing my sweet practice every. single. day. And, still. I've gotten sucked in. The grace of it has been that I saw it happening while it was happening...but I couldn't paddle against it. Didn't know how.
I surface today to type. I look around me, and I see, smell, hear, taste, touch.
I go back to yoga now...not just the practice. But the philosophy, the lens, the vast mirror that it provides to us. Practice divides itself into tiny pieces, doesn't it? So that we can know ourselves and vastness of our internal landscapes. But yogic theory reminds us, humans, how easily we create our realities and tell ourselves that they are true, unshape-able, confining. It's the great paradox: we explore the innumerable pieces of the body in order to open space. To free ourselves from over-complicating. But we get caught in the over-complexity and begin to feel that life has a stronghold on us...we forget that we are the masterminds of that reality.
The problem, I think, is that in splitting our lives into tiny parts—whether it is in work, family, or in practice—we lose track of the whole.
It's too big and too simple to imagine.
Thanks for posting. I also feel this way. In fact, today I practiced just to remind myself of what it feels like to slow down, breath, focus and let go. I've been practicing so infrequently that over complicating it isn't an option.
ReplyDeleteKeep posting. I like reading.