The Art of Separation and Surrender

When I walked into my local yoga studio for a class on that blustery Monday night, I was not in the best of spirits. A series of questions, large and small, ran through my mind. I felt depressed, helpless and, most of all, lost.

I want direction and guidance; I wanted a little certainty that the decision I had to make was the right one. When I think about relaxing and surrendering, I can't do it either.

I tried to escape from myself and my troubled mind, but I didn't get any results.

Ironically, earlier that day I had posted about the fact that we all struggle with out-of-control minds and hearts. I've written about the way it's easy for us to shut ourselves off -- the resistance that always surrounds our love.

This article highlights compassion, forgiveness, and celebration - all the things I didn't offer myself when I started practicing yoga.

Trying to keep things the way they are

My body seemed to reflect my state of mind; I noticed that my hips and shoulders felt tighter than usual. I have tension coiled in my muscles and it hurts to stretch them.

Alas, this one is hopeless. Wouldn't it be easier to stay home tonight? I want to. While I knew I needed to release practice, something in me was working against it.

Usually, when I go to yoga class, I can leave my troubles behind. I immersed myself in the exercise, releasing pressure as I breathed in each position.

On this night, though, even staying in the room was a constant struggle.

My mind couldn't stop thinking about the choices I had to make and what would happen if I made the wrong choice. Every sunworship felt like a battle to keep my mind focused on the present. I was out of balance, my thoughts clamoring for attention like a fussy toddler, everyone determined to make themselves heard.

Looking for the separation of

A glimmer of clarity emerged when, instead of trying to deny the difficulty, I found myself simply noticing it. I observed it with the detachment of a kind stranger.

I thought to myself, wow, that's interesting: it's really hard for me to stay present in this practice tonight. I gave in to what was really happening instead of fighting it.

It's a small shift, to be sure -- but it makes all the difference. Admitting that this is not going to be my moment in the sun actually makes it seem bearable. I began to breathe deeply.

By the time we reached the final relaxation, I was almost, well, relaxed. As we move into the sit-up, I enjoy the feeling of rest, the feeling of my body leaning against the mat.

As was her custom, our teacher led us in meditation, followed by a few minutes of silence. She always follows this by reading quotes from inspirational characters (yogis or famous writers).

My news

When she started reading it that evening, I was startled. I recognized it at once. Those are my words! I write! The paragraph she chose came from A post I had made on my website earlier that day, A Wish Come Clear.

Our teacher read, "We all ran away from home and stayed away from each other. We all make choices that separate us from our real relationships. Maybe not in obvious ways, but in small ways: we don't tell the truth, answer the phone or show that we care. We are afraid, so we hide our hearts.

But what if we let ourselves be discovered? What if we admit that we are both terrible runaways and forgiving fathers? Do we know what it is to run and fall and get lost, and do we also know what it is to stand by and wait and pray?

What if we put aside our pride and celebrate whenever we meet again?"

I couldn't move. I managed to keep my breathing slow and rhythmic, but inside, I was jumping out of my skin. These are my own words, spoken to me in a voice of love and compassion. These were my own words, smarter than I realized, and taught me what I needed to know.

Surrender to my space

How does she know what I need to hear? I wonder. Moreover, how can the past self write the perfect words to appease the present self? It was all a mystery, a beautiful.

Suddenly, the decisions that weighed on my mind didn't seem as important as they once did. For a moment it seemed that not knowing their end was not so terrible after all. In fact, not knowing doesn't seem like a curse.

Now those decisions are out of my hands, and -- like relaxing into a yoga pose -- I relax into the space that has been created. If I make a bad decision, I just have to forgive myself and move on.

When my teacher and I bowed to each other, we smiled. Our eyes met, and I was rewarded - the final part: celebration.