Last night I sat on Jim’s floor and cried. It was the end of a somewhat challenging day of rest. I’ve become so accustomed to doing, to the snap-snap-snap constant routine of getting going, the familiar, the habits. DOING, not being. I described to him the slight sense of fear that crept in related to intimacy and relationships, the occasional shake to my confidence about my yoga path and work, in what I do on a daily basis as well as my greater “job,” in what I pursue as human being to better contribute to humankind…
“You know that feeling when you’re in your own room, your bedroom, and it’s pitch black and your eyes haven’t adjusted yet? It’s almost like you don’t know where you are, the feeling of not being able to see where you’re going, even when you know the space you’re in, and that someone else is even in the room, likely asleep or watching you. They can’t help guide you, but you know they’re there,” I said.
I cried and blubbered some more, not making total sense of the words I wanted to put to feelings, struggling just as I had earlier that morning. All kinds of emotions and feelings came up, about my past relationship, about long-term partnership and a family, about career and committment all tied in with a nervousness that I’m “too young” to make these kinds of decisions now (though really, what better time than now to be aware…).
Before going to bed last night, I opened up Eric Shiffman’s “Moving into Stillness” to page 27.
“The beauty of being more sensitive lies in the discovery that beneficial things naturally start feeling good, better than before, and therefore become attractive to you. … With the cultivation of sensitivity, however, your likes and dislikes will change. You’ll discover what attracts you IS in your best interest. You can therefore safely allow yourself to pursue what attracts you, what you like. You can trust yourself to trust yourself. It’s no longer dangerous, but safe—smart. And it’s fulfilling. It WILL make you happy.”
So that is how I start this Monday: trusting myself to TRUST myself, sinking in not to the exhaustion and fear that I felt last night but knowing, in that dark room, when my eyes haven’t yet adjusted, that I know where I am.
I am my best guide, even though I may not always be able to see. I’m exactly where I need to be.