{peace.love.free}

There is no clock in my room at the summer house, not even an electrical outlet. It’s one of those undetermined witching hours between midnight and dawn.  I am drowsy but not asleep, struggling with the wicked combination of jet lag and a brain that has the propensity to buzz at the most inconvenient times. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, I’ve reached that hazy sweet spot where rest is inevitable.

The cry comes then.

And I am awake, in the immediate way of all mothers roused by a piercing cry from one of their babies.  I hear pain in her voice, or maybe fear. I stumble in the dark. She is just next door but there is a hallway to navigate and toys strewn across the bedroom floor.

I reach the ancient single cot she sleeps on and see immediately that she is crying and writhing and trembling a bit, but not truly awake.

Nightmare.

I slide between her sheets and mold my body around hers.  The tremors stop.  A few more whimpers escape and then those too are settled. Her breath returns to normal.  I am left wondering, as my heart flows out of me to surround her, how much longer will I be the magic balm that soothes all?

Motherhood bequeaths countless superpowers.  I can vanquish demons and chase away boogiemen and mend wounds and settle feuds and soothe fears and calm nightmares.  Just a touch or a hug or a whispered “hush wee girlie, mama’s here” in the middle of the night and equilibrium is restored.  It’s a magic bit of sorcery, born of the alchemy between parent and child.

But we are approaching tenuous years, she and I.  Just months away from ten, she rides these liminal spaces between childhood and adolescence, innocent of what is to come.  She is still far more little girl than the enigmatic teenager she will be in just a few short years. But already, lying here curled around her, my head is only slightly above hers and my feet reach only slightly below. I was taller than my mother by twelve. Will she be the same?

In the pale glow of the moon hanging low outside the bedroom window I can just make out the light dusting of freckles that covers her nose. She squirms a bit and settles in against me.  Her thumb makes its way to her mouth; a residual baby habit she just can’t shake at bedtime.

She smells like childhood country summers; salt water, sweat, fresh air, fertile earth, cut grass.  The scent arouses a cellular memory of my own summers here by the shore and I breathe it in, knowing that this time is finite and infinitely precious.

How many more summers will I be her magic balm?  How much longer will my touch or voice or kiss be all that she needs to settle her heart or her fears or her body?  How soon until her troubles get bigger and deeper than can be healed by climbing in her bed late at night and offering simple comfort?

My girlie and I have had a connection from the beginning.  A way of seeing each other that defies explanation.  Our hearts never fully disconnected from our time in shared space.  Even in my deepest anger or most fiery irritation I feel her with a depth unparalleled, and she feels me as well. It is our biggest challenge and our most profound gift.  Will it be enough to help us navigate the years to come?

I pull her closer to me, and lean in to kiss her temple, breathing her deep into my soul.

All I can do is hope.

Dust floats on rays of light dancing just above my head. Sheets are rumpled from sleep; covers long ago lost to the floor.  Long morning shadows slice across her back and my face; alternating diagonals of light and dark with no regard for boundaries. Shadows do not see the end of her and the beginning of me – we are just parts of a space moving toward illumination.

These tiny details mesmerize and imprint in that split second before my neck arches back on the pillow.  The forgetting happens just as quickly.  All that remains is the endless expanse of skin against skin.

The air holds our awareness of the passage of limited moments, but there will be no rushing today.

The spaces between abject disillusionment and fierce connection dissolve.  Breath mingles and awareness travels across length and breadth.   There are days when knowing expands and you grasp fully that love is both mirror and magnifying glass.  What are strength and weakness but the same really, in the end?

Our bodies fit; a puzzle of infinite possibility.  Light kisses golden along collarbone and shoulder and I follow it– nimble lips along unyielding bone.  My back presses against soft white sheets; my heart against hers.  Our legs wind serpentine, this dance a sacrament of touch.  Inhale matches exhale until breath catches on words that need not be spoken.  Our hands tell all the stories that need telling now.

We have been offering ourselves as sacrifice to gods we do not yet understand or know if we should believe in. Today we offer ourselves only to each other; gods be dammed.

We have cracked ourselves open, pushed hard against unbending convention and screamed a defiant yes to the rush of fear that followed.  Secrets content to hide in the shadows have been ushered into the light and welcomed home.  Passion and possession loop and twist, a roller coaster where all seemed lost and then found again.  We have confessed and cried and torn at each other with words and hands and bitter silence.  Expansion and contraction, it seems, are never entirely without cost.

Hearts are raw, eyes unveiled.  We see all, but do not turn away.  But it’s all softness now, yielding flesh and lithe curves and the rightness of coming home. Hearts mirror hands and lips and sounds released from deep inside.  Moments pass measured only by quickening beat and rapid breath.  The light climbs and shadows shift until the room is a reflection of renewal.

Yes, time is measured now, but still we do not hurry. Bodies stake fierce claim, even in lingering uncertainty, that this is ours to have and to keep.  Now all the rush and butterflies of the initial free fall are balanced by depth and aching tenderness of two souls who have lived and loved a lifetime in a few short years.

And we live and love a lifetime in this brief moment.  Bodies weave spells and tongues speak incantations against skin as soft and salty as the ocean that calls me home.  Waves crash now and we are worn down and broken and shifted in the wake of their withdrawal.  Shifted and broken yes, unrecognizable perhaps, but always at the root of things exactly the same as we began.

Life calls to be awake to sacred moments. This is hallowed ground here; we are hallowed ground.  I am turned toward her now. Only her. Body, soul, mind, and broken and beating hearts.   Nothing will be sacrificed today; no spirit of martyrdom welcome in the offering of ourselves to one another.

She is mine, this girl, and I hers.  All questions can be measured against this moment. Measured against geometry of light and shadow, against slow slide of time on the bedside clock, against trail of fingertips across stomach.  Against ragged breath and locked gaze and grasp of interlaced fingers as we find our way home. Again, and again we find our way home.

Head falls back against pillow.  Her weight is heavy on mine; her head nestled against the curve of my neck.  Breath returns to normal.  The world refocuses.  I open my eyes and see the dust still floating in the rays above my head, as if nothing has changed.  I twist and twirl my hands upward, languid, wanting to be a part of their lazy path.

It is miraculous, I think, how something so ordinary can sparkle like magic in the right light.

I run several times a week along the country roads that have known me since babyhood.  I can read them with my eyes closed.  I know where I have to dip my head to bypass low hanging branches and where I can count on a breeze from the incoming tide.    I have not been a regular runner for years, and it feels good to be back.

Running teaches me, clears way for thoughts that needed a space to be born.  There is an education to be had along this path, and I am reminded daily that the lessons of running and the lessons of life are one and the same.

1. Don’t give up too soon.
It takes a while to find your groove.  Don’t quit too quickly, even if it feels like misery, even if you hate every step along the way.  Stop too early and you’ll miss all the magic.   Give it some time to ripen, wait for the ease to find you.   And it will.  If you give it enough space and you are on the right path, the ease will always find you.

When effortlessness hits you’ll smile in spite of your burning muscles and throw your arms wide to catch the breeze.  That’s the sweet spot, right there, where things get juicy and delicious.

2. Breathe.
Don’t forget to breathe.  There is nothing in life not made easier by breath.  Those cycles of inhale and exhale are more important than we think and not near as automatic as we sometimes believe.  There will be times when every breath is an effort, or where you’ll be so caught up with your struggle that you’ll forget to take the air all the way in.

Find your way back to your breath.  No matter where you are in life, your breath is your center.  Honor it.

3. Keep your eyes on the middle distance.
Look too far ahead and you get caught up the difficulty of upcoming terrain.  Keep your eyes too close to your feet and you miss important things ahead.  In the immortal words of Ani Difranco, “When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff.   When I look up, I just trip over things”.

The middle distance is best; far enough ahead to keep your eyes open for potholes and oncoming cars, but not so far that you get intimidated by the hill on the horizon.  Don’t get so far ahead of yourself that you miss what is right in front of you, and don’t get so caught up in right-now that you’re not prepared for what’s coming.   

4. You won’t be climbing forever.
There will always be hills to climb.  They will seem to last forever.  They don’t.  Your legs will scream and your heart will be pumping like mad and you’ll want to collapse in a defeated puddle on the side of the road. You’ll think you can’t make it.  But you will.  Those killer hills will be followed by gentle valleys, or straightaways that give you space to run full tilt.

When you’re on a hill you can’t see what is on the other side.  Don’t even try.  Just know you won’t be climbing forever. 

5. Appearances can be deceiving.
Never put too much stock in what you think you see.  That huge hill may be a gentle climb that won’t even stress you.  That gentle slope might be a bitch of an ascent that will kick your ass.  Sometimes the horizon hides the biggest challenge of your life.  Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, life will throw you a curveball.

Rely less on your eyes and more on your heart.  Whatever is coming and however it looks from a distance, you already have what it takes.  Don’t worry too much about what you have not yet reached; it’s probably not going to be what you think anyway.

6. It’s all a mind game, baby.
You think this is all about your body?  The strength of your quads?  Your cardiovascular health?  How much protein you ate for breakfast? Your body is the easy part of the equation.  It’s really all a mind game, darling.  Let this sink in for a moment and you’ll really start to move.   You think your burning leg muscles are your biggest challenge?  It’s really the power of mind, spirit and heart that will power you through the rough spots.

You want to sprint that hill you think you can’t sprint?  Change your mind.  You want to change your relationship?  Your job?  Your eating habits?  Change your mind.   You want to change your life?  Change your mind.

7. Lead with your heart.
Proper running posture is important.  Head up, shoulders back, chest high, arms pumping front to back to propel you forward.  What this really means is leading with your heart.

Your heart will lead you into things, and if you pay close attention it is your heart that will lead you out.  When your legs give out, and your mind is tired, when you feel like you were crazy to ever begin it is your heart –  your perfect courageous heart –  that will carry you home.

8. Do it in the rain.
Last week I was already running when the rain began in earnest.  It was the last hill of the last mile of my run.   Big fat drops hit the pavement and bounced back up against my legs.  Mist rose off the road and swirled around my legs.  And even though my heart was pounding and my legs burned, a grin spread across my face.  I swear my heart cracked wide open in that one, perfect moment.

There’s a whole lot you should experience in the rain.  Singing. Dancing.  Making Love.  The rain brings life.  Wakes us up.  Quenches our thirst.  We spend a whole lot of time and money trying to keep from getting wet.  Sometimes we need to just get over it and let the rain drench us until we realize what a miracle we are living.

9. Be your own motivation
There will come a day when you are running up hill.  Against the wind.  Your iPod will run out of juice.  A car will drive by and drench you from head to toe with dirty water from a giant puddle.  You’ll get a big ole’ stitch in your side.  It will appear the world is working against you.   There will be nothing on the outside that you can pull from to power you through this.  The only thing you have is you.  You’ll have to stoke your inner fire from gut to heart until you feel your intensity build from within.

There will always be moments where external motivation dries up.   Know that everything you need to cross the finish line is already inside of you.

10. Know when you have something to prove.
Sometimes in life you’re chasing the burn, other times you’re aiming for ease.   On Monday you may be sprinting for first place and on Tuesday praying just to finish. Do you run through that painful stitch in your side or stop and lean into it until it eases?  Do you push yourself to go faster, longer, harder – or do you just satisfy yourself with moving the way your body wants to move?  Do you keep fighting the fight, or just curl up with your tears and some hot tea?

Sometimes you have something to prove, sometimes you don’t.   It is helpful, before you begin, to know which space you’re in.

11. Be your own DJ.
I always exercised to music with an edge.  White Zombie.  Nine Inch Nails.  Eminem.  This summer I made my customary soundtrack and hooked up my headphones, ready to rumble.  But something was missing, the music was not connecting me to the experience.  So I switched it up, entirely.   Twangy country mixed with Coldplay?  Vintage Shakira following Tegan and Sara?  Whatever, it works. Everything in life needs a soundtrack.  Your monotonous desk job.  Your workout.  That crazy clusterfuck of love triangle in which you’ve entangled yourself. The right soundtrack makes everything flow – it clears your mind, energizes your body, heals your broken heart.

Don’t be afraid to edit your soundtrack (read: friendships, lovers, office space, the voices in your head) as needed.   Life does not always call for the exact same beat. 

12. One foot in front of the other.
Running, love affairs, building a business, healing a heart, shattering expectations, climbing mountains, getting your groove on, surrendering with grace.   First place finish or slow and steady – the process is the same.  In the end it’s always a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, until you reach your home.

Ultimately it always comes down to this: it’s just one foot in front of the other, baby, all the way home. 

We sit on the bed; crossed legs and open hearts. It has been a long night and an even longer morning.  I curl myself around you as you weep.  Shoulders heave and cleansing tears fall.  A truth too long held is released.

Confession.  Omission.  Anxiety.  Fear.  Agony.  Comfort.  Compassion. Love.   These all live in the small spaces between us.

Comprehension crystalizes mysteries that had surrounded us in undercurrent.   One fact arched over a span of years and a lifetime of hurt and delivered right here; to this bed, in this room, on this tender morning.

Despite the rest, there is always hope in the truth.

~~~

Oh, sweet baby, you are not broken. Not in the way that you think.

Yes, it’s true.  Your heart is cracked in a million jagged pieces.  You have carried memories of dark nights and trust betrayed. Your body has tenderly sheltered a lifetime of shame.   You have buried your wounds beneath scars and your scars behind words unsaid and pain unseen.

And you feel broken.  Oh love, of course you do.  Your soul is patched – holes stuffed with unmet hope and despair and desperation.   You have being viewing your reflection in a mirror broken over and over again by pain and shame.  You consider all of this your due.  Your secret.  Only yours to bear.

That ends now.  It must end now.

Because yes, you are broken.  And yes, you are perfect.   And you are never, ever alone.

~~~

We are in this together.  None of us truly walk in isolation, even when we cannot sense the presence of another for miles upon miles.  Even in the worst of our desolation.  Even during our coldest 3am breakdown.  Even when we shut out the world and spin in circles until we collapse.

Even then the light still gets in.   Even then the heart still opens and reaches, tendrils of hope curling and bending toward slivers of light.   Upward, outward, in all directions – seeking light at all cost.

One way or another, we all grow toward the light.

We are resilient like that.  Our hearts are stubborn like that.  Our spirits – even under the heaviest of burdens – ultimately wild and free. And eventually, when we least expect it, the light finds its way in.  It always does.

And then everything is illuminated.  And all of our aching pieces, all the shattered bits, all the places we think we must tuck away from the world are bathed in radiance.  And only then does something become clear….

The closer you get to broken, the more it begins to look like whole.  Like beauty.  Like breathtaking truth.

And the truth is that we are all beautiful.  And we are all broken.  And even when you consider all of our hopelessly fractured pieces, all of us inherently whole.

Life cracks us into unrecognizable shards of former incarnations.  Slivers of our hurt, and our pain and our shame nestle next to fragments of our truth, our divinity, our fierce reclamation of power.

It is this very brokenness that allows us to knit together, kaleidoscope style.  And we spin and shift and turn to the light until we appear brilliant, lit from within.  Suddenly we are revealed; unexpected beauty born directly from brokenness.

We have to be willing to break in order to become.

~~~

Your sobs have quieted.  I hold you in my arms and radiate as much peace as I am able, hoping that some of it transmits directly to the center of your aching heart.

I cannot heal you.  I cannot fix this.  But I can help you gather the scattered and broken parts and hold them to the light.  I want you to catch a glimpse of what I see, a kaleidoscope configuration composed of color and geometry and all of your broken pieces arranged in imperfectly perfect symmetry.

You are broken.
You are whole.
You are beautiful.

I honor you.

Chaturanga dandasana.  Uttanasana.  Tadasana.  Savasana.

My body has developed muscle memories and attached them to the rise and flow of these Sanskrit words.  I bend and straighten, lift and lengthen in response.  I don’t often look to the screen anymore – just the sound of the words and the rhythm of my breath guide me in a practice dedicated daily to love.

Yoga is unlocking me.

I long resisted the mysterious otherness of this practice.  Yoga belonged to people who were not like me, who were more than me.  I negated my ability to release that fully into anything, not just bending and twisting into pretzelesque shapes, but giving myself over to something so far beyond physical.  Despite being surrounded by teachers who could have brought me here years ago, I held back.  I was not ready.

Now I respond to an inner call to move deeper.  Into the otherness inside me, into my physical body, into the depths of my heart.  Yoga called me.

So I bought a mat and began.

Cobra.  Warrior.  Triangle Pose.  Standing Forward Bend.  Downward Facing Dog. 

My body twists and bends.  My legs ground and steady.  My heart lifts and soars.  Muscles soften and strengthen. I root into the earth and stretch toward heaven.  My mantra – open, open, stay open – never more necessary than during my time on the mat. Losing my way requires only a return to breath.

My throat releases in the ocean sound of pranayama and I am free.

I feel the tearing of my right hamstring, an old dancing injury that will never fully recover.  I am aware of every bone of my back, the tightness of my legs.  I sense the tension in my hips, the way my limbs attach to my torso.  But my heart craves this as much as my body.  My increase in strength and flexibility seem irrelevant compared to the work this is doing on my soul.

There is no judgment here on the mat, only mindfulness. Growth does not always require insistence and force, sometimes we must merely learn to soften and release. I am beginning to understand what it is to be infinite.

There is a point where my practice shifts into a particular kind of worship.  There is holiness here; a scared power in the zone where body meets heart and they move as one. I am near tears and I feel myself opening from the inside out and expanding from the outside in.  Strength and vulnerability mingle with a sweetness that makes me fully aware of my own divinity.

Life has a way of bringing me back, over and over, to the mat.  I begin to grasp that all of life is practice, and that this practice is all of life.

Yes, yoga is unlocking me.

Nameste